by Chad Zunker
“What happened?” Natalie cried, nearly out of breath. “I saw the shooting and the chaos at Union Station. Were you there?”
“Yes, but I’m okay now.”
“I’ve been going crazy trying to reach you.”
“Sorry, I lost my phone in the whole ordeal.”
“Where have you been, Sam? That happened over an hour ago!”
“I’m so sorry.” Sam pulled her out into the hotel hallway, nodded over to his left. Two imposing men in black suits stood ten feet down, waiting for them. Sam moved back inside the hotel room. “I’ve been with the FBI going over everything. The good news is the feds finally have the situation under control. We’re all safe now.”
He could see the tension release in her shoulders. She let out a deep breath, sat on the end of the bed. Sam still felt as wound up as ever, although he was trying to hide it. The two men in the hallway were not FBI, but CIA agents from Pelini’s team. It was all part of his constructed cover story. The lies had begun. It sucked. He hated not being honest with Natalie, especially in this tender moment, but he had no choice. He would do everything he could to protect her. She could never know that Pelini was his real father. He still didn’t want to believe it himself. Nor could she ever know the truth about the CIA being behind the hell they’d all been put through the past two days.
If Natalie knew the truth, there was no way she would ever let it go. If she even saw a crack of potential Agency corruption, she would relentlessly go after it. Sam knew, at least for the moment, he had to do whatever possible to fill those cracks and assure her safety—even from herself. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. Each lying word felt like a drop of acid on his tongue. Sam had yet to decide what to do with Pelini. He was still seething about what he’d been put through, completely overwhelmed by the shocking revelation that Pelini was his real father. Unable to process through it, he had so many questions that were still left unanswered.
At this point, he wasn’t sure he wanted any answers. He wasn’t sure he ever wanted to talk with Pelini again. He needed some space to think, to clear his head, to privately sort this all out. Pelini had served him up another intricately fabricated story to help Sam explain away the situation in detail over the past two days, as they knew Natalie following along was critical to moving forward—with whatever direction was next. Sam was skeptical. Natalie was not easily deceived. Pelini ensured Sam the story would be foolproof, from all angles—if Sam had not yet noticed, Pelini and his team were incredibly skilled at creating a believable mirage.
Sam said, “They want you both to go answer some questions.”
“I’m not going anywhere with the FBI, dude,” Tommy chimed in. “I’m glad we’re safe and all. But I’m not letting those guys secretly implant microchips in my back.”
Sam smiled, said, “Just be cool, Tommy. It’ll be quick and easy. Otherwise, you’ll make this a much bigger mess for all of us.”
Tommy grunted, looking annoyed. “Fine. But only because it’s you guys.”
“What did the FBI tell you?” Natalie asked Sam.
“They have Rich Hebbard in custody. The feds picked him up an hour ago, before I ever got in to see him. Although Francisco Zapata wanted Hebbard dead, just like Hawkins—to cover up their lies and corruption—Lex Hester still very much wanted Hebbard alive. According to the FBI, Hester thought he could use Hebbard to blackmail Senator Liddell and still get what he wanted in Mexico. Hester is now missing. The FBI said he jumped on his private jet, crossed the ocean, and they’re not yet sure where he landed. They’re hunting him down, but they said it could take them a while. The man has the resources to live well off the map for the next twenty years, if he wants. The FBI is also working directly with Mexican authorities to locate Zapata, whom they believe disappeared today behind the protective walls of a drug cartel.”
“I’ve been trying to reach someone at Arnstead. Every number sends me to the same automated company voice mail. It’s weird,” she said.
Sam shrugged.
“What about Senator Liddell?” Natalie asked.
“They’re privately questioning Liddell at this very moment.”
“I don’t believe he was involved,” Natalie insisted.
Sam tilted his head. “Candace tell you that?”
Natalie nodded. “She swears he doesn’t even know Hebbard, Hester, or Zapata.”
“You believe her?”
“I think she was telling me the truth.”
