“I have something the syndicate wants. Access to NHL players through my coaching position. And because he thinks I’m exactly what I am - desperate, trapped, and willing to do anything to keep my father alive.”
“And you’re willing to wear a wire into a meeting with people who will kill you if they find it.”
I nod.
“Do you understand that this is likely a one-way trip?”
“I understand that if I don’t do this, they will go after Tate Barnes.” I stand up. “They’ve been destroying people’s lives for years while we’ve been playing catch-up. This is our chance to end it.”
“It’s likely you’ll die.”
“Everyone dies. Not everyone gets to go out on their terms.”
Morrison stops tapping his pen. The office goes quiet except for the hum of fluorescent lights.
“If I authorize this, there will be conditions.”
“Name them.”
“You don’t contact Barnes. You don’t try to explain yourself or say goodbye. None of that soap opera drama bullshit. Youmade your choice when you told him the truth. Now you live with it.”
“Fine.”
“You follow our script exactly. No improvisation, no going off book, no trying to be a hero beyond the heroics you’re already attempting.”
“Fine.”
“And you understand that once you walk into that room with them, you’re on your own. We can’t extract you, we can’t save you if things go wrong, and we can’t guarantee your safety.”
“I understand.”
Morrison’s lips pull into a tight line. “Once you make this call, there’s no taking it back. You’re committed.”
“I’m already committed.”
Morrison stares at me for another long moment, then opens his desk drawer and pulls out a recording device. It’s small, wireless, and designed to look like a button or a phone charger.
“This transmits to our surveillance team in real time. It’s audio only, but enough to build a case if you can get them talking.”
“How do I activate it?”
“It’s always active once we turn it on. The battery lasts six hours.” He slides it across the desk. “Don’t touch it, don’t fidget with it, don’t give them any reason to look at you closely.”
I pick up the device. It’s smaller than I expected. Lighter, too.
“When do I make contact?”
“Tomorrow. I will confirm if we are a go. We will need time to set up surveillance, brief the tactical team, and get everything ready.” He lasers me with a stare that could slice glass. “And Christensen? If this goes wrong, if you get yourself killed or compromise this operation any further, there’s no saving you. Either way, you’re fucked. The only difference is whether you take them down with you.”
“I know.”
“I hope you do. Because this is your last chance to back out. If we move forward, after tomorrow, you’re committed to seeing this through to whatever end it brings.”
“I’m ready.”
“No, you’re not. Nobody’s ready for what you’re about to do.” Morrison stands up and walks around his desk. “But sometimes being ready doesn’t matter. Sometimes you just have to do what needs to be done and hope you survive it.”
He extends his hand. I shake it, wondering if it’s the last normal human interaction I’ll have.
