"Hold on, something's not right," Jack suddenly interjected, his voice cutting through the comms.
In the operations center, Major Blackburn was about to instruct the team to place an anonymous call to the tracked number. Hearing Jack contradict Jason's orders, Blackburn asked sharply, "Bravo 1, what's the issue?"
Standing seven or eight meters away, Jason was pretending to inspect drinks at a fruit slush stall. Keeping his actions subtle, he glanced over at Jack. "Bravo 7, report."
"We're not alone," Jack replied. From the moment he stepped into the plaza, something had felt off.
To be fair, the SEALs weren't exactly blending in. A group of broad-shouldered, muscular men scattered around a crowded marketplace wasn't subtle, even in civilian clothes. But Jack had spotted another group, even less discreet and far sloppier in their movements. Their unrestrained stares had already given them away.
"Bravo 1," Jack said quietly. "Ten o'clock, the guy in the red tank top with the tattoos. Bravo 6, your six o'clock, the vest-wearing guy. And Bravo 3—seriously? You've been staring at the girl in the white dress for five minutes and haven't noticed anything wrong?"
The team stiffened. Observing more carefully, they began to pick out the individuals Jack had identified.
All of them had one thing in common: their attention repeatedly drifted toward the same spot—a small fountain surrounded by resting bystanders.
"Bravo 7, are you suggesting they're not here for us?" Jason asked, lowering his hand from the Glock 19 holstered at his back.
Jack had spotted their target. Or rather, someone else's target. "The guy in the blue Armani suit by the fountain. Short, nervous-looking. Those people are watching him."
"Bravo 7, could he be our HVT?" Mandy Ellis's voice cut into the channel.
Jack turned his back to the man in the suit and snapped a quick photo, pretending to take a selfie. "Photo sent. Now it's up to you and Rita Alfaro at CISEN to identify him."
"Copy that. We're running facial recognition now. Can you confirm what's happening on-site?" Mandy asked.
Jack replied calmly, "If I had to guess, Mendoza figured out that one of his underlings didn't follow orders to shut down and switch phones. This is likely a hit squad sent to make an example."
He had already repositioned himself behind the tattooed man and the woman in the white dress. Observing closely, he spotted the unmistakable bulge of a firearm under the man's shirt.
There was something else Jack hadn't mentioned yet. Mendoza's remarkably swift reaction—shutting down nearly all related numbers within two hours of the raid—was unusual. A large cartel couldn't pivot this fast unless they had forewarning.
This pointed to one chilling conclusion: there was a high-level mole feeding Mendoza intelligence from within Martínez's "secure" military base.
"What do we do? Just watch him get killed?" Ray Perry asked over the comms from his position in the SUV near the plaza.
"Wait for an opening," Jack suggested. "The hit squad is biding their time too. They don't want to cause a scene with so many civilians around. Bravo 1, your call?"
Jason weighed the options and asked cautiously, "Bravo 7, if these people work for Mendoza, could we… use this?"
Jack nodded, smirking. "It's worth a shot. Bravo 3, feel like meeting a local girl?"
"Huh?" Sonny's confused expression said it all as he glanced toward Jack before quickly returning to haggling with a vendor.
Time passed slowly. Under the guise of snapping selfies, Jack sent photos of each suspicious individual back to the operations center. Eventually, the CIA and CISEN confirmed the identity of their Armani-suited man.
"Dantín Vega," Mandy Ellis announced, her voice tinged with excitement. "Born in Guadalajara, 30 years old, with an 18-year criminal record. Extortion, fraud, economic crimes—you name it. Congratulations, team. You've found Mendoza's secret middleman."
"Can we grab him?" Mandy asked eagerly. "He could lead us straight to Mendoza."
Jason replied cautiously. "It won't be easy. The plaza is too crowded. There's a woman watching him, plus three armed men. Any move risks a stampede."
Blackburn's voice came through with a warning. "Bravo 1, maintain surveillance. Engage only if you can avoid civilian casualties. Remember, you're in Mexico."
"Copy that," Jason acknowledged. Just then, Dantín Vega stood, answered a phone call, and began walking briskly toward the plaza's edge.
"Ops Center, this is Bravo 1. HVT has entered a white Mercedes. Bravo 7, prepare to move." Jason signaled the team to follow as the other operatives began repositioning.
The hit squad didn't waste time either. Three armed men climbed into an old, beat-up Nissan trailing the Mercedes, leaving the woman in the white dress behind.
"Hey there, miss. Care to join us for a little drive?" Sonny said smoothly as he approached the woman. His hand slid around her waist.
"Get lost!" she snapped, reaching into her purse. But before she could react further, Jack seized her wrist, twisting it expertly to disarm her.
"Easy," he murmured, pressing his pistol discreetly against her side.
The impromptu kidnapping was over in seconds. Sonny gagged the woman with a rag and tied her wrists and ankles before tossing her into the trunk of a waiting SUV. Clay Spencer, now driving the vehicle, shot them a bemused look.
"You're making me rethink my career choices," Clay muttered.
"Hey, I'm just an accomplice," Sonny replied, raising his hands defensively. "Jack's the one who dislocated her wrist and knocked her out with that nerve thing."
"It's just a carotid sinus compression technique," Jack explained nonchalantly. "Modified from Krav Maga."
The SUV sped off, catching up with Jason's lead vehicle. With drone surveillance above and coordinated driving, Bravo Team easily tailed the Mercedes and its Nissan shadow.
The vehicles entered a one-way street, eventually stopping in front of a pink building. Dantín Vega stepped out of the Mercedes, tossing the keys to a valet with practiced ease. The valet greeted him warmly, suggesting familiarity.
"Ops Center, this is Bravo 1. HVT stopped at what appears to be a club," Jason reported. The team parked at a distance, observing.
Clay Spencer drove past the building, squinting at the sign as they passed. "Uh… Seducción Muebles? Seductive Furniture?"
"It's a strip club," Lisa Davis, monitoring the drone feed, deadpanned over the comms.
"Looks like I've found my calling. Let me out!" Sonny quipped, suddenly animated.
"Will they take him out inside?" Ray Perry asked, scanning the street.
Jason finished checking his pistol. "Seems likely. The hit squad just parked out front."
"Alright," he continued. "We can't let them kill Vega. Sonny, Jack, you're with me. Everyone else, cover the entrances. Eyes open—don't let anyone slip by."
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