J.D. BLUNT STOOD WHEN President Young entered the room in the basement of the White House. A Secret Service agent gave a cursory glance around the space before leaving the two men to talk in private. Blunt and Young shook hands before settling into chairs across from one another over a glass coffee table.
Blunt took a deep breath before speaking. “Let me begin by saying—”
“No, let me be the one who begins this conversation with an apology,” Young said. “I should’ve trusted you, no matter what. Before President Michaels’ death, he expressed some mistrust about your team. But all the briefings suggested otherwise.”
“You did go out on a limb for me to get me out of FBI custody,” Blunt said.
“Yeah, but not until there was overwhelming evidence that you were being set up. And I can’t tell you how sorry I am. If I hadn’t applied some pressure on the bureau to release you, there’s no telling how this situation might have turned out.”
“Look, I appreciate the mea culpa, but I don’t blame you. I’m just glad at the end of the day that we caught the terrorist and busted the ring that was enabling terrorists to sneak into the country.”
Young leaned back in his chair. “There’s only one thing I’m curious about.”
“What’s that?”
“Why did you lie to me? Why did you tell me this was all about Secretary Hatcher’s death when it really wasn’t?”
Blunt shook his head subtly. “I didn’t know who I could trust. But it was apparent to me that someone on the inside had information and was funneling it to bad actors. I couldn’t risk anyone knowing that we were actually trying to pinpoint the mole. And while I’d like to promise you that I won’t ever lie to you again, I might need to. But I can pledge that any future lies will only be to protect the country.”
Young shrugged. “That’s not exactly what I want to hear, but I can’t argue with your results. So, do I need to start cleaning house at the CIA now?”
“From all our digital forensic analysis, everyone involved in parceling out that information is dead,” Blunt said. “Campbell Morgan used her access to Senator Neil to plant malware on his computers to access confidential reports and highly classified information. She logged on as him to gain entry into the CIA’s files and then passed the information along to Kalil Fareed. With both Miss Morgan and Fareed dead, we believe the breach has been effectively closed, but we will keep an eye on it to make sure nothing else happens.”
“So they didn’t have any inside help?”
“Not as far as we can tell. Miss Morgan used her family’s close relationship with Senator Neil to get a job working on his campaign. To be honest, she would’ve made a helluva spy if she had a chance to learn how to tame her desire to live on the edge.”
Young shook his head. “That’s a shame then.”
“It sure is. But I don’t know that she would’ve ever wanted to do something like that. From what I could tell, she was numb from living a life full of exorbitance. She did what she could to feel alive.”
“And now she’s gone.”
Blunt clapped his hands and stood. “But let’s not dwell on that. I prefer to see that we squashed a sleeper cell and it didn’t even get leaked to the press.”
“That’s a win-win,” Young said, offering his hand to Blunt.
Blunt ignored Young’s hand, instead giving him a hug. “We’re gonna get along just fine, Mr. President. We’re going to keep your country safe from terrorist attacks and make you look great in the process.”
Young smiled. “That’s the kind of deal I like.”
* * *
BLUNT EASED into the booth at On the Record and slumped against the wall separating patrons from one another. He cast a furtive glance at Ted Neil, who was sitting along and eyeing Blunt closely.
“I swear you have some gumption,” Neil said. “You have the audacity to sit down at my table and—”
“I’m sorry,” Blunt interrupted.
“For what exactly?”
“For everything,” Blunt said. “I thought you might be involved somehow. All the signs were pointing to you early in our investigation and I wanted to rattle you, see if you’d break.”
“I ought to reach across this table and strangle you.”
“Before you do that,” Blunt said, “I think you should know that we thwarted an attack at your campaign rally. There was a sleeper cell we were hunting, and we found them just before they attempted to blow Mile High Stadium to pieces with you and all your supporters in it.”
“Is this your way of trying to get back into my good graces?” Neil asked. “For all I know, this entire story could be fabricated.”
“You’ll probably see it corroborated in a forthcoming CIA report. But I understand why you might feel differently right now. But I’m not a senator anymore. I’m in national security, and sometimes I might go about things a little less diplomatic than I used to. And if I ever happen to do this again, don’t take it personally.”
Neil stared at his drink for a moment before looking back up at Blunt. “It’s gonna take a lot for me to trust you again.”
Blunt nodded. “Totally understandable. Do you still hunt?”
“What the hell kind of question is that?” Neil asked. “I’m a fourth-generation Coloradan. Of course I hunt.”
“Why don’t I take you big game hunting sometime?” Blunt suggested. “I recently bought some land in Idaho. We can hunt anything you want.”
“Are you a better shot than Dick Cheney?” Neil asked.
Blunt shrugged. “Well, I only shoot people when I intend to, if that’s what you mean.”
Neil chuckled. “I think that might be a reasonable way to make things up to me.”
“I was hoping so,” Blunt said. “Well, look, I don’t want to take up any more of your time. Just call my office sometime and we’ll get something set up. And if you ever want a full debriefing of what transpired at your campaign rally, I’ll be happy to fill you in.”
