Locked and Loaded

by Alexis Grant

  “That is always the hardest part, Hector … that is the part of what we do that defines a man’s cojones. So, have another drink, but don’t get sloppy. When we meet Assad, I want you calm, confident … comprende?”

  Hector nodded and poured a half a glass of the amber liquor. “You can count on me, Roberto.”

  “Bueno,” Roberto murmured and then fell silent for a moment to stare out the limousine window at the planes taking off and landing. “You are sure about this arms contact you researched?”

  “Absolutely. Charles Wallace is ex-Soviet and has tentacles well positioned to deliver what Assad wants.”

  Roberto turned and stared at his brother. “I cannot oversee everything, Hector. The business is getting too big … I’ve taken care of my part—the product, our security forces, the distributors, and setting the terms of the deals. And that Assad also buys his arms from us at a reasonable rate so that he’ll come back again and again. This way we’ll always have cheap but pure product in our pipeline and they’ll always have top-grade arms in theirs. As my brother, there is no one else I can trust with something like this. So you cannot fuck this up, Hector. The arms part has to be as airtight as the drug and money deliveries.”

  Hector gripped his glass and stared into Roberto’s eyes. “I know what’s at stake, and I said I have handled it. You have to start to have more faith in me, Roberto … to believe in me like I believe in you.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry,” Roberto said after a moment and then looked out the window again. “I’m just used to controlling all the details, but as we expand, it is not possible … it’s nerves talking.”

  Tense silence surrounded both men as they each retreated into their own thoughts. Fifteen minutes of waiting produced Anwar Assad’s private charter coming in from Toronto. A sense of satisfaction and power threaded through Roberto’s nervous system. Much could be accomplished when one knew the right people and which palms to grease. He did. Getting men on the inside of TSA was no different. Human nature always allowed for a variable. Roberto smiled as he tapped on the divider window and his driver got out.

  His guard opened the door for him and his brother as they debarked the limo and walked swiftly to meet his Gulfstream III jet on the tarmac. As soon as the steps were lowered, Roberto and Hector swiftly ascended the stairs and entered the craft.

  “Gentlemen, how was your flight?” Roberto said, looking around at the four serious faces of the men who were waiting.

  “Very good,” Assad said, offering Roberto a slight bow.

  Roberto motioned with his arm for Assad and his men to sit as the plane began to taxi. “I take it all went well with Charles Wallace in Toronto?”

  “Indeed,” Assad replied with a cautious smile. “His name is Anglo, but he is an old Russian.”

  Roberto laughed and gave a glance of approval toward Hector, who preened from the silent compliment. “Easier to transfer funds to accounts that do not give rise to suspicions, true?”

  Assad nodded.

  “So … he showed you what you needed to see at Boston’s Technology Trade Show, and you were pleased?”

  “I am very pleased,” Assad said, glancing around at his men. “But my ultimate pleasure depends of Aalam Bashir feeling the same way.”

  “Of course, of course,” Roberto said, waving his hand. “Trust, but verify.”

  Assad bowed slightly from his seat. “Trust, but verify.”

  “So, while I am trusting you and you are trusting me, and we are both waiting to verify our deliveries from one another, shall we spend the time in New Orleans enjoying the casino and the women?” Roberto smiled and motioned toward the male security guard doubling as a flight attendant to bring a bottle of Cristal to the group. “Oh come now, gentlemen,” Roberto said when he saw them hesitate. “Tell me you are not of the rank that are looking to blow yourselves up and are saving yourselves for twenty-one virgins, are you?”

  Assad’s men cast nervous glances toward him, and Assad nodded his permission for them to accept the champagne flutes being offered.

  “I do not believe that is our fate,” Assad said with a sly half smile. “What a man does in private is between him and Allah.”

  * * *

  Anthony stood outside Special Agent Sage Wagner’s hospital room, listening to her boss drone on about their mutual targets of interest. His gut hunches rarely proved wrong, even in this case. When he’d first seen her on the screens while getting a mission briefing, she’d arrested his attention. It had been impossible to shake her presence out of his mind, but the way she’d been grouped with Salazar, it seemed like she was an enemy sympathizer—what else could he believe, especially when she’d pulled a gun on him? But by not listening to that nagging voice within, he’d almost done the unthinkable to one of his countrywomen. Damn.

