HAWK INHALED THE AROMA wafting from his coffee mug the next morning as he watched the live news conference. Alex had yet to make an appearance in the kitchen, reluctant to accept the fact that a new day had begun.
“You’re missing this, Alex,” Hawk called. “Your kids will one day ask you where you were when the president was arrested.”
He heard the shuffling of slippers coming down the hallway followed by a long yawn. When he turned to look at her, she continued her measured pace, hair exploding in all directions.
“I made a pot of coffee, something you might need from the looks of things,” he said.
“I had a hard time getting to sleep last night.”
Hawk poured her a mug and then slid it across the bar in front of the seat next to him. “This will get you going.”
He turned up the volume on the television. On the screen, U.S. Attorney General James Lowell attempted to address a gaggle of reporters screaming questions at him. He pointed at one journalist who shouted something that was barely audible but not intelligible.
“The question was what is the procedure for investigating a crime of this manner against the office of the president?” he repeated then paused, looking down at some papers on the lectern. “There is no handbook for handling this type of crime. Suffice it to say, this accusation coupled with potential evidence is unprecedented in the history of our country. We’ve all heard of elected officials accused of such things, but never presented with any proof other than wild claims irresponsibly posted on the Internet or obvious altered images. But this is different. The interview with Harry Bozeman was shown in real time, and it’s difficult to dismiss the accusations presented there without a proper and full investigation.”
Another reporter blurted out a follow up question. “Mr. Attorney General, the House has already announced it’s forming a committee to investigate these claims. Will your office be working with them?”
“I think what you’ll see moving forward is the justice system working swiftly and fairly with all branches of the U.S. government to ensure that no rock is left unturned before this department announces any charges. These accusations are serious—ones that include conspiring with our enemies to kill hundreds if not thousands of American citizens all for political gain. The American people have my word that this will be our tireless focus until we’ve completed our findings and announce them publicly. What happens after that will depend on whether we discover that those recordings were all a very elaborate hoax or if we were all being led by a leader willing to commit acts of gross negligence if not outright treason in an effort to get elected.”
Lowell pointed at another reporter.
“On Twitter, the news just broke that President Michaels is demanding your resignation, claiming you are grandstanding and abusing your office. How do you respond to that?” the reporter asked.
Lowell pursed his lips before speaking. “That’s news to me, so I obviously would like to investigate that further before responding directly. However, I will say that I’m not going anywhere until this investigation is completed.”
Hawk turned to Alex and grinned. “Look what we did.”
“It sounds great, but we both know we really only did this to save our own asses.”
“And Blunt’s too.”
Alex took a sip of her drink. “Speaking of Blunt, you need to give him a call. We need to find out what to do in the interim while we wait for this to play out.”
“I’m on it,” Hawk said as he picked up his phone. He dialed Blunt’s number and waited to hear the former senator’s Texas drawl. Instead, Hawk was greeted by a different voice, one that was unfamiliar.
“We’ve been expecting your call, Mr. Hawk,” said the man in a thick New England accent.
“Who is this?” Hawk fired back.
“I’m John Earhardt, the deputy director for the CIA’s Special Activities Division. And I want to tell you that you’ve made a lot of people upset with your recent stunt in Saudi Arabia.”
“I didn’t join a black ops program to make friends.”
“No, you didn’t. But I do have someone you might consider a friend here with me. Want to say something to your top asset, J.D.?”
Hawk’s face flushed as he clenched his fist. In the background, he heard Blunt yelling. “Just ignore him, Hawk. Don’t do what he says.”
Hawk heard what sounded like a punch, and Blunt went silent.
“Now, where were we, Mr. Hawk?” Earhardt said. “Oh, right. I was telling you about all the people you upset when you were at Malik Bashir’s hideout and decided to confront one of my teams, which you also tied up. Do you recall all of this, or should I continue to jog your memory?”
Hawk laughed softly. “Your team needs more training. They were outwitted by a much smaller team of Army Rangers along with one of your own former employees who never saw action in the field.”
“So you do recall? Good. That brings me to why I’m here, standing in Scotland with your friend Mr. J.D. Blunt all tied up.”
“Before you go any further, Mr. Earhardt, I’d advise you to consider your words very carefully. I don’t appreciate being threatened.”
Earhardt cleared his throat. “I don’t make threats, Mr. Hawk. I make promises. And I’m going to make you one right now. If you don’t turn yourself in and hold a press conference where you read from a prepared statement we give you, Mr. Blunt here is going to meet an untimely death in a tragic traffic accident.”
“You know, I spend my life fighting against terrorist pukes to keep our nation free. Yet here is my own government—one that’s supposed to be by the people and for the people—ripping a page out of the terrorists’ handbook and trying to force me to read some propaganda bullshit so it can save face and score political points. Well, count me out, Mr. Earhardt. I’m sure Blunt would be proud to take a bullet for my decision.”
“You’re going to regret your decision, Mr. Hawk.”
“Is that a promise? Because I can promise you no matter you do, I’ll never regret sticking to my principles.”
