“I’m really sorry that we couldn’t get you a more formal meeting with Mr. Kellerman,” the woman told Hawk as they approached the photoshoot. “It’s just that his schedule is so busy these days. He’s very excited to meet you but didn’t have another opening for at least six weeks. So, this was the best we could do without pushing your meeting out.”
“I just appreciate him taking the time for me,” Hawk said. “Thank you again.”
“My pleasure,” she said with a smile.
They stopped a few meters away before the director alerted everyone that this would be their final series of shots. A woman took the chocolate lab from Kellerman and foisted a golden retriever on him. The energetic puppy scrambled up Kellerman’s coat as he struggled to contain the animal. As it scratched and clawed its way toward Kellerman’s head, one of the dog’s toenails dug into the coat and ripped it.
Everyone working around the tech executive to get the perfect picture froze, collectively holding their breath to see what Kellerman would do.
Instead of getting upset, Kellerman grinned as he held the puppy out, keeping him at eye level. “It’s a good thing you’re cute,” he said in a babyish voice.
The group exhaled and snapped a few more pictures before wrapping up.
Kellerman handed the retriever back to the handler and smiled at her. “Thank you so much,” he said. “These animals are such a delight.”
“We’re the ones who need to be thanking you,” she said. “Your generosity is fully appreciated.”
“And your donation even more so,” said a plump woman who lumbered up to Kellerman.
He shook her hand before telling the group that he had another appointment and needed to get going. With a cordial nod, he turned toward his assistant.
“Casey, dear, please go easy on me,” Kellerman said to his assistant. “I was trying to finish on time, but I told them I’d take a few more pictures. Those puppies are so adorable.”
She offered a warm smile back. “Your two-thirty is here, Mr. Brady Hawk.”
“Outstanding,” Kellerman said. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting this guy for quite a while now.”
He offered his hand to Hawk and the two men exchanged a firm shake.
“It’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Kellerman,” Hawk said.
“Please, call me Marty. I’m not your dad, though I do know him quite well. Tom Colton is a gem in the industry.”
Hawk winced.
“What is it?” Kellerman asked. “What did I say?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, though it’s really awkward to talk about it,” Hawk said.
“Tell me what I said.”
“Tom Colton isn’t exactly my father. Big mix-up nearly thirty years ago. But we’re good now.”
Kellerman’s eyes widened. “Wow. Now that is not what I was expecting you to say. I thought maybe I’d offended you because you—”
“Seriously,” Hawk said. “I’m not offended. In fact, it’s very difficult to offend me. On the other hand, I’m sure plenty of people find me offensive.”
“Well, we’ve already found out we have something in common,” Kellerman said. “Isn’t that right, Casey?”
She offered a thin smile and nodded.
“Again, I apologize for meeting like this,” Kellerman said. “Usually, we’d do this in my office at our KindNet headquarters, but there’s a big fundraiser tomorrow for the SPCA and other animal shelters in the bay area, and I agreed to let them catch my softer side.”
“You have some pets?” Hawk asked.
“Believe it or not, I’m more of a cat guy. Might explain why I’m still single after all these years—or that I just got tired of writing alimony checks.”
“Either one of those could be a deterrent to marriage.”
“Well, anyhoo, let’s take a walk,” he said as he turned toward the exit, his assistant remaining a safe distance behind them. “I’m curious about the reason for your visit, especially since President Young is the one who recommended we get together. Since you work at a defense think tank in Washington, I figured this ought to be good.”
Hawk kept pace with the lanky Kellerman, whose long strides indicated he was in a hurry to get somewhere rather than taking a leisurely stroll.
“Well, sir—”
“Come on, it’s Marty. Don’t do that again. You’re gonna make me feel old.”
“Of course,” Hawk said, “Marty, the president said that the intelligence community might benefit from seeing some of the AI things your company has in the works. He suggested there might be some benefit to exploring that with you.”
Kellerman laughed. “President Young is too kind. But I’m afraid he might be overselling my company’s technical skills. KindNet is more about using our advanced proprietary technology to connect like-minded individuals with each other. I’m not sure how I could envision using KindNet and all its resources as a way to bolster national security.”
“But aren’t you working on a joint venture with Colton Industries?”
The tech mogul nodded. “Yes, but the application for that is strictly in the civilian market. Colton Industries does a lot more than just make weapons of war, contrary to what the media will tell you. They do a lot of good all over the world.”
“You don’t need to tell me about that,” Hawk said. “When you grow up thinking that Tom Colton is your father, you’re more than well informed on the benevolence of Colton Industries.”
“My apologies,” Kellerman said. “I just wanted to make sure you understood that our agreement with Colton Industries had nothing to do with weaponizing the internet. Believe me, there are people who are already doing this inside the Pentagon. I don’t think they’d need my help.”
“Now that we’ve cleared that up, what do you see your partnership with Colton Industries being able to do for the world?”
“We’re going to put people together from all over the world to work collaboratively. This AI software that we’re deploying will be able to link like-minded people together for creative projects as well as community organization and education purposes. It’s going to be amazing.”
“And that’s the big deal?”
