Armando is the head of my transport division in Cali and is loyal. A brother.
“You’re just jealous he thinks I’m the coolest person alive.”
He pulls back, the grin on his face letting me know he’s about to say something stupid. “That little shit has bad taste and doesn’t know any better, güevon.”
The men at this table don’t know our past. They’re here because I need someone with their specific skill to do a job for me, and it’s comical how their eyes widen. How they move back in their seats, their chairs scraping against the floor roughly, screeching as they do.
“Relax.” One word and they ease up, the tension in their bodies less prominent. “We’re all friends here tonight.”
Taking my seat opposite of Daniel, I pour myself a drink while giving Geronimo a barely perceptible nod as he enters a minute later. He takes his place a few feet behind me, hand on his gun.
There’s a beat of silence that follows. They look at me while I wait. Their body language is nervous while they find the courage to ask me the one question that’s been bothering them since Daniel extended my invitation.
And it’s the pudgier of the two that sits forward a bit after a few minutes, sweat beading at his brow. “Mr. Lucas, why are we here? How can we be of assistance?”
“You’re here because I need a hacker.”
3
“NOTHING IS OFF-LIMITS for the right price,” the same fucker answers quickly, and it’s clear he’s the more vocal of the two. He’s intrigued, curious, while his friend’s posture becomes falsely more relaxed.
Another mistake.
They shouldn’t trust me. Not even for a split second.
The two culicagados sitting in front of me are no older than twenty, but with a reputation that precedes them.
They’re not natives to my country. They’re not from this continent. The two fugitives are American citizens hiding in Colombia while evading what other nations call justice.
Jason Thorn and Shawn Bosdell are wanted men in both the US and Europe for high-profile cybercrimes. For selling confidential information on the black market belonging to the clientele of Fortune 500 companies spanning the globe.
From L.A. to Shanghai.
From London to Mexico.
It’s cost each company trying to right these wrongs millions. It’s also made their governments scared. And they should be…
Secrets never stay hidden for long.
Moreover, they did this multiple times—raking in millions, which they stupidly spent back home somewhere in the Midwest. From farm boys to crashing Ferraris and buying anything and everything they could get their hands on.
They broke the golden rule to never draw attention. To not let superficial garbage define you.
“What and when?” Jason surprises me by opening his mouth for the first time since my arrival. He’s not looking at me. His eyes are on his phone as he taps away at the screen. “Any specific date you—” I clear my throat and his eyes snap up to mine, the expression on my face making him flip the device in his hand around quickly. In the background, I hear his low sorry but I’m reading the notes being made on the notation app; the breakdown of what could be needed and timeframes where certain networks are dormant and can be bypassed. Smart kid, but still mierda for etiquette.
“I need five bank accounts emptied, leaving behind only a single penny in each.” At my words, they look at each other for a brief moment—just a quick flick of the eyes—and then nod in acceptance. “There’s also the matter of an encrypted message I’d like left behind for the owner when he attempts to log in.”
“Anything.”
“Done,” they say in unison, Jason being the latter. He’s still adding to his notes, fingers a blur over the screen. “Can we ask whom and what?”
Second mistake.
Never ask questions. Wait until the information is provided.
“No. You can’t.”
“Sir, we mean—”
“How do you feel about corrupt governments in general?” I interject, cutting him off instead. Bringing the drink to my lips, I take a sip and then another, downing the shot and placing the glass atop the table. The anise taste is crisp, settling into a slow burn as it spreads, and I let the question hang in the air between us for a full minute.
The immediate disdain on their faces is enough of a tell.
Shawn speaks up first, his expression full of unresolved ire. “I’m an anarchist, Mr. Lucas. Fuck them all.”
Jason nods in acquiescence, first-bumping his friend before placing his phone screen up beside his glass of water. “While my views aren’t as extreme,