Terror Trail - Don Pendleton Gold Eagle

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       “We’ve been monitoring cell phone and email chatter. Using Echelon and the Zero station,” Kurtzman said. “Sifting through all that stuff is like looking for a particular grain of sand on a beach.”

       Blancanales grinned. “Go ahead and tell us you found that grain.”

       “What can I say? Carmen found something through the FBI network. Came up with two names. Carlos Gallegos. He’s a middleman who works both sides of the New Mexico border. He has past connections for the other guy Carmen came up with. Jack Regan.”

       Every head around the table turned in Kurtzman’s direction.

       Regan was a name known to them all. He had shown up in a number of previous Stony Man missions. The man was slippery, always managing to walk away even though deals he had been negotiating had been shut down. He would vanish but reappear somewhere else, and was known as a wily and persistent dealer in weapons.

       “I wondered when that bugger was going to raise his head again,” McCarter said. “Been awhile since he showed up on the radar.”

       “We did some deeper digging into his recent business dealings,” Kurtzman said. “He’s been busy wheeling and dealing. Latin America. Horn of Africa. Asia.”

       “Busy lad,” McCarter said.

       “And likely a wealthy one,” Brognola said. “Regan does nothing for chump change. Aaron uncovered some information that goes way back. Seems Regan has done deals with the CIA and even the Russians years ago. He’s nothing if not generous with his favors.”

       “How do you figure he fits into this deal?” Lyons asked.

       “We picked up on a cell phone call from Kerim to Gallegos.” Kurtzman shook his head. “These jokers will insist on calling each other thinking they’re safe using cells. The more technology improves, the more these idiots figure they can get in under the radar. Once we had Kerim’s cell ID it was simple enough to pull up his call list. Akira had his program run a breakdown on cell numbers. Gave us the ID of his contacts. Carlos Gallegos has been a busy boy. Last few weeks there have been at least a dozen conversations with Kerim. And Jack Regan’s name cropped up. Okay, the calls were nonspecific in content. But once you listen to them a few times, isolate key words, it’s plain they’ve been talking weapons purchase and delivery. There’s a deal in the pipeline and Regan is heading it up.”

       “New Mexico and Carlos Gallegos,” Hermann “Gadgets” Schwarz said. “Sounds like a kick-off point.”

       “Sounds like we need Grimaldi Air to fly us across to New Mexico,” Lyons said.

       “You got it,” Price said. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

       Lyons pushed to his feet. “Watch your backs, guys,” he said to Phoenix Force.

       “And you, pal,” McCarter called as Able Team left the war room.

      CHAPTER TWO

      Jack Regan wore a creased white linen suit and a well-used white Panama hat. Those items were his trademark. He had been wearing a similar outfit the day he scored his first big deal and considered them his lucky dress. Over the years he had replaced the outfits as each one wore out, but always favored the same style and color.

       Jack Regan dealt in weaponry of all kinds. Whatever the client wanted, Regan could usually supply it. He had clients and contacts across the globe, and in his circle he was considered one of the best. Regan had the knack of walking away if a deal went sour, and some had. It was part of the business. At the first sign of trouble he would turn around and leave. He hated to lose on a deal because Regan did not like losing money. But when push came to shove he valued his skin, and there were always other clients and other deals.

       Right now he was negotiating with Shaia Kerim’s point man for the deal. Jamal Ryad was a shrewd, cold-eyed individual Regan would not have entertained for a split second if he hadn’t worked for Kerim.

       Jamal Ryad glanced across the table, toying with the spoon in his cup of lemon tea. He caught Regan’s eye. “So it is possible?” he asked.

       “To supply this ordnance? Deliver it to the locations?” Regan smiled as if he’d been asked to take on a simple task. “I just wish all my contracts were this simple, bubba.”

       “Perhaps I am offering too much money, then,” Ryad said. “If the work is so without risk maybe we should renegotiate the payment.”

       Regan didn’t flinch. “I didn’t say it would be without risk, Jamal. It’s just that I have a damn good crew and the organization to back it.”

       “And moving these weapons within the U.S.A. will not be difficult?”

       “Not for me, bubba. Not for Jack Regan.”

       “I have to ask how soon you can have the consignments in place.”

       “Few more days.”

       Ryad showed surprise. “That quickly?”

       “Hell, I thought you were about to go off on one for a minute.”

       “No. I am impressed.”

       “When you come to the best, bubba, you get the best.”

       “And the word I have on you, Mr. Regan, is you are considered one of the best. My brother Kerim speaks highly of you. He still remembers the handling of the sale of the helicopter you acquired for him. An extremely satisfactory arrangement.”

       “Hell, not one of the best. The best. And I’m not being a smart-ass here. My reputation speaks for itself. I make a deal, I deliver. Look, Jamal, I built my business over a long time. I don’t like disappointing my customers.”

       “But you have had your failures, Mr. Regan. Yes?”

       Regan threw up his hands. “First to admit it. Few of my deals have fallen through. I won’t deny it. But my successes outreach them by a golden mile. You have to realize this is a high-risk business. Things can go south. But what business is totally risk free?”

       Ryad sipped at his tea. He watched Regan for a moment before asking, “It does not concern you where the weapons are used?”

       Regan grinned. “I was wondering when you were going to get around to that. Look, like I told your boss man, Kerim, I buy and sell a commodity. I don’t care what the end user does with them. Hell, I’m no different to other sellers in the business. Goes against my religion to pick and choose where my ordnance ends up. Governments do it all the time. It’s big, big business, so why shouldn’t Jack Regan get his cut?”

       “But America?”

       “I ain’t lived on home soil for longer than I can remember. I move around. Go where my business takes me. Today I’m operating on home ground. Shit, Jamal, America has more guns floating around than even I could supply. People are blowing themselves away all the time. Don’t shoot me all that patriotic bullshit. Only thing I ever had in common with the U.S.A. was the race for the almighty dollar. It’s a dog-eat-dog world, and I do not aim to go hungry.”

       Ryad smiled. “You make it almost sound romantic, Mr. Regan.”

       “Hey, cut the mister crap. The name’s Jack.” Regan placed both hands flat on the table. “Okay, let’s talk numbers. We get this all worked out I can start filling your order and getting my people set up.”

      * * *

      LATER, AFTER RYAD had left, Regan switched on his sat phone and punched in a number. He waited until his call was picked up.

       “Carlos, hola, mi amigo.”

       “You sound in a good mood,” Carlos Gallegos said.

       “Why not, bubba? A man is allowed to be cheerful when he’s just negotiated a nice fat contract.”

       “The Muslim guy?”

      

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