After Luke took a seat at the sit room table, Garth brought up urban scenes of teens laying in gutters and alleyways and looking stoned out of their minds. Every monitor lining the Situation Room’s walls reflected a different, gut-wrenching picture of youth at its worst.

“Normally, we let the individual countries deal with their internal drug problems. But this one’s landed on our doorstep.” Garth pointed to each of the pictures. “New York, Dallas, Paris, Edinburgh, Warsaw, Prague, Sydney. If we can’t stop this, the next generation is looking grim.”

Luke’s gut tuned over when he recognized the Sydney scene—it was Bondi Beach where he’d spent his summers as a teen. He’d swam, played volleyball, and participated in the volunteer lifesaving club, but the kids on the screen were spaced out and lifeless, dozens of them strewn across the sand as if they’d been tranquilized. “Jesus.”

“If only the Almighty could help.”

“What are they taking?”

Garth brought up a slide—red pills and needles. “It’s called Rhapsody, though it’s anything but. The drug is like being transported to the fires of hell. One pill and the victim is hooked. It’s synthetic. And I don’t need to say the problem has reached epidemic proportions.”

“Where’s it coming from?”

“The Morales Cartel.” Garth clicked and every monitor brought up a picture of a man who appeared to be in his fifties—shrewd-looking, broad forehead, intelligent eyes, moustache. “This is Vincent Morales—El Padrino.”

“The Godfather?” Luke asked. He was fluent in a number of languages, Spanish being the first he’d mastered.

“That’s what he calls himself. The bastard has no family because a wife and kids would create a weakness. He even killed his mother.”

“What about his father?”

“Died of natural causes—or so the record states.” Garth clicked to a picture of a sprawling hacienda. “The problem is he’s untouchable—his hacienda is surrounded by loyal families—I mean miles of people who will put their lives on the line for the bastard.”

Luke rocked back in his chair and crossed his arms. “What about the mother of all bombs?”

Garth chuckled. “I like how you think, but Mexico isn’t ready for such a radical move. And while the heads of state are bickering about how to take Morales out, more kids are falling victim to Rhapsody.”

“Unbelievable.” Watching while the main screen ran through a slideshow of fuzzy images of The Godfather, Luke drummed his fingers. “So, where do I come in?”

“We’re going to ensure he needs a pilot.”

“Going to ensure?”

“That’s right, the FBI will take the current aviator out as soon as the bandit hits U.S. airspace.”

“They have his number?”

“He’s as good as nabbed.” Garth checked his watch. “As a matter of fact, he’s probably going down about…n-o-w.”

Luke pointed to the big monitor. “Do we have a front row seat?”

“Not this time. The Americans are keeping the op restricted.”

Releasing a long breath, Luke didn’t care if he could see the takedown or not. He’d had enough of living 45 meters underground at the edge of the earth. “You beauty.” He snapped his fingers. “I’m in like Flynn.”

Garth’s woolly eyebrows slanted downward. “Don’t get too happy, hot shot.”

Luke spread his palms with a shrug. “So, how do I get the job?”

“The plan’s a bit unconventional. Keep in mind Vincent Morales trusts no one. So, we’re going to outsmart him at his own game. You’ll fly a mission for his fiercest adversary, the Zambada Cartel.”

“Sounds easy.”

“Not even close.” Giving a deadpan stare, the ex-Marine shook his head. “You’re going to be arrested and hung out to dry.”

“Arrested?” A lead ball sank in Luke’s gut. “In Mexico?” His voice shot up. He could think of five of the world’s worst places to be imprisoned and Mexico was number three—only behind the Middle East and North Korea.

“Once they bring you in, we’ll ensure your dossier, which will include a litany of crime, makes its way to Morales. But you’ll do time in a Mexican pen.”

“Christ.” Luke rubbed the back of his neck and looked to the ceiling. “How much time are you talking about?”

“As long as it takes.”

There were hundreds of missions Luke could be on right now; hunting terrorists, following leads in Europe, taking down international thieves…and ICE wanted him to rot in some hellhole prison in bloody Mexico?

“Can you handle it?” The CO had a way of looking at a man with an ice-cold expression that was both challenging and impossible to refuse.

If that’s what it takes to show them I’m as good as any other field agent, then bring it on.

“Yes, sir.” Taking a deep breath, Luke leaned forward. “Just make sure I don’t rot in there.”

“Don’t worry, we’ve put too damned many hours into you to lose the keys and walk away.”

“Good to hear. What about communications?”

“There won’t be any.”

“Huh?” Now he’d heard everything. “That’s insane.”

“Morales doesn’t allow computers, cell phones or any electronic devices at Hacienda Paraiso. Once you’re nabbed, it’s lights out all the way. You’ll have to wait until you fly a drug run out of his territory—then make contact.”

Luke didn’t like that at all. “What about a mini phone to conceal in the sole of my shoe?”

“Sorry.” Garth shook his head. “It’s too risky.”