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Epilogue
Colin Baxter
Undisclosed location
“We’ve had a breakthrough on the RX-1 serum, Sire. The latest experiment has given us tremendous results.”
“Excellent work, Dr. Beddingfield. Please give me daily updates on patient three-three-one,” Colin Baxter replied to the scientist on the other line. “I also wish to be present when you distribute the serum to the initiates.”
“Of course, Sire.”
The American general ended the call, picked up his drink, walked to the French windows of his new home, and plopped his large frame onto a custom-made sofa.
The fifteen thousand square-foot residence was perfect for him. It was on one of the islands of Tonga and offered a breathtaking view of the South Pacific Ocean.
The people here turned a blind eye to his criminal activities and didn’t have any extradition treaty with the US, which was perfect.
Colin’s phone rang again and made the man frown when he recognized Letifer’s ring tone.
What did the fucker want now?
“I hear your little kidnapping plan blew up in your face.” The dark voice on the other end of the line smirked, making him grit his teeth.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sire,” the American replied calmly, even though he was boiling with anger.
He hated his new “boss”. Letifer treated him like an imbecile, or worse, like he was a fucking lackey. Baxter would rather have all his teeth pulled out than have to deal with him. Better yet, he would rather put a bullet into the man’s brain. But he couldn’t because he needed the fucker.
“We know about your side activity, Mr.Baxter. We were willing to turn a blind eye to it as long as no one could lead it to you, but you just had to kidnap Winthrop’s commander and his lieutenant like a dumb fuck, didn’t you?”
“Eric Winslow is an extremely valuable element in Winthrop’s defense. Taking him out, slowed down his attack,” Baxter intervened.
“Yes, he is. But you’re missing the point.” Please, like he was going to take advice from a fucking bureaucrat on war games.
“With all due respect, Sire, you’re the one who’s not getting the big picture,” Baxter clearly enunciated to cover the loathing in his voice.
The old general couldn’t believe he was calling this monkey by that title. HE was the fucking sire. People should bow to him, not the other way around.
“Then explain it to me.”
“When trying to weaken your opponent, you need to take away everything that makes your enemy strong.”
“And?”
“And Winslow was but a decoy. I needed Winthrop to be busy saving his friends while I put my plan into action.”
“So, everything is in place?” The Swiss German inquired.
“Yes, Sire. Winthrop has four things he cares about. I’m about to take them out one by one,” Baxter answered politely, even though what he really wanted to do was bash Letifer’s head in.
“We don’t want anything to be traced to us this early in the game. If you jeopardize this, I will have no choice but to retract my invitation.”
“I understand, Sire.” Colin hung up the phone and took a large gulp of his Scotch to calm down. When that didn’t work, he rotated his big shoulder to stretch and took a second gulp of the liquor.
He was about to turn on the television when all the electronics in the room blinked and turned on by themselves.
“What the fuck?” he roared, and three men came rushing into the room.
“Is something wrong, Sire?” one bodyguard questioned.
