17
CAB
“Have Richie move the women to the south wing, and then call up Dominic, because we need to plug some fucking holes! Why is this the first shipment to come through since February? Where are my fucking women?”
“Sir.” Joshua’s bottom lip quivers with fear as he whips his cell out and shoots off my orders. “Sir, it’s… well, it’s Bishop. He’s everywhere.”
“So fix it! Why is he still breathing?”
“He’s fast, sir. We have eyes on him, but he moves under our radars and intercepts the drops. Someone is feeding him intel, so he can move fast; then he’s out again before we can stop him. He was trained well.”
“He was trained by us!” I roar. “We own him. This country owns him.” I grab my soldier by the throat and shake him like the insignificant mutt he is. “Put. Him. Down. Or I’ll put you down.”
“Y-y-y-yes, sir. I’ll create a team right away and have it dealt with.”
“We know where he is. We know where he sleeps. Get his fucking data, get everything he’s ever touched, then take him out. This doesn’t end when he’s dead; it ends when his intel is dead too.”
“Yes, sir.” Turning on his heels, he runs from my office with shouted instructions into his phone to have another fucking Bishop removed from this earth.
We got one. I watched him go down myself, but the second remains. He’s like a fucking cockroach; no matter how many times I try to have him exterminated, he slips under and eludes my people.
Kane Bishop should be dead and rotting with his brother. He continues to fuck with my business, which means he has intel, intel that could bury me if it leaks.
“Fuck.” Picking up my desk phone, I dial and fix this myself.
“Yeah?”
“Go. Now. Move in and take him out.”
“Sir?”
“We’ll have PR wrap it up as something else. I don’t fucking care. I don’t pay you to doubt. I pay you to follow orders. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. Understood.”