Blunt licked his lips as he continued to scarf down the breakfast Reggie had just made. Under most circumstances, Blunt hated being interrupted while he was eating. And given his stature in the city and his distinct chin and piercing blue eyes, he found himself warding off admirers and political enemies alike more often than not. Lincoln’s Waffle House was one of the few places he could frequent without getting recognized. However, Adrianna Dixon would never draw his ire.
The congresswoman from Alabama was a breath of fresh air in the city. She had only served four two-year terms, but she’d ruffled enough feathers in Washington that her constituents couldn’t get enough of the quick-witted, silver-tongued representative with a heart of gold. Her legislative accomplishments included authoring bills to help get those living below the poverty line access to healthier foods and to limit the number of terms Congress could serve. Helping the everyday person wasn’t just part of a campaign slogan for Dixon. She was genuinely set on making a real change in Washington, which is why she always found herself at odds with the city’s establishment.
“What is it this time?” Blunt asked. “I know you didn’t track me down just to show me some family photos, did you?”
Dixon bit her lip and gazed off into the distance. “I can’t tell you how evil these people are. If this becomes public, it’s going to kill my husband.”
“Phillip would never believe anything negative about you,” Blunt said. “He’s the most supportive spouse I’ve ever seen.”
“More so than your ex-wives?”
Blunt chuckled. “Why do you think they’re my ex-wives in the first place? This job is very demanding, and they couldn’t continue to support me. So they divorced me.”
“Better than the alternative,” Dixon said. “You could be in a loveless marriage … or dead.”
“No argument there,” Blunt said. “I’m still alive and happy. And apparently, they’re happy too. It’s a win-win.”
“Well, I wish I could say that’s the potential outcome for me here, but it’s not,” she said, still clutching the envelope.
Blunt glanced at her hands. “You’re starting to really worry me, Adrianna. What’s in there? Do I need to be worried?”
She scanned the restaurant for a moment before leaning in close. “Let’s just say I’m very concerned that there isn’t a way out of this that doesn’t end in me resigning from office.”
Blunt stroked his chin. “Congratulations, you’ve made it. If someone is trying to destroy you, it means you’re actually making a difference in this town. And if I recall correctly, that was the whole reason you came to Washington in the first place.”
“It was,” she said. “But I never dreamed it could cost me my integrity and my dignity.”
“That bad, huh?”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid it’s much worse.”
Blunt nodded at the envelope. “Let me see so I can assess the damage.”
Dixon didn’t budge. “If I show this to you, I don’t know if you’ll ever look at me the same again.”
“I can promise you that no matter what’s inside that envelope, it’s not going to change what I think about you or how I feel about you as a person.”
Reggie didn’t interrupt as he placed Dixon’s food on the counter in front of her.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Thank me after you’ve taken a bite,” Reggie said with a smile before hustling down the bar to take care of another customer.
Blunt held out his hand. “Let’s get this over with.”
She relinquished her grip as Blunt took the envelope from her. He discreetly unclasped it and slid out the contents.
Blunt’s eyes widened before he put the documents back. “We need to talk about this.”
CHAPTER 3
Vaya, Russia
BLACK TOOK ONE LOOK over his shoulder at the Russian agent. The approaching footsteps of the other agent hustling up the stairwell forced Black to proceed with his only option. Rocking back on one foot, he darted forward toward the large plate glass window at the end of the hallway no more than ten meters away. The agent fired a warning shot that shattered the glass, enabling Black to penetrate it and leap outside.
Black landed in the soft snow and rolled a few feet. After scrambling to his feet, he looked back to see the pair of FSB agents watching him through the new opening. One of the agents aimed his gun to fire, but the other man pushed his hand down before they both vanished.
Black’s feet felt heavy as he trudged through the frozen precipitation. Despite the fluffy nature of the snow, it was well over a foot deep in places that weren’t regularly trafficked. In a situation like this in the U.S., Black would’ve gone straight for his car. But he realized that he’d be caught quickly without a more intimate knowledge of the city. Shields could only help him so much, never mind the fact that a car chase in this small town would make escaping nearly impossible.
“What’s going on, Black?” Shields asked over the coms.
“I’m in a bit of a jam here,” he said. “I’m being pursued on foot.”
“How the hell did that happen?” she asked.
“I’ll fill you in later, but I need your help. Do you think you can navigate me out of here?”
“I’ll do my best. What do you need?”
Black checked over his shoulder. “I don’t know, but keep watching my position and be ready.”
“Roger that.”
Black raced through a park before darting down an alley. He found a rut of packed snow flattened by car tires, enabling him to obscure his tracks and buy more time from the pursuing FSB agents.
He maneuvered through a maze of back streets before stopping to rest near a corner house. Without any lights on inside, he circled the dwelling before attempting to break inside. However, the door to the garage wasn’t locked. Black smiled as he let himself in. He closed the door behind him and sat slumped against the wall.
“You there, Shields?” Black asked over the coms.
