Page 91 of Triple Threat

“Well shit,” he said. “I swore I would never seeheragain.”

“Why, what did you do withSanta Lucifera?” I asked, giving him a critical look.

“What do you think I did?” he asked, mocking innocent. I gave him a critical look. “Fine, I fucked her,” he admitted.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” I said dryly. “Anything I need to know about her?”

“She has tattoos on her tits and gets really angry when you fuck up her makeup,” he said.

“Please, for the love of God, do not elaborate on that,” I said, feigning disgust. “You mentioned our girl found the library?”

“Yeah, she’s going through your books like what’s her name, Beauty.”

“Beauty?” I asked, guiding the drone to the last known location of the trio of Narco Lords. My hand was getting tired from how long I had been flying.

“Yeah,Beauty and the Beast,” he said.

“Belle, her name is Belle.”

“Whatever, I never watched it, cartoons are for kids,” he said.

“I’m going to pretend you weren’t speaking when you said that,” I said. “Also, bugger, why didn’tIshow her the library?”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” he said. “You don’t know her like I do. Give it time.” He sighed and tipped forward from his reclining position in the office chair. “I think you’ve got our target; I see them on screen three.” He pointed. I tapped for the camera to zoom in and the drone to move into a closer position.

“Indeed, indeed it is, looks like a meeting.”

“It is, that’s Oslo Jones, he’s a local guy, the closest thing we have to an illegal gangster,” Lach said.

“As opposed to legal gangsters?” I asked.

“Man, we live a stone’s throw from DC.” He laughed.

“Want to take over flight control?” I asked. He nodded, and I passed the controls to him, a video game control stick and keyboard setup. He was familiar enough with it and took to the task with the quiet skill that was his hallmark. I picked up an encrypted line and dialed out.

Affecting an American accent, I said, “Hello, I would like to talk to the Indigo City Police Field Commander, and can you conference this call with your local Drug Enforcement Agency field office?” I asked politely. There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then a confused response. “Ma’am, I have eyes on three highly wanted drug cartel fugitives and a wanted terrorist, can you make those connections for me?”

Ninety seconds later I was talking to a deputy director of DHS and the police commissioner for Indigo City. I rolled through the list of names and faces I was looking at and started feeding them addresses, and once I was able to establish a video link, I gave them that feed as well. They were very interested in this information, and I knew that they were moving as fast as their bloated agencies could get them there. They were also very interested in who I was, how I had this information, and why they couldn’t trace me and my location.

“Ma’am, sir,” I said. “I am just a concerned citizen, defending our nation, securing our future.” The silence on the other end of the line was palpable. They stopped asking annoying questions and focused on what I was feeding them. I continued to supply information, as Lach relayed it to me. I gave them everything, where the eyes were, how many there were, how well they were armed. Lach landed the drone on a building and conserved the batteries so we could keep eyes on the scene up until the SWAT vans and black SUVs rolled up.

Even with all the information, it was a serious fight. The Narco Lords were well armed, and there were a lot of them. The black clad government agents had numbers too and had helicopters and body armor. The gunfight lasted an ungodly long fifteen minutes, and before it was over, there were dozens down on both sides, and news helicopters buzzing in the air. Lach took the drone off low and fast and took a serpentine course to bring it back home.

The last video we had wasSanta Lucifera, bleeding from several bullet wounds, being handcuffed and dragged into the back of a SWAT wagon.

This would be on the news later.

“What was all that about being a concerned citizen?” Sadie asked. I was startled, and Lach smiled.

“That’s Roan being a snake oil salesman; defending the nation, securing the future it’s the motto of the NSA. The locals stopped asking questions because they thought that the spooks were involved,” Lach chuckled. “The best part is that if anyone asks the NSA about this, they will automatically claim they had nothing to do with it, even before they’re done asking the question.”

“What’s going on? You were tense earlier,” she asked, looking at me.

“Does that door not lock?” Lach asked.

“It does,” I said. “I tipped the local authorities off to a meeting of high-level South American cartel members at a warehouse not far from where you were previously living.”

“Is there trouble?” she asked. “It feels like there might be trouble.”

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