Against All Odds, page 7
“Forget about what he actually sells for a moment and consider his availability to move incredibly large pieces of machinery all around the world. Do you think most governments are going to scan every inch of those monstrosities? I doubt our own customs agents would even do that. He could move military grade missiles with ease, and no one would be the wiser.”
“Apparently we’re wiser now.”
Blunt nodded. “But we might already be too late. We just received some reports about activity going on in Cuba that we ought to check out.”
“Well, you know I can’t send anybody down there, at least not officially.”
Blunt pulled a cigar out of his desk drawer and trimmed off the end. He stuffed the stogie in his mouth.
“That’s what The Phoenix Foundation is for,” he said with a wry grin. “Now, I’m sure you had other items to discuss. So, what’s on your mind?”
Fortner shifted in his seat. “I need an update on what’s happening with the investigation into the man who murdered Senator Thurman’s son.”
Blunt sighed. “Look, I asked for twenty-four hours.”
“And I gave you that. But that time has come and gone. When I get into the office, Thurman will either be there or he’ll be calling, ready to crawl all over me if I don’t give him a satisfactory answer.”
Blunt’s phone buzzed, and Linda’s voice came over the intercom.
“Hawk is on line one, sir,” she said.
“Thank you, Linda. You’re the best.”
She giggled and hung up.
Fortner wrinkled his nose. “You don’t really mean that, do you?”
Blunt held up his index finger and wagged it. “Don’t ever say anything negative about Linda. Without her, I don’t know where I’d be, to be honest with you. She’s like my lighthouse in a stormy sea.”
Fortner’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
Blunt leaked a cheeky grin before answering the phone. “Hawk, how the hell are ya? I’ve been waiting for your call. I’ve even got General—excuse me—Director Fortner in the office here with me. What have you got?”
“I’ve got something that’s going to make you very happy,” Hawk said.
“You eliminated the assassin?” Fortner asked, his eyes widening at the thought.
“No, but something even better.”
“In this case, nothing is better than the assassin being dead,” Fortner said.
Hawk exhaled slowly, his steadied breathing audible over the speaker. “In that case, I guess I have the next best thing.”
“Which is?” Blunt asked.
“We have the method and manner by which the assassin gets contacted,” Alex said excitedly. “We’re going to be able to pull on this string until the whole operation unravels and we find out who we’re dealing with.”
“That’s awfully noble of you,” Fortner said, “but we were just hoping to hear that the man who pulled the trigger and shot Thaxton Thurman got a quick trip to the morgue.”
“We still have him in possession, but I think you ought to keep that little piece of information to yourself—along with everything else we’re telling you,” Hawk said. “We think there might be some other folks involved, maybe even some Americans.”
“What makes you think that?” Blunt asked.
“Nothing right now,” Hawk said. “But we have to do our due diligence.”
“Actually, on this case, you don’t,” Blunt said. “We just want a dead Russian.”
“But don’t you want to know who ordered the hit?” Alex asked.
“It’s probably some Russian diplomat who’s actually high up on the chain of command with the FSB. Ultimately, his identity won’t make any difference.”
“What if it’s someone else?” Hawk asked, continuing to argue about the situation.
“Like a North Korean or Chinese official?” Blunt asked.
Alex jumped into the conversation again. “Maybe. You just never know what you’re going to—”
“You’re going to find a lot of trouble, the kind that originates at home and is a quagmire to escape,” Fortner said. “We’re not asking you to raze this ring or uncover some FSB operation existing right here in the U.S. I simply want you to kill the man who actually shot Thaxton Thurman. Can I be more clear than that?”
“I understand your position, sir,” Hawk said. “And I know what it’s like to have that kind of pressure on you, but we need to carry this out to its logical conclusion.”
“And what am I supposed to tell Senator Thurman?” Fortner asked.
“Tell him anything you like,” Hawk said. “Do whatever you need to do to get him off your back.”
“It doesn’t work like that. In order to remain credible, I have to give Thurman an actionable plan. I need to be able to tell him what you’re doing so that he understands you’re being held accountable and not just blowing me off.”
“I would never blow you off, sir,” Hawk said. “However, if you must tell him something, let him know that we are still questioning the asset, but we will take care of him within twenty-four hours from now. Satisfied?”
Fortner sighed. “If that’s all you can do, that’s all you can do. You can’t squeeze blood from a turnip. Hopefully, this will satisfy Thurman for now. But it won’t hold him off forever.”
“I know, sir. We’ll move quickly on this, I promise.”
Blunt hung up the phone and looked at Fortner with wide eyes. “You know he’s the best person to handle this—and he’ll get the job done.”
Fortner nodded. “I’m sure he will. I just hope he takes care of things before Thurman starts to sully my reputation with the committee.”
CHAPTER 12
Fort Meade, Maryland
JUST BEFORE DAYBREAK the next morning, Alex headed north to visit her friend Mallory Kauffman at the NSA. As an analyst, Mallory had access to thousands of records. Requesting particular numbers used to put her at risk when Alex worked for a black ops unit, but she officially had top secret security clearance now. As the result of a perk that came from working for The Phoenix Foundation, Alex was entitled to coordinate efforts with the NSA. And she planned to take full advantage of the approved partnership.
