Encrypted
“They were noisy, dirty, and usually smelled like ass. And this charming piece of scrap metal the Mexican army called a helicopter? Let’s just say that in comparison, the bar last night had a Parisian bouquet.
But the ends would justify the means. They had better.
He had not spent a year of his life wearing cheap suits and pretending to care about law enforcement without an impeccable exit strategy. If he didn’t get back into his Armani suit soon, he feared that his skin would simply slough off.
Oh, and when he delivered the Robin Hood hacker to his superiors? And helped stop the single largest threat to national security since the Civil War? Um, yeah, he’d get his Armani suit back, and so much more.
“Well?” he demanded of the mustached pilot. Grant would never understand Latinos’ fascination with bushy facial hair.
“We have a lock,” the man replied in a thick accent.
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