Earhardt laughed for an uncomfortably long time. “Principles? An assassin is going to lecture me on principles?”
“Maybe I should just add you to my kill list and dispense with a lecture.”
“You do that, Mr. Hawk. I’ll be waiting for you.”
Click.
Hawk set his phone down on the counter and growled.
“What was that all about?” Alex asked.
“The CIA has Blunt, a guy named John Earhardt over the Special Activities Division. He threatened me and Blunt if I don’t turn myself in and read some prepared statement.”
Slack-jawed, Alex stared blankly at Hawk and shook her head. “The nerve.”
“Tell me about it, especially with what’s going on now.”
“Can you blame him? We just put the CIA on notice for their illegal activities under President Michaels’s administration. They’ll do anything to keep their lies hidden.”
Hawk narrowed his eyes. “Well, I say we keep digging and unearth all the dead bodies.”
Alex gently took hold of Hawk’s forearm. “Look, I know that’s what you want to do, but I think we’re the ones who need to stay hidden, at least until this situation gets sorted out.”
Hawk withdrew, pulling his arm away from her. “And just leave Blunt like that?”
“Do you know where he is? Has he been brought back to Washington or taken somewhere else?”
Hawk shook his head. “I have a guess, but I can’t say for sure.”
“I don’t know for sure either, but we can’t stay here now. The CIA has our phone number and will be triangulating every call you’ve made with that phone in the past week—and it’s going to lead them straight to us.”
CHAPTER 35
ANGELA BRENTWOOD FLUFFED a pair of pillows and doled out one each to Hawk and Alex. They watched as she pulled down a pair of blankets. She pressed them against her face and inhaled.
“Sorry a
bout the mothball smell,” Brentwood said as she placed a blanket in Hawk’s and Alex’s hands. “If I would’ve had more of a notice—”
“We don’t care,” Alex said. “We just appreciate your hospitality, especially on such short notice. Besides, we’ve got time for them to air out before we go to bed. It’s only seven o’clock.”
“You’re right. It feels so much later to me.”
“I know what you mean. It feels later to me, too. We’ve been driving around all day, trying to stay off the radar. There aren’t many people we can turn to for help.”
“It’s the very least I could do for you two after what you did for me.”
“That good, huh?” Hawk chimed in.
“The Times offered me my old job back,” Brentwood said.
Alex smiled. “Sounds like everything went as well as we hoped.”
Brentwood’s phone rang. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take this call while you two get situated.”
Brentwood went into another room while Hawk and Alex discussed their plans for the rest of the evening.
“How long do you think we can stay here?” Alex asked. “I don’t want us to overstay our welcome. It’s so nice of her to take us in like this.”
“We can’t stay more than a couple days. I’d hate to put her in the middle of all this.”
Alex slumped into a chair in the living room. “We kind of already did.”
“True, but that was by her own choosing. The longer we stay here, the longer we endanger her. As long as the CIA doesn’t find out we’re staying with her, she’ll be fine.”
“Who’s going to help us now though? Are we really just going to have to wait until Michaels goes away before we rejoin the land of the living? I’m not sure I want to wait that long.”
“Don’t worry. I have some friends from the Navy who’d do anything for me.”
Alex raised one eyebrow. “Even after you bailed on them following a mission? I hardly think they’d accept you with open arms.”
“I connected with a few guys who wouldn’t hold that against me. Besides, I think the whole nation’s eyes are being opened as to the corruption running rampant in our own government by people who will do literally anything to maintain power, even murdering the citizens they swore to protect.”
“I hope you’re right about that. We sure could use more sympathetic support these days, more than just one tenacious reporter.”
Brentwood stepped back into the room. “Did I just hear you refer to me as a tenacious reporter?”
Alex nodded. “Well, yes, but I didn’t mean to—”
“That’s the best compliment anyone could ever pay me, and I’d love to hear more about why you think I’m tenacious, but Hawk has a phone call. It beeped in while I was on my previous conversation.”
Hawk sighed. “Great. They already know where we are.”
Brentwood handed the phone to Hawk. “You’re going to want to take this.”
“This is Brady Hawk,” he said.
“Mr. Hawk, this is Vice President Noah Young. We need to talk, sooner rather than later. Maybe even tonight if at all possible.”
***
HAWK AND ALEX AGREED to meet the vice president at a private box at Nationals Park. After almost dying the last time he was there, Hawk wasn’t eager to return, but Alex convinced him it was important if they intended to ensure the CIA’s twisted story didn’t become accepted as fact.
“We have evidence to the contrary,” Hawk said.
“If you don’t think they can make all that evidence go away, you’re crazier than you look.”
“I think I look quite sane, but I guess that’s beside the point, isn’t it?” Hawk quipped.
“Maybe he can help us,” Alex said. “It can’t hurt to talk with him.”
“Those are famous last words in Washington.”
“Not everyone is out to get us. There are still a few patriots left in this country.”
“I hope the vice president is one of them.”
