Undercover SEAL Page 3

  In the front seat, Roman sighed and shook his head. “I’d like to say that what you’re telling me was simply an oversight because this operation had to come together so fast. But the truth is, sometimes, the Agency can be a little too covert for its own good.”

  Admitting something like that must have been difficult for the fed to do, but that didn’t mean Nash was ready to forgive and forget. “So, what’s this about?”

  “It’s about those damn Russian missiles you found on that cargo ship,” Roman said. “Headquarters at Langley decided they want to know what the plan is for them, as well as who the supplier is.”

  Nash wasn’t surprised. But it still didn’t explain why he and Dalton were involved.

  “Okay, you have our attention,” Nash said, speaking for both himself and Dalton. “What’s the rest of the story?”

  “The weapons shipment you and your team intercepted was heading for a man named Luis Munoz,” Roman said, continuing to scan the city around them, like he was worried they were about to drive into an ambush or something. “As an upper-level lieutenant in the Amador cartel, Munoz is already a powerful man in the strongest crime organization in this part of the world, but it appears he’s making a move up the ladder. This shipment of weapons is just the latest indication of how far he’s willing to go.”

  “What the hell does a cartel crime boss want with a shipment of surface-to-air missiles?” Nash asked.

  He didn’t know crap about how the Mexican drug cartels worked, but surface-to-air missiles seemed like a drastic escalation in firepower.

  Shaw glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “When it looked like Munoz was bringing in a few automatic weapons and RPGs, we assumed he was planning to go after a police substation, maybe even a Mexican Army checkpoint. Something to raise his profile and beef up his reputation within the cartel. Then your team recovered the most expensive shoulder-fired weapons available in the world, and we started thinking he has something much bigger planned.”

  “Which is why the two of you are here,” Santiago said from the back seat.

  Nash turned to look at the guy. The ATF agent was probably only three or four years older than Shaw, but with his prematurely gray hair, heavily tattooed forearms, and a nose that looked like it had been broken multiple times, he looked a lot older. “We need to know what the hell Munoz is planning to do with those missiles. Just because we stopped him from getting this shipment doesn’t mean he doesn’t already have some. Or other weapons just as bad. We need to find out what his intentions are so we can decide if we need to step in to stop him.”

  Nash exchanged looks with Dalton. The subtext in the ATF agent’s words had been clear. If Munoz was only going to be aiming these missiles at another member of the Amador cartel, Santiago and the others would likely back off and let it happen. Nash supposed he could understand that, but in a country as crowded as Mexico, it made him wonder how many innocent bystanders would end up getting hurt in that scenario.

  “Just as importantly,” Roman added with a pointed look at the ATF agent, “we’d like to figure out who Munoz was buying from. We know it has to be someone high up in the Russian Army, but we need to know exactly who it is, and whether they have any more of these missiles on the auction block.”

  Nash wondered what the hell they were leaving out, because it sure seemed like there was a ton of crap floating around unsaid in the background here.

  “This is a thrilling story,” Dalton told them, obviously getting the same feeling as Nash, “but you still haven’t said what any of this has to do with us. We’re Navy SEALs. We’re good at swimming, parachuting, and running into and out of trouble. We don’t usually play the secret agent game.”

  “No, you usually don’t,” Roman agreed. “But now you’re going to get a chance to do it anyway. Because Nash happens to be a dead ringer for Nick Chapman.”

  “Who?” both Nash and Dalton asked at the same time.

  “Nick Chapman, the weapons expert who flew into the Playa de Oro International Airport earlier this morning to train Munoz and his people on how to use the weapons he bought. I met him face to face for the first time at the airport when we snatched him and the other people coming in to finalize the deal, and it’s not a stretch to say Nash could be the man’s twin brother.” Roman shrugged. “It also doesn’t hurt that your military experiences are remarkably similar to his as well. Turns out Chapman used to be a SEAL before he was kicked out of the Navy and became a soldier of fortune and a key figure in the world of illegal arms trading.”

  Nash opened his mouth to ask how the hell the CIA just so happened to know he looked like some random arms-dealing soldier of fortune, but then decided he’d rather not know. He’d been involved with the Agency enough to know that many of the craziest conspiracy theories thrown around by the tin hat crowd had at least a sliver of truth to them. The idea that the CIA maintained a facial recognition database wasn’t that far fetched in comparison to some of the crap he’d seen.

  “I’m trying to keep up here, but you friggin’ lost me,” Nash said. Crap, he hated this covert stuff. That wasn’t why he’d become a SEAL. “So, let’s start with something simple. If I’m here because I look like Chapman, what’s Dalton’s part in this?”

  Roman glanced at Dalton. “Truthfully, he wasn’t supposed to be here. But your headquarters refused to allow a lone SEAL to take part in an operation like this. We had to take two of you or none of you. Basically, Dalton is your security. You brought him to watch your back because you don’t trust us.”

  Dalton snorted. “Can’t imagine why anyone would have a hard time believing that.”

