Access to New Dawn’s headquarters required entering through a glass door, walking through a vestibule, and then passing through another glass door. Both doors required the use of an ID to unlock the magnetic door locks. After the second door, a short hallway led to a “T”. Supplies, the server room, and the armory were on the left. Offices were on the right.

Vincent was on the left—which was illuminated—waiting for Trevino to walk into the intersection. I was in my darkened office, on the right.

The first magnetic lock deactivated with a loud clank!

Then, the second clank!

I drew a breath and held it.

“Winslow?” Trevino said. “You in here?”

“Server room,” Vincent said in a deep, disguised tone.

I grinned at the resemblance to Jack’s voice. Vincent was very talented at what he did and continued to prove that to me through his actions and ideas.

The humming from the fluorescent lights down the hallway was the only sound. My muscles tensed in anticipation of what was to come.

A bang—much louder than I expected—broke the eerie silence. A crackling sound followed. The unmistakable thud of a body hitting the floor was next. Then, more crackling.

“Briggs?” I said into the darkness.

“Alive and well,” he replied. “Would you be so kind as to bring me my tools of torture?”

With a pistol in my right hand and the bag in my left, I stepped into the hallway. Thirty feet away, on the floor to my left, an olive suit clad Trevino was sprawled out, face down. Vincent was on top of him with his knee pressed into the center of his back. Pink confetti-sized discs of paper covered the floor.

I pointed the pistol at Trevino and dropped the bag at Vincent’s side.

Vincent zip-tied Trevino’s hands and ankles, then dragged him past the entrance and toward the dimly lit side of the hallway. He unfolded a sheet of plastic and rolled Trevino onto it, facing upward.

Vincent peered down at him through narrow eyes. “Might take you a minute to process this,” he began. “But your little mission went to shit. We’ve got two dead undercover DNI operators—one male, one female—and three dead New Dawn operators. Needless to say, your targets are still at large.”

Trevino blinked a few times.

“And, we’re going to stay that way,” I added.

“If he so much as moves a muscle, shoot him,” Vincent said.

I steadied the pistol and gave a nod. “Okay.”

Vincent reached into the bag and removed a pair pruning shears.

He held them over Trevino and looked them over. “I’ll ask a question. You’ll provide a brief, concise response. If it’s a rambling, meaningless information dump of a response, I’ll lop off a finger. If it’s brief and truthful, I won’t. When we’re out of fingers, I’ll start with your toes. Understood?”

Trevino looked at me, and then at Vincent. He nodded.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Vincent said. “First question. Why were you after Doctor Rhoades?”

“The Director of the Office of DNI ordered her to be eliminated,” Trevino replied.

Vincent’s eyes thinned. “The Director? For what reason?”

“She removed sensitive materials from this office. In an effort to prevent—”

Vincent held up his hand. “That’s enough.”

“I want to hear what he has to say,” I said. “Can you let him finish?”

Vincent sighed. “Finish your thought, Joseph.”

Trevino drew a breath, tilted his head in my direction, and exhaled. “To prevent distribution of the classified documents, we were prepared to take whatever measures were necessary.”

“Including kidnapping and killing me?” I asked.

He nodded. “The Director’s orders.”

Vincent cleared his throat. “Three Marines were on my property. They didn’t come in peace. What prompted the mission, and what was their objective?”

Trevino clenched his jaw and glared.

Vincent coughed out a laugh. He raised the pruning shears by the handles. “Is this how you want to do it?”

Trevino closed his eyes. “Shoot me.”

Vincent snapped the pruning shears open and shut repeatedly. “Not until there’s twenty digits on the floor.”

While the pruning shears clicked and clacked back and forth, Vincent rolled Trevino onto his stomach with the heel of his boot. He opened the jaws of the pruning shears and gripped Trevino’s thumb with the curved jaws. “What prompted the mission?”

Silence.

The handles of the shears slammed shut.

So did my eyes.

The sound of Trevino’s screams echoed down the hallway. I hated to open my eyes, but curiosity is an awful thing.

