Game of Shadows

by R. J. Patterson

  “J.D., you know I like you. I’m telling you that I don’t remember that specific case.”

  “And I’m telling you that I don’t believe you. Right now, you must choose if you’re going to help me out or stand in my way. And I think you know how I feel about people who stand in my way.”

  Mullen exhaled and stared off in the distance. “Look, I didn’t really have a choice.”

  “Oh, come on. I don’t have the time or the patience to listen to your excuses.”

  “You don’t want to meddle in this. Trust me.”

  Blunt glared at Mullen. “Meddle? You think uncovering the truth is meddling? What happened to you?”

  “There are times when it’s just better to not ask questions. This is one of those times.”

  “That’s not something I do.”

  Mullen shook his head. “If you knew what was good for you, you would. And I’m willing to forget this entire conversation ever took place if you just ask me about how Darla is doing or the kids.”

  “Darla has a husband. Your kids have a father. But Capt. Black’s family and friends don’t have that luxury. They’re just left to twist in the wind, thanks to you. No answers. No real closure. Just some manufactured tale designed to protect the corruption leeching through military command in the desert.”

  “You’ve got it all wrong, J.D.”

  “Do I? It’s up to you to prove otherwise.”

  Mullen pointed at Blunt. “I know what you’re trying to do here. It’s not going to work. You can pretend like everything is black and white, but it’s not.”

  Blunt threw back his glass, draining the last drop of bourbon. He slammed the tumbler on the railing and stood.

  “So this is how it has to be?” Mullen asked.

  “No, it isn’t. But this is how you’re choosing to make it. May God have mercy on your soul.”

  Blunt didn’t turn around as he marched down the steps and around the house, ignoring the calls of Mullen.

  “You’re going to regret this,” Mullen shouted.

  Blunt waved his hand dismissively, refusing to turn around.

  No, you’re going to regret it. And you’ll spend the rest of your life doing so.

  That much Blunt was going to make sure of.

  CHAPTER 5

  Zurich, Switzerland

  BLACK SMOOTHED HIS mustache along his upper lip as he strode through the doors of the Savoy Hotel, twirling his cane. Before he left for the appointment, he joked with Shields that he should have a top hat as well to complete the look. He rubbed his eyes, itching from the contacts that turned his irises green instead of his natural crystal blue that usually sparkled in the light.

  “How’s Charlie Chaplin doing today?” Shields asked over the coms.

  “You think you’re funny, don’t you? This is all your suggestion, so you better not mock it.”

  “It looked far less conspicuous in my head.”

  “Great,” Black said and then sighed. “You think my cover is going to be blown within a few seconds of entering the room with Antoine?”

  “Only if you pull out your guns and shoot him,” Shields said. “This is sheerly for my pleasure.”

  “I gathered as much. Well, I hope you’re getting your money’s worth because I’ll never do this again.”

  “Now where have I heard that before?” Shields asked.

  “Here’s a little pro tip for you: stop while you’re ahead.”

  Shields chuckled. “Oh, I don’t just intend to get ahead in this little gambit. I fully intend to win by crushing your soul.”

  “One day you’re going to regret how heartless you are.”

  “Until that day comes, I’m going to enjoy every minute of your misery as a Charlie Chaplin double.”

  “I hate you.”

  Black strode up to the concierge desk, hooking the nook of his cane on the edge of the counter. Ever since his showdown in Russia with the assassin, Shields launched into a furious investigation as to who Antoine was and why he’d left a brazen note for J.D. Blunt on the dead assassin. And her findings on the dark web gave her the protocol for connecting with the mastermind behind the plot to capture Blunt’s attention. According to Shields’s discovery, Black needed to ask for Antoine at the concierge desk between 2:30 and 3:00 p.m. with a specific catchphrase.

  The young man sitting at the concierge station was swiping at his phone but looked up quickly when Black spoke.

  “Do you believe impossible things?” Black asked the man.

  He paused for a moment before responding. “I prefer the ones that are curiouser and curiouser.”

  “We’re all mad here, aren’t we?”

  The concierge flashed a faint grin. “Indeed we are. Need directions to the rabbit hole?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  The man opened up the bottom desk drawer and dug out a small notepad. He scribbled down a number on a piece of paper and folded it up before handing it to Black.

  “Thank you,” Black said.

  “Be there at 3:30, not a minute before or after.”

  “I understand,” Black said before he snatched his cane and turned to walk away.

  “You must be precise,” the young man said again.

  Black nodded without turning around. He hooked the crook of his cane over his forearm and continued across the lobby. Once he reached the street, he turned on his coms.

  “You there?” Black asked.

  “That didn’t take long,” Shields said. “Did you get the contact information?”

  “Of course. You never cease to amaze me.”

  She chuckled. “You’re making me blush.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Of course you aren’t. But you know how much I love to hear you heap praise in my direction.”

  “Well, you deserve it,” Black said. “That was about as easy as it gets, and it was all thanks to you.”

  “Thank me later, after we catch this bastard,” she said. “We still have plenty of work to do before we figure out who Antoine is and why he’s trying to bait Blunt into meeting with him.”

