Simon scanned the area from behind the lip of the ridge, content with his destructive handiwork below. The GMC was inoperable, resting a few meters off the road by a thicket near the river. The roadside bomb had done the first part of the job. His weapon would do the rest. Then he could plant the heroin, destroy the compressor station, and finally head home.
Simon brought the FN P90 submachine gun back to his shoulder, wishing he had access to his SIG 553. At a little over fifty meters, he would have preferred the longer reach of his rifle and greater advantage from its magnified optics. But the bullpup firearm was much easier to conceal. Despite this minor drawback, his current situation could not have turned out better.
Kohl and Stoddard had unwittingly set their own trap.
The only thing left was approval from Solution Globales leadership and a little help from their covert influence team. They would alert the media, and their influencers within political circles would start whispering in the right ears. And once the Texas pipeline project was off the table, Ressource Absolue would be the clear frontrunner for the European LNG bid.
As images of a flight to France came rushing to mind, Simon cautioned himself about getting too far ahead. His cause for concern was timing. His adversaries were pinned down below, potentially injured, which meant he would have to wait them out. Given the remoteness, he wasn’t worried about being discovered, although he’d been wrong about that before. But with a snowstorm rolling in and roads worsening by the minute, he didn’t want to get trapped.
After fishing the satellite phone from his pocket, Simon made another call to Lyon. At least it was business hours now. On the first ring, Jean Dumont answered after clearing his throat. “Hope you have good news this time.”
“Better than I thought. The cowboy I told you about just arrived at our next target.”
Dumont sounded as if he was trying to restrain his anger. “How is this good news?”
“Because he brought Kai Stoddard along with him.”
There was a pause, as Dumont tried to place the name. “The intel officer I recruited?”
“No. That one is from Portland,” Simon reminded. “Stoddard was the Ranger. Drug history. Breaking-and-entering charges. Possible PTSD.”
“Ah yes, the Californian.” Dumont sounded pleased. “Family in the illicit marijuana trade.”
“That’s the one,” Simon confirmed. “He and Kohl had an altercation earlier at the Cosmic Order encampment. Lots of witnesses. Possibly even recorded on video.” Eyeing the demolished GMC below, Simon opted to keep most of the details to himself because time was running short. “I’m going to make it look as if this rivalry came to a very violent end.”
Following a moment of silence, which was likely needed to process the plan, a snigger came from Dumont. “I like what I’m hearing. What do you need from us?”
“As soon as I take the Washita Compressor Station offline, I need you to direct the protesters over here immediately and alert the media. Get them here as soon as possible.”
Simon looked beside him at the backpack of heroin he’d taken off the Mescalero yokel, who had earlier come into their encampment, claiming that a married couple from Cosmic Order had requested it. It was a poorly told lie, but that didn’t matter. The drugs would come in handy for what he had planned next.
Simon continued. “They’ll find what’s left of these two and a little extra. Something to keep the media focused on Kai Stoddard, a former soldier with a criminal record, who has turned to environmental radicalism. This story of murder, drugs, and politics will keep the press talking about the scandal, which they will naturally trace back to Cosmic Order.”
There was a distinct thrill in Dumont’s voice. “It’s all coming together, isn’t it?”
Through the red dot optics on his P90, Simon scanned the area around the GMC, and then focused in on the busted back window, spotting movement inside. His answer was more to reassure himself than his boss. “Just one more step and I’m coming home.”