Honorable Lies (A Titus Black Thriller Book 6)

by R. J. Patterson

Shields shook her head as she paced nervously. “I need to think.”

  “We don’t have time for that,” he said.

  “I know,” she said with a growl.

  Chapter 11

  Mount Vernon, Virginia

  BEN LEVINE PURCHASED his ticket at the front gate and followed an usher’s directions upon entering Mount Vernon. Levine had visited the U.S. capital on several occasions, but he’d never taken the time to visit the estate of the country’s first president. He wound his way along a path, circling around the large field in front of the house before reaching the lower garden. With most of the plants anxiously awaiting the arrival of spring, there wasn’t much to see. He glanced at his watch and realized he needed to move quickly.

  Levine ambled toward the stables, which saw far less traffic than other parts of the grounds. He poked his head inside the building for a moment, taking in the artifacts used for driving mules and horses during Colonial times. Lingering for a moment, he took a deep breath before he heard a smooth, sultry voice that had a hint of a foreign accent.

  “There’s a black SUV in the parking lot farthest from the entrance, license plate WKV-9242,” she said. “Get inside and Mr. Blunt will be waiting for you.”

  Levine never turned to look at the woman, only nodding imperceptibly. She eased away from the stable and merged into the line of tourists.

  For the next fifteen minutes, Levine continued his tour of the facility. He rushed through the mansion itself before exiting the gates and heading to the SUV. The arrangement felt somewhat like espionage theater, but this was Levine’s own request. If someone within the upper echelon of the U.S. government would target him and use Secretary Hatcher as collateral to cover it up, he couldn’t be too careful. He glanced over his shoulder several times and used rearview mirrors on parked cars to monitor any movement behind him. When he was certain that he wasn’t being followed, he strode up to the SUV and slid into the backseat.

  “Agent Levine,” a man in his late 60s said, “I’m J.D. Blunt.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Levine said.

  “Are you confident no one tailed you?” he asked as he gnawed on an unlit cigar.

  “Yes, sir. I didn’t see anyone milling about.”

  “Good,” Blunt said. “I appreciate you reaching out to me. And I understand how you would be paranoid. I find myself wondering about my own government these days.”

  Levine sighed. “I’m afraid I’ll only add to your worries after I tell you what I’ve learned.”

  “Better to die grappling with the truth than living with a lie,” Blunt said. “Whatever you’re about to tell me, I’m sure it won’t be the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Levine took a deep breath before continuing. “Several months ago, I was running a surveillance operation on a rogue Mossad operative. About a year before this, he was what the CIA would consider ‘deep cover,’ and had been directed to develop a relationship with one of the region’s more dangerous terrorist cells, Amin Al-Amin. However, the agent returned for a few months before abandoning his post for good. He’s wanted right now and will be tried as a traitor.”

  “And this is what you wanted to tell me?” Blunt asked.

  “There’s more. While I was monitoring this rogue agent, from what I could gather, he made contact with a high-ranking official within the president’s administration. And even though you have a new president now, he’s still been reaching out to this particular person. We’re not sure who the official is, but the rogue agent has had plenty of exchanges with the man. So, he obviously still has some position and power.”

  “Is that all?” Blunt asked.

  “Hardly. It’s the nature of their conversations which is even more disconcerting.”

  “Please, continue,” Blunt said.

  “Whoever this official is knows the names of U.S. agents embedded within terrorist cells all across the Middle East and is passing them along to our rogue agent. I’m not sure what he’s doing with them, but I can promise you that your people aren’t safe.”

  “How are you handling this rogue agent?”

  “I’ve only been ordered to follow his movements,” Levine said. “My superior believes there’s a mole somewhere within our own organization and we’re using this agent to determine who that is. After that situation is resolved, I’m sure this man will be dealt with swiftly and severely.”

  “Do you happen to have phone records referencing the number that your guy is calling?” Blunt asked.

