“I’m not interested in nuance and complexities—just the truth. I want to know if these people I’m rubbing shoulders with on a daily basis are traitors or patriots.”
“They’re both and neither—at the same time,” Thor shot back. “I wish things here were black and white. If they were, it’d be much easier to invoke change. Before I came to Washington and took my oath to serve the American people, everything seemed black and white to me. But I now realize I live in a gray world, one where black and white is an ideology as much as it is a tattered dream from a bygone era. No one’s hands are clean around here nor is anyone interested in washing up.”
Thor signaled for one of his maids to bring him another cup of coffee. He mouthed, “Thanks, Lucy,” to the woman as she picked up his mug. She smiled and headed toward the kitchen.
Holbrook remained silent.
“Are you still there?” Thor asked.
“Yeah. I’m here.” He paused. “You know, I’m as cynical as anyone else in this town, but I thought there were a few sacred cows left in our country—like the military seeking to protect rather than serve its own interests, whatever those might be. Nobody should be trying to kill Sergeant Thatcher. What did he ever do to deserve such a thing?”
“Sometimes it’s necessary to deal with traitors in an unconventional fashion.”
“Ah-ha! So, you do know something,” Holbrook said. “Don’t hold out on me.”
Thor measured his words as he responded. “I think I’ve made it clear to you that I can’t tell you anything, Holbrook. But even if I could, I don’t know what good it would do. I’d like to know what Sergeant Thatcher was doing in that upper northeast region of Afghanistan. It’s not a place he should’ve been.”
“Maybe he was just following orders.”
“Maybe that’s what he wants you to think.”
“You remember the deserter who made big news after we traded Al-Qaeda operatives for him?”
“How could I forget?”
Thor looked up to see Lucy returning with a cup of coffee in her hand. He took it from her and nodded as a gesture of appreciation. “He claimed his innocence as well—but the man was a deserter. He abandoned his post and it cost several faithful soldiers their lives as they went looking for him.”
“Are you suggesting that’s what happened here?”
“Like I said, even if I knew, I couldn’t tell you. All I can say is that people try to spin their tales in the most favorable light.”
“Especially politicians.”
Thor grunted. “I’ll try not to be offended by that.”
“You shouldn’t be. You’re a different breed of politician.”
Thor chuckled. “Flatter me all you want but you’re still not getting any information out of me—even if I had any.”
“Fine. Be that way. You’re just like everybody else.”
“You can’t even say that with conviction, can you? Just like a lobbyist.”
“I’ll try not to be offended at that.”
Thor laughed again. “Look, Holbrook. You can stop by my office and we can discuss this over coffee some morning later this week, but I’ve got to get going.”
“I’ll be by later this week if I don’t get the answers I’m looking for—don’t you worry.”
“What are you now? An investigative blogger looking for fodder?”
“Can’t a citizen be concerned with the inner workings of his own government?”
“Most citizens can—but a conniving lobbyist?”
“Okay, enough already. But you better be ready to answer my questions. Clearance or not.”
Thor hung up and shook his head in frustration.
If only running the government were as simple as he thinks it is.
He took another sip of his hot coffee, withdrawing quickly as he nearly burnt his lip. He once again scanned the pristine landscape in his backyard. It was his sanctuary, his haven—his spot where he could escape the endless Beltway chatter and just think.
His phone buzzed again. But as he reached for it, he felt a sharp pain in his chest. Instead of grabbing the phone, he clutched his upper body and toppled to the ground, dragging the outdoor glass table with him. The table shattered as it crashed down around him on the brick patio.
“Senator Thor! Senator Thor!” cried Lucy as she hustled toward him. She knelt down beside him and slapped his face a few times. “Senator Thor! Are you okay?”
He didn’t twitch, much less move.
CHAPTER 35
FLYNN BURST INTO BANKS’ ROOM without knocking. His actions stood in stark contrast to his usual gentlemanly nature and special attention to his grooming practices. Wearing nothing but boxers and a hairdo that appeared to be move-in ready for a family of birds, he shook Banks’ feet as she sat up excitedly.
“What is it?” she asked.
“It’s Thatcher. He’s gone.”
“What? How? Why?”
“He must’ve swiped your keys last night before bed.”
She gestured for him to turn around so she could get dressed. He turned his back to her and closed his eyes.
“I never thought he’d do something like that. We are supposed to be protecting him.”
Flynn cracked his knuckles. “Maybe he didn’t trust us.”
“How could he not? Doesn’t he realize we’re trying to save him?”
“In all fairness, we did drag him to a cabin in the middle of the woods all by ourselves.”
“To protect him. And we treated him with nothing but respect and kindness.”
Flynn laughed. “Speaking from experience here, but telling the truth isn’t easy—especially when you suspect everyone is trying to kill or silence you.”
“If what he told us is true—all of it—his life is in serious jeopardy.” She paused. “I’m done now. You can turn around.”
Flynn spun to face her. “Whoa! You can roll out of bed and look like that?”
She put her hand up. “Let’s keep this professional, okay?”
He nodded. “Fair enough.” He took a deep breath. “We need to figure out where he is.”
