Whistleblower (PALADIN Book 1)

“This is a fucking terrible idea. Look at the foot traffic,” I snarl under my breath. It doesn’t matter how low I whisper, Vesper always hears me.

I scour the massive lobby of one of the largest luxury business buildings in the middle of Washington D.C.’s metropolitan. The entirety of its thirty-two floors is overkill. In this city, architecture is a pissing contest. The bigger your building, the bigger your cock.

“Is it? How many people have looked our way?”

Hm, fair point. Vesper and I don’t look out of place in neat suits in this crowd. Everyone is far too busy hustling to their corporate day jobs to notice that the killers in the room are armed.

“Who owns the building?” I ask.

“The Rigett Group. But they turn a blind eye to the basement lessees.”

I follow Vesper to the row of elevators. She presses the “Down” arrow and the doors of the center elevator part immediately. I step forward, but she holds out her arm.

“Wait,” she whispers, “to the left.”

At the end of the row, there’s one elevator that’s clearly marked—Private Access to Penthouse. Vesper sees my disapproving expression.

“You’re asking for trouble putting us on the top floor.” I’ve thrown a man from a forty-story building and have since long regretted it. Did he deserve death? Absolutely. Did he deserve the horror of falling before inevitably meeting his end? Debatable. My philosophy is to put a bad dog down if you must, but be quick about it. Don’t torture the damn thing.

“There is no penthouse,” she assures me in a hushed tone. “Only our fingerprints can call this elevator. This is one of three entrances to the compound. We’ll need to rotate between the three of them for subtlety.”

“Clever.” But my tone is unconvincing.

I trail behind her into the steel box, like a shadow. She moves, and I’m right behind her. That’s our dynamic.

The doors are barely shut when I ask, “Who are the basement lessees?”

Vesper clears her throat. “As of now, us.”

She pushes the only black button on the panel. It’s unmarked—obviously for our use only. “Close your eyes,” she commands, but I’m a half-second too slow. After a piercing ding, a blinding flash of light disorients me.

“Fuck,” I growl, trying to blink away the white specs in my eyes. “Body scans?”

“In the case of drones or AI,” Vesper explains. “Technology’s finest. Compliments of the FBI.”

“Overdramatic,” I spit out in agitation.

“It’s a smart precaution,” she says as we descend to our destination, the opposite direction of the so-called penthouse that this elevator should be ascending to.

When the door peels open, Vesper banks an immediate left down a dimly lit hallway towards a metal door. She pulls a badge out of her coat pocket and scans it against the white wall—an area that you’d never find unless you already knew where to look. The sound is almost inaudible, but I hear the faint clicking that indicates a door has unlocked.

“Lance is going to struggle with this.” I let out a humorless laugh, picturing my comrade running his badge across the entire hallway to no avail.

“He’ll figure it out. He always does.”

Vesper opens the door and ushers me through. I was expecting this bunker to look like Hannibal’s lair, but I’m sorely mistaken. Our new headquarters looks uncomfortably civil. We walk through what must be a lounge or break room of some sort. There are a few oversized leather loveseats and recliners pointed at a large flat-screen television. A couple of side tables hold board games—chess, checkers, and Jenga. Who the hell pictured a bunch of assassins kicking back and enjoying a game of Jenga…?

We pass a few closed doors as we make our way through, what can only be accurately described as, a giant mole tunnel.

“Gym, and data,” Vesper says as she points down the hallway to our right. “Medical is down that way, along with interrogation rooms”—she points left then juts her thumb over her shoulder—“and the kitchen is back toward the entry.” She finally slows when we approach a large meeting room. Upon entering, I find whiteboards lining one wall and corkboards lining the other. In the center of the generously-sized room is a large, black, laminate table with at least twenty ergonomic office chairs surrounding it.

“What the fuck is this?” I glower at Vesper to convey my sentiment.

“This is our meeting room,” she answers. “We’ll have weekly team meetings moving forward…”

“Vesper,” I say, looking down to find her eyes, seeing something that’s not usually present in our fearless leader. Desperation? Defeat? “What is going on?”

“This is the new PALADIN, Linc. This compound is a generous, welcome gift. It’s a way to bring us all together. Moving PALADIN under the FBI’s command will be a good thing. Callen has a solid plan to get us more support and resources. We’ve been sloppy and scattered and it’s time to make a change. Callen can help.” She breaks our deadlock stare and takes a seat at the head of the table.

“Since when are you so chummy with Callen?”

Vesper has a healthy distrust of governing agencies—she’s seen too much corruption. So her sudden revere of Jeffrey Callen is unsettling.

