by J. M. LeDuc
Sin thumbed through the file. “This is thick, how complex is your plan?”
“There are twelve copies in there. I want everyone to memorize what’s in there and burn the contents, tonight.”
“Done,” Sin said. She fanned out the packets of information and over the next fifteen minutes while she, Charlie, and Troy were talking, eight men and three women walked by and nonchalantly picked up a packet before leaving the coffee house. The last one―Fletcher―winked at him as he passed by.
52
Sin lay wrapped in nothing but a silk sheet and Troy’s embrace as she watched the sun rise over the nation’s capital. Her thoughts were far away, thinking of the days to come.
Troy stirred and stretched, bringing her back to the moment. “Mornin’,” his gravelly voice sounded somewhere between a breath and a moan, “damn glad to see you’re still here. I was afraid last night was just a dream.”
Sin cradled her head into his chest and let her hand slide over his washboard abs. “Not a dream, just a break from reality.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I wish you would reconsider and let me go with you. I’d feel—”
“No. We discussed it last night. Nothing has changed. I need you here, keeping an eye on Westcott.”
She felt his chest rise and fall as he sighed. “But—”
Sin twisted her body, and slithered on top of him. “Do you want to spend what little time we have arguing or—”
Troy wrapped one hand in her hair and pulled her lips to his. “Good answer,” she mouthed, biting his lower lip.
Sin handed Troy a towel as he emerged from the shower. “Let’s see,” she said, eyes twinkling, “make up sex, frustration sex, good morning-got to go sex, and shower sex.” She held up one finger for each point, “I think we have all the items on my list covered, how about you?”
“For now,” Troy said, pulling her to him and kissing her hard.
Sin let their kiss linger and then pushed away. “Down, Cowboy. You have a maggot to follow, and I need to get to the airport.”
Troy ran his fingers through her hair. “It’s nice to see you back to black. The bitch vibe works better when your hair is as dark as your soul.”
Sin’s full lips turned up at the corners, resulting in a sultry expression. “Such a smooth talker, Stubbs; no wonder you banged all the girls in high school.”
He snapped her with his towel. “Hurry up and get ready.”
Sin eyed herself in the mirror, it felt sacrilegious wearing a sack-like, sky blue dress. “Thank god this is the last time I need to wear this piece of shit,” she mumbled. “I wish I could be a fly on the wall when Westcott gets confirmation my unit has left the country. His head is gonna spin like that chick in The Exorcist.”
She draped her head in a dingy, grey scarf, concealing her mousy brown wig. “Let’s go,” she said.
“One minute, Agent O’Malley,” Troy said as he checked his weapon and slid it into his shoulder holster.
“You’re just doing that to make me jealous,” she said, hip checking Troy. “I feel naked without my weapons.”
“Yeah, well, it’s going to be hard enough getting through airport security without carrying guns and knives.”
“Charlie said he sent everything yesterday,” she agreed. “Getting them back will be the first indication that the intel on Manuel is a bunch of crap.”
“If not?”
Sin’s expression turned dark. “If not, I will find a blade and gut him like a fish.”
Two hours later, Sin had made it through security at Dulles International Airport and waited in the boarding area. The plan was simple enough. She would board a flight to Miami, Florida, from which she would grab a flight for Tonconin International Airport in Tegucigalpa, Honduras.
Each of the members of her unit would do the same from other U.S. airports. They would all meet up outside of Choluteca: Manuel’s hometown.
Sin arrived in Miami early enough to check in on her unit and Charlie.
Everyone was either en route to or at their perspective airports.
Sin sent a group text to her unit, tossed the throwaway phone in the trash, and sat back and smiled—a final going away present for Westcott.
Sin slouched back in her chair and closed her eyes. It’s funny how life works, she thought, a few months ago, I never would have dreamed I would have been reinstated in the bureau, never mind go back home. She sighed and thought about her father. A warmth flushed through her—a feeling of relief that she had the chance to reconcile her relationship with him before he passed.
“Now boarding flight 249 for Tegucigalpa, Honduras.”
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 and tossed back the shot. “I can’t guarantee anything,” she said. “I’ve never been able to guarantee any of you anything, but―” she pointed a manicured finger at each soldier, “I’ve never back-tracked on anything I’ve promised.” She stood and pulled black leather, fingerless gloves onto her hands. “If you have any doubts or reservations, stay here or get lost in the world. Every one of you has enough contacts to stay busy and rich for the rest of your lives, but if you’re willing to take the risk I offer, follow me. Either way, there are no hard feelings.”
As she turned and walked toward the door, she could hear the scraping of the chairs against the wooden floor. Fletcher and the others followed her out the door.
Twenty minutes later, they were in view of Manuel’s home. “I go in alone,” Sin said. “Unless you hear the sound of gun fire, no one enters until I open the front door and wave you inside.”
“That’s an unnecessary risk,” Fletcher said.
“We know these people,” Sin said. “We saved his daughter from Veloz. The intel on them doesn’t make sense. I need time to talk to Manuel and hear his side of the story. I’ll know if he’s lying.”
“And if he tries to take you out?”
Sin looked at the soldier who spoke. “If it’s a knife fight or hand-to-hand, he doesn’t stand a chance. If you hear shooting, come fast and hard.”