“At your beck and call,” she said. “Want to tell me what happened?”
Black recounted the events of the past half-hour.
“You sound strangely calm,” she said. “Almost as if you’re pleased that the level of difficulty has increased ten-fold.”
“Where’s the fun in a straightforward mission?”
“The fun happens when you return home alive, at least for most people.”
“I’ve got a long way to go before that happens. Now, aren’t you wishing you’d joined me on this one?”
“I’m fine with helping from afar. Besides, you know how much I hate the cold.”
“What are you talking about?” Black said, trying to suppress a chuckle. “You mean you didn’t grow up with high temperatures of ten degrees and sideways blowing snow in south Georgia?”
“Not a chance. The only snowflakes I ever saw growing up were the people who got offended whenever I made a joke about Florida Gator football fans.”
Black huffed a laugh through his nose. “That’s something I wish I could’ve seen.”
“Well, I’d like to see you get back on track with this mission.”
“That makes two of us,” he said.
“So, what do you need?”
“Do you still have Kozlov’s coordinates?”
“I tracked him to a small farmstead about five miles north of where you encountered him,” Shields said. “I’m sending you those coordinates right now. You’re not considering trying to get there on foot, are you?”
Black shook his head. “Not a chance. I’d stick out like a pig at a dog show, and there’d probably be at least a dozen people who would report me to the authorities.”
“Then how do you plan to get there?”
“I’m in someone’s garage right now,” Black said. “I’m going to borrow this car I’m looking at right now. But I need to do it quickly before the two FSB agents set up a roadblock to get in and out of this town.”
“A little late
for that now,” Shields said. “I’m seeing a line of traffic forming on both ends of town. One car is being allowed to leave at a time.”
Black cursed under his breath. “Then I need you to guide me around it. I don’t need to tell you what’ll happen to me if I’m caught.”
“I’m studying the roads now. Let me know when you’re ready.”
Black opened the door to the blue Aleko and found the keys sitting on the dashboard.
At least something’s going my way today.
He adjusted the seat in the cramped compact before inserting the keys into the ignition. The engine coughed and sputtered a few times before roaring to life. Black got out to open the garage door. He backed down the driveway and then shut the garage door before easing onto the icy street. When he came to an intersection, he raised Shields on the coms.
“So, have you plotted a route for me to get to Kozlov’s location?” Black asked.
“Still working on it,” she said. “The problem I’m running into is that there’s only one main road that runs through the town.”
“There has to be a way around the checkpoint.”
“I’m finding a few options, but I’m not sure what the roads will be like since they aren’t paved. I want to give you a fighting chance in case you get stuck in the snow.”
“I’d rather take my chances against the elements than at Lefortovo.”
She sighed. “Okay, I’ll guide you through it. You need to head east on the street in front of your house.”
Black followed Shields’ directions, navigating for a couple of minutes along several side streets. He avoided even crossing one of the main thoroughfares where the handful of local law enforcement agents would most likely be patrolling.
The snow continued to pelt his windshield, his headlights barely able to cut through what almost appeared to be a white sheet. The fluffy flakes were now mixed with frozen particles, tinkling against the outside of the car. As he eased down the road, Black leaned forward on the steering wheel in an effort to see as far ahead as he could. The conditions coupled with the sporadic placement of street lamps decreased his visibility as well as his chances of escape.
“How’s the target doing?” Black asked after rolling to a stop at an intersection.
“He hasn’t moved,” Shields said. “And based on the amount of precipitation you’re getting right now, I doubt he’s going anywhere else tonight.”
“Is there more forecast?”
Shields chuckled. “It looks like a storm the size of China is about to swallow up the middle of Russia.”
“And what’s so funny about that?”
“Nothing, except I don’t have to be in it. This is one mission I’m glad I opted out of.”
Black checked both directions before accelerating through the intersection. “I’m glad you’re not here either. I’d have to endure endless stories of you talking about the two times it dropped below 30 degrees in south Georgia and you almost got frostbite.”
“Now I know what you really think about my stories.”
“When I get back, I’m going to buy you a parka.”
“I’ll still tell the stories.”
Black growled. “Just tell me how to get out of here. I’d still rather hear your cold-weather stories than go to prison.”
“Roger that.” Shields returned to giving Black directions.
A couple of minutes later, an intersection caught him by surprise. He hit the brakes, skidding on the street that had rapidly grown slicker since he’d ventured onto the road. When he came to a stop, an accompanying thud sounded on the front of his vehicle. His eyes widened as he saw a man brace himself with his hands on the hood.
The man glared at Black, who let out an expletive.
“What is it?” Shields asked.
“I just ran into a police officer walking across the street.”
The officer shuffled around to the side of Black’s car and motioned for him to roll down his window.
“I’m so sorry,” Black said in Russian.
The officer maintained his steely gaze. “Papers, please.”
CHAPTER 4
Washington, D.C.
