"The DEA will offer you a deal. Cooperation in exchange for reduced charges, maybe even immunity if you give them what they want. Information about the organization, testimony against Mr. King, details about Perez's murder. They'll make it sound very attractive—freedom instead of decades in federal prison."
"I'm not a rat."
"Everyone says that until they're facing thirty years. You have a family, Vega. A wife, two daughters. What happens to them if you're in prison for the next three decades?"
Vega's expression hardened. "You saying I should take a deal?"
"I'm saying you need to understand your options clearly. Option one: you run. We relocate you, give you a new identity, set you up somewhere Noah can't find you. It's not perfect—you'd be separated from your family until things calm down, living under constant threat of discovery. But you'd be free."
"Option two?"
"You stay, get arrested, refuse to cooperate. You take your chances in court. We provide top legal representation, do everything we can to beat the charges. But if you're convicted of killing a federal agent, you're looking at life without parole."
"And option three?"
Vancouver paused. "You cooperate with the organization's interests. If the DEA does grab you, you tell them nothing of value. You take the deal they offer but provide false information, mislead their investigation, buy us time to further restructure and insulate ourselves."
Vega stared at him. "You want me to be a double agent? Feed the DEA bad intelligence?"
"I want you to protect the organization that's protected you for three years. We've paid you well, given you security, taken care of your family. Now we need something in return."
"And if the DEA figures out I'm lying? If they catch me in false statements? That's federal charges on top of federal charges. I'd never see daylight again."
"Only if you're caught. If you're smart about it, careful with what you claim to know and what you claim to have forgotten, you can navigate it."
Vega walked to the window and looked out at the Bronx street below. Vancouver could see him working through the calculation—loyalty versus survival, honor versus pragmatism, commitment versus fear.
"What about my family?" Vega asked finally. "If I cooperate with you, if I try to mislead the DEA, and it goes wrong—what happens to them?"
"We'll take care of them. Financial support, protection, relocation if necessary. That's guaranteed, regardless of what happens to you."
"And if I don't cooperate? If I decide option one or two is better?"
Vancouver's voice was cold. "Then you're on your own. No support, no protection, no financial help. You make your choices, you live with the consequences."
It was a threat wrapped in pragmatism, and Vega understood it clearly. He turned from the window, his expression conflicted. "I need time to think."
"You have twenty-four hours. After that, Mr. King will make the decision for you, and you might not like what he decides."
Vancouver stood and walked to the door. As he reached it, Vega spoke again. "Vancouver... was it worth it? Killing Perez? Look at where we are now—federal investigation, raids, everything falling apart. Was eliminating one undercover agent worth all of this?"
It was a good question, one Vancouver had been asking himself since he'd pulled the trigger. At the time, it had seemed necessary, the only logical response to a discovered threat. But in retrospect, with the full weight of the DEA bearing down on them, perhaps a different approach would have been smarter.
But showing doubt was weakness, and weakness could spread through an organization like cancer.
"Perez was feeding them intelligence that would have destroyed us," Vancouver said flatly. "If we'd let him continue, Noah would already have everything he needed for a complete takedown. At least this way, we have time to adapt, restructure, fight back. So yes, it was worth it. And anyone who thinks otherwise doesn't understand how this business works."
He left before Vega could respond, descending the stairs and emerging onto the dark street. As he walked back to his vehicle, Vancouver allowed himself a moment of doubt that he'd never show to Vega or King or anyone else in the organization.
Maybe it hadn't been worth it. Maybe they'd made a fatal mistake, chosen the aggressive option when patience would have been smarter. Maybe Noah Jogensen was going to dismantle everything they'd built, and there was nothing they could do to stop him.
But dwelling on doubt was useless. The decision had been made, Perez was dead, and now they had to deal with the consequences.
Vancouver got in his car and drove back toward Manhattan, already planning the next moves in a game that was becoming more complicated and dangerous by the hour.
Behind him, in the Bronx safe house, Marcus Vega sat in the darkness and contemplated impossible choices, each one leading to its own particular brand of destruction.
And across the city, Noah Jo waking up in his modest Queens apartment, preparing for another day of relentless pursuit, another step closer to bringing HTBB to justice.
The war continued, and the casualties were just beginning to mount.