“But there’s still something weird about all of it. Sure, Bogota hasn’t been eager to fight the FARC or the ELN lately, and so locking horns with the Venezuelans might not be high on their to-do list, but for some reason they seem even more shy about Clemente and his Green Shirts. And most of them are the same people who threw him out two years ago.” Cruz shook his head thoughtfully. “No, I think there’s more to this.”
“What can you tell us about Clemente?” Brannigan asked.
“He’s a thug.” Cruz snorted. “Always has been. He comes from a decently connected family, and he always seemed to think that was enough to cover his ass. He’s been corrupt from the beginning, and got in trouble a lot for abusing his subordinates. Of course, he really was connected enough to keep getting promoted for all those years, but he finally got in bed with the wrong people, pissed off the wrong politicians, and got stripped of his rank and thrown out of the Army on his ear two years ago. Then he shows up with a small army, takes over San Tabal, starts tearing down the nearby farms to convert them to coca production, and nobody will lift a finger.”
“Well, nobody until now.” Brannigan let the words hang in the air for a moment.
Cruz studied the two Blackhearts for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “Maybe this is where you tell me exactly why you’re here, and what you think you need from me.”
Brannigan leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Someone wants Clemente dead. They also want it to happen in a very specific place, at a very specific time. We’re here to do some preliminary reconnaissance, to see if it’s feasible to off Clemente and see this whole ‘Green Shirt’ thing you mentioned go away.”
But Cruz was already shaking his head. “Clemente’s the figurehead, and maybe something of a leader, but he doesn’t have the charisma to have pulled this all together by himself. He might think he did, and someone might be using him as a commander, but he doesn’t have the kind of personality that men will follow without an established rank structure having put him in command.” His eyes narrowed as he stared into the dark, thinking.
“You think that if we off him, somebody else in his organization will just take his place?” Flanagan’s voice was low and quiet. He hadn’t said much since they’d arrived, and now he was sitting back from the lantern, letting Brannigan take most of the attention and ask most of the questions.
Cruz nodded. “Either that, or the Venezuelans will move in to ‘restore order.’” He grimaced. “They’re a lot closer than the Army right now.”
The two Blackhearts traded a look. They didn’t know who in Washington DC had ordered this mission, but it was getting sketchier and more suspicious by the minute.
Cruz rubbed his chin. “I will be honest, amigos, this sounds like one of those bright ideas that a politician thought up to buy himself some glory, all without putting in the effort. Even the cartels with flashy capos in charge don’t disintegrate overnight when the capo gets killed or captured. And these Green Shirts, from what I’ve heard, are even more fanatical than any regular narcos. Many of them were narcos, but a lot more were FARC. Diego Galvez, Clemente’s right hand? He was a FARC revolutionary, one of the ones who denounced the organization for caving to the government when the ceasefire was signed, no matter that the ceasefire has benefited the FARC a lot more than it has the rest of Colombia.”
“You think he’d take over if Clemente bit it?” Brannigan mused.
“It’s possible. He’s got the force of personality, even if he’s more feared than respected.” Cruz didn’t bother to hide his disgust. “The man wants to top Che Guevara. And he just might do it, if he gets the chance.”
Brannigan watched Cruz, his own expression unreadable, slowly stroking his mustache as he thought.
This could be any number of things. The easy interpretation is exactly what Cruz thinks—that somebody high up wants to score some points and thinks that he can defuse this situation with one ambush, then reap the rewards as Clemente’s little coup crumbles. We’ve certainly seen it before. Most of the people making decisions in DC that lead to these little deniable operations don’t have the experience or the knowledge to know what they’re doing. A combination of hubris and naivete. Dangerous as hell.
But Cruz is right. Something’s even more off about this. Unfortunately, I can’t tell exactly what it is.
We need more intel.
“What kind of information is actually getting out of San Tabal?” he asked. “If the takeover is as thorough as you say it is…”
“Not a lot. That’s not helping to expedite any response, either.” Cruz was watching Brannigan carefully, though. He could tell where this was going.
“So, since you’ve got as much knowledge about Clemente and his cabal as you do, can I assume that means you have contacts in the area?” Brannigan studied Cruz with equal intensity, and saw the faint glint in his eyes.
“I might.” A faint, hard grin spread across the other man’s face. “Are you going to need weapons and gear, too?”
Brannigan returned the grin. “I believe we have an understanding, Señor Cruz.”
Chapter 8
Galvez could hear Clemente
