State of Conspiracy (Titus Black Thriller series Book 8)

by R. J. Patterson

  “Cause they’re sickos,” Locke said.

  “That’s one word for them.”

  “I get one SUV, but three? That just defies an explanation.”

  Locke furrowed his brow. “Who said anything about three SUVs?”

  “Well, how many were there?” Black asked.

  “Just one.”

  “Oh, shit,” Black said. “They’re on their way to Washington right now.”

  An ambulance skidded to a stop near the edge of the wreckage. Two paramedics got out and started assessing the situation as another fire truck rolled up to the scene.

  “Over here,” Black called. “He’s got an abdominal wound with some shrapnel that needs to be extracted.”

  The pair hustled over and started to work on Locke.

  “Thanks, Agent Locke,” Black said. “You may have just saved the president’s life.”

  “No, thank you for talking to me,” Locke said. “Go get those assholes.”

  Black nodded before hustling back toward his vehicle. He pulled out his phone and dialed Blunt’s number.

  “Did Shields get a hold of you?” Blunt asked upon answering.

  “She’s alive?”

  “Very much so.”

  “That’s a relief,” Black said. “But we’ve got some major problems right now.”

  “What the hell happened? You said something about a bomb, right?”

  “Zahid’s crew blew through an FBI roadblock,” Black said. “I wasn’t sure what happened, but I was certain no other vehicles could’ve survived that kind of explosion—unless they were nowhere near the blast.”

  “What are you saying?” Blunt asked.

  “Zahid had three SUVs. I assumed they were all loaded with his people. But I thought wrong. Apparently, one of them was packed with explosives and driven by a suicide bomber as far as I can tell.”

  “So, now what? We’re looking for two SUVs?”

  “If they haven’t already split up by now,” Black said. “But you need to get word to the Kennedy Center and get the president out of there. If not, it’s going to be a bloodbath.”

  “Roger that,” Blunt said. “What do you plan to do now?”

  Black grunted. “I’m gonna hunt the bastards down before they hurt anyone else.”

  CHAPTER 46

  Washington, D.C.

  PRESIDENT YOUNG WAVED and smiled as he strode out onto the stage at The Kennedy Center, music pumping through the loudspeakers. It wasn’t a campaign event, but it felt that way to him. A room full of adoring fans fawning over him. A prepared speech in his hand. But the similarities ended there. Young had no political rival to skewer; rather, he had nothing but a rumor to quell.

  He held up both hands in an attempt to quiet the crowd, mouthing “thank you” and “I love you, too” to the audience, which had risen to its feet in expressing such adulation. Young knew he’d inherited a White House plagued with scandals by his predecessor, Conrad Michaels. And Young knew that if Michaels hadn’t died in office, he would’ve likely paid for running with Michaels for the rest of his political career.

  But when “the presidency is just a heartbeat away” went from slogan to reality, Young seized his opportunity. His substantial policy shifts on domestic defense as well as international trade and tax relief had energized the country as well as strengthened the economy. And there was nothing Americans wanted more than the combination of safety and more money, a pursuit he sought to change his political fortunes.

  Judging by the warm reception he’d received, his plan had gone just as he’d hoped.

  When the crowd finally settled down, Young stepped up to the lectern and took hold of it with both hands. He bit his lip, trying to suppress the wide grin he wanted to let loose. Instead, he strained to maintain the image of a powerful leader instead of a cheesy gameshow host, even if that’s more what he felt like in the moment.

  “I was warned that being president would mean that a lot of people hate you,” Young said as he shook his head slowly. “But I think some people were lying to me.”

  “We love you, Mr. President,” a woman near the front shouted.

  The room erupted in laughter, followed by more applause.

  “Okay, okay,” Young said. “Now, we’re here tonight to honor some notable people in our country, people who’ve embodied what it means to be an American, people who have set aside their personal desires and ambition for the betterment of their fellow citizens. And ultimately, that’s what being an American is all about. This is a country full of hard-working people, the majority of who see it as their responsibility, their patriotic duty, to improve their communities. And everyone we’re honoring tonight has done just that.

  “However, not even many people who we’re honoring tonight have done that on such a level that everyone here has benefitted in one form or another from their contributions. But I’m going to introduce you to one such woman tonight. And I must confess that I’m a little emotional about it.

  “When the late Secretary of State, Sheila Hatcher, was killed in a terrorist attack,” Young continued, “I knew who I wanted for the job. But I didn’t know if it was fair of me to invite her to accept that role. And while I’d never considered the position of Secretary of State to be a dangerous one before, Secretary Hatcher’s death changed all that. I had to ask myself if anything happened to this woman, could I live with myself? The answer was no, so I vowed to only ask her to take the job if I could keep her safe. And to me, that meant keeping her close to home and guarded closely.”

  Young knew his speech so well that he decided to pace the stage as he continued. He felt relaxed and confident, finally getting his moment in front of the country to tell a story of bravery and heroism.

