“I’ve got no idea,” Hawk said over the coms. “But let Blunt know that the address was a dead end.”
CHAPTER 38
Washington, D.C. airspace
BLACK STUDIED THE INSTRUMENTS and adjusted his airspeed as he neared Hyde Field runway just outside Washington. His co-pilot eyed him cautiously as he prepared to contact the tower. While Black was comfortable with communicating in code with the tower, he wasn’t sure if his co-pilot had been bluffing earlier with regards to his aviation skills. And for that reason, Black reached into his pocket and checked for his weapon.
For the past hour, Black had gone over every scenario he could imagine as he flew in silence. He didn’t have enough firepower to take out the terrorists assembled in the cabin. Any attempt to engage them in a firefight with just one gun would end in him taking a bullet or two. Or maybe more. And that also sealed Shields’ fate.
If he crashed the plane, he could do so in a way that he could survive and at the same time seriously injure most of the passengers. Also a viable option that would result in death for Shields. He removed that one from his list.
Then there was staying the course and hoping they didn’t shoot him moments after landing.
Whatever Black decided to do, he needed to decide quickly—and hope that for Shields’ sake he chose wisely.
Right before Black radioed the tower, the cockpit door flung open and Zahid stuck his head inside. “How much longer before we land?”
“We’ll be on the ground in about three minutes, give or take,” Black said.
“Excellent,” Zahid said. He cut his eyes at the co-pilot. “Make sure everything goes as planned.”
Black glanced at the co-pilot’s hand positioned on his thigh. A bulge in his pocket suggested he was carrying a weapon and that Zahid wanted the man to use it.
“Of course, sir,” the co-pilot said before offering a thin smile.
“See you on the ground,” Zahid said as he closed the door.
Black heard Zahid say something to the passengers before they erupted with chanting.
“Pretty excited back there,” Black said.
“They have reason to be,” the co-pilot said. “They’re about to enter infamy.”
“The kind they never return from?”
“You’re a funny man.”
“It was a serious question.”
The co-pilot chuckled and shook his head. “No, it wasn’t. But you pretending like it was is even more humorous.”
Black grabbed the radio and adjusted the channel. He acted as if he wanted to increase the volume but slyly changed the channel to the emergency frequency.
At this point, Black’s job was simple: Carry out a normal approach conversation with the tower. But their job was far more complicated, attempting to sound like a normal tower but instead giving coded instructions. It was dangerous, especially if the co-pilot ever noticed Black was talking on a different frequency.
“Hyde Field, Gulfstream seven zero three two, ILS to 1-2 right,” Black said.
“Gulfstream seven zero three two—two-twenty, light gusts of five miles per hour, north northwest. Cleared to land at Hyde Field, 1-2 right.”
“Gulfstream seven zero three two,” Black repeated. “Hyde Field, 1-2 right.”
The conversation was mundane. The co-pilot, whether he was actually bluffing about his aviation experience or telling the truth, wouldn’t be able to tell that anything else was being communicated other than a normal exchange between the pilot and the tower. But there was far more being said than anyone could decipher.
Black’s training taught him that when he was in a situation like this, he was on his own as it pertained to landing. It was a small airfield and he wasn’t likely to encounter any other planes. It was the agency’s job to alert the tower about the situation and keep the airspace and runways clear for a short period of time. All Black needed was to get the plane on the ground safely. But something had gone wrong, terribly wrong.
The report of wind less than five miles an hour signaled that the operation on the ground had gone south. The direction “north, northwest” meant that he was on his own.
At this point, Black still had a choice. He could crash the plane and hope for the best. He could even attempt to land, trusting that he could convince them to release Shields. But Black didn’t believe that was a likely scenario, given what he’d learned about Zahid and Kazadi. Neither man ever seemed to be in a benevolent mood. And that put the onus of figuring out the next step squarely on Black’s shoulders. However he decided to handle the landing, he was on his own.
Black looked at the co-pilot and forced a smile, all while adroitly turning the volume down on the radio and easing the channel back to the right one. The co-pilot never glanced at Black’s hands.
“You’re almost home,” the co-pilot said. “How do you feel about that?”
“I’ll feel better once I know that my colleague is safe,” Black said.
“When we’re safely on the ground,” the co-pilot said as he eased his gun out of his pocket and trained it on Black.
“There’s no need for that,” Black said, remaining cool as he nodded at the gun. “Do I look like a threat to you while I’m flying this airplane?”
“Just think of it as an insurance policy.”
Black chuckled and shook his head. “That’s one helluva plan. You shoot me, you die. Crazy how that works.”
“I already told you that I can fly this plane.”
Black furrowed his brow and shook his head. “I doubt that because if you were, you would’ve shot me already. I just got us into the country with the tower and you heard the runway we’re going to land on. So, no need to keep me now.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
Black shrugged. “I knew you were full of shit.”
“Watch it,” the man said, jabbing his gun toward Black. “You just keep your mouth shut and fly this plane.”
