Game of Shadows

by R. J. Patterson

  “Not exactly. You’re safe for now. Only a couple of people on the defense committee even know if it exists. And other than a few agency heads in the know, our own intelligence community is generally unaware of what you are doing.”

  “But Wellington is using Elliott to stop this kind of work? How can he if he doesn’t know about it?”

  Besserman pointed toward his ball and gestured for Blunt to slow down. Once he stopped, the NSA director eased out and selected his club, a six iron. He smashed the ball onto the front of the green, landing about fifty feet from the pin. Once Besserman returned to the cart, he sat down and continued.

  “Elliott just found out about it from Wellington. Some hacker got access to some of the committee’s more specific budget approval. Don’t ask me how, but there’s a document floating around that lists your name on there as a consultant along with several other names and projects. And there’s a hefty budget approved for that.”

  “Why hasn’t someone stopped them?” Blunt asked.

  “Several congressional members from both sides of the aisle have reached out to both Wellington and Elliott and assured them that everything in that budget is above board,” Besserman said. “Even their own party has tried to put an end to this. Several of them offered Elliott seats on a couple of other prestigious committees. But that tactic backfired, making Elliott believe that there’s now a better reason to continue pursuing this, especially since Wellington isn’t wavering in his support of the young California congressman.”

  “How did he get on that committee in the first place?”

  Besserman shook his head. “While he’s trying to portray himself as some crusader against corruption and wasteful government spending, the report I got was that he blackmailed the committee chairman, Arnold West. And now Wellington is capitalizing on Elliott’s aggressive behavior.”

  Blunt grunted as he applied the brakes on his cart near his ball. “Their crusade is more of a danger to our country’s intelligence than anything they’re going to uncover in one of those ridiculous hearings, not to mention the enormous waste of time and resources that will ultimately lead nowhere.”

  “At least, that’s what we’re hoping. Word on the street is that they intend to subpoena you since your name was listed among the consultants employed through that part of the budget. Elliott’s going to ask everyone on the list about how much they make before he puts together a composite on how much money is going to clandestine operations. Once he has that number, he’s going to be a royal pain in the ass. Forget the fact that he’s going to put our security at risk by crippling your budget.”

  “Isn’t there some other way around this?” Blunt asked as he stood over his ball and prepared to swing.

  “At the moment, I’m afraid there isn’t,” Besserman said.

  Blunt hit his shot true, using a four iron to drive the ball onto the center of the green, less than six feet away from the pin.”

  Blunt nodded toward his shot and winked at Besserman. “So when do these clowns plan to start questioning all of us?”

  “Nice shot,” Besserman said. “Makes up for that first one.”

  “It’s all about how you finish.”

  “Touché,” Besserman said. “To answer your question, Elliott has scheduled a preliminary hearing for two weeks. That should give us enough time to figure out a way to shut this down before it becomes a public relations nightmare.”

  “And a threat to our national security.”

  “That’s the tack we’d like to take with this issue, but we’re a little unsure about putting the squeeze on him right now since that might only make Elliott dig his heels in more.”

  “You just need to find the right pressure points,” Blunt said. “Everybody has them.”

  “Don’t I know that better than anybody? But if we use anything we’ve learned against Elliott, he could expose some of the things we’re doing too—and we can’t afford to have him invite the public along into a behind-the-scenes tour of how we keep our citizens safe.”

  “Agreed,” Blunt said as he slid onto the seat behind the steering wheel and continued driving them toward the green. “But I’m sure we can come up with something else to encourage him to cooperate, maybe pressure Wellington to have Elliott drop this charade.”

  “Perhaps you’re right, but we have to work quickly before this begins to build steam in the media. Once this hearing gets enough publicity, we’re going to be stuck.”

  Blunt parked the cart near the green before both men got out and toted their putters toward their balls.

  “Want me to hold the flag?” Blunt asked.

  “Go ahead and pull it,” Besserman said as he positioned himself over the ball. With a smooth stroke, the ball rolled gently downhill toward the cup, banking right before taking a sharp left turn and dropping into the hole.

  Blunt’s eyebrows shot upward as he prepared to make his shot. His shot circled the edge of the cup before rimming out. With an exasperated sigh, he leaned over the ball and tapped it in from six inches away.

  Besserman smiled. “Like you said, J.D., it’s all about how you finish.”

  “Double or nothing on the next hole?” Blunt asked.

  “This is how you get in trouble.”

  “No, this is how I get out of trouble and come out a winner. Keep fighting until you emerge on top. There might be madness to my method, but there’s no mystery to it.”

  Besserman sank into the passenger side of the cart and recorded the score for the hole. “Speaking of mysteries, there is something else I wanted to tell you about before we’ll abandon all business talk for the round.”

  “I’m all ears,” Blunt said as he climbed inside and then stomped on the gas pedal.

  “It’s about your operative, Titus Black.”

  Blunt eyed Besserman closely. “What about him?”

  “It’s really about his father’s death.”

  “And?”

  “There’s something very strange about it. And I don’t think Black got the whole truth.”

  “What makes you think that?” Blunt asked.