Neil nodded. “I’ll be in touch.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Blunt said as he stood and started to walk away.
“J.D.,” Neil called.
Blunt spun around and looked back at the senator.
“What?”
“Thanks for saving all our lives. Who knows how bad it would’ve been if you and your team hadn’t been there.”
Blunt smiled. “Just doing our job.”
Chapter 42
Cozumel, Mexico
BLACK, SHIELDS, AND JANA dropped their chairs and beach bags onto the white sands of Cozumel. Thirty meters away, the water lapped at the shoreline, which was packed with tourists. Black put his hands on his hips and took a deep breath. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel any stress and it was glorious.
“So, this is what you guys do for fun?” Jana asked as she unfolded her seat. “Just hop on Blunt’s jet and go to Mexico for the weekend?”
“Weekend?” Shields asked, her brow furrowed. “You think we’re only going to be here for a few days? I thought I told you to pack for a week.”
“Yeah, but I thought you meant—”
Shields chuckled. “Honey, we’re going to hang out here for a while and rejuvenate. Those missions take a lot out of me.”
Black’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the message on his screen. “We may not be here as long as we’d like.”
Shields glared at him. “That better not have been Blunt calling us back to Washington.”
“No, no. We’re good. But he did send me a link to a story about an Alsheri operative named Bahiri Zahid who just escaped U.S. custody.”
Shields’ eyes widened. “How the hell did he do that?”
“The article says that he was taken to a local Cuban hospital to treat an infection while at Guantanamo Bay and managed to escape to mainland Cuba from there.”
She swore under her breath.
“Are we in danger here?” Jana asked.
Shields shook her head. “Not likely, but we will need to h
unt him down again.”
Black playfully punched Shields in the arm. “Oh, come on. Don’t be so dour about this. You know it’ll be fun.”
“You and I have an obvious difference of opinion about what fun is,” she said.
“Perhaps, but I happen to know you enjoy catching terrorists,” Black said.
“I also enjoy having a man apply sunscreen on my back,” she said as she held out a bottle.
Black sighed and took the tube from her. “You know, you’re not the only one who enjoys this.”
He squirted a dab onto his hands and rubbed the lotion together before applying it to her back.
“Well, maybe I can have you be my cabana boy all weekend long,” Shields said.
“Oh, did you think I was referring to myself?” Black asked. “There’s actually a group of teenage boys over there who are all watching with piqued interest about twenty meters to our left. I’m sure a few of them wouldn’t mind relieving me of these duties this week.”
Shields jabbed Black in the ribs, eliciting a groan.
“Are you two always this much fun?” Jana asked.
“I just want this on record,” Black said, pointing at Shields. “One day, this woman is going to shoot me. And when that happens, Jana, you’ll know who to charge with my murder.”
Shields grabbed a handful of sand and yanked on the back of Black’s swim trunks. When he tried to get away, she dumped the sand into his pants.
He sighed and walked to the water. “You’re going to pay for that, Shields,” he said over his shoulder.
After he thoroughly rinsed away the sand, he returned to their spot and sat down. He pulled his hat low across his face and cast a glance toward Shields. He smiled when he caught her looking at him.
Black couldn’t wait to catch another terrorist with his partner.
THE END
To continue reading in the Titus Black series, order Power Play now. Or to read more novels from the Firestorm world, check out the Brady Hawk series also available on Kindle Unlimited.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am grateful to so many people who have helped with the creation of this project and the entire Titus Black series.
Brooke Turbyfille was a big help in editing this book.
I would also like to thank my advance reader team for all their input in improving this book along with all the other readers who have enthusiastically embraced the story of Titus Black. Stay tuned ... there's more Titus Black coming soon.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
R.J. PATTERSON is an award-winning writer living in southeastern Idaho. He first began his illustrious writing career as a sports journalist, recording his exploits on the soccer fields in England as a young boy. Then when his father told him that people would pay him to watch sports if he would write about what he saw, he went all in. He landed his first writing job at age 15 as a sports writer for a daily newspaper in Orangeburg, S.C. He later attended earned a degree in newspaper journalism from the University of Georgia, where he took a job covering high school sports for the award-winning Athens Banner-Herald and Daily News.
He later became the sports editor of The Valdosta Daily Times before working in the magazine world as an editor and freelance journalist. He has won numerous writing awards, including a national award for his investigative reporting on a sordid tale surrounding an NCAA investigation over the University of Georgia football program.
R.J. enjoys the great outdoors of the Northwest while living there with his wife and four children. He still follows sports closely.
He also loves connecting with readers and would love to hear from you. To stay updated about future projects, connect with him over Facebook or on the interwebs at www.RJPbooks.com and sign up here for his newsletter to get deals and updates.
Honorable Lies
© Copyright 2020 R.J. Patterson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
First eBook Edition 2020
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Honorable Lies (A Titus Black Thriller Book 6) Page 21