Sin stepped out of their hiding spot and crept along the side of the shanty. She stayed low and out of sight from the windows, surprised to see lights on inside at this time of night. That alone made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
She made her way to the front door, reached up, knocked, and squatted low again.
Footsteps could be heard coming closer. Sin was balanced on the balls of her feet, ready to pounce on whoever answered the door.
“Who is it?”
Sin knew Manuel’s voice. He sounded skittish.
“La Perla Angel de la Muerte,” Sin answered.
Through the thin wooden door, Sin could hear the slide being pulled back on a semiautomatic weapon. “If you are who you say, what was my gift to you?” Manuel asked.
“A pearl-handled Balisong, and I want it back.”
Sin stayed crouched as she heard the chain on the inside of the door being released. As soon as the door opened, she sprung from her position, grabbed Manuel’s gun hand, twisted it back forcing him to drop the weapon, and then shoved him to the ground.
Manuel fell backward on the wooden floor, clutching his wrist, and trying not to scream. Sin stepped into the house, picked up the pistol and aimed it at him.
She kicked the door closed as she scanned the house for others. “Who is here?”
Manuel was just starting to recover when Sin heard the sound of an inner door opening. She quickly lowered her gun as soon as she saw Serena run toward her father.
Sin grabbed a chair and sat down, trying to calm her frayed nerves.
Manuel hugged his frightened daughter, telling her that he was just surprised at seeing Sin and tripped over his own feet.
Sin remained on full alert as she and Serena hugged and said hello.
“She seemed pretty spooked,” Sin said, after Serena was once again sleeping. With a tentative reach, she accepted a cup of coffee from Manuel, “anything unusual going on around here lately?”
Manuel diverted his eyes from Sin and sipped his espresso. “Eh, it is nothing,” he said. “You know girls, always afraid for no reason.”
Sin placed her cup on the wooden table and then placed the pistol next to it. “I know Serena,” she said, “and she is not easily frightened.”
Manuel began to fidget and looked everywhere but directly at Sin.
“Manuel,” Sin placed a soft hand on top of his, “I am here to help, but I need to know what is going on.” She could feel his pulse quicken under her fingers. “I have been told that you are in trouble, doing things you know are wrong, but I don’t believe it.” His pulse quickened still. “I told my people that my friend, Manuel, would never be involved it the slave trade. Now, I want to hear it from you.”
Hearing the words ‘slave trade’ startled Manuel and he jerked away from Sin. “Angel, after what my sweet Serena went through, how could you even think such a thing?” His voice was sincere, but his non-verbal cues were deceiving―his eyes, facial expression, and posture said he was lying.
Sin pulled three pictures from the back pocket of her jeans. “Then explain why you’ve been seen coming and going from the Condominio Elegante in Puerto Cabezas and why you have been seen with associates of Veloz?”
He glanced at the pictures and slid them back towards Sin. “It is not what you think, Angel.”
“Then tell me what it is, Manuel. Because, if you don’t tell me the truth, I will kill you and take Serena with me.”
“Look around you, Angel.” Manuel’s voice cracked. Frustration could be heard in his tone. “I have nothing! Most days, I pray that I will be able to feed my child. Is this right? No, it is not.” He pointed to Serena’s room. “She deserves better. She deserves a home with a toilet that works, she deserves to go to school every day, and she deserves . . .” Tears streamed down his cheeks, “a papa who can give her those things.”
Sin stayed silent. Manuel was unburdening his soul and would get to the reason behind the intel all by himself.
“This home―this town, they are who I am, they are my life. I want Serena to know what a beautiful place this can be, but . . .” he pounded his chest,
“I cannot find work, and I will not live off of charity.” He sat back down and wrapped both callused, trembling hands around his cup. “In a place this small, you hear things.” He kept his head down as he spoke. “Word spread fast that Veloz was killed by La Perla Angel de la Muerte. But then word also spread that you were killed by his second in command.” He finally looked Sin in the eye. “That was why I was so shocked when I received a package and was told that you would be coming to pick it up.”
Sin still said nothing.
“I also heard that Veloz had left money in the condominium. A friend of a friend knew someone who was there so we went to see if we could find anything.”
“The condominium is abandoned, yes?” Sin asked.
“Si, it is abandoned except for the scavengers.”
“And?” Sin finally said.
“There have been men there for weeks trying to find what they cannot find.”
Sin saw a sparkle in his eyes. “But you know where the money is, don’t you?”
“Si, Angel.” He tapped his skull with his finger. “Everyone from Puerto Cabezas thinks they are so smart, but Manuel knows something they don’t.”
“Which is?”
“The money is not at the condominium.” He paused and grinned. “It is in the condominium.”
Sin didn’t break her cold stare. She didn’t want to let on that she believed him. “So what is all the talk about a slave ring?”
Manuel shook his hand from side to side in rhythm with his head. “There is no slave ring, but it is what the men at the building are saying because they know it will keep others away.”
Sin stood up and walked toward the front door. “How much money is there?”
“No one knows, but I have heard that there are close to ten million Euros hidden at the building.”
“What would you do with the money, Manuel?”
