He nodded slowly as he reached for a cigar. “Perhaps a message should be sent to them.” He looked up over the edge of the cigar and eyed Raul. “Send the militias to their leader’s home. Have them ask nicely.” He broke into a slow and sinister grin. “Once.”
“As you wish.” Raul bowed slightly then backed away quickly. He prayed under his breath that the militia leader would come to his senses. It was only for a few days. Surely they could put differences aside long enough to do what needed doing. Especially for the amount of money that they were being offered.
He stepped out onto the veranda and nodded to the two other militia leaders. “El jefe wishes for the two of you to make a personal request on his behalf.” He narrowed his gaze at the two men. “Once.” He raised a brow and the message was clear.
The two men nodded then turned away.
Raul knew that by nightfall, either all three of the militias would be defending the villa or the region would from then on have to rely on just the two remaining militias.
16
Langley Virginia
Robert Ingram, Acting Director of F6, or the Special Collection Service of the NSA, pushed open the door and sauntered across the lush office. “You’ll never guess who I just got off the phone with.”
William Jameson, Director of the CIA’s Information Operations Center, leaned forward at his desk, peering over his glasses. “Ever hear of knocking, Robert?”
Ingram sat down directly across from him and raised a brow. “Aren’t you going to ask?”
Jameson sat back and carefully removed his glasses. “If I were to guess, it would be a certain Colonel from MacDill Air Force Base, yes?”
Ingram’s face fell. “Do you have my phones bugged?”
“No need.” Jameson sat back and crossed his hands in his lap. “He called me first. Just as I requested.”
Ingram sat forward, confusion painted across his features. “I wasn’t aware that you knew Jim.”
“I don’t.” Jameson leaned forward and tapped at the keyboard on his desk. “I put a flag on Mr. Bridger’s file.” He raised a brow at the man. “Before any asset is allowed into a secure military facility, they run a check. That individual is flagged, and I am notified immediately.”
Robert Ingram nodded slightly. “Ah. That’s how you keep tabs on your pet future asset.”
Jameson shrugged slightly. “That’s not the only way.” He sat back and sighed. “Did your friend happen to inform you of exactly what Bridger and his old Bravo unit are up to?”
Robert took a deep breath and nodded solemnly. “They’ve procured the layout to some drug lord’s compound. The SOCOM fellas are mocking it up while they’re in transit.”
Jameson squeezed his eyes shut and pinched at the bridge of his nose. “And did your colonel friend give you his assessment?”
Ingram nodded slightly. “Suicide mission.”
“Exactly.” Jameson came to his feet and stared out of the window of his office. “You realize we cannot allow that to happen.”
Ingram sat back and crossed his legs. “Do you want me to have the SOCOM boys deny them? Pull the plug on their little operation?”
Jameson sighed heavily and shook his head. “I’m not ready to let Mr. Bridger know that I have an interest in his well-being.” He turned slowly, a finger tapping at his chin. “I spoke with the base commander and it appears that Bravo’s ex-handler is involved in this. Unofficially, of course.”
“Of course.”
“But it was his boss that pulled some strings and called in some favors to make this happen.”
Ingram sat forward, his interest piqued. “Is this something we can use then? Have the handler’s boss call it off?”
Jameson shook his head. “No.” He turned back to his desk and took his seat again. “He’s one of mine.” He looked up and met Ingram’s gaze. “I don’t recall ever meeting the man personally, but his record is exemplary.” He sat back and rocked his chair slightly. “If he’s willing to do this for Bravo’s old handler when he knows the odds are stacked against him…” He trailed off, his mind going to dark places.
Ingram shifted nervously in his seat. “You realize that my hands are pretty much tied here. They’re doing this without official sanction.”
Jameson nodded. “Do either of us have any favors owed? Particularly by any Mexican assets?”
Ingram shrugged. “I’ll have to check my little black book and get back to you.”
“Please do.” Jameson eyed him cautiously. “While I don’t particularly care what happens to the others, I need Bridger to survive this. And I fear that the only way that will happen is if we call in support from a third party.”
“Understood.” Ingram stood and buttoned his suit coat. “I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.”
“Do hurry, Robert.” Jameson stood and poured himself a short drink. “I don’t know how long they plan to train for this little dust up they’re about to cause, but something tells me that time is not on our side.”
MacDill AFB, Florida
“Let’s run it again,” Bridger barked.
“Bobby.” Laughlin stepped beside him and lowered his voice. “Let them take a break. They haven’t eaten since we touched down, they’re exhausted, and they haven’t even stowed their gear.”
Bobby turned a steely eye to the smaller man. “You aren’t calling the shots any more Laughlin.” His voice was a low growl. “They’re seasoned professionals.”
“They’re also twenty years rusty, and the odds are stacked against you.” Both men turned to see a major in desert camo taking notes on a clipboard. The name “Blake" printed across his chest. “Just using the assets we were able to verify has them stopping you cold before you breach the inner courtyard.” He stopped writing and turned to the men. “Recent intelligence has the Murillo cartel hiring anybody that can pull a trigger and drawing them in to defend the compound.” He pointed the pen at Laughlin. “They know you’re coming.”
“They may suspect, but they’ll never see
