Game of Shadows

by R. J. Patterson

  “My background dictated that I do what I do. Consultants for the Department of Defense are in short supply, especially ones with my background.”

  “Is that what you consider yourself? A consultant? You’re more like a puppet master.”

  Blunt huffed a laugh through his nose. “I don’t know who’s telling you those lies, but that’s what they are—lies. I give advice, which isn’t always taken. Like with you. I give you everything you need to win a Pulitzer, and then you just walk away.”

  “I haven’t said I’m not going to do anything with what you gave me. I just need more time.”

  “Burn me now, and you’ll be playing with fire, Miss Carter.”

  “Well, this escalated quickly,” she said. “I need to be going. I’ve got a hearing to get to.”

  “I’ll see you there,” Blunt said with a growl.

  Blunt hung up and then called Besserman.

  “What happened?” he asked as he answered. “I kept looking for a big report about Wellington’s past sins in the military.”

  “Apparently, it’s still being researched and fact checked, but I’m not buying it,” Blunt said. “There was just something about Allison when I spoke with her this morning. She just seemed off.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s like she was dodgy and trying to hide something. She gave me a lot of rehearsed answers just to try and satisfy my questions. But I only have more now, chiefly among them—what’s really holding her back?”

  “Think Wellington got to her?” Besserman asked.

  “How could he have known what we were doing?”

  “I would never discount his involvement in everything. He’s one of the most well-connected people in all of Washington. All she had to do was make one phone call, and who knows who was listening.”

  “Geez, Bobby, you make Wellington sound like he has his own personal NSA.”

  “He might. There’s no telling how many people at my agency might owe him favors or could be involved in helping him on one level or another.”

  “That’s scary.”

  “Exactly—which is why we need to be careful when handling this issue. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with what you did, but you shouldn’t be surprised if Wellington is the one who somehow managed to dissuade Allison Carter from pursuing that story.”

  “Then I’ll go to someone else,” Blunt said.

  Besserman sighed. “You know it’s going to be like that no matter where you go.”

  “What about one of those websites?”

  “Those are even worse, aside from the fact that only fringe people read them. They’re worse than tabloids go when it comes to credibility. If you want this story to gain traction, it needs to be someone like Allison Carter who looks directly into the camera and stakes her reputation on a report that Wilson Wellington is guilty of war crimes and tried to cover it up.”

  Blunt stared at the chair in front of him, mulling over if he wanted to kick it over. After a split second, he realized he did want to smash his foot into it and send the chair flying across the room. But he also didn’t want the accompanying pain. So, he relented.

  “I need to get going,” Blunt said. “I have to testify at that damn hearing.”

  “Don’t worry, J.D.,” Besserman said. “We’ll think of something.”

  CHAPTER 20

  CIA safe house

  Undisclosed Location in Russia

  ANTOINE KNELT AND TIED his shoes. He licked his thumb and tried to rub a scuff off the toe. With a little work, he managed to get the mark to budge, leaving both tips equally shiny. After taking a deep breath, he strode over to the window on the back of the door and studied his image before returning to the bed.

  The CIA had moved him after Blunt paid a visit to a small mountain home somewhere outside of Washington. Antoine wasn’t sure where it was, but he didn’t care. He was close enough. If he needed to, he could find his way back to the city to take care of the unfinished business he had.

  From his bedroom, he could hear one of the agents babysitting him talking on the phone. Several hours had passed since the other one uttered a word, leading Antoine to conclude that only one of them was in the room.

  Antoine ventured around the corner and peered at Dax, the CIA agent assigned to watching the almost-assassin for the United States. The operative bolted upright from his more relaxed situation and studied Antoine closely.

  “I don’t know why you got all dressed up today,” the agent said. “You’re not going anywhere. Do you think you have a date?”

  Antoine nodded. “A date with destiny.”

  The agent snickered and shook his head before walking into the kitchen and grabbing a plate containing eggs, bacon, and toast from the microwave. “So cooking is my hobby, and you’re my captive customer.”

  Antoine crinkled his nose and drew back.

  “Oh, come on,” the agent said. “I didn’t poison it. And most importantly, I didn’t over salt it either. Just try it.”

  Antoine didn’t budge.

  “Your blood sugar level is going to plummet,” the agent said, shoving the food toward his prisoner. “Take it for goodness’ sake.”

  Antoine reached for the plate but pulled his hands back at the last moment, sending the breakfast crashing to the floor. The agent cursed several times and yelled at Antoine.

  “Just get out of here, you ungrateful piece of garbage,” the man said as he knelt to clean up the mess.

  The commotion awoke the other operative, who scrambled out of his room and squinted before shielding his eyes from the light. “What the hell is going on out here? I’m trying to get some sleep in there you know.”

  The agent on the ground looked up. “We had a little mishap here with butterfingers. But he’s going back to his room now. Isn’t that right?”

  Antoine shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  Both operatives froze, eyeing Antoine carefully.

  The guard on the floor stood and neared his captive. “Perhaps I need to rephrase that: Go to your room.”

