Mauk turned in the seat and gave him a dirty look. “You raised in a barn?” He swatted at his boot. “And if Bobby says he saw Mario, then he saw Mario.”
Lisa shook her head in denial. “No. I can’t believe that he would turn against us.” She spun around and pointed at Bridger. “He wouldn’t send shooters to my family’s house!”
Bridger held a hand up. “I’m telling you what I saw. Yeah, he’s a bit grayer and a bit thicker in the middle, but I’m telling you, it was Mario.”
Laughlin stared at the group with disdain. “So, after all this time of blaming me and nearly flushing my career, you find out that your buddy Mario was a traitor.” He scoffed, “Sounds about right.”
Lisa spun on him, fire in her eyes. “You’re still a piece of shit in my book, Laughlin. You hung him out to dry and—”
“He was YOUR asset first!” Bridger cut her off before she burned the bridge entirely. “You had him inserted with Murillo before any of us were even recruited for this fuckshow.”
“He had to gain their trust.” Laughlin didn’t mean to sound defensive, but his voice betrayed him. “You don’t just walk into a Colombian drug cartel and drop a fuckin’ resume on the table and ask for a job.”
“Well, somehow they got to him,” Gregg stated flatly. “Either he started out in their pocket and you somehow missed it in the screening, or they got leverage on him and—”
“You don’t get leverage on somebody and then they end up running the show,” Bridger stated. “No, if Mario is Murillo’s ghost then…he had to volunteer for it. He sold himself out to Murillo and the cartel used him.” He turned slowly and met Matt’s gaze. “They used his intel against us.”
Laughlin shook his head. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that Mario sold us out. He fed the cartel the real info then relayed bullshit to us.” He turned and faced the others. “The cartel was using us to do their dirty work.”
Lisa shook her head adamantly. “No. He wouldn’t do that.”
“But he did do that,” Bridger replied softly. “For whatever reason, Mario sold out to them and they used his connections to us.” He locked eyes with her. “It makes sense. Most of our operations were against the other cartels. After we leveled Murillo’s airstrips, Mario said that they dried up. He said that they were barely minor players. We didn’t question him. We just went with what he fed us.”
Gregg sighed as he added, “And we spent most of the rest of our time going after the others. Lisa, it makes sense.”
She continued to shake her head, her mind refusing to accept the facts. “No. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.”
“He did.” Bridger laid a hand on her shoulder and she slapped it away.
“I need more than a shaky ID made through a scope at three hundred yards.”
“One fifty,” DJ corrected.
“What-the-hell-ever.” Lisa plopped into the seat and stared out the window of the company jet. “I’m still not buying it.”
“The question now is,” Laughlin stood between the pair. “Where do we go from here? Even if we had the resources of the agency behind us, there’s no way we could track him. He’d be burrowed in so deep that it would take a bunker buster to get him out again.”
“That’s IF we could find him,” Gregg added. “It’s not like they filed a flight plan when they took off.”
Bridger nodded knowingly. “He came after us once.” He eyed them each carefully. “I’d bet dollars to doughnuts he’ll do it again. Whatever Mario has stuck in his craw, this ain’t over.”
“I’m telling you, it’s not him,” Lisa growled.
“Fine. You can ask him if he’s a clone when he comes to blow your brains out.” Bridger turned to the others. “I say we find a place where we can dig in and have a fighting chance of repelling whatever he sends after us.”
DJ shook his head. “I ain’t going back to those frozen mountain cabins again. I’ll fight them in the ‘glades one on one if I have to.”
“I was thinking something a little more middle ground.” He turned to Mauk and grinned. “I have a place in mind.”
Laughlin stood from his seat. “Where do I tell the pilot we’re going?”
Bridger sat down and leaned the seat back. “Take us to Dallas. We can drive from there.”
Langley Virginia
“Sir?” The satellite operator peered through the open door.
Director Jameson looked up from his computer. “What have you found?”
“The plane we tracked from the compound landed in Mexico City. We watched a single party disembark while the craft refueled.”
“Did it take off again?”
The tech nodded. “It’s headed north, towards Laredo, Texas.”
Jameson considered the myriad of possibilities. “Anything else?”
“Yes, sir. Your asset is on another plane. A company plane. They’re headed back to the states.”
Jameson felt a flood of relief at the news and chuckled to himself. “He’s a fucking cockroach, I tell ya. I don’t think a nuke could kill him.”
“Sir?”
“Nothing.” Jameson leaned forward and pointed at the man. “Track both planes. I want to know the moment the asset touches American soil and where.”
“And the other plane, sir?”
“I want to know where it goes and who is on it. Use ground assets if you have to.”
The satellite tech squirmed. “Um, sir? I don’t have that authority.”
“You do now.” Jameson glared at the man. “Contact any Homeland field offices near where that plane intends to land and have them put boots on the ground. My order, you got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Scoot. I have work to do.” He watched the tech scramble to leave and sat back in his chair. “Oh, Bridger. What can of worms have you kicked over this time?”
He reached for the phone and picked it up. A moment later, Robert Ingram answered. “Bridger’s alive.”
“How?” He couldn’t hide the surprise in his voice.
“I’ve no