  Still quietly kicking himself, Anthony responded to Hank Wilson with crisp, perfunctory answers as both men waited for coffee to be brought up for the meeting they’d have once Sage was dressed.

  As much as he hated to admit it, the entire concept of her literally being embedded with the enemy bothered him. Until now, it had never really crossed his mind how gender differences could affect the role of a female agent working undercover. There were no females in DELTA Force, at least not on the combat side of their operations. Those who were tertiary to the unit were in support roles in military intelligence or logistics. And yet this sharp, capable, gorgeous woman had put more on the line in service to her country than he’d ever had to consider.

  It made him want to know more about her. Who was this woman he’d almost killed? What could drive a woman of Special Agent Wagner’s obvious talent to want to take on a role like this? Surely she had her choice of assignments; was blind ambition the ice water that ran through her veins?

  “So, Captain, this is definitely a ‘no guts, no glory’ mission,” Hank Wilson remarked and then waited.

  Anthony wrested his attention back to the conversation. “Roger that. We want Assad alive, if possible. If not, we need to send his side a message. A very profound message, hence the C4 at the Salazar compound.”

  “Just don’t toast my agent,” Hank warned, losing some of the easy camaraderie that had been in his eyes. “Wagner is the best I’ve got, and if there’s any way to work it out, I want her to get a piece of taking down the Salazars.”

  “I’m sure you understand that my unit can’t worry about or guarantee jurisdictional credit or career enhancing—”

  “It’s not for that,” Hank said quickly, cutting him off. He lowered his voice and stepped in closer. “For Wagner, this is personal. She’s gonna go in, take risks that … well, just know that she’ll die trying to bring down the Salazar drug empire.”

  For a moment Anthony just stared at Sage’s boss. What had the Salazars done to this woman? A silent understanding passed between both men. Hank’s eyes held a plea, even though his expression was stern and his voice had never wavered. The depth of concern in Hank’s unblinking gaze connected with something within Anthony that he couldn’t name. Words were insufficient as both men clearly struggled with how to articulate what couldn’t be asked or said.

  To end the brief standoff, Anthony simply nodded. It was the best he could do, the best acceptance of Hank Wilson’s terms he could offer under the circumstances.

  “I’m decent,” Sage announced, cracking the door open. “The dress is dirty, but hey.”

  Hank caught the edge of the door, cast another meaningful look in Anthony’s direction, and then accepted two cups of coffee from an approaching agent. “Thanks, Dan.”

  “No problem.”

  Special Agent Dan Jennings handed a hot Styrofoam cup to Anthony as the three men entered the room. Anthony thanked him while monitoring the body language of both men before his eyes settled on Special Agent Wagner.

  She’d been injured, she was in way too deep, and he’d potentially compromised her cover—but it was clear from her expression that she would not be deterred fr
om attempting to go back in.

  She had taken her lush mass of hair down from its former long ponytail and was wearing that same wide gold belt and white micromini dress that he’d met her in, something that amounted to little more than a short tube of stretchy white fabric. It clung to every outrageous curve she owned as though it had been painted on her, and she still looked fantastic in it, even if it was slightly smudged from their combat and where he’d dumped her into the speedboat. She’d recovered her chunky gold bangles, necklace, and earrings from the plastic hospital bag, and was now leaning against the bed in gold stilettos that made her long, satiny legs appear to go on forever.

  But she paid the men before her no mind as she focused on a small gold compact mirror she was holding and tried to blot makeup on over her arm bruises. He thought about the defensive moves she’d made, how her skillful blocks had kept him off balance, and was so glad now that she was an adept fighter. Yet, even blocking him, there was contact—hard male muscle against butter soft female skin, and it was going to leave a mark.

