Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,151

guy? He’s a SEAL, for hell’s sake. My man worked with him in Brazil. Not yours.”

“I asked first,” Alex deadpanned, “and I pay more. You might be black world, but you’re still civil service, Senator.”

“You’re a greedy son of a bitch, you know that?”

“I’ve been called worse.”

But Walker knew better. He wasn’t staying because of the money. Hell, he hadn’t even thought of asking about salary or benefits. Hadn’t cared. All he knew now was that Persia would be dead if he’d run out on Alex earlier. At the least, she would’ve been trapped in Peckering’s ugly web. For the first time since he’d met her boss, Walker knew he was right where he belonged. He’d never heard of the guy or The TEAM before, but he wanted in on it now.

Automatically, he rested his fingers on Persia’s shoulder, needing a connection with her. “Boss,” he said as evenly as he could. “Peckering knew Roland Montego. I asked him. He didn’t admit it, but I saw the look in his eye. They worked together. I don’t know which one was the boss, but is it possible that Black Dragon Syndicate you were talk—”

THUD. Ryder hit the deck like a big bag of bricks. And there stood dripping wet Commander Wallace Goff with a hypo and a sawed-off shotgun in his shaky hands. “You’re sure a Goddamned pain in my ass! Why can’t you just die?!”

Chapter Forty-Four

Jerking the pistol out from under his left arm, Walker jumped to his feet and put himself between Goff and Persia. “Stand back!”

“Drop it!” Goff ordered. “All of you! Drop your weapons, or I’ll shoot!”

Walker had no choice. Neither did Alex or McQueen. Heavy hardware settled to the deck, but Walker only lowered his pistol to the blanket covering Persia. “You’re supposed to be dead,” he growled at his former CO. “I was convicted for killing your dead ass.”

Goff raked a hand over his head, plastering his thinning hair to his skull in a foolish combover. “It was never enough for you, was it? First, China. Then Cuba. Then, that meat packing plant outside Joint Base Andrews. Can’t you ever mind your own fuckin’ business?!”

Walker didn’t have a clue what Goff was raving about. “What meat packing plant?”

“Not you. You!” Goff bellowed. “Get the fuck out of my way, Judge!”

Alex took a half-step in front of Walker, blocking him in beside Persia. Shielding him. Wicked energy, like the dangerous voltage generated by Tesla coils, arced off the man. It whirled unseen, whipping out, making the tiny hairs on the back of Walker’s neck stand up.

“You,” Alex spat.

Goff rolled his eyes. “No, Stewart! Not just me! But I swear, every time I turn around, it’s always just you. Dan Peters was right. We should’ve taken you out first.”

“You sure as hell tried. Or don’t you remember the pressure bomb you rigged in my elevator? All this time, Interpol Director Daniel Peters worked for you, didn’t he?” Alex asked, his head cocked and his fists clenched. The man was a formidable force at rest, but his shoulders seemed broader now. Wider. As if Hercules breathed beneath his skin, aching to tear Goff apart, limb from limb. “You’re part of the Goddamned, son of a bitchin’ Black Dragon Syndicate.”

“Not part,” Goff sputtered. “Me! Just me! I… I am the syndicate!”

“You worked with Roland Montego and—”

“I don’t work with anyone, Stewart! They worked for me. It was my idea. My dream. But you had to kill ’em. All of them!”

Everything became crystal clear when Montego’s ugly name rolled off Goff’s tongue. Without thinking, Walker elbowed Alex out of his way. “It was you that night in Guatemala,” he accused Goff. “Renzo said his buyer was late. That buyer was you. You engineered the abduction and sale of Emily Dooley and all those women. Those little girls! Then you ran your own gangs down and murdered them to cover your ass. You accused me, so I’d never connect you with Renzo and Bruno. You’ve killed everyone you worked with!”

Alex put a firm hand to Walker’s forearm, but the day for tolerance was long past.

He brushed the warning aside. He would’ve taken another step at Goff, but he didn’t dare leave Persia. Goff seemed to be acting alone, but the man was unpredictable as hell.

“You murdered the Green Berets in London, too,” he told Goff, his anger rising like mercury in the middle of a New York City heatwave. “It was you who sabotaged that Blackhawk, then sicced NCIS on me.