Sam shrugged. “The FBI would tell me only so much, since it’s an ongoing investigation. If Liddell is hiding something, the feds will find it. Then again, Liddell could indeed come out clean on this deal.” Sam watched Natalie closely, to gauge her response. He knew this could take a lot of quick-handed shadowboxing. He was instructed to report back whatever areas Natalie focused in on so that Pelini and his team could course correct. He tried to shift gears. “The FBI connected Alger Gerlach straight to Zapata through a series of wire transfers that went from a Mexican bank into a numbered account in the Caymans. They haven’t been able to find Gerlach yet. They believe he’s already out of the country.”
“Let’s pray so,” Natalie said. “What about the CIA guys who grabbed me?”
“They’re not CIA, like we thought. They’re private operatives from a group who worked directly for Hester, who somehow secured official CIA credentials for them. Hester hired out the most skilled people he could find, both for on the ground and behind computers. When the CIA discovered his infiltration, they began a covert investigation into the situation, something they called Shadow Shepherd.”
Tommy spoke up with agreement. “That’s exactly what I’ve been finding. Everything points back to Lex Hester.”
Sam was amazed at how quickly Pelini’s team could work over Tommy. Sam felt awful about it. Tommy deserved so much better—he deserved the truth. But Sam would protect Tommy just like he was protecting Natalie. Sam could already tell her mind was burning it up, as she stood and began to pace, clearly chewing on all the new information he was feeding her. By the end of this, Sam knew he’d likely have to pull on her emotional strings to get her to drop it. That tore him up inside.
“I still don’t get it,” Natalie said, shaking her head. “It doesn’t add up for me. If Lex Hester hired such skilled people, with millions at his disposal, why would he still feel the need to pull you into the situation? Why not just go find Hebbard on his own?”
Sam was ready for this question. “He was going after Hebbard. The FBI said a crew of contract operatives were also on the hunt. However, Hester was willing to work every angle he could possibly find to get the job done quickly. The FBI said once Hester’s team discovered I was the attorney directly involved with Hawkins—and they found out about my full backstory with last year’s Redrock scandal—Hester pulled the trigger to also use me to find Hebbard. I wasn’t his only pawn, either. Hebbard’s son was also desperately trying to find his father. Apparently, Hebbard’s son has a baby whom Hester’s team kidnapped in North Carolina. Fortunately, he’s safe now, too, along with the child.” Sam shook his head. “Hester is a crazy man. He wasn’t satisfied with his hundreds of millions. He was going after the billions in Mexico, at all costs. We all got swept up in his sinister scheme.”
Natalie sat on the bed again. “Hester needs to pay big-time.”
Sam tried to move it along. “The FBI is asking for all of us to lay low for a while, at least until they can find and apprehend Hester. The man is very dangerous and vindictive. They said we could greatly assist in their investigation by keeping this entire matter to ourselves, so as not to create even more hurdles for them to find this guy and bring him to justice. They’ve offered us the option of private FBI protection for the next few months, if we want.”
“Uh, no, thanks,” Tommy declared. “I’m good.”
Natalie had a serious frown on her face. “They expect us to just keep our mouths shut? You can’t be serious, Sam! Don’t they know I have a duty a
nd responsibility to seek out the truth and expose this corruption? Plus, the guy had me thrown into the back of a damn van by goons who stuck a black hood over my head. I’m not just going to lay low to make their jobs easier on them. I have a powerful voice that could help find the man.”
Sam sighed. “Natalie, please.”
She huffed. “Look at what they did to you! You’ve been shot!”
“Believe me, I know. And I also want Hester to pay.” Sam knelt in front of her, his hand on her knee, eye to eye. He gave her his most sincere look, his voice calm and caring. Time to pull on the heartstrings. “Look, I just want to go back to our normal lives, okay? Haven’t you and I been through enough already the past eight months? I don’t want to be part of another dramatic news story. Last year was more than enough for me—it made my life a living hell for a while. Right now, the world knows nothing about our involvement. I’m begging you to keep it that way, Natalie. I just want us to move forward, get married, and start our brand-new life together. Isn’t that what you want?”