At the stadium, Hawk and Alex picked up their tickets and wove through a sea of Nationals and Pittsburgh Pirates fans. The pair took an elevator to the club level where most of the VIPs watched the games. Unable to sit in the stands like normal customers due to security threats, the people in the private box were members of American royalty. Senators, Congressmen and women, cabinet members—it was a large gathering of who’s who in Washington.
Hawk hardly remembered what the vice president looked like. Since the previous election, all Hawk remembered was seeing Michaels’s running mate at the state of the union speech earlier that year. When Hawk made his way across the room and heard someone say his name, he certainly didn’t recognize Young with his Pittsburgh Pirates hat on.
Hawk pointed at the hat. “Pirates, Mr. Vice President? You might want to reconsider that choice of hat?”
Young shook Hawk’s hand and then Alex’s. “I’m from Pennsylvania,” the vice president explained. “If I suddenly decided to start rooting for the Nationals against the Pirates, there might be riots in the street.”
“People have rioted over less recently,” Alex snipped.
Young’s face broke into a big smile as he pointed at Alex. “I like you already.”
“Trust me, that wit never stops spewing out of her mouth,” Hawk said, looking at Alex admiringly.
“I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t work,” she said. “Just get on with it, okay.”
Hawk winked at her. “So, what’s the purpose of this meeting?”
“Come with me,” the vice president said, gesturing for them to follow. He strode across the room and exited, entering the hallway before turning right into another conference room. But it was stripped of all amenities, barely recognizable as part of the Nationals Park group of suites. Encircling a small desk were four padded chairs.
“First of all, I wanted to congratulate you on all your excellent work in the Middle East,” Young said. “We just received confirmation that we killed Karif Fazil in a drone strike earlier this week.”
Hawk frowned. “Are you sure? That guy is pretty slippery.”
“Our boots on the ground confirmed it against his dental records.”
“Dental records?” Alex asked.
“Yeah, it was the only way to identify him. But I just wanted to extend my heartfelt gratitude in helping capture him before we begin.” Young pointed at the chairs. “Have a seat—both of you.”
Hawk and Alex did as commanded.
“Can you tell us what this is all about now?” Alex asked as she exhaled. “This feels like we’re in the principal’s office.”
“You wouldn’t want to be in his office right now,” Young said as he sat down across from them. “But I’ll cut to the chase. I want to know what really happened. I’m hearing lot of conflicting reports, a lot of spin. And I need to cut through all of it in order to determine what direction we need to go.”
“There’s not really much more to say,” Alex stated. “If you heard what was on that tape, you heard it all.”
“That recording wasn’t manipulated?”
Hawk shook his head. “No, it was authentic. Ironically enough, we got it from the CIA.”
Young’s eyebrows shot upward. “Legally?”
“At this juncture, does it really matter?”
“You have a point, at least when it comes to convicting him in the court of public opinion.”
“The court of public opinion will be more than sufficient for us,” Hawk said. “That’s all that will be necessary to remove Michaels from office.”
Young twisted his wedding band. “I really wish I wasn’t part of this administration now, but at least I’ll have a chance to make things right.”
“You hope,” Alex said. “The way Michaels is acting right now, I’m hoping for your sake—and for ours—that no one knows about this meeting.”
“These guys are the most loyal ones to me that I know,” Young explained, gesturing toward the pai
r of secret service men who’d just entered the room. “And everyone else in that box wouldn’t know who you were if you walked up and slapped them in the face. They’re too concerned with jamming more pork into the next round of bills coming up on the legislature floor. Look, I want to work with you two, I really do,” Young said. “But first I need to do something to keep us all safe.”
Hawk furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about?”
Young didn’t answer, instead watching the agents jam syringes into the necks of Hawk and Alex. In a matter of seconds, they both fell limp and were unconscious.
CHAPTER 36
KATARINA PETROV PULLED HER DRESS taut before striding through security with the other Air Force One flight attendants. In less than fifteen minutes, Petrov determined that the group of women working on the president’s plane were tight-knit—and suspicious of their new co-worker. Petrov wasn’t too concerned. Her mission was simple: deliver a message and stay off the radar. She’d be gone before anyone realized she was here.
She maintained a low profile for most of the flight from Washington to Boston, where Michaels was joining his secretary of education for a photo op and publicity event. Michaels wanted to highlight his administration’s inner city school initiative that resulted in twenty percent higher test scores. Petrov viewed such political posturing as a waste of time, though she couldn’t blame Michaels. He’d become desperate.
However, Michaels’s desperation was the reason she was on the flight. She needed to calm him down, keep him focused. If he veered off course, The Chamber’s entire plan could get exposed—and that was what Petrov feared more than anything else. She’d spent far too long devising, plotting, and directing a strategy for achieving her organization’s primary objectives. Yet it was held together so tenuously that an unhinged and politically vulnerable U.S. President could undo everything. She’d never considered how dangerous his instability really was.
Petrov had come to terms with that fact and needed to meet with Michaels face to face, even if it was only to deliver a message. She wanted him to see The Chamber’s reach as well as assuage his fears about the future. Accomplishing two things at once was just proof of her ruthless efficiency.
Brady Hawk 07 - State of Play Page 13
