Monk (K19 Security Solutions Book 7)

by Heather Slade

  “Maybe she knew about the parole hearing before I told her, but she didn’t act like she did. She isn’t the kind of person who acts anyway. She just is who she is.”

  “Parole hearing?”

  “Her ex. It’s scheduled for next month. I’m working on getting a delay, but there’s only so much I can do.”

  “Can I help?”

  “How?”

  “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

  Razor studied him for a minute. “Is it legal?”

  “Like I said…”

  A few minutes passed without Razor saying anything. Finally, he stood and pushed the chair up to the desk. “Do it,” he said as he walked out of the office.

  It only took Monk a few minutes to hack into the Oregon judicial system and get the hearing pushed back six months. That was standard; if he’d gone for any longer, it would’ve raised suspicion. As the next hearing date got closer, he could do the same thing then.

  He turned back to the monitor he’d been watching before, studying the movements of Abdul Ghafor, a man who should be dead if not imprisoned for the rest of his miserable life. Instead, he’d been able to secure a deal with the CIA, who had given him exile in Columbia, South America.

  Granted, Ghafor’s information led to the impeachment of a standing US president, who had been convicted of election fraud on a massive scale, along with several others who had aided in that fraud. The fact that Ghafor had been part of that ring himself meant he had the proof the CIA needed to take the entire operation and each of its players down. And thus, he wrote his own exile ticket.

  Ghafor hadn’t been in Columbia long when K19 heard chatter that led them on the hunt to see what he was up to. Sure enough, Abdul had returned to Pakistan and was now stockpiling enough weaponry to stage an attack on a gargantuan level.

  But where? That was the reason K19 hadn’t swept in and annihilated him already. First, they needed to know a whole helluva lot more, including who was funding the weapon stockpiling, who his supplier was—which could be one and the same—and finally, what he planned on doing with it all. An attack on US soil was most likely, but why would Ghafor gnaw off the hand that gave him a get-out-jail-free pass?

  It was Monk’s job to monitor who came and went, and while he could see the faces of the men who periodically delivered the truckloads of weapons clearly, none of them appeared on K19’s or the US’s radar. He had each of them scanned into facial recognition and placed on every alert system he could, but so far, there hadn’t been any hits.

  Later today, Monk would head to the airfield to pick up Striker Ellis, Diesel Jacks, and Ranger Messick. Striker was the lead on this op given he’d previously been the leading authority on South American covert activity with the CIA.

  Doc Butler had called a meeting, which would be taking place here in Yachats, of the entire K19 team. While a general meeting like this took place bi-annually, Monk knew Ghafor would be the primary focus of this one.

  HE WAS on his way to pick up the K19 team members when he noticed a familiar-looking Jeep in the airfield’s parking lot. There was no question it belonged to Saylor. She hadn’t mentioned anything the night before about going on a trip or about needing to be at the airfield, although something was definitely off with her. Even Razor had noticed it.

  When he left with his three passengers in the car, Monk took a second look at the parking lot, and the Jeep was gone.

  When he got back to Razor’s place, it didn’t look like she was home either.

  “MOVING ON, our next topic of discussion should raise the heat level in the room—Abdul Ghafor,” said Doc after they finished the introductory portion of the partner meeting.

  “We’ve confirmed he’s in Pakistan and that he’s stockpiling weapons,” said Razor.

  “What about soldiers?” Doc asked.

  “That’s the thing. There’s very little sign of feet on the ground.”

  “Weapons mean money,” said Monk.

  “Shit,” said Razor, clutching his chest. “Raise your damn hand or something when you do that.”

  “What?”

  “Talk.”

  Monk flipped him off.

  “Striker? Fill us in,” said Doc, sitting down next to Merrigan. “Where’s the money coming from?”

  “I’d say that’s obvious.”

  Doc motioned for Striker to stand.

  “Look, it’s no secret that I vehemently disagreed with the CIA’s decision to exile Ghafor to Colombia. I have little doubt that the money is coming directly from the Islamic fundamentalists who have taken a stronghold in Buenaventura.”

  “Led by whom?” asked Merrigan.

  “They’re doing a damn good job keeping that a secret.”

  Razor had his laptop open and was scratching his chin. “Let’s reopen dialogue with the Cuban.”

  Monk saw Striker nod.

  From what Monk could remember, sometime last year, a Cuban national had been arrested in Bogotá for an alleged “terror plot” to kill American diplomats on behalf of Islamic State extremists. The plan had been for the man to blow himself up inside a restaurant popular with US Embassy staff and other foreigners in the Zona Rosa region of the city. K19 had played an integral role in neutralizing him before he could put his plan in action.

  “Is he still alive?” asked Razor, still staring at his computer screen.

  “To the best of my knowledge, although I doubt for long. Colombian officials amassed a trove of evidence against him,” answered Striker.

  “It’s your mission, Ellis. What do you do?” asked Doc.

  “Hypothetically?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  Striker put his hands on the table in front of him. “What I’d want to do is assassinate the bastard. However, in doing so, I’d lose the money trail along with his connections to the terror plot in Bogotá, as well as the lesser-knowns.”

