“He recruits other soldiers into his organization. Guys with money or personal problems. Like I said, the money is big.”
“I started hearing rumors,” Edge said. “That’s how I got involved. I did some checking, found out he was talking to soldiers in the supply chain—specifically, men working in the armory. I went over his head, figuring the brass would start an investigation, but rumors aren’t proof. When I pressed the issue, I ended up getting tossed out on my ass.”
He felt Skye’s hand on his thigh and realized the anger he was fighting had his leg shaking beneath the table. He covered her hand with his and took a deep breath.
“I was already out when I found out what was going on,” Harding said. “Some of my men came to me with info, hoping I could help them do something about it, but they weren’t willing to put their careers on the line without proof. I dug into Markham, used my connections in the spec ops community to find out everything I could. But until now I didn’t have the kind of proof the army would accept.”
“Which we’re about to get now,” Edge said. “Assuming this actually goes down tomorrow night.”
“Unless something changes between now and then, it’s going to happen.”
“How can you be sure?” Skye asked.
“Sergeant Gill Franklin—you call him Grease—has a lot of friends down here; some of them go all the way back to boot camp. A couple of his retired Green Beret buddies down in San Diego don’t like what Markham’s been doing any more than you do. They’ve been keeping an eye on the major’s house in the city, collecting intel on his hideout in Cabo San Lucas. According to them, Markham’s going to be at the meet tomorrow night.”
Edge’s whole body went tense.
“Markham’s going to be in Arizona?” Skye asked.
“Mexico. He’s flying in from Cabo to oversee delivery and payment of the weapons. Odds are he’ll be landing at the Aeropuerto National de Cananea. It’s only about thirty miles south of the border, not that far from Fort Huachuca. I should get confirmation tomorrow. More importantly, I’ll know where the actual munitions transfer is going to take place.”
“You know an awful lot about what’s going on,” Edge said. “What’s your stake in this?”
In the dim light of the cantina, the colonel’s features hardened. “My son Andrew served under Markham in Afghanistan. Andrew didn’t make it home. What Markham’s doing disrespects my son and every good soldier in the army.”
The words tightened Edge’s chest. He knew too many guys KIA in Afghanistan. “We’re going to need some help. I’m hoping we can count you in.”
“I’m in as deep as it gets,” Harding said.
“We’re all former army, but the three of us won’t be enough,” said Skye, always practical.
Harding’s features turned feral, a man ready to go on the hunt. “I’m retired army, but I volunteer as a training officer with a militia group out of Tucson called the Desert Eagles. We stay in shape, train regularly. These guys are good, and they’re in all the way.”
“I want Markham alive,” Edge said. “I want him to face charges for what he’s done. I want him locked up in federal prison.”
Harding leaned back in his chair. “I figured you’d say that. Here’s the deal. Once we take these guys down, we can’t just leave all that military equipment behind. We have to make sure it doesn’t fall into enemy hands.”
“So what do you suggest?” Edge asked.
“Grease isn’t the only one with useful friends. I’ve got a contact at Fort Huachuca, a full bird colonel. There isn’t time for a thorough investigation, which means he can’t step in unless—”
“Unless the deal goes down. Millions in military equipment could fall into enemy hands, which means he’s forced to call in spec ops to handle it.”
“That’s right. A Special Forces unit crosses the border, nice and quiet, handles the situation, brings home the stolen goods, and disappears. No international incident, no one the wiser. The army has the criminals in custody and all the evidence it needs to prosecute Major Bradley Markham and the rest of his band of traitors.”
For the first time that night, Edge relaxed. He glanced over at Skye, and she smiled. “Looks like you’re about to get your man.”
Edge lifted his bottle of beer. “To Markham getting what he deserves.”
“To justice,” Harding said, and the three bottles clinked over the middle of the table.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
SKYE AWOKE COLD AND ALONE IN THE BED IN HER MOTEL ROOM. During the night, she had tossed and turned, reliving the horror of the IED explosion and the painful days of her recovery, the endless succession of surgeries.
Another explosion in her mind jolted her awake, her heart beating wildly, her body damp with perspiration. It didn’t happen often, hadn’t happened once during her nights with Edge. She shook the thought away and glanced toward the window.
It was still dark outside, but gray light seeped through the curtains. She got up and turned on the heater, then climbed back under the covers until the room warmed up.