  “After a few weeks of having Secretary Geller on the job, I realized two things. One, I needed her out there, espousing the incredible benefits of governing a republic and what that means for the people. And two, she wasn’t about to stand for staying stateside, fully aware of the dangers that lurked in certain parts of the world. However, her experience in Afghanistan as a soldier in our military convinced me that she could handle anything. And recently, she proved that to be true. Besides, who could ever say no to her fiery spirit?”

  Young continued on, delighting the crowd with his engaging style of storytelling. He shared pieces of Geller’s story and hailed her a hero, promising everyone that the full details of what happened would be told by her in the morning on an interview with news personality Michelle Ryland. Then Young invited Geller onto the stage.

  The crowd rose to their feet again as they applauded her entrance. Some people broke decorum, hooting and hollering at her. Young gestured for her to continue as Geller seemed taken aback by the people’s reaction.

  When Young motioned for her to keep coming toward him so he could place the Presidential Medal of Freedom around her neck, Clint Rollins stood in the wings and gestured for Young to hurry up. Rollins pointed at the ground and mouthed the word “now.”

  Young forced a smile and then turned his attention back to Geller, hoping that no one could tell his concentration had been broken by someone standing offstage. Geller turned her back to him as he affixed the medal around her neck.

  “Thank you,” Geller said. “You are all so kind.”

  She gave a brief acceptance speech, thanking the president for the opportunity to represent the country in a different way than just in her military uniform. She also made vague references to what happened in Congo before concluding.

  The pair walked off the stage together before the Secret Service whisked them both down the hall.

  “What’s going on?” Young demanded.

  Rollins kept his head down, ushering the two politicians toward a back entrance. “There’s an imminent attack, sir. We wanted to make sure you were out of here before we dismiss everyone else.”

  “How imminent?” Young asked.

  “When the terrorists landed, we worked in conjunction with the FBI and Homeland Secur
ity to set up a perimeter around the building,” Rollins said. “Zahid and his crew have already penetrated that.”

  Geller stopped, stamping her foot. “I shouldn’t be here. This is against protocol.”

  “Madam Secretary, protocol be damned,” Rollins said. “That is, unless you want to die. We don’t have time to argue about this. I need you both to come with me so we can evacuate you from the danger area and get you to a more secure location.”

  “This isn’t right,” Geller said, shaking her finger at Rollins.

  “Let it go, Rachel,” Young said. “We need to keep moving.”

  “Your wife should be here instead of me,” Geller said to Young.

  “We’ve already secured the First Lady, sir,” Rollins said. “She’ll be waiting for you back at the White House bunker.”

  “Then let’s go,” Young said. “We don’t need to waste any more time quibbling about protocol.”

  Geller started moving slowly. “There’s a reason we have protocol.”

  “And there’s also a time to abandon such regulations,” Rollins said. “That time is now.”

  Rollins led them into the tunnel beneath the building before ushering them into the motorcade. Geller insisted on being in another vehicle, but Rollins denied her request.

  “Just get in the damn car,” Young said.

  “Who could ever say no to my fiery spirit?” she asked, repeating his line from the speech. “Well, you appear to be doing it right now.”

  “Ma’am, don’t make this more difficult than it has to be,” Rollins said.

  Geller growled as she climbed inside.

  “After-party cocktail?” Young asked, holding out a martini glass to Geller.

  She rolled her eyes and sat back in her seat. The limo lurched forward, keeping pace with the speeding motorcade that headed east toward the White House.

  No one else spoke as the car hummed through the street. The only sounds were the thrum of the engine and the squawking of other agents in Rollins’ ears.

  Young felt his hands beading up with sweat. He knew that Bahiri Zahid’s dream of exacting revenge wasn’t likely, but the thought of it made Young shiver. He’d seen videos of what Alsheri agents like Bahiri Zahid did to people they deemed their enemies. It was a violent mess, something Young didn’t want any part of. And he wasn’t going to relax until they were deep in the recesses of the White House and out of any imminent danger.

  “You look concerned, sir,” Geller said.

  “I don’t like any of this,” Young snapped. “If anything else happens, I’m going to look weak.”

  “Would you stop worrying about your image for just two damn minutes?” she said. “We’re in an emergency situation, and I’m sure everyone will understand what’s going on.”

  “My opponents will use this against me.”

  “Who cares,” Geller said. “And that’s not a question either. You won’t be able to care if you’re dead—isn’t that the reasoning you just used on me to convince me to break protocol? Besides, you’ve got some of the best trained agents in the world around you, not to mention one dead shot soldier.”

  “Who doesn’t have a gun,” Young said.

  Rollins reached down and hiked up his pants leg, revealing another gun. He looked at Geller. “Be my guest.”

  She smiled and took the weapon, briefly checking it out before turning her attention back to Young. “I do now.”

  “Good,” Young said. “Now just get this nightmare over with.”

  Suddenly the motorcade came to a stop.

  Young’s forehead creased as he peered out the window. “What’s going on out there? This is highly unusual.”

  “I know, sir,” Rollins said. “But we’re working on figuring it out.”

  The car in front of the president’s lifted several feet off the ground as a missile struck just beneath it. Young let out a string of expletives as he watched the vehicle catch fire. Two of the agents in the limo jumped out to return fire in the direction from which the missile was fired.

