Fonz cackles. "Nice. Then my plan is working perfectly."
"Your plan is to make people think you're stupid?" Annika says. "Sounds…I dunno, kinda stupid."
Fonz taps his temple. "Ah, but it ain't. See, if peoplethinkyou're dumb, they count you out. Ignore you. But if you ain't really stupidoruneducated, it works in your favor, because then when you bust an intellectual nut in their face, it's even funnier."
"Bust an intellectual nut in their face?" Silas echoes. "What does that even mean?"
"Dunkin' on a motherfucker," Fonz says. "That’s what. Proving that not only are younota dumbfuck like they assumed, but you’re smarter than them, and then suddenlythey’rethe dumbfuck. It's beautiful."
“Or, and I'm just spitballing ideas here," Saxon says, "you could just act as smart as you are?"
"Pffff," Fonz says, dismissing the idea. "Where's the fun in that?"
We're saved from further nonsense by Lash's voice from the comms. "Contact," he murmurs. "Caravan of SUVs approaching. I count six."
"Suburbans?" Sol asks.
"Affirmative," Lash asks.
"If they're each carrying eight, that's forty-eight," Rev mutters. "Lotta tangos."
Kane rolls a shoulder. “Yeah, but are eight full-grown adult males in body armor and wielding rifles gonna all fit, even in a Suburban?"
"Not comfortably," Chance answers. "But it don't fuckin' matter, does it? We got a mission to carry out no matter the odds."
"Enough chatter," I snap, leaving—regretfully—the comfort of Lorenzo's arms. "Fonz, take the girls to your position. Everyone else, we split up and come at them from multiple angles at once. Nicolai, keep us informed. We need confirmation that Pugli is in fact in that convoy."
"We pick our teams or do you wanna?" Solomon asks me.
I scan the group. "Scarlett, Sax, and Rev, you're Alpha team. Ren, Chance, and Kane, Beta team. Myself, Solomon, and Si are Charlie team. Toro and Taj, you're Delta. Alpha, you circle around come from the north. Beta, west, Charlie, we take east, Delta, you take south. Delta, if for any reason Fonz calls for assistance, you two will be the closest, so you respond. Any questions?"
Silas raises his hand. "Yeah, are we trying to bring anyone in alive or…?"
I let my expression grow cold, summoning the icy brutality of Inez. "No prisoners. No questioning. If you see Pugli or Rafa and you have a shot, you fucking take it. And remember—this isn't over until I have visual, in-person confirmation of death for our two primary targets. The soldiers I don't give a fuck about, live or die. Rafa and this arrogant Pugli character are our targets." I scan the group once more. "Those of you who have taken the oath against killing, your vow still applies. Be strategic. Be smart. Work together."
No one has anything to add or ask, so I clap my hands once. "Move out and get into position, but wait for my signal. I want us to strike in synch. Nico, updates?"
"The convoy is approaching the target zone." A pause; the teams have jogged off in their respective positions; I join my teammates and we're moving east. "The convoy has reached the target zone. Stopping. Each SUV has at least six, and two of them have seven. They're fanning out to join the men already in position. Hold…I see Pugli. He's got body armor on. He's talking to someone—whoever down there is in charge of Mercado's security, I believe."
"Does it seem like he's going in, or is Rafa coming out?" I ask.
"He is going in."
"Damn. Figured that's how it would work, but a girl can hope for the easy way."
One by one, over the next couple minutes, the teams report in as they reach their positions—within sight of the target zone.
"All teams, confirm go," I say.
"Alpha team, go."
"Beta team, go."
"Charlie team, go," I say.
"Delta team, go."
I hesitate, let out a breath. "This is it, everyone. In a few minutes, this can all be over. No heroics. We all go home." I let another heartbeat pass. "All teams—go!"
