Chapter 1
Bogotá Columbia
The sound of the rain on the rook of the car was deafening. Mike Gerlach squinted through the torrent at the blue door about 100 feet away. It rained harder in Columbia than anywhere else on Earth Gerlach thought, and he had been to almost every corner. Water flowed down the gutters of the cobblestone street and up and over the curbs.
Gerlach looked down into his lap and pushed a cartridge of bullets into the handle of his Glock with a click. He looked back up at the door.
It opened and out stepped a shortish man of about 50. His raincoat stretched across his middle aged belly. He wore a bow tie and held an umbrella, and fumbled in his pocket for his keys.
“That’s our man.” Gerlach thought.
Gerlach opened the door of his rental car, and with all the deliberateness of a white tipped shark attacking a seal, he lifted his weapon, walked right up to Bruno Caldo and emptied 2 rounds into the back of Caldo’s head. Brains and skull splattered across the hood and windshield of the black Mercedes Caldo was trying to get into.
One more bullet to what was left of the head for good measure.
Gerlach walked back to his car briskly, tossed the gun down the sewer, and drove away into the Bogotá morning. Swift and deadly that was Gerlach. He’d be in Miami by nightfall.
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