Alex dialed Mallory’s work phone to warn her to expect a visitor soon. But Alex’s cell phone suddenly couldn’t get a signal.
“Every single time without fail,” Alex said aloud.
She tossed her phone on the passenger seat, made a sharp turn off the interstate, and headed straight toward the NSA’s security gate. A buff guard stood outside, his thumbs hooked in his belt loops as he eyed each oncoming vehicle closely.
Alex rolled her window down and held out her identification card.
“Ma’am,” he said, tipping his cap at Alex. “I’m gonna need to see your identification card and driver’s license.”
“Driver’s license?”
“Yes, ma’am. I need to take a peek at it if you intend to pass through here.”
Alex sighed, flustered that she thought she had planned for everything to make a smooth entrance but instead had to fumble around for her license.
“It’s in here somewhere,” Alex said as she dug through her purse.
“Take your time, ma’am. I’m in no rush.”
The driver behind Alex laid on the horn.
“You must be the only one not in a rush this morning,” Alex said.
“People are so rude,” the guard said.
“Here you go,” Alex said, handing him her license.
“Cute pic,” he said as he studied it.
Alex hated her photo. She presumed everyone did. After all, could anyone look like they have their stuff together after waiting two hours to renew their license? The occasional trip to the department of motor vehicles was enough to make Alex consider selling her car and using Uber permanently.
“I wasn’t in a beauty pageant that day,” Alex said.
“I know, but that doesn’t seem to matter in your case.”
Alex didn’t mind the guard’s flirty nature, but she didn’t want to lead him on. She held up her left hand subtly, accentuating the ring on her finger.
“Oh, I didn’t mean—” the guard stammered. “I was just trying to make small talk.”
The woman behind her blared the horn again.
“Why don’t you just hurry up so Miss Tooty-Toot behind me here doesn’t have a conniption fit?”
The guard nodded. He scribbled down a few words on the log attached to his clipboard before raising the gate.
“Have a good day,” he said.
“You too,” she said. “Have fun with Miss Honker.”
He rolled his eyes while Alex eased up the window. She wheeled into a parking spot and then made her way into the building. The morning shift was descending upon the entrance as the night crew was streaming out.
Always watching over us.
Alex flashed her security badge at the checkpoint and placed her purse and phone on the conveyor belt. She strode through the metal detectors and was waved forward to collect her things. After navigating her way through the NSA maze, she found Mallory’s office and knocked on her door.
“Fancy,” Alex said. “You have a door and everything.”
Mallory was sipping on her coffee and nearly spit it out when she turned around to see Alex.
“What are you doing here?” Mallory asked, dabbing her lips with her fingers.
“I thought I’d surprise you this morning and get your day off to a great start.”
“No, seriously. What are you doing here?” Mallory said, unamused.
Alex sighed and settled into the chair across from Mallory’s desk. “We need your help.”
“We? As in you and Hawk? Firestorm?”
“We work for The Phoenix Foundation now, which is how I gained access to this wonderful facility here.”
Mallory rolled her eyes. “Work here for a while and you’ll see that appearances can be deceiving.”
“Well, anyway, I was hoping you might be able to help us.”
Mallory took another sip of her coffee. “What do you need help with?”
“A number and phone records. A Russian assassin reported that he gets a call every Monday at a certain payphone and that lets him know whether he’s to visit a drop site or not.”
“And what do you need me for?”
“I need the number of that phone as well as proof that it was called on the day and time that the Russian claimed.”
“You got an address?” Mallory asked.
Alex told Mallory the cross streets and watched as her fingers flew across the keyboard.
“Okay,” Mallory said as she pointed at the screen, “here’s the number. Now what?”
“Look at all the recent Mondays that someone has called the phone.”
Mallory pounded out a few commands on her keyboard. The screen blinked as the unit retrieved the answer.
“It doesn’t get called very often,” Mallory said. “But it doesn’t look like anyone has called for the past three months.”
“What about before that?”
Mallory scrolled down the page and then shook her head. “Nope. Nothing. No one is calling during that time according to these records.”
“Hold on a minute,” Alex said, digging her phone out of her purse.
She dialed Hawk’s number and waited while it rang.
* * *
HAWK GLANCED at his cell as it buzzed.
“Did you get something?” Hawk asked as he answered the phone.
“Not exactly,” Alex said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that no one has been calling that number for at least the past three months. So, the only conclusion I can draw is that our Russian friend has been lying to us.”
“Are you sure?” Hawk asked.
“Wake him up,” Alex said.
Hawk unlocked the door to Minsky’s room.
“Rise and shine, comrade,” Hawk said as he entered.
Minsky groaned and rolled over. “What time is it?”
“Time for you to get up and start answering some more questions.”
“What do you mean? I thought you got what you wanted.”