Kellerman shook his head. “No, the big deal will be revealed in a few weeks. And unfortunately for you, I can’t talk about it. I signed an NDA and won’t be able to discuss it until Techxpo D.C. next week.”
“You’re going to be in Washington, yet I flew all the way out here?” Hawk asked before punctuating his question with a sigh.
“From my understanding, you had something burning that you needed to get out. But maybe we’ll reconnect when I get to Washington. I think a slower conversation over dinner might be the way to go.”
“I think we can make that happen,” Hawk said.
“That’s what I like to hear. Now, do you happen to know any good barbecue haunts?”
Hawk smiled wryly. “If it’s barbecue you seek, I am your tour guide. And not just for Washington. I’ll take you to the best places around the world for the best pork barbecue if you really want me to.”
“Okay, you talk to Casey before I go so we can connect up when I’m on your side of the country. Sound like a deal?”
“Roger that,” Hawk said. “Text me your number and I’ll be ready at your beck and call.”’
Kellerman whipped out his phone and tapped furiously on the screen. “Done.”
Hawk’s phone buzzed. “Got it already.”
“Great. I probably don’t need to say this, but if I don’t, I might regret it, but please keep that number private.”
“Your secret is safe with me, Marty,” Hawk said.
After parting ways with Kellerman, Hawk waited until he was out of the building to call Mallory Kauffman at the NSA.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?” Mallory asked after the two exchanged pleasantries.
“I need you to keep track of a number for me,” Hawk said.
“Do you have a warrant?”
“I couldn’t get one if I tried. There’s not a judge alive who would allow a tap on the cell phone of one of the president’s most ardent and well-known supporters.”
“Without a warrant, you know I can only track his phone records, but not his calls. Will that still work for you?”
“I guess that’ll have to do.”
“I’ll let you know what pops up,” she said. “Take care out there because it sounds like you’re about to wade into some dangerous waters.”
“I’m already there,” Hawk said. “At this point, it’s more like I’m trying to keep from drowning.”
“Good luck.”
Hawk hung up and headed back to the airport. Kellerman seemed like the perfect guy, yet that made Hawk all the more uneasy about the man.
CHAPTER 17
Washington, D.C.
J.D. BLUNT JAMMED a copy of The Washington Post under his arm as he opened the Firestorm office doors. Disguised as a defense think tank, he managed to maintain a public persona while conducting very private business for the government. As a result, he sometimes needed to speak with different journalists, a task he loathed. But he felt it was necessary to at least read up on what his potential interviewers were saying and thinking in the free press.
Blunt settled into his chair and started scanning an analysis highlighting the country’s weakest points when it came to national security. Accessing the country through the air was so difficult now that it was hardly even considered a threat anymore, according to the pundit. But ports and border crossings were far more easily accessible. The writer, who used to serve in the intelligence community, went on to explain how a big flashy explosion on American soil is great for recruiting, but that undermines the true objectives of the terrorists. Their real goal was to weaken the U.S. from within by undermining the structure of our society. Attacking and destroying power grids, cell phone systems, water sources, and the internet were all ways to force the U.S. to crumble.
While Blunt wasn’t particularly fond of most of the man’s takes, this one was spot on. Blunt disagreed that terrorists had abandoned the big blast simply because terrorist organizations needed to recruit more troops, especially the kind that sent their soldiers into crowded marketplaces with the full intention of sacrificing themselves to kill others for the cause. But ultimately, the bigger threat rested with infrastructure, including highways and supply chain networks. And that wouldn’t be a threat you could suddenly stop one day if you hadn’t known it was coming and were able to prepare for it well in advance.
After reading the rest of the depressing news, he smiled.
At least I can still do something about all this madness.
A knock on his door snapped him out of his stupor, and he looked up to see Christina Shields leaning against the doorjamb with a notepad in her hand and a pencil tucked behind her ear.
“Sir, there have been some developments that I need to keep you apprised of as we move forward,” she said.
Blunt gestured toward the chair across from his desk. “Is this about Agent Black? You haven't given me an update on him since things went haywire in Vaya.”
“Well, if that was haywire, things are now more apoplectic.”
Blunt grunted as he clipped the end of a cigar. “Give it to me straight.”
“An FSB agent named Sasha Petrov has captured Black and Kozlov,” she said.
Blunt’s face fell. “Are they going to kill him?”
“Well, that’s the ray of sunshine for now. It sounds like Petrov intends to use them to capture DarkNite, who allegedly committed some heinous crimes against Putin.”
“And then Petrov will get rid of Black,” Blunt said. “If I’ve seen it once, I’ve seen it a hundred times. That’s just how those Russian agents work.”
“I can assure you that Black is thinking the same thing,” she said. “But as long as he’s alive, he still has a chance.”
Blunt templed his fingers and leaned back in his chair. “Are you still monitoring him?”
She shook her head. “His earbuds have been destroyed, which was the only means I had for tracking him.”
“So, now what?”
“We wait and pray,” she said. “The last thing I heard before the earbud went out was that they planned to go to St. Petersburg to link up with a contact of DarkNite’s. Apparently, that’s the only way anyone knows to reach him.”