  “I’m fine right here. Thank you,” Antoine said before winking at the man.

  “That’s not very smart, my friend,” the agent said. “I have orders to keep you safe and not to harm you. But maybe those orders got misplaced somewhere. Now where were they?”

  The agent looked around for a few seconds before scooping up a group of documents. He crammed them into a blender on the kitchen counter. With the flip of a switch, the appliance sputtered before whirring smoothly and shredding the paper.

  “Oops,” the agent said. “Looks like they’re gone.”

  Antoine glared at the man. “Do you think that’s supposed to scare me?”

  “Maybe this will,” he said, removing his pistol from its holster.

  Antoine smirked before collapsing to the floor.

  “Damn it,” the other agent said. “Didn’t you read that bit about him being a diabetic in his file? I bet you didn’t even feed him.”

  “Why do you think this food was everywhere? This idiot dropped the plate I was trying to give him.”

  Antoine kept his eyes closed as he eased his finger over his blood sugar monitor. He pressed a button, resulting in the emission of an ultrasonic sound. Thanks to the plugs he’d secured in his ears before exiting his room, the noise had no effect on him. The same couldn’t be said for the two agents.

  After waiting for a pair of thuds, Antoine climbed to his feet and then smiled as he surveyed the aftermath of his stunt. He removed one of the agent’s blazers and tried it on. Satisfied with the fit, Antoine proceeded to tie both men up. He fished the keys to the SUV out of their pants and pocketed both their phones.

  The next order of business involved moving both of his former captors into the back of the vehicle. Utilizing a wheelbarrow found in the back, Antoine hoisted each agent inside and steered them to the tailgate, where he schlepped the men inside. He gagged them and secured their hands to hooks so they couldn’
t get free.

  Antoine drove a mile down the road before he chucked the cells out the window and into the woods encroaching the road. He ran his fingers through his hair before leaning his head back and laughing. While he hadn’t been captive that long, freedom felt great.

  He couldn’t wait to get to the next phase of his plan.

  CHAPTER 21

  BLACK AWOKE EARLY, unable to get a restful night of sleep. Until about 2:30 a.m., he stared at the ceiling in the dark, contemplating every type of accusation that Antoine had leveled against J.D. Blunt. And after mulling over all the different scenarios as to why Blunt might be directing an LLC with ties to the Russian arms dealer Andrei Orlovsky, Black decided to go straight to the source. When Antoine initially made those claims about Blunt, Black wanted to dismiss them as bluster from a jilted operative. But Black’s search led him back to Antoine, who acted as if he had intimate knowledge of Blunt’s business dealings with Blue Moon Rising.

  Black called in a favor with Mallory Kauffman to see if she could locate the exact safe house where the CIA was holding Antoine. She groused about being woken up so early, but she owed Black several favors, especially after he handled one of her stalker ex-boyfriends.

  “You do realize it’s not even six o’clock?” she asked after he explained what he wanted.

  “I know,” Black said. “This isn’t something I plan to make a habit out of.”

  “It better not be,” she said.

  Mallory then went on to explain that moving Antoine from the black site in such a short amount of time seemed somewhat odd.

  “How so?” Black asked.

  “Well, that’s certainly not standard protocol,” she said. “You don’t end up at a black site unless they have good reason to keep you there. But to transfer him so soon to a much lower-level facility? I mean, a safe house? That’s like going from a prison to a detention hall.”

  “What would make the agency move him?”

  She shrugged. “There are plenty of reasons why they might move him, though none of them make much sense in his case.”

  “Such as?”

  “Antoine has diabetes, though that would get a transfer to a CIA-affiliated hospital,” she said. “Or he could have a mental condition. Or maybe they had a higher priority prisoner transferring in. They like to keep those places occupied by only one mastermind fugitive at a time.”

  “But you haven’t heard anything that would fit the bill for that?”

  She shook her head. “Like I said, it’s mind boggling. No one else is at the site. And if he had some health issues, surely he would be at a hospital by now.”

  “But he’s not?” Black asked.

  “Nope. You’ll find him near a little town called Sperryville just outside one of Shenandoah National Park’s entrances. It’s about an hour and half from Washington, maybe even sooner at this time in the morning.”

  “Text me the directions,” Black said. “I’m already heading out the door.”

  “You got it,” Mallory said. “I would tell you that you owe me one, but I think I still owe you.”

  “I’m not keeping count,” he said. “This is a huge help.”

  “Good luck,” she said before ending their call.

  Black hustled to his car and began the trek toward Sperryville. As he drove, he mulled over what he would ask Antoine. As a potential agent who failed to make the cut, he might say anything to cast Blunt in a bad light. The questions needed to extract the kind of information that would be easily proven when scrutinized. Black wasn’t going to fall for a smokescreen from Antoine.

  While the trip took longer than Black would’ve liked, he enjoyed the solitude. Leaving Washington at this time of morning meant passing a steady stream of headlights from commuters making their way into the city. Black’s lanes, however, were virtually empty.

