Page 16 of Player

Finn

Thanks to my partner, Diego, our mission has gone arseways to Sunday. Blown to pieces, literally. Months of work, ruined. With us the leading stars in our own version ofThe Good, the Bad and the Ugly.

Fahder, and his warehouse of AK45s, was “the good,” because we knew about the weapons. Diego and I were locked and loaded and ready to act once Hayden was satisfied all stones had been turned and even the smallest bits of new information had been exposed.

Then came “the bad”—Diego’s discovery of enriched uranium. While I was twiddling me thumbs in Mexico City and feckin’ about with nosy reporters, my partner was living large in a mountaintop mansion owned by Fahder’s son and pursuing the lead our intel from France provided about the gun trade. I’ve got to say, the news this black-market deal involved enriched uranium, a main component in nuclear weaponry, was unexpected.

Hayden ripped into us for mistaking what was actually being sold. At that point, our investigation became something entirely different. But I wish I could say that’s where the mind feckery ends.

Except I’d be lying.

“The ugly” happened in a rapid series of head-scratchers.

Señora del Leon appeared out of the mist. No one knew of her involvement, or the fact that she’d been calling the shots all along. Her abrupt entrance into this shite show had us dumbstruck like we were a sandwich short of a picnic. Just one more example of why I’ve always said women are the smarter sex.

Diego assured me he had things covered, already neck deep in the Fahder family business when Hayden said to keep things low-key, and to gather information about the uranium, such as where it was being produced and who the European buyer was, that Diego’s hearing impairment would kick in that day.

So, what does Diego, our agency’s “big boom” expert, do?

Boom!

The wanker goes and blows up the Señora’s hacienda using enough dynamite the earth shook back here in Mexico City.

All our targets are dead; Fahder, Juan Carlos, Señora del Leon. The trail of paperwork she likely left behind is now ash. And our assignment? Dead in the feckin’ water. I’ve got to say, if Diego had another bitta wit, he’d be a half-wit.

The boss is pissed—no surprise, that. Diego called me in a fine state. Panicked about getting his new beour, Aubrey, out of town before Hayden found out about her. Actions have consequences, or so the boss is fond of saying. Put the fear of God in Diego, he did. Mr. Trigger-Finger went and fell in love, making himself vulnerable. Should have kept it in his pants. Paused a moment prior to sparking those flames—his new lady’s and the dynamite’s.

Now, it’s my turn. My hand shakes as I wait for the call.

Most people believe organizations like TORC only exists in the movies. Hitmen for hire, assassins, spies—and whatever else you might want to call us—we’re the real deal. Doing governments’ dirty work. Mucking about in the shadows. Gathering intel. Killing targets. Eliminating global security threats, for the most part. Whatever Hayden demands of us. Our success is in the outcome. Failures like this aren’t tolerated.

The boss is as tolerant as a lad whose been told to eat his vegetables while everyone else is eating ice-cream sundaes. TORC is what it is because of his ruthlessness. Didn’t he sick Jaxson on Kylie after she went on the lam?

Every one of us is expendable. We’ll never see it coming, either.

Never forget it, Finn-boyo.

The phone vibrates.

It’d be suicide not to answer. And if my loose-cannon partner is still breathing, I can’t imagine I’ll be any worse off.

I press receive then immediately go on the offensive. “A real shite show it is, I can’t deny it.”

He’s quiet on the other end. Bad sign.

“All isn’t lost—”

“You know something I don’t?” he interrupts.

“Not exactly ...”

“So, you do know something. Do tell, Finn.”

Feckin’ hell. “A week is all I ask. Give me a week and I’ll produce. A person with Señora del Leon’s disposition could piss off the pope. Someone knows something.”

He’s quiet.

“And, like I already reported, the cargo ship transporting the uranium is leaving Acapulco on the twenty-second. We’re not completely in the dark.”