Chapter 92

Ben chewed on his knuckles. It was an old habit, dating back to his earliest days as an agent. An agent couldn’t show signs of anxiety, such as bitten-down nails. He’d transferred his bad habit to his knuckles until he could eliminate it all together. “What the hell? I figured Sigmund would be trustworthy.”

“I know.” Kaden bowed his head for just a second. “Think about all the missions he coordinated for. Everything he could have compromised. How many went south? How many people died? And we—the Boston based agents—we all comforted him, every time it happened.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how long this bullshit’s been going on, but it ends. Next time we see him it’s going to be a race to figure out who puts a bullet into him.”

“Five-minute head start.” Ben wasn’t joking. He wanted to make Sigmund pay.