  When she winced as she dabbed the compact pad beneath her left eye where he’d grazed her, Anthony inwardly cringed. If that blow had actually connected, it would have shattered her cheekbone and been ruinous to her gorgeous face. For the first time in his life, he thanked the good Lord that he’d sparred with an armed combatant who had almost bested him and had dodged almost every blow.

  Even though she’d aggressively come at him, he’d never ever laid a hand on a woman before. All the training in the world hadn’t prepared him for that. Then learning that she was a friendly, more than that—a fellow warrior—was going to jack with his head for a long time. Seeing the result of their hand-to-hand combat now made him sick to his stomach.

  “Okay, here’s the plan,” she said, without missing a beat. “I need a lift over to South Beach—back of a van, blacked-out windows, whatever. Drop me off discreetly in a parking lot or something so I can go into one of my fav boutiques. I’ll explain that I had a little domestic trouble if asked. Shopping all day will be my cover.”

  “Not before you get an MRI to be sure there’s no bleeding on your brain or anything else,” Hank warned in a no-nonsense tone. “I’m serious.”

  “Okay, but after that, I’m outta here. And can you tell ’em I have to do this stat, like none of that hanging out in a hospital gown in a hallway for five hours? I’m doing it in my clothes. Fast. Only because I love ya, Hank. But you and I both know that the longer I’m here, the harder it’ll be to get back inside without a problem. If you really care about my health, you’ll make sure I can go back to Salazar without raising any suspicions.”

  “All right, all right, I’ll see what I can do.” Hank released a long, weary sigh and sipped his coffee. “You’re gonna make me start smoking again, Wagner, I swear.”

  Sage winked at Hank and then held up the mirror again. She let out a huff of annoyance as she glimpsed her damaged manicure, and then the side of her jaw, and flung the compact on the bed with her purse. “I’ll get a wardrobe change, and will come out of the front door of the boutique with enough bags to justify being AWOL for a couple of hours, and then head to a restaurant. I’ll let Bruno find me there.”

  “And then go lie by the pool or something, Wagner … just take it easy for a day or so.”

  “In there? Take it easy?” She smiled at Hank, and it was a heart-stopper. “I’ll do my best, boss. I promise.”

  “That’s why I don’t want you going back in.” Hank frowned at her, which only made her gorgeous smile get wider.

  “I’m going in, Hank,” she said calmly. “I’ll go lie by a pool and sip a margarita when all these bad guys are dead or behind bars.”

  Agent Jennings ran his fingers through his blond crew cut and looked at Anthony and then at Hank Wilson when Hank handed Sage a cup of coffee. Anthony kept his eyes on Sage. The dynamic was tense, but interesting.

  “Do you really think this is advisable, Wagner? Dan can—”

  “Hank, it’s now or never. My cell phone has been blowing up with calls and text messages from Bruno, Salazar’s head of security at the house. We’re lucky that it took him a couple of hours before he even noticed I was missing. A boat being gone from the marina probably gave it away. But I just sent him a text back that told him to go screw himself after what I saw and heard on the grounds, so he knows I’m fine and thinks I took the boat now … and otherwise believes that I’m just being femininely pissy about the whole dog incident.”

  She smiled at Hank and accepted the coffee, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes as she glanced at Anthony. “My biggest problem is going to be hiding the bruises. With my luck, Salazar will think I was with some guy who beat me … some type of sick lover’s dispute or jealousy thing that happened because I’m out there two-timing him, and that, more than anything else, is enough to get me killed. But I’ll think of something. I always do.”

  The room remained silent as Sage took the lid off her coffee and sipped it slowly. After a moment she looked up and captured Anthony’s gaze within her own. “We had enough on Salazar to bring him and his brother in a month ago. But then I learned that he was trying to do a deal behind his Colombian supplier’s back. Arturo Guzman isn’t going to be happy when he finds out that our man Salazar cut himself a sweet deal with the Taliban dudes that have ties to Al Qaeda. Salazar isn’t stupid, and he’s been on edge ever since he brokered this new deal.” Sage took another careful sip of her coffee as though considering each word as the strong black fluid washed over her tongue.

  “A nervous man is a dangerous man,” Anthony said, never breaking eye contact with her.

  “Absolutely.”

