Francisco. The ploy to throw the inquiry was part of an elaborate CIA scheme to recover stolen biotechnology, which it intended to resell to generate cash for a secret black ops slush fund. Chalmers’ boss was currently doing a long stretch in a federal penitentiary for masterminding it all, but somehow his number two here had dodged the bullet. Basically, I trusted Chalmers as far as I could throw him with my hands S&W-ed behind my back. Speaking of S&Ws, the introductions wrapped up, the three of them just stood looking down on me. “Do you mind?” I asked Gomez, presenting my wrists to him.
“I don’t know about anyone else here,” said Chalmers, “but this is sooo making my day.”
Gomez glanced at Arlen, who gave him a nod. The Ranger crouched to unlock them and said, “Don’t try to escape, Vin.”
To which Arlen added cryptically, “At least not until we tell you to.”
“I’m prepared to let bygones be bygones once you return my weapon,” I said to Gomez, standing and massaging my wrists.
The Ranger glanced at Arlen who gave the okay, so he removed it from the back of his pants and passed it to me, grip first. The weapon felt a little light.
I gestured at Gomez to give ’em up – he knew what I meant.
Digging into a pocket, he came out with six rounds of 9mm ball ammo in the palm of his hand. I took ’em, fed ’em into the magazine with my thumb, racked one into the chamber, reached around and holstered the weapon. “Now,” I said. “Someone care to tell me what the fuck this is all about?”
Seven
“So this warrant for my arrest is genuine?” I asked Arlen after he’d given me the main points.
“Afraid so.”
“It’s one of those shoot-to-kill warrants, Cooper,” said Chalmers, grinning like a simpleton.
I took a seat on the edge of the bed.
Arlen glanced at Chalmers. “Let’s get on with it, shall we?”
“What about the Ranger?” the spook asked. “This is a national security issue and he’s not …”
“I ain’t going nowhere,” said Gomez. “The warrant was issued by DPS, which makes Cooper my responsibility. You want me to leave the room, he’ll have to be re-cuffed.”
“And I’ll shoot the first person who tries,” I promised. “How about it, Chalmers? Like to give it a go?”
“Let him stay,” Arlen said, exasperated. “If you can’t trust a Ranger, then we might as well just throw in the towel.”
Chalmers didn’t like it, but he had little choice. He turned to Gomez. “Nothing you hear in this room leaves this room.”
“You’re talking to a shadow, pal. I’m not here,” he said, sitting on a chair by the front door, resting an ankle on the top of his knee, hands behind his head like he was settling in for a good show.
“Okay, Cooper,” Chalmers said, facing me. “What do you know about FARC?”
Ordinarily I’d have smacked something like that into the stands; but, still not sure I wanted to play, I answered by folding my arms.
“I’ll take your silence as ignorance,” he said.
“Take it any way you like, Buzzby. And if your imagination’s not up to it I’ve got suggestions.”
Chalmers looked to Arlen as if I’d just said something that proved his point.
“Can we just get on with it?” Arlen said, exasperated.
The spook took an iPad out of his brief case, muttering to himself, tapped in a code and propped the device on the bench over the bar fridge. Photos taken with long lenses appeared on screen. They showed a series of armed men and women who were mostly under the age of twenty-five, dressed in jungle-pattern combat gear, berets on their heads and ammo bandoliers across their chests. They were mostly mestizo faces wearing serious-business-to-attend-to expressions.
“FARC, the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia. The Marxist–Leninist militia claims to represent Colombia’s rural poor in its struggle against wealthy landowners and industrialists. In reality, though, it’s a guerilla organization made up of
“I don’t know about anyone else here,” said Chalmers, “but this is sooo making my day.”
Gomez glanced at Arlen, who gave him a nod. The Ranger crouched to unlock them and said, “Don’t try to escape, Vin.”
To which Arlen added cryptically, “At least not until we tell you to.”
“I’m prepared to let bygones be bygones once you return my weapon,” I said to Gomez, standing and massaging my wrists.
The Ranger glanced at Arlen who gave the okay, so he removed it from the back of his pants and passed it to me, grip first. The weapon felt a little light.
I gestured at Gomez to give ’em up – he knew what I meant.
Digging into a pocket, he came out with six rounds of 9mm ball ammo in the palm of his hand. I took ’em, fed ’em into the magazine with my thumb, racked one into the chamber, reached around and holstered the weapon. “Now,” I said. “Someone care to tell me what the fuck this is all about?”
Seven
“So this warrant for my arrest is genuine?” I asked Arlen after he’d given me the main points.
“Afraid so.”
“It’s one of those shoot-to-kill warrants, Cooper,” said Chalmers, grinning like a simpleton.
I took a seat on the edge of the bed.
Arlen glanced at Chalmers. “Let’s get on with it, shall we?”
“What about the Ranger?” the spook asked. “This is a national security issue and he’s not …”
“I ain’t going nowhere,” said Gomez. “The warrant was issued by DPS, which makes Cooper my responsibility. You want me to leave the room, he’ll have to be re-cuffed.”
“And I’ll shoot the first person who tries,” I promised. “How about it, Chalmers? Like to give it a go?”
“Let him stay,” Arlen said, exasperated. “If you can’t trust a Ranger, then we might as well just throw in the towel.”
Chalmers didn’t like it, but he had little choice. He turned to Gomez. “Nothing you hear in this room leaves this room.”
“You’re talking to a shadow, pal. I’m not here,” he said, sitting on a chair by the front door, resting an ankle on the top of his knee, hands behind his head like he was settling in for a good show.
“Okay, Cooper,” Chalmers said, facing me. “What do you know about FARC?”
Ordinarily I’d have smacked something like that into the stands; but, still not sure I wanted to play, I answered by folding my arms.
“I’ll take your silence as ignorance,” he said.
“Take it any way you like, Buzzby. And if your imagination’s not up to it I’ve got suggestions.”
Chalmers looked to Arlen as if I’d just said something that proved his point.
“Can we just get on with it?” Arlen said, exasperated.
The spook took an iPad out of his brief case, muttering to himself, tapped in a code and propped the device on the bench over the bar fridge. Photos taken with long lenses appeared on screen. They showed a series of armed men and women who were mostly under the age of twenty-five, dressed in jungle-pattern combat gear, berets on their heads and ammo bandoliers across their chests. They were mostly mestizo faces wearing serious-business-to-attend-to expressions.
“FARC, the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia. The Marxist–Leninist militia claims to represent Colombia’s rural poor in its struggle against wealthy landowners and industrialists. In reality, though, it’s a guerilla organization made up of
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