“Apparently, that’s not the case. Seems like you were feeding us a few lies last night.”
Minsky sat straight up in bed and jerked on the bindings. He glared at Hawk. “I told you that I was telling the truth.”
“That’s what you said. But Alex is sitting with someone in intelligence who has access to every phone record made in the U.S. in the past fifty years—and no one has called the number on a Monday at 5:00 a.m. for at least the past three months. Now, if you want me to help you out, you have to help me out.”
“I swear to you,” Minsky said, eyes wide and wild, “I got a call on that Monday—and every one since. I’m not making this up.”
Hawk sighed. “Well, Minsky swears that he’s telling us the truth. Can you ask Mallory to take another look?”
“Sure,” Alex said. “I’ll call you back and let you know what I find.”
“Perfect.”
* * *
ALEX HUNG UP and glanced at Mallory.
“Are you finding anything?”
“Maybe,” Mallory said. “In fact, I think I’ve found something here.”
“What is it?”
“There were some entries made to this phone, but they’ve been deleted.”
“Deleted?” Alex asked, her jaw dropping toward the floor.
“That’s right. Deleted,” Mallory repeated. “Someone is deleting them.”
“Are you sure?” Alex asked.
“I can’t be positive those happened around the time of the alleged phone calls—at least, I can’t be positive yet. But I’ll do my best to extract that information. It’s just going to take some time.”
“I would say take all the time you need, but I know you. You’ll take your sweet time for sure. And sadly, this can’t wait.”
“I know,” Mallory said. “I’m going to work hard to get this to you as soon as possible.”
“Good,” Alex said. “This is kind of important.”
“The fate of the world hanging in the balance, no less, right?” Mallory said with a cheeky grin on her face.
“We’re not quite there yet, but we might not be that far off. So, don’t take this so lightly.”
Mallory made a mocking salute. “Aye, aye, Cap’n.”
“This is serious, Mallory. Very serious.”
Mallory nodded and put her head down before pounding away on her keyboard.
CHAPTER 13
HAWK TEXTED ALEX and let her know that he needed to pay a visit to Senator Thurman. With local law enforcement plodding along with an investigation into Thaxton Thurman’s murder, Hawk realized that he needed to be just as thorough about interviewing all the potential players. And there was something that didn’t sit right with him regarding Senator Thurman.
The Florida senator seemed all too anxious to have Hawk put a bullet in the killer’s head and bury his body in the woods. In Hawk’s experience, most people dealing with grief want to do what they can to move on with their lives. But Thurman wanted to operate at a supersonic speed.
Alex responded to Hawk’s text by warning him to be careful. It was trite yet he took the message more to heart now. As much as he hated to admit it, Hawk knew marriage already made him think twice about his approach to certain situations. But it hadn’t changed anything. He just considered his actions with an extra measure of caution. Deep down, he knew his days of playing cowboy needed to be put out to pasture, though he wasn’t sure if he could follow through—even for Alex. For better or worse, Hawk was a clandestine operative, and nothing was going to change that.
Questioning Senator Thurman was risky from the standpoint that he was already exerting undue pressure on Fortner. Thurman was on the senate’s intelligence committee and very much aware of The Phoenix Foundation’s existence. He also had the power to shutter the covert black ops group by pulling funding. How Hawk navigated the interview was important—and tact wasn’t exactly one of his better assets.
Hawk arrived downtown and parked in a garage just off Massachusetts Avenue. When he strode through Newcomb’s Diner, the tin bell rattled against the glass door, announcing his arrival to the restaurant staff. A waitress shuffled across the room to greet him and offered to usher him to an empty table. Hawk waved her off.
“I’m meeting someone here,” he said.
He scanned the restaurant for Thurman, whose breakfast habit was well documented by Washington media. Perhaps it was the drudgery of covering politics every waking moment of their lives, but reporters seemed obsessed with noting where every senator and representative dined.
Hawk finally spotted Thurman, who sat alone in a corner booth at the back of the restaurant while perusing a copy of The Washington Post. He seemed more engrossed in the article than the platter piled high with bacon, eggs, and hash browns.
Hawk didn’t say a word as he eased onto the seat across from Thurman. After a few seconds, Thurman looked up before his eyes widened.
“Can I help you?” Thurman asked.
“I’m Brady Hawk, sir. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.”
Thurman scowled and leaned forward across the table.
“Did you take care of it?” he asked in a whisper.
“We’re working on it, but I don’t like to act so hastily in a situation like this.”
“Situation like this?” Thurman said. “What are you talking about? A man—my son—was murdered. Justice needs to be harsh and swift.”
Hawk glanced around the restaurant to see if anyone was paying attention to his conversation with the senator. All the patrons he observed seemed enthralled with their newspaper, phones, or their own conversations with their breakfast companions.
Hawk held his hands up, gesturing for Thurman to calm down. “We’re going to handle it, but this man can lead to an even greater treasure trove of intel for us. You don’t just dispose of a guy like that simply because justice needs to be served. Besides, don’t we always say that the wheels of justice turn slowly?”
