Seal of Honor(30)

A little guerilla with spiky black hair ran to Cocodrilo’s side, shouting in a panicked tumble of Spanish that Gabe couldn’t begin to sort out, not to mention comprehend, but the name Mena came up repeatedly in their exchange.

Mena.

Really, could this goatfuck get any worse?

He kept a close eye on Audrey’s face and when she frowned, he guessed it could. Cocodrilo snapped out orders and the men scrambled to pocket their loot from the cars before letting everyone, including the family with the injured boy, leave.

No such luck for him and Audrey. The muzzle of a gun jabbed his lower back, nudging him off the road.

“¡Vamos!” Cocodrilo said and forged a path into the jungle.

…

Well, that had been a colossal waste of their precious time.

Quinn breathed a deep sigh of relief to be out of the 4Runner as he strode toward the front door of the safe house. Stuck in a car with Ian and Jean-Luc for several hours was not his idea of a good time, akin to sitting beside a grenade sans pin and in front of an off-key jukebox that somehow knew every friggin’ song that came over the radio.

In Spanish.

Quinn knew at least seven ways to kill a man with his bare hands, and Jean-Luc was damn lucky he hadn’t utilized them. He’d been tempted, but Gabe would frown upon a dead linguist, so he’d restrained himself—and Ian, who more than once lunged over the seat, intent on strangling the tone deafness right out of Jean-Luc.

After canvassing the suspected EPC hangouts Harvard had dug up, they were no closer to finding Bryson Van Amee. The first two addresses had seemed abandoned. At the next two, they had seen a lot of suspicious activity, including several drug deals, gang activity, and prostitutes soliciting their wares, but no signs of anyone held against their will at either place. Hopefully alpha team had better luck. If not, they were SOL in the intel department, which did not bode well for their mission or their hostage’s continued state of breathing. That is, if he still was.

Harvard sat planted behind the computer, doing his geek thing, when Quinn pushed through the door. “Anything?”

Harvard took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Tons of information, but we’re still wading through it all.”

“Give me what you got.”

“I matched the picture I pulled off the security cameras to Jacinto Rivera. He isn’t a known member of EPC, but he’s associated through his brother, Angel.” He hit a few keys on his laptop and the printer next to his work station spit out a sheet. Standing, he stretched his arms over his head, then retrieved the printout and handed it to Quinn.

“From what I can gather, the nominal head of the EPC organization has little to do with the everyday decision-making. Instead, he nominated five generals to control each region of the country. Angel Rivera operates in the Andean Region, which includes Bogotá. I haven’t dug up the names of the other generals yet, but I do know the Amazon Region is controlled by a man known as Cocodrilo, who has a nasty reputation as a sadist.”

“What about Angel and his brother?” Quinn asked. “What are their reps like?”

“Despite his name, Angel Rivera’s no angel. He has as many as fifty kills under his belt—nobody knows the exact number. Could be more. If he likes your shoes, he’d have no problem stabbing you in the gut in the middle of the street and taking them. If he doesn’t like your shoes, he might still stab you for the insult to his well-developed fashion sense.

“His brother, Jacinto,” Harvard continued, “is just as cruel, but also stupid as a bag of shit. Angel’s never been pinched by the law, but Jacinto’s spent most of his life behind bars. His last stint was for attempted armed robbery of a bank here in Bogotá. He served twenty-two months of a seven year sentence and was released with a full pardon, which leads me to believe his brother has at least one high-up politician tucked safely in his pocket.”

“So the EPC is definitely involved in Van Amee’s abduction,” Quinn concluded.

“Could be,” Harvard said. “But also could be Jacinto acting on his own or with one of the many gangs he has ties to.”

“So you’re saying we still don’t know.”

“We still don’t know,” Harvard agreed. “But we will. I just need more time.”

“That’s a commodity we’re running very low on, Eric.” Quinn let out a long breath. “Have you told Gabe about this yet?”

“He isn’t back,” Harvard said. “Hasn’t checked in, either.”

Quinn’s heart gave one hard thump of panic. It was all he ever allowed it. “That’s not like Gabe. He always checks in.”