  “We’ll figure that out soon enough,” Black said.

  “Just be careful. Whoever this guy is, he’s dangerous.”

  “And he’s going to pay for his little stunt.”

  “Can you do me a favor this time?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Just don’t hurt him until you get some information out of him,” she said.

  “The guy in Russia was trying to kill me. I didn’t have a choice.”

  “Sure, but this is different,” she said. “He’ll be expecting you, and we have no idea what he’s after.”

  “You still confident Blunt isn’t going to go ballistic when he learns that we left him out of the loop?”

  Shields sighed. “Look, it’s better that he didn’t know until we understand what’s going and who it is we’re up against. And at the end of the day, he’s going to be more upset that we didn’t come back with Dr. Matthews than anything else—unless we can deliver on this.”

  “I don’t care if Blunt’s mad at me,” Black said. “He’s been angry at me plenty of times before—and I doubt I’ll forever avoid his wrath in the future. Getting the job done is what he cares about the most. And that’s something we didn’t do.”

  “Not yet, anyway. But there’s still plenty of time to make up for that.”

  “If Dr. Matthews is even alive,” Black said.

  “And if he is, I’m sure we’ll bring him home safely.”

  “Roger that.”

  Black entered a coffee shop across the street and ordered a mocha, killing time until his appointment with the mysterious Antoine.

  At five minutes before the scheduled time, Black headed back to the hotel and to the designated room. He stood outside and waited until the long hand swept onto the six. Forming a fist to knock, Black never made contact with the door before it swung open.

  Filling up the frame was a hulking man
, casting a shadow that extended into the hallway. At six foot four, Black rarely found himself looking up at someone. Two inches taller than Black, the man appeared as if he lived in a gym. The man’s muscles bulged through his shirt, so tight that it looked like it was painted on.

  “Welcome to The Mad Hatter,” the man said in a clipped-Russian accent before gesturing for Black to enter.

  Black stepped inside and examined the room. “I thought this was a hotel room.”

  “It is,” the man said as he patted Black down for weapons. “But I conduct my business out of here on occasion, weapon free of course.”

  The room was stripped of any furniture and decor that would suggest the space was normally rented out to guests. The walls were painted a solid maroon, interrupted only by a dark wooden arm rail. In a small sitting area, Black saw two white couches, simple in their modern design and stark in their contrast to the dark hues elsewhere. A wooden coffee table was positioned between the two sofas and contained a tray with a steel teapot and two porcelain cups with saucers.

  “Join me,” the man said, nodding toward the couch.

  Black eased into the seat and eyed the man carefully. “Are you Antoine?”

  “Would you stay if I wasn’t?” the man asked before he clipped the end of a cigar and ignited it with a butane lighter.

  Black shrugged and watched the man blow a thick ring of smoke into the air.

  “That’s not an answer,” the man said.

  “There are other ways to communicate besides words,” Black said. “I’ve found that sometimes talking is a waste of breath.”

  “You’re a man of action, aren’t you, Mr. Black?”

  “Excuse me?” Black asked, furrowing his brow and cocking his head to one side.

  “You’re disguise might fool most people, but I know who you are. And I know why you’re here.”

  “Perhaps my disguise isn’t for you,” Black said.

  The man’s eyes lit up as he leaned forward. “So you are Mr. Black?”

  “Well, I’m not Mrs. Black. But I’m also not here to sip tea and discuss our latest favorite quiche recipes.”

  “In that case, my question is this: Why are you even here at all?”

  Black smoothed his mustache and glanced up at the ceiling before responding. “If you know so much about me, you tell me why I’m here.”

  The man stood and cracked his knuckles. “I guess since you’re about to die, I could give you the common courtesy of telling you who’s going to kill you and why.”

  “Let’s hear it,” Black said.

  “My name is Antoine,” the man said. “And I used to do favors for your boss, J.D. Blunt. That’s why I summoned him.”

  “And you knew he wouldn’t come.”

  Antoine shrugged. “Does he even know you’re here?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “Perhaps I’ll leave a message in your pocket if he’s not aware of what you’re doing.”

  “You do what you feel is best, if you manage to survive yourself.”

  Antoine grinned wryly. “Ah, a fellow believer in the principle of mutually assured destruction. It’s really a shame that I’m going to have to kill you. We could’ve gotten along famously.”

  “Perhaps I wasn’t clear,” Black said. “I have every intention of walking out that door. And it’s gonna take more than you to stop me.”

  Antoine laughed and shook his head. “You have all the bravado of a Blunt hire.”

  “You’re also going to find out just how much bravado in a moment when I start wailing on your face.”

  “You’re also very loyal, which I must warn you is a mistake,” Antoine said. “Blunt isn’t who he says he is. He’s got a dark side, one that nobody knows about. He acts as if he’s the one who’s been appointed to maintain the moral compass of humanity. But the truth is far from that. He’s just like everyone else, manipulating the system for his personal gain.”

  “Now I know you’re a liar.”

