Page 9 of D-Day

She cleared her throat. “Now that it’s settled. Let’s talk about Graham Butler.”

“Our gunrunner.”

“One and the same. He has an international reputation, is mean as a junkyard dog, no moral compass, and he’s renownedfor brokering deals with the worst scum on the planet for any weapon that will turn him a profit. He is very much a bottom-line guy.”

D-Day nodded. “And what if Mr. Butler shows up and takes issue with me impersonating him?”

“That won’t happen. We killed Mr. Butler in a botched takedown where we wanted him alive, but he was adamant about keeping his freedom. He’s not going to show up anywhere, and his death is under wraps. We have his phone, passport, and credit cards.” She set down the file and pressed her hands against the table. “Who might challenge you would be anyone who knows him. That could be the problem. He’s not well-liked, and he has enemies. You’ll need to watch your back.”

“He won’t even have to look over his shoulder,” Zorro said. “We’ll be taking care of his back.” Anger rose up, not at Zorro’s confident words, but at D-Day’s guilt in doubting his teammates for one moment. Just the thought of what he had gone through, what they had all gone through to be part of this community, made him swallow hard. There was no escaping that feeling—the feeling of brotherhood and what it meant…the blood, sweat, and tears endured to earn such a weighty and beloved burden—the privilege of living and fighting next to them. He wanted it not to be as difficult as it was, but the past died hard, and the lessons he’d learned squirmed through him, making him feel like such an asshole. One more thing that made him feel so damned unworthy.

She smiled. “Once again, I’ve chosen the right team.” Maybe so, but had she gotten the right man? He clenched his jaw tight and fought back a flood of emotion. Sure, he was good with the accent, and he would do anything to serve his country, especially when it came to the kind of weapons that could come back at them. It was a no-brainer.

She picked up the file, perused it, and said, “You’ll have about twenty-four hours to get acquainted with Graham. I have videos you can study.” He nodded. “The meet is with Oscar Castillo and Hugo Sequera, two low-level hustlers who happened to score the weapons from the thieves.” She produced two pictures, one of an older man with gray hair, Hugo, with a face that looked like the world was hanging on his shoulders, and the other, Oscar, was straight up a punk kid, brash looking, with a chip on his shoulder. “The ATF has already made those arrests but kept Castillo and Sequera in play until we find out where they are keeping the weapons, and we definitely don’t want them out in the open market, and definitely not in the hands of some big players.”

“Copy that,” D-Day said. The mission was set, and he was going to play a primary role. With one look from Joker, he had to think if he was in the right mind space for this type of mission. Fuck it. He would step up to the plate. There was no argument he could make against taking on this man’s identity. As Bailee had said, she had chosen the right team.

The moonlit,prehistoric look of the jungle and a half dozen grungy men surrounded by torches seemed like a scene out of a movie, but this wasn’t Hollywood, this was Realityville, and he was the fucking mayor.

“So, we have a deal, mate,” D-Day said, not bothering to bat the flies away from his face. Aussies were used to them; they permeated the country, and it would look strange if he reacted.

“We do.”

Off to the side, he heard Castillo distinctly say, “We got what we wanted for the nuclear triggers. They paid up even when we raised the price.”

D-Day shifted his shoulders, knowing that both Buck and Zorro were behind him, but probably out of earshot.

Fuckingnuclear triggers? What the fuck? How the hell had they gotten their hands on that tech, and who the hell had they sold them to? This simple gun buy had turned into something much more complicated.

“Hugo, Hugo,” D-Day said with atsk tskin his voice. “I thought we were in business together.”

Hugo frowned, then gave him an apprehensive smile. “We are, amigo. We can meet at the location of the guns. You bring the diamonds, and we’ll get the transaction completed.”

“Right, mate. That’s a done deal. What I’m talking about is nuclear triggers.”

“What the hell did you just say?” Bailee’s voice sounded off in his earpiece.

Hugo shot an angry and panicked look toward his stupid partner, his lip thinning. “That’s not part of our deal, Graham.”

D-Day reached out and set his hand on Hugo’s shoulder in a friendly gesture, then his hand tightened, and Hugo winced from the pain. The motion drew the attention of the men circling the group. Weapons lifted a little higher, eyes narrowed. D-Day smirked and gave his back-the-fuck-off stare. His buddies behind him, and the rest of the team in the jungle, including their capable snipers, Professor and Gator, were all the backup he needed. He also had a full clip in his Glock. Locked and loaded. “I want the triggers.”

Hugo released a nervous laugh. “They’re not for sale.” He winced again as D-Day’s hand got more punishing. Oscar realized something was up. He looked toward D-Day and his pal and shook his head.

“I won’t take no for an answer,” D-Day growled, his face contorting in mock anger.

“What are you doing?” Bailee said, low and firm. “We need the location of those weapons. Stop pushing them and secure that deal, then we can talk about triggers once they’re in custody.”

Joker’s voice came over the comms. “Do as she says, D-Day. We got the intel regarding the triggers. We won’t let that drop. Wrap this up.”

“Let’s quit fucking around with this asshole,” Oscar said. His eyes turned hot and angry.“We don’t need him getting involved with our business dealings. We talk about clients and renege on deals, and we’ll be out of business or dead.” He strode up to D-Day and got in his face. “You want the weapons or not? That’s all we’re offering right now.”

“Oscar, take it easy. This is?—”

D-Day moved, grabbing the man by the throat and shoving him against the parked jeep to his left, reacting exactly how Graham Butler would respond to being insulted. Oscar’s body locked with tension. D-Day could smell it. “Don’t talk to me like that, mate,” he said in a conversational tone, murder in his eyes. “Have some respect or I’ll rip out your tongue and clean my boots with it. We straight, amigo?”

Oscar’s eyes narrowed, his face hot with frustration. It was clear he was pissed, but he was more interested in finishing this deal than he was about his machismo. It was clear they wanted to unload these American weapons. In the big scheme of things, not many guys liked being on the US’s radar.

Suddenly a shot sounded in the jungle, and the next thing D-Day knew, Oscar was dead at his feet, his hand on his weapon. Men were shouting accusations, thenpolicía, and gunfire erupted. Damn, the PNB. D-Day looked around for Hugo, but he’d rabbited into the dense underbrush.

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