“How can you be sure?” Skye asked.

“Sergeant Gill Franklin—you call him Grease—has a lot of friends down here; some of them go all the way back to boot camp. A couple of his retired Green Beret buddies down in San Diego don’t like what Markham’s been doing any more than you do. They’ve been keeping an eye on the major’s house in the city, collecting intel on his hideout in Cabo San Lucas. According to them, Markham’s going to be at the meet tomorrow night.”

Edge’s whole body went tense.

“Markham’s going to be in Arizona?” Skye asked.

“Mexico. He’s flying in from Cabo to oversee delivery and payment of the weapons. Odds are he’ll be landing at the Aeropuerto National de Cananea. It’s only about thirty miles south of the border, not that far from Fort Huachuca. I should get confirmation tomorrow. More importantly, I’ll know where the actual munitions transfer is going to take place.”

“You know an awful lot about what’s going on,” Edge said. “What’s your stake in this?”

In the dim light of the cantina, the colonel’s features hardened. “My son Andrew served under Markham in Afghanistan. Andrew didn’t make it home. What Markham’s doing disrespects my son and every good soldier in the army.”

The words tightened Edge’s chest. He knew too many guys KIA in Afghanistan. “We’re going to need some help. I’m hoping we can count you in.”

“I’m in as deep as it gets,” Harding said.

“We’re all former army, but the three of us won’t be enough,” said Skye, always practical.

Harding’s features turned feral, a man ready to go on the hunt. “I’m retired army, but I volunteer as a training officer with a militia group out of Tucson called the Desert Eagles. We stay in shape, train regularly. These guys are good, and they’re in all the way.”

“I want Markham alive,” Edge said. “I want him to face charges for what he’s done. I want him locked up in federal prison.”

Harding leaned back in his chair. “I figured you’d say that. Here’s the deal. Once we take these guys down, we can’t just leave all that military equipment behind. We have to make sure it doesn’t fall into enemy hands.”

“So what do you suggest?” Edge asked.

“Grease isn’t the only one with useful friends. I’ve got a contact at Fort Huachuca, a full bird colonel. There isn’t time for a thorough investigation, which means he can’t step in unless—”

“Unless the deal goes down. Millions in military equipment could fall into enemy hands, which means he’s forced to call in spec ops to handle it.”