Callen is the director of the particular division of the FBI that funds our activity. I think they call it, “Emergency Contractor Services.” More accurately known as the group the FBI throws serious money at for us to just handle it. We’ve taken down targets for the majority of the governing agencies, but lately, the FBI has gotten greedy with our time. They’ve been sending us files left and right. I’ve killed more men in the past two weeks than I have in the past six months combined. As of late, Callen seems to think PALADIN is at his disposal. He’s confused. There can only be one in command, and right now I am baffled as to why she’s bending over for a sniveling fed.

Vesper groans, resting her hand against the bridge of her nose like she’s reluctant to say what’s next. “Linc, I’m now officially a field operative—just like you. Callen is the new commanding officer of PALADIN.”

Instinctually, my fists ball up. “Vesper, what the fuck? Why would you—’

“Frankie—”

“One rogue operative, and you spiral? There’s always a risk with people who are willing to kill for a living. You know this. You’re going to roll over and drown in a pity party just because—”

Whack.

Her fist lands with a thud on the table in anger. I must’ve gone a step too far. “I brought in Frankie. I missed the signs. So every single mistake he made is mine.” Her eyes fall to the table and she twirls her thumbs slowly. “You know, I never asked…”

It’s Vesper’s only weakness. She’s a superb leader—smart, capable, focused, whips our asses in shape whenever we need it, but her empathy… It’s either her biggest weakness or her greatest strength. I don’t know. Vesper trained me, she taught me to be cold and detached, however, she cries for the world and all her recruits. Frankie was the most recent addition to our team. He turned out to be a bad apple. He started taking lives on his own accord and acting like a midnight vigilante, except not all of his targets deserved death, and he certainly didn’t have Vesper’s approval. He was out of control, so Vesper told me to put him down.

“He didn’t fight or flinch. He smiled as he watched me pull the trigger.”

He knew the consequences…and he paid them. Vesper blamed herself, calling it a bad recruit, but on paper, Frankie was a perfect fit for PALADIN—former specialized military, no family—but he grew angry.

I understand that part at least.

The more terrorists, murderers, abusers, and traffickers you encounter, the more you lose faith in humanity. We’re all angry, depressed…worn down. PALADIN takes down a target and then ten more pop up in its wake. Evil in this world knows no ends and the good people are outnumbered. It’s soul-crushing. At the end, I think Frankie wanted me to end him—he wanted to be put out of his misery.

She nods her head solemnly. “My point is, maybe there’s a need for checks and balances. I can’t keep playing God.”

“Why not? You’re better at it than Callen.”

She scoffs, burying her face in her hands. “Linc, we’re scattered, we’re divided, we’re being picked off left and right. I thought Morely went off the grid…” She shakes her head. “It took me three weeks to figure out his brains were splattered on a wall in Dubai. Jooney and Brady—dead. Fenway—dead. I just found out that Cricket’s in Morocco when she’s supposed to be in Prague. Did you know that?”

“No. Why?”

Her dark eyes bulge. “I don’t fucking know. My operatives are spread across the globe, doing God knows what right under my nose. I can’t reach them. I can’t control them… I can’t protect them. We need—”

“Discipline?”

“Structure,” she offers instead.

She closes her eyes, maybe an attempt to hide her vulnerability. I hate seeing her like this. When Vesper feels weak, I feel weak. She’s my leader, my friend, and the closest thing I have to a mother. She should know by now that we bear the burden of PALADIN’s shortcomings, together.

She should’ve talked to me before running to the FBI.

“I won’t put down another one of mine, Linc. Hear me? Frankie was the first and last.” Her tone is low and menacing. It’s a solemn vow. I didn’t realize how much it was tormenting her. I know Vesper takes responsibility for all her operatives, but this pain is from a maternal place. And judging by the look in her eyes, there’s no point in arguing—she’s made up her mind.

I now answer to motherfucking Jeff Callen which kind of makes me want to choose early retirement.

“All right,” I murmur, leaning against the wall of whiteboards. “Whatever you want. But no matter where you’re sitting at the table, our loyalty is to you, not Callen. Clear?”

She doesn’t lift her head and instead glares at me from the corner of her eyes. “Then show your loyalty now and do what I say is best. Don’t give Callen, or his new management, trouble. We’re safe under his command and I need my family safe.”

“Fine, I—wait…what is ‘new management?’”

A mischievous smile creeps across Vesper’s face. At least she’s smiling. “PALADIN is now legitimate. Callen says we’re getting a human resources department.”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I exhale making my irritation clear. “Human resources, Vesper? For a bunch of fucking assassins?”

Vesper stands, clasping my shoulder before making her way out of the meeting room. “Behave. And call what’s left of our family home. Now.”

“Awfully bossy for someone who is taking a step down.” Vesper simply shrugs on her way out of the door. “Where are you going?” I call after her.

“Break room, Linc. We have a break room now, and it has snacks.”