“A man goes nowhere in life without determination.” It was impossible to tell from Silva’s expression what he thought of that answer.
The waiter returned, meticulously setting the coffee cups in front of each of them. A plate of cookies went in the center of the table, but he placed the cream and sugar on Finn’s side. Silva sipped from his mug and nodded before the server left.
Interesting.
Intelligence reports hadn’t indicated the arms dealer was a regular at La Brisa Griega, but the waiter had known Silva drank his coffee black, otherwise the cream and sugar would have gone in the middle next to the cookies. Also, the bodyguard had known the woman at the register.
He didn’t try to break the long silence as he sipped his coffee and waited for Silva. The man wasn’t in a hurry. Instead, he reached for an alfajores, taking a careful bite. The sandwich cookie was lightly coated in powdered sugar and filled with caramel. Finn enjoyed them, but he didn’t take one.
His nape burned. He knew he was being observed, and it felt as if there was animosity in the stare. It had to be another bodyguard, but he didn’t dare turn to check.
Finn nearly finished his coffee before Silva said, “Señor Torres would like to know why he should do business with you, Señor Finley. You’re an unknown. A mercenary.” There was a soft sneer in that last word, which amused Finn.
“I have access to American-made weapons.”
“So does Señor Torres.”
Yes, he did, which was why Finn was in Puerto Jardin, playing the role of Tom Finley, mercenary. “Señor Torres has to wait for some third country to finalize a weapons purchase from the US, and then he has to count on someone in that nation’s military looking to make extra money. With me, he has a direct pipeline into the US Army and its weapons.”
More silence. “If you have the contacts you claim,” Silva asked at last, “why aren’t you brokering your own deals?”
“I’m small-time.” Finn leaned back in his chair, feigning nonchalance. “I sell a few SCARs here, a couple of M4s there. But now I have access to major inventory, and I don’t have the network to handle that kind of cache.” Pausing for his final gulp of coffee, Finn shrugged. “Besides, I’m not stupid enough to muscle in on Señor Torres’ territory. I’d rather take a smaller cut and live to enjoy the money.”
Finn returned his mug to the table and waited. He knew what everyone saw—a mercenary—a man who needed a haircut, a shave, and better clothes. Hell, compared to Silva and his CEO attire, Finn felt as grungy as he looked.
“How have you suddenly managed to acquire such a large inventory?” Silva asked at last, his face and tone impassive.
“Let’s just say I have friends who decided they need bigger retirement funds.”
Silva stared at him briefly, nodded, and stood. “I’ll pay the bill on my way out.”
“That’s it?” Finn stayed seated. He’d expected a hell of a lot more questions.
“I’ll be in touch. If necessary.” Without another word, Silva and his entourage exited, leaving Finn alone at the table.
They’d be watching—someone from Torres’ organization would no doubt follow him when he left the café. As casually as he could, Finn shifted to the seat Silva had vacated, motioned for the waiter, and ordered lunch.
This first meeting might have been to size him up and nothing more. He hoped Silva would be in touch, but who knew? Three months of undercover work, and he and the team might be back at square one. Or worse. Fuck, this couldn’t drag out indefinitely. Finn was leaving the Army at the end of his enlistment or at the end of this mission—whichever came second—and the last thing he wanted was to be held longer to finish this damn op.
Then there was Pienkowski. He was getting married in a little over two months, and Ski would be climbing the walls the closer they got to his wedding day if they were still in Puerto Jardin. His fiancée would likely be anxious too, and considering their history, who could blame Langley?
Finn tapped the table. He needed to research what exactly a best man’s duties were, but it would have to wait until he had time. Right now—
The feeling of being stared at returned, and Finn scanned the other patrons, looking for the source. He found her. Four tables over and toward the door. He guessed mid-twenties. Height