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Authors: David M. Salkin
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facts have been ignored. I know I don’t get to see the big picture, whatever that may be, but when I know that vital intelligence is being ignored because it doesn’t fit some bullshit narrative, I get a little pissed, yeah.”
“You are so politically incorrect I think I really like you,” said Pete McCoy. “No disrespect to Mack or Cascaes, but we never had these kinds of conversations before you showed up.”
Moose stood up, looking angry. “Because these kinds of conversations aren’t good to have. Apo, I understand your aggravation—I really do. But bashing the commander in chief runs counter to how we operate. SEALs follow the chain of command to our death, period. This is counterproductive, dangerous, and smells like insubordination.” He looked at his men, one at a time. “I hear any of you bad-mouthing anyone, you answer to me, capisce ?”
Apo’s face turned red. “Moose, I apologize if it seemed like insubordination. I have my people to answer to, just like you. The difference is, my people work alone out there without a net. And when we risk our lives to gather intel, and it’s ignored, it gets personal. I’ll try and keep my comments more objective, but remember who really has your six when the shit hits the fan.”
“Every man here has my six,” said Moose, stone faced.
“Including me. Moving on . . .” replied Apo coldly.
CHAPTER 15
El Gato’s Estate
Felix and Marco drove back to El Gato’s compound. At the front entrance, the bodyguards pressed the electronic wrought-iron gates, which rolled open to allow their black SUV to proceed on to the manicured grounds. The long cobblestone driveway led through English-style gardens, with manicured hedges and rose gardens. For a murdering sociopath, El Gato had excellent taste.
The SUV stopped at the tremendous oak and stained-glass front doors. There, another bodyguard stood with his Uzi. He nodded at Felix and Marco, who he recognized immediately from their almost daily visits.
The two men walked inside and followed the white marble center hallway to the rear of the house. The back of the house was all glass, with a breathtaking view of the countryside behind them. At twelve hundred feet, the hilltop mansion overlooked the flat jungle all the way to the ocean, miles in the distance. The shantytowns below weren’t visible through the thick canopy of trees.
“Marco! Felix!” El Gato greeted them warmly. One was never sure how his mood would be, and they smiled and relaxed at his demeanor.
“Good afternoon, Jefe,” they replied. Jefe , which translates to “chief” or “boss” in English, was how all the men addressed El Gato.
“Cold beer?” He snapped his fingers, and one of the beautiful young women walked swiftly in her high heels to get two beers from the fridge, her heels clicking on the marble tile. Marco’s eyes never left her legs and butt as she walked. “Yes, she’s something. You can borrow her if you wish. Good work today.”
Marco grinned from ear to ear. “Thank you, sir.” He accepted the bottle from the girl and gave her such an evil smile he terrified her. She handed the other bottle to Felix and quickly retreated to the kitchen to act busy.
“Come. I’ll show you your next project,” said El Gato.
He led the men back inside, and then down several very long flights of stairs. They walked a long hallway, lined with limestone blocks like a medieval castle. Two guards stood by a large wooden door that also looked as if it belonged in an ancient castle stronghold. They pulled the heavy oak door open for their boss. It moved slowly under its own weight, like the door of a vault.
The men walked inside a cavernous room, where pallets of shrink-wrapped bricks of cash were piled to the ceiling along the wall on the left. El Gato wasn’t even sure how much money he had anymore. It was more than five hundred million, almost all in American cash, although he did have a few pallets of euros and Swiss francs
“You are so politically incorrect I think I really like you,” said Pete McCoy. “No disrespect to Mack or Cascaes, but we never had these kinds of conversations before you showed up.”
Moose stood up, looking angry. “Because these kinds of conversations aren’t good to have. Apo, I understand your aggravation—I really do. But bashing the commander in chief runs counter to how we operate. SEALs follow the chain of command to our death, period. This is counterproductive, dangerous, and smells like insubordination.” He looked at his men, one at a time. “I hear any of you bad-mouthing anyone, you answer to me, capisce ?”
Apo’s face turned red. “Moose, I apologize if it seemed like insubordination. I have my people to answer to, just like you. The difference is, my people work alone out there without a net. And when we risk our lives to gather intel, and it’s ignored, it gets personal. I’ll try and keep my comments more objective, but remember who really has your six when the shit hits the fan.”
“Every man here has my six,” said Moose, stone faced.
“Including me. Moving on . . .” replied Apo coldly.
CHAPTER 15
El Gato’s Estate
Felix and Marco drove back to El Gato’s compound. At the front entrance, the bodyguards pressed the electronic wrought-iron gates, which rolled open to allow their black SUV to proceed on to the manicured grounds. The long cobblestone driveway led through English-style gardens, with manicured hedges and rose gardens. For a murdering sociopath, El Gato had excellent taste.
The SUV stopped at the tremendous oak and stained-glass front doors. There, another bodyguard stood with his Uzi. He nodded at Felix and Marco, who he recognized immediately from their almost daily visits.
The two men walked inside and followed the white marble center hallway to the rear of the house. The back of the house was all glass, with a breathtaking view of the countryside behind them. At twelve hundred feet, the hilltop mansion overlooked the flat jungle all the way to the ocean, miles in the distance. The shantytowns below weren’t visible through the thick canopy of trees.
“Marco! Felix!” El Gato greeted them warmly. One was never sure how his mood would be, and they smiled and relaxed at his demeanor.
“Good afternoon, Jefe,” they replied. Jefe , which translates to “chief” or “boss” in English, was how all the men addressed El Gato.
“Cold beer?” He snapped his fingers, and one of the beautiful young women walked swiftly in her high heels to get two beers from the fridge, her heels clicking on the marble tile. Marco’s eyes never left her legs and butt as she walked. “Yes, she’s something. You can borrow her if you wish. Good work today.”
Marco grinned from ear to ear. “Thank you, sir.” He accepted the bottle from the girl and gave her such an evil smile he terrified her. She handed the other bottle to Felix and quickly retreated to the kitchen to act busy.
“Come. I’ll show you your next project,” said El Gato.
He led the men back inside, and then down several very long flights of stairs. They walked a long hallway, lined with limestone blocks like a medieval castle. Two guards stood by a large wooden door that also looked as if it belonged in an ancient castle stronghold. They pulled the heavy oak door open for their boss. It moved slowly under its own weight, like the door of a vault.
The men walked inside a cavernous room, where pallets of shrink-wrapped bricks of cash were piled to the ceiling along the wall on the left. El Gato wasn’t even sure how much money he had anymore. It was more than five hundred million, almost all in American cash, although he did have a few pallets of euros and Swiss francs
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