Vladimir swivels toward the men and replies with a hearty chuckle, “Forgive my rudeness, my friend. These are my trusted confidants, Gene, and Fitz. They’ll show you to your guns. After I see my products, of course.”
“Gentlemen,” Miles nods to the men. Turning then to two of his men, he speaks, “Bring in Mr. Kustov’s products.”
The men leave and return quickly, wheeling two large carts with box crates atop them. They bring the crates to the table. The mood in the warehouse is thick with tension. Miles opens the crates to show Vladimir the money. There are millions of dollars in there, and in exchange, Miles thinks he’s getting nearly all of Vladimir's weaponry.
“Have we met before?” The undercover federal agent stands up to address Miles.
“I’m a well-traveled man. Our journeys may have crossed paths.” Miles pauses for a minute, perusing the room. “Perhaps you are correct.”
One of Miles’s team members must have heard movement at the rear of the warehouse because he reaches for his gun.
“Sir, we have movement at three o’clock,” Miles’s man says, indicating the sound coming from the right side of the building. Immediately, a stray, black cat runs across the room.
“It’s just a cat, sir, we’re all clear,” says one of the men.
Vladimir chuckles, “There’s always a pussy in our way.”
The men all laughed.
“Now, back to the business at hand.” Vladimir stands from his chair and assesses the money as if he can count it just by looking at it.
“It seems like we have ourselves a deal, Mr. Kustov. It is a pleasure doing business with you,” Miles says, obviously eager to get his hands on his new toys.
Vladimir responds, “Yes, the pleasure is all mine. The eighteen-wheeler is out back with everything inside. I’ll walk with you.”
I look around the van to see that every federal agent seems to be holding their breath. I look to another screen and see FBI agents surrounding the back entrance of the warehouse that Miles is walking straight for. We got him. I drop my headset on the floor and rush out of the van.
“Maverick!” Dustin shouts at me, keeping his voice low enough so no one in the warehouse can hear. I ignore him and cross the parking lot. There’s no way I’m going to watch Miles’s downfall from a screen.
“Put your weapons down. You are all under arrest!” I hear someone yell as I come around the corner.
The scene in front of me is what I’ve dreamed of. The seething rage that is written all over Miles's face is almost enough revenge enough for me. His men drop their weapons and get on their knees, but Miles stays standing.
“Get on your knees! Hands in the air,” An FBI agent shouts.
Miles turns his head, and that’s when he sees me. My lips twist into a grin.
“You mother fucker,” Miles spits before grabbing the nine-mm from the holster at his back. Two shots ring out, hitting Miles directly in the chest. A look of shock crosses his face before his body hits the pavement.
The agents rush to apprehend Miles’s team. Miles is left lying on the ground, gasping for air. I stand over him with a smile on my face.
“I’ll see you in hell.”