I flick my eyes down and see the rippling blue water of the sea winking far, far below. As I watch, I make out the distinctive formation of the Strait of Gibraltar—we're going so fast that no sooner have I spotted it than we've passed it.
Jesus, what?
"Fuck, this is one hell of a long burn," Harris mutters, the strain evident in his voice.
Spain and Africa fall away behind us rapidly, replaced by endless blue ocean. We're banking, now, angling north toward the States.
And then, finally, the pressure slackens as we reach cruising speed, and I can breathe again.
"Hypersonic cruising speed attained."
"No shit, Mercy," Harris mutters. To me, then: "She takes her job very, very seriously. She's the best damn pilot I've ever seen, and generally speaking, I'm the best pilot I’ve ever seen. But even if it's just Val in the cabin, she announces everything."
"I suppose when operating something like this, you want someone who don't cut corners, ey?" I say, unbuckling when I see him do so.
"Damn right."
"Can I ask you a question, mate?" I say.
"Shoot."
"No judgment on this, trust me, but…how can you laugh and joke when Roberto fucking Pugli has your girl?"
He sighs. "It's a coping mechanism I've developed over the years. In the past, I'd be all broody and pissed off and serious, like you are. But that doesn't help anyone. I'm in charge. Everyone is looking to me, watching me. If I panic, they panic. If I'm angry, they're angry. But if I'm calm and at ease…"
"We will be," I finish.
"Right." He shows me his hand, which is trembling slightly. "See? I'm so angry I'm shaking, Rush. The shakes will pass when it's go time, but for right now, I gotta act cool as a cucumber. We're up against a seriously bad dude, Rush. You know it as well as I do."
"Yeah, I do."
"But what you may not know is that it's not just Pugli we're facing. He's teamed up with someone just as bad as him, if not worse."
I stare, my mind momentarily blank. "Scuse me, sorry, but…it sounded like you said worse than Pugli?"
"I did." "Fuck me. He's nigh on the devil incarnate. Who's this other fella and how the fuck can he be worse?"
Harris growls, his fury showing through his easygoing facade. "His name is Rafael Sousa, better known as Mercado. But when I say better known, I mean to the very small handful of people who even know he exists. He's one of the most powerful and secretive drug lords on the planet. He makes Escobar and El Chapo look like Sesame Street characters."
"Fuck that. You're takin the piss, aren't you?"
Harris shakes his head, expression solemn. "No, son, I'm not. He's that bad. And apparently, his interests and Pugli's intersect. According to Lear's latest report, Pugli has taken Bryn to Texas, where we happen to know Mercado has been operating. We have a handshake agreement with another security operation known as the Broken Arrows, who have been working to take down Mercado. One of their members also has a vested interest in taking down Pugli.”
"How do those two kingpins intersect, then?" I ask.
A shrug. "Don't know for sure. I think Mercado is having trouble fielding enough of his agents on the US side of the border, whereas Pugli, with his connections through Interpol, can more easily get armed men into the US. I'm just guessing, though."
"So what do we know for sure?" I ask.
"There was a hit not long ago on a safehouse in Austin—someone connected to the Broken Arrows was staying there, hiding from Mercado. I don't know the particulars, but that much is established fact. Someone got away, and someone else didn't—again, I don't have a full brief on the details, but we'll know more when we reach the States and rendezvous with the Arrows. Hopefully by the time we're feet dry over US soil, I’ll have more details. The other known fact is that one of the people who escaped the hit is a woman named Inez, the estranged wife of Mercado and now his mortal enemy."
I rub my jaw. "Turnin' into a bit of a soapie, innit?"
When Harris frowns, I roll my eyes. "Soap opera? All drama and shite. His ex-wife is now his mortal enemy, and she leads the daring Broken Arrows in a crusade for justice against her villainous former husband?"
Harris laughs. "Oh. Yeah, I guess, when you put it like that. But my own story is no less dramatic, so I can't talk."
It's my turn to laugh. "Well, yeah, but everyone knows your story. Seen it on the telly, ain't we?" I wave a hand. "Nevermind. Go on."
