Behind Enemy Lines

by R. J. Patterson

  Shields snatched his walkie talkie off his belt and sprinted away. As she ran, she placed the speaker to her ear, listening for what they were saying about Black. She quickly gathered that there were several FBI agents in the area chasing after him.

  “Suspect spotted on the northwest corner of Wisconsin and R streets,” she said into the walkie talkie. “And we’ve got an 11-87 on the northeast corner of Wisconsin and S.”

  That ought to confuse them for a while.

  While working with her dad, she kept a running list of all the police codes she’d heard while hanging out with him. The only one that never came across the airwaves? The 11-87, which was used whenever a bomb was found.

  The diversion worked to perfection, drawing both Metro police and FBI agents into the same general vicinity. Wherever Black was, he should’ve been able to get away with relative ease now.

  She hustled to her car, putting her coms into her ear as she did.

  “Black, can you her me?” she asked.

  Nothing.

  “If you’re able to, give me some kind of signal that you’re out there and okay.”

  More silence.

  She waited for another half-minute before pocketing the device and pulling out her cell phone. As she merged into traffic, she took a hard right and decided to make a drive around the perimeter of the area just in case she could be of any assistance. She dialed his number and begged for him to pick up. The line rang and rang, but he didn’t answer.

  She let out a string of expletives before tossing the phone aside in disgust.

  Where are you, Black?

  CHAPTER 28

  BLACK DIDN’T EVEN TWITCH as the gun barrel dug into his skull. One false move and his life would be over, enough motivation for him to resist the urge to even raise his hands. The man grabbed a fistful of Black’s collar and jerked him to his feet.

  The agent shoved Black toward the wall. “Keep your hands where I can see them, and turn around slowly.”

  Black complied, raising his hands as he turned around. When he locked eyes with the agent, Black’s mouth fell agape.

  “Huxley?” Black asked, his eyes bulging out.

  The FBI agent glanced back down the alley before fixing his gaze on Black. “I know it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, but I didn’t expect it to be like this.”

  “You know this is all utter bullshit, right?” Black asked, keeping his hands raised.

  Nick Huxley gestured for Black to put them down. “When I heard we were coming over here as part of a manhunt, I knew I had to find you first. The things they’re saying about you—”

  “They’re all lies,” Black said. “Besides, if I wanted to nail that bastard Gaither, I wouldn’t have hit him in the arm.”

  “I know. None of this has been adding up for me, even as the story within the bureau is that you’re some rogue agent. I can’t believe how many of our guys are swallowing this whopper of tale whole.”

  “Look, I want to tell you the entire story, but I’ll never get to if you don’t help me get out of here.”

  “Who’s responsible for all this?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out. This has nothing to do with some plot to kill Gaither, but everything to do with him. He’s either directing or a part of a trafficking ring of some sort, which is utilizing our military’s airplanes to transport young girls all over the world. I’d love to tell you more, but I’ve really got to get moving.”

  “Who else knows about this?”

  “Not many people yet, but we intend on letting as many people as possible know once we’ve got some irrefutable evidence. Now, will you help me?”

  “Of course,” Huxley said. “I hope you don’t mind tight spaces because the only way we’re getting you out of here is in the trunk of my car.”

  “You remember I’m claustrophobic, right?”

  “How could I forget?” Huxley said. “It was fun locking you in the closet that day.”

  “Still not funny—and I’m still mad about it.”

  Huxley smiled. “Well, maybe you’ll forgive me once you share some space with my tire iron and spare.”

  “As long as it gets me out of here alive, I’ll do it.”

  “Excellent. Now stay close, but stay down in case I run into any other fellow agents.”

  By the time they reached Wisconsin Street, the two blocks north of them were teeming with law enforcement officials from every agency in the city.

  Huxley glanced at Black. “My car is right there. Just walk casually with me to the back of it.”

  As they strode toward Huxley’s black sedan, he activated the trunk, popping it up. When they reached the automobile, they both looked around to make sure no one was watching them before Black climbed in.

  “There’s a blanket back there in case you get cold,” Huxley said.

  Black sighed. “My body temp is the least of my worries right now. Just keep me alive, all right?”

  “I’ll do my best,” Huxley said.

  Black tried to get as comfortable as possible as Huxley seemed to hit every pot hole possible as he left the area. After a few minutes, the car came to a halt and seemed to idle for an abnormally long time. As Black started to wonder what was happening, he heard a man’s voice just outside the car.

  “Evening, officer,” Huxley said. “What’s this traffic stop all about?”

  “Just a routine Friday night check,” the man said. “Trying to make sure everybody gets home safe.”

  “Looks like we have the same goal then,” Huxley said. “Nick Huxley, FBI.”

  After a brief moment, Huxley groaned. “Do you have to shine that thing in my eyes? I’m actually heading home after my shift ended.”

  “Sorry, our orders are to search every vehicle.”

  “Without probable cause?” Huxley asked. “You might want to be careful about how you proceed tonight. I’m fine with it, of course, but you could miss out on a conviction without following proper procedure.”