  Nash silently agreed with Dalton, privately cheering the Navy Special Warfare Command. At least NSWC was looking out for their people. “Okay, next question. Where are the weapons right now?”

  “Still on the cargo ship carrying them pulled into port this morning. And before you ask, yes, we have the container in our possession. Along with the missiles you put on that Navy sub,” Roman said. “Chapman and the other men were on the way to inspect the weapons when we grabbed them.”

  “If you have the weapons and this Chapman guy, I don’t see why the hell you need us.”

  Roman let out a weary sigh. “Because Chapman isn’t an arms dealer per se. He’s more of a freelance middleman who works for some of the biggest arms dealers in the world, as well as a few organized crime syndicates and a handful of third-world dictators. His involvement doesn’t tell us anything, other than the fact that this is a high-level operation.”

  “Hold on a second.” Dalton frowned. “Are you seriously trying to tell me that with all your CIA resources, you can’t figure out who he’s working for? What about all of your enhanced interrogation techniques?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Nash caught Santiago’s smirk behind them.

  Roman shrugged. “Chapman and the other men who came here to facilitate the weapons transfer are being held in a safe house by the local police. We’re questioning them, but so far, they’re not talking. Which is why we’re going with a different approach. One that needs you to pull off because Nick is the only one Munoz knows by reputation. He probably has a general idea what the man looks like and might have even talked to him.”

  That’s when the pieces suddenly fell into place.

  Nash ground his jaw. “Shit, you’re planning for us to take the place of Chapman and his buddies in a meeting with Munoz. You think we can get him to slip up and reveal what his plans are for these missiles and who he bought them from.”

  “And you said SEALs were slow,” Santiago muttered. “Seems like he understands the situation pretty well to me and apparently thinks the plan is as dumb as I do.”

  “Dumb?” Dalton snorted. “That’s an understatement. Who could possibly think walking totally blind into a meeting with a Mexico cartel boss was a good idea? We’re SEALs. We do more stupid stuff before nine AM than most people do all day. But even we’d never try anything this flaky. There are a doz
en ways for this scheme to blow up in our faces.”

  Roman looked like he was about to argue, but Nash cut him off.

  “Like how do you know that Munoz hasn’t met Chapman in real life? Or any of the people the rest of you are supposed to be for that matter? Hell, it’s the twenty-first century. What if he Skyped with Chapman? And have you ever thought that Munoz might have a mole inside the Mexican army? What if he already knows you arrested the real Chapman? We’d be dead within seconds of meeting with Munoz.”

  “Don’t you think we’ve thought of all that?” Roman cursed. “Look, we don’t have a choice, okay. We can’t have some arms dealer out there selling high-tech missiles to anyone with a fat bank account. We have to find out who’s behind this, and we need your help to do it.”

  Roman pointed Shaw toward an exit sign leading toward the beach before continuing. “While Chapman’s work has taken him all over the world, there’s no indication he’s ever done business in Mexico. As for the rest of us, we’re nobodies sent here to oversee the deal and arrange for future purchases. There’s absolutely no reason for Munoz to even consider we’re not who we say we are.”

  “And the possibility of Munoz having a mole in the Mexican army?” Nash prodded, having a hard time not noticing how much of this plan was based on faith and pixie dust.

  Shaw glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “The people we have watching Chapman and his crew are handpicked for their loyalty to the established government. Munoz won’t learn about it from them.”

  Nash cursed silently, He’d been around a lot of loyal soldiers in his time spent working with foreign armies. They were rarely as loyal as they claimed.

  “The people guarding Chapman and his crew don’t have to keep this under wraps forever,” Roman added. “They just have to give us a couple of days. The purpose of this meeting is to finalize the deal for the weapons and arrange for you to train Munoz’s men how to use them. We’ll get the information we need, then make the weapons hand-off, at which point the cavalry will be there to take Munoz into custody. Hopefully, we can do that in a day, two at the most.”

  “What if Munoz starts asking Nash some pointed questions?” Dalton asked. “About things he should know.”

  Roman hesitated. “We don’t have any idea what the terms of the original deal were or what kind of arrangement Munoz has with Chapman, so Nash is going to have to wing most of that part of the conversation.” He looked at Nash. “Trust me. You play your part and convince Munoz you’re an expert in weapons, and I’ll do everything I can to keep his attention focused on me.”

  Nash cursed silently. They were doing this regardless of how insane it was. “So, who’s playing the part of the cavalry in this particular adventure?”

  “The Mexican Army,” Shaw answered.

  Shit.

  “We’re here,” Roman announced before Nash had a chance to once again point out that this was absolutely the worst plan ever.

  Nash turned his attention to the open wrought iron gates ahead of them. The tall stucco perimeter walls on either side stretched off to the right and left as far as he could see. On the other side, the immense well-lit Spanish-style villa at the end of the paving stone lined driveway looked like it could comfortably house all eight sixteen-man platoons in SEAL Team 5.

