Nick shrugged. “I’m a killer. I don’t draw, paint, or quilt. I kill people, many in cold blood without thought, hesitation, or mercy. You’re right. Carl never had a chance.”
Gilbrech leaned forward. “Why am I only hearing of you serving with one of Formsby’s men now? I read you in on the files, and you never mentioned Stou to me. You’re a problem for me, Clyde. Nick will be wondering what the hell you’ll be doing if he runs into trouble. So will I. We’re going after a traitor in a very high position. I can’t have you on the fence as to our mission. I needed you behind this action one hundred percent now, during, and after.”
“You’re going to have me killed.” Bacall reached for his weapon, only to be staring into the business end of Nick’s .45 Colt.
“Don’t do this, Agent J,” Nick said calmly. “Paul’s not going to have you killed. He’s trying to make you understand how important it is for you to do your job on this mission, and shut everything else in your head off. After it’s over, you do your next job the same way, only in a different department, and you keep your mouth shut. This is a black op. You signed on to do this type of work, but you’re not cut out for it. There’s nothing we can do about that today. Calm down, kid. You’ll live through this if you remember who you work for. You don’t work for a traitor like your buddy Carl did. Take your weapon out with two fingers, and hand it to your boss. Then we’ll go over this mission in straight forward terms. I will explain exactly what you are to do. Am I clear?”
Bacall did not see Nick’s draw, nor did he see any sign there would be even an instant’s warning before Nick killed him. He opened his coat slowly with his left hand, reached inside with thumb and forefinger, and drew out his Glock 9mm. Gilbrech took it from his finger hold. Paul looked to Nick. The Colt was back in its holster. Nick clasped his hands in front of him on the table.
“Here’s how we do it. Paul will set the drop-off time with Collister, so he knows exactly to the minute when we’ll be at his door. You’ll park in the complex, and walk with me through the complex to his apartment. If he has a man outside, watching for us, we will wait with him until Collister allows entry. You will remain next to his man, whether he goes inside the apartment, or stays outside the door. I will deliver the file, allowing Collister to enter the code Paul will give him for the briefcase lock. Collister will open the case, take the contents, and close the case. Then, we leave. Clear enough, Agent J?”
“What happens to Collister?”
“He dies. That’s not your concern,” Nick replied. “Do you understand what you are to do?”
Bacall nodded. “Yeah. Watch the guy I’m with.”
“Exactly. You do not take your eyes off him. Collister is my problem. If he has more than one man with him, they will both be your concern. You will then drive me back to our plane, and I go home. What do you want Agent J to do after I catch my plane ride home, Paul?”
“Go home, and start thinking about other jobs he’d like to do in the CIA,” Paul said, putting the Glock into his own suitcoat pocket. “If you need direction, I’ll think of something for you, Clyde. No matter what though, you will forget about today forever. There is a term we use for men and women who don’t become actively involved in black ops. It’s not an insult. It’s just a simple classification. We call them Snow Whites. We don’t have whistle-blowers at this level, my young friend.”
Bacall noticed Nick again smiling at him. “I understand.”
“Good. What next, Nick?”
“Did you bring your dress uniform with you, Agent J,” Nick asked.
“I have it.”
“Let’s get dressed, and then we’ll do a couple of walkthroughs with Paul acting as Collister. You and I must be military from the moment we leave the car until the moment we slide back into it for the ride to the plane. Every movement must be precise as if we were delivering nuclear codes to the Pentagon. We will be stern, no nonsense, and stiff. We’ll repeat our performance until Paul thinks it looks good. He was a Marine, so I have no doubt he’ll take great pleasure in pointing out any discrepancy in our performance.”
“You got that right you army pukes,” Gilbrech joked. He handed Nick an envelope. “Here’s your new nametag and ID set, Major Gibbons. Get dressed. Let’s see what you got.”
Nick checked the ID packet. “My first name is Alvin… like the chipmunks?”
“Get over it. What were you expecting, Stone Cold or Razor Reddig.”