“Wait a minute. I thought you worked for a private security firm.”
“I did. But I’ve moved on. I was getting bored.”
“So you’re working for some arms dealer now?”
“Kind of. More like an arms broker.”
“Is that what you’re doing here? Trying to get your weapons back?”
“Yes, I am. And maybe I’ll get you to help me do it.”
“I can’t do that, Lexie. I’ve got orders.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time you went off script. Now grab your stuff. We’ve got to hike out of here before daybreak.”
CHAPTER 49
GERALD SANDFORD BARELY SLEPT more than thirty minutes at a time. His mind raced with the endless possibilities of what might happen in the coming days—both to his country and to his family. Fear turned to anger turned to disgust. It was a cycle that ran on repeat in his mind until the first light of day struck his bedroom window.
He crept out of bed so as to not wake his wife and went to brew himself a pot of coffee. With the way things had been going, he considered spiking it with vodka. Sunday usually meant peace and quiet, but he suspected he wouldn’t sniff either of those two ideals today—or maybe for quite some time.
His coffee pot sputtered, spitting out the last remaining drops of its brew before signaling its completion with a steamy hiss. Sandford poured a cup and sat down to clear his head for just a moment. Then his phone buzzed.
“What’s taking you so long?” asked the man on the other end. “I thought we had an agreement.”
Caught off guard, Sandford stammered through his answer. “I—I am working on it. It’s complicated.”
“Well, our guy made it a lot less complicated for you by making you President. Now it’s time for you to uphold your end of the bargain … that is, if you ever want to see your daughter alive again.”
Sandford grew enraged.
“Now you listen here. If you as much as touch a hair on her head—”
“What? You’re gonna do what? Come and get me? Promise death and destruction to my entire family?” The man laughed. “You’re so pathetic. No, you are going to listen to me. If I don’t see missiles in the air within the next twenty-four hours, I’m going to take care of things my way. And I can promise you that you won’t like how I take care of things. Do you understand me ?”
Sandford nodded, too scared to speak.
“I know you’re nodding, but I need to hear you say it.”
Sandford mumbled a yes before jumping up from his chair and looking around the room. He headed straight for the window with the clearest vantage point into his house and searched for someone who might be watching him. Nothing. The street was quiet and vacant. His eyes shifted back and forth again as he contemplated how his every movement might be visible to someone he believed to be thousands of miles away.
“I’m glad we’re clear. So, missiles in the air within twenty-four hours or else Sydney dies.”
The line went dead.
Sandford fell into his chair and tried to hold his coffee. He couldn’t. His unsteady hands led to a hot stream of coffee boring through his bathrobe and into his skin. He set the mug down and buried his head in his hands—and wept. It was bad enough to lose Sydney once. Now he was going to lose her all over again unless he found a way to launch those missiles and start another war.
He promised himself he would find a way.
CHAPTER 50
TODD OSBORNE LOATHED THE TERM “going dark.” He preferred “flying blind” because that’s what his agents were doing. In the meantime, Osborne was left in the dark, wondering what was happening, wondering if he’d ever see a particular “agent” alive again. It proved to be a legitimate fear on more occasions than he cared to recall. He hoped Flynn was up to the task—and that he hadn’t gone dark just yet.
Osborne’s last communication with Flynn came hours ago when he learned the QSST had been shot down by the Russians and that his asset on the ground was located by a team of soldiers, probably Russian military—though he couldn’t be sure. Every rebel faction acted like they owned the country, even if it was just a sliver of land in the godforsaken Ural Mountains. But if air support was involved, it was likely the Russian government. He just hoped all his precautions to keep the plane from being traced back to the U.S. worked.
Domestically, Osborne felt like he was juggling chainsaws as he tried to keep Sandford from blasting off a few missiles at Russia. The rumors of dissention among President Briggs’ cabinet had begun circulating among intelligence circles in Washington. It was only a matter of time before something drastic and bad happened. If Sandford let things get too personal, it was going to be a mess.
Osborne’s phone buzzed. Speak of the devil. It was Sandford.
“Hello, Mr. President. What can I do for you?”
“I need your help and I need it fast.”
“Slow down. What’s wrong?”
“I got another call from somebody in Russia and they’re going to kill Sydney if I don’t launch missiles in the next twenty-four hours.”
“Sir, are you sure about this?” Osborne hoped it wasn’t as bad as it sounded.
“Sure as I’ve ever been. They even texted me a picture of Sydney after I hung up. It was awful.”
“Would you mind sending it to me, sir? Perhaps we can analyze it and figure out where they are and then send an extraction team in to rescue your daughter.”
“There’s not enough time. I just need to figure out a way to get someone at Strategic Command to see things my way.”
“Well, before you take those drastic measures, let me say this—don’t ever underestimate what the CIA can do. Send me that picture and I’ll see what we can do. We’ve got assets in play in Russia right now.”
“You do? What for?”
“We have people everywhere all the time—you know that.”
“Are you running some black ops mission you’re not telling me about? I’m the President of the United States—you better tell me if you are.”
