Page 43 of Whistleblower

“Thank you for trusting me. What we say here, stays here. I just want to understand so I can help.” I take a sip of my coffee, detecting a hint of butterscotch. I give Vesper my most impressed look—this is delicious.

“Fire away,” Vesper says.

“Okay, so—why does Operation PALADIN exist? How did you get involved with it?”

She scrunches her face and I get the impression I’ve already stepped too far. “Can I tell you a story?”

“Please.” I set my clipboard aside and take another sip of my butterscotch latte.

“Most recruits join the FBI right at twenty-three. They finish their bachelors, have a squeaky clean record, and are prepared to dedicate their lives to the code.”

“Fidelity. Bravery. Integrity.” That much I understand at least.

“Indeed.” Vesper winks at me. “The motto sounds far more glamorous than the reality.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “My indoctrination into the FBI was a little different…”

“Meaning?” I ask the question but judging by the menacing look in Vesper’s eyes, I don’t think I really want the details.

“This is the part where I need to omit a few details, to protect you. But, bottom line, I had uncommon knowledge, and a specific skill set so the FBI asked me for help. I was offered a very clear choice.” She sighs. “Once I made a decision, the FBI forged a clean record for me. I can’t tell you how many names I’ve had in my life, Eden.”

What choice? It’s the only question on my mind, but I’m sure if Vesper was willing to answer it, she would’ve already offered.

“For a while, it was quiet. I was considered more of a consultant”—she gestures to me—“in a way, like you. I was to watch, observe, and assist when they needed me. But eventually, a case came across the FBI’s desk—this real piece of shit, Tanner. They called him SGK—the Super Glue Killer. He would glue his victims to…” She trails off, seeming to remember who she’s talking to, and probably envisioning my reaction to the gory photo in the meeting room a few weeks ago.

“Anyway, he was a really bad guy. I bet he and The Night Stalker are sharing a prison cell in hell.”

I bob my head in understanding. I know of Ramirez, I used to watch true crime when my dad was alive. Not lately though, because hearing stories about serial killers is not a good idea when you live alone, have basically no friends or family, and your paranoia is through the roof.

“But he was so fucking smart. I hate to say anything positive about that shit stain of a human being, but he was highly intelligent. A real sociopath through and through. He was always one step ahead of the FBI. He was slaying people left and right, right under their noses, but he knew exactly what he was doing. Half of his entertainment was watching the FBI spin their wheels, the other half was mutilating his victims. The evidence was shaky at best, there was enough to tie him to the cases, but not enough to make an arrest or hold in court—no witnesses, no slip-ups…he was the cleanest killer they’d ever seen.”

I blow out a long breath and just pretend Vesper is telling me fictitious ghost stories.

“Did you get him, eventually?”

“I got a call from… Well, that part I can’t say, but let’s call this person someone who is allowed to make big decisions. My role with the FBI was to help them understand a killer’s mindset and understand their patterns of behavior. This caller asked me what the FBI should do. They had no other leads and were no closer to cracking Tanner, so I told him—they need to handle it. Tanner is hurting people, he’s enjoying it, he won’t stop, he doesn’t deserve justice… He needs to die.”

“What’d the caller say?”

“Do it,” Vesper says, turning her lips down. “He told me I had permission to handle it. I left my badge behind and hunted him down at his squeaky-clean home—which the FBI raided twice, and came up short. I sniped him through his bedroom window. It was so quick. All the future victims we feared for were safe in an instant. So, on the official record, the FBI let the SGK cases go cold, but after Tanner died, the slayings stopped. No more signature super glue kills. If there was any doubt in my mind about his culpability, it went away when we finally had peace.”

“So the FBI started Operation PALADIN?”

Vesper shakes her head. “No. Tanner was the tip of the iceberg. If you think a serial killer is bad, try terrorists, suicide bombers, human traffickers, warlords, mafias, cults… There are a lot of bad people in this world who don’t deserve fair trials and the due process of law. So, a few days after Tanner goes down, I get a call from that person I mentioned, and he asked me if I’d be willing to leave the FBI and join a special operation.” An odd smile creeps across Vesper’s face. “From there, Operation PALADIN was born. The FBI was a holding pen for me, with PALADIN, I can actually make a difference.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. All this story has done is kick up more questions in my mind, and I try to sift through what is professional and what is personal.

“So why go back to the FBI, now?”

“I’m struggling with recruits. I bring new operatives in, and they let me down. It’s becoming harder to find people I can trust.”

“You trust Linc,” I say, mentally cringing.

It’s been almost a week since we kissed. We’ve been cordial but I think we’re both disappointed.

That kiss was everything…

But the blood…

I don’t know, I’m having trouble discerning between the feelings I get around Linc. It’s not about him, per se. Oddly enough, I feel quite safe around him. I just don’t feel morally safe around what he does. But as Cricket explained, the operatives and PALADIN are one and the same. There is no Linc outside of killing, and from what I understand, there’s no PALADIN without Linc.

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