  Levine shook his head. “They’re being very careful. Both of them are using encrypted phones, dialing numbers that are rerouted dozens of times before reaching their intended destination.”

  “If something changes, will you let me know?” Blunt asked.

  “Maybe, but I’m not making any promises given my current situation.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Levine looked out the window before returning his gaze to Blunt. “Since I’m officially dead, I don’t know when I’ll go back to Mossad. Even my family doesn’t know I’m alive. And to make matters worse, someone else knows that I’m still alive.”

  “Who?”

  “No idea, but I wasn’t interested in sticking around to find out when a woman tried to kill me when I was trying to lay low in the Dominican. I killed her in self-defense and left her body.”

  “I hadn’t heard about that.”

  “I doubt you will,” Levine said. “You think the Dominican wants bad press in light of what just happened in the Bahamas? They’re set to reap a windfall when everyone switches up their vacation plans.”

  Blunt nodded. “You have a good point.”

  “If you don’t believe me, reach out to the embassy there. They’ve probably heard the rumblings about the dead woman found at a resort on Punta Cana.”

  “I don’t doubt you. But for someone to have the kind of connections to track you down to the Dominican is rather incredible.”

  Levine leaned forward and peered out the windshield. “I hope this information is helpful for you and you’re able to find out who the traitor is. But I think we’re done here.”

  “Wha—”

  Levine didn’t have time to explain as he noticed the two men dressed in suits moving toward Blunt’s vehicle. Their attempt to act nonchalant was enough to spook Levine. And he wasn’t interested in sticking around to find out if his hunch was right.

  * * *

  BLUNT FURROWED his brow as he stared outside the window at the two men surrounding his vehicle, but he didn’t budge. However, when one of the men slapped his FBI badge against the glass, Blunt decided to inquire about their presence.

  “Is there a problem, sir?” Blunt asked.

  “As a matter of fact there is,” the man said. “We have orders to bring you in for questioning.”

  “Questioning?” Blunt said. “About what?”

  “We have proof that you’ve been speaking with a rogue Mossad agent who’s been indicted for selling state secrets.”

  “Is that so?” Blunt asked.

  The agent closest to Blunt didn’t respond. Instead, he opened the door and yanked out Blunt. The Firestorm director stumbled as he emerged from the vehicle, his cigar tumbling out of his mouth and onto the ground.

  “What the hell, man?” Blunt said with a growl. “Can’t you have a little respect?”

  “I advise you to be quiet, Mr. Blunt,” the agent said. “You’re under arrest.”

  Chapter 12

  Istanbul, Turkey

  BLACK GLANCED UP at the trusses supporting the roof overhead. He heard the footsteps of the approaching guards and knew there wasn’t much time.

  “Need a boost?” Black asked Shields.

  “What?” she asked, staring at him as he interlocked his fingers and held them around waistlevel.

  “We need to go up,” he said.

  “You thinking ambush?” she asked.

  “We’ll figure that out later,” he said. “You need to move.”r />
  Shields stepped into his hands and balanced herself by grabbing Black’s shoulder before he hoisted her up. She grabbed the beam and scrambled on top of it. Then Black took a few steps back and then sprinted toward the wall. He stepped high on it, launching himself high enough to catch the beam and straddle it.

  Zahid’s men drew near, and Shields pulled out her weapon.

  Black motioned in an attempt to get her attention and signaled for her not to shoot. The two men stopped some twenty meters away from the bricked up exit and then spun in the opposite direction.

  Once they disappeared around the corner, she glared at him. “We could’ve taken them out,” Shields said.

  “Yeah, and we could’ve attracted more of Zahid’s goons,” Black said. “There’s another dozen or so where those guys came from.”

  “So, what do you propose? We just sit here and wait them out?”

  Black offered a thin smile. “Not at all. I think we leave right now.”

  “Can you run through a brick wall?”

  Black shook his head. “But I can run through a wooden one.”