Osborne gritted his teeth and lied. “If I was doing anything like that, sir, you’d be the first to know. Just don’t do anything rash, OK. It’s never good to let our emotions get the best of us. We’ll find a way to get your daughter back.”
Sandford said good-bye before ending the call.
Osborne flung his phone down on his desk and wondered if this plan had any chance of succeeding. He suddenly felt more burdened, as if the two situations that could lead to or avert a new world war were under his purview. And in both cases, he was now in the dark.
CHAPTER 51
THE PIERCING NOISE AWOKE FLYNN with a jolt as he rolled off the couch and hit the ground with a thud. His body barely felt the pain. It was nothing compared to his rigorous two-hour hike over the Urals’ unforgiving terrain under the guise of night. Lexie Martin might have turned into a mercenary, but she was still the best at navigating dicey situations. Somehow he now awoke in her cramped apartment at the edge of the city—and she hadn’t killed him in the middle of the night. Yet Flynn only fell asleep after he set up a very short perimeter alarm with one of his geeky gadgets in his pack. He still didn’t trust her.
Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! The alarm pierced the air.
Flynn looked upward and saw Lexie’s body looming over him. She shook her head as she looked down at him.
“What a mess! Scared of me, Flynn? I can’t believe the world’s best espionage agency couldn’t get anyone better to do the job.”
For years, Flynn suffered endless chiding from Lexie. She appeared to find some sick pleasure in mocking him. The fact that he owed her his life after the incident the night before made her even more insufferable.
Flynn groaned before hiding his eyes from her stare and the sun’s glare.
“You really are pathetic. There’s no way you’re going to thwart any plans the Kuklovod has.”
Tired of her incessant sniping, Flynn fought back.
“Tell that
to their team in New York that tried to assassinate the President.”
“Wait, did they shoot the President? And you’re going to claim responsibility for stopping it just because he’s still on life support in some hospital? I’m sure you’ll get a nice thank you card from the First Lady for leaving her with an invalid to take care of for the rest of her life.”
Flynn started to respond and then stopped. It wasn’t worth it. It never was with Lexie. Her sharp-witted and often bitter tongue always left him overmatched. She would always believe herself to be superior. If he leaped a tall building in a single bound, she would explain it away or tell you about a time she leaped two tall buildings with only an hour of sleep the night before while capturing two of the three most elusive criminals in the world. The story would drag on about how incompetent the CIA was and if it wasn’t for her saving them from their own incompetence, they likely wouldn’t still exist. While mildly annoying, Flynn often enjoyed hearing her braggadocios claims. Lexie’s creativity impressed him the most.
“So what are we going to do?” Flynn finally said.
“We’re going to go get my missiles back—and you’re going to go back to the States as the hero who dismantled the Kuklovod.”
Lexie moved several feet away to the kitchen and began cooking a large omelet while she shared her objectives.
Flynn protested. “I’m not sure I’m on board with that plan.” He sat down in the kitchen, eyeing her every move.
“Which part? The hero part? Yeah, you’re right. Nobody would believe it. We should probably just amend that to you’ll be going back to the States in one piece.”
Flynn sighed. “Do you have to be so nasty all the time?”
“I’m not being nasty—I’m just being truthful. Do you seriously think America is going to lap up some story about their beloved conspiracy theorist saving them from the brink of war? Please.”
“They buy most of the war-time hero stories they are fed by the military.”
“Yeah, but that’s different. Those are soldiers. You know, people trained to kill enemies and protect us.”
Flynn tried not to let her get under his skin. He didn’t want to get too snippy until he had some of Lexie’s omelet on his plate. He eyed her carefully as she split it apart and served it onto two separate dishes. Flynn knew how she could get if he fought back too hard.
He freely continued his defense.
“And I’m not trained?”
“You’re a spy, not an assassin. Infiltrating the Kuklovod requires deft skills of both.”
“Well, it’s a good thing we’re combining forces then.”
Lexie stopped and shot him a look.
“Who said anything about combining forces? I said I’m going to retrieve the missiles and you’re going to go home. Where did you read into things that we were going together?”
Flynn stopped. No more biting banter. It was time to dig in.
“No, Lexie. I’m coming. You need me as much as I need you.”
“Speak for yourself.”
Flynn’s direct approach wasn’t working. He needed leverage on her.
“So, how’s your father doing?”
Lexie put her fork down and stopped. Her sudden shift in demeanor from tough gal to despondent woman signaled to Flynn that maybe the old Lexie was still in there somewhere.
“He’s doing OK from what I heard last.”
“How’s his cancer? Still in remission?”
“No, it’s come back twice since I saw you last. The doctors say he’s only got a few months to live. But you know my dad—he’ll fight until the bitter end. He’ll probably get twice as long as they say.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
Lexie furrowed her brow and stared at Flynn. “Do you not have any friends in the agency still?”
“Not many—but what’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you haven’t heard about me. I’m on a watch list of sorts. There’s no way I can go back into the country without getting arrested.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Seriously, genius,” Lexie said, cutting deep with her sarcasm. “If you haven’t figured out that I’m not exactly on the up-and-up any more, your training has almost all been forgotten.”
