He took a deep breath and slowly sat behind his desk again. “If you want to live-feed this shit storm then I suggest you commandeer a satellite and put your own eyes on the operation.” He reached for his glasses again and lowered his voice, “But do not invite me to your viewing. I have more important things to do at the moment.”
“I thought Bridger was your future hotshot operator?” Ingram came to his feet and raised a brow at the man. “You set all of this up, behind my back, I might add. Then when the ball starts to roll, you want to turn away and trust that a drug cartel is going to do everything in their power to keep your man alive?” He scoffed as he turned for the door. “You aren’t just trusting, you’re a fool.”
“Choose your words wisely, Robert,” Jameson replied through gritted teeth. “I put you where you are at and I can damned sure remove you.”
Ingram paused and turned back to him slowly. “Is that a threat?”
Jameson chuckled under his breath. “It’s a promise.” He removed his glasses again and pointed the earpiece at him. “Remember not just where you came from, Robert. Remember who helped you to get where you are. The asses you burn today may well be the same ones you have to kiss tomorrow.”
“Poetic.” Ingram turned and reached for the door. “If you have a change of heart and decide you want to know that you’re actually getting your money’s worth, I’ll be in the war room.”
Jameson watched him leave and sighed heavily. He tossed his glasses to the desktop and rocked his chair slightly. “I hate it when the little shit is right.”
Near Chapala, Mexico
* * *
Raul hung up the phone and turned nervously to the office door. He knocked lightly then pushed the door open. El Fantasma looked up from the papers he held and raised a brow. “Yes, Raul?”
“The federales are in place. They’ve got barricades up on all access roads that lead to the villa.”
“Good.” He gave his assistant a hesitant look. “Yet something tells me that you also have bad news.”
Raul cleared his throat and nodded as he stepped closer to the desk. “The colonel says that he has received word…about the air strike.”
El Fantasma nodded, waving him on. “Please, continue.”
Raul glanced away, not wanting to make direct eye contact. “It is being whispered that El Sinaloa cartel are behind it.”
El Fantasma leaned back in his chair and stared at the small framed man. “Are you certain?”
Raul nodded. “That is what he is saying.” He glanced up and saw the man’s face go slack.
“This is not good.” He stood from his desk slowly and stepped around it. “We have an agreement with them that…” He trailed off, his mind going to places he didn’t want to consider. “What of the Cali?”
“I have not reached out to them.” Raul’s voice sounded soft and quiet. “I did not wish to overstep.”
El jefe placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “If you act on our behalf then you never overstep, hermano.” He gave the man a soft squeeze. “Reach out to them—and to the Blancos. I need to know if they have spoken to anybody with El Sinaloa. Perhaps they let something slip in passing.”
Raul gave him a knowing look. “Nobody lets something like this ‘slip,’ señor. If something was said, then you know they were asking for their blessing before they acted.”
El jefe nodded. “Still, reach out. If nothing else, it will let them know that we are aware.” He gave the man a knowing look. “If they give any indication that they knew this was happening, then we know that new alliances have been forged.”
“As you wish, señor.”
21
MacDill AFB, Florida
* * *
“Hold up.” Lisa stuffed her cell phone into her pocket and trotted to catch up to Bridger. “So I just got off the phone with Diego.”
“And?”
She fought the urge to smile. “He says that he can provide transportation.”
“Why do I get the feeling that you’re holding back?”
She grinned as she pulled him aside. “So, Diego was really concerned that this was a tenth hour setup to get revenge.”
“He isn’t worth the effort,” Bridger grunted.
“I know that and you know that…” she trailed off. “Anyway, he says that there’s been a shit ton of federale activity in the region lately.”
Bridger’s brows knit. “I imagine Murillo has quite a few on his payroll. He’s probably shoring up his defenses.”
“My thoughts as well. But Diego says that the only cars not being stopped and checked on the regular are military vehicles. I guess the federales don’t want to waste their time checking on their own.”
He waved her on. “The point?”
“Diego wants to up the ante. In return for a full pardon from us and a chance to prove himself ‘worthy’…you know, earn his way back into our good graces, he’ll have two repurposed military deuce-and-a-halfs waiting for us.”
Bridger took a deep breath and let it out as a slow growl. “If by ‘good graces’ you mean we won’t kill him, then I’m okay with that.” He raised a brow at her. “I take it by ‘repurposed’ he means stolen.”
“Assume what you will, I didn’t ask.” She smiled broader. “The ante that he’s upped is this: a makeshift FOB just outside the monitored perimeter near Murillo’s compound.”
Bridger gave her a confused look. “He can do that?”
She gave him a slight shrug. “He says he can have it set up before we touch down. He can’t promise the Hyatt, but we’ll have a few tents to use, and he even has Wi-Fi available for Gregg.”
Bridger grunted again. “Slippy will appreciate that.” He rubbed at his chin. “But I’m smelling something fishy here.”
“I poked and prodded to see if there was some catch or maybe that he was playing us.” She sighed as she leaned against the wall. “My gut says that he’s on the up and up. Of course, my brain says not to trust him.”
