Page 7 of Wicked Suspicion

“Understood,” Case said. The threat was loud and clear, but he didn’t believe it was the only reason they were at the ruins. He considered pushing, looked at the drug lord’s expression and thought better of it. His curiosity wasn’t worth angering the man. “What can I do for you, Señor Vargas?”

“I thought you had a pipeline to weapons. I thought you wanted to work with Señor Torres to make your fortune. Apparently, I thought wrong.”

“You aren’t wrong.”

He’d made it clear from the beginning of his association with Vargas that he’d only sell weapons to one man. Jorge Torres was an international arms dealer who had a stranglehold on the arms trade in South America, particularly in Puerto Jardin. Anyone who tried to nose in on his turf wound up dead.

Case and his team had been assigned to bring down Torres and end his arms dealing. Permanently. To put the plan in motion, he had to meet the man. That was proving to be a challenge.

“Then why does Señor Torres have no inventory?”

Case took a moment to think. This had to be about the precision-guided rifles, but he couldn’t leap to conclusions. “Señor Torres is a cautious man.”

“Explain,” the drug lord ordered.

“I met with one of his employees a few weeks ago. There’s been no word since then, and none of his men want to talk to me.”

Vargas’s expression remained flat, but some of his intensity seemed to ease. “You’ve tried to contact him?”

“Dozens of times, Señor Vargas. Either his men aren’t passing my messages along, or Señor Torres is ignoring them.” Case shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe he decided he didn’t want to do business with me, and this is his answer.”

“No. Señor Torres wants the high-tech weapons,” Vargas said. “If there is any chance you can procure them, he’s not going to turn his back on it.”

“There’s almost no way I can get those weapons. As I told you the last time we talked, the US Army has been watching them like a hawk since they were recovered and returned.”

“You’ll get them,” Vargas said, an edge to his voice that made Case go hyperalert. “I want them and Torres cannot sell me what he does not have. You like money, and Señor Torres will pay a premium to acquire them. The man is simply being especially diligent after being betrayed by his second in command.”

Case nodded. Torres’s right-hand man had been stealing weapons from his boss and selling them for personal profit. From the intel reports, the arms dealer had gone from cautious to downright paranoid. He’d eliminated any employee whose loyalty was suspect and vetted anyone new to the nth degree.

“Señor Torres might leave me waiting for a while.”

Vargas’s expression darkened. “That’s unacceptable.”

“Señor Vargas,” Case said, careful to keep his tone conciliatory. “I can’t do more than I currently am to expedite the relationship with Señor Torres. I’ve tried everything I can think of without success. You’ve personally contacted him, and still he’s taking his time.”

There was a pause before the drug lord asked, “With whom did you meet?”

“A Señor Hernandez.”

“Hernandez.” Vargas pursed his lips. “In his fifties? Much gray in his hair as well as his mustache and goatee?”

Case inclined his head. “And he wore an expensive suit. Designer.”

“You’ll hear from Señor Torres sooner rather than later,” Vargas said with assurance. “Alejandro Hernandez is high up in the organization. If your initial meeting was at this level, it’s merely a matter of time.”

“The answer could be a refusal to work with me,” he reminded the drug lord.

“It won’t be.” The man’s attention wandered, his gaze focusing past Case’s shoulder. Before he could turn to check out what was happening, Vargas met his eyes again. “I will call Señor Torres and remind him that I’m waiting. That others are waiting. That should speed things up.”

Or infuriate him, but that was Vargas’s problem. As long as Case didn’t get caught in the middle of a pissing contest.

“No matter the profit, I might not be able to get my hands on the rifles you want,” Case warned. “Supplies remain limited, and the Army hasn’t issued the weapon to any of their troops yet.”

Vargas’s eyes narrowed. “I suggest you and your friends in the States think of a way to circumvent any issues. I want that rifle.”

Case bet he did. The drug lord was at war with a rival, and reports said they were evenly matched. The precision-guided rifle would give Vargas the edge. If Oz was right, there was a skirmish with the government coming if President Cardozo decided to squeeze the drug lords and the other illegal enterprises that called Puerto Jardin home. Cardozo was savvy. It was how he’d stayed in power for so long. He might find another way to fund the mercenaries fighting in the civil war.

“I’ll talk to my friends,” Case said. If push came to shove, he could string Vargas along. The most important thing was getting to Torres, and if the drug lord could help?—

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