“Señor Lara, we’re here to help liberate San Tabal from the Green Shirts.” Wade let his rifle hang as Galán shut the front door and Burgess took up security on the window next to it. “Well, technically we were hired just to kill Clemente, but my boss thinks that we should actually make it a proper liberation, which means taking control of the city instead of just killing the Green Shirts’ leader and letting things sort themselves out. Since you’re a former mayor, and according to Señor Fuentes here, one of the most respected men in the valley, we’ve come to secure your help.”
“How many men have you brought?” Lara’s English was accented but understandable. Wade had been somewhat surprised how many people in this remote corner of Colombia spoke English.
“We brought a small team of specialists.” That sounded better than “mercenaries.” “We’re prepared to help train and lead your people against the Green Shirts. We have access to weapons—and we can get more from the Green Shirts as we proceed.”
Lara, apparently deciding that they weren’t, in fact, there to kill him, sat down at Galán’s table. “You are asking a lot. The National Army should have come to intervene here. We sent messages when we could, both before and after the coup. There was no reply.” He waved to indicate the whole valley. “These people are farmers and craftsmen. They’re not soldiers.”
Wade let that go, knowing how close they were to FARC and ELN territory. He’d be willing to bet that there were more killers in San Tabal than Lara wanted to admit.
“The National Army is worried about the Venezuelans. They’ve got a short brigade on the other side of the border.” He hadn’t heard solid numbers on the Venezuelan army presence, but that sounded about right for a small city in the jungle. “They don’t want to risk a war with Venezuela, especially since they’re pretty sure that the former FARC and ELN fighters will probably join the Venezuelans.” He spread his hands. “You and the locals are going to have to step up, or else spend the rest of your lives toiling for Clemente and his cronies.”
Lara glanced at Fuentes and spoke in Spanish. Fuentes replied calmly, motioning toward Wade and Hank. Wade couldn’t make out all the Spanish, but he gathered that Fuentes was telling Lara how the Blackhearts had liberated his farm.
He’d barely finished when Burgess called out. “Hey, gents? I think we’d better get ready to move or fight, right now. We’ve got company coming.”
Chapter 17
The mansion was lit up like a Christmas tree, complete with spotlights on every corner. Flanagan looked back at Gomez and Javakhishvili. “Looks like Ballesteros is getting paranoid.”
“From what Fuentes told us, that’s not that surprising. The man’s an opportunist, not a true believer. If he thinks things are starting to get out of control…” Javakhishvili shrugged. “Guys like him might do some pretty bad shit when they think there’s no risk to them, but as soon as the plan starts to go wrong, they freak out. If he’s part of Clemente’s inner circle, then he must have heard about the patrol we took out. That might be enough to spook him.”
Flanagan nodded as he continued to study the mansion set into the hillside overlooking San Tabal. It was somewhat small for a “mansion,” but it was obviously a particularly expensive house for that part of Colombia. A two-story block of whitewashed plaster and glass, it sat against the hillside, overlooking a wide, green lawn that was currently dotted with hasty defensive emplacements built from partially dug-in sandbags and barbed wire. The spotlights weren’t well placed or aimed, and some of them backlit the defenses rather than shining out on the jungle at the periphery. Two trucks were parked on the driveway, where more Green Shirts with weapons leaned against the cabs or stood in the beds, looking out at the road. The whole compound was surrounded by a six-foot fence, topped with barbed wire angled outward forty-five degrees.
“I make about a heavy squad, and that’s just outside.” There were a couple of angles they couldn’t see from up on the ridgetop, but most of those were alongside a nearly sheer drop on the other side of the house.
“If what Fuentes told us was right, he’s not likely to have a lot of security on the inside. This guy’s a bigwig, and apparently a high roller. He liked to flaunt his money and what it could get him before the revolution. He’s not the kind to let the hoi polloi into his house.” Javakhishvili snorted. “The gunmen might get his carpets dirty.”
“That may be, but that’s not something we can absolutely bank on if he’s running scared. He might have decided that the extra security is worth it.” Flanagan wasn’t a believer in assuming that the enemy was going to be stupid. That was an assumption that usually resulted in an op going sideways before it had even begun. He got down below the ridge and looked at his little assault team.
Curtis and Bianco had humped their Negevs up the ridge, and Bianco was now covering back the way they’d come, while Curtis had joined Flanagan and Javakhishvili on the crest of the ridge. Gomez was slightly below, watching their flank.
“Okay. Machinegunners will stay up here on overwatch. Make sure you get some separation, so you can cover more ground, and one of you needs to have a good field of fire on that road leading up to the place. The rest of us are going to move down to that big clump of trees that they let grow right up to the fence.” Flanagan couldn’t quite keep the contempt out of his voice. Ballesteros might be paranoid enough that he’d called in a good-sized fraction of the Green