  But the hacienda didn’t interest him as much as the guards patrolling the property. Four armed men stood at the gate they drove through, while three more lined the driveway. Five more were arrayed around the broad front steps of the home. Every one of them openly carried semi-automatic rifles as naturally as other people walked around with cell phones.

  Shit just got real.

  Shaw pulled into the large parking area that wrapped around the house to show off sweeping views of high bluffs and the jewel-like ocean beyond. A man in an impeccably cut suit descended the steps, but didn’t come over to meet them. Instead, he stood there studying them with dark, unfathomable eyes. He had a thick mustache and jet-black hair even though he had to be nearing sixty.

  Nash knew it was Luis Munoz without anyone telling him.

  A big, muscular guy with dark hair and flat, emotionless eyes stood on Munoz’s left. Everything about him screamed personal security.

  It was the woman on the cartel boss’s right that caught and held Nash’s attention. Tall with long, dark hair as black as Munoz’s, her skin was light olive and absolutely perfect. But it was her eyes that captivated him. They were the most vivid, clear blue he’d ever seen.

  Nash opened his mouth to ask Roman who she was, but the CIA agent spoke first.

  “Before we kick off this mission, there are a few things I should tell you,” he said, half turning in the front seat to look at Nash. “Chapman was kicked out of the Navy with a dishonorable discharge. He has a home in Brussels, but rarely stays there because he’s too busy being a mercenary. He’s also a player. You know, girl in every city kind of thing.”

  Nash cursed as Roman opened the door and stepped out. That information would have been nice to have before they rolled up on the cartel boss. The CIA agent shook Munoz’s hand with a smile, clapping him on the shoulder as if they were best friends.

  Beside Nash, Dalton chuckled as he reached for the door handle. “Nash Cantrell pretending to be a player. This should be interesting.”

  Nash would have laughed too if there was anything funny about it. Cursing under his breath, he put on his game face, then opened the door and stepped out of the SUV. He had to nail this or they were all dead.

  But as Munoz walked over to meet him, Nash remembered something Roman had said about Chapman being from Brussels. Damn, he didn’t know the first thing about Brussels. Of all the places he’d been in the world, Belgium wasn’t one of them.

  “Señor Chapman.” Munoz held out his hand. “Your reputation precedes you. I have heard much about you.”

  Nash smiled. “All good, I trust.”

  Munoz laughed. “Indeed.” He glanced at the raven-haired woman still standing near the steps. “Come meet our guest, my dear.”

  She glared at Munoz, her blue eyes like ice as she slowly made her way over to them.

  “My daughter, Bristol,” Munoz introduced.

  Nash did a double take. Daughter? He’d assumed she was the cartel boss’s wife.

  He opened his mouth to say something witty and charming, but when she lifted her gaze to meet his, he was so mesmerized, it was all he could do to offer his hand.

  If Bristol noticed how tongue-tied he was, she didn’t let on. But that was only because she was too busy looking at him like he was something she’d just scraped off the bottom of her shoe. Nash half expected her to wipe her palm off on the curve-hugging wrap dress she wore after shaking his hand. Damn. They’d just met and she already hated him.

  How much worse could this mission get?

  * * * * *

  “Not hungry?” Nick Chapman asked.

  Bristol turned her head to look at him. She still couldn’t believe her father had pimped her out to this piece of crap. But not five minutes after she’d sneaked out of his office, he’d intercepted her on the way to the library and informed her that she’d be joining him and his guests for dinner. The idea of sitting at the same table with her father was bad enough, but when he’d told her that he wanted her to “be nice to Nick Chapman and show him a good time” so the arms dealer would be more open to a job offer, she’d almost punched him.

  “I’m your daughter, not a prostitute,” she’d snapped. “If you want someone to entertain the arms dealer, hire one of them.”

  Thinking that was the end of it, she’d tried to walk away, but her father grabbed her arm, almost yanking her off her feet.

  “That’s right, you are my daughter. Which means you’ll damn well do as I told you and entertain Nick Chapman.”

  “If I don’t?” she’d demanded. “What are you going to do? Murder me like you did my mother?”

  The words were out before she could stop them, and from the look of rage on he
r father’s face, she thought he’d do exactly that. But he merely tightened his grip on her arm and regarded her coldly.

  “If you don’t, I’ll say yes the next time Leon asks me for your hand in marriage,” her father said.

  She’d tried not to finch…and failed. If she refused to play nice, her father would give her to Leon without a second thought. That would be a fate worse than death.

  “It’s your choice,” her father added, knowing he’d already won. “Make it quickly.”

  Giving in had nearly crushed her spirit, and Bristol hated herself for nodding. In this case however, she was willing to go with the evil she didn’t know over the one she did. With his dark hair, rugged features and chocolate brown eyes, Nick was undoubtedly easier on the eyes than Leon, especially in the black suit he’d changed into for dinner, but she was still withholding her judgment as to whether his company was better than her father’s hired muscle.

  On the other side of Nick, blond-haired Dalton regarded them curiously. From the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, she was certain he’d heard Nick’s question. She wasn’t sure what was so funny about it.