Day 163: 11 Jan 2011
It looked like a normal commercial flight at Louis Armstrong, but Briggs and I were the only passengers. We landed in Las Vegas at 10 p.m., and were met by an unmarked black Dodge Charger. We didn't go through Security at either airport.
"Where are we supposed to meet your guy?" Briggs asked, accepting a small gun -- an MP5 -- from the Charger's driver.
"Bellagio," I said. "Midnight."
"You heard the lady," Briggs told the driver, and the Charger burned rubber out onto the Strip.
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