  He nodded down the hall.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

  “There’s a wooden facade in front of one of the arches,” he said. “That’s our way out.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Beats running through a brick wall.”

  Black swung down and landed on the ground. He offered to help Shields down.

  “How would you like a mix of titanium and carbon fiber shoved up your ass?” she snapped.

  Black eased back and chuckled.

  “I’m glad one of us finds this amusing,” she said. “I appreciate your chivalrous gesture, but I think I’ve proven I can handle a little drop like that just fine.”

  “We can argue about this later,” Black said. “But I spied something earlier that we need to check out.”

  While Black was up on his perch, he saw slits of light hitting the concrete floor about fifty meters down the hall. He wasn’t certain the curious illumination would provide a way out, but he preferred that to a gunfight where he was pinned down.

  Black hustled toward the spot, Shields chasing after him.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “I think I saw a way out.”

  “Think? This is not the time for playing one of your wild hunches.”

  Black ignored her, skidding to a stop near the place where he’d noticed sunlight trickling into the hallway. He moved closer to the wall and studied it for a moment before realizing wooden planks were along the outside.

  “What is this?” he asked before checking out the wood with his hand. He drew back and delivered two swift kicks, the second one smashing through to the outside as the boards clattered on the stone walkway outside.

  Black gave a wry grin to Shields, who rolled her eyes.

  “Congratulations,” she said. “You kicked the wall down.”

  He glanced back down the hallway to the secured door. It swung open and a handful of Zahid’s men rushed into the corridor and raised their weapons.

  Shields and Black instinctively reacted. They both put their shoulders against the broken wall, providing a brief respite from the impending hail of bullets and a better positioning from which to crash through.

  “On two,” Black said. “One … two …”

  Bullets ricocheted off the stone facade around them as they fell forward with their push. The wall collapsed and they rolled onto the stone walkway outside where a mason sat on his scaffold dumbfounded at what had just happened. Black and Shields scrambled to their feet and broke into a sprint.

  “Now that we’re out,” Black said, “what’s your plan?”

  “My plan is to live, and to live a long and fruitful life at that,” she said.

  “I mean right now,” Black said. “Where’s your vehicle?”

  “This way,” she said, gesturing for him to follow her. As they drew nearer to the SUV, she fished the key fob out of her pocket and unlocked the doors. However, it also signaled where they were headed to Zahid’s henchmen. Bullets peppered the car before one bullet flattened the tire.

  Black cursed as he took cover by one door. “Now what?”

  “I don’t know,” Shields said. “I wasn’t counting on things going like this.”

  “You have to have a plan B,” Black said as he returned fire and promptly felled one of the men pursuing them.

  Shields peeked over the hood and squeezed off two more rounds. “I had plans for how to get in and how to sneak in or talk my way in if I wasn’t able to gain access more quickly. But not this. I didn’t anticipate pointing out my car for target practice.”

  Black shrugged it off. “Don’t worry about it. Whenever you make a bad choice, you can change things by making the next right decision.”

  She scanned the area. “And what looks like the next right decision to you right now?”

  Black glanced around, his eyes drawn toward the water. “Come with me.”

  The two crouched low as they eased away from the vehicle. Black had noticed the area was situated on a hill with the main thoroughfare sitting ten feet below them. They stopped at the edge of the retaining wall and peered down onto the street, the only thing separating them from the Bosphorus Strait.

  “Mind telling me what your plan is?” Shields asked.

  Black looked over his shoulder and saw Zahid’s men charging hard toward them. “We’re going to jump.”

  “And then what?”

  “We’re going to jump on top of that bus,” he said, pointing at the approaching vehicle.

  “Are you out of your mind? We’ll be sitting ducks on top of that thing.”

  “Not when we disappear around the corner,” Black said. “Like it or not, this is our best option.”