  By the time he reached the edge of Shenandoah National Park, the sun had started to rise. Frost still coated the leaves, both fallen and clinging to their tree, all colorful in all their late-autumn glory. He followed the instructions Mallory had given and turned onto an unlined road, just wide enough for two vehicles to pass one another. Clocking his odometer, he slowed his vehicle as he approached the 1.4-mile marker and looked for the dirt driveway. He spotted the mailbox and eased up the hill leading to the house, which was barely visible through the dense woods comprised primarily of oak and pine trees.

  After Black parked, he placed his right hand on his pistol and opened the door with his left. He had been to dozens of safe houses over the years, yet he couldn’t remember going to one without a car present on the premises. He knocked on the door and waited.

  When no one answered, he checked the doorknob and eased inside.

  “Hello? Is anyone here?” Black called.

  No reply.

  Methodically moving from one room to the next, Black cleared the house. He considered the possibility that maybe there was a basement but couldn’t find any access. After sweeping the area, he went into the kitchen and tried to survey the situation. He glanced down and noticed some scrambled eggs on the floor and the house in disarray. If agents suddenly moved Antoine, they did so in a hurry. Plates, silverware, and glasses were strewn across the counter, and all the beds remained unmade.

  Black dialed Mallory’s number again, hoping she might be able to provide an explanation for the vacancy at the safe house.

  “No one’s there?” she asked.

  “Not a soul. Was there a transfer?”

  “Hang on a second,” she said, her keyboard clicking in the background. “There’s nothing in the system about Antoine being switched to another location.”

  “And the place is a wreck,” Black said as he walked through the house again. “Wherever they went, it certainly appears like they left in a rush.”

  “Let me look in one more place,” she said. After a brief pause. “Nope, nothing there either. I’ve got no idea what happened, but it’s alarming. Is there anything I can do?”

  “I would tell you to let someone at the agency know, but then you’d be outed for giving out the address to one of their safe houses.”

  “Yeah, my hands are tied there.”

  “I understand,” he said. “I’ll think of something.”

  Black hung up and immediately called Blunt to let him know that Antoine might be on the loose.

  “Please answer,” Black said after the fourth ring.

  Then the call went to voicemail.

  Black left a message warning Blunt of the possible situation with Antoine. Then, Black rushed back to his car and returned to Washington.

  He called Shields to update her on the situation.

  “Have you seen Blunt this morning?” he asked.

  “Not yet. He should’ve been in by now. Why? What’s wrong?”

  “I just drove out to the CIA safe house where the agency was keeping Antoine—”

  “You did what?”

  “I’ll explain later, but Antoine is gone.”

  “Gone? What do you mean gone?” she asked.

  “He wasn’t there, and neither were any of the agents guarding him. And I can’t find out any info about his whereabouts.”

  “Did you think you’d just place a call to the CIA switchboard and get a location for him?”

  Black pounded the steering wheel as he got stuck behind a cement truck poking along the winding two-lane road.

  “I spoke with Mallory Kauffman, but she doesn’t know anything more,” he said.

  “More?”

  “Who do you think got me the location of the safe house in the first place?”

  “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice climbing an octave with each word. “People are going to learn that you’re very much alive real soon if you keep this up.”

  “I know, I know. But if Blunt is involved in something nefarious, I can’t just turn a blind eye.”

  “I get that, but do you realize everything that you’re putting at risk by doing this?”

&nbs
p; Black cocked his head to the side in an attempt to peer around the truck holding him up. “I’m aware of the consequences if I get caught, just as I’m aware of what might happen if we later find out that we’re working for a megalomaniac who’s using us to further some personal agenda.”

  “Or maybe it’s not personal,” she said. “Look, I get where you’re coming from. Trust is in short supply in this shadowy world of ours. But we both know Blunt. Does he strike you as the kind of person who’d be running some devious scheme behind closed doors? He sure doesn’t to me.”

  “That’s why the best agents never get caught without some stroke of luck,” Black said as he roared around the truck and floored the accelerator. “He could have the wool pulled squarely over our eyes, and we’d never be the wiser.”

  “Blunt just wants good to prevail. And he’d rather err on the side of exposing the truth for what the fallout would mean for the good of this country. He’s going to tell the truth no matter what, which is why he isn’t so well-liked in Washington.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” Black said. “That’s why there’s only one place Antoine could be.”

  Black hung up and narrowed his eyes as he merged onto the interstate.

  CHAPTER 22

  Washington, D.C.

  ANTOINE SLUNG A BAG over his shoulder as he trudged up the steps to the Capitol Building. He nodded and smiled at the guard directing everyone through the metal detectors. One guy sporting an Armani suit and slicked-back hair complained about having to take off his belt loud enough for everyone within a hundred-foot radius to hear. He snarled at the woman operating the conveyor belt and made a snide comment about placing Italian leather on a germ-infested machine.

  “There’s one in every crowd,” the man in front of Antoine said.

  “Just one?” Antoine cracked.

  The man chuckled. “Around here, there’s at least four or five.”

  Not even ten seconds later, a woman clad in a white pants suit raised her hands in the air and stamped her foot.