Honorable Lies (A Titus Black Thriller Book 6)

by R. J. Patterson

  “Okay,” Blunt said. “Good work. Keep me posted if anything interesting develops.”

  “Roger that.”

  Blunt returned to his office and sifted through some more reports. The inability to determine Neil’s link to Oliver frustrated Blunt. While his team had gathered plenty of evidence, none of it pointed a finger at any individual. But someone in Washington with access to all this information was pulling the strings and he wasn’t going to stop until he figured out who it was.

  A half hour later, Blunt’s phone buzzed.

  “Please hold for a call from the President of the United States,” a woman said after he answered. After a long pause, Noah Young’s voice boomed through the speaker.

  “J.D., didn’t I stick my neck out for you about a week ago?” Young asked.

  Blunt sighed. “Yes, sir. And I appreciate you doing that.”

  “Well, do you mind explaining to me what kind of fuss you created out at Potomac Shores today? From what I heard, you sounded like a raving lunatic.”

  “I understand that’s what it might have sounded like, sir. But I can assure you that I was fully under control.”

  “Flipping over golf bags, stealing a cart, and confronting a sitting member of the U.S. Senate on the green? Doesn’t sound like you were all that under control to me.”

  Blunt paused for a moment, considering his response. He figured the truth was the best tact to take under the circumstances.

  “J.D., are you still there?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then what do you have to say for yourself?”

  “To be completely frank, sir, I suspected that Ted Neil was involved in the conspiracy plot to assassinate Secretary Hatcher or a CIA agent … or both. My actions were simply to lay a trap for him and see if he’s involved.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Nothing yet, sir, but I can assure you that I know what I’m doing.”

  “Fine,” Young said. “Just don’t let your methods get in the way of your mission.”

  “Of course, sir. I wouldn’t do anything of the sort.”

  “In that case, there’s something else I need to speak with you about,” Young said. “I don’t know how this might connect with your investigation, but I heard there’s a reporter working on a story about a possible sleeper cell gathering in the U.S. Are you familiar with this?”

  “We’re always looking into rumors of those, sir.”

  “This one sounds more than credible,” Young said. “And to be completely honest, this is what we have Firestorm for. We need you snuffing out flames before they turn into raging fires. And if we don’t figure this one out, hundreds upon thousands of innocent lives could be lost.”

  “Already investigating that one, sir. We’re trying to pinpoint where this cell might be gathering, but we’re already on it.”

  “That’s good to hear, J.D. Please keep up the good work and give your best to my team.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  Blunt hung up and sighed. The pressure he felt was almost palpable. And the president was feeling it too. And Blunt couldn’t do anything but wait for the terrorists to make a mistake.

  They better make one soon.

  Chapter 32

  39°12’42.3"N, 20°07’15.2"E

  Off coast of Paxos Island, Greece

  BLACK STARED AT THE upper portion of the screen, waiting for the envelope icon to light up and display that a new message had arrived. He checked his watch and realized he’d been watching for something to change for nearly three hours.

  “Coffee?” Shields asked as she placed a mug on the table in front of him.

  He looked up, almost forgetting that he wasn’t alone. Black glanced to the corner of the room where Zahid still sat bound to a chair before turning his attention back to Shields.

  “Yes, thank you,” Black said. “I didn’t even know you were making any.”

  “You didn’t hear the kettle whistling?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I guess I’m too anxious to hear back from Uncle Sam’s Regret.”

  “Well, you know what they say about a watched inbox?”

  He furrowed his brow as he looked up at her. “There’s a saying for that?”

  She smiled and then answered her own question. “New mail never arrives.”

  He moaned, partially from enduring her bad joke, partially from her delivery of the painful truth. Hardly a pixel had moved on the screen as he’d been hunched over it waiting for something to change. He stared back at his coffee, stirring the drink with a spoon.

  “He doesn’t always respond right away,” Zahid said from the corner.

  “For your sake, you better hope he does,” Black said. “My patience is already growing thin, and I’m starting to wonder if you are telling me the truth.”

  “He will write back,” Zahid said.

  Black drummed his fingers on the table, waiting for his coffee to cool down. He blew across the top of it before drawing the mug close to his mouth. Just as he was about to take a sip, a bell sounded on the computer, making Black jump. He glanced at the screen and noticed the red number one in front of the envelope.

  “Is that sound what I think it is?” Shields asked.

  Black smiled. “It sure is. Come check this out.”

  He waited until Shields was huddled over his shoulder before clicking to open the message.

  CoffinMan, thank you for your cooperation. You will find the money already in your account for completion of the previous job. I appreciate your eagerness to help. On that note, here is your next assignment.

  The note included detailed instructions on the next target, CIA undercover operative, Saeed Moqed. Embedded within the RFF, or the Revolution Freedom Fighters, Moqed had risen high within the ranks of the terrorist cell. He was a naturalized U.S. citizen after having grown up in Yemen, the son of a Yemeni oil executive and his mother a U.S. socialite.

  Black looked at Zahid. “You’re going to write back Uncle Sam’s Regret and tell him that you’ll accept the assignment. Understand?”

