The Roman asked, his voice squawking through the scrambled satellite phone. “It’s fine. Problem solved,” O’Shea replied, keeping the phone close and staring out the small oval window of the chartered seaplane.“What does that mean? Let me speak to Micah!”“Yeah, well . . . that’s a little harder than it used to be,” O’Shea said as the plane dropped down, approaching the aquamarine waves of Lake Worth. From the current height—barely a few hundred feet above the water—the backyards of the Palm Beach mansions whizzed by in a blur.“O’Shea, don’t tell me— What’d you do to him?”“Don’t lecture me, okay? I didn’t have a choice.”“You killed him?”O’Shea stared out the window as the plane sank down to just a few feet above the waves. “Be smart. He’s covert in Directorate of Operations. He shouldn’t be working on U.S. soil. And for some reason, he’s caught standing on the track at the speedway? Once Wes IDed him, they would’ve brought him right in.”“That doesn’t mean he’d talk!”“You think so?