“Roger that, captain.”
Black realized the moment they came to a halt that the man was going to shoot him. There was no other reasonable possibility given the situation. For all they knew, Black hadn’t been able to communicate with anyone since they captured him. And once he got them on the ground, his usefulness would be gone. And there was no need to leave any loose ends.
Black steadied the aircraft and lowered the landing gear. They were two minutes away from touching down and he still felt uneasy about his plan, mostly because none of it guaranteed that Shields would survive.
In the moment, he had two primary concerns: keeping President Young safe and making sure Shields survived.
And he wasn’t sure he could do both.
CHAPTER 39
Washington, D.C.
RACHEL GELLER READ over her speech as she paced around the green room in the bowels of the Kennedy Center. Two members of her security detail stood by the entrance like automatons, only moving occasionally to respond to the chatter over their coms. Outside the room, a pair of Secret Service agents guarded the entrance.
As she rehearsed her remarks quietly to herself, a small picture dropped out of her papers. One of her staff members had slipped in a captioned photograph torn from a magazine of three girls posing with a stack of textbooks. Only their eyes could be seen through their burkas, but Geller would’ve sworn she could see them smiling. The jagged mountains loomed behind the girls in the distance along with a pair of soldiers, serving as a reminder of the stark reality facing female students in Afghanistan. These were the girls she was fighting for, the girls she was willing to play the political game in Washington for. In the end, she determined it was worth it, though she still loathed the rigged system that did more to fatten the wallets of politicians than it did to help the American people, much less other countries. The scraps thrown from the table were all well received, even viewed as benevolent by the subservient few who hoped to feast with the swine one day. At least, that was how she saw things.
In her short tenure as Secretary of
State, Geller found changing things from the inside was an arduous challenge. But she had a far better chance to inch situations in a more favorable direction from there than she did from the outside.
Geller again studied the girls’ faces, at least what she could see of them. The moment captured seemed almost surreal if it had been taken a decade earlier. But the future had arrived, even in the rural regions of the country—and she wasn’t about to let it fade back to the way it was.
“Looking at some future suicide bombers?” a man asked.
She turned her head quickly toward the direction of the voice. David Salisbury stood smiling at her while holding Abe and scratching him behind his ears.
Geller wanted to give him an earful but thought better of it. “I was thinking future doctors and lawyers for the people of Afghanistan.”
“Rachel, I think you would’ve learned by now that women aren’t the same in every culture. Some don’t want careers. Some women just want to be the caretakers of their home and nurture their children.”
“And there’s nothing wrong with that,” Geller said. “There’s also nothing wrong with them doing other things too. But whatever they decide to do, it’d just be nice if they could read, don’t you agree?”
Salisbury grinned. “Now, that right there is why the president hired you to run the State Department. You have a way about you of diffusing even the harshest of comments.”
“Was that a test?” she asked.
Salisbury shrugged. “The world may never know how I really feel about that. But I just wanted to see if you really were as good as advertised.”
“I never let my guard down,” she said with a wink.
“And that’s what I appreciate about you,” he said, taking her hand in his and shaking it. “Thank you so much for that wonderful interview you did with Michelle Ryland. It’ll strike all the right notes with the viewers and show what a compassionate person you are who was thrust in a difficult situation.”
“I just told the truth about what happened,” she said.
“I’m sure you did, but it was the way you told it.”
Geller sighed. “Contrary to how your brain works, I don’t sit around and think about how to spin everything so it sounds better than it really is. That’s the funny thing about the truth. It makes you sound genuine … because you are.”
Salisbury rubbed his hands together. “So, are you ready for your big night?”
She rolled her eyes. “You know I’m not a big fan of this. It’s my fault. You know the saying, play stupid games, win stupid prizes? Well, that was me in Africa. I was too cocky that nothing would go wrong and that if it did, I’d get out of it unscathed.”
“Yet strangely enough, that’s exactly what happened,” Salisbury said, tapping his temple with his forefinger. “It’s like you had this premonition.”
“The president is the one who suspected something like this might happen. And he was right.”
“But that doesn’t mean he was happy about it.”
She nodded. “Which is why I think it’s really nutty that he wants to give me an award tonight for courage. When I originally asked to go, I think he basically said I was stupid for wanting to enter such a dangerous place. But now he’s going to reward me for my stupidity?”
“Consider this your official welcome to Washington,” Salisbury said. “Things don’t always work like you think they should in this town, if they even work at all.”
“Don’t I know that already.”
“Well, I don’t care what he chooses to honor you for because you deserve it. Everything you endured is one thing, but to come straight out of that and negotiate an alliance that’s going to help keep the American people and the rest of the world safer in the future, that’s definitely worth some recognition.”
“If you say so,” she said before turning her attention to her speech.
“All right, well, I’ll let you get back to it,” Salisbury said before exiting the room.
