CHAPTER FIVE
Bishop Security
Somewhere outside of Beaufort, South Carolina
November 25
Cam sat on the bed in the guest apartment of Bishop Security. He was looking forward to moving in with Steady when the house was finished, but he had to admit it would be hard to leave these temporary quarters. The new offices were like a spec op's wet dream. From the tech to the training facility, from the war room to the gun range, if it could be conceived, Nathan Bishop had implemented it. If the Naval Special Warfare Center and the Ritz Carlton had a building-baby, it would be the Bishop Security office.
He took a moment to prepare himself for the shift into Miguel Ramirez's world. It had been his cover for over two years, and the transition back to Camilo Canto had taken some time. When he was on assignment, there was no other reality. His life depended on it. He was Miguel Ramirez from a small village outside Bogota. He smoked pot, used cocaine, fucked women, and was particularly good with a knife. He did what he was told to do without question or hesitation. That reliability and obedience had granted him access to intelligence that struck a blow to trafficking operations and terror groups around the world. Cam was proud of the work he had done. Although somewhere, deep inside, he was ashamed of it too, ashamed of Miguel Ramirez. He reminded himself of the big picture and the good that he had done. Nevertheless, the work had left scars. Cam hadn’t sacrificed life or limb, but he had lost a lot on those assignments.
He opened the secure laptop, followed his old instructions, and accessed the texts.
It was Luis, a coworker of Miguel's from Dario Sava's outfit.
Alguien te está buscando.
Someone is looking for you.
Shit. Had he still been at The Agency, this would have been good news. He had stood out in Sava's organization. At first for his size; later, he had garnered Dario Sava's attention because he was reliable and an exceptional fighter—not a Special Forces fighter, a street fighter. Nevertheless, men like him were a dime a dozen in that world and treated as such. Why would someone be looking specifically for him? The alarm bells clanging in his head made it difficult to continue reading.
In the final text, Luis gave him a meeting location and time.
When Cam began his assignment as Miguel Ramirez, his jefe, Dario Sava, was an arms dealer who worked with calculated precision. Bringing down the Sava empire had been the culmination of two grueling years. For Cam, the satisfaction was immeasurable. A year ago, the thought of infiltrating another organization would have been exhilarating. Now? The pursuit would come from obligation rather than desire.
At the bottom of the laptop screen, a message from his former handler flashed. Cam sighed heavily and dug out the old cell phone to charge it. Occasionally, non-official cover (NOC) officers held on to their devices for as long as a year for this very reason. He stared blankly at the phone, knowing he couldn’t walk away from whatever this was.
Reaching into the case for the charger, his fingers brushed a leather-bound notebook: his notes on The Conductor. He withdrew the journal and flipped through the pages. Anyone who came across it would think Cam had gone off the deep end. The scrawl looked like the musings of a madman. However, upon closer examination, Cam saw that his notations, facts, and threads of thought held merit. Seeing his words on paper brought his thoughts to Raymond Greene. Had Greene placed that phone call to his CIA cell phone, and if so, what was he going to say? Perhaps simply placing the call was warning enough. Maybe it was nothing, but the text messages coming on the heels of that call from Crimea where Greene was stationed were enough to give Cam pause.
He decided to jump in the shower while the phone charged. He wanted to be clear-headed when he placed the call to his former handler.
Cam tapped on the open door of Nathan Bishop's office. His boss looked up from his computer and waved him in, pointing to the coffee pot on the bar. Cam declined the offer and took a seat in one of the taupe suede and chrome chairs that faced the desk.
“I may have an issue. It's probably nothing, but I wanted to keep you in the loop. The good news is your clearance is high enough that I can do that,” Cam said.
“What's up?” Nathan checked his personal cell then set it aside.
“One of Dario Sava's old enforcers, a guy named Luis, texted Miguel Ramirez's phone. Said somebody is looking for me, for Miguel,” Cam explained.
“Specifically Miguel Ramirez?” Nathan asked.
“That's what he said.”
“That makes no sense. I mean no offense, but you were no doubt put in that role in Sava's organization because those men are easily replaced and unnoticed.” Nathan drummed his fingers on his desk.
“Exactly. So I figure it's one of two things. Someone is trying to backtrack through Sava's organization to find the mole. There's no way any other players saw Sava go down and didn’t suspect an informant.” Cam leaned forward and laced his fingers between his knees.
“Agreed. What's Option B?” Nathan asked.
“A couple of the guys Miguel got close to were poised to grab a piece of the pie the minute things went south with Sava. If one of them wants to start assembling soldiers…” Cam shrugged, letting Nathan finish the thought.
“That person might reach out to his old crew.”
“Got it in one.” Cam nodded.
“What did your former handler have to say?” Nathan asked.
“He said it's my call.”