2. Thad
Thad
We’d wasted damn near a week in Mexico on the hunt for a man who had information on Leon Brown. The intel was good, the man had been there, but we missed him. Zane Lewis, my boss, was pissed, Tex was annoyed, and Brooks was furious.
There were too many unanswered questions about our last operation in Saudi Arabia, a mission that had left Tatiana Miller close to death and the rest of the team in a gun battle fighting for our lives. Our location had been outed. Zane wanted answers.
Hell, we all did .
We believed Leon Brown, Tatiana’s old boss, had those answers.
The man had recruited Tatiana into an unknown organization.
She’d thought she’d been working with the CIA, but after some digging no one, not even Garrett, none of Zane’s powerful connections, nor the famous Tex could find a black-op team within the CIA that had been running the jobs Tatiana had worked on.
Black-ops or not there were always some breadcrumbs if you knew where to look.
Now we were back in San Diego to regroup .
A city that I’d once loved. A place I’d spent a decade trying to avoid.
“How many times during surf evo did you look over at the red roof of the Del and wish you were sitting where we are now?” Max asked.
I glanced around the oceanfront cottage.
The luxury was undeniable. Mustard-colored walls, mahogany tables, marble fireplace hearth, thick throw rugs over the wide-plank wood floors, an over-stuffed couch that looked like a man could stretch out, watch a game, then sleep like the dead on it was strategically placed in the center of the room.
You could sit and relax and watch your favorite show on the huge TV mounted above the fireplace, or look out one of the large windows that ate up the front of the villa giving you a view of the beach.
“Never,” I answered Max.
“Bullshit. Don’t know anyone who wasn’t lying out there with sand in their ass cracks, waves pounding them while they gulped saltwater, who wasn’t thinking about how great it would be to be sitting at the Del with a beer in hand,” he returned.
Maybe Max was right, but sitting at the Del was the last thing I’d been thinking about while I was at BUD/s.
All that was on my mind was survival. Day to day, minute to minute, second to second.
I didn’t have a single thought cross my mind other than winning.
If I didn’t win, I failed. And failure wasn’t an option.
I had nothing but the Navy and if I washed out of BUD/s I knew my life would be misery being stuck as an aviation mechanic.
So, no, I wasn’t one of the men who glanced over at the Hotel Del Coronado while I was getting my ass handed to me on the daily.
I wasn’t one of my classmates who allowed their mind to wander so they could make it through and not concentrate on the pain.
I embraced the suck, used the pain, and was comfortable with being uncomfortable.
I had to be, I had nowhere else to go.
“Maybe if your head was in the surf, you wouldn’t have almost choked to death,” Brooks razzed.
“Fuck you. I didn’t choke,” Max volleyed.
Max and Brooks had gone through BUD/s together. I’d been in the class before them and due to injury, Kyle rolled out into the class after them. Needless to say, all four of them knew all about the suck. We’d spent a lot of time in the surf on the beach to the left of the Del.
“Hope you assholes are ready, you’re headed to Venezuela,” Zane came into the room and announced.
“Did you get a lock on Leon Brown?” Kyle asked, and flicked off the news channel he’d been watching, giving Z his full attention.
“Not a good one. But word is Brown’s meeting with a man called Jefferson Garcia,” Zane answered.
“Who’s Jefferson Garcia?”
“Another piece of the puzzle. Jefferson Garcia—he uses the alias Jefferson Baldwin now. Him and his mother fled Brazil to Suriname, after a short stay they settled in Guyana. With no formal education he did what any street rat does to support his family, joined a gang. Garrett sent you all his dossier.”
Favoring my laptop over a tablet, I rummaged through my pack and pulled it out. By the time I had my computer booted up, the others were already scanning the files on their phones or iPads.
I sat at the kitchen table; Z took a seat across from me while the others remained scattered around the sitting area.
“He doesn’t look like a street rat,” Max noted.
Jefferson Garcia’s image loaded and I had to agree.
The man was wearing an expensive suit, fresh haircut that was perfectly styled, a gold watch on his left wrist peeked out from under the cuff of his jacket, and his loafers were polished to a brilliant shine.
Garcia wouldn’t win People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive, that was for sure, but he wasn’t the ugliest man I’d ever seen.
“His estimated worth is 2.1 billion?” The disbelief in Kyle’s tone couldn’t be missed. “Is he Omni?”
“Didn’t say he wasn’t a wealthy gang banger,” Z returned.
“And the answer is—maybe. Tex and Garrett found ties but if he is part of Omni, he’d be the only one we’ve found so far without legitimate business holdings.
” I scanned the document and Zane continued.
“In the 1990s, Guyanese street gangs lacked organization. Most still do. Garcia saw an opportunity and he seized it. He did his time with different criminal bands, learned what he needed to, then he formed his army. He organized. Low-level shit at first, mostly armed robberies, but the thefts netted him the working capital he needed. He bought the loyalty of the men he’d recruited and quickly started taking over neighborhoods and claiming territories.