Natalie exhaled, softened. “Yes, of course, I want that. It’s just—”
“Please, I’m begging you, let it go. For me. Okay?”
He could tell it was taking everything within her to yank on the reins, but she finally relented. “Okay, I’ll think about it. For you.”
He smiled, took her face in his hands, kissed her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. He pushed her back onto the bed, began kissing her more passionately.
Tommy sighed loudly. “Uh, hello? Am I even here? Am I invisible? Can anyone see me? I’d tell you two to go get a room, but then we’re already in a room. Maybe I should just step outside.”
Sam laughed, sat back up. “No need, Mav. Let’s get this over with already. I want to go home.”
SIXTY-EIGHT
Spencer Lloyd opened the door to his condo.
Pop was sitting in the beat-up recliner, wearing only a Red Sox sweatshirt and boxer shorts, snoring away, the TV on with the volume near full blast. Lloyd was sure the neighbors just loved that. He’d received four complaints already from building management. Lloyd had begged his father to keep the volume at a reasonable level, but it was no use. The old man probably couldn’t even hear management banging on the door. Lloyd quickly found the remote in the crack of the recliner and turned down the volume. Then he picked a few broken potato-chip crumbs off the man’s chest, stuck them in the open bag sitting in his father’s lap, and set the bag on the coffee table—which was littered with empty bottles of Old Thumper beer. It looked like his dad had helped himself to the entire six-pack.
Lloyd plopped down on the sofa next to his father, overcome with fatigue. It had been a hell of a long day—traveling back and forth to New Orleans—and he still didn’t have any of the answers he wanted. He was frustrated about that. Why the hell would Director Stone call him out of the blue and order the release of Sam Callahan? Especially with a known assassin still on the loose? Callahan was his primary target! He let out a deep sigh, eased back into the cushions. William Holden was on the TV screen. Lloyd recognized the film as the classic The Bridge on the River Kwai. Pop loved that movie and had practically worn a hole in the DVD.
Lloyd rubbed his face. He reached down, grabbed the bag of chips, and began munching. His phone rang. Agent Epps. He quickly answered it.
“You find out anything?” Lloyd asked Epps.
“Apparently Stone got a call directly from Barton, who personally asked him to pull us off Callahan.”
Lloyd cursed. “You’re kidding me?”
“Nope. My source is as solid as they get. There was more discussion there between the two men, but she couldn’t give me any more details on it. She said Stone has been very closed-lipped about the entire deal.”
Lloyd tried to put it together. Cliff Barton was the director of the CIA. Barton and Stone had a decent relationship. It was certainly not hostile, like relationships had been in the past between the two investigative heads. So Barton at the last moment called Stone, who agreed to step in and completely torpedo Lloyd’s entire investigation—all without further explanation. What the hell was going on? Lloyd was a loyal servant not prone to step out of line or disregard marching orders from the top. But this sure as hell didn’t sit well with him. He’d put his own men in the line of fire. It pissed him off. Whatever was going on had to be big enough for Stone to do something completely out of character.
“Anything on our boy Gerlach?” Lloyd asked Epps.
“Nothing. The ghost has vanished again.”
“I bet Barton knows.”
“What do you want to do?”
Lloyd thought about it for only a moment. “I want you to keep tabs on Callahan. I don’t know what all is going on here, but I don’t like it. I want to know where he goes next.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And, Mike, one more thing. Don’t go through any official channels. Let’s keep this off-line and only between us for now.”
“You got it, Chief.”
