A/N: For readers who questioned the guys' ESP or asked if Ranger really is an Unmentionable...[oh god, I hope not, the Diesel books are not part of Mercenary Ranger's world!] I am reposting the intro to The Price is Right. This is quoted from JE...and is the inspiration to many aspects of my Ranger's world.:

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Intro: from Ten Big Ones [edited]: Ranger was in S.W.A.T. black cargo pants and T-shirt. His hair was dark, and his eyes were dark, and his skin reflected his Cuban ancestry. No one knew Ranger's age... no one knew where Ranger lived or where his cars and cash originated. Probably it was best not to know.

Ranger locked eyes with me. Sometimes it felt like Ranger could look you in the eye and know all the stuff that was inside your head. It saved a lot of time since talk wasn't necessary.

"Babe," Ranger said. And he left.

"Cupcake, the guy's a mercenary."

The Concert

from an actual news brief:

World's most luxurious armored limo revealed

If you're worried about getting to work safe and sound, the Knight XV is the luxury car for you. This £325,000 armored SUV dwarfs a Range Rover and comes with. It's based on a massive Ford F550 pick-up truck, uses a whopping 6.8-litre V10 engine with 400bhp that can be started remotely before reaching the car, and it weighs in at five tons. The company that builds the Knight XV Conquest, says it will tailor the armor plating to each customer's requirements, but every version comes with bodywork and glass that can withstand gunshots for 24 hours. All of the door hinges are reinforced to cope with the added weight of the armored protection and the panel between the engine and passenger compartment is also strengthened to guard against bomb blasts.

Tick all of the options boxes and the price of the Knight XV soars to an incredible £650,000.

£ 650000 = $ 935, 251.7986

Previously on The Concert:

"Hasheed returned after six months...and now because his behavior hit a wrong note, hits on his credit cards that to us say, Suicide bomber."

"But why the concert? Why target that night, that venue?"

"It is an open secret that the President may attend."

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Chapter 4 : I Can Pay Cash

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Six months earlier...

Toronto showroom of Conquest Custom Vehicles

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Ranger

The limo salesman seems nervous, guess he doesn't like our looks. Probably he'll LOVE the color of our money, I think cynically.

I catch a wisp of his actual thoughts, he's so scared he is broadcasting. Something along the lines of armed and dangerous...pimps, gang guys, film stars. I turn my head to check on him, hope he doesn't stroke out if I decide to buy these steroid-pumped joyrides.

Anthony has dragged me here to Toronto to check these vehicles out. We could have just stopped at Fort Benning and stolen a couple, three, tanks-but no, Anthony loves this shit. Money to burn and all. The boy needs a hobby...besides mayhem and money, that is.

This is so awesome, man. We gotta have this, he thinks to me and takes another nonchalant ramble around the vehicle under consideration. In the time-honored fashion he toes the front tire and shrugs, looking like a little kid seeing the FAO Schwartz Christmas toys catalog for the first time. Oh sure, his face seems blank, but he's got a jones goin' here.

What? FAO Schwartz is bugging you? We can't help it, we grew up-ah, privileged, let's call it. Forget Newark's answer to the Burg...that's a con, a cover.

I tell the stammering salesman-Neil Patterson, his name tag says, to give me the details once more. I say, "Run this by me again. Briefly."

The Conquest salesman begins the list : "This is the Knight Ex Vee. It is entirely hand-built on a Ford F550 pickup chassis." He counts stuff off on his fingers: "One, it is bombproof; two, it is bulletproof; three, it is luxurious; four, it is unstoppable, five..."

"Yeah, yeah, gas mileage, dude?" interrupts Anthony.

"Well, if you get the turbocharger kit that boosts power to 550 hp...I am assuming you'll want the speed and power?"

"Uh huh."

"The mileage, well...is that really an issue , sir?"

Anthony shrugs. I am thinking, Twenty-four hours of bulletproof glass? Then what? and...So I got, say, the President—or some foreign bigshot—holed up in there for 24 fuckin' hours...where's the man gonna take a crap, huh? Are we gonna have gold plated piss bottles and, um, fancy Saran Wrap dispensers? How much is that gonna cost and how will it play with the clientele?

Anthony thinks, Chem toilet? Privacy curtains?

Eeeeww.

Real men don't say eeeew, dude.

The salesman —Neil—interrupts our silent convo to say proudly, "With all the bells and whistles, gentlemen, this vehicle is priced right at UNDER one million dollars!" Then, "$935,251...and seventy-nine cents!" he announces, furiously working the calculator app on his iPad.

"Seventy-nine cents, dude? You gotta be..." sputters Anthony, who hates being nickel-and-dimed.

I deflect his annoyance, say, "Can you give us a group rate?"

"Group rate?"

"Yeah, a discount for buying in bulk. Quantity purchase discount?"

"In bulk?" The salesman is maybe stuck on the idea of selling more than one of these monsters. Going nuts over the commission aspect. Sees a plaque coming for his cubicle wall, Sales Rep of the Year!

I sigh, wishing the Conquest owner had been available, instead of called away with a sick parent. Making do with the little guys wastes my time. I say, "Maybe, say, six to begin with."

"Six! Six, sir? I will have to discuss terms with the owner but I am sure..."

"Good. I hope the multiple order will not create any untoward delays."

"Delays, sir?"

"I can pay cash if it makes a difference," adds Anthony. He's getting antsy, wants his toy-now.

Neil's eyes get buggy and his face gets even paler than normal for a white guy in Toronto in January. We can tell he is thinking: Shit. Drug dealers. Criminals. Organized crime...Sopranos? They don't really look Italian, they look kinda Hispanic, except the one guy has blond hair, and what's with the beads in his hair anyway?

Anthony and I both recoil from Neil's mental onslaught and throw up blocks to shut him up.

"Just let me..." Neil motions towards Conquest's executive offices, but he is thinking of dialing 911.

Is it 911 in Canada? Or 999 like in the UK?

Who cares, bro. Focus, I answer.

"Oh and by the way...," says Anthony, trying to calm our Neil down, "do you deliver?"

"Of course, sir. Where to?"

"That's classified, "I say, but my brother blurts out, "Kabul."

And one in Trenton.

One in Manhattan...I get one, right?

It's your nickel, little brother. Enjoy.

I hand Neil a Rangeman Private Military Contractor card, with all my DC contact numbers on it. Not that he knows he'd be calling the DoD or Secret Service or CIA...but he'll learn.

I say, "Serve and protect, my man..."

Neil looks at the card, reads the logo: RMPMC.

I can tell he makes the mental jump and gets it when he says, "Awesome. Sir."

... ... ...

Six months later we stood in the garage at Rangeman Trenton. The Knight XV has been delivered. Another has been delivered to Anthony in Manhattan, four others shipped via US Special Forces C130 transports to the Middle East.

It's big, it's black, it's bombproof. I love it.

In a way it's a shame it's a limo because I'd love to drive this baby around Stark Street most nights. Badass. Ranger Manoso: badass.

Tank, Lester and Bobby Brown have circled the vehicle a few times, now stand hands on hips, dying to be given the keys, though they maintain rigorously blank affects.

Tank says, "Subtle, Rangeman. Subtle."

I nod. "Low profile."

"And it's bombproof," adds Lester happily.

God, I hope so...

tbc