“Well, maybe I can help you out there. Maybe get you in the country to see your father while there’s still time.”
Lexie started to tear up. She put down her spatula and sought out a tissue. Flynn knew how much she hated showing any kind of feminine emotion, especially water works. It wasn’t her style. Yet, here she was, dabbing her eyes and inhaling deep in an effort to fight back what she considered a sign of weakness.
“How could you do that?”
“Well, this mission is more than just rendering the Kuklovod’s missile arsenal inoperable. There’s something else.”
“Oh, what is it?”
“The Kuklovod has Sandford’s daughter, Sydney. They’re using her to blackmail Sandford into doing their bidding. And they’ll kill her if I don’t rescue her.”
“Why should I care about her?”
“Look, maybe if you come with me and we rescue her, I can pull some strings for you and get you back in the country. I know that Sandford would be willing to overlook whatever offenses the government has against you at this point.”
“Wasn’t saving your sorry butt last night enough? I could’ve left you for dead, but I like you too much. Now eat up.”
Flynn stared at Lexie. For all her sassiness, he still had a thing for her. His on-again-off-again flings with her in the field grew tiresome, mostly because he wished it would just stay on. Flynn knew at some point he had to move on, so he tried. Not seeing her for a long time made it easier. But here she was, warts and all, standing in front of him just like old times. And those feelings started rushing back.
He smiled as he gobbled down the breakfast. She smiled back.
“Eat up, Flynn. I guess we’ve now got a big day ahead of us.”
Flynn nodded. He thanked her for breakfast and took his plate to the sink once he finished.
Then he collapsed to the floor.
CHAPTER 52
JUST BEFORE SIX O’CLOCK on Sunday morning, Gerald Sandford rumbled down the hall of the third floor at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in Bethesda, Maryland. Members of the Secret Service nodded to Sandford and his entourage, already alerted to his presence and intention to visit President Briggs. As Sandford passed the final security checkpoint, one of the guards issued a perfunctory wave after acknowledging him with a salute. Sandford’s entourage remained there while he neared Briggs’ room. But just outside, Sandford met some resistance in the form of Dr. Grant.
“Hello, Mr. Vice President Sandford,” Dr. Grant said rather innocuously. But it irritated Sandford.
“Currently, it’s President Sandford—and I need to see Arthur Briggs right now.”
Dr. Grant glanced down at his chart before pushing his glasses up on his nose. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that right now.”
“Why not? Is he still in a coma?”
“I can’t actually release any information about his status unless the family allows me to. Unfortunately, they haven’t. I can tell you that he’s resting comfortably and needs to refrain from seeing any visitors.”
“We have a national security matter right now and I need to know if he’s fit to lead the country. You must at least be able to tell me that.”
“Sir, I’m not the one to make that call. He and his family are the ones who determine that.”
“Well, if you can’t tell me his current medical condition, you can tell me whether you believe he wrote this letter.”
Sandford pulled out of his inner coat pocket the letter purportedly from Briggs requesting immediate reinstatement. He handed it to Dr. Grant, who began scanning the letter.
“Look,” Dr. Grant said, handing the letter back, “I didn’t see him sign this letter, if that’s what you mean. But that looks lik
e his signature to me.”
“Thanks for your time, Dr. Grant. I won’t forget this.”
Sandford turned around and huffed away. I’m going to make sure that doctor gets fired. What is wrong with these people? Why won’t anyone give me what I want?
One way or another, Sandford was going to get what he wanted. He felt like it wasn’t too much to ask. What he wanted was simple—a set of launch codes and his daughter back.
Once he returned to his car, his private phone buzzed.
“Have you got good news for me?” Sandford asked.
“Yes. I found you a man.”
“Make it happen.”
Sandford hung up and smiled. Diane Dixon’s little run around didn’t matter. He only needed a few more hours to launch his plan—and a flurry of missiles at Russia.
CHAPTER 53
OSBORNE BALANCED A CUP OF COFFEE between his legs as he drove to CIA headquarters. He hadn’t heard from Flynn in a while and grew more concerned with each passing minute. Why hasn’t he called me yet?
It wasn’t uncommon for Flynn to skip a check-in or two while on a mission. But this felt different for some reason. Flynn usually didn’t go this long without consulting him. It shouldn’t have taken him this long to get set up.
Osborne pulled up to the guardhouse in front of the CIA and handed over his credentials.
“Working early today, Mr. Osborne?” the guard asked.
“You know our work is never done.”
The guard chuckled. “I know that’s right. Too many crazies out there right now. Have a good day, sir.”
The guard handed Osborne his credentials and raised the arm on the gate.
While Osborne parked and walked to his desk, he continued to worry about Flynn. He second-guessed his decision to ever send the former operative on such a mission. If truth be told, he knew better. An active, more trained operative would have been more suited to tackle the covert nature of the directive. Yet there wasn’t anyone else Osborne trusted more—active or retired. Flynn was his man—he also might be Osborne’s undoing at the agency.
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