PRESIDENT NOAH YOUNG PACED around the Oval Office, pondering his next course of action. He’d inherited an unstable security situation from his predecessor, but the American public didn’t care who was responsible. The citizens just wanted to be safe, and they would voice their satisfaction or displeasure in one definitive way—at the ballot box.
But Young was actually more concerned with what weakened security might mean to the future of the country and the world than he was his re-election prospects. And that was a testament to his love for his country, given the fact that his party repeatedly told him he was unelectable. For the previous four elections, he had formed an exploratory committee to consider a White House run. But each time, party leaders strongly dissuaded him from entering the race. Yet here he was.
As he eased into his chair, he leaned back and wondered how many men before him who’d sat in this office wished to be out from underneath the weight of heavy decisions. In Finland, a hacker armed with dangerous knowledge of the intelligence community’s best kept secrets had escaped the clutches of the CIA. And then there was the threat from within, the lingering remnants of the Fullgood Initiative, a covert group within the Pentagon attempting to manipulate the world through any means available to it, including both militarily and politically.
That was all on top of the rising unemployment and social unrest at home that seemed to be tearing the country apart, his country, the one he fought for, the one he loved. For a moment, he considered that perhaps he’d misplaced his affections. Americans signaled their virtues by publicly proclaiming a hierarchy of God, family, country. Young had willingly adopted the pecking order, talking about it while stumping as the vice president for his running mate. But Young wasn’t certain he truly ascribed to those ideals.
Young first went to Washington for the sole purpose of helping others. He didn’t care if they were rich or poor, black or white, his party’s voters or the other party’s voters. Yet he felt his focus blurred by the constant pressure cooker that was Washington. Lobbyists, media, bureaucrats, and campaign donors formed what felt like an endless line of taskmasters and socially acceptable beggars, all dictating his decisions. The tail was wagging the dog—and he loathed it.
But despite a political system that had plunged the country into high-brow corruption, Young still viewed America as the younger brother he always fought with. Despite their differences, there was only one person who got to point out the foibles and expose the deficiencies—him. If anyone else threatened or put down his brother, Young would race to his defense, even if the attacks were true.
To Young, the Fullgood Initiative had done far more than just cross the line when it came to assaulting the country’s integrity. The clandestine group had tried to usurp the power of the people, seizing it for themselves and acting as if it knew what was best for the United States. Young wanted to make sure that everyone affiliated with the group suffered in one way or another.
For months, various members of the group had been exposed and dealt with through the legal system. But a handful of them employed their intelligence training and vanished. Two men had been captured, but their trials had become another flashpoint, dividing the nation. Young wanted to handle the traitors with transparency and afford them the opportunity to defend themselves. However, after watching how increasingly divided the public became over each trial, he considered handling it in a different manner at the suggestion of Dave Salisbury, Young’s chief of staff.
As Young paced around the room, Salisbury sat on the couch in the Oval Office, stroking his Yorkshire Terrier, Abe. The dog yapped when one of Young’s aides delivered a stack of documents.
“Here you go, sir,” the young man said before placing them on Young’s desk.
“Please shut the door on your way out,” Young said.
The man smiled and n
odded before complying. Left alone, Young opened the files. His mouth fell agape as he scanned the first page. After a few seconds, a wry grin developed.
“What is it?” Salisbury asked.
“You remember that hypothetical conversation we had about how to deal with any future Fullgood Initiative traitors?”
Salisbury nodded as he scratched behind Abe’s ears. “Of course I do.”
“Well, we’ve just officially moved out of the hypothetical stage of that conversation,” Young said, handing the first page to Salisbury.
Salisbury scowled as he took the page. “What’s this?”
“We have a location for Charles Harris. The NSA captured a conversation with him and was able to trace the call back to Port Vila in Vanuatu.”
With a sigh, Salisbury handed the document back and returned to petting Abe. “We don’t have an extradition treaty with Vanuatu, but that shouldn’t come as a surprise. Harris isn’t a fool. If he was able to subvert his own government for years without getting caught, he’s certainly not about to make a rookie mistake and escape to a place that would allow for us to easily bring him back here for a trial.”
“But like you said last week, we don’t need any more Fullgood Initiative trials, do we?”
Salisbury drew in a deep breath through his nose and cocked his head to one side. He opened his mouth as if he was about to reply but didn’t say anything.
“Well, we don’t need any, do we?” Young asked again. “Because you said—”
“I know what I told you,” Salisbury said with a scowl. “Part of that was frustration with how things have grown so polarized.”
Young nodded. “And I considered what you said, but not without a lot of soul searching. And what I’ve come to realize is that sometimes the right thing to do doesn’t always align with your values and ethics. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t the right thing to do.”
Salisbury raised his index finger as he stood. “Sir, if I may, that’s a slippery slope you’re on right there with that line of reasoning. In fact, it sounds an awful lot like what the Fullgood Initiative was doing.”
Power Play (Titus Black Thriller series Book 7) Page 2