  “All the records surrounding his father’s final mission have been sealed. It’s most curious.”

  “That’s all you know?”

  Besserman took a sip from his water bottle before continuing. “I’m just passing this along so you can look into it because I thought it might be something you’d be interested in.”

  “And how exactly do I do that?”

  “I’d start with talking to the military judge who sealed the records, the honorable Horace Mullen.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Undisclosed Location in Russia

  BLACK CREPT ALONG THE PATH marked by the fleeing hostile’s footprints in the snow. The driving wind wasn’t helpful, but Black looked on both sides of an ever-growing bank outlining a trail into the thick woods. While the close inspection of the markings slowed his speed, he couldn’t afford to lose the one man still alive who might be the lead to Dr. Matthews.

  According to the dossier Black received, Dr. Matthews earned a PhD from Stanford University in Mechanical Engineering, focusing on ultrasonic research. He later became a tenured professor at MIT before he began consulting with the U.S. military. However, his top-secret work was in its infancy when he vanished two years ago. And while there was no proof that the Russians had nabbed Dr. Matthews, all signs pointed to them as the ones responsible for the doctor’s abduction. Yet after a year of searching, the intelligence community failed to find even the slightest suggestion that Dr. Matthews was in the Russians’ custody. As the night wore on, Black was beyond convinced that he had been wrong to assume Dr. Matthews disappeared on purpose and the FBI was wrong to ever stop looking for him. If he wasn’t such a prized commodity, the Russians wouldn’t have three agents protecting him.

  But where was Dr. Matthews?

  The one man who might know was still lurking in the thick brush somewhere nearby. And Black needed to find the Russian agent before h
e disappeared too.

  Black stopped as he noticed the tracks veered off the path and ventured farther into the woods. He knelt down to inspect them more closely. After removing his pack, he dug inside and fished out his night vision goggles. Once he situated them and turned them on, he entered the surrounding forest.

  Branches hung low, straining to sustain the burden of the thickening snow. The wind continued to whip through the trees, sending occasional parcels of snow and ice crashing to the ground. After maneuvering toward a fallen pine, he crouched down and scanned the area. The exercise seemed futile as he slowly peered through the vegetation, unable to identify anything out of place. But after his third sweeping look at the area, he saw a glimmer of heat.

  At first, Black wondered if he’d just seen a rabbit bounding along in search of a late-night snack. Black glued his gaze to the spot and waited. After about a minute, he saw slight movement again, but not the kind an animal would make. The bushes moved and Black clearly saw the outline of a person.

  Black mentally marked the location before easing east in an attempt to circle behind the man for a surprise attack. Methodically, Black moved well outside of the hostile’s direct line of sight. The entire journey took at least ten minutes, but the man remained in the same position, either unwilling or unable to move.

  Just as Black slipped into position to pounce, the man stood. He was heavily armed with one gun in his hands and two others draped over his back. Black retreated behind the closest tree and watched as the guard looked to his left and then right, acting as if he heard something. Black snatched a pinecone off a low-hanging branch and hurled it to the man’s right. He glanced in that direction, creating all the opportunity Black needed.

  He approached the man from his blind spot on the left and leaped onto his back. His knees buckled beneath Black’s weight as the two men tumbled to the ground. While the Russian tried to free himself, Black used his knee to pin down the man’s right hand.

  “Gde on?” Black said in German. “ Where is he?”

  “Who?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me,” Black said as he secured the man’s other hand behind his back and used a zip tie to bind them together. “Where is Dr. Matthews?”

  “I don’t know who you are talking about,” the Russian said.

  His sincerity was difficult to question given the quiver in his voice.

  “I’m only going to ask you once more,” Black said. “Where is Dr. Matthews?”

  The man struggled to turn over, but he couldn’t. Unable to break Black’s grip, the man simply turned his head and spat at Black.

  “Go to hell,” the man said.

  “It doesn’t have to end this way,” Black said. “It’s simple. You give me a location, and I let you go free.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Who hired you?” Black asked with a growl.

  The man set his jaw, refusing to answer.

  “Is this really worth dying over?” Black asked as he tightened his grip. “That is the question you have to answer for yourself.”

  “Probably not,” the man said before he made one final attempt to escape Black. When the Russian turned, he managed to get Black off balance for a moment. That was all the man needed to spin free and turn the tables. With his wrists still bound together, he threw his hands over a stunned Black from behind, placing him in a chokehold. The Russian pulled hard against Black’s throat, forcing him to gasp for air and drop his weapon. In an attempt to regain control, Black leaned forward, forcing the man off the ground. Black staggered backward and slammed the hostile against a tree. Once his grip loosened, Black ducked out of the hold and spun around. He snatched his gun off the ground and put three bullets in the man, two in his center mass and the final one in his head.

  Black turned his coms back on. “I’m done here.”

  “No sign of Dr. Matthews?” Shields asked.

  “Unfortunately not,” he said as he pillaged the man’s pockets. “This felt like a setup.”

  “So do you still think Dr. Matthews went willingly?”