“You’re thinking he’s gonna sell us out to Murillo.” It wasn’t a question.
She shook her head slightly as she looked away. “I…it’s a possibility.”
“Fuck,” Bridger swore under his breath. He ground his teeth as his mind considered the possibilities. “All I wanted was a damned Jeep to carry us away and now he’s…” He took a deep breath then nodded. “Fine. Tell him we accept his offer and will welcome him back with open arms if he follows through.”
She raised a brow at him. “But?”
“But if he tries to crawdad on us…if I even think he’s selling us out to Murillo, then the last thing he’ll see is my ugly mug as I’m choking the life out of him.”
“I’m sure that will set his mind at ease.” She pulled her phone and hit redial as she walked away.
Bridger turned for the hangar just as DJ came through the door. “Problem.”
“Just what I wanted to hear.”
He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “So I got a look at where they’re storing these swarm…things.”
“And?”
“And they’re all locked up. Like, individual Pelican cases with combination locks.”
Bridger groaned and looked away. “How many are we talking?”
DJ counted on his fingers quickly. “If all of the cases hold a drone then about three or four dozen.” He shrugged. “They weren’t exactly stacked neatly.”
“Can you cut the locks?”
“He can’t,” Blake said a little too loudly as he approached from Bridger’s rear. “You should be a bit more coy in your thieving.”
Both men turned and gave him a knowing look but Bridger broke the silence first. “I appreciate your giving me the heads up on these things but…”
Blake nodded. “I’m aware.” He slipped between the two men and lowered his voice. “The general thought it wise to secure all classified equipment since there were so many civilians in the immediate area. We aren’t scheduled for the next round of testing for a
few days so he had the swarm locked down.” He peered past the two as soldiers filed out of an office down the hall then waited until they were alone again. “You haven’t even made a move on the controllers yet. Those will be the hardest to get. They’re locked up in—”
“We don’t need those,” Bridger cut him off. “Slippy found a work-around. He can control them from his laptop.”
Blake gave him a confused look. “All of them? At once?”
Bridger nodded. “We just need them able to take flight.”
Blake gave him another confused look. “Flight?”
“There are too many to carry,” DJ replied. “Slippy’s plan was to fly them all to the plane just as we fired up to leave.”
Blake raised a brow at the men and began to chuckle. “That might work, but your takeoff would be denied as soon as they saw them leaving the hangar. And this IS an Air Force base, gentlemen. They have fighters and aren’t afraid to use them.”
Bridger groaned again and glanced to DJ. “I’m open to suggestions.”
“Beats me, Top. I was Navy, not Chair Force.” DJ replied.
Blake motioned the men towards the door leading to the hangar. “There’s a handcart by that exit.”
“They’d definitely see us loading those cases,” DJ quipped.
Blake motioned back toward the offices. “Not if there is a diversion.”
Bridger’s eyes narrowed on the man. “Like?”
“Well, in the event of fire, everybody is supposed to muster in the front parking lot.” He gave the pair a knowing look. “You’ll have to time it perfectly with your take off.”
“And cut the locks in flight…” Bridger nodded as he saw the pieces falling into place. He turned back to Major Blake. “Thank you for your service.”
Blake shook his hand. “And you for yours.”
Langley Virginia
* * *
Robert Ingram paced in the war room. Satellite images were like a slideshow on the large overheard screen. “Can we get infrared? I want to see where the players are located.”
A technician working at one of the computer stations held a pencil up. “This bird isn’t capable, sir, but we can—”
“Then find me one that is,” Ingram interrupted.
The tech sighed and turned to face him. “That’s what I was about to suggest, sir. However, the nearest satellite with that capability and the kind of resolution you want won’t be available for over an hour.”
Ingram groaned and fought the urge to hit something. “Is there nothing else available? Maybe somebody else with Homeland has a bird that can—”
“Robert,” Jameson’s calm voice snapped him from his tirade. “You’re jumping the gun.”
Ingram gave him a confused look. “What do you mean?”
“They haven’t even left MacDill yet.” Jameson hung his coat on a hook and sat in one of the rear observation chairs. “Their clearance has them leaving in about…” He glanced at his watch. “Forty-five minutes.”
Ingram blinked at him, his mind not connecting the dots. “I don’t…”
“Robert, they still have flight time. Then they have to establish where the opposition is, develop an entry plan…” He sighed as he crossed his legs. “My best guess is that we probably won’t see any action until sundown at the earliest.”
“Sundown?” Ingram glanced at the wall clock. “But…it’s not even noon.”
“You’re so very observant,” Jameson deadpanned. “Come here. Have a seat.”
Ingram stumbled past the work stations and approached. He carefully took the seat to his right. “Sundown?”
Jameson nodded. “At the earliest.” He stared at the satellite images flashing across the screen. “And if I know Mr. Bridger in the slightest, I would bet money that he will wait until closer to sunrise.”
Ingram gave him a confused look. “Why?”
