1. The Man Who Doesn’t Exist #2
Security work.
Underground street racing.
Private driving jobs.
Questionable clients.
Chris looked at Mercer.
“Street racer?”
“We needed to explain your driving.”
“You could’ve said NASCAR.”
Sloan almost smiled.
“We were going for believable.”
Chris looked offended.
Mercer continued.
“Roman has a reputation as someone who can drive, fix almost anything with an engine, handle himself around weapons and keep his mouth shut.”
“So basically me with worse employment prospects.”
“Essentially.”
Chris closed the folder.
“How do I get in?”
“We have an informant connected to one of Vargas’s legitimate automotive businesses. Roman starts there.”
“And then?”
“You make yourself useful.”
“To Mateo?”
“Eventually.”
Chris’s eyes returned to Vargas’s photograph.
“How long?”
“We don’t know.”
“Months?”
“Probably.”
“A year?”
“Possible.”
Chris gave them a look.
“That’s comforting.”
Sloan moved beside him.
“This isn’t a quick operation, Walker. Mateo has layers around him. We need suppliers, transportation, distribution, money. Most importantly, we need evidence tying Mateo himself to decisions.”
Chris’s attention moved along the board.
“Objective?”
“Dismantle the organization.”
“That’s broad.”
“Identify supply lines. Distribution networks. Financial infrastructure. Major players. Warehouses. Routes. And establish Mateo’s direct involvement.”
Chris nodded slowly.
Nothing about it sounded impossible.
Difficult.
Extremely dangerous.
But not impossible.
He’d done deep cover before.
He knew what it required.
No badge.
No normal life.
No mistakes.
You didn’t pretend to be somebody else for a few hours.
You became them.
You learned what they ate.
What they drank.
How they walked.
Who they hated.
What made them laugh.
What made them afraid.
And eventually, if you were good enough, everybody around you forgot there had ever been anyone else.
Sometimes you did too.
Chris’s gaze shifted toward another photograph.
He stopped.
A woman.
She was exiting a restaurant beside a black SUV.
Long dark hair.
Olive-toned skin.
Large brown eyes turned slightly toward the camera.
Elegant without appearing to try.
She wasn’t smiling.
Chris stepped closer.
There were several photographs of her.
At a charity event.
Walking through an outdoor market.
Getting into a vehicle.
Standing beside Mateo.
In that one, Mateo had a hand against her back.
Chris pointed.
“Who’s she?”
Sloan looked.
“Camila Vargas.”
“Relation?”
“Mateo’s younger sister.”
Chris kept studying her.
“Cartel?”
“No evidence she’s involved.”
“What does she do?”
“Not relevant.”
Chris glanced back.
“If she’s Mateo’s sister and she’s on an intelligence board, she’s relevant.”
Sloan crossed her arms.
“She isn’t operationally involved as far as we know. Mateo keeps her separated from the business.”
“Does she know what he does?”
“Probably enough to know not to ask questions.”
Chris looked again.
“Age?”
“Twenty-seven.”
He glanced at Sloan.
“You’ve got a complete file on her and you’re telling me she’s not relevant.”
“We have files on everyone Mateo cares about.”
“Meaning she’s leverage.”
“No.”
The answer came sharply.
Chris looked at her.
Sloan crossed the room.
She reached up.
Removed Camila’s photograph from the board.
Then placed it facedown on the table.
“Then remember that.”
Chris’s expression tightened.
“Meaning?”
Sloan stepped closer.
“She’s not an asset.”
Chris said nothing.
“She’s not leverage.”
Still nothing.
“And she’s definitely not someone you get involved with.”
Chris stared at her for several seconds.
Then looked down at the photograph lying facedown between them.
A faint smile touched one corner of his mouth.
“You give that speech to everybody going undercover?”
“Only the ones with your history.”
Mercer coughed into his hand.
Chris looked over.
“What history?”
Mercer raised his eyebrows.
“You really want us to answer that?”
“I’m incredibly professional.”
Three people stared at him.
Chris sighed.
“Fine.”
Sloan picked up Camila’s photograph and returned it to the wall.
“You’re being placed inside a violent criminal organization. Your job is Vargas. Not his sister. Not anybody else in his family.”
Chris looked at Mateo.
Then back at Camila.
“No problem.”
Sloan studied him.
Chris finally turned away from the board.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“I’ve met you.”
Chris picked up the Roman file.
“I’m going undercover to dismantle an international narcotics organization, not find a girlfriend.”
Mercer stood.
“Good.”
Chris headed toward the door.
Then stopped.
He looked back at the wall one last time.
Mateo Vargas occupied the center.
Everything around him connected outward like a spiderweb.
Money.
Businesses.
Drugs.
Violence.
People.
And just off to the side was Camila.
The one person Sloan had specifically told him not to touch.
Chris looked away.
“Roman starts when?”
Mercer answered.
“Tomorrow.”
Chris nodded.
The door buzzed.
He stepped into the corridor.
Special Agent Chris Walker had less than twenty-four hours left to exist.
Tomorrow there would be no federal badge in his pocket.
No government vehicle.
No Chris Walker answering his phone.
There would only be a mechanic with a criminal history, a talent for driving too fast, and enough darkness in his manufactured past to convince Mateo Vargas that he belonged in his world.
Chris Roman.
A man who didn’t exist.
And somewhere inside that world was a woman Chris had already been warned never to make part of the operation.
A woman whose photograph he could still see perfectly after the door closed behind him.
Camila Vargas.
Chris shook his head and walked away.
No problem.
Not even remotely.
At least, that was what he believed on the last night before everything went wrong.