  Then the vehicle behind them was struck with another missile.

  “Get us out of here,” Young shouted.

  The limo driver lowered the glass separating the two compartments. He then turned to Rollins before killing him and the other Secret Service agent still in the car. Then he locked the door. “Sorry, Mr. President.”

  As he raised the glass back up, Geller fired a couple of shots at him, but neither penetrated the bulletproof glass. Young pushed her arm down.

  The driver spoke over the intercom. “Remove all the weapons from the vehicle immediately.”

  He rolled the window down about six inches.

  “Remember, I can see you.”

  Young and Geller complied. When they finished, the driver rolled the window back up and peeled off from the rest of the motorcade, which was still engaged in a gunfight with shooters on the rooftops nearby.

  As they drove away, two more missiles blasted the street below, finishing off all the Secret Service vehicles that could pursue Young’s limo.

  “Now this is a nightmare,” Geller said.

  Young closed his eyes and took a deep breath, certain he was about to face an excruciatingly painful death.

  “Are you a religious person?” Young asked.

  Geller shrugged.

  “Do you pray?” he asked.

  “Not really,” she said, “but I’m about to start.”

  CHAPTER 47

  Washington, D.C.

  BLACK CRUISED TOWARD downtown and fiddled with the radio until he found 97.1-FM on the dial, his favorite station that played a segment of 1970s disco tunes every night. When he found the station, the DJ was introducing Gloria Gaynor’s hit, “I Will Survive.” A faint smile spread across his face.

  If ever there was a soundtrack for my day today, this is it.

  He turned the radio up and zipped through the evening traffic, which was nearly non-existent. When he exited the freeway, he looped around to The Kennedy Center parking lot and headed toward the entrance. However, when he reached the perimeter, he realized nothing seemed amiss.

  The perimeter was heavily secured by a combination of Secret Service and FBI agents. Black noted a team of snipers on both the roof of the facility as well as the one directly across the street. He speculated that there were probably several others that he couldn’t see under the dead of night.

  He approached one of the agents and flashed his credentials to the man. “Quiet night,” Black said.

  The agent nodded but didn’t pay much attention to Black, instead continuing to scan the horizon for any potential trouble, just like he was trained to do.

  “When does this shindig finish?” Black asked.

  “Hell if I know,” the man said. “My shift doesn’t end until they tell me it does, so I don’t really care much about the program.”

  “Point taken,” Black said. “I just heard there was a potential threat tonight.”

  “There’s always a potential threat. But if anyone’s made any attempts to get through here tonight, they’ve failed miserably.”

  “Gotta keep POTUS safe.”

  The man shrugged. “That’s not my assignment any more tonight.”

  Black cocked his head to one side. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, he’s gone.”

  “As of when?”

  “I don’t know. Twenty minutes ago, maybe. The motorcade left and returned to the White House. If you were milling around, you wouldn’t have missed it.”

  Black squinted as he looked off into the distance, almost mimicking the face of the agent. “So, if POTUS isn’t here, where would the threat be?”

  The agent stopped and eyed Black cautiously. “Who’s your reporting officer?”

  “I’m not reporting to anyone here tonight,” Black said. “I just heard there was a threat and wanted to check things out.”

  “Oh, so you’re one of those agents.”

  “What are you talking about?�
� Black asked.

  “The sadistic kind that gets his kicks by firing his gun at enemy combatants,” the agent said. “Admit it. You just came down here tonight looking for a chance to pour some lead into some terrorist’s chest.”

  Black threw his hands up in the air. “Guilty as charged, my friend. Never any harm in seeking out some live target practice.”

  “There is if you’re not on assignment. Now I suggest you get out of here before one of my superiors comes around. But if you still need to blow off some steam, I can tell you about a range that simulates human interaction. You might appreciate it.”

  Black waved dismissively and stepped off the curb and into the parking lot. When he got out of earshot from the agent, Black dialed Blunt’s number.

  “The president’s not here,” Black said as soon as Blunt answered.

  “Where the hell are you?” Blunt asked.

  “I’m at The Kennedy Center. According to one of the guards here, Young left about twenty minutes ago and headed back to the White House.”

  “That was the plan,” Blunt said. “But he still hasn’t made it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I just heard from Besserman that the president’s motorcade was ambushed.”

  “Ambushed? How’d they pull that off?”

  “Someone on the inside is my guess,” Blunt said. “But that’s not all.”

  “There’s more?”

  “Yeah, Secretary Geller was with him.”

  Black opened his car door and hot-wired the engine, which sputtered for a moment before coming to life. “Why was she in his motorcade? They don’t have a thing, do they?”

  “No way,” Blunt said. “She was on stage when the threat came in. The Secret Service insisted on her staying with them because they feared some of the ADF and Alsheri agents might be lurking.”

  “That’s insane that they’d do that.”

  “Well, what’s done is done,” Blunt said. “Problem now is that nobody knows where the president is.”

  “I might know how to find him,” Black said. “Call Besserman and have someone track all the calls this phone number is about to make. I’m going to call Kazadi, and hopefully we can get a ping on his location.”