But his attention was on the general.
McGill looked grim and it was almost painful to say, “During the two-day coup, Garcia was shot and dragged away. No body. Witness stories are shaky—”
Logan put up his hand. “Wait a second.” He searched his memory and recalled the recent pictures of the limo turned on its side, his security dead. “You mean all this time the government has behaved as if Garcia were found, wounded, but alive?”
“Yes.”
“Then who the hell is in the Vice President’s house?” Logan had seen him on TV a few days ago. A simple smile and wave for the crowds, nothing more.
“He’s our man. Physically altered.” McGill made a quick circle around his face. “He’d been severely injured fighting for his country and volunteered.”
The room was so quiet, McGill looked up from the bottle. He finished off the last of the beer as he sat back and said, “Let it sink in. It doesn’t get better.”
Instantly Logan’s mind filled with all sorts of ramifications. “This will mushroom out of control. An American in the power position in another country? It’s a time bomb for war. Christ, this has to be one of the dumbest things the U.S. ever did in the name of liberty.”
McGill’s features pulled taut, his shoulders shifting like a gamecock with his feathers ruffled. He might agree, but he didn’t voice it. “So you understand we need to act quickly.”
“Without Garcia to put back in his place, it’s impossible. Why did the U.S. do this?”
“It’s classified.”
“There’s the door, sir.” Logan’s point was clear. Give them all the Intel or no deal.
McGill sighed, aware Dragon One was his last option. “Garcia came to us for protection, for himself and help for his country. He had evidence that Gutierrez was making secrets deals with the Chinese, and he kept the talks from his own cabinet and advisors. Why and the purpose behind the dialogues?” He shook his head and sat back in the stuffed chair. “We can speculate, but Garcia would not give up anything solid without agreement to help on his terms.”
A wise decision, Logan thought.
“Our man was to assume the role, infiltrate all aspects to find the documented sources.”
Logan eyed McGill suspiciously. “Did he?”
“Unfortunately, since the coup, and Gutierrez retaking power, his support is even stronger and he’s clamped down hard on communications in every aspect. He blames the U.S. for instigating the coup. No. We didn’t,” he added at their scowls. “We’ve tried everything just short of a bullhorn but can’t reach Ramos. He’s wise enough not to risk being found out to confirm or contact.”
All Logan heard was Ramos. Time stood still, a prickling racing through his blood. Old news, old anger, he thought.
“Paul Ramos?” Max asked, his expression darkening.
Now comes the tricky part, McGill thought.
Logan’s gaze lifted slowly and met the general’s. “You’re really up shit creek or you would never have come to me.”
“Commander Chambliss,” he said, the address calling to his sense of duty. “I know there’s bad blood between you two, but Ramos is an American.”
Logan went perfectly still. “Let him fucking rot.”
“We can’t. This is our security at stake. We did this to help them keep democracy. Garcia orchestrated it to protect himself. We put an American in the role. If we could have found a Venezuelan, we would have, but there wasn’t time. Corruption is rampant, and the attack came during the switch. Ramos was still recovering from his surgical wounds and it played right into Garcia being shot and critical.”
“The President is still in power. Gutierrez is a showman more than a statesman,” Riley said. “He likes the sound of his own voice, but his country’s economy and security are in a coma.”
“Which he’s ignoring to make these deals.”
“A snatch and grab on foreign soil at the home of a high ranking government official. He’s second in command. That’s a hairy deal,” Max said. “So the question still is, why ask us?”
“Leaks. Your team is off the grid, and outside the usual channels.”
Most of the time, Logan thought.
“The closer it gets to Washington, the more chance of leaks. I don’t want to use CIA resources. This man is as under the wire as it gets. If the press gets wind of it, America will be everyone’s target and we’ll never be trusted again.”
Logan spoke. “No. Too political.”
“Don’t you all have to agree?” McGill’s gaze swept the other three men sitting around the living room. Their expressionless faces told him where he stood. “Where’s Moore and Wyatt?”
“Unavailable.” McGill didn’t need to know details. Killian Moore was on loan to DEA in Colombia, using his alter ego of Dominic Cane to get into the cartel again. Sam Wyatt was probably on his ranch with Viva, or planning a wedding. Dragon One didn’t need a full roster on every retrieval.
“I’ve read the reports, you know.” McGill rose and faced Logan. He and Ramos had been SEALs at the same time, and while Logan left the Teams, Ramos was enlisted by the CIA.
“Mission debriefs don’t tell everything, sir, and I couldn’t care less if the man died, slow and agonizing.”
Max straightened next to Sebastian. Riley swung his legs off the sofa. Battle lines, McGill thought.
“His failure to obey orders got civilians killed under my command,” Logan said.
“You were cleared.”
Logan’s gaze jerked to McGill’s. “I was there.”
“Equal blame, isn’t that right, Commander?” McGill knew Logan shouldered the responsibility because Ramos didn’t. Ramos had a Top Gun attitude with deadly skills and while his career had been shady, it was McGill’s duty to tie this off and bring him home. “The man has since paid with his face in Afghanistan last year. When this opportunity came, he’d just begun his plastic surgery to repair the damage.”
“So a few implants and he volunteered to help? Or get the face of a powerful man and use it to his advantage?” Logan shook his head. “He cannot be trusted.”
“Regardless, we need to get close enough for face-to-face contact. We’ve seen what the press sees, just better angles. He doesn’t look like he’s recovering very well.”
“You want a medical assessment, too?” Max blasted. “I see the only choice for you,” he stressed, washing his hands of it, “is to get the body out. Assassinate him. Let them bury him like he’s their Vice President.”
McGill frowned at Max Renfield’s macabre vehemence. “When they dress him for the funeral, something the family does, they will know.
