The boarding call jarred Sin from her thoughts. She gathered her carry-on and made her way to the ladies room.
A few minutes later, she re-emerged sans the dress and wig. She was dressed in her signature black jeans, grey t-shirt, and black stiletto heels. She was the full embodiment of her own persona—beautiful, bold, and bodacious. She sashayed her way to the front of the line, handed her ticket to the attendant, and reached back to scratch her head with her middle finger, before walking into the jetway.
53
Folsom Westcott fumed, stomped, and threw anything that wasn’t nailed down in the conference room.
“Calm down, Folsom.”
“Calm down? Do you see what the bitch just did?” Westcott said, pointing to the monitor. “She just gave me the finger. Hell,” he flipped through multiple images, “I was able to get security footage from every airport with a flight headed to Tonconin International Airport today. Her entire fucking squad just gave me the finger!”
Graham emitted an involuntary chuckle.
“What the hell is so funny?”
Graham couldn’t contain himself and burst with laughter. Watching Westcott stomp and fume like a toddler throwing a tantrum just made him laugh harder. He slowly composed himself and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. “Come on, Folsom,” he said, “if the shoe were on the other foot, you’d be cracking up.”
“But it’s not. That bitch is not above the law.”
“That bitch did in a matter of weeks what our entire departments couldn’t do in months! You,” he poked Westcott, “are pissing in the wind with this personal vendetta.”
Graham grabbed the computer remote out of Westcott’s hand and flipped back through the presentation. A picture of Ezekiel Miller filled the screen. “She took out the scumbag who killed our agents and our friend.” He clicked to another photo. “She took down an entire human trafficking ring and,” he clicked to a final picture, “Veloz . . .” He slammed the remote on the table, “one of the ten most wanted terrorists, single-handed, and you want to drag her in here in handcuffs like a criminal? You should be hailing her like the hero she is.”
Westcott’s hue flushed blood red. He opened his mouth to respond, but Graham shut him up.
“I can’t tell you how to run your department, but I can sure as hell run mine. This fucking manhunt is over.” His words were curt and his tone was final. “Knowing Sin the way I do,” he said, closing his file and heading for the door, “if I were you, I’d sleep with one eye open.”
The door slammed behind Graham leaving Westcott alone in the conference room staring up at the dead members of the snuff ring.
Turning away from the monitor, he pulled his personal phone from his pocket and speed dialed.
“O’Malley left the country.”
“What, no hello or how are you. It’s been six weeks since we’ve spoken and all I get, is ‘O’Malley left the country’.”
Westcott picked up the remote and shut down the computer feed. He sat in a soft black leather chair and loosened his tie. “Sorry, things have been pretty tense around here.”
“I know how to reduce that tension,” the voice purred.
He slouched in the chair, the tone of her voice helped soothe his stress. “Soon,” he moaned, “soon.”
“Is there a way you can be sure she won’t return―permanently?”
Westcott straightened his posture. “I have a meeting with four of my best men in twenty minutes. Men who don’t mind getting a little dirty.” He stood and walked toward the door. “That bitch likes to bend the rules, I’m gonna break them over her pretty little head.”
“I am still planning on coming for the New Year’s Eve bash so that gives you three weeks. Don’t let me down.”
“Mi Amore,” he moaned, “I would never let you down. I will see you at the New Year’s Eve White House Gala.”
Westcott made his way through the maze of hallways and pods within the pentagon; leaving the complex, he walked the short distance to the Pentagon City Mall. Inside, he bought a cup of coffee and sat in the food court and watched all the holiday shoppers.
At exactly three p.m., four men sat down around the table.
Westcott pulled a thin envelope from his pocket and slid it under the table to one of the men. “Inside, you will find a stick drive with all the vital information for your mission.” He burned a looked into the men with a steely stare. “I’ve included an extra incentive for each of you,” he said. He lowered his voice so that it was barely audible. “This is a kill mission, but you’re to kill no one until I give the order―no excuses. Find your targets, follow them, and wait. It’s all explained on the drive.” With his final words, he stood up and strolled toward the crowd near the North Pole display.
He took a seat on a bench and watched as the children took their turns sitting on Santa’s lap. A smile eclipsed his face―a lascivious, evil smile.
54
Sin had joined up with the members of her unit at the appointed time. They gathered in a small cantina outside of Choluteca. A bottle of rum was passed around the table, each pouring a generous amount in his or her glass.
Sin twirled her finger in the amber colored liquid. “I owe you all a huge thank you for what you did.” She pulled her finger from the glass and wiped it on her shirt. “Starting tonight, you all get paid back. First, we figure out what the hell is going on with Manuel and then tomorrow we die.
“A toast,” she raised her glass, “to death and a new life.”
They clinked their glasses and downed the rum.
The members of the unit looked from Sin to the another members. Their expression wasn’t missed by Sin.
“Say your peace,” she said.
“We want to be sure that you can deliver what you promised us,” one of the female soldiers said.
Sin refilled her glass
