The men mumbled a greeting. Pete was short and stout, with biceps like cannons. Clint had a shaved head and a sleeve of tats on his right arm. Randy had neatly trimmed blond hair and looked like a university professor or maybe a surfer, until you noticed the danger lurking in his dark blue eyes.

At the moment, first names were enough, so they all sat down across from each other at one of the tables. Skye noticed Edge sat down beside her, though he had to change places with Trace to do it. Two thermal pots of coffee sat in the middle, along with a stack of heavy white china mugs. They each took a mug and passed the coffeepots around.

“So what have you got?” Edge asked, filling a cup for Skye, then one for himself.

Harding’s strong, weathered features turned grim. “Deal’s even bigger than we thought. Besides the .50-cal rifles, machine guns, and grenade launchers, these guys are selling state-of-the-art night-vision equipment.”

Clint whistled. “Man, those babies are hard to come by.”

The colonel nodded. “The army’s got millions invested in the technology. Worse yet, Markham’s peddling Stinger missiles.”

Skye felt a shock of adrenaline. A Stinger could blow an airliner out of the sky. That a soldier would sell them to the enemies of his country was unthinkable.

Harding must have read the look on her face. “If you think that’s bad—they’re using a helo to transport some of the weapons. The chopper is part of the deal.”

“Jeezus,” Trace said.

Skye’s gaze locked with Edge’s. She knew he’d been afraid that might happen.

“How the hell can they steal a helicopter?” Trace asked.

For answer, Harding turned to the guy named Pete, who was clearly in charge of computer data. It took more than a few people to put an operation of this size together.

“It’s actually pretty simple,” Pete said. “According to army records, the helicopter doesn’t exist. If it doesn’t show up in the inventory, it isn’t there. Computers are man’s best friend and also his worst enemy.”

Silence fell as they pondered the ramifications of what could be done with the right people in control. Skye couldn’t imagine the millions of dollars that must be involved.

“How many men will be delivering the shipment?” Edge asked.

Harding took a sip of his coffee. “Can’t say for sure. Enough to keep the cartel soldiers from just overrunning Markham and his men and taking the shipment.”

Edge shifted forward in his chair, his blue eyes fierce as he took the measure of the guys at the table. His attention returned to Harding. “How many of your men can we count on?”

“Including me, Pete, Clint, and Randy, ten Desert Eagles will be geared up and ready to go in.”

Skye could feel her heart thumping against her ribs. “Into Mexico, you mean.”

“That’s right.”