“Consider this drug lord he’s dealing with. If the man is as scared as he should be, he’ll have all of his resources on high alert.”
“He’d be foolish not to.”
“Exactly. Which means that these men will have been up all night anticipating an attack at any moment. Nerves will be frazzled, minds weak from lack of rest. Even if he dopes them up with his illicit product, they won’t be at their best.”
Ingram nodded as he spoke. “So he’s going to wear them down?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Jameson leaned closer and lowered his voice, “I’ve studied Bobby Bridger for years. I like to think that I can anticipate his every move.” He chuckled to himself. “And it still amazes me how he wins with whatever hand he’s dealt. I think that’s why I admire the man so much.”
“Because…you can’t anticipate his every move?” Ingram asked, confused again.
“Because regardless of which direction he chooses to go, he finds a way to complete his mission.” He raised a brow at his young protégé. “I’d bet money that Bridger will strike, and soon. But not so soon that this drug baron’s troops will be at their best.”
Ingram sighed. “When are your people supposed to go through with this drone strike?”
Jameson shrugged. “They’ll wait.” He rubbed at his jaw as he spoke. “They’ll want as many of Murillo’s people inside the blast zone before they do their thing.” He sighed and stared off. “A very large part of me is considering call off the other cartel.”
Ingram did a double take. “Why?”
James pursed his lips as he considered his words. “As I said, I’ve studied Bobby Bridger for a long time. I have no doubt that he knows exactly what he’s walking into.” He sucked at his teeth as the endless possibilities ran through his mind. “And I have no doubt that he has an exit strategy in place. One that our cartel war might well jeopardize.”
“Then why did you…” Ingram turned slowly and stared at him. “You thought that this was a one way ticket for him, didn’t you?”
Jameson sighed inwardly. “The thought crossed my mind. But then I considered that he has his old team with him. I cannot bring myself to believe that he’d be willing to risk all of their lives on some…suicide mission.” He shook his head. “No, if it were just him, he wouldn’t care. But his team?” He shook his head.
“Then call off the drone attack.” Ingram’s voice couldn’t hide his worry.
“I tried.” Jameson stared at the screen at the front of the room. “They can’t be reached.” He turned slowly and met Ingram’s gaze. “The wheels have been put into motion. I’m afraid that whatever happens, happens.”
Near Chapala, Mexico
* * *
“Señor.” Raul entered the office covered in dirt but a broad smile painted across his face. “We have cleared the tunnels leading to the air field. The walls have been shored and the ceilings braced.” Just noticing the dirt on his sleeves, he paused. “Forgive me, señor. I didn’t think that—”
“Think nothing of it, mi hermano. I am thrilled that you are happy.” He stood from behind his desk and patted the man’s shoulder. “Perhaps now you can rest easier, eh?”
Raul nodded enthusiastically. “Si, but I still worry.”
“Why? You have seen to every contingency.”
Raul looked away then seemed to square his shoulders. “One of Miguel’s men, Ricardo…. He has connections with the American government.”
El jefe’s eyes widened. “What are you saying, Raul?” He stepped closer and glared at the man. “Is he a mole?”
“No, señor! But he…made some inquiries,” Raul stammered slightly. “He had been sleeping with this woman and she—”
“Get to the point, Raul!”
The smaller man quivered slightly then squared his shoulders. “Ricardo made some calls. While they were in the states searching for your Bravo team.”
“To what end?”
“They wanted to know more about these people.” He sighed then met the other man’s gaze. “These are dangerous people, Jefe. This woman found out things about them that—�
�
“I know who they are,” he interrupted. “I have studied them for nearly twenty years.” His face hardened and he turned away, staring out past his office windows. “When they struck at Teresa…I made it my life’s work to know everything about them. Where they are from. Who their families are. Where they work. What they wear. What they eat. Who their friends are.” He turned back and faced Raul. “Everything that could be known about these demons, I have learned.” He tapped at his temple. “I have committed it all to memory. There is nothing that they could do that might surprise me.”
“I-I am sorry, señor. I should have known that you would already…” He trailed off, his mind unable to find the proper words.
“Trust me, mi hermano. I already have their coffins waiting.”
22
MacDill AFB, Florida
* * *
Bridger and DJ hunkered low behind a stack of crates inside the hangar while Mauk and Lisa stacked along the inner door of the jet. Laughlin stood just outside the cockpit waiting to relay the clearance for takeoff.
Bridger reached out and gripped DJ’s arm. “Wait for the signal.”
DJ grinned at him as he gripped the detonator switch. “Premature ignition was never my problem, Top.”
The clearance for takeoff was relayed across the coms and Bridger released DJ’s arm. “Do it.”
DJ couldn’t fight the grin on his face as he depressed the red switch. No sounds were heard and no alarms blared.
Bridger turned and glared at the man. “Are you sure you—” His words were cut off as the fire alarm sounded and a klaxon echoed through the hangar.
DJ shrugged. “There’s always a delay between the flash and the heat. Their system had to recognize what was happening.”
Burning Bridges Page 14