  Black placed his hand on something inside of the man’s pockets. “Hard to say. I wish he was here to answer that question for himself.”

  Black dug out a matchbook and studied it before flipping it open. The logo for the Savoy Hotel was emblazoned on the outside, but the note scrawled on the inside made his eyes widen.

  “I certainly didn’t expect that,” Black said after a brief pause.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I found a matchbook from the Savoy Hotel in Zurich, and there’s a message in it.”

  “What’s it say?”

  “J.D. Blunt, come and find me—Antoine.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Beaufort, S.C.

  BLUNT LUMBERED ALONG THE DOCK that hung out over the murky waters of Brickyard Creek. The late autumn weather was on full display in the nation’s capital with Thanksgiving drawing near, but in the South Carolina low country, only a slight reduction in the humidity hinted that it wasn’t still summertime. While mopping his brow with a handkerchief, Blunt stopped to survey the calm waters drifting along. And for a moment, he wished he was the one waxing his boat like Horace Mullen was instead of paying the judge a visit in what promised to be a contentious conversation.

  “Judge Mullen?” Blunt called as he resumed his walk along the weathered wooden planks.

  Mullen was polishing the outside of the boat with a rag when he looked up. His mouth fell agape as he climbed onto the dock.

  “As I live and breathe,” he said. “If it isn’t J.D. Blunt?”

  Blunt forced a smile and offered his hand. “I’m still living and breathing, which is a good thing.”

  “Damn right it is,” Mullen said. “It’s been, what, fifteen years since I last saw you?”

  Blunt shrugged. “Beats me. All I know is that it’s been a while.”

  “Well, let’s go to the porch and have a beer,” Mullen said, starting toward the house. “It’s been far too long. We need to catch up.”

  “I’m afraid this isn’t that kind of visit.”

  Mullen stopped and turned around, scowling as he did. “What’s this about? It’s not my grandson, is it? Did something happen to him at West Point?”

  “As far as I know, everything with him is fine,” Blunt said. “You don’t think the government hired me to deliver news of service deaths to family members, do you?”

  “Well, I didn’t know what to think when you came charging onto my property like this. I assume you’re either to tell me really bad news or you just wanted to check in on how an old friend is doing.”

  “I have a phone for that,” Blunt said. “But maybe we should go up to the porch and have a drink. This might take a while.”

  “I’m expecting a buddy to come over shortly, so it can’t take that long—unless of course you’d like to come with us. Three rods in the water are always better than two.”

  Blunt shook his head. “I wish I could join you, but maybe another time, okay?”

  “Fine, but now you’re starting to make me nervous,” Mullen said. “One of those killers I locked up isn’t on the loose, is he?”

  Blunt pointed toward the house. “Let’s just go have a seat, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Mullen led his unexpected guest onto the porch and then offered him a chair. Blunt took a deep breath and then drank in the view. Disappearing to a place like Mullen’s wouldn’t be so bad. Fishing most days, reclining in a hammock and reading a good Tom Clancy novel on others—that was a rhythm Blunt could appreciate. But that dream was still far off. He cared too much about his country to do nothing while either terrorists or corrupt political leaders destroyed it.

  And the latter was exactly why he was paying Mullen a visit.

  “You still drink bourbon?” Mullen asked as he sauntered over to his small bar on the edge of his porch.

  Blunt sighed. “That question never needs to be asked.”
<
br />   Mullen laughed and poured a pair of drinks. He handed one of them to Blunt as they settled into their chairs.

  “So what’s this all about, J.D.? You’re acting a little cagier than normal.”

  “We’ve known each other for a long time, right?”

  Mullen nodded. “At least forty years.”

  “And you wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

  “Of course not. That’s absurd. I know I can shoot you straight about everything.”

  Blunt eyed Mullen closely. “Everything?”

  “Just say it, J.D. I don’t have time for games.”

  Blunt took a long pull on his drink before setting it down on the railing and then leaning forward in his seat. “It’s very important that you’re completely honest with me because I’m in the midst of trying to flush out some unsavory characters in Washington—and I don’t want you to go down with them.”

  “Wha—what are you talking about? You know I’ve never been anything but above board with you, not to mention all my dealings from the bench.”

  “That’s why I’m here, to verify that. Because there’s some shady stuff going on and I need your help to find out what the truth is.”

  Mullen held out his hands. “Just ask the damn question. You don’t need to preface anything with me.”

  Blunt shrugged. “Okay, here it goes. There was a Capt. Black who was downed in action during the war in Afghanistan. His body was supposedly dragged through the streets by Taliban soldiers. However, you sealed his records—and I want to know why.”

  “Come on, J.D. You expect me to remember something like that?”

  “Not only do I expect you to remember it, I expect you to tell me why. You were a military judge, and concealing a full report from a deceased soldier’s family isn’t exactly an everyday occurrence.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. I sealed plenty of files, mostly as a security measure. If some of those files ever became public, an immeasurable amount of damage could be done.”

  Blunt narrowed his eyes. “You know damn well that’s not always the case. It’s certainly not the case here. So, are you going to play nice here or not?”