Again, something the other gangs didn’t have the forethought to do. ”
Jefferson Baldwin may’ve lacked a formal education, but the man was savvy. According to the intel Garrett had sent over, most of the territories Garcia had locked down were along the waterfront, which meant he had control of the ports. His other stronghold was along the Venezuelan border.
“It says here,” Brooks started, “he only exports his cocaine to Europe.”
“Tex found that interesting, too. He dug around and what he came up with was, profitability. Less security in European ports of entry means more product makes it to its destination with little to no hassle,” Z explained.
“You don’t sound convinced,” I noted .
“I agree with Tex’s assessment but I also think Garcia’s a pompous asshole. I think trafficking only to Europe feeds his ego. Makes him feel sophisticated. His product serves the people he considers to be classy Europeans, not low-life American junkies.”
I finished reading the report and noted, “No arrests.”
“Told you, he bought loyalty. Not only with his men—he has arrangements with both the Guyana Police Force and with the Community Policing Groups. When he was organizing, part of that was him gathering information on members of the Ministry of Home Affairs who run the GPF and government officials belonging to the People’s Progressive Party—the majority party. ”
“Is this a capture or kill mission?” Max asked, still looking down at his tablet.
“Kill order on Garcia. Capture Brown if possible.”
“Roger that,” Max volleyed.
“What’s Garcia doing in Venezuela?” I inquired, not reading anything in his workup that told us what business dealing he had in that country.
“He flew in this morning to secure a stable of women. He always personally inspects his women before export.”
I couldn’t stop the snarl as it tore from my throat. “What the fuck?”
Max, Kyle, and Brooks all had matching looks of disgust.
“He’s a real sonofabitch,” Zane confirmed.
“After his inspection he’ll put them on his private yacht he keeps in Morrocoy.
They’ll head southeast a hundred miles to Caracas.
From there they’ll be placed in a cargo container, put on a freight liner, and sent across the Atlantic, most likely ending up in Spain. ”
“Christ. We’re talking about women not cattle,” I bit out.
“Livestock would be treated better. And we’re not talking about only women. We’re talking about girls. Most will be under fifteen.” Zane’s expression was blank.
I didn’t know how he did it. I’d seen a lot of fucked-up shit in my life.
I’d watched as fathers strapped suicide vests on their young daughters.
Mothers used their sons as shields when bullets were flying.
So much despicable shit it was a wonder I could sleep, but I’d never get used to it.
Not like Zane Lewis had. He’d perfected the art of pushing aside his personal feelings and burying them so deep you’d never get a lock on what he was really thinking.
“How long do we have?” Brooks inquired.
“According to the local informant, forty-eight hours. He’ll do his inspection today.
Tonight, he’s hosting a dog fight. Tomorrow night he’ll move the girls.
Declan is on his way back here with Tatiana and Ivy.
As soon as they get here, you’re gonna go meet with a woman Tatiana knows. Her name is Faith—”
“The woman who rescues pit bulls?” Max cut Zane off.
“Yeah. Considering none of us have ever been to a dog fight, I think her insight will be helpful. Your flight leaves at noon. Putting you in the Falcon state of Venezuela around eleven PM local time. You’ll go straight to the warehouse where the fight’s taking place.
There’ll be no time for surveillance. The main event begins at midnight. ”
“You headed back to Maryland today?” I asked, closing my laptop.
“Nope. Me and Ivy will stay here tonight. Last night of the babymoon.” He rolled his eyes at the expression.
“I still don’t understand what the fuck a babymoon is.
It’s a vacation, call it that. And now I’m told I have to buy Ivy a ‘push-gift’.
What in the actual fuck is that? I mean, she’s pushin’ my kid out of her crotch.
What do you buy a woman for that? Arnica gel? Bengay? A bottle of Tylenol?”
“Brother, you buy your woman Bengay as a gift for pushin’ your big-headed kid out she’ll cut off your balls. I suggest something heartfelt.” Max laughed.
“Though I’d pay money to see Ivy explode if Zane handed her a bottle of Tylenol and a thank you card after labor,” Kyle added on a chuckle.
I didn’t know anything about pregnancy, labor, or babies.
What I did know was Ivy deserved woman of the year for putting up with Zane’s daily sarcasm.
I also knew Zane was full of shit. He loved his wife and unborn child beyond reason and he’d happily go on any vacation she wanted to go on and call it whatever silly name she wanted to.
He’d also work himself to the bone to find the perfect gift to show her just how much he adored her and that baby.
“Yeah, you may be right. I should buy her a car.” Zane nodded as if it was a done deal and the over-the-top bastard had already resigned himself to the purchase.
“Who are you buying a car for?” Ivy asked when she walked in.
“No one, Baby. Did you find something to eat?” Zane stood and pulled Ivy into his arms.
A pang of jealousy hit my chest and I fought the urge to give in to the memories.
The good ones when everything had been perfect.
The ones of Emerson showing up at my place, before it had become our place, with a bag full of my favorite tacos from the truck outside of the base.
She’d let herself into the condo with a beaming smile and I’d look at her thinking there was never a more stunning woman than Emerson Pierce.
But things hadn’t been perfect.
She’d simply been a good liar.