The ambassador’s gaze shifts briefly toward the windows before returning to us. “Embassy personnel. Federal contacts. Security assets.”
Mattis mutters, “Love being called an asset.”
Abby ignores him. “How much have the threats escalated?”
The ambassador exhales slowly. “The frequency has increased. There is more intercepted chatter and movement around embassy routes. The DEA believes the Cartagena cartel is growing impatient.”
They’ve been after him for months—threats, intimidation attempts, pressure campaigns disguised as warnings. We were brought in after someone put a bullet through the windshield of a diplomatic vehicle three miles from the estate. A vehicle that the ambassador was luckily not a passenger of.
Jagger spins a pen lazily between his fingers. “Impatient usually means sloppy.”
“Or desperate,” Gunnar retorts quietly.
The ambassador readjusts his tie, his fingers briefly slipping against the knot before he steadies them.
Abby glances at something off-screen. “You said the DEA mentioned increased communications. Did they specify what triggered the shift?”
For the first time since the meeting started, Richard hesitates. “The current climate has become… unstable.”
Hawk’s gaze settles on him evenly. “Unstable, how?”
The ambassador reaches for his coffee again instead of answering immediately. “There are several moving parts right now. Federal pressure. Internal disputes within the cartel. Shipping complications.” It’s another polished non-answer. His voice is measured and diplomatic as hecontinues, “Whatever the cause, the reality remains the same. The cartel’s attention on this estate has intensified.”
“And you don’t know why?” Hawk asks quietly.
Their eyes meet for half a second too long before the ambassador looks away, sunlight flashing across the windows, bright enough to force him to squint. “We know enough to take it seriously.”
We were hired expecting cartel retaliation, but like every fucking government job we’ve ever taken, the deeper this conversation goes, the more it feels like we’re only being given parts of the story.
Mattis tilts his head at the screen. “That’s a very political way of saying something messy happened.”
“Mattis,” Abby warns.
“What? I’m just saying.”
The ambassador offers a thin smile that never quite reaches his eyes. “International operations are rarely clean.”
“Ambassador… is there anything else we should know before this escalates further?” Abby asks carefully.
“There are ongoing investigations I’m not authorized to discuss.”
Abby’s voice comes through crisp over the speakers. “With respect, if our team is expected to protect you and your daughter effectively, we need transparency.”
“And you’ll have everything relevant to operational security.” The ambassador’s eyes flick briefly at his watch. “I apologize,” he says, pushing back from the table, “but Ihave a call pending with Washington.” He offers the room an apologetic smile that feels rehearsed. “We can continue this tomorrow, if necessary.”
Translation: meeting over.
The ambassador gathers his folder quickly, the movements just shy of rushed. He departs the conference room with two diplomatic aides falling into step behind him, the door clicking shut softly in his wake.
Mattis grumbles through the speakers, “Something feels off.”
“Obviously,” Jagger replies with an obnoxious eyeroll.
Abby sighs, rubbing at her temple. “Mattis will dig a little, and I’ll keep pushing DEA for those transcripts.”
The call disconnects a minute later, and we all stand from the table. I check my watch as I leave the conference room.
Shit.I’m ten minutes late.
