Javier Carpio stood before the men he’d fought with in wars that went back further in time than any of them cared to admit. They were in the deserted Chelsea warehouse. He’d laid out the plan, and they’d followed the logic, but they knew that the likelihood that they would all walk away from the mission alive was low. Still, that had been true of every military operation they’d undertaken, and yet they were still alive. Enemies and comrades had fallen in numbers that were too great to comprehend, but Javier and his close cadre were still breathing. It gave them a sense of invulnerability.

The two Stinger missiles were laid out on the table in front of them. Only two of the men would be handling them, but they all trained with them, so that if one went down there would be another to step up and take his place.

“There will be chaos,” one of the men commented.

Javier nodded. “That is what we need. Without it, there is no way that Vincente will be able to get to us.”

“Our inside man is trustworthy?”

“As trustworthy as a man can be who is betraying who he is supposed to be.”

That seemed to be enough for the men. They continued to go over the plan for another half hour, and then the five soldiers left the warehouse, one at a time, staggered to avoid attracting attention.

Javier was now alone, sitting at the table, staring at the missile launchers before him. He thought back to the time when he’d taken responsibility for his younger brother. Javier himself had only been in his teens, and yet he’d already been hardened by war. He’d taught Vincente to survive, and trained him well. His brother hadn’t spoken for more than two years after witnessing their mother’s murder, but he’d made a quick study of the art of killing. Javier wondered whether his brother would have turned out differently if he hadn’t brought him into the war. Probably. But there was nothing he could do about that now. Now all he could do was make sure Vincente didn’t spend the rest of his life in an American jail cell. He couldn’t let that happen. They would both rather be dead.

His eyes were closed when he heard the door open behind him. At first he assumed that one of the soldiers had forgotten something. They each locked the door as they left, and only they had keys. He turned to find out which of his men had come back and why.

T’phong Soh stood just inside the door, looking at Javier with sharp eyes. Those eyes went from Javier’s face to the Stinger missile launcher on the table. “I heard rumors about such weapons in Boston,” Soh said.