“Dahlman.”
“Correct.”
“So, you think the hit on Dahlman last night was one of these ‘pre-meeting’ requirements?”
“I do.”
“Requirements, plural. So, are we talking about a hit list here?”
Wilkes nodded. “That’s my take. But it’s something I’d like to confirm.”
“So, the Sinaloa cartel is working with Pakistani intelligence.” Max shook his head. “Strange bedfellows.”
“Agreed. We can trace this new collaboration to the cartel’s acquisition of Blanco as its head of security. And now they’re orchestrating the assassination of Americans together. And not just any Americans. Pakistani spies.”
“I don’t understand why this mystery man would care.”
Wilkes shook his head. “There’s a lot we are yet to understand. But I know this: ordering a hit on American soil is a major risk for both parties. The ISI doesn’t normally conduct active measures in the US. And the cartels usually limit their violence to rival gangs or trial witnesses about to snitch. Both organizations know better than to stir the hornet’s nest. Yet that’s exactly what they are doing.”
Max saw now why Wilkes was concerned. “If they’re willing to take a risk like this, there must be an important reason.”
Wilkes pointed at Max. “Exactly. And I want you to help me find out what it is.”
Wilkes went over his plan for the next hour. Personnel, operational responsibilities, communication methods, timing, equipment, locations, backup options.
When he was done, Max said, “Let me get this straight. You want us to run an operation on the coast of Sinaloa, Mexico, using your pretty female agent to lure in Hector Rojas, kidnap him while he’s drunk or sleeping, and get him back to the US for interrogation. Is that it?”
“You’ll need to sort out some of the finer details.”
“I’ll need help.”
“I trust that you can put together a team. But keep it very small. One or two people tops. And you’ll need to make your visit look legit. Like a vacation. Otherwise their people down there will sniff you out.”
“You want me to self-fund?”
Wilkes looked around at the sailing yacht. “Money doesn’t look tight.”
“Having our bodies dismembered and discarded in the Sierra Madre Mountains is a higher price.”
Renee shifted in her seat.
Max saw her discomfort and turned to her. “You still want to be part of this?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. But if I let you come with me to Mexico, I don’t want you near the actual op when it happens. We’ll need to keep you out of harm’s way. No offense, but you have no street experience, and just placing you in the same city is about all the risk I’m willing to take.”
She started to say something but bit her tongue. “Okay.”
Wilkes stood. “I’ll contact you again once you’re in Mexico. I’m assuming that you’ll be able to find a suitable shooter? Someone with experience down there?”
Max nodded. “I have someone in mind.”
“Who?”
“A guy named Trent Carpenter.”
Max felt Renee’s eyes on him at the mention of Trent’s name. Wilkes caught the look.
“Who is he?” asked Wilkes.
“A friend. He’s former Army Delta. Used to be an advisor to the DEA counternarcotics teams working down in Mexico but got out of the Army over a year ago.”
“Sounds like a good pick. Just make sure he keeps this quiet.”
“Of course.”
“When did you see him last?”
Renee held Max’s hand as he replied, “About a week ago. At his brother’s funeral.”
Chapter 5
The day after speaking with Wilkes, Max flew his Cirrus from Leesburg, Virginia to northeast Pennsylvania. Renee accompanied him, as she had the week earlier for Josh’s funeral.
During the flight, he thought about Josh. Until he’d died from a heroin overdose, Josh Carpenter had been one of Max’s few life-long friends. They had been roommates all four years of prep school. Entry into the elite New Jersey boarding school had been assured for Max, son of Charles Fend, the aerospace CEO and American business icon.
It had been a different path for the Carpenter boys. Both Josh and his older brother, Trent, had attended on a special scholarship set up for the children and grandchildren of Medal of Honor winners. Trent and Josh’s grandfather had been a decorated hero of World War Two.
The school wasn’t a perfect fit for the Carpenters. The prestigious high school charged over thirty-five thousand dollars per year for its boarding students. BMWs and Mercedes filled the parking lot, birthday presents for pampered sixteen-year-olds. The Carpenter boys were a different breed. They were proud of their blue-collar roots and traveled back to the family home in rural Pennsylvania on most weekends.
Trent Carpenter had been a senior when Josh and Max had arrived for their freshman year. With his father traveling for business so much, Max had become close with the Carpenter family, often spending weekends at Josh’s parents’ home. Together the two boys would hike, fish, play football and get into trouble. To Josh, Max wasn’t the famous son of a billionaire, he was a loyal friend.
Josh’s family treated Max like he was one of their own. The Carpenters had a strong family bond and three rules: work hard, be humble, and don’t complain. The ethos rubbed off on Max.
Their senior year, Max was accepted to Princeton, and Josh was denied admission to West Point, his dream school. It had hit Josh hard. But he hadn’t complained. Josh had decided that he would still enter the Army immediately upon graduation, just not as an officer. While he had been accepted to several excellent colleges, none of them had offered a scholarship, and money was tight in the Carpenter family. Josh had enlisted in the Army, against the recommendation of his teachers. His parents had been both proud and worried.
Josh’s older brother Trent had followed a similar path. To them, heroism and self-sacrifice were a calling. Just because they had gone to one of the top private high schools in the nation didn’t mean that they were above being soldiers.
Josh had excelled in the Army, rising up to Sergeant First Class and deploying around the world. After graduating from Princeton, unbeknownst to any of his friends, Max had gone to work as a covert operative for the Defense Intelligence Agency. The two friends had kept in touch over the years, but their contact had naturally grown less frequent over time.
Since he’d left the DIA last year, Max kept telling himself that he needed to reach out and go visit Josh. He had been like a brother during Max’s formative years.
And now, flying towards Josh’s hometown, Max again felt the pain of knowing his old friend was gone forever.
At one hundred and eighty knots, their flight time was just over an hour. Max had made sure that they departed early enough in the morning to dodge the afternoon thunderstorms of July. They landed on a short two-thousand-foot runway at Skyhaven Airport on the outskirts of Tunkhannock, Pennsylvania. The town and airport were tucked between forest-covered mountains and the Susquehanna River.
Upon arrival, Max signed for their rental car, and they drove towards the Carpenter parents’ home, where Trent had agreed to meet them. The narrow roads carved through forest-covered hills. They passed signs for Shadow Brook Golf Course and Lazy Brook Park, and an ice cream shop on the edge of a cow pasture.
“We’ll need to stop there later.” Renee gave a devilish grin. Max agreed.
At last they arrived at the parents’ home, on the outskirts of town. As Max got out of the car, he saw that the home was still busy a week after the funeral. A screen door on the covered porch snapped every few minutes as family and friends came in and out. A smoker grill was lit in the backyard, and a balding man who Max recognized as a neighbor nodded a greeting. Max had met many of the Carpenters’ friends and family last week, paying their condolences at the funeral. The support network was still in full swing. One of the town’s beloved sons had passed, and they were rallying around the family in mourning.