SIXTY-NINE
The black Lincoln sedan dropped Alger Gerlach on the isolated airstrip next to a waiting Gulfstream. He took a moment, studied his surroundings. There were no other cars around the plane. The hangar was a quarter mile to his left. Just the same, he kept his gun within easy reach. The job had been unorthodox from the beginning. Although Gerlach had sat down with some powerful leaders over the years, he never expected to find himself sitting across a café table in Atrani, overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea in southwestern Italy, with the head of the CIA. The man was one of the most powerful investigative forces in the world. Gerlach was never even checked for weapons, which he had at the small of his back and his ankle, as if they knew he would never dare go for the kill. The head of the CIA was offering him a contract. Gerlach was one of the most-wanted assassins in the world; yet instead of arresting him, the CIA was offering him a job. The geopolitical world had shifted dramatically. An assassin like Gerlach was now more valuable as a free man than an arrested man. Even so, Gerlach knew he should never have accepted the job. He’d let the thrill of the prospect cloud his better judgment. He regretted that now.
He felt even more perplexed now that they were pulling him off, as if the job was complete; the rest of the money had already been wired to his numbered account.
Complete? Hardly. His target had slipped through his fingers three different times. That gnawed at him. Gerlach wasn’t sure what to think. Either he was off his game, or the target was a tremendous player—the truth might be somewhere in the middle.
Gerlach stepped into the night. The Gulfstream’s powerful engines were already humming. He took one last glance in both directions, then quickly walked over to the plane and climbed up the steps to the cabin. There were two pilots in the cockpit and no one else on the plane. Gerlach eased to the back and sat in one of the plush leather seats. He watched out the window as the black Lincoln disappeared up the road. A few seconds later, one of the pilots stepped out of the cockpit, shut the door to the plane, and returned to the cockpit. He never once looked back in Gerlach’s direction, which was very wise of him.
The Gulfstream’s engines hummed even louder, and the plane rocked forward.
Pulling the folded photo out of his pocket, Gerlach studied the face of his target: Sam Callahan. He shook his head, cursed. The plane sped forward and began to lift off the runway. Gerlach stared out the window and could see the brilliant white lights of DC below.
His eyes shifted back to the photo in his hands, his blood continuing to boil just below the surface. Gerlach knew this wasn’t over yet.
SEVENTY
Natalie went for an early-morning jog.
It felt good to get out, get some fresh air, get the blood pumping. Sam was still asleep on the sofa in her living room, after being up for most of the night, pacing back and forth. Twice she’d found him sitting alone in the dark of the living room, in complete silence, no TV, just staring at the walls. He tried to reassure her, claiming he
was just having a hard time shutting down after the past two days, asking her to go back to bed and not to worry, but Natalie wondered if there was something more to it. He’d been acting a bit strange ever since they left their interviews with the FBI last night. Unusually quiet, even for Sam. More reserved than she’d ever seen him, even through their personal struggles the past few years. She didn’t want to push him on it. After all, he’d been pushed to his limits the past couple of days, way beyond anything she’d experienced. If he wanted to keep quiet and stare at the walls for a few days, she’d certainly give him the space to do it.
But still . . . something didn’t feel quite right.
Natalie jogged up her street, past other colorful row houses. She checked over her shoulder a few times—a habit from the past two days. No one was back there, as far as she could tell. Just the same, she did a little zigzagging through the neighborhood. They’d declined the FBI’s offer of private protection. Neither of them wanted to be followed around by the feds the next few months. If they could handle life after the Redrock Security episode last year, they could certainly handle life after the past couple of days. Sam seemed oddly reassured that an assassin was no longer going to appear out of nowhere and try to take him out.
A mile up the street, Natalie peeled away into a park with a playground and benches. She stopped, stretched, searched the park. She spotted Michelle Blair, her source with the FBI, sitting on a bench across the way. Natalie walked over and sat next to her. Michelle was wearing a black suit and heels.
“Thanks for coming,” Natalie said.
“Sure, Natalie. I’m just glad to see you’re okay.”
“Thanks. Did you find anything?”
Michelle pressed her lips together. “Are you sure you want to know about this? I don’t want to cause any problems for you and Sam. You’ve certainly got a good thing going there.”
