“I want you here for the brief, but under the circumstances, with your family and Sam’s situation, I want you to stay back and handle logistics and information support.” He paused for a moment, and Santelli heard him sigh a little. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, Carlo. I’m not just doing this because I think you need to take some down time. We’ve been leaving a lot of our support to offices and people we can’t see. I want somebody back here who’s one of us, who can be the first point of contact if things go bad. We’ve been out in the wind without a parachute for eight missions, now. We should have known better. I should have known better, and made better arrangements. The fact that you’ve got a family to worry about and Sam just moved in down the street just puts you in the best position.”
Santelli hated himself a little for the wave of relief that passed through him. He knew that he’d hate himself even more after the Blackhearts left. But Brannigan was right. Azerbaijan had been extremely hairy. Building more of a support network was long overdue.
“Roger that, sir. I’ll be there.”
Chapter 5
The fire crackled in the middle of the little campsite. It was the only sound in the aftermath of Brannigan’s summation of the situation and the mission.
Wade finally leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Well, now. ‘Be at this spot at this time, whack this guy, and don’t ask questions.’ That’s not suspicious at all.” He shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m fine with murdering a Communist dictator, whatever he’s done, but this really sounds like a setup.”
“We’re almost certain that it is, in fact, a setup.” Brannigan took a deep drag on his cigar and blew the cloud toward the treetops. “But as I said, we’re also pretty sure that we can’t just say, ‘No,’ without some serious repercussions. Which is why we’re meeting almost three weeks before the planned time on target and making contingency plans.”
“I’ve been digging already.” Santelli wasn’t sitting on one of the log rounds—he’d brought a camp chair so he could lean back while he sat by the fire. “This Clemente character hasn’t been on anyone’s radar up here before now. Hell, he barely is now. I found one mention of San Tabal or any kind of takeover in the media, and that was some small, alternative online newspaper. It’s like nobody cares.”
“If this is so minor, and this guy’s such a nobody, then why is somebody in DC so keen to see him get whacked?” Burgess had also brought his own chair, and was sprawled in it, stroking his short beard thoughtfully as he stared at the flames. “It don’t add up.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Brannigan looked around at the rest of the Blackhearts. “Which is why Van Zandt gave us some extra warning. We need to get in and run some reconnaissance before the hit’s supposed to go down. We’re on a relatively short timeline, here—not that that’s anything new.” A low, humorless chuckle went around the fire. None of the Blackhearts’ missions had allowed for anything like a generous amount of preparation time.
“Van Zandt’s office is arranging charter flights. Originally, it was going to be all of us in one go, but we’ve since arranged for two flights. Joe and I will go in first and do our initial reconnaissance. The rest will fly in two days later.”
“What about weapons?” Wade was usually their self-appointed weapons guy.
“We’ll have to sort that out on the ground, unfortunately.” Brannigan had fully expected the grimaces that went around the fire. “Whoever’s behind this little game, they don’t want official American fingerprints on this, so they’ve put all of it in our court. Full deniability.”
“Getting weapons in Colombia’s going to mean dealing with some shady characters.” Flanagan kept his voice even, but Brannigan knew he was remembering Dubai. “I doubt that Colombia has regular gun stores, never mind the kind we can find in, say, Texas.” The Blackhearts had gotten most of the hardware for the Tourmaline Delta op in an ordinary gun store in south Texas. Santelli, being from Boston, had been mildly shocked at what kind of weaponry they could get over the counter there. Happy, but shocked.
“They don’t.” Santelli had already been looking into it. “There’s no way you’re getting weapons outside of the black market there. The Colombian Army has a monopoly on legal gun sales, all weapons have to be registered with them, permits are required, and only Colombian citizens can get a permit.” He folded his thick arms over his barrel chest. “We might need to lean on Van Zandt to include some weapons. Charter flights should make it easier, especially since he’s got full control over the birds. They should have some smuggling compartments, or something.”
Brannigan shook his head. “I’ve brought it up. The birds still have to get through Customs, and apparently the crews are fine with moving spies and operators around, but don’t want to run the risk. They won’t fly with weapons aboard.”
“Great.” Curtis was leaning against a tree. “So, how is Joe going to make a deal with the cartels or the FARC without starting World War Three? I think you need somebody who’s a little bit better with people.”
“Like who?” Flanagan looked over with a raised eyebrow. “The guy who dates crazy chicks who try to stab him, or the guy who ends up hiding out in a hotel from the local mob?”
“That is below the belt, Joseph. Two incidents do not invalidate all the other times I’ve glided through all levels of society and charmed the pants off supermodels, millionaires, and all kinds of other people.” Curtis huffed.
“’Charmed.’ Is that the word?” Flanagan grinned. “Not what I’d use, given some of your history. I at least