  “Agent Huxley, can I ask you a question?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Do I ever come to your place of work and tell you how to do your job?”

  “No, but I just—”

  “Then let me do mine. Now, if you don’t mind, I need you to go ahead and pop the trunk for me.”

  Black swallowed hard. He had to act fast.

  The trunk creaked as it opened. Black had yanked on the seat back, granting him access to the back row. He squirmed through the slot and eased onto the floorboard.

  “See,” Huxley said. “Nothing to worry about. Now will you let me go on my way?”

  The officer tossed Huxley’s jumper cables and jack around before latching the trunk shut. “Sorry to trouble you, agent. But I’m sure you understand. Just following protocol and all.”

  Huxley put the car into drive. Black lurched backward, banging his head against the seat. After a couple minutes, Black peered up from the back.

  “Is it safe yet?” he asked.

  “It’s safe,” Huxley said. “But stay there just in case I’m caught on camera.”

  “Roger that,” Black said.

  “So, where am I taking you?”

  “We’ve got a safe house in the city that nobody knows about. It’s a place we can go to when everywhere else is compromised.”

  “What’s the address?”

  “How about I just tell you how to get there so you don’t have a digital record of visiting our place?” Black suggested.

  “Good idea. And this is why you made it as an agent with the agency and I never did.”

  “The bureau isn’t anything to scoff at,” Black said, trying to downplay his friend’s compliment.

  “That’s not what you said when my application was rejected,” Huxley said.

  “That was a long time, Nick. When are you ever gonna let that go?”

  “When you apologize.”

  “I’ve told you I’m sorry at least a hundred times. Quite frankly, I’d c
all you up to grab a beer more often if you didn’t always find some way to dredge this up.”

  “Keep your shirt on,” Huxley said. “I’m just bustin’ your chops.”

  Black proceeded to give Huxley the address for the safe house. Ten minutes later, Black bid his friend farewell after thanking him profusely.

  With his head down, Black hustled up the steps to the apartment and entered a code on the access pad, unlocking the door. He slipped inside and strode across the room in search of the light switch when he heard a click and froze.

  The lights came on, and there was Shields training her weapon on him.

  She let out a sigh of relief and tucked her gun into her shoulder holster. “I wish you would’ve called.”

  “I tried, but you didn’t pick up.”

  She picked up her phone. “Must’ve had a poor signal. But I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Figure anything out yet?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did. And you’re not gonna believe what I found.”

  CHAPTER 29

  THE NEXT MORNING, BLUNT awoke to the sound of his phone vibrating on the table next to his bed. He groaned as he leaned over to answer the call. It was 5:30 a.m. And while he had planned on connecting with Besserman first thing this morning, Blunt wanted to call around 7:00 a.m. at the earliest.

  “You do realize it’s still very much dark outside and I haven’t consumed an ounce of coffee yet,” Blunt said as he answered.

  “Believe me when I say this that I wouldn’t be calling you this early if I didn’t have to,” Besserman said. “I need my beauty sleep too.”

  “Well, I guess we should get down to business since neither one of us is getting any sleep this morning.”

  Besserman sighed. “Look, I don’t know any real easy way to say this, but I’ve got every agency with more than two letters slapped together leaning on me to get some meaningful intel about your agents’ whereabouts. Firestorm is still secretive, but every director wants me to use my intelligence resources to help them out. Now, I know you might feel like you’re betraying them, but—”

  “I’m gonna save you a lot of time right there, Bobby. I have no idea where they are.”

  “Not even a hunch?”

  “I received a text from them last night telling me to check my email because they had sent me some files.”

  “Is this something I can use to stall all these agencies?”

  Blunt drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I hope so. But I’m going to need you to get this to one of your best analysts who can break it down.”

  “What’s the problem?” Besserman asked.

  “Shields was able to decrypt some of the files, but there are plenty of others that she can’t crack. She said it was something to do with needing more computing power. I don’t know. Just some mumbo jumbo jargon that I don’t understand. But I’m hoping you’ll be able to rectify this problem.”

  “I’ve got an ace analyst who I can send the file to once you forward it along to me. I might be able to use the possession of this alleged evidence to buy you some more time, but it’s not going to be easy. The president wants a win, and he wants it right away.”

  “What kind of win is he looking for?” Blunt asked. “The kind that makes him look good? Or the kind that exposes corruption in the U.S. military?”

  “I think you know the answer to that one.”

  “Well, I’m not about to let one of my men take the fall for a crooked politician fattening his wallet while innocent children are taken advantage of in the most egregious of ways.”

  “Look, I know you and Gaither have a past when you were serving in the senate, but don’t let that cloud your judgment. He’s not always—”

  “That’s not what this is about,” Blunt said. “This is about justice. Justice for all the kids who have been ripped from their homes and flown to destinations all over the world. It’s an unconscionable act that you and I shouldn’t stand for, no matter what Washington powerbroker is pulling the strings.”

  “I wholeheartedly agree with you.”

  Blunt cocked his head to one side. “Why do I get the feeling that there’s a but coming?”

