Page 30 of Zane

“We could use the condors again,” came the deep baritone voice at the door.Every man in the room jumped, gripping their chests.Even Trak’s grandsons jerked in surprise.

“I swear one day you are going to get shot, Trak,” said Ham shaking his head.Trak just shrugged.It wasn’t the first time he’d heard it and it wouldn’t be the last.He took one step into the room and rolled his eyes as Alec and Tailor pushed in behind him.

“What are y’all doing here?” asked Cowboy.

“We’re bored,” frowned Alec.“We want to have some fun.”

“This isn’t fun!It could be war,” said Ham.The two massive giants grinned, fist-bumping one another.“Y’all are children.Fine.And using the condors could be helpful, you’re right.”

“Whatever you say, you’re in charge,” grinned Trak.

“Am I?Am I, really?Because it damn sure doesn’t feel that way,” frowned Ham.

“We mean no disrespect, Ham,” said Tailor.“You’ll feel this one day yourself.There will come a day when you’re technically retired but still have the feeling that you can be useful, helpful, and can make a difference.We’ve been to this part of the world more times than you can imagine.Let us help and we just might make things a little easier for you.”

“Fine.Fine, you’re right.We can use the help.But do me a favor,” he said staring at the three additional team members, “at least do me the courtesy of telling me what you’re going to do before you do it.”Trak smirked at him, nodding.

“I’ll do my best.”

They all watched as the three men left the room, smiling at one another and shaking their heads.They knew they most likely wouldn’t tell them a damn thing.

“Alright,” nodded Ham.“We’ll wait until we get more intel from Coop and his team and start finalizing plans.In the meantime, gather the weapons and explosives we’re going to need.Gather your own gear, anything that you know you’ll want and need.Hiro?”

“Yep,” he said spinning around.

“Get with G.R.I.P. and take anything they’ll give us.”

“Victoria and Marilisa are already on that.They’re crating everything now for the boats to be brought to the air strip.”He nodded, staring at the others.

“Then let’s plan for everything.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Marco Rodriguez had built his empire in the folds of a lush mountain valley in Argentina, where the roads disappeared into thick tropical forests and the horizon shimmered like a warning.

From the outside, his compound looked like an ancient castle from Europe, guarded by walls, gates, and men who never smiled, but beyond the first layer of stone and steel, the place moved with the rhythm of a hidden city.

There were warehouses that never appeared on any map, loading yards lit through the night, and long sheds where workers moved crates under the watch of armed supervisors.

The air carried the heat of machinery and engines, and the business inside the walls was spoken of only in fragments, as though even naming it too clearly might invite judgment.

Marco preferred it that way.He liked secrets, not because he feared discovery, but because secrets made him feel larger than ordinary men.Each guarded door, each whispered order, each vehicle that left under the moon convinced him that he had outgrown the world’s rules.

He did not walk through the compound so much as receive it, as if every corridor and courtyard had been created for the pleasure of his inspection.Men lowered their eyes when he passed, not out of loyalty alone, but because Marco had trained them to understand that awe was safer than familiarity.

At the center of his latest obsession stood an unfinished coliseum, absurd and magnificent, rising out of the earth beside the transport sheds.Its concrete bones formed tiers of seating, tunnels, holding pens, and a wide oval floor where Marco imagined cheers rolling like thunder.

He called it a monument to courage, though everyone close to him understood it was a monument to himself.In private, he spoke of modern gladiators, of men hardened by desperation and a desire to pay debts in any way possible.It was always preferable to death.He spoke of beasts brought in as symbols of nature’s brutality, and of crowds learning that mercy was a weakness invented by comfortable people.

The engineers hated the project, but they feared him more than they hated the work.They measured arches, reinforced walls, and adjusted floodlights while pretending not to hear Marco’s speeches about spectacle, destiny, and the ancient hunger of mankind.

Near the coliseum, the rest of the compound continued its unlawful trade with relentless discipline.Trucks came and went behind black gates, drivers signed for cargo without questions, and supervisors checked manifests that used harmless words to disguise what everyone knew was being moved.

Marco watched it all from a balcony wrapped around his residence, a white villa planted above the dust like a crown on a skull.He liked the view because it allowed him to see both halves of his dream: the machinery of wealth on one side and the theater of domination on the other.

He had begun to believe his own myths with dangerous sincerity.The law, he said, was slow; rivals were predictable; politicians were purchasable; and fear, once properly cultivated, was more dependable than love, loyalty, or blood.

So when he announced a party in honor of his own genius, no one laughed where he could hear it.Invitations were sent through coded channels, musicians were flown in under false arrangements, and cooks were ordered to prepare a feast large enough to feed a town.