  Zahid nodded.

  “Dictate your message and we’ll send it,” Black instructed.

  Once they finished the response, Black sent it and offered a thin smile. “Let’s get moving. We don’t have much time to waste.”

  He hustled up to the top of the deck and drew up the anchor. Ten minutes later, they were humming across the Ionian Sea back to Parga, where they had a plane waiting for them.

  * * *

  UPON DOCKING in Parga, Black and Shields returned their boat and then ushered Zahid to the airfield. Black warned Zahid that if he made any attempt to tell customs officials who he was or what he was doing, they would kill his family. Zahid nodded his understanding and complied.

  Once they reached the hangar, a CIA team met them and took Zahid into custody.

  “What are you doing?” Zahid said as he looked at Black. “We had a deal.”

  “The deal was that we wouldn’t hurt your family if you complied,” Black said. “And I will uphold that end of the bargain. But if you thought we were going to just let you walk away, you’re crazier than you look.”

  “Where are you taking me?” Zahid asked as he looked at the two agents who’d each grabbed one of his arms.

  “Don’t worry,” one of the men said with a faint smile, “you’ll be well taken care of.”

  The men forced Zahid onto the waiting jet and closed the cabin doors. The plane taxied down the runway and was gone in a matter of minutes.

  “Did you contact Alex?” Black asked as he turned and looked at Shields.

  “Already done,” she said. “I sent her all the information about the game and the message. If anyone can track down the origin of that message, she can.”

  Black hustled toward their waiting plane with Shields right behind him. Once they took their seats, Shields’ phone rang.

  “It’s Alex,” she announced before putting the call on speaker.

  “Better m
ake it quick, Alex,” Shields said. “We’re about to take off.”

  “This won’t take long,” Alex said. “I just wanted to thank you for sending me that information from your Runescape message. I logged in and was able to hack their server in order to determine where those messages were coming from.”

  “What’d you find?” Black asked.

  “You’re not gonna believe this—or maybe you will,” Alex said. “They are coming from an IP address in Washington.”

  “Can you narrow it down at all?” he asked, pressing the issue.

  “Already done,” she said. “It originated from an office building owned by none other than Col. Ron Marshall.”

  Black let out a low whistle and shook his head. “I knew it. The Fullgood Initiative is alive and well.”

  “That’s what Blunt said,” Alex said. “Anyway, you better hurry back. Blunt wants to go in with both barrels blazing, but I think we need to do a little bit of reconnaissance work first before we go on full attack mode.”

  “Agreed,” Shields said.

  “Roger that,” Black said. “We’ll have wheels up in about ten minutes and we’re heading back to Washington.”

  “Good,” Alex said. “We need to sort this out—and fast.”

  Chapter 33

  Jabal Haraz Mountains

  Algabin, Yemen

  SAEED MOQED CREPT down the hallway of the RFF headquarters nestled in the Jabal Haraz Mountains. The lights flickered as they always did, the electricity oscillating with the appearance and disappearance of the sun. Despite having won the trust of the terrorist group after more than five years of working with them, he was jumpy. The report he received that someone in Washington was outing him was more than unsettling. Even if a black ops team intercepted a hit on him, Moqed realized that his standing within the RFF was tenuous at best. One wrong move would get him expelled, but treason? He’d be beheaded, his death to serve as an example for anyone who dared to attempt to infiltrate RFF’s ranks again.

  He’d been overnighted a handful of bugs to plant around the building. The low frequency transmitters were activated by sound and could last for months. And while he was sure that would be enough time to identify the RFF’s next coordinated attack before it happened, he was still worried he might get caught.

  As he moved along the corridor, he ran his hand along the jagged stone walls that had been chiseled out of the mountain, like almost everything else in Algabin. He looked out one of the windows and watched the drifting clouds scrape the surrounding peaks. Homes dotted the mountainsides, all stacked on one another like terraces, mirroring their agricultural approach. Eventually, the clouds would give way to radiant sunlight, stabilizing the power and illuminating the breathtaking scenery. But until then, the day would seem gloomy.

  Moqed knocked on the door of the RFF leader’s office. A man bade him to come in, which Moqed promptly did. Once in the room, Moqed paced around as he discussed the upcoming operation. There were a few details he didn’t know about and intended to learn, hopefully sooner rather than later. For months, the RFF had been working with another terrorist group to coordinate an attack in the U.S. However, he’d been left in the dark about most of it. The who, when, and where elements were all secretive, even to the RFF’s best operatives. Moqed had noticed a few of the group’s members had gone missing. When he inquired about them, he was told they’d been reassigned to other regions.

  Moqed gleaned what he could from his leader before securing a bug beneath his desk and another underneath one of the chairs. Then Moqed left the room.

  He shuffled out of the building and stopped when he reached the steps outside. Turning around to look at the place one final time, he considered all the time he’d spent there and wondered if it hadn’t been wasted. While it was possible that the mole who outed him could be caught and death with, enabling Moqed to stay as an active operative with the group, he agreed it’d be better to abandon his post. He didn’t have to consider his options long with his mentor’s words ringing in Moqed’s ears: “A dead agent is a useless agent.”

