“That said, Cruz told us that someone has given Clemente backing. He couldn’t have pulled this off without it. Now, that might just mean the Venezuelans—they’ve certainly funneled FARC and ELN plenty of support since Chavez took over in Caracas. But…”
“But the strange interest in just taking out Clemente, no questions asked, means that somebody on our side of the fence is dirty.” Burgess wasn’t asking a question, either.
“It would hardly be the first time, would it?” Brannigan had seen plenty of instances of American politicians with their hands in the cookie jar of drug dealers and human traffickers—and worse.
“At any rate, Cruz doesn’t think that just offing Clemente’s going to do much. I’m inclined to agree with him. So, depending on what intel Joe and Cruz can bring back, we’re going to see if we can set up the whole cabal to go down.”
There was some silence after that. “And what happens to us when our employer knows we’ve gone off the reservation?” Bianco sounded a little perturbed. And well he might. Most of them had lives outside of the mercenary profession, and while they often lived for the fight, the consequences if their employers turned on them could be disastrous.
“I’m working on that.” Actually, Santelli was working on their cover story more than he was, but that was part of why he’d had Santelli stay home. He and Hector Chavez were good at that particular dance, and they’d have a plan by the time the Blackhearts were ready to go loud on the ground. “We’ll be ready if they try something. And if I have anything to say about it, if they do, we’re going to turn their plan around and cram it right back down their throats.”
There wasn’t a whole lot more to say after that. They’d have to wait for Cruz and Flanagan. But in the meantime, as they sipped the scalding coffee that Pacheco’s wife had brought in for them, their host started opening the equipment cases. They needed to be ready to roll as soon as the time came.
Pacheco had amassed quite an arsenal. It couldn’t be legal—they’d all read up on Colombia’s strict gun laws before heading down there—but he was close enough to FARC/ELN territory, and probably had greased more than a few palms, not to mention wielded his Search Bloc history like a club, that plenty of the local authorities were probably turning a blind eye. Brannigan certainly hoped so.
Most of the rifles were Galil SARs, the old standard weapon of the Ejército Nacional de Colombia’s infantry. The Colombians had transitioned to the newer Galil ACE or the bullpup IWI Tavor, but there were plenty of the older Israeli weapons still floating around. These weren’t the modified versions with adaptors to take STANAG magazines, so there were plenty of the older, AK-style mags to go with them.
Curtis’s eyes gleamed as he hauled an IWI Negev light machinegun out of one of the bigger cases. “Ohh. I always wanted to give one of these a spin.” He looked down into the case. “Hey, Vinnie! There’s two of ‘em, so you don’t get stuck with a peashooter.”
“That’s assuming I didn’t just take that one.” Bianco was a good head taller than Curtis.
“Ha! You wish, nerd. I’d break your fingers.” He put the 5.56 belt fed down and rummaged through the ammo case. “Looks like we’ve got plenty of ammo, too.” He looked up at Pacheco. “You’ve got some serious balls, man.”
Pacheco just smiled.
Wade and Hank were pulling more gear out. “Looks like we’re going to be running old school. I don’t see any body armor.” Hank sounded a little uncomfortable at that, but Wade snorted.
“Body armor’s going to be more of a liability in the jungle and the mountains than a help, Junior.” He lifted one of the old, ‘90s-era load bearing vests. “These will do fine, as long as the mags fit.” That took a brief experiment that confirmed that the mags did, indeed, fit.
“Damn. Even night vision.” Burgess had opened yet another case. This one was full of old Pro-Tec bump helmets with NVG mounts and the green bags that carried PVS-14 night vision goggles and the necessary attachments. He looked up at Pacheco and frowned. “You’ve been ready for something like this for a long time.”
Pacheco just shrugged as he sipped his own coffee. “We live in a country that is plagued by corruption, where the central government often as not would rather bow to the guerrillas and the narcos for a false ‘peace’ than fight for a real one. The drug wars against Medellin, Cali, and Norte del Valle might be over, but only on the surface. There might be a truce with the FARC, but only on the surface. Things have been getting much worse as time goes on, and it pays to be ready.” There was an enigmatic look in his eyes as he took another sip. “I am not the only one.”
“Well, I’m just as glad you had this stuff. Getting it by other means could have gotten messy.” Wade was loading magazines.
