Someone knocked on the door. “One second,” Parkerson called, struggling to keep his voice calm. “I’ll be out in one second.”
“Dad?”
“Sweetheart, I just need one second.” Parkerson turned back to his computer. Stared at it a moment, blankly, and then reached for his scotch. The asset had failed his assignment. Who the hell knew why?
The kid had been compromised in Miami. That was the problem. He should have been terminated. Should have died that night by the swamp. Parkerson hadn’t killed him, and now the Vegas job was shot. Now the whole program was at risk.
Someone knocked on the door again. “Dinner’s getting cold, Daddy.”
Parkerson spun. “One goddamn second,” he said. “Just give me one goddamn second of peace.”
There was a pause. Then a wail from outside. Fast footsteps away from the door. Parkerson exhaled, shaking his head. Turned back to his computer. Tried to figure out a plan. He picked up the Killswitch phone. Dialed the Las Vegas client. “There’s been a problem,” he said. “The target wasn’t destroyed.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Then, “Fuck you.”
“We had unexpected difficulties. I’ll refund the money. No problem.”
The client swore again. “Fucking right it’s a problem. I need that man dead.”
“My asset ran into a situation,” Parkerson said. “Look, I’ll get the job done. I’m just going to need a little more time.”
“Bullshit,” said the client. “I need him gone this weekend. You’re saying you can’t finish the job?”
Parkerson stared at his computer screen. Had a bad idea. A risky idea. “I might have somebody else,” he said. “Let me get back to you.”