“It will never happen again, señor.”
El Fantasma stood slowly. “Of that, I am certain.”
Miguel squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the bullet to come. He nearly jumped when he felt the hand pat his shoulder. “Go now. There is much to do.”
Miguel inhaled a deep but shaky breath. “Gracias, señor.”
“Do not thank me yet, Miguel. You will have plenty of opportunities to make it up to me.”
“Si, señor.”
23
Near Chapala, Mexico
A very nervous Diego Santiago paced beside one of the military trucks parked at the edge of the old runway. He knew that time had not been his friend. He had thickened considerably in the middle and his knees just weren’t what they used to be. The grey was heavy in his hair and beard and under his Panama hat, he was sweating far too much, even in the heat and humidity.
He stopped pacing as the door to the plane opened and the steps descended. He painted on his best “salesman” smile and stepped into the shadow of the plane. “My friends! It is so good to see you again!”
Lisa stepped off the plane and hefted a bag over her shoulder. “You might want to go a bit easier, Diego.” She looked over the top of her sunglasses and met his gaze. “Bridger okayed the deal but that doesn’t mean he’s ready to trust again.”
Diego’s face fell and he nodded solemnly. “I feared as much.”
She patted his shoulder firmly. “But hey, look at the bright side. He most definitely said we weren’t going to kill you, so…you have that.”
Diego gave her a nervous smile. “It’s a start, si?”
Gregg appeared in the doorway then immediately stepped back inside. “Oh, hell no. It’s hotter than the ‘stan out there.”
DJ gave him a firm push. “You’ll adjust.”
Gregg stumbled down the short stairs and groaned as soon as his feet touched the ground. “Christ. The crack of my ass is already sweating.”
Bridger appeared in the doorway and inhaled deeply. “It smells as bad as Colombia.”
DJ dropped his bag and ducked to access the plane’s belly storage. “It’s the humidity, Top. I’m telling ya, the ‘glades smell like this too.”
Mauk appeared by DJ’s side and began to stack the Pelican cases beside the plane. “Yo, Diego. Have your boys back the truck up here, wouldja?”
“Of course.” Diego’s eyes darted between the two working and Bridger, who stood like a flesh statue under his dark sunglasses.
Laughlin approached Bridger and lowered his voice. “This is a company plane. The pilot is telling me that he can’t remain.” He raised a brow at Bridger. “Ideas?”
Bobby sucked at his teeth for a moment then nodded. “Send him on.” He picked up his duffle and hoisted it over his shoulder. “If we survive this, either he can come back for us or we’ll call my boys and have them Uber our asses out of here.”
Laughlin’s face fell and he stepped toward the cockpit. He caught the pilot’s attention and, using hand signals, told him to give them five minutes, then leave. He already felt less secure knowing that their only real escape was about to take off.
The team made quick work of loading the cases and ensuring they were tied down properly. Diego took the opportunity to approach Bridger. “Things are escalating even as we speak.”
Bridger nodded slowly. “I’m sure Murillo knows we are coming for him.”
Diego gave him a confused look. “You do know that Murillo is dead, right?”
Bridger removed his sunglasses. “That’s what Laughlin keeps saying, too.”
Diego shrugged. “Because it’s true.”
“Then who’s running his organization?”
Diego took a deep breath and looked away. “Nobody seems to really know. There are rumors, but…”
“But what?”
He turned back and faced Bridger. “Some say it is his brother. Others say his sister. Some even say he had a son who took over. All we know is he is called El Fantasma. The ‘spirit.’”
“We caught wind of this ‘ghost,’ too.” Bridger sighed and stretched his neck. “But you’re telling me that after all of these years, nobody knows who exactly is behind the machete?”
Diego shook his head. “He has a man servant—his right hand. When he speaks, he speaks directly for El Fantasma. When he talks, others listen.”
“And who might this right hand be?”
Diego sighed heavily and wiped at the sweat on his forehead. “His name is Raul Ortega. From what little I’ve heard, he’s been with the Murillo cartel since he was a child. Worked his way up.”
“A real badass then.”
Diego scoffed. “Actually, he is not what you would expect.”
Bridger raised a brow. “How so?”
“He is small. He is slight. Balding. Glasses.” Diego chuckled. “From the looks of him, he couldn’t fight his way out of a day care.” He tapped his temple. “But he’s sharp. Like a fox, that one.”
Bridger watched as the team loaded the last of their supplies. “Could he be the one that is running the show?”
Diego shook his head. “No. He’s smart, but he’s not cunning. El Fantasma…now he is cunning. And ruthless.”
“Tell me something, Diego.”
“Anything, amigo.”
“Why would Murillo’s ghost wait for nearly twenty years to come after us?”
Diego exhaled slowly and shook his head. “I’ve asked. Once the Sparrow reached out to me, I made a few quiet inquiries.” He shrugged. “Nobody knows.”
Bridger growled deep in his throat. “There has to be a reason why he’d want to start a war now.”
Diego patted his belly. “Perhaps he thinks that you have gone soft and he can finally beat you?” He chuckled at his own joke then watched as Bridger’s mouth slowly dropped to a frown. “Or perhaps something has changed? Something he blames you and your team for?”
Mauk approached the pair. “We’re all set, boss.”
Bridger reached for the handle on the rear of the truck. “Load up. We need to establish a base of operation before the sun goes down.”
Langley Virginia
“Why weren’t we made aware of these?” Jameson asked as he closed the file on the Swarm Project. “You could fly
