Lethal Agent (Mitch Rapp #18)(56)
“No bites yet, but I set a good price and the word’s getting around. I wouldn’t be surprised if we have at least one offer by tomorrow morning.”
He nodded and took a pull on the watery beer substitute. Claudia was using her old contacts to let people know that a couple hundred kilos of high-quality coke had just come on the market. The fact that the seller was an unknown necessitated a discount deep enough to get fringe players involved. The sale, though, wasn’t the point. The goal was to get enough chatter going that Carlos Esparza found out that his stolen product was on the auction block.
While it was true that government confiscation was just another cost of doing business, the theft and attempted resale of his property was an entirely different animal. When a government agent turned criminal, the rules changed. The kid gloves came off and Rapp would now be treated just like anyone else who had stolen from the cartels.
“Do they know where I am? I lost the drone when I got on the highway.”
“I imagine they have a pretty good idea. They have people all up and down these roads that they could have called on. And I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re doing something similar to what I just did—looking online for properties that were recently rented for the short term. I’m still gathering intel on Esparza’s cartel, but it seems to be much larger and more sophisticated than when Louis and I dealt with them. About half their business is in marijuana trafficking, though, and they’re getting hurt badly by legalization.”
“So a perfect candidate for a business partnership with Middle Eastern heroin traffickers.”
“Very much so. The cartels see this as their primary avenue for growth. As the U.S. cracks down on oxycodone, those addicts are looking for a replacement. Esparza’s cartel is targeting the middle-class suburban market—painkiller addicts who have no contact with the underworld or drug dealers. He seems to be trying to create a reliable product that looks and works very much like pharmaceutical-grade oxycodone. But for his plan to work, he needs a reliable supply of high-quality opiate.”
“That actually sounds like a pretty solid business plan. You should turn Steven on to it. He’ll probably want to buy stock.”
“Like I said, Mitch, Esparza’s a psychotic. Not an idiot.”
“And how’s my life going?” he said, changing the subject.
“Poorly. Your brother’s put you at the center of a massive web of illegal and collapsing investment schemes. You’ve got inexplicable inflows and outflows of tens of millions of dollars, a huge mortgage on your house, and involvement in a Russian real estate scam that implicates you in the death of Tarben Chkalov. Many of these things are actually real and currently under investigation by the authorities in various countries. What Steven’s managed to accomplish in such a short time is incredible. He’s a true genius. Did you know he can multiply four-digit numbers in his head?”
“Yeah. He’s always been able to do that. Who knows about this?”
“I’ve anonymously sent files to the FBI, CIA, SEC, IRS, and a few congresspeople, including Christine Barnett.”
“So, in a nutshell, I’m broke and under investigation for a bunch of illegal activities that I’m not smart enough to understand.”
“Yes. But that’s not all.”
“No?”
“No. When I found out what you’ve been up to, I drained what few bank accounts you had left and ran. I’m now hiding out in southern Texas, fearful of your reprisal.”
“That is pretty bad,” he said, feeling more ambivalent than he should have about Claudia and Steven’s thoroughness. His survival unquestionably depended on the convincing destruction of his life, but hearing it laid out in black and white was pretty sobering.
“There’s more.”
“More?” he said, feigning enthusiasm. “Really?”
“I’m not alone here in Texas. I left you for another man. In fact you know him. Scott Coleman. After working so closely together, a relationship evolved between us. He’s here now ready to protect me should you ever find us. In fact, he and Anna are out back grilling dinner. Would you like to talk to him?”
“No.” Rapp looked around the empty kitchen, trying not to think about her and Coleman flipping steaks while he waited for either the FBI or a cartel hit squad to show up on his doorstep.
“Mitch? Are you still there?”
“Yeah.”
“You asked me to do this to you.”
“I know.”
“And the moment you shot those DEA agents, you passed the point of no return. There can’t be any holes in your cover or questions about your motivations.”
“It had to be done,” he reassured her.
“No, it didn’t,” she said, some of her carefully constructed calm starting to crack. “We could have—”
“Claudia . . . Not now, okay? I don’t have much light left and I have a lot of work to do. For all I know, Esparza has fifty men sitting at the end of my driveway waiting for sunset.”
“I’m sorry, Mitch. I shouldn’t have said anything. I was being selfish.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll talk later.”
He disconnected the call, wondering if what he’d just said was true. If they would ever talk again.