Geller was left alone with her thoughts as she tried to memorize key points of her speech. She wanted to look directly at the camera when she said certain lines, hoping to connect with the American people. She wanted to be relatable and strong. And deep down, she wanted to explore a run at the presidency.
That’s where I can really get things done.
She sat down at a table and cracked open a bottle of water. After a few swigs, she continued reading. However, her concentration was broken when she heard some of the chatter over the coms.
“Is everything all right?” she asked as she looked up at her security team.
One of the men, Anthony, put his right index finger to his ear and held his other one toward Geller, signaling for her to wait.
She scowled and mouthed to the other agent, “What’s going on?”
When she didn’t receive an answer, she got up and walked toward the men.
“We’ve got it, Madam Secretary,” Anthony said. “You focus on your speech.”
Before he could say anything else, two members of the Secret Service entered the room and huddled with her guys.
“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” she asked as she stamped her foot.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Anthony said. “We’re just working through something right now.”
“Would you mind sharing with me what’s going on?” she said. “I have sufficient security clearance to talk about whatever it is that has you guys scurrying about and going on like middle school girls swapping gossip in the hallway.”
“There’s a potential threat, ma’am,” Anthony said bluntly.
One of the Secret Service members glared at Anthony.
“What?” Anthony said defensively. “She has a right to know.”
“Damn right I do,” Geller said. “Now, what kind of threat are we talking about? A bomb? A suicide bomber? Is this threat active? On the premises?”
The lead Secret Service agent sighed and put his hands on his hips. “There’s a potential threat, ma’am.”
“So, nothing is confirmed?” she asked.
“Not yet. We’re still trying to piece together all the information.”
Anthony nodded. “But it’s pretty serious, Madam Secretary. They’re recommending we evacuate the building.”
Geller furrowed her brow. “Then why aren’t we?”
“The president is worried about how that would look,” Anthony said.
“An attack on the Kennedy Center with all these famous people will look a whole helluva lot worse,” she said.
“Agreed, ma’am,” the Secret Service agent said. “But, like you, we serve at the pleasure of the president. Besides, nothing has been substantiated yet. POTUS is unwilling to take any action.”
Geller shook her head. “I hope it’s not too late.”
“Me and you both, ma’am,” Anthony said.
Geller took another long pull on her water bottle and tried to think about her speech. But her concentration was gone.
There was only one thing she could think about now.
CHAPTER 40
SHIELDS TWISTED IN THE trunk, trying to get away from the piece of metal jabbing her in the back. With her hands bound together, she shifted until she managed to scoot on top of the spare tire. She thought the blindfold was overkill, given that they exited the house in darkness. But her vote didn’t matter. It was clear to her that the terrorists who abducted her were going to do whatever they wanted to with her. And that never seemed more terrifying than it did at the moment.
The car’s tires hummed as they rolled on for a long stretch, more than likely on the interstate. She estimated that they’d been on the interstate at least a half-hour without turning, meaning they were heading far out. Uncertain of the implications of her transport well out of the city, she considered how she might turn the tables on her captors.
Since she was still alive, she could only assume that Agent Black had complied with their demands. But maybe he’d just reneged and they wanted t
o take her to the forest and bury her where nobody would find her body for years, if at all. It was the worst possible scenario and one of her greatest fears. She’d die in the woods, never to be found, never to be mourned—and all alone.
Determined not to let that happen, Shields considered her options. And there weren’t many. Running away with a blindfold on one leg wasn’t likely to result in freedom. She experienced a phantom pain, reaching for her leg and wanting to scratch it. But it wasn’t there.
Apparently, her hostage takers removed it after she took a knock to the head, even after insisting they didn’t have time to do so.
What are they so worried about?
Without it, there wasn’t much she could do. But she could still be a pain in their ass about it.
Shields guessed they’d traveled an hour outside of the city before they exited the highway. The car wound around some twisting roads at a slower speed, indicating to her that they were probably on a two-lane county or state route. A few minutes later, they were creeping along a washboard dirt road. She heard the men talking to each other loudly about how to handle the situation, convincing her that they were about to kill her.
The brakes squeaked as the car came to a stop. She heard them continuing their conversation in hushed tones. Then, the trunk door swung open, and the sound of the rusty hinges made Shields cringe.
“You might want to put some WD-40 on that,” Shields said.
Nixon growled. “You blindfolded her instead of gagging her?”
“I know, she’s mouthy,” Bunny man replied. “But I’m tired of wearing that stupid bunny head.”
“It actually enhances your looks, bro.”
“Can we just waste this chick and get this over with? That way we don’t have to worry about what we’re wearing.”
“We’re still waiting on orders from the boss,” Nixon said. “We’ll know what to do soon enough.”
Shields processed the information she gleaned from their conversation and decided to engage them as long as she wasn’t gagged.
“Hope you’re making quite a pretty penny to kill some random woman and bury her in the woods,” Shields said. “Because I can tell you right now that when you murder a federal agent, you won’t be shown any mercy.”
State of Conspiracy (Titus Black Thriller series Book 8) Page 17
