Leader of the Pack (Andy Carpenter) by David Rosenfelt

sometimes use as a bodyguard when Marine battalions aren’t available. He barely talks, never smiles to anyone other than Laurie, and is willing to inflict pain and death with no apparent conscience.
    He’s not a guy you’d hire to entertain at your son’s bar mitzvah.
    Suffice it to say I’m glad he’s on our side, though I have no idea what he’s doing here today.
    I call a pause to the meeting, and ask to speak to Laurie in the other room. “What is Marcus doing here?” I ask.
    “He’s going to Montana with you,” she says.
    “No, he’s not.”
    “Yes, he is.”
    This conversation is not heading toward a quick resolution, so I try to move it along. “Why?”
    “Because you’re going to confirm that weapons were sent there. Which means you might run into people who possess and are willing to use those weapons. Which means you need Marcus. Are you following my logic so far?”
    “You don’t think I can handle myself with dangerous people.”
    “If that is a statement, it’s a correct one. If it’s a question, then the answer is, no, I don’t.”
    “That’s because you haven’t seen me angry,” I say. “You haven’t gotten on my bad side. You don’t want to get on my bad side.”
    “I tremble at the mere thought of it,” she says.
    I’m not thrilled by the prospect of Marcus accompanying me to Montana. I’ve traveled with him before, and he makes me uncomfortable. It’s not a big deal; I’m just constantly afraid that I will accidentally say something which will make him kill me. Marcus’s bad side is something I may not quite be equipped to handle.
    On the other hand, he likes me, which means he will stop other people from killing me. I do have a tendency to annoy people, and in this case the annoyed might have guns.
    “OK, Marcus is in for the Montana trip. But don’t you think we should call and warn the governor?”

 
    In the desolation of Central Peru, the warehouse attracted absolutely no attention. This would have been true even if there was someone around to notice it, but this was not an area that had a lot of passersby. There was no one living within twenty miles of the place, and pretty much no reason for anyone to change that. You wouldn’t want to be a real estate agent there.
    On this day, like all other days at this time of year, it was hot and dry, the terrain browned by months without precipitation. That would change when the rainy season came, and the dust would turn to mud. When the changeover was taking effect, there might even be a day or two when the area seemed inhabitable.
    The nearest town, Canalin, was more than three hours away to the east, with only dirt roads to connect to it. To the west, the closest town was almost nine hours away, but the roads were better.
    The trucks came from the west that night.
    Just as they came every night.
    A crew of seven men lived inside the warehouse, never venturing outside. Because the windows were blackened, they never even saw the sunlight, not for the months they had been there. The only times they got to experience any fresh air at all were during the nights, when they opened the door for the incoming trucks.
    Between the men on the trucks and those in the warehouse, there were at least fifteen people each night. Yet if a single word was ever spoken, it was unusual. Everybody knew their job, and no one wanted to call any attention to themselves.
    This was the most important thing they would ever be involved in, and it would make each of them more money than they had seen in their lifetimes.
    It was a difficult existence to endure, at least for those assigned to the warehouse. But there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and no one was complaining. They didn’t know when the end day would be—that was a decision well out of their control. But the men sensed that it would be weeks, rather than months, because the warehouse was filling up.
    Their sole focus was on doing their job, and doing it well, because that would