He slowed down as we approached the lot. “Sounds reasonable.”
“It’s just...”
I paused and grabbed my buzzing phone. “What’s it looking like, Lucky?”
“Three Slavs in a Mercedes G wagon. Place is clean.”
The parking lot where we were scheduled to do the drop-off was chosen by the customer. Based on the location and being under the cover of darkness, I believed we were exposed to minimal risk. In an old warehouse district with virtually no traffic on any of the side streets, the area minimized the possibility of being hijacked or surprised.
An empty lot across the street was the perfect place for one of my employees to sit and observe the transaction. One could never be too careful on a $200,000 cash deal in the parking lot of an abandoned warehouse—especially at night.
“Roger that. We’re turning in. You stand tight until the money changes hands.”
“Roger that,” he said. “Standing by to stand by.”
I hung up. “Lucky says the place is clean. Pull up beside the Mercedes.”
As with most of my larger deliveries, I had rented a box truck and loaded it with the firearms. Typically used as residential moving vans, the vehicles received very little attention from onlookers, and the customer could simply take the vehicle and return it to the rental agency when they were finished unloading it.
The parking lot was illuminated by overhead light poles, and the Mercedes SUV was parked directly under one of them. As the van came to a stop, I gave my instructions to Cap. “Stay in the vehicle, locked and loaded, until Lucky pulls in to extract us.”
“Roger that.”
I stepped out of the vehicle and approached the Mercedes. My point of contact, sitting in the rear seat, got out and gave a nod. A square-jawed six-foot-four Bulgarian, Svetli rarely laughed or cracked a smile for that matter.
I nodded in return. “Svetli.”
“Good evening, Tripp.”
I patted my hand against the side of the van. “We’ve got all two hundred, in crates of ten. There’s two magazines for each weapon in the bottom of each crate.”
He motioned for the passenger to get out. “We appreciate for you finding missing fifty.”
Svetli had lived in the United States for one year, and communicating with him reminded me of the many scenes I had seen in action movies where the Russian played the bad guy. Always stone-faced and speaking with a distinct Slavic accent, mistaking him for a Russian would be easy.
“You’re the customer,” I said. “It’s my job to keep you happy.”
The passenger handed me a small leather satchel. Out of respect, I didn’t look inside. A simple nod on my part was affirmation enough of receiving payment in full. I opened the passenger door and tossed the satchel toward Cap.
Svetli motioned toward the rear of the truck. “You mind if look inside?”
I reached in my pocket and removed the key to the padlock. “Let’s have a look.”
Svetli and his passenger followed me to the rear of the van. After unlocking the padlock and handing him the key, I opened the rear door. Twenty handcrafted wooden crates filled the storage area completely.
I pointed at the crate closest to the door. “The top isn’t nailed down on this one. I thought you may want to have a look.”
The passenger jumped inside, removed the top of the crate, and nodded in approval upon seeing the contents.
Svetli turned to face me. “We’re good for go.”
I love it when a plan comes together.
My buzzing phone caused a tingling to run the length of my spine.
I removed my Bluetooth headset from my jacket pocket, unfolded it, and placed it over my ear. The two odd glances I received in return were the least of my worries. I knew if Lucky was calling in the middle of the transaction, there must be a serious potential threat.
Lucky’s statement was concise. “Black SUV. Stealth mode. Your nine o’clock. Headlights off.”
Fuck.
I pulled the pistol from my holster. “We’ve got company.”
Svetli’s face contorted and his eyes narrowed. “What for you mean company?”
In our remote location, the distant sound of the SUV rapidly accelerating was in complete contrast to the silence. I had no time to explain matters further. My military training took over.
I glanced over my left shoulder. “Cap, we’ve got tangos. Your nine o’ clock,” I shouted.
“Got ‘em.”
Lucky’s voice came over the earpiece. “Tangos are coming in hot. ROE?”
“Stand down,” I said. “Only on my command.”
“Roger on your command,” he responded.
I turned toward Svetli and tilted my head at the sound of the approaching SUV. “There’s an SUV coming this direction.”