Weapons of Opportunity by Dale Brown

Author:Dale Brown
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blackstone Publishing
Published: 2023-04-21T18:27:53+00:00

TWENTY-SEVEN

HEADQUARTERS OF THE BROTHERHOOD OF BLOOD, WEST OF DURANGO, MEXICO

THAT SAME TIME

Pavel Voronin followed Joaquin Lopez into the so-called study of Diego Barros. The drug cartel’s bald, barrel-chested leader was seated behind an empty desk, waiting for him. The room did not contain a single book or genuine work of art. Instead, its plain, whitewashed walls displayed a morbid collection of both ancient and modern instruments of torture, along with color pictures of murder victims photographed in their own blood—all of them probably former rivals of Barros.

Inwardly, Voronin sneered. He supposed this crude display of torment and death was supposed to intimidate him. Instead, it only confirmed his evaluation of the Brotherhood chief as a savage. Someone who could be useful under certain circumstances, but who could just as easily be discarded if it proved necessary.

This time, Barros did not offer him a chair. There were none besides his own. He did offer the Russian a thin-lipped smile, though it was one that never reached his dark eyes. “El Frío tells me your invisible robot airplanes work,” the cartel leader said flatly. El Frío, the Cold One, was the nickname first acquired by Lopez back in the days when he was a Brotherhood enforcer renowned for killing efficiently, emotionlessly, and utterly without remorse.

Voronin nodded. “As I promised,” he said. He met the other man’s cold eyes straight on. “Your first shipments of drugs have already arrived and will be delivered to your people inside the United States at the agreed-upon drop.”

Barros ignored that. “In fact, your aircraft work so well,” he continued, “that we must renegotiate our agreement, I think.”

Ah, Voronin thought with unconstrained cynicism. He could practically see the gears turning in the other man’s mind—the mind of a treacherous peasant who believed himself to be clever. It was just as the Russian had expected. “If you want more space for your drugs aboard our flights, I regret to say that is impossible,” he said calmly. “Every kilo of payload and fuel is precisely calculated. There is no extra margin for additional cargo. None whatsoever.”

Barros smiled. It was an unpleasant expression completely devoid of any humor or goodwill. “You misunderstand me, señor. I do not want to cram more of our product aboard your drones. What I want is one of these fancy aircraft for my own. You see, it has occurred to me and to my people that such a powerful capability would be very useful to us. In any number of different enterprises.”

Voronin felt as though he could almost read the other man’s thoughts. Barros, like most uneducated criminals who had attained power through brute force and innate viciousness, had a mostly one-track mind. There wasn’t an ounce of subtlety or genuine intelligence in his head, only a sort of native shrewdness. The cartel leader was convinced that, armed with a remotely piloted stealth plane of its own, the Brotherhood could assassinate rival gang leaders, blow up their drug factories, and terrorize the authorities with impunity. At a minimum, it would certainly allow the cartel to enormously expand its current territory.

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