“That makes us all beautiful. We get wet all the time. We live to swim,” Breakneck said with a smirk.
“Uh, duh, SEALs,” Boomer said, pointing at himself, then around the plane.
“Goddamnyou guys,” GQ said with narrowed eyes.
Hazard stood and clapped GQ on the back. “Don’t let them push your buttons. Bunch of knuckle draggers.”
“We don’t listen to golden unicorns,” Boomer growled.
Skull stood and grabbed a water bottle of his own. Shaking his hair back, he said, “There’s got to be more to life than being really, really, really good-looking.”
“I don’t know,” Breakneck said. “Models have it tough. In fact, they’re a lot like SEALs.”
Boomer laughed hard and loud. “How’s that, kid?”
“We both work out, held to very high standards, you can’t be too tall or too big. We work long hours in uncomfortable conditions in places we have never been before and with people who could make or break our careers. We’re judged for everything we do or not do in situations. You really have to work hard to get through the preliminary tests to get to the top. And all the guys who are fighting for their chance really hate the pretty boys.”
He gave GQ a sidelong glance, his dark eyes twinkling.
“Who you calling pretty, pretty boy?” GQ said, lifting his chin, a hint of a smile on his mouth.
Boomer laughed out loud. “But the kid does have a point.”
Preacher chuckled at their shenanigans, admiring Breakneck’s ability to surprise them all. With Karasu and the upcoming mission of tracking down NSH heavy on his mind, it wasn’t long before the jet touched down in La Paz.
They loaded up in the waiting SUVs and drove to the American embassy downtown. It was a hot tropical night in a hot tropical country with hot tropical politics, gangs, drug lords, and disenfranchised remnants of a former government whose citizens were rife with resentment and accusations of corruption and conspiracy. The embassy security had been heightened in the wake of the attacks. As soon as they got through security and into one of the conference rooms, they encountered Major Felix Flores who was the commander for GAT, Bolivia’s anti-terrorism force. They would be working with the group to bring down NSH in Bolivia along with Interior Minister Ernesto Perez.
“Thank you for coming so quickly,” Perez said, shaking Rose’s hand.
She nodded. “Of course. We both had a stake in taking these terrorists down before they can cause more death and destruction.” She turned to Iceman. “This is Master Chief Christopher Snow, and he is leading the SEALs who are here to help in any way they can.”
He shook Ice’s hand, his face grim. “We have been notified by your State Department through the ambassador that your FBI Evidence Response Team is on its way to Bolivia. We will have them work with our professionals at GAT. Since it is quite late, we have accommodations in a local hotel ready for you. Once our joint teams have scoured the sites, gathered evidence, and cataloged the dead, we will reconvene and debrief.”
“Sounds like a good plan, Minister Perez,” Rose said.
Suddenly, her eyes sharpened, and she left the room, going into the hall. Preacher followed her progress. She stopped before a tall man. He and Ice exited the room.
“Mr. Trasker. It’s a surprise to find you in Bolivia.”
“Hello, Ms. Sinema. I’m sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances, again,” he said smoothly.
His gaze caught Preacher’s like a tractor beam and held it, steady, unblinking, calm. Flat calm, like the ocean on a windless day. Preacher could feel the power of his personality in his oddly colored green eyes, even while he could read nothing of his thoughts.
“I’m here to make sure my hotel is safe and secure. We can’t be too careful,” he said.
“No, we can’t,” she agreed. “We’re doing our best to bring whoever is responsible to justice.”
He met Rose’s steady gaze. “That is admirable. We have to remember that killers of this sort are notoriously clever. Brilliant even.”
“We’ll prevail.”
“Good over evil?” he said.
“Yes,” she said softly, glancing away, and Trasker’s cool green eyes held fast on her, speculating. Ice was stiff beside him. Neither one of them liked Trasker. He could tell. But he was a businessman, and it was in his best interest for his business to be proactive. There was just something…off about the guy.
“Mr. Trasker,” someone called. “They’re ready for you.”
He turned away. “I hope the next time we meet, Ms. Sinema, it will be under better circumstances.”