Page 3 of Rebel Protector
“I was in charge of an op that went south,” he explained. “We received some bad intel and stormed an enemy hacienda, only to find it was a hospital for sick, orphaned kids. It was a major fuck-up. There were no casualties, thank God, but we got caught in one hell of a firefight on the way out. It became an international incident, and my team was held responsible.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice.
Markov watched him closely. “You took the blame.”
“Yeah, I was the unit commander. I had no choice. Someone’s head was going to roll, and it happened to be mine. I was offered the post in Belize because they didn’t know what to do with me. I was an embarrassment to the squad—or to the politically motivated powers that governed the unit.”
“Is that why you went AWOL?”
Now for the fun bit.
Ghost scoffed. “The salary was fucking abysmal, and there was no action. Why would I want to stay in that shithole when I could earn ten times that on the private circuit?”
“As a paid mercenary,” Markov added.
“Of sorts,” Ghost leaned forward, preparing for the hard sell. “Sir, I single-handedly set up Alberto Suarez’s distribution ring through the notoriously dangerous Darién Gap between Panama and Colombia. I scouted the route, set up the network, bribed the locals, and then tested and secured it until it was perfect.”
“Suarez was caught,” Markov pointed out. “He was arrested two weeks ago by the DEA.”
“Not on my watch,” Ghost replied. “And not because of anything I did. He sold his product to the wrong guy—that’s what got him busted. He walked straight into a trap. My distribution network is still in place.” And therein lay the unique selling point and the sole purpose of this meeting. He let his words sink in.
Markov studied him for a full minute before he replied. “Is that why you’re here? You want to work for me?”
Ghost took a deep breath. “Since Suarez is out of play, I’m out of a job. I hear you’re looking to expand your distribution into Colombia, and I have those routes already in place. If I can speak plainly, sir?” He glanced at Ramirez and then back at Markov.
Markov nodded. “Whatever you need to say, you can say in front of Ramirez.”
Ghost continued. “It's perfect for small arms distribution. There are no end-user certificates to forge, the disseminated nature of the network makes it much harder to police, the border is in the middle of impenetrable jungle, impossible to patrol in any orderly fashion, and the best part is, I know how to get the merchandise through without detection.”
There was a pause as the relevance of what he was offering sank in. Ramirez glanced at Ghost and then to Markov, his eyebrows raised. Still, Markov didn’t react.
Ghost waited. He picked up his teacup and took a sip. He wasn’t the biggest fan, but Markov was right. It was excellently brewed.
“Who’d you hear that from?” Markov asked softly.
Ghost met his gaze. “From suppliers we used to deal with on the Colombian end. They told me they’re interested in acquiring your weapons to support their cause.”
Many of the drug cartels and criminal groups operating in Colombia purchased arms from dealers like Markov. Sometimes they paid with cocaine, other times with cold, hard cash. Either way, it was a lucrative business to be in. Markov was intent on muscling in, and Ghost was giving him his chance.
The pale blue eyes flickered over his face, but Ghost remained passive. He forced his shoulders to relax. “It’s all set up,” he reiterated. “You don’t have to do anything other than sit back and enjoy the profits. There’s a market that wants what you’re selling, and I have a way to get it to them with minimal risk.”
“It’s worth considering,” cut in Ramirez, speaking for the first time.
“How do I know you aren’t full of shit?” Markov asked.
“Because I worked for Suarez for ten months and helped make him a very rich man. Ask anyone involved in his organization—they’ll vouch for me.”
“There aren’t many left who aren’t in jail,” Markov retorted.
“Like I said, that had nothing to do with me.”
“Why weren’t you arrested?” Ramirez directed the question to him.
Ghost glanced at him. “Because I’m too smart to go along to a sting.” Markov snorted. “My business was the supply end,” Ghost continued. “I wasn’t involved in selling the merchandise. My job was to bring in the product from Colombia, that’s it. When I got wind of what had happened, I disappeared. There’s nothing linking me to Suarez’s organization.”
“Smart.” Markov drummed his fingers on the side of his empty teacup, his brow furrowed. The seconds ticked by. Eventually, he said, “Okay, I’m interested. Let’s set up a trial run and see how it goes.”
Ghost nodded.
He was in.