Ingram whistled low. “A killer drone?” He laughed out loud. “As if Predators weren’t bad enough. Now they’ve gone and miniaturized them.”
“Much, worse than that, Robert.” Jameson suddenly appeared worried. “These are smaller than a basketball. Stealthy quiet.” He swallowed hard and felt a cold sweat start to form. “They have suppressed 9MM armament and a C4 core. If they can’t shoot their target, they can act like a landmine…only in the air.”
“That sounds more like an assassin’s tool.”
Jameson tried not to imagine the cartel getting their hands on such an instrument. “Indeed. That they are, Robert.”
Ingram turned to his mentor. “And Bridger is going to be using these on the Murillo cartel?”
Jameson took a deep breath and nodded slowly. “I believe that is his plan.” He tried to push the idea of these devices being under criminal control out of his mind. “Let’s just hope that he doesn’t accidentally lose any of them while he’s traipsin’ around Mexico.”
“I think if I were you I would reconsider how you intend to deal with the cartel.” Ingram raised a brow at him. “Perhaps you should consider keeping your end of the bargain.”
Near Chapala, Mexico
Miguel stood stiffly in the doorway. “Señor, I told him to make the call.” He stared straight ahead, not daring to look the cartel boss in the eye. “At the time, we did not know who we were dealing with. They had already killed Luis and his crew.” He swallowed hard and clenched his jaw to keep it from shaking. “I vouch for Ricardo, señor.”
El jefe stood from behind his desk and walked slowly towards the barrel chested man. “You know that this organization has been infiltrated by the Americans before, si?”
Miguel looked down and met his gaze. “I did not know this.”
“Oh, it’s very true.” He pulled a cigar from the humidor on his desk and snipped the end. He glanced at Miguel and noted the sweat forming on his forehead. “The Americans sent in a mole.” He lit a match and held it to the end of the cigar, puffing gently and forming blue grey clouds of smoke. Dropping the match he stepped back towards Miguel. “This mole worked his way deep into the organization and do you know what Señor Murillo did?”
“No, Jefe, I don’t.”
El Fantasma smiled, and it didn’t reach his eyes. “Señor Murillo presented this mole with a gift.” He puffed the cigar and blew smoke towards Miguel. “A gold plated pistola.”
Miguel’s face twisted in confusion. “Jefe?”
He pulled back the edge of his coat and revealed a gold and silver plated pistol nestled snugly in a shoulder holster. He slowly drew it and the heft of it in his hand surprised him. He was used to wearing it, but so seldom actually held it in his hand. “This pistola.”
Miguel swallowed hard and nodded slightly. “It is beautiful.”
“Si, it is.” El Fantasma locked eyes with Miguel and slowly lifted the pistol. “Do you know what he did next?”
Miguel shook his head nervously. “No, señor.”
“While the mole’s men stood nearby, and without anybody’s knowledge, Murillo pulled the pistola from the beautiful, hand carved, wooden presentation box and shot the mole.” He tapped Miguel’s chest. “Right here. En el corazón.”
Miguel tried to swallow but found that his throat had gone dry. “Señor, I swear. Ricardo is no mole. I have known him and his familia since we were—”
“That is not the point.” El Fantasma slipped the weapon back into his holster and sighed. “You should have told me that you had him make inquiries.” He sighed heavily and shook his head. “Now, because of your actions, people in their government may be alerted to our activities.”
Miguel gave him another confused look. “Señor?”
He sighed and sat on the edge of his desk. “My contacts in the American government have legitimate dealings in our country. Nobody thinks twice if they make inquiries because it is part of their jobs.” He spat a small speck of tobacco from his lip and came to his feet. “But you…” He forced himself to take a deep, cleansing breath. “You have your amigo call a woman of low moral character and have her make inquiries on your behalf.”
“The files sent to us didn’t cover—”
“Did I ask you a question, Miguel?” He watched the larger man stiffen, his head shaking. “I did not. Therefore, I require no response on your part.” He moved back behind his desk and carefully took his seat again. “You took it upon yourself to go behind my back and contact an agent of a foreign government and request information on your targets.” He slowly shook his head. “Because YOU felt that I had not supplied you enough on them. Si?”
Miguel appeared defeated and lowered his head. “Si, señor.”
“Tsk-tsk-tsk.” El Fantasma sighed and leaned back in his chair. “What should I do with you, Miguel?”
“I cannot say, señor.”
“On the one hand, if I let this go, then everyone else will feel free to question my orders. Perhaps decide that they also need ‘more information,’ and reach out to the wrong people. Those people tell somebody else and before you know it, everybody knows my business before I do.” He glared at the man. “On the other hand, if I make an example of you, I might drive home the message to our people but I lose a mighty fighter…and with a war looming….” He laid the cigar in a crystal ashtray and crossed his fingers in front of his face. “What to do, what to do?”
“What you must, señor.” Miguel’s voice was soft but firm. “I am sorry I have failed you.”
“It was not your failure that bothers me, Miguel. It was that you went behind
