Page 27 of Oath

“Job specifics?” I asked. This just sounded like a lot of horseshit. For all that the government loved its shadow ops, this was just a step too far.

O’Rourke smirked again, like I’d just asked for the weather. “Surveillance. Tracking. Pattern disruption. And then extraction. Real quiet. They were very clear aboutquiet.”

Which meant kill or capture. No witnesses. No heat.

My eyes scanned the room as he talked. The bar was empty, still, but tooperfectlyso. Dust on the old jukebox in the corner, sure. A stack of unread newspapers on a shelf, untouched in weeks. But the fans overhead were freshly cleaned. No dust buildup. And the cooler? Overstocked with beer that didn’t match the brand signage out front. Like someone had staged the bar just enough to sell the illusion of wear without actually being in business.

Even the bartender—Sandy—had disappeared too fast. Thirty-minute window, locked door, no questions. No locals had wandered in, and no highway noise filtered through the boarded windows.

This wasn’t a meet. It was abox.

“You chose the location?” I asked.

“I suggested it.” O’Rourke arched a brow. “You agreed to it.”

At my continued stare, he almost smiled.

“They secured it.”

Of course they did.

“How many exits?”

“Back door through the kitchen. Side hatch behind the bar. Basement tunnel leads to the next lot over if you're feeling theatrical.”

I clocked that. Marked the routes.

“And you’re just handing this over?” I asked. “All this intel? For what—some warm fuzzy feeling that you’re finally doing the right thing?”

He gave a short laugh, but his eyes didn’t waver. “No, Voodoo. I’m telling you because if I walk, they’ll just send someone else. Someone faster. Someone dumber. And because, as much as I might enjoy watching that play out, I’m also not stupid enough to get caught in the middle of it when the bodies start dropping.”

He paused, then leaned forward, lowering his voice.

“They’re not just trying to bury you. They want the whole op—whatever happened in Odessa six years ago—erased. Every name, every loose thread. And you, my old friend… you’re the last thread still out in the open.”

My fingers tightened around the neck of the beer bottle, still unopened. Odessa. It had been a bloodbath. Not just on the ground—but in the data. Files wiped. Burn notices issued. People ghosted or gone. And I’d walked away with a hard drive no one knew about, a list of names that never made it into official record.

O’Rourke watched me now, waiting to see how I’d move.

I set the bottle down gently. “You said you were considering declining. What’s stopping you?”

He smiled, but it didn’t last.

“The fact that I still don’t know if I’m talking to the asset they want eliminated—or the one holding the kill switch.”

What would he prefer?

Experience and intel said he wantedboth.

The bastard thrived in the middle—playing sides, stacking chips no one else sees until the game’s over. That’s always been his angle: don’t just pick a side—ownthe outcome.

If I was the asset they want eliminated, he got to play the informant. The guy who tried to warn me, kept his hands clean, maybe collect a favor down the road. or a bounty, if things went sideways.

But if I was the one holding the kill switch?

That was leverage.

It was also the kind of insurance O’Rourke liked best. He’d want to cozy up just enough to stay close to the fire, without getting burned. Make himself useful. Buy time. Get a copy of whatever I was holding, maybe sell it before I even realized it was gone.