“We have a private army standing by,” Jarogniew said.
Even Deckard was surprised by such an unguarded statement.
“In a central Asian nation,” he continued. “We would like you to begin training and equipping them immediately. When the time comes you will be charged with leading them into combat.”
“Interesting,” Deckard replied his curiosity genuinely piqued.
“You would have full access to several accounts, this will be a well budgeted operation.”
“When the time comes,” Halberd interjected. “When the time comes there will be a culling.”
“Yes, the useless eaters,” Kammler muttered.
Jarogniew looked at his partner as if he had said something wrong.
“The bottom line is we need someone who can get the job done once the time is right. You will have full operational authority on the ground, we don’t care how you conduct your business. Only results matter,” Halberd finished.
Chapter Two is now posted.
Swinging out around the vehicle on one knee Deckard gained target acquisition on the nearest asesino standing a few meters behind the corpse he has just made. With his finger tightening around the trigger a crash thundered down in front of him, throwing him on his backside, finger tightening on the trigger he accidentally discharged a round into the air.
The man had been split end from end, a 30mm round tearing down through the ceiling had sliced through flesh and bone, cracking him open like a lobster. Two arms and a leg could be made out amid the intestines strewn out across the floor but that was about all that was recognizable. Deckard swallowed, his nose filled with the sickly smell of blood, he realized he had been hosed with bits of bone and blood.
Wearing khakis and a collared shirt left open to reveal a large gold cross, Ramirez sat at the edge of the pool of blood and gore. His pistol lay at his side while he had both hands on his head trying to comprehend what had just happened.
Snarling at the turn of events Deckard got to his feet as Ramirez’s face suddenly bulged outwards, the back of his head disappearing. At this point he was so deaf he didn’t even register the shot. The drug lord collapsed backwards, his blood mixing with that of his late comrade.
“Mission complete,” a voice said from the darkness.
Deckard spun toward the sound.
Rolling up his left sleeve Pat saw that Deckard was using a interesting but somewhat anachronistic weapon, a garrote wire. On his left wrist Deckard wore a leather bracelet around which was wrapped some medium gauge piano wire that led to a small wooden dowel on the other end. At the moment the dowel was held in place by a rubber band on the bracelet.
Releasing the rubber band, the dowel fell away as Deckard unrolled the piano wire wrapped around the bracelet. It was a technique the Delta operator had never seen before, most garrote wires as commonly thought of were two wooden handholds attached by a few feet of wire. Deckard’s was one handhold, the other secured around the leather bracelet which would protect the wrist.
Remaining in a crouch Deckard moved heel to toe gaining ground over an immaculate Persian carpet towards his target. Only a highly skilled operator could stalk within striking distance to make a nearly silent kill with such a weapon. Pat considered the garrote obsolete; these days weapons manufacturers had entire secret divisions of their production facilities dedicated to developing proprietary weapons for Delta, DevGroup, and the CIA such as subsonic ammunition and guns with integrated sound suppressors.
In the pit of his stomach Pat knew Deckard didn’t have access to such hardware because he was simply making all this up on the fly.