Caldera

Chapter 2: Shane

Shane Tetsuhara listened impassively as Tate briefed him in on her meeting with Drummond. They were back at their apartment at the Visconti, going over the details while browsing through the files on a laptop.

"Austin Stevens. One of the four chief executives of the Los Diablos drug cartel. Ever since their near-collapse in 2010, Stevens' arrival had been a godsend to them. Recruited straight out of college after he graduated from – get this – the University of Texas... in Austin."

Shane looked up from the kitchen and gave her a crooked smile. He poured coffee from a pot into two mugs. "Cream but no sugar?"

Tate nodded and continued, "In those four years, he's risen through the ranks, eclipsing just about every capo from each of the major regional cells. Technically, his designation within the organization is as its borsellino. However..."

"He's a consigliere. He's got influence – but no crew."

"Exactly. While he's got rank, he doesn't have an army of his own." She looked at him for a reaction; Shane frowned. They'd seen this before. He was preparing a turkey and cheese sandwich for himself and gestured to Tate, but she shook her head.

"Could be a precaution on Los Diablos' part."

"You'd think five years would be enough," said Shane, in between bites of his sandwich.

"According to Drummond, Stevens has actually been a deep-cover mole for a joint DEA-Homeland Security operation. Their informant."

"If he's to be trusted."

"Currently resides at a villa listed under an alias, Robert Stevenson, in Palm Beach. While he does commute to and from Mexico, he spends a lot of time in Florida. Based on this intel, at least, he'll be back in town in a few weeks. We can get him then."

In their current occupation, this would have been a skip trace, a bounty hunter's job. In a previous life, this would be an exfiltration operation. A snatch. In simpler and more visceral terms – a kidnapping. They hadn't done a skip trace, much less a big haul worth this much. Austin Stevens was no small fry.

This gig screamed high risk, of the battalion-sized variety, and Shane didn't like it one bit. On the other hand, the reward was too good to pass up. They would get at least two mil just for saying yes, then at least another two for going through the motions.

"We've seen better, though," said Tate, unimpressed.

"Yes, we have. But not for ourselves. Six million," muttered Shane. "Six million! Think about how and where that would take us. For us! Not for our informants and their families.

"Not for the bribes we'd have to wave at all those banana generals. Not for the low-grade weapons we'd give those poor suckers in some no-name country. Who'd wind up dying, anyway. Not for all those chartered flights to God-only-knows what shithole we'd be dropping in for a firefight. Just us."

Tate slid her chair back, a little surprised by his sudden outburst. Between the two of them, they'd never exchanged more than ten words at any one time in private. It had always been that way, for as long as they'd been partners. That didn't necessarily diminish the strength of their relationship.

However, it also meant there was a lot that was unsaid between them. Maybe a combination of too much time and Elmore Leonard novels was finally getting the better of him. He had also been watching their budget closely.

Ever since they left the Company for good (or so they thought), they had a little over a million when they finally cashed out. Modest, for a pair of ex-CIA mercs trying to lay low. Most of the funds were in accounts spread across several banks in several states. They opened a joint account with $200K to live on while in Los Angeles.