  Tense silence threaded between them as she pushed off the side of the bed and sauntered to the window. “Here’s the thing. Salazar is an ambitious sonofabitch, so he took the risk. Being wealthy isn’t enough for him—he also wants power. Like government impacting power.”

  She turned and faced them, abandoning her coffee on the windowsill, then crossed her arms. “Salazar wants what Guzman has, the ability to attend state dinners and tell presidents and captains of industry how things are going to go. He ultimately wants his US empire to mirror those of his mentor and rivals. He doesn’t want to wait for old man Guzman to bequeath power to him; Salazar wants to set his own terms and seize it now while he’s a relatively young man.”

  “Pretty bold move and a good way to get himself wiped off the face of the map, if Guzman finds out,” Anthony replied, staring at Sage. He hadn’t meant his tone to sound like a challenge of her knowledge of the situation, but as soon as he’d finished the statement, he could tell from her body language that’s how she’d processed it.

  “I know this man well,” she retorted, drawing herself up to stand taller. “He’s gonna do the deal.”

  She allowed the simple reply to hang in the air, leaving no doubt that her insider knowledge as Salazar’s lover went deeper than any surveillance could ever convey. Why that grated on him, he wasn’t sure. But it did. And it made him temporarily stand down.

  This much he knew: Men only talked about their dreams to a trusted female source, men disclosed to that woman what they would never disclose to another man, and only if that woman had become more than a body in bed. He’d been there and also knew how it cut to the bone to be betrayed, which was why he’d personally vowed to never go there again.

  If Salazar had let Sage in that close, past all his criminal instinct and street smarts, Special Agent Sage Wagner was walking on a tightrope with no net. A betrayal of that level of trust for a man like Salazar was a death sentence for the woman who’d played him. Sage Wagner had to know that. Looking into her eyes, he could tell that she did.

  Maybe it was sheer hubris or courage or a combination of both, but her steely grit told him that she didn’t care. A nervous man was a dangerous man … but a fearless woman was lethal.

  “So,” Sage said, after waiting a beat to be sure there were no more challenges to her
leadership on the case, “that means all of Salazar’s drug capital will ultimately get converted into lucrative, legitimate holdings. I’m talking stocks, bonds, real estate, and manufacturing concerns, you name it … with sweetheart government contracts attached wherever he can get them for all his institutional-type business tentacles. The man has more accounts offshore than you can imagine, Captain, and even has his money in prison uniform manufacturing, institutional food processing plants, waste management, construction—he’s no fool, not by a long shot. Dude is smooth; does the local Chamber of Commerce events in black tie and makes significant anonymous donations to the candidates of his choice. We are talking about someone who is positioning himself for greatness.”

  “He’s come a long way from being a wild street punk doing drive-bys and turf wars. But this guy was smart—even as a kid. We could never directly pin anything on him or his brother. Anyone who might have talked always clammed up or wound up dead before we could get a statement.” Hank Wilson glanced at the other agents, his gaze lingering on Sage for a moment before he resumed.

  Anthony took a careful sip of his coffee, observing the DEA team. Hank Wilson was the boss, but obviously worried out of his mind for Sage—while at the same time trying not to treat her like a daughter or usurp her rank in front of an outsider. The kid, Dan, had a wide-open crush on his mentor agent that she seemed oblivious to. Regardless of the interdepartmental politics, he had a job to do and the information they were providing was invaluable.

  “That’s how they rose so fast in Guzman’s army. We’ve been tracking his deals through Special Agent Wagner,” Hank added with a nod toward Anthony, taking a loud slurp of his coffee. “Her work has been phenomenal. Knowing exactly where all of his holdings are will allow us to seize it all once we drop the hammer. Then this whole Assad wrinkle came on our radar and we held off taking Salazar down, trying to see where it led. It just keeps getting bigger. If the stars align correctly on this one, Captain, for the first time on US soil, we’ll have a wholesaler who is almost as wealthy as the main Colombian manufacturer. All of the drug enforcement and law enforcement agencies have a lot at stake here on this one, Captain—no disrespect to DELTA Force.”