Kynan and Ladd grilled him relentlessly, but I didn’t partake because I was too exhausted from the whole ordeal to put my wit up against Mejia’s. It was not just my near-death experience at his hands—which has left purple mottling around my throat, as well as a dull ache that has yet to subside—but it’s also the fact that Ladd and I have so many things left unspoken.
We certainly can’t talk about those things now. And we won’t be able to finish the conversation we started on the streets of San Salvador when we reach DC. I’m going to have to wait to see if what I thought could be the start of something wonderful is real or a figment of my imagination, and I know the longer I wait, the more doubt I’ll have.
I resolve that I’m not going to listen to those nasty doubts that continue to tell me I’m not worthy of Ladd’s love. He’s forgiven me. He’s taken responsibility for his own failures. I have nothing to worry about.
While I brooded about that, Kynan and Ladd got through to Mejia and secured his agreement to cooperate. He finally agreed to testify against Gayla Newman, although nothing was promised in exchange for such testimony. Kynan, though, was slyly brilliant and posed various scenarios in which the government might show favor toward Mejia if he cooperates. Kynan said perhaps Mejia could get assigned to a prison in the southern half of the United States, making it easier for his family to travel to visit him.
Or, he suggested, the government could grant visas for them to move close to the prison.
Kynan filled Mejia’s head with such fantasies that he was ultimately convinced he was better off cooperating. Of course, all that’s up to the US Attorney to work out a deal but given the high-profile official Mejia can help take down as a traitor, he’s probably going to get some perks.
We were met at the airport by US Marshals who took Mejia into custody. He would be booked and arraigned for his crimes, afforded all fair due process granted by the laws of our country, even for international weapons traffickers. The United States is claiming jurisdiction because Mejia has directly funneled weapons into California to arm the Vecindario 18 gang members, although I’m sure other countries will line up to take a crack at him.
Kynan, Ladd, and I were taken to a hotel where Theo Rasmussen waited for us, along with his FBI and NSA counterparts. There was no way we could meet at CIA headquarters without tipping off Gayla Newman. Inside a luxury suite, we spent the better part of a day laying out everything that happened, from start to finish. Rasmussen left us and was going to meet with Mejia.
But before Rasmussen exited the hotel suite, he personally asked me to stay in DC for a few days. “I think you’ll want to be present when we arrest Gayla Newman,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
I very much wanted that, so I agreed.
Unfortunately, Ladd had to return to Pittsburgh. While we were in flight from San Salvador to DC, Britney had given birth to a healthy baby girl. Ladd was able to talk to her from the plane, as well as Ethan, who was beyond excited. Ladd wanted to get back to share in that excitement, and I couldn’t blame him one bit.
My only sadness was that we hadn’t had a moment alone since our dinner in San Salvador, and there was no time to say things that needed to be said.
So he gave me an all-encompassing embrace where he held me tightly for the longest time. He leaned back and gave me a kiss that spoke volumes.
It isn’t over between us.
There is a future.
“Come see me when you’re finished here,” he said.
I nodded and promised. We have a lot to talk about.
The conference room door opens, jolting me out of my memories of Ladd. I have a slight rush of heat to my cheeks, as if I’ve been caught thinking naughty things.
Standing in the doorway is Rasmussen’s aide, who showed me in here just half an hour ago and offered doughnuts and danishes. I declined. My stomach is in knots over the confrontation I know is about to occur.
“Mr. Rasmussen is ready to begin,” he announces crisply and produces a digital tablet that he sets on the table before me. It’s a direct camera feed with audio to the director’s office, which is right next door to the room I’m sitting in.
He’s allowing me the privilege to watch him take down the woman who tried to have me killed, and it’s an incredibly kind and satisfying gesture. While I’d like nothing more than to punch her in the face, this will suffice.
The door to Rasmussen’s office opens and another aide motions for someone to enter. It’s Gayla Newman and my blood boils as I watch her stride in with confidence. She’s wearing a navy pantsuit, her hair in a tight bun at the back of her head, and she meanders around the office checking out the various awards and commendations on the walls.