“That doesn’t mean we just have to take every Good Idea Fairy mission that comes along.” Brannigan’s voice was as hard and unforgiving as his stare. “We’re contractors, not employees or sworn agents.”
“And I’d agree with you, if this particular politico wasn’t a very powerful and very unscrupulous asshole.” Van Zandt sighed again. “We don’t have much of a choice on this one, John.”
“Who is it?”
Van Zandt’s glance got suddenly sharp, as he detected the threat implicit in Brannigan’s tone. “Don’t even think about it, John. There’s no scaring this one into line. Not now.”
“Who. Is. It?” Brannigan was relentless.
Another sigh. “It’s a Senator. One with a chair on the Intelligence Committee, who can cause us a lot of difficulties if we give him a reason. And it has been made abundantly clear to me that turning this mission down will be considered that reason. You might have been in the right—we might have been in the right—but that won’t stop him from digging us up and finding something to nail us all to the wall. And given the generally illegal and under-the-table nature of your missions, that isn’t going to be hard.” He sighed. “Hell, all he’s got to do is get wind of that business down in New Mexico, and you’re screwed.”
Brannigan’s silence was thunderous. His knuckles whitened around his coffee cup. He stared at the map, searching it for a way out.
Because he knew that Van Zandt was right. They’d run that risk as soon as they’d taken on the Khadarkh job. Mercenary operations in foreign countries were not something that American politicians liked to go public. They were embarrassing, despite how many other countries did it without even bothering to shrug. That made them a political weapon, never mind how justified they might have been.
And it made Brannigan’s Blackhearts targets.
Van Zandt steepled his fingers and lowered his voice. “Now, before you lose your temper, hear me out. There’s more to this than meets the eye. Like I said, it’s sketchy as hell, and it has me very suspicious. I’ve dealt with this particular Senator before. Calling him an arrogant jackass is an insult to arrogant jackasses the world over. And I say that as one of them.”
Brannigan raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn’t comment. He’d never heard Van Zandt be self-deprecating before.
“I guaran-damn-tee he’s got some kind of angle going here. I don’t know what it is, yet, but the fact that we got a canned plan—all the way down to the timeline, ambush site, and everything—tells me a lot. He wants Clemente dead, and no questions asked. Well, he apparently thinks that your little hit squad is just that—a no questions asked hit squad. And he’s arrogant enough that he figures that we’ll just go along with the plan because we don’t want to be exposed.”
He jabbed a finger at the paper that Brannigan still hadn’t read. “We’ve got three weeks before this is supposed to go down. That’s a lot of time, if you get moving now. Plenty of time for reconnaissance.” He leaned forward. “Possibly enough time to learn what has the Senator so interested in one man’s death.”
Brannigan’s eyes narrowed, but he held his peace. He could kind of see Van Zandt’s point. If the Senator was on the Intelligence Committee, and therefore had some access to whatever shadowy office Van Zandt worked for, he might be able to blackmail both Van Zandt’s people and the Blackhearts to do this. For certain, not all of their operations had been sanctioned and aboveboard—and even if they had been, Brannigan had enough experience under his belt to know that politicians really didn’t care about such things. If they wanted, they could turn a legit mission into a perceived rogue operation overnight. He’d seen it done before.
Hell, it was why he was retired.
“We might have to take this mission.” Van Zandt was in earnest. “But there’s nothing saying we’ve got to be patsies.” He jabbed a finger at the map. “Get in there and do what you do best. If nothing else, you should be able to find out what the Senator’s interest is, and we can adjust as needed from there.” He grinned like a death’s head. “If we’re really lucky, we’ll be able to use that interest against him. He’s got to have a reason why he doesn’t want you doing anything but flying in, setting charges, blowing up one vehicle, and leaving.”
Brannigan thought about it, finally sipping his coffee. It had cooled, though Mama Taft always served it scalding hot to begin with, so it wasn’t cold.
As much as he hated to admit it, Van Zandt was right. He’d seen it before. The only reason that this Senator—and he had a pretty good idea who it was—might risk something like this would be because he figured that he had the Blackhearts—and Van Zandt’s office—over a barrel. Such people always thought they were untouchable. And if they turned it down, he had no doubt that the FBI would be knocking on their doors within the week.
He wouldn’t apologize for anything they’d done. They’d been on the right side, even if the law could technically be brought to bear against them for any of their past operations. He’d made sure of that. They were warriors, not thugs.
But he had a responsibility to the other Blackhearts. He might be an aging widower who could stand to go to prison if that was the price for doing the right thing. But many of the others weren’t. Flanagan was due to get married before the end