  “First phase, then?” asked Razor.

  “We watch. Concurrently, we get someone on the money.”

  “Eighty-eight is damn good at tracking financials,” Razor told him. Mercer, or Eighty-eight as Razor had called him, was renown for his forensic accounting abilities.

  “You mentioned at the beginning of this meeting that Mercer would join us for phase two of the mission we would be discussing. Is this the mission?”

  “Affirmative,” answered Doc.

  “What’s phase one?” Striker asked.

  “That’s up to you, to a certain extent anyway. Let’s nail down the basics. While Razor has a badass new setup here, the logistics of keeping everyone in Oregon are a nightmare. Therefore, I propose we work out of what is quickly becoming K19’s Central Coast headquarters.”

  “Back to phase one,” said Razor, again looking at Striker.

  “We watch, and we’ll know when to make a move.”

  “Roger that.” Razor stood, picked up his computer, and walked over to where Striker was seated. “We’re teaming up on this one,” he said. “But it’s your mission. I’m number two.”

  “Who’s on our team?” Striker asked.

  “Your call, but for the time being, I say we put everyone on standby. Between the two of us, Monk, and Eighty-eight, we can handle surveillance. If anything changes, it’s easy enough to call in the cavalry.”

  “Agreed.” Striker looked at Monk. “You’re number four.”

  “Roger that,” he responded.

  20

  “I don’t understand. Everyone will be there,” her mother told her over a week later when she came over to ask why Saylor wasn’t going to Cambria for Thanksgiving.

  “I’d rather spend a quiet day with the girls instead. I’ve been so busy flying that I feel like I haven’t done that.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. I said ‘bullshit.’”

  “Mom, I don’t—”

  “I’ll tell you what I think.”

  “I didn’t ask,” Saylor mumbled
.

  “I’m telling you anyway. You got scared. Monk got too close, and instead of handling it like an adult, you retreated.”

  “You’re out of line, Mom.”

  “Everyone else may be afraid to call you out, but I’m not. I’ve never spent a holiday away from my grandchildren, and I don’t plan on doing it this year.”

  “Then stay here.”

  “I have other grandchildren, young lady.”

  Saylor hung her head. Her mother was right. About everything. She’d done more than her fair share of soul searching since Monk left the other night, and while she vacillated between beating herself up a little versus a lot, the bottom line was, she was ashamed of the way she’d acted.

  “I’m leaving in the morning, and I expect you and the girls to go with me.”

  “Okay,” she muttered.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

  “I said that the girls and I will go with you.”

  “Good.” Her mother turned and stalked out of Saylor’s side of the house. She didn’t remember her mother ever getting as mad at her as she did today. Razor, yes, but not her.

  WHEN THEY LANDED the next morning, Saylor received a text from Razor saying there’d be a black SUV waiting outside the airport terminal to transport them from the San Luis Obispo airport to Cambria. He didn’t say who would be driving it.

  When they walked into the baggage claim area, she got her answer. Sierra and Savannah saw Monk first and raced over to him. She loved that he knelt down to hug each of them, but his eyes stayed focused on hers.

  “Hi,” she said as she walked closer to them.

  Monk released the girls. “Let me say hello to your mama.”

  When he stood, she walked into his arms. “I’m so sorry, Monk.”

  “Shh,” he whispered, stroking her hair. He put his fingers on her chin and raised it. “Is the no-PDA rule still in effect?”

  Saylor shook her head.

  “Good.” He captured her lips with his, thrusting his tongue in her mouth. Saylor didn’t care if it bothered her daughters or anyone else in the airport. She needed to feel his mouth on hers. Needed to feel his body next to her.

  “I missed you so much,” she said when he ended their kiss and rested his forehead against hers.

  “I missed you more.”

  Saylor smiled. Every so often, he said something that was so un-Monk-like that it took her by surprise.

  “Let’s get your bags.”

  She turned and saw they were already on the baggage carousel and Sierra and Savannah were both running alongside them.

  “I’ll do that,” he said when Sierra tried to grab one.

  Saylor stood back and watched as his powerful arms flexed when he lifted the bags off. She didn’t have to close her eyes to picture exactly how he’d look without clothes covering his perfect body. The image heated her core; she couldn’t wait to be alone with him.

  She looked up from studying his rock-hard ass, and realized he was looking right at her. And smiling.

  “Where are we staying?” she asked as he led them to the waiting vehicle.

  “Your mother and the girls are staying with your brother and Ava. You and I are staying at a place on Moonstone Beach.”

  “You reserved a room? For us?”

  Monk nodded.

  “What if…”

  “You didn’t come?”

  It was Saylor’s turn to nod.

  “I didn’t consider that as a possibility.”

  “We haven’t talked recently.”

  Her mom and the girls got in the SUV while Monk loaded the luggage. Instead of getting in herself, Saylor hung back with him. He closed the doors to the rear cargo area and put his hand on her nape, drawing her lips to his. He kissed her more deeply than when they were in the airport.

  “We don’t always need to speak to know.”

  Saylor smiled. “We don’t? I have to admit, I’m not as clairvoyant as you are.”

  “The night at the bar, when I showed up unannounced on my motorcycle. How did I find you?”

