Chapter 7 - Gathering the Old Guard
Beatrice didn't have a team, but she had ghosts. She spent the next hour making calls—not to the police, but to the people she had trained decades ago, the ones who were now scattered in private security and intelligence firms across the country.
"I need eyes, and I need extraction," she told a voice on the other end of the line.
"Colonel? Is that really you?"
"It is. And the job is personal. I’m going to end the Kincaid organization tonight. I need the museum’s security feed looped and an exit route for the boy."
"Consider it done. We’re in position in twenty minutes."
Beatrice returned to the living room of the safe house. She looked at her reflection in the darkened window. She had traded her knitting needles for a high-tech comms array. She felt the weight of the years, but also the familiar, intoxicating clarity of the mission.
She opened the trunk of the police car she had parked inside the garage. She pulled out a tailored evening gown—the kind she hadn't worn in years—and hidden beneath the silk lining was a micro-transmitter and a collapsible monocular.
May you like
She checked on the Sheriff one last time, tightening his bonds. "If I don't come back, the federal agents will be here in an hour. Pray they get here before the Syndicate does."
She left the apartment, her gait changing, her posture softening. The Colonel was buried deep now. Beatrice O’Malley, the frail grandmother, stepped out into the night air. She had a gala to attend, and she was going to make sure the guest of honor never saw the sunrise.