  “Because it is. But the truth is we can’t just take down Gaither on what we’ve got. And they’ve got a mountain of evidence against you. And it’s all circumstantial. However, if this thing were to get to trial, I’m not sure I would like your chances. Have you seen how upset the whole world seems to be over an attempted murder by a secret black ops agent?”

  Blunt waved his hand dismissively as he paced around his office with his phone plastered to his ear. “Bobby, you know as well as anyone that we live in an outrage culture. Everybody’s always mad about something, especially on the Internet. Just give it twenty-four hours and everybody will go back to arguing what color a shoe is or who has the best chicken sandwich.”

  “It’s not like that this time,” Besserman said. “You grew up in Texas. You know what a ranch is like. Everybody loves a juicy steak or a good hamburger until they see how the meat is acquired. Intelligence is a messy business, and when our unmentionables get put on full display, we have to deal with this kind of blowback. And unfortunately, it’s not something we can just wish away.”

  Blunt smiled as a thought occurred to him. “Then let’s not wish it away, Bobby. Let’s turn the tables on these criminals masquerading as public servants in the halls of congress and on our military bases abroad.”

  “That’s easier said than done.”

  “Nonsense,” Blunt said. “Public opinion can turn on a dime, and if we have the kind of information that will expose Gaither, let’s do it.”

  “And how do you suggest we do that?”

  “You’re not gonna like this idea.”

  “Try me.”

  Blunt sighed. “Wikileaks.”

  “No, absolutely not,” Besserman said. “You know we can’t do that, not after what happened the last time.”

  “It gives us a way to flip public sentiment almost instantaneously.”

  “And you’re certain what’s contained on those files will do that?”

  “At this point, it’s all we’ve got. Can I count on you to do that?”

  “I’ll consider it, but I’m not making any promises.”

  Blunt hung up and transmitted the files to Besserman. The Firestorm director knew a human trafficking ring would get the public to light its pitch forks. But that couldn’t have been all. And if Gaither was willing to kill for what was on that file, Blunt figured it had to be even more damning—if that was even possible.

  A half-hour later, Blunt’s phone rang with an incoming call, the identity of the caller shielded.

  “Senator Blunt, this is the office of the President of the United States,” a pleasant woman said. “Please stay on the line for the president.”

  Moments later, Conrad Michaels’s voice boomed from the other end. “J.D., how are ya today?”

  “I’d be a lot better if I could get a full night of sleep every now and then.”

  Michaels chuckled. “What’s keeping you up at night? The Astros’ bullpen?”

  “I have more confidence in them than I do the Nationals’ relievers. That’s a disaster waiting to happen around the seventh inning every night.”

  “If only I could justify applying some of the country’s defense budget to help the Nationals protect a late-inning lead.”

  Blunt laughed. “Well, I’m sure you didn’t call me this early to talk baseball, did you, sir?”

  “Always straight to the point. That’s why I like you so much, J.D. Well, the reason I’m calling is to issue a personal invitation to you for the awards ceremony tonight at the Kennedy Center. I’d really love for you to join us. I even have a seat for you in a private box with Katherine Thornhill, the lovely congresswoman from Oklahoma.”

  “Mr. President, are you really trying to play matchmaker with me tonight? I mean, I’m flattered that you would think of me and use your power to pull a few strin
gs, but you know I’m perfectly content living as a single man since Vivian passed away.”

  “That’s what they all say, but I know better than that. You need a good woman, and Katherine’s one of the best out there.”

  “I appreciate that, sir. But I’m too old to get remarried.”

  “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. You’re barely sixty-five years old and can still get around just fine.”

  Blunt laughed. “Sir, I use a cane.”

  “Look, we’re on a secure line, so you don’t have to play games with me. I know that is actually a weapon and you can still run with the best of them. Your act might not be evident to everyone, but I’ve known you for too long.”

  “Okay, okay,” Blunt said with a chuckle. “I’ll be there. But I’m not coming for her. I’m coming to support you. Just make sure Nate Miller doesn’t see me because I don’t want to end up in The Post’s “Washington Whispers” column about my budding romance with Katherine Thornhill.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, J.D. You didn’t hear?”

  “Hear what?”

  “About Nate Miller. It was all on the news this morning.”

  “What happened to him?” Blunt asked.

  “He was found dead last night from a heart attack.”

  “A heart attack? That’s preposterous.”

  “The report I heard said that he had complained about some chest pain earlier in the day, and he’d been in the hospital a few months ago for similar symptoms.”

  “I’m not buying that,” Blunt said. “That’s just too strange, especially after he broke that story about the stranded pilot in Russia.”

  “Maybe,” Michaels said. “I don’t know. I think it’s easy to see a conspiracy when we want to. It makes us think that there has to be some reason for it all as opposed to just the heartbreaking side of life.”

  “He was murdered,” Blunt said emphatically. “I’d bet my own life on it.”

  “It’s unfortunate that he’s gone. However, I can’t promise that someone else won’t be there to report that you and Katherine Thornhill were canoodling in a private box at the Kennedy Center.”