“Want a beer?” Max approached, holding out a cold one.
“Hell yes.” McGill took the longneck bottle and stepped farther inside, sipping. “Nice place, Commander.”
Dragon One had an unofficial headquarters above Sebastian’s restaurant, the Craw Daddy in New Orleans, so Logan wasn’t home often. He’d reacquainted himself with the four-bedroom house in the past days, filled with items that evoked a story. Probably why he didn’t hang around. Some stories should just fade away.
“It’s just Logan,” he said, and gestured to a chair. “You want to hire us.” Why else would he be there?
Joe McGill should have remembered he’d get right to the point. Logan Chambliss wasn’t one to waste time with pleasantries. Just like the rest of the team members. Dragon One was efficient and morally stronger than most teams because they’d all been so royally screwed by their own government. They’d been tested in fire and survived. It could have easily gone the other way. “Yes, we do.”
“We?”
“The Department of Defense.”
“That’s a big place.” Logan sat back, shrugging. “You’ve got field CIA or Spec Ops at your fingertips, so it’s something dirty.” Logan glanced at Max and smothered a smile when he started humming the theme from Mission Impossible. “Why aren’t you sending them?”
McGill shifted in the chair. He’d practiced this moment. It’s how he remained diplomatic when a bunch of self-important senators made him want to smack their heads together. But this was different. They had a problem that couldn’t be rectified through legal or diplomatic channels. “We did. They didn’t come back.”
Logan scowled. “Then the price just doubled.”
“Tripled,” Riley said loud enough for McGill to hear. “I’ve already died for one mission, I’m not doing it again.” On crutches, Riley limped into the room, munching on a sandwich and using his bad arm to do it.
Logan gave him his well-honed doctor look, and Riley rolled his eyes, yet lowered gingerly into a chair. The guy was in a coma a few months ago and had a long way to go still.
Logan focused on McGill. “You can understand why we don’t want to even hear this.”
“Hell, I wouldn’t.” McGill took a sip of beer, rolled the bottle between his hands. “I can tell you that without agreement, I stop here, and don’t say—wait,” he said when they grumbled. “Those are my orders. Now, this is what I can say—”
“The U.S. fucked up,” Max said.
“Bluntly, yes. We got too involved. Do you recall the recent coup d’état in Venezuela?”
“Who doesn’t?” Logan said. “It lasted two days and Gutierrez blamed the rebels. His troops killed a lot of innocent people, the Vice President was injured, and the general who supposedly helped stage the coup is still in power. So Gutierrez might be President, but his control isn’t that strong.”
McGill nodded, choosing his words carefully. “Before that, Vice President Garcia was a shoe-in for President and Gutierrez couldn’t run again. The two have been on opposite sides often. So much that Garcia’s opposition made him a target for pro-socialism supporters. He’d suffered two assassination attempts, one that killed his only brother. It put Garcia on a warpath for change, and within days the coup occurred. He was accused of instigating it.”
“Gutierrez has considerable support from other countries,” Sebastian said. “It won’t be long before Venezuela is a new Cuba.”
“So it’s Communism versus democracy?” Max said. “I can live with that.”
“I can’t,” Logan said, and they all looked at him. But his attention was on the general.
McGill looked grim and it was almost painful to say, “During the two-day coup, Garcia was shot and dragged away. No body. Witness stories are shaky—”
Logan put up his hand. “Wait a second.” He searched his memory and recalled the recent pictures of the limo turned on its side, his security dead. “You mean all this time the government has behaved as if Garcia were found, wounded, but alive?”
“Yes.”
“Then who the hell is in the Vice President’s house?” Logan had seen him on TV a few days ago. A simple smile and wave for the crowds, nothing more.
“He’s our man. Physically altered.” McGill made a quick circle around his face. “He’d been severely injured fighting for his country and volunteered.”
The room was so quiet, McGill looked up from the bottle. He finished off the last of the beer as he sat back and said, “Let it sink in. It doesn’t get better.”
Instantly Logan’s mind filled with all sorts of ramifications. “This will mushroom out of control. An American in the power position in another country? It’s a time bomb for war. Christ, this has to be one of the dumbest things the U.S. ever did in the name of liberty.”
McGill’s features pulled taut, his shoulders shifting like a gamecock with his feathers ruffled. He might agree, but he didn’t voice it. “So you understand we need to act quickly.”
“Without Garcia to put back in his place, it’s impossible. Why did the U.S. do this?”
“It’s classified.”
“There’s the door, sir.” Logan’s point was clear. Give them all the Intel or no deal.
McGill sighed, aware Dragon One was his last option. “Garcia came to us for protection, for himself and help for his country. He had evidence that Gutierrez was making secrets deals with the Chinese, and he kept the talks from his own cabinet and advisors. Why and the purpose behind the dialogues?” He shook his head and sat back in the stuffed chair. “We can speculate, but Garcia would not give up anything solid without agreement to help on his terms.”
A wise decision, Logan thought.
“Our man was to assume the role, infiltrate all aspects to find the documented sources.”
Logan eyed McGill suspiciously. “Did he?”
“Unfortunately, since the coup, and Gutierrez retaking power, his support is even stronger and he’s clamped down hard on communications in every aspect. He blames the U.S. for instigating the coup. No. We didn’t,” he added at their scowls. “We’ve tried everything just short of a bullhorn but can’t reach Ramos. He’s wise enough not to risk being found out to confirm or contact.”
All Logan heard was Ramos. Time stood still, a prickling racing through his blood. Old news, old anger, he thought.
“Paul Ramos?” Max asked, his expression darkening.
Now comes the tricky part, McGill thought.
Logan’s gaze lifted slowly and met the general’s. “You’re really up shit creek or you would never have come to me.”
“Commander Chambliss,” he said, the address calling to his sense of duty. “I know there’s bad blood between you two, but Ramos is an American.”
Logan went perfectly still. “Let him fucking rot.”
“We can’t. This is our security at stake. We did this to help them keep democracy. Garcia orchestrated it to protect himself. We put an American in the role. If we could have found a Venezuelan, we would have, but there wasn’t time. Corruption is rampant, and the attack came during the switch. Ramos was still recovering from his surgical wounds and it played right into Garcia being shot and critical.”
“The President is still in power. Gutierrez is a showman more than a statesman,” Riley said. “He likes the sound of his own voice, but his