Chapter 39

While Bella and her family were getting situated in the back room at the Red Dog Saloon, Steele went off to the side to make a telephone call to Mr. Cian. Although the clandestine government man had been grateful for Steele’s assistance with the Russian “situation,” he had never disclosed his real name. But Steele understood that. Much of his own life was classified. And Mr. Cian’s organization, the only government agency with no acronym, was more secretive than any Steele had encountered. At least Mr. Cian trusted Steele enough to have given him his telephone number.

The conversation wasn’t friendly. Not that it was unfriendly. There were no “How’s the family?” or “What have you been up to?” It was simply direct and to the point. Something Steele appreciated. Mr. Cian wasn’t a friend. He was someone who could help Steele in ways others could not. And he asked fewer questions than Steele’s contacts at the CIA, FBI, and other government agencies.

“I need an SR-25 M110 with scope and suppressor,” Steele said on the telephone.

“What are you planning to do with a sniper rifle?” Mr. Cian said.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Is it personal or do I need to know?”

“It’s personal, but maybe when I’m done less drugs will come into the U.S. And there’s a crooked CBP officer and a deputy sheriff that I need to put away.”

“Need anything else?”

“An assault rifle with a suppressor. An FN SCAR if you have one. Something with firepower. And a lot of full 20-round magazines for it and a way to carry them with quick access. Same with full magazines for my Glock 19.”

“What the hell are you up against? An army?”

“A drug lord in a fortified, well-manned compound.”

“Where the hell is this compound?”

“Mexico. Oh, I need to pick the stuff up in Mexico. Don’t want to risk crossing the border with all that.”

“You’ll be locked up in a shitty Mexican prison and they’ll throw away the key if they do catch you. Anything else?”

“A couple of grenades. Just in case I need them. You never know.”

“Why should I help you?”

“These are bad assholes. Murder, kidnapping, slavery, drugs. On both sides of the border. And if I don’t kill them they’ll kill me.”

“What did you do this time?”

“I have no idea. I’m helping a friend in Arizona and, somehow, I touched a nerve. I think it has something to do with the dirty deputy sheriff, but I don’t know for sure.”

Steele waited for Mr. Cian to speak. It was a long pause. And then Mr. Cian told him where to pick the weapons up. A farm machine warehouse on the outskirts of Agua Prieta, Mexico, just across the border from Douglas, Arizona. It was the closest place to Diablo del Norte that had what Steele needed.

“Don’t know if I’ll be able to return it,” Steele said.

“Don’t. Don’t go back to the warehouse. Nothing can be traced back to us.”

“I owe you.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Steele drove back to Elena’s house. Buck’s tow truck was in the driveway so he parked behind it. He felt the hood of the truck. The engine was cold so he made noise entering the house to give them notice, but Elena and Buck were sitting at the kitchen table. It looked like they were having brunch.

Elena jumped out of her chair. “Where have you been? I was worried sick.”