  A bullet hit the ground near them. Black grabbed Shields’ hand as they prepared to leap onto the bus.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  She nodded. Black counted them down from three before the two agents hurtled themselves onto the roof of the vehicle. The bus slowed briefly but kept moving in the tight morning traffic. In a matter of seconds, they rounded a corner and disappeared from the men’s line of sight.

  “There’s a dock about a half-mile from here,” Black said loudly, trying to speak over the wind. “We’re going to jump on a ferry and disappear.”

  “Think we’re home free yet?” she asked.

  “We will be once we get on that ship.”

  The bus came to a stop and Black and Shields slid off the side, resulting in bewildered looks from the departing passengers. The two agents headed for the dock, but loud shouting arrested Black’s attention. He glanced over his shoulder to see two of Zahid’s men racing through the crowd.

  “We’ve got company,” Black said.

  “Change of plans,” Shields said, nodding toward the smaller boats.

  “Roger that,” Black said.

  They continued toward the line to board the ferry before ducking low and sneaking out of the crowd. Hustling down an embankment, they reached another dock with smaller vessels. They found one captain and offered him five hundred dollars to take them across the strait, no questions asked. He happily obliged their request.

  Within five minutes, they were skimming across the water. Black looked back at the ferry packed with passengers. He saw one of Zahid’s men frantically searching for the two agents.

  “I think we’re safe for now,” Black said, nodding toward the ship.

  Shields offered a faint smile. “We’re alive, but we still don’t have Zahid.”

  “I’m not done yet,” Black said. “There are other ways to capture him.”

  “But we just made it a whole lot more difficult.”

  “Whoever said this was going to be easy?” Black asked.

  When they reached the other side of the strait, Black and Shields thanked the captain before getting off the small vessel. They went to a small cafe to discuss thei
r next move.

  “We need to tell Blunt,” Shields said.

  “I know,” Black said. “He won’t be happy. Let me do it.”

  Shields furrowed her brow as she pulled out her cell phone. “I’ll talk to him. He never yells at me.”

  She dialed the number for the Firestorm office, but Jana Shadid answered the phone. Shields divulged the details about the operation that had gone awry before inquiring about her director.

  “Where’s Blunt?” she asked.

  “There’s been a development,” Jana said. “You two need to get back to Washington as soon as you can.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Blunt’s been arrested.”

  Chapter 13

  CIA Headquarters

  Langley, Virginia

  BOBBY BESSERMAN, the deputy director of the CIA, loosened his tie as he studied the report on his desk. The details of J.D. Blunt’s arrest obtained from a colleague at the FBI made Besserman sick to his stomach. He’d known Blunt for over a decade and never thought he was anything but an American patriot. Besserman struggled to believe that he could’ve been fooled so badly. But after years of experience, he stopped taking the rare surprises so hard a long time ago.

  Besserman had been at the CIA for just over two years as a special agent when he was tasked with investigating a Russian journalist, rumored to be passing secrets to the Kremlin. A few months into Besserman’s investigation, he joined a foursome for a round of golf at the Congressional Country Club after someone canceled at the last minute. He shared a cart with Tom Flier, a businessman who operated a construction rental franchise in the Washington metro area. The two hit it off after a spirited debate over who was the best golfer of all time, Flier insisting it was Tiger Woods, Besserman favoring Jack Nicklaus. They settled their differences over a glass of bourbon after the round and decided to schedule another one the next week, which eventually became a regular engagement.

  A few months after their initial encounter, Flier asked Besserman over for dinner. And while Besserman hadn’t generally been suspicious of Flier, there was one thing he said that made Besserman curious about his new friend’s past. Besserman asked if he could bring something, and Flier told him a bottle of bourbon would be fine. Jokingly, Besserman said, “Since you’re such a big Tiger Woods fan, what about I bring a bottle of vodka with cranberries?”, referencing the golfer’s alleged favorite drink mix. To which Flier responded, “Who drinks vodka anymore?”