Blunt scowled. “But Kozlov is the one who knows that, not Black. Why would Kozlov not make that fact known?”
“He did,” Shields said. “But Petrov made up some excuse for wanting to keep Black with him.”
“Well, as long as Black is still alive, there’s still a chance he’ll be able to wriggle his way out of this situation.”
She nodded. “And if anybody can, Black can.”
“All right,” he said. “Anything else?”
“As a matter of fact, there is,” she said. “I reached out to one of those digital forensics you recommended to see if I could get them to assess those pictures of Congresswoman Dixon you gave me.”
“And?”
“Your expert pal says they’re fake.”
“He did?”
She furrowed her brow. “Why do you seem so surprised?”
Blunt waved dismissively at her. “It’s nothing. Please, continue.”
“Well, I made a few calls to some of my political operatives in the know to find out if there was any dirt floating around about Dixon.”
“And?”
“Clean as a whistle. From what they told me, there aren’t any skeletons in her closet, at least any that haven’t leaked out yet.”
“Well, I guess that settles it for now. Keep me posted on Agent Black’s progress. I’m very concerned about him.”
Shields shrugged. “He thrives in situations like these. He’ll be fine.”
“But he’s in Russia working with an FSB agent. There’s nothing fine about that.”
“I’ll keep you posted,” she said before exiting his office.
Blunt leaned back in his chair and threw his head back, staring at the ceiling. He hated waiting idly for news from the frontlines, but that’s all he had for the moment. His thoughts bounced between Black and Dixon, both of whom found themselves in precarious situations. However, there was only one of them he could help at the moment.
Blunt reached for his phone to dial Dixon’s number when an incoming call interrupted him. He glanced at the number and smiled.
“I was just about to call you,” Blunt said.
“I’m in serious trouble, J.D.,” Congresswoman Dixon said. “I need you to come over to my office quickly before they get here.”
“Before who gets there?” he asked.
“The FBI,” she said. “They’re coming with a warrant for my arrest.”
CHAPTER 18
St. Petersburg, Russia
AFTER A TWO-DAY DRIVE to St. Petersburg, Black was more acquainted with Sasha Petrov than he wanted to be. For hours, Black listened as the FSB agent complained about the hierarchy of the Russian military and how the most inept seemed to get promoted. Petrov didn't appreciate Black’s assessment that the Russian military sounded a lot like the landscape of American politics. Plenty of bribes, a network of friends, disdain for the people they were supposedly serving—the similarities were glaring to Black. But the personal life of Petrov was what made Black want to jump out of the car.
Petrov divulged how his wife had obliterated him in court as a result of his firing from the military. He was viewed as a disgrace by almost everyone. The consequences resulted in him losing the right to see his children. But Petrov shifted from the injustice of the situation to playing the victim about every other detail of his private life for most of the trip. And Black could hardly take it anymore.
Once they arrived at their hotel in St. Petersburg well after nightfall, Black was looking forward to stretching out on the bed and resting. Instead, Petrov had Kozlov set up a meeting via text with DarkNite’s contact, Irina
Morozov. She said Kozlov could meet her at the Prodj dance club downtown.
“Leave him here,” Kozlov said, nodding toward Black. “Too many people might spook Irina.”
“I’m not going to leave the American here by himself,” Petrov said with a scowl. “Nor am I going to let you have one second alone with this woman. You will both stay with me unless instructed otherwise.”
Black sighed and rolled his eyes. “We’re going to stand out at the club.”
Petrov eyed Black. “I agree. Those clothes you’re wearing scream that you are a spy. We’re about the same size. Change into these.”
Petrov grabbed a shirt and pants from his suitcase and flung them at Black. Reluctantly, Black changed into the black denim pants and silver button-down shirt.
“I look like an anarchist in this,” Black said.
“You’re American,” Petrov said with a wry grin. “You are an anarchist.”
A half-hour later, the trio entered Prodj. They were greeted by a flashing red light, a thick haze of smoke, and thumping dance music with bass that Black felt in his chest. Couples paired up around the room, mostly drinking and smoking with a few dancing vigorously.
“I told you we’d stand out,” Black said to Petrov.
He waved the back of his hand, dismissing Black’s comment. “Where’s Irina?”
Kozlov nodded toward a woman standing by a bar table in the corner of the room. She had a pink umbrella in her drink, which was the sign Kozlov said that she was the contact.
“How well do you know this Irina?” Petrov asked Kozlov. “Would she accept a drink from me?”
“She’s open to anything,” Kozlov said.
“Good,” Petrov said. “Let me order her a drink, and I want you to take it over to her.”
Black watched as Petrov ordered a borsch cocktail and then dumped liquid from a small vial into the drink before stirring it. He put his index finger to his lip as he glanced at Black before turning the glass over to Kozlov to deliver.
“Go give this to Irina and tell her it’s from me,” Petrov said. “Then you are to come straight back here without saying a word. If you cross me, I’ll eliminate you, seeing that I may not have need for you again.”
Power Play (Titus Black Thriller series Book 7) Page 9
