Page 37 of Rescuing Rebel
“What?”
“Ah, see, this is where I must draw a line. I’ll tell you what I can do to save your sorry ass, but only after you tell me what I need to know. Based on how useful that is—or isn’t—kind of decides how well I can help you with your little problem.”
“Doesn’t matter. Like you said, I’m a dead man walking.” He’s not dumb, but it’s taken this long for him to realize he’s out of options.
“You could be walking on a beach in Costa Rica. New name. New—”
“A new name does me shit. Facial recognition these days is everywhere. You have shit to offer me.” He leans back, crossing his arms, but his shoulders slump. He knows these are probably his last hours on earth.
“What if I could fix that?”
“Fix it?” He shakes his head, obviously not buying whatever I may have to offer him.
“Two words: facial reconstruction.” I lean back, waiting for his bravado to disappear. When he says nothing, I know I’ve got him. “New name. New face. New life.” I gesture with my hands as if offering him the world.
“You can do that?”
“Me?” I scoff and point to my chest. “Do I look like a doctor?” I make a show of shaking my head and rolling my eyes, then gesture again. This time, my gesture takes in everything around us. “The people who own this plane, the ones who employ me…” I press the pad of my index finger on the table. “Now,theycan do that, but we’re nowhere near talking about something like that unless your offer justifies the cost and their time.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.” I lean back with a massive grin on my face. I’ve got this guy hook, line, and sinker. He knows it. I know it. There’s no reason to gloat. We’re at a point where our conversation can continue.
“They told me they had a job. Told me when and where.” He shrugs as if handing over a sacred gem of knowledge.
“Don’t waste my time. Any idiot could say that. I need details. If you won’t share, I’m wasting precious time.” I push back from the table as if getting ready to leave.
“How detailed do you need?” The man leans forward and practically leaps on top of the table. He can’t get out of his way fast enough.
“Who. What. Where. When. And how.”
“I got a call.”
“A call? They just called you? How? How would they know to callyou?”
“I responded to an ad.”
“An ad?”
“On the deep web. I solicit jobs for people who need things done.”
“Jobs?” I rock forward. “What kind of jobs?”
“Kidnappings. Hits. You know—jobs.”
Shit, this man needs to be put six feet under, but I’m not here to judge. I need information.
“So you put out an ad for hire? People call, and you take the job?”
“Depends on what it pays. What’s required.”
“You can give us the details about that later. For this job, what were you told?”
“It was already planned out.”
“You didn’t have to plan it?”
“No. These guys…” He shakes his head. “They’re crazy meticulous.” He grunts, voice hoarse, then spills the details of the transaction and the instructions he received. I let him speak. The man is valuable as long as his lips are moving. The moment he feeds us shit for information, I have no problems expediting his death.