Whistleblower (PALADIN Book 1)

With perfect timing, Eden texts me right before I have to shut my phone off. We’re close to the tarmac and expecting the flight to land in less than ten minutes. We can’t risk giving off any accidental signals that will tip off our target.

Eden

Here’s your peace of mind text. And in case you’re wondering…

I miss you.

Me

Are your pigtails in order?

Eden

Neat and tidy. Don’t you worry about a thing.

Me

Good. Now all we need is a naughty schoolgirl skirt.

Eden

Oh, Professor! That can be arranged.

I laugh out loud and try to cover it with a cough when Vesper shoots me a disapproving look from the passenger seat.

Me

I have to go. Miss you more.

I’ll admit the text is out of character for me but I’ve never been the type to care about anyone’s opinion of me, which is ideal because I don’t know how to justify over a thousand dead bodies in the ground. That number will continue to grow. The worst of humanity is becoming braver, more prevalent, and far more stupid. Easy targets. They’re so motivated by blind hate and power trips that they’re getting careless about who might be watching to deliver their swift justice…in the form of death.

Humans. We will, without a doubt, be the cause of our own extinction… It’s just a matter of when. I used to hope it’d be in my lifetime so I could watch the flames as I walked right through them. But since Eden came into the picture, I’m a little less motivated to face my own end.

Eden

Be safe.

Normally my departing commands are along the lines of, “keep it clean,” and, “no witnesses.” Be safe is a much sweeter send-off.

Vesper and I both shut off our phones and tuck them into the glove box. “They’re stalling,” Vesper huffs in annoyance. “If they take much longer I’ll have to switch to a night vision scope.”

I snort. “Cataracts getting to you, Grandma?”

She punches me in the thigh, hard. Shit! Vesper is under five-foot-seven and can’t weigh more than a buck twenty-five, so sometimes I forget how fucking unnaturally strong she is. “You’re not that far behind me buddy.” Age-wise Vesper isn’t old enough to be my mom. But based on how haunted she is, she might as well have lived a hundred lifetimes. I know who Lance and Cricket were before PALADIN. I still don’t know what motivated Vesper to become a killer.

I never asked.

She never offered.

Vesper taps the side of her assault rifle, a subtle tell of her nerves. Nobody else in the world would notice except me. I clear my throat, breaking the silence between us.

“Do you miss the field? Callen keeps you stuck behind that desk.”

“He likes to keep his captains well behind the front lines. Callen’s ex-military, did you know that? Navy SEAL.”

“Why the hell is he working for the FBI?”

“He took a slug in the gut during a Black Ops mission. He won’t talk about it, but they med-boarded him. I guess he missed the action and joined the FBI.”

Letting out a snarky laugh, I raise my brow at Vesper. “Action and FBI?”

“Listen cocky-ass, I saw some shit during my time with the FBI. You underestimate the agents. You speak to Cricket and Lance, but no one else. They’re all afraid of you, Linc. PALADIN under the FBI’s direction was supposed to help unify us.”

Turning my head, I glance at her with wide eyes. “Unify us? They’re glorified cops. If our targets weren’t on their most wanted list, they’d be hunting us, Vesper. What unity?”

Running her hand up and down the rifle’s barrel, she closes her eyes. “There’s a difference between a soldier and a killer.”

I grumble, “I wonder if that defense would hold up in court.”

She laughs. “Fair point.”

“What’s with your guilty conscience lately? You’ve been at this for how many years? Why Callen? Why now?”

She reaches across the console and holds my shoulder. “Because you’re all grown up now, and I’m starting to see what I created. What I took from you…from all of you. I thought I was saving you when I—”

“You did,” I growl, unwilling to hear her spinning this ridiculous narrative of how I would’ve been better off without her.

“You could’ve had a different life. I should’ve given you a college scholarship instead of a .22. Maybe you could’ve become an FBI agent the right way.”

I cover her hand on my shoulder and pat it tenderly. “Don’t insult me, Vesper.”

She snorts in laughter as we hear the roar of the jet nearing the runway. I nod at her rifle. “You sure you don’t want me to hang back for support?”

“Don’t forget who taught you how to shoot. I could hit my marks blindfolded. Now grab your hat.”

The plan is more comical than anything else. We commandeered the chauffeur’s vehicle to get access to the tarmac. After ridding ourselves of the driver and his security, Vesper insisted I keep the hat as a disguise. Really, she just wanted to see me in a stupid-ass chauffeur’s hat. Eden is constantly reminding everyone to find a way to laugh at work. I’ll probably omit sharing this particular joke seeing as the warlord’s driver is growing cold in the trunk as we speak.

Once the plane touches down, the stairs drop almost immediately and an assembly line of armed thugs begin shuffling out of the plane. Vesper rolls her window down barely an inch. Just enough for the barrel of her gun to poke through.

I shout a greeting as a distraction when I open my driver’s side door. Waving as I cross the pavement, I hustle towards the plane as if I’m here to eagerly welcome them. By the time they recognize I’m not who they’re expecting, it’s far too late.

Pop, pop, pop, pop.

