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Monk flipped him off and then looked over at Striker. In fact, everyone was looking at him.
“What?” he asked, like Monk had.
“Fill us in,” said Doc, sitting down next to Merrigan as if he was settling in for the remainder of the meeting. “Where’s the money coming from?”
“I’d say that’s obvious.”
Doc motioned for Striker to stand, and he did.
“Look, it’s no secret that I vehemently disagreed with the CIA’s decision to exile Ghafor to Colombia. I have little doubt that the money is coming directly from the Islamic fundamentalists who have taken a stronghold in Buenaventura.”
“Led by whom?” asked Merrigan.
“They’re doing a damn good job keeping that a secret.”
Razor had his laptop open and was scratching his chin. “Let’s reopen dialogue with the Cuban.”
Striker nodded. In March of the previous year, a Cuban national had been arrested in Bogotá for an alleged “terror plot” to kill American diplomats on behalf of Islamic State extremists. The plan had been for the man to blow himself up inside a restaurant popular with US Embassy staff and other foreigners in the Zona Rosa region of the city. K19 had played an integral role in neutralizing him before he could put his plan in action.
“Is he still alive?” asked Razor, still staring at his computer screen.
“To the best of my knowledge, although I doubt for long. Colombian officials amassed a trove of evidence against him.”
From the seized cell phones, they’d learned that the Cuban had been calling and sending encrypted text messages to at least three other terror cell members in Morocco and Spain in the weeks leading up to his arrest. From what Striker understood, those suspects hadn’t yet been located.
“It’s your mission, Ellis. What do you do?” asked Doc.
“Hypothetically?”
“Not necessarily.”
Striker put his hands on the table in front of him. “What I’d want to do is assassinate the bastard. However, in doing so, I’d lose the money trail along with his connections to the terror plot in Bogotá, as well as the lesser knowns.”
“First phase?” asked Razor.
“We watch. Concurrently, we get someone on the money.” The words were out of Striker’s mouth before he realized he’d been set up. “Fuck,” he muttered.
“Don’t make any assumptions just yet. Eighty-eight is damn good at tracking financials,” Razor told him.
Eighty-eight, as Razor had called him, was renown for his forensic accounting abilities.
“You mentioned at the beginning of this meeting that Mercer would join us for phase two of the mission we would be discussing. Is this the mission?”
“Affirmative,” answered Doc.
“What’s phase one?”
“That’s up to you, to a certain extent anyway. Let’s nail down the basics. While Razor has a badass new setup here, the logistics of keeping everyone in Oregon are a nightmare. Therefore, I propose we work out of what is quickly becoming K19’s Central Coast headquarters.”
“Do we have any others I’m unaware of?” asked Razor.
“No, but at the rate we’re growing, we’re going to need to think about that,” answered Merrigan.
Striker was all for moving the base of this operation down to California. Today, if possible. As far as other bases of operations, he, Ranger, and Diesel were all East Coasters, as were Tackle and Halo. Dutch was living in South Carolina, and Onyx was from the Southeast too. Maybe they should consider a setup in Virginia or somewhere else close by.
“Back to phase one,” said Razor, looking at Striker.
“We watch, and we’ll know when to make a move.”
