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“What’s that, babe?” I ask.
She looks up at me, hands flat against my chest. “You were right. It’s okay to ask for help. And we all break down.”
I press my forehead against hers and squeeze my eyes shut. “We do,” I whisper.
After my shakiness and the fear of losing Sailor lessens, I pick up the vest. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this vest?” I ask.
“Blow it,” Jericho says.
“But not before you remove the virus,” Dash adds. “We’ll give that back to DeLazzer for safekeeping.”
“Roger that.”
“Where’s Atkins?” Sailor asks.
“Rooftop of an office building with a bullet in his leg,” I grunt.
“Let’s go get him,” she says in a determined voice.
???
We walk back to the office building and I’m about to remove the vials of the virus from the vest when Sailor holds up a hand.
“What’re we going to do with Atkins?” she asks.
“We can do whatever you want. Dash is giving us ten minutes and then making an anonymous call to the Spanish Department of National Security.”
“I only need two minutes,” she says ominously. “Give me the vest. And can I borrow your gun?”
I arch a brow then pull my gun out of the back of my waistband. I hand it over but hold the vest just out of reach.
She puts her hand out, crooking her fingers in a ‘gimme’ motion.
When I still don’t hand it over, she narrows her eyes. “Someone’s going to get a taste of his own medicine.”
“Sailor, we don’t know how stable this C-4 is,” I warn her. “We’re taking it off in case Atkins goes kamikaze.”
“Obviously.”
We carefully remove the C-4 and slip it into a backpack I confiscate from a nearby office. Then we head up the stairs and onto the roof where Atkins still lays exactly where I left him. But now he’s conscious and lying in a small pool of blood. He looks up at us and starts crying that he needs help.
“Help?” Sailor echoes in disbelief. “You just tried to carry out a terrorist attack and kill thousands—no, millions—of innocent people. There’s a special place in hell waiting for you.”
Sailor lifts the Glock and motions for me to approach Atkins with the vest. His eyes widen into saucers, and he’s too panicked to even notice I removed the C-4. I think he pisses himself.
I look at her, a shit-eating grin on my face, and ask, “Do you think an hour will give us enough time to get him on the boat, set course for a safe location and then blow it?”
“Please, no,” Atkins pleads, lifting his hands. “Don’t kill me! We can make a deal!”
“What? You don’t want to wear your fancy vest?” I ask, taunting him, stepping closer and pretending like I’m going to force it on him.
It’s always the biggest weasels who turn cowardly in the end,I think.
“No deals,” Sailor says. “You’re going to prison for the rest of your useless, pathetic life,asshole.”
Then she pulls the trigger and puts a bullet in his other leg.
Atkins screams.