“Yeah, and I need to call my boss.” She glanced around the room before rushing toward the kitchen.
“What is it?”
“My phone. I don’t see it.”
Flynn grunted. “Maybe he took it with him.” He handed his phone to her. “Here. Call your phone.”
She put the phone on speaker and let it ring until it went to voicemail. “That sneaky little bastard.”
“Let me see if I can get us a cab up here. It might be a while.”
“Try Uber.”
“Out here?”
“Yeah, they have cars everywhere.”
Flynn opened the app on his smart phone and located a cab only three minutes away. “I can’t have a car coming to a CIA secret safe house.”
“Let’s meet him at that intersection about a quarter of a mile away.”
Five minutes later, Flynn and Banks stood along the road at an intersection in the mountainside enclave, waiting to be picked up by an Uber driver. Flynn wasn’t too fond of the social media taxicab service, but he decided to reconsider his position based on this experience. Within two minutes of alerting the Uber driver where they were, a man in a new Toyota Camry pulled up.
Flynn and Banks piled in and he struck up a friendly conversation with them.
“Car trouble?” the man asked.
“Something like that,” Banks answered.
“I’m George Prescott the Third,” the man said over his shoulder. He twirled the pair of fizzy black and white die hanging from his rearview mirror before he turned down the ranting of a talk show host on the radio.
“Jennifer.”
“James.”
Prescott froze. “Wait a minute—James? James Flynn?”
Banks looked at Flynn and rolled her eyes, while Flynn said nothing.
“The conspiracy theorist and journalist?” Prescott continued. “The James Flynn?”
“I haven’t even said if my last name’s Flynn or not.”
A grin spread across Prescott’s face. “Don’t worry. You don’t need to. I’d know that voice anywhere. I’ve heard you on Coast to Coast with George Noory more times than I can count. I’d know your voice anywhere.”
“I hope you enjoyed the program.”
“Programs,” Prescott answered, emphasizing the s. “And, yes, I enjoyed them all.”
“Glad to hear that.”
They rode in silence for a few minutes while a newsbreak interrupted the talk radio program droning away in the background.
Officials are preparing for Russian President Alexander Petrov’s appearance tomorrow in front of the U.S. Senate as they anticipate a large crowd of protestors. Security will be tight on Capitol Hill with multiple checkpoints. Officials are advising anyone planning on taking part in the protests tomorrow to arrive early and prepare for long lines for security screening. Meanwhile, the White House administration has backed off its earlier calls to revoke Petrov’s invitation, but has yet to extend an invitation for Petrov to meet with the President privately while he’s here.
“Damn Russians. Always trying to stir something up,” Prescott mumbled to himself. He turned off the radio. “Well, since I’ve got you for a while, you’re the perfect person to talk to today. Have you been following the Super Hero Soldier—you know, the one who parachuted into the Potomac River the other day?”
“I’m familiar with him, yes,” Flynn said.
“So, what do you think? Government conspiracy? Deranged lunatic? Somewhere in between? I’m dying to know the truth.”
“You and me both,” Flynn said.
“I thought you were an expert at sniffing out such crimes.”
Flynn nodded. “Expert might be taking it a bit too far.” He sat forward in his seat. “I consider myself a journalist first and foremost—the kind of journalist who prefers to gather all of the facts first before jumping to any wild conclusions.”
“What kind of journalist does that these days?” Prescott said, eyeing Flynn in the rearview mirror.
Flynn shrugged.
Before he could say another word, Prescott blurted out, “An unemployed one! Get it? The kind of journalist who doesn’t sensationalize doesn’t have a job.”
Flynn waved him off. “Oh, I get it. It’s just not that accurate. Outside of the tabloids, most journalists are committed to uncovering the truth. Some are better than others.”
Prescott steadied the hula girl wiggling on his dashboard. “What about you, miss?” he said, shifting his eyes towards Banks.
“It’s Jennifer.”
The correction didn’t rile Prescott in the least bit. “Okay, Jennifer. What about you? Are you a journalist?”
She chuckled. “Oh, goodness, no. I can barely stand to be around them.”
“Yet here you are with one of the nation’s most well-respected journalists.”
She laughed again. “True, but Mr. Flynn’s always going to be a spook first, journalist second.”
Flynn scowled at her. “Look, I wish I could help you more, but don’t know much more than you do and—”
Prescott held his finger in the air then poked the die. “Much more. No, no, no. You can’t fool me, Mr. Flynn. I’ve lived in this city long enough to pick up on catch phrases for spinning a lie and making it sound like the truth. You do know something else that I don’t know, don’t you?”
Flynn took a deep breath and shifted in his seat. “What’s the biggest conspiracy that remains unsolved in our country’s history?”
“Who shot JFK?”
Flynn waved him off. “And you call yourself a fan? I solved that last year. Try to keep up, Mr. Prescott.”
“Area 51.”
Flynn sat back in his seat. “You didn’t hear that from me.” He watched the rearview mirror as Prescott’s eyes lit up.
Prescott slammed his fist on the steering wheel. “I knew it!” he said, flicking the hula girl shaking on his dashboard. He leaned down, getting on eye-level with the tottering toy. “I told you it had to do with aliens, girl. I just knew it!”
