Finally, one man inched forward. “The dark and the rain are working against us, señor. Maybe we should try to get back to the compound. It’s supposed to clear tomorrow and when the sun—”
Esparza pulled a pistol from the holster on his hip and shot the man in the chest. “Does anyone else have something to say?”
None seemed to, so he stalked back toward the building and the cold beer waiting for him there. How much was he paying to be surrounded by a bunch of weaklings? If this was the best they could do, he was a dead man. The other cartels would run over him like he wasn’t there. Rapp was one man. One fucking man bumbling through jungle terrain he knew nothing about.
He stepped back onto the porch and went for the open doorway. Maybe he’d invite the girl to join him for a drink. His anger and nerves were building to the point that his head was starting to pound. It seemed almost certain that she could find some way to help him relax.
When he entered, Esparza saw a man in fatigues sitting at the table where he had left his beer. He was backlit by the kerosene lamp, but wore an immediately recognizable bandolier. Hand-tooled leather with a holster on one side and a similarly ornate scabbard for his silencer on the other. Pedro Morales had always seen himself in the romantic terms of a nineteenth-century Mexican bandit. But he’d served Esparza well. That is, until his naked body had been found in a ditch six hours ago.
“So if I remember right,” Mitch Rapp said, “our agreement was for two hundred and fifty grand a month.”
Esparza noticed that the holster was empty and Morales’s nickel-plated Colt Government Model 1911 was lying on the table inches from his hand.
“That’s your agreement with me,” Esparza said, having a hard time thinking clearly under the American’s stare. “But I’m not sure about my men. You’ve killed a lot of their friends.”
Rapp remained motionless for a moment but then began screwing the matching silencer onto the pistol. He stood and Esparza silently cursed himself for his own stupidity.
Rapp walked past him and the cartel leader heard the sound of his footsteps on the wood porch. He didn’t bother to turn, though. It was clear what was coming. His words had condemned what was left of his men to death. They’d see the camouflage-clad man coming from the restaurant and assume he was one of theirs.
Esparza could shout a warning of course. Or even pull out his own weapon and shoot. But then his role in this would fundamentally change. At that moment, he was the man with the job and money Rapp so desperately needed. All it would take was one sound, though. One wrong move. And then he would become just another of the CIA man’s victims.
So he remained silent, imagining the scene playing out behind him. The silencer and the rain would keep his men from knowing what was happening until two of them were already dead. One more would die in the ensuing confusion. And the last would be shot in the back as he fled in panic.
Esparza’s gaze moved again to the family huddled at the back of the building. They flinched noticeably at a brief burst of automatic gunfire outside. A lone shout rose above the rain and then everything went silent until the sound of footfalls on the porch became audible again.
“You’re running out of guys, Carlos.”
CHAPTER 36
THE CAPITOL COMPLEX
WASHINGTON, D.C.
USA
“TO be clear, this isn’t a formal hearing,” Senator Christine Barnett said, doing a good job of sounding magnanimous. “We’re here to talk without cameras and get an understanding of where we stand in this matter.”
Despite her empty assurances, this felt very much like a formal hearing to Irene Kennedy. Barnett was in an elevated position flanked by congresspeople loyal to her. A number of aides were ensconced behind them and the gallery was scattered with people Kennedy assumed were political operatives.
“As you answer our questions, Dr. Kennedy, please keep in mind we’re performing our own investigation into these matters.”
The implication, of course, was that she’d lie. And that was exactly what she was there to do, but not for the reasons Barnett thought.
Kennedy leaned into the microphone on the table in front of her. “Thank you, Senator. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Kennedy’s initial reaction had been to find a way to avoid this kangaroo court, but it had been impossible. Barnett’s power