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close to going there forever. Picture it, Fabio.’

Torres wet himself. A dark stain appeared on the carpet, spreading rapidly outward.

King said, ‘Where’s your phone?’

‘In my robe pocket.’

‘Not that phone. The emergency phone.’

‘Wha—?’

‘The one you’re supposed to use when everything goes to hell. For the worst case scenario.’

His jaw slackened. ‘How did you know—?’

King said, ‘All men like you have one of those. You didn’t get here without some serious connections. You’re going to call the President of this beautiful country.’

Torres’ face scrunched up.

King said, ‘Don’t tell me you don’t have his line.’

‘I have it. But...’

Silence.

King waited for the urine-scented man to elaborate.

Torres took a deep breath. ‘It depends what you need done.’

‘Right now, two men are arriving at the Consulate of El Salvador in New York. America considers them dangerous, wanted men, and they would very much like to get their hands on them. Your President is going to place a call to our President, informing him that if U.S. troops storm the consulate you will consider it an act of war and retaliate accordingly.’

Torres laughed. ‘Even if I could get that done — which I can’t — you think they’ll listen to us? America will crush us like an insect if we start talking like that.’

‘No they won’t. There are threats, and then there are threats. You’ll make an international scandal out of it. The States have enough bad PR right now. They don’t need any more negative press. You’ll threaten to blast it into every foreign newspaper — brazen U.S. forces storm a consulate in direct violation of the laws surrounding diplomatic missions. That’s a scandal if I’ve ever heard one. And you’ll tell them you know the identities of the men you’re protecting. Members of the black operations community, a world that America desperately wants concealed behind closed doors. Are you remembering this? I won’t repeat myself.’

‘Our President will never do something like that for me. I know many people, but not him.’

‘Who knows him, then?’

‘César Vásquez.’

King raised an eyebrow, like, You’d better start explaining before I put a bullet in you.

Torres said, ‘He’s twice the magnate I am. And he grew up with the current President. They’re brothers, just not by blood. He owns half of El Salvador. I own … considerably less than that. But enough.’

‘You know Vásquez?’

‘Not personally. He won’t do this for me. You’ll have to persuade him yourself.’

‘I can do that. Where is he?’

‘Next door.’ Torres grimaced. ‘He’s my neighbour.’

86

It wasn’t exactly the calm before the storm.

No calm, only tension.

But Slater stayed disciplined and waited, despite Alonzo’s protests. From outside there came the noise of pure chaos. Sirens and shouting in every direction. Slater was aware of the bureaucratic nightmare that would be unfolding. Two cartel sicarios executed in the middle of 5th Avenue, right next to a skyscraper that doubled as a black site. The NYPD response was inevitable, just as it would be inevitable for the black-ops pushback. The last thing the secret world wanted was undue attention. A crime scene right next to their Manhattan HQ was far from ideal. Then there’d be the investigation that would need suppressing — where had the sniper rounds come from that had killed these men?

What’s worse, the incident had probably been captured in dozens of video recordings on witness cellphones.

The new age.

It would all be murky and unclear and eventually the suppression would succeed as public interest waned — such is the nature of the twenty-four hour news cycle — but until then it’d be a mess.

Slater liked messiness.

If there was anywhere to hide in plain sight, it was Manhattan. This tiny landmass was so densely packed with buildings and flooded with civilians that it’d take some nuance for a hit team to go door to door, sweeping for signs of Slater and Alonzo, without getting recorded by witnesses.

First there were cordons that needed to be established, but Slater had worked for these people his whole life. He could almost see inside their heads. He knew what they’d do.

They’d send a preliminary team to clear the nearest buildings. It’d be a rush job, but sacrifices had to be made.

So he waited.

Alonzo sat with his back against one of the metal inventory racks. Slater stood across from him, leaning against the opposite rack.

Through the adrenaline, Alonzo found a clear head. ‘This is insane.’

‘We go now, we’ll be spotted,’ Slater said. ‘I want the first team incapacitated because that puts them on the back foot. They’ll be forced to respond. So they’ll either send in everything they’ve got despite the fact it’ll be trending on Twitter in minutes, or they’ll pull way back. Either way, we can capitalise.’

Alonzo breathed out, composing himself. Sometimes he forgot Slater was right at home in these scenarios.

Finally he turned his attention to unknowns. ‘How did you get in-country?’

‘Cártel de Texis.’

A small smirk played at the man’s lips. ‘You’ve come full circle, then. Using America’s enemies against them.’

‘Don’t start with that shit.’

The smirk vanished. A pause, then, ‘That’s not how I meant it.’

‘I know,’ Slater said. ‘But the head of Texis — a brute named Garcia — tried to get under my skin with that. I was holding him hostage with information, so he was forced to help me. But he still tried to crush me verbally, tried to take my soul. He said things I didn’t imagine he was capable of admitting. Spoke of his own monstrosities. Told me I was no better than him.’

Alonzo said, ‘That’s why you didn’t shoot to kill when you got me out of that convoy.’

Slater said, ‘I made sure of it. Those two decoys … I made it explicitly clear they couldn’t hit anyone when they emptied their weapons. Not civilians, not operatives. That’s why you heard a whole lot of noise but didn’t see any blood. They shot windshields, side panels, even fired into the air. Nothing aimed at living, breathing targets.’

‘And they died.’

‘They’re cartel scum.’

Alonzo said, ‘How long are you going to keep this up?’

Slater shrugged.

Alonzo said, ‘It won’t

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