I slow my pace and watch the men fall one by one off the stairs, dropping from alternating sides like a synchronized dance. Plummeting to the pavement, they begin to stain the clean ground red. I’m at the bottom of the stairs when a man in a tan suit with a rifle strapped around his back pauses in terror. He opens his mouth to shout a warning, but I don’t bother reaching for my pistol.

Wait for it.

I can sense the bullet whizzing above my shoulder before it buries into the center of his forehead. I step aside on the stairs so he can topple down. Tapping my earpiece, I speak to Vesper. “A little close for comfort.”

She ignores me. “Be quick about it,” Vesper says. “But I’d like a confession.”

“Are you asking me to play with my food?” I mutter under my breath as I take the stairs quickly.

“Don’t touch the pilot. He thought he was moving an ambassador—his jet was hijacked.”

If Vesper’s command wasn’t enough, when I look left, I see a man in the cockpit in a pilot’s uniform with his hands tied and duct tape around his mouth. His eyes look bloodshot and he’s sporting a shiner on his left cheek. I shut the door to the cockpit after assuring him rescue is on the way.

When I turn my attention to the back of the luxury jet, I find my target. The arrogant piece of shit in a tan suit with his hands in the air and a cocky smile on his face. It becomes instantly apparent that he’s not a local of Africa.

“You’re American?” I ask.

“Are you surprised?” he responds clearly, with no trace of an accent. He speaks calmly even though there are sweat beads dripping down his bald head.

“So, you’re not a terrorist, you’re just a corrupted fuck who takes advantage of a war-torn region?”

I slide into the captain’s chair opposite of him with my pistol pointed at his head. The smell of his overbearing cologne makes me nauseous as I eye the gold rings around his hands that match his gold teeth. Even if he wasn’t a vile excuse of a human being I think I’d hate him.

I watch his eyes dart down to his weapon.

“Oh please reach for it,” I snarl, nodding toward his gun sitting on the table between us. “Give me an excuse to put a hole in your head right now.”

Keeping his hands in the air, he snickers. “Take it. There’s no need for such theatrics.” After sliding his gun off the table, I remove the bullets in front of him so he can watch them fall on the carpeted floor.

“How many of my men are dead?” he asks with a cruel smirk.

“All of them.”

“The pilot’s not with me,” he explains.

“We’re aware.”

“I’m going to put my arms down now because they are tired,” he says, far too calmly, “but you’re free to check my pockets.”

“I’m not concerned. One flinch in the wrong direction and this interview is over.”

“Interview? I’m flattered.” He chuckles like he’s unworried for his life. Foolish. But I’ll admit, I’m annoyed. I wanted terror. I wanted to do to him what he did to all those innocent women, but this asshole seems oddly comfortable staring down the barrel of the gun…as if it’s a dance he knows well.

“Let’s talk. You’re FBI or DIA?”

“I’m just a man who can’t fathom how you could chain up human beings like dogs in a crate, and leave them to die.”

He shrugs. “It was not my intention for them to die. That was a…shipping mishap.”

“But you were okay with the chains?”

Watching his smug smile, it takes everything within me not to drop my gun and finish the job with a pocketknife, so I can hear him howl in agony.

“They were a precaution. Listen, I’m not the villain. They were headed to a better life. Do you know where they come from? America is the dreamland.”

“Sexual slavery is your understanding of the dreamland?”

“Not slavery,” he balks before tutting his tongue. “There’s food, protection, a roof over their heads, and wages. I help people—”

My anger takes over and suddenly I’m standing, the tip of my gun touching his lips. “Keep giving me reasons to make this incredibly messy,” I threaten. For the first time, I see fear flicker in his eyes.

His arms are immediately in the air again. Leaning back, so his lips have a little room to move, he begins to plead. There it is. This is what I’m here for. Go ahead and beg for something I can’t give you. Mercy.

“What do you want?” he asks. “I’m no stranger to negotiation. Whatever you want. Name it. I have money, information, and connections.”

I lower my gun and take a step back as he continues to speak. He relaxes now that he has my attention.

‘What’re they paying you to do this, hm? Surely not enough. I can get you more. Help me, and I’ll more than help you. Whatever you want, full discretion, I can be very generous.” His tone drops to a warm tenor, like he’s conducting a sales pitch and I’m already interested in purchasing.

His lips keep moving but all I can picture are the victim’s eyes. So full of defeat, like they’d seen the devil and they’d never be the same. And this? This sniveling, pathetic piece of shit was the source? I wonder if Eden could look at this man and show mercy.

“Do you have what you need?” I ask and Vesper responds with a quick “yes” in my earpiece.

“What do I need?” he responds, thinking I was speaking to him. “I don’t require much—just my life. And stay out of my way, that’s all. In exchange, I’m capable of granting you more than you could ever dream of. I’ve been doing this a very long time and I know by now that every cop has a price.”

“Here’s the problem,” I say, letting out a deep breath. “I’m no cop.” He furrows his brows in confusion. “And all I want is for you to stop breathing.”

Without another word, I raise my pistol and pull the trigger. Standing this close, I catch the back spray of blood on my jaw and neck. He slumps, then falls out of his chair with a heavy thud.

I can’t help but feel disappointed. I normally take pride in a clean execution, but the monster in me wanted him to suffer.

To really suffer.