Flynn leaned over to Banks and whispered, “Are all Uber drivers like this?”
She pointed toward a sticker on the back window that read, “My other car is a UFO.”
He shook his head.
“They’re not all like this,” she whispered back. “But then again, everyone is a conspiracy theorist, right?”
Flynn bit his lip, letting go of her not-so-subtle dig. In a matter of seconds, several comebacks popped into his head, but he decided he’d rather keep the peace than keep score with witty banter—at least with Banks.
He handed her his phone. “Why don’t you try your phone again? Maybe Thatcher will answer this time?”
“I don’t know why he would.”
“Just do it, okay?”
She took the phone and dialed. After the third ring he picked up. “Hello?”
“Is this Special Agent Banks?” Thatcher asked.
“Yeah—and I wanna know what the hell you thought you were doing. That was stupid what you did last night.”
“Actually, it was a stroke of genius—not to mention I saved my friend’s life.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I can’t go into details now, but I’ll tell you about it later. I just had to meet my friend who could examine the liquid in the vial I took from that compound in Afghanistan. According to her, it’s not Korean.”
“Look, let’s not talk about this right now,” Banks said. “Where are you?”
“I’m at my friend’s lab downtown,” he said before giving her the address. “She had to go to work this morning, so I tagged along with her.”
“Stay right there and don’t talk to anyone.”
“Affirmative.”
She hung up and gave Prescott the address.
“The Goldstein Group? This must be really juicy,” Prescott said. “There are all kinds of rumors on conspiracy boards about that place.”
“Don’t hold your breath—we’re just going to meet a friend who borrowed my car last night.”
“Oh.” He paused and thought for a moment. “This is how you do it, isn’t it?”
“Do what?” Banks asked.
“Deceive the general public into thinking everything’s okay when really there’s a shit storm going on and we’re all gonna die if you don’t do something about it.”
Flynn chuckled. “Man, you watch too many movies.”
Prescott shook his head. “I thought you were one of us, man. A true believer. But now I’m starting to doubt it all. I’m even beginning to wonder if you’re a plant by our government to make sure nobody finds out the truth as you investigate everything.”
Flynn leaned forward in his seat. “Here’s what I’m gonna do for you, Prescott. I’m gonna attend a Q and A session that you host when my next book comes out. Invite your friends, your chat room buddies, your grandma—I don’t care. And I’ll come over and answer everyone’s questions. How does that sound?”
A grin spread across Prescott’s face. “You really mean it?”
Flynn handed him a business card. “I’ve never been very good at joking.”
“Deal, Mr. Flynn. Wait until the guys hear this.”
“But no disparaging me online, got it? That wouldn’t be kind, now would it?”
Prescott shook his head. “No, sir. It wouldn’t—and it’d be a lie.”
Flynn sat back in his seat after patting Prescott on the shoulder. “That’s right. It would be one big lie. And if there’s anything I’ve learned about you during this ride, it’s that you are all about the truth.”
Prescott nodded and poked his fuzzy die again. “I know you’d bring me good luck today.”
Banks rolled her eyes and looked at her GPS. They were almost at The Goldstein Group.
“This is fine here,” she said.
“You sure you don’t want me to take you
all the way?” Prescott asked.
“Nope. We’ll take it from here. Thanks for the ride.”
Flynn and Banks climbed out of the car and watched it drive away.
“Now that was an experience,” Flynn said.
“Is it always like that with you out in public?”
“What do you mean?”
“Nut jobs fawning all over you, telling you how amazing you are?”
Flynn shrugged. “I don’t think he thought I was that amazing.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I get it from time to time—and it can be annoying. But it’s also a good reminder that it’s because of these people that I have my job.”
“If I had a job only because of whack jobs—”
“Be careful what you say there, Special Agent Banks, because if it weren’t for all the whack jobs who think they can outsmart you, you’d also be doing something else.”
“And what kind of job do you think I’d have?”
“A model?”
She rolled her eyes.
“A Bond girl.”
She shoved him playfully. “Please. I’m not into all that misogynistic garbage. Bond would be dead at the bottom of a river if it weren’t for all those women.”
“Or dead in his own bed.”
“That, too.” She stopped. “I mean, can’t you think of at least one respectable profession I might have if I didn’t work for the Bureau?”
“Martial arts instructor?”
“I’ll take what I can get.” She gestured toward the building. “We’re here.”
“This ought to be interesting.”
Once inside, they asked the receptionist to ring Dr. Watson, who brought Staff Sgt. Thatcher with her into the lobby.
After brief introductions, Dr. Watson said, “You must excuse me, for I have an urgent errand that I have to run. I’ll reconnect with you later and fill you in on everything.”
She scurried out the door and into the parking lot.
Banks then leaned in close to Thatcher. “If you ever try to pull a stunt like that again—”
Thatcher put up his hand. “Save your threats. We’re on the same side. I just wasn’t sure I could trust you. I had to do some research on you two—and find out what was inside this vial. If I gave it to you to figure out, it would’ve entered some chain of custody protocol and we may have never found out the truth.”
Imminent Threat Page 13
