Page 100 of Whistleblower

“All of them.”

“The pilot’s not with me,” he explains.

“We’re aware.”

“I’m going to put my arms down now because they are tired,” he says, far too calmly, “but you’re free to check my pockets.”

“I’m not concerned. One flinch in the wrong direction and this interview is over.”

“Interview? I’m flattered.” He chuckles like he’s unworried for his life. Foolish. But I’ll admit, I’m annoyed. I wanted terror. I wanted to do to him what he did to all those innocent women, but this asshole seems oddly comfortable staring down the barrel of the gun…as if it’s a dance he knows well.

“Let’s talk. You’re FBI or DIA?”

“I’m just a man who can’t fathom how you could chain up human beings like dogs in a crate, and leave them to die.”

He shrugs. “It was not my intention for them to die. That was a…shipping mishap.”

“But you were okay with the chains?”

Watching his smug smile, it takes everything within me not to drop my gun and finish the job with a pocketknife, so I can hear him howl in agony.

“They were a precaution. Listen, I’m not the villain. They were headed to a better life. Do you know where they come from? America is the dreamland.”

“Sexual slavery is your understanding of the dreamland?”

“Not slavery,” he balks before tutting his tongue. “There’s food, protection, a roof over their heads, and wages. I help people—”

My anger takes over and suddenly I’m standing, the tip of my gun touching his lips. “Keep giving me reasons to make this incredibly messy,” I threaten. For the first time, I see fear flicker in his eyes.

His arms are immediately in the air again. Leaning back, so his lips have a little room to move, he begins to plead. There it is. This is what I’m here for. Go ahead and beg for something I can’t give you. Mercy.

“What do you want?” he asks. “I’m no stranger to negotiation. Whatever you want. Name it. I have money, information, and connections.”

I lower my gun and take a step back as he continues to speak. He relaxes now that he has my attention.

"What’re they paying you to do this, hm? Surely not enough. I can get you more. Help me, and I’ll more than help you. Whatever you want, full discretion, I can be very generous.” His tone drops to a warm tenor, like he’s conducting a sales pitch and I’m already interested in purchasing.

His lips keep moving but all I can picture are the victim’s eyes. So full of defeat, like they’d seen the devil and they’d never be the same. And this? This sniveling, pathetic piece of shit was the source? I wonder if Eden could look at this man and show mercy.

“Do you have what you need?” I ask and Vesper responds with a quick “yes” in my earpiece.

“What do I need?” he responds, thinking I was speaking to him. “I don’t require much—just my life. And stay out of my way, that’s all. In exchange, I’m capable of granting you more than you could ever dream of. I’ve been doing this a very long time and I know by now that every cop has a price.”

“Here’s the problem,” I say, letting out a deep breath. “I’m no cop.” He furrows his brows in confusion. “And all I want is for you to stop breathing.”

Without another word, I raise my pistol and pull the trigger. Standing this close, I catch the back spray of blood on my jaw and neck. He slumps, then falls out of his chair with a heavy thud.

I can’t help but feel disappointed. I normally take pride in a clean execution, but the monster in me wanted him to suffer.

To really suffer.

THIRTY-SIX

EDEN

The day after Linc’s abrupt departure, I asked Callen to meet me for breakfast. Watching him eat waffles is like watching a hippo smash a whole watermelon in its jaws… It’s not graceful. He’s eating like it’s a competition and the clock is ticking down.

“Callen do you always eat like you’re—”

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