Sin removed her sunglasses, sucked air in through gritted teeth, and shrugged. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. And before you get your panties in a wad, unless you can show me documented proof of what you’re saying, I would stifle it before I sue you and the U.S. government for libel.”
“Sin,” Graham stood next to her bike—a look of compassion on his face, “we need to stop fighting and work together to solve this and figure out who the mole is and why these people were killed.”
Sin lowered her sunglasses. “Now, you want to work together? You’re a little late, don’t you think, Frank?”
“So you’re just going to ride away into the sunset?” Westcott yelled. “Just like you, O’Malley. Same old modus operandi.”
Sin started her bike and pulled away, giving Westcott a middle finger salute as she left.
A mile down the road, Sin reached into her shirt and pulled a taped wire from her skin. “Did you get that?” she asked.
“Every word,” Charlie answered.
“Can you match verbal signatures to what we pulled off of the computers from the church?”
“It will take a while, you and Fletcher did one hell of a job taking out the audio feed. I’m having to go back to the old audio messages between the members we found on Heap’s computer to try to get a voice match.”
“Did you hear Westcott’s words—modus operandi. It’s him, I’d stake my life on it. He’s El fucking Presidente.”
50
Three months later
Charlie had reconfigured the mole’s encryption code and was able to stay one step ahead of the bureau. Every time the FBI started to get close to Sin’s men, they disappeared. He had also found a way to untangle the electronically altered voices of the guests and compare them to the recorded voices of Westcott and Graham. Sin was right, the leader of the slavery ring was indeed Folsom Westcott.
Charlie wanted Sin to talk to Frank Graham, but she refused. Her answer was that she trusted Frank, but she no longer trusted the system. Sin’s unit was still at large—still hunted―and she wasn’t taking any chances.
Westcott seemed to be of single purpose. He had made it his mission to bring in Sin and her unit for murder.
“How are you?”
Sin sat on a park bench, smoking a cigarette. “A little chilly,” she said cradling her cell phone to her ear.
“That’s not what I meant,” Charlie said.
“You sound out of breath. Are you pacing the library?” Sin brought the cigarette to her lips and inhaled. Blowing out the smoke, she silently laughed. “I know what you meant.”
“How’d you know I was moving?”
“We’ve talked so much in the past months, I can tell when you’re pacing or about to pass gas.”
“Nice.” Sarcasm oozed through Charlie’s voice. “So answer my question, how are you?”
“I’m as good as can be expected,” she said. “I have half the bureau looking for me and my men, and I’m tired of watching Westcott.”
“I might have a way to get you and your unit out of that mess.”
“Hold that thought,” Sin said. “Old business before new. Have you had any luck identifying Marilyn?”
“No.” Charlie sounded exasperated. “Whoever she is, she has disappeared.”
Sin leaned forward on the bench, elbows to knees. “She hasn’t disappeared, Charlie. She’s just dug in, but eventually she will surface. Shit always floats to the top.”
“You have a way with words, Sinclair.”
“Whatever. I know if I stay on Westcott, she’ll show. That’s as clear as I can be.”
“You know or you have a hunch.”
“Same thing.” Sin took a final drag off her cigarette and flicked it on the grass. “So, tell me your great idea to get my men and me out of this mess.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Charlie said. “All of you.”
Sin sat back on the bench and waited for the punch line—none came.
The silence was broken by the sound of laughter—her own. “Only the man who found the gun in the grassy knoll could think up such shit.”
Sin hung up the phone and pulled her leather jacket tighter against the wind. She stood up and looked across the street at 935 Pennsylvania Avenue. For the first time in months, the view brought a smile to her face.
51
Sin sat across from Troy and Charlie in an all-night crowded coffee shop in Alexandria, Virginia. She stared over the top of her cup, looking between the wisps of steam. “You didn’t say anything about bringing him with you.”
“You didn’t say not to.”
“Do the two of you mind? I don’t appreciate being talked about as if I wasn’t sitting right in front of you,” Troy said.
“You’re not sitting right in front of me,” Sin replied. “I never saw you.”
“Makes sense,” he smirked, “since I wouldn’t have known it was you unless you were sitting across from me. What’s up with the mousy-brown hair and looking like a bag lady?”
“Not to mention your clothes,” Charlie added. “When did you become Amish?”
Sin sipped her coffee. “Screw you both, but you have to admit, the disguise is good. I purposely bumped into Westcott at the mall yesterday and he didn’t even notice me.”
“That was an unnecessary risk,” Charlie said.
Sin sat back and adjusted her coat. “I’ll be dead in a couple of days. I needed a little excitement before going to my grave.”
“Speaking of which, we need to go over the plans with your unit. How can we reach them?”
Sin turned her head from left to right, peering at the people in the coffee shop. “They’re all here and wired. Everything you say, they can hear.”
Charlie and Troy looked about. The shop’s patrons were either involved in personal conversations or working on laptops. Every one of them blended in with their surroundings.
Charlie smiled and stroked his white beard. “I’m glad I won’t have to repeat myself.”
“Me, too,” Sin said. “We’ve talked so much lately, I feel like we’re dating. So what’s the plan?”
Charlie opened a backpack, pulled out a file, and slid it across the