The back side of his slacks were quickly darkening with each pulse of his heart. A well-manicured thumb lay on the floor at his side.

I stared at it until my eyes went out of focus. It looked smaller than I expected it to.

“What prompted the mission?” Vincent asked.

Trevino thrashed back and forth like a fish out of water. His only response was a low moan that escaped through his clenched teeth.

I clenched mine right along with him.

Just answer him. Please.

Vincent pressed his boot against Trevino’s back. After chasing his finger with the jaws of the pruning shears for a few seconds, the handles slammed closed again.

Guttural moans shot from deep within him. Blood gushed from the stub as he flopped from side to side.

As the reality of what I was involved in registered in my mind, my stomach turned.

“Just to give you a little peace of mind,” Vincent said. “If you’re worried about them killing you for talking, let me make something clear. I’m going to kill you when this is over. You just as well tell me what I want to know and save yourself some agony.”

“Shoot me,” Trevino blubbered. “Get it over with.”

Without warning, Vincent lopped off another finger.

After slinging blood all over the sheet of plastic, Trevino arched his back and lifted his head. “They’ll kill my wife and daughter.”

Vincent leaned over, reached into Trevino’s back pocket, and removed his wallet. He removed the driver’s license and peered down at it through squinted eyes. “11840 Wickery Way, Washington, D.C. How about this: I’ll take that forty-minute drive, bring your wife and daughter here, and cut your daughter’s fingers off one by one. How’s that for an incentive?”

“Shoot me,” Trevino begged.

“Bandage him up,” Vincent barked. He tossed the pruning sheers onto the floor at Trevino side. They skidded across the floor and into the wall at my side. “I’m going to D.C.”

I had no idea if Vincent was serious or not.

“I’ll be back in an hour.” He reached into the canvas bag, removed a silenced pistol, and shoved it into his waistband. “Make sure he doesn’t bleed to death between now and then. If he gives a meaningful response, call me.”

He sauntered toward the door.

As soon as Vincent disappeared around the corner, Trevino cried out his response. “McMurphy ordered one Marine be sent to your home. I decided to send three, instead.”

“What prompted the mission?”

“Sensitive material has been leaked to the FBI’s Intelligence Branch,” Trevino said, choking out tears as he spoke. “That material is being used to alter the President’s political views.”

“Give me an example,” Vincent said.

“Senator Haskin’s death in October of last year.”

Vincent shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You killed him,” Trevino insisted.

“You’ve got the wrong operator,” Vincent said with a shake of his head. “I haven’t killed a Senator.”

“Last October,” Trevino said. “Portland, Oregon. He was assassinated in the parking lot of a fundraiser.”

“I guess I didn’t realize he was a senator.” Vincent took a few steps in our direction. “I’m assigned missions, and I follow the orders in my intel sheets.”

“Atlanta, Georgia last spring,” Trevino continued. “Tallahassee, Florida three months ago. San Diego last July—”

Vincent pulled the pistol from his waistband and shot Trevino twice. He gave Trevino a look of disgust and then looked at me. “Why was he rattling off my missions, Doctor Rhoades?”

I met his gaze and held it. “Doctor Rhoades?”

“Seems strange that he mentioned four missions as being used to motivate the POTUS to go against his political beliefs, and all those missions are mine.”

“Are you suggesting—”

“I’m asking a question.”

“Then ask it!” I spat. “Have the fucking guts to ask it, Mister Briggs.”

“Are you leaking information to the FBI?”

“No. I. Am. Not.”

“Have you in the past?”

I couldn’t believe my ears. I was just as frustrated as Vincent was, and questioning his loyalty never crossed my mind.

“I have not.” I forced a sigh. “Any other stupid questions you want to ask?”

He lowered his pistol to his side. “I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “I’m exhausted, frustrated, and confused.”

“I’m right there with you,” I admitted. “But I’m on your side. You need to realize that.”

He lowered his head and exhaled a long breath. “Someone’s been setting me up. I’m not very fucking happy about it.”

“Good luck finding out who that someone is.” I gestured toward a very dead Trevino with my pistol. “Everyone we could press for information is dead.”