  “Have you ever stopped to ask yourself how many safe houses he really needs? Are those houses he purchased with a government budget or ones he took for himself by skimming something off the top? I would tell you to go look up the deeds, but you’re not going to get the chance. So, I’ll tell you myself. He owns a company that serves as a shell for all his illegal business activities—Blue Moon Rising Enterprises LLC.”

  “I’ve heard enough,” Black said. “I get it. You don’t like him. But I’m done listening to your drivel.”

  Without another word, Black lunged toward the man and drove him backward into the couch. Black tightened his grip as they tumbled across the floor. He delivered two close-body punches before Antoine could strike back. But when he did, he smashed his fist into Black’s jaw and then kicked him against the wall.

  Stunned by the blow and aching from the pain of the hit, Black grunted as he scrambled to his feet, just in time to brace for another blow from a charging attack. Antoine drove his shoulder into Black’s stomach and pinned him against the wall. But Black pushed back and slammed his knee into Antoine’s face. With Antoine reeling for the first time since the fight began, Black didn’t waste the opportunity to seize the upper hand and pursued his retreating host. Antoine staggered backward, trying to recover from the flurry of blows. The wall stopped him, allowing him to regain his balance. As he did, he hiked up his pants leg and retrieved a knife.

  Black was about to barrel into Antoine when the blade came out. While Black wanted more answers—particularly who Antoine was and what was his real beef with Blunt—surviving to fight again ruled his quick decision-making process. Black spun toward the exit, leaping over a couch and racing into the hallway. He hustled down the large open staircase that was encircled by all the rooms on each floor.

  Antoine ran after Black but stopped at the landing. “That’s right. Run, you coward.”

  Black passed a couple of slack-jawed guests on the steps, refusing to look back at Antoine.

  “Shields, do you copy?” Black asked.

  “Loud and clear,” she said. “Do you need any assistance?”

  “Yeah, but not the kind you might think I’d want right now.”

  “Then tell me what you need.”

  Black maneuvered around a bellhop guiding a luggage cart toward the elevator before putting a shoulder into the front door to fling it open. He took a deep breath and surveyed his surroundings before glancing back up at the third floor balcony where Antoine stood, leaning with both hands on the railing. He nodded subtly at Black.

  “I need you to find out what Antoine was talking about,” he said.

  “Regarding what exactly?”

  “Regarding Blunt.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Washington, D.C.

  BLUNT WALKED UP TO the security checkpoint outside the White House and handed his credentials to the guard. He winked at Blunt before scanning the access badge. Two weeks after Michaels’s election, the president set up a monthly meeting with Blunt in an advisory role on issues of national security. While Blunt didn’t always have much to offer, he relished the opportunity to influence the nation’s leader.

  “Looks like everything is in order, Senator Blunt,” the guard said as he handed the access badge back to Blunt.

  “Please, just call me J.D., Clarence,” Blunt said. “We’ve been doing this long enough that we should both be on a first name basis.”

  “You know I can’t do that, Senator,” Clarence said with a smile, “but it’s mighty nice of you to offer every month. Enjoy your visit at the White House.”

  Blunt shrugged. “You know I’m going to ask you to call me by my first name the next time I see you, don’t you?”

  Clarence smiled and nodded. “Yes, sir. I’d be surprised if you didn’t.”

  “Tell Louise hello for me,” Blunt said. “And Christmas is just around the corner. I’m still hoping for more of the frosted sugar cookies she always makes.”

  “Of course, sir. I’m sure she
’ll be baking up a batch soon enough. I’ll save you one.”

  Blunt smiled and waved before he draped the lanyard with his access badge around his neck. He continued to the staff entrance for the White House and was greeted solemnly by a pair of Secret Service agents who screened his briefcase and then walked him through a metal detector.

  Once they waved him through, Blunt went to his assigned location to connect with Michaels. Keeping their visits out of the whispers of the administration’s gossip mill was important to the president. While their meetings were above board, Michaels expressed numerous times that he preferred to shield his policy influencers from any public outcry that might result if knowledge of their conversations became public.

  Blunt entered the passcode on the access pad, and the door unlocked with a click. He went inside and secured the door behind him before taking a seat on the couch against the far wall in the cramped, stark room. One small coffee table and a pair of sitting chairs were the only furnishings. While he waited for the president, he dug out a file folder and placed it in the center of the table.

  After five minutes, Michaels slipped inside the room.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Michaels said.

  Blunt smiled as he stood, offering his hand. “No worries. I just took the time to lay out some of the reports I wanted to show you regarding what we discovered in the aftermath of that attack last month at the Kennedy Center.”

  Michaels waved off Blunt. “I’m not interested in any of that today.”

  “You’re not?” Blunt said as he furrowed his brow. “You had a front-row seat to a near assassination of the Ukranian president. Aren’t you the least bit curious about how that plot came to be?”

  “Honestly, no. We already know that the traitor who was involved in that coup is now dead. Titus Black won’t be bothering us ever again.”

  “I’m afraid we may have jumped to conclusions about that, and I—”

  Michaels waved dismissively. “What does it matter? I’m safe. The Ukranian president is still alive. And Titus Black is dead.”

  “But, sir, I—”