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“What about the rest of our team?”
“Working on transport for Doc, Gunner, and Eighty-eight now.”
“Ranger and Diesel?”
“In the air. We’ll make that determination after you arrive at the hospital.”
“Thanks, Cope. If you hear anything about the condition of our team, contact me immediately.”
“Roger that, and, Striker, Godspeed.”
“Hey, wait. Who’s the plane’s owner?”
Cope hesitated. “I can’t tell you that, but I need you to trust me.”
“I don’t get it,” said Razor. “Why won’t he tell us whose plane we’re flying out on?” Razor asked.
Monk turned and saw Trap headed toward them. He jumped up and stalked over to him, slamming him up against the wall of the cabin. “Whose plane is it? Tell me right fucking now.”
“Franz Lehrer’s.”
Monk released the pilot and shoved him away. “We’re taking a fucking Armenian-born drug baron’s plane? In what universe would anyone agree to this?”
“The one where the CIA is working with him to take down the Cali Cartel, FARC, and Petro Santos.”
Striker shook his head, muttering Monk’s thoughts exactly. “Jesus Christ.”
What this meant was the FARC combatants and the Colombian government weren’t falling apart after all. Instead, they were working together, along with Mao’s Cali cartel, to ensure an end to Latin America’s oldest and most stable democracy.
“What about Ghafor and the weapons?” Monk asked.
“Buenaventura is in Medellín-controlled territory.”
“Ghafor’s working with the CIA,” said Striker.
“You didn’t really think we were that stupid, did you, Striker?”
“Not all of you.” Striker made no secret that he had zero respect for Money McTiernan, who had orchestrated Ghafor’s supposed exile.
Monk didn’t agree with him. His experience was that Money knew a fuck of a lot more than he ever let on.
“Don’t underestimate McTiernan,” said Trap, reiterating Monk’s thoughts. “You didn’t suspect a thing.”
“Who supplied the weapons?” Striker asked.
Trap looked at Monk.
“United fucking Russia,” Monk answered.
Striker believed the CIA gave Ghafor free rein. Monk didn’t agree with that assessment either. He’d known Money and the rest of the powers that be had something up their sleeve. He just hadn’t known what.
What Monk couldn’t see past though was that because the CIA didn’t read them in on it, their plane had crashed and someone on board died. If they’d known what they were walking into, there was no way in hell Onyx would’ve put that plane in the air without Monk’s direct authorization.
Monk listened as Striker walked them through his summation.
The CIA put Ghafor exactly where they wanted him and gave him a specific mission—to help them get rid of Santos, put Marquez back in power, and save the crumbling democracy before it was too late.
The money, which Monk guessed came from the CIA, flowed through the Medellín cartel, to the Islamic State, to UR, who then supplied the weapons—believing the endgame was to reinforce Santos’ power.
