There was no sympathy in the question. Puller neither expected nor wanted any. Mecho simply wanted to know the physical status of his comrades in arms. He wanted to know if he could count on Puller or rather have to compensate for him.
Puller would have wanted to know the exact same thing.
“They gave me a painkiller I had in my duffel. I can shoot and I can fight and I can take punishment. So don’t worry about me. I’ll handle my end. You cover yours.”
“What about your woman?” asked Mecho. “Can she hold her own?”
“What about your woman?” asked Puller.
“Can she?”
“Are you always this cooperative?”
“I don’t even know who you are, so yeah, this is about as cooperative as it gets from me.”
“Diaz will be fine.”
“So will Carson.”
They rode for another minute in silence. The only noise was the sounds from the women readying the weapons.
Finally Mecho said, “My name is Gavril. That is my given name. My surname would mean nothing to you. But people call me Mecho.” “You’re Bulgarian,” said Puller.
Mecho glanced at him. “How did you know?” “I fought with them in Iraq way back. They were great fighters and could drink any other nationality under the table. Even the Russians.” Mecho smiled. “The Russians think vodka is gold. It is merely water with perfume. It does not even put hair on the chest.”
“Were you military?”
Mecho’s smile faded. “I used to be. Then things changed.”
“What things?”
Neither man noticed that Carson and Diaz had finished their work and were listening intently to this exchange.
“Bulgaria was no longer part of the Soviet Union, of course. But some things don’t change. I love my country. It is a place of beauty. The people there are good. They like to work hard. They love their freedoms. But that does not mean that every leader we have is a good one who deserves the respect of the people. So sometimes when you do not follow along blindly things happen to you.”
“Were you imprisoned?”
Mecho glanced at him sharply. “Why do you say that?”
“Because the Soviets were big on that, that’s why. And Bulgaria was part of that world for a long time.”
“For a time,” Mecho said. “Perhaps a longer time than I care to remember.”
“How did you end up here going after slavers?”
“I come from a small village in the southwest part of my country. The Rila range, it is called. It is remote. The people there work hard. There are few if any outsiders who come there. My family still lives there.”
Puller said, “But outsiders did come?”
Mecho nodded and glanced out the window so as not to show the tears forming in his eyes.
“Men came and promised things, a better life for our young people. Education, jobs, all good things. They took about thirty of them.” He paused. “Including my youngest sister. We are a large family. She is far younger than me. She was only sixteen when she left.” He paused again. “No, not when she left, when she was taken” “They were slavers,” said Puller.
Mecho nodded. “Who thought that a little village on a mountain in Bulgaria would never be able to strike back for the evil that was done. I was not there at the time, or I would have not allowed this to happen. I have seen a lot of the world. The people in my village have not. They are trusting, too trusting. When I came back and found out what had happened, I started to look for my sister. And the others.”
“What’s her name?” This question came from Carson, who had put a hand on Mecho’s big shoulder, gripping it.
“Rada. This is she.”
Mecho took out the photo and held it out to Carson. She took it and looked at it.
“She’s very beautiful,” said Carson, and Diaz nodded in agreement.
“Not like the rest of the family,” said Mecho matter-of-factly. “They look more like me. Big and ugly.”
“You are not ugly, Mecho,” said Diaz fiercely. “You are a man trying to do the right thing. There is nothing more handsome than that.”
“And you tracked her down to Lampert?” asked Puller.
Diaz answered while Mecho took the photograph of Rada back from Carson and stared down silently at it. “We have talked,” she said. “He actually worked the connection from the other way. Through Stiven Rojas.”
“Rojas,” exclaimed Carson. “He’s on our most wanted list. He’s even been deemed a national security risk. He’s involved in this?”
“He collects the product, the people, and then they are transported to this country,” said Diaz. “Lampert takes over from there. He has established buyers everywhere. He gets the people to them. They are separated into three main categories. Prostitutes are the most valuable. Next are drug mules. Then common laborers.”
“And you blew up Lampert’s Bentley,” said Puller.
Mecho looked at him, puzzled. “How did you know that?”
“You have big feet.”
Diaz said, “This can all keep. We need to be prepared for what is coming up in the next few minutes.”
Mecho nodded. “The warehouse. It is where they keep the slaves. That is where the trucks go.”