  As Moqed maneuvered his motorcycle down the winding roads, he considered all the friendships he’d made and how he was about to betray them, even if they were part of an assignment. Over the years, he’d grown to care about them and their families. Their ideology was flawed, but he didn’t consider them monsters, just people capable of doing monstrous things. There was a difference in his mind, but not in the collective thinking of the federal government. Terrorists needed to be dealt with swiftly and severely.

  When he returned to his modest apartment, Moqed called Abu, a friend on the police force. Moqed asked Abu if he was ready to carry out the plan. When Abu affirmed he was, the plan was set in motion.

  Moqed called the police station and said there’d been a shooting at his apartment. Minutes later, Abu arrived with another officer. They went through the apartment and found Moqed lying on the ground with what appeared to be a bullet wound to the head.

  “I’ll handle this,” Abu told his partner. “Go get the coroner.”

  As soon as Abu’s partner left the room, Abu tapped Moqed on the leg. “Time to move.”

  Moqed put on a police officer’s uniform and slipped out the back with Abu. While Abu waited for the coroner, Moqed dragged another body in wearing a full facial mask, making the body look identical to Moqed. An envelope full of cash to the coroner sealed the deal before the look-alike body was carted off to the morgue.

  Moqed forwarded along pictures and scant details to several newspapers, while the CIA released a coinciding report that detailed the loss of an agent in Yemen.

  * * *

  FOR THE NEXT TWO days, Moqed sat in a cramped apartment listening to the bugs he’d planted all over the RFF’s offices. He longed to get out of the country since his cover was blown, but he still had one last mission to complete.

  He was checking flights to leave the country when he heard two RFF leaders discussing their plan.

  Moqed booked a ticket for London that evening and was waiting outside the airport when he called Langley to report the details.

  “Did I just hear that correctly?” Moqed’s handler asked him.

  “I’m not sure,” Moqed said. “But if you heard me say that the latest member of the sleeper terrorist cell will arrive next week in Charleston, South Carolina, you heard me correctly. From the way they were talking, they were set to engage the entire cell the following evening.”

  “Engage them to do what?” the handler asked.

  “They didn’t say. But I can promise you it won’t be good.”

  Moqed hung up and entered the terminal. With his work complete, he couldn’t wait to leave.

  Chapter 34

  Washington, D.C.

  WHILE THE FIRESTORM TEAM was preparing to handle the arrival of another terrorist in Charleston, Black took the opportunity to do some reconnaissance work. He parked in a deck near downtown and walked a block to a building owned by Unify Washington, a think tank organization. The group claimed to be bipartisan in its approach to politics, but Blunt laughed heartily when he read a workup on them by Black. Blunt explained that he’d known most of the people listed on the board since he moved to Washington and never once remembered them reaching across the aisle, calling them all “political hacks.”

  Black smiled as he recalled the conversation with Blunt. If there was anything Black could count on in life besides death and taxes, it was Blunt’s sheer honesty. He didn’t mince words when it came to calling out charlatans.

  As Black approached the facility, he glanced up. The red brick building rose twelve stories off the ground but consisted of no more than two hundred feet on each side. He hustled up the steps and strode into the lobby.

  “May I help you, sir?” a receptionist at the counter asked Black.

  “Yes,” Black said, holding up his badge. “I’m Tom Gordon and I’m with the city, here for the annual inspection on your elevators.”

  The woman furrowed
her brow. “I thought you guys came just a few months ago.”

  “I just go where they send me,” he said with a smile, attempting to put the woman at ease. “If you’d like to call one of my superiors to discuss it or perhaps talk to one of your superiors, I can—”

  The woman waved her off. “No, no. That’s fine. I’ll have our facility manager take you to the engine room so you can check it out there.”

  “I appreciate that,” Black said.

  As she dialed the number, she glanced at Black. “Will you need to shut down the elevators while you inspect them?”

  He shook his head. “It’s hard to make sure something is working if you make it stop working.”

  She smiled. “True.”

  After she gave the facility manager instructions on what to do next, she invited him to have a seat in the waiting area. Black took her up on the offer and eased onto a plush couch in the side of the room. He looked at the modern interior decor—stainless steel light fixtures dangling from the ceiling, square color swatches framed in silver boxes on the wall, a clear plexiglass desk with the Unify Washington logo emblazoned on the front. All of it stood in stark contrast to the industrial era exterior.

  As he sat waiting, he observed the people scurrying in and out of the building, many of them carrying on conversations as they came and went. In the short time he watched, he noted that the employees skewed younger and walked with an air of self-importance. Black doubted any of them could fight, even if the man who owned the building, Col. Ron Marshall, was well-known for his hand-to-hand combat encounters while serving in Vietnam.

  But Black wasn’t interested in getting into a fight, just into the heads of the company’s employees. Access to the elevator’s mechanical room wasn’t going to help him accomplish his mission. He needed an opportunity to get into an office so Shields could connect to the Unify Washington’s secure server. And he was going to need someone to allow him to do it, preferably without them knowing it.