  “I figured you saw my car.”

  Monk shook his head. “And later that night, when you got in your car, why didn’t you drive away?”

  “I was crying too hard.”

  “No. You didn’t leave, because you knew this wasn’t finished between us. You got scared, you tried to run, but you couldn’t. Just like I can’t.”

  He kissed her again and looked into her eyes. “I’m going to say something that is going to scare the everliving shit out of you, Saylor.”

  “Okay.”

  “You and me. We’re meant to be together, and we will be. No matter what, we’ll find our way back to each other.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Holding her against him with one arm, he brought the opposite hand to his heart. “Because this is where I feel you. Every day.” He kissed her one more time before walking her to the front passenger door.

  “There’s something else I need to tell you.”

  “Okay,” she repeated.

  “This op is heating up. There’s a chance I’ll have to leave without much warning.”

  Part of her wanted to tell Monk that he didn’t need to explain. She understood. But that was at the heart of what had been bothering her before and still bothered her now. It was one thing when it was her brother and he was doing his job. Of course she’d worried about him, particularly after he’d ended up on life support. It was different with Monk. She worried about him in a different way, and if she was really being honest, she didn’t like the fact that he had to be gone so much. She’d never tell him that, but it was how she felt.

  “Saylor?”

  “I heard you.”

  “This is hard for you.”

  “It’s hard for everyone.”

  He cupped her cheek with his hand and looked into her eyes. “I’d promise you that I’ll be back, but I can’t do that. All I can tell you is that I’ll do everything I can to make sure that happens.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “I know.”

  “Saylor, I—”

  She put her fingers on his lips. “It’s okay, Monk. I truly do understand.”

  “You don’t know what I was going to say.”

  “Yes. Actually, I do.”

  She opened the door and climbed inside.

  —:—

  “I heard back from the Bogotá consulate. Your meeting with the Cuban is set,” Razor said to Striker while Monk continued tracking Ghafor’s movement.

  “When?”

  “As soon as you can make arrangements to leave.”

  “Where’s Onyx?”

  “On standby,” Monk answered. He knew because he’d just gotten off the phone with him.

  “We’re meeting at eighteen hundred hours,” Striker said when he ended the call.

  “Got a minute?” asked Mercer, looking between all three of them and then laying out several documents on the table.

  “What have you pieced together?” Razor asked.

  “The Islamic fundamentalists in Buenaventura, Columbia, have done a good job covering their tracks to this point. There is no history of money transfers. However, today I found out why.”

  Mercer pointed to several of the transactions on the printouts. “Without monitoring the activity every day, we would’ve missed these. The transactions are purged at the close of business.”

  Striker shook his head. “There’s no end to what Ghafor could do with this kind of money.”

  Mercer looked directly at Striker. “We have to stop him. I don’t think we can afford to wait any longer.”

  “I agree,” said Monk, even though no one had asked his opinion.

  “Do we act before or after Bogotá?” Razor again directed the question at Striker.

  “After. It’s likely the last chance we’ll have to find out who’s running the show in Buenaventura.”

  “Roger that,” said Razor, returning to the monitors with Monk. “An
y leads yet?” he asked Mercer.

  “Not yet, but catching the money was the first step. Now that I have, I can start tracing it.”

  “Got a minute?” Striker asked Monk.

  Monk nodded. What the fuck else did he have to do that was more important than this?

  “It can’t be as simple as the Colombian fundamentalists supplying the Islamic State leader with the kind of money Mercer’s talking about. They’d never be able to raise as much cash as has been transferred today, not to mention how many other days similar amounts have been moved.”

  Monk agreed. More likely, the money was coming from someone with much deeper pockets. There were two possibilities. First, one of the drug cartels was supplying the money. Second, any country that considered the United States an enemy, and there were too many of those to count. It could be anywhere from Venezuela to Russia.

  “Who’s going with you to Bogotá?” Mercer came into the hallway and asked.

  “Ranger and Diesel, along with Onyx and Corazón in the cockpit.”

  “Get in and out as quickly as you can,” said Mercer. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

  “FUCK,” said Razor, ending a call on his phone. “Juan Carlos is dead.”

  The Cuban Striker was on his way to meet with. “Any other intel?” Monk asked.

  Razor shook his head. “Jimenéz told him personally.”

  “Did they meet?”

  “They are now. He’s got Ranger and Diesel with him to do reconnaissance.”

  “What about Onyx and Corazón?”

  “Still with the plane.”

  Monk turned back to the monitors. There was something about Corazón that didn’t sit right with him. He hadn’t spent a lot of time with her when he stayed on the plane with her and Onyx, but it didn’t take a lot of time to get a bad feeling about someone.

  Monk turned back around to face Razor, glad no one else was downstairs with them. “How well do you know Descanso?”

  “Not well.”

  “She vetted okay?”

  Razor walked over and sat beside him. “Talk to me, Monk.”

  He told Razor his opinion of her. “I can’t say it’s anything specific.”

  “It doesn’t need to be,” Razor responded. “If anyone rubs you wrong, don’t ever hesitate to say something, Monk. It’s what keeps us alive.”