The Shadow Hunter (The Phoenix Chronicles Book 1)

by R. J. Patterson

  “The truth is, Prince Salman raised the capital necessary to launch the company but then stepped away. Unless you knew the origins of TSG, you wouldn’t have any idea that he was a part of it. He’s not even listed on the website anymore.”

  “P.T. Barnum nailed it when he said there was a sucker born every minute,” one of the agents at the table quipped.

  “So what do you think the hackers actually got?” Besserman asked.

  “What I think they found were dormant accounts, accounts that didn’t have any activity for a decade or more and would’ve gone largely ignored,” McMurtry said. “The owners wouldn’t be monitoring it since they had likely forgotten about it. And the bank wouldn’t be on high alert when money exited the account since the hackers utilized accounts with enormous balances.”

  Besserman stroked his chin. “And what was TSG’s role in all of this?”

  “They covered the hacker’s tracks,” McMurtry said. “They made it seem like nothing was gleaned in the hack. But in reality they were merely mining for dormant accounts to siphon money from.”

  “I have to admit, I’m impressed,” Besserman said. “So we know the what and the how, but it’s the who that we don’t know. Is that correct?”

  McMurtry nodded. “I wish I could give you more, sir. But I—”

  “This is a great start,” Besserman said. “You should be proud of this, Mac. This is the kind of work that gets you a corner office.”

  McMurtry turned three shades of red as he sat down.

  A knock at the door stole everyone’s attention before a perky blonde poked her head inside.

  “Director Besserman, you have a call,” she said.

  Besserman sighed. “Take a message. This is an important meeting we’re in right now.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. But I can’t. It’s the White House. There’s an emergency meeting and your presence is requested.”

  Besserman shook his head as he stood.

  This can’t be good.

  CHAPTER 4

  Bridger, Montana

  BRADY HAWK YANKED a bale of hay off a stack and carried it out of the barn. He constantly looked down, checking for John Daniel darting back and forth around him. A thin layer of snow blanketed the ground, while the surrounding mountain peaks were coated with a fresh foot of powder.

  “Watch out there, little buddy,” Hawk said as John Daniel zipped by, lost in his own world of make-believe.

  Hawk couldn’t help but crack a smile, happy that his son could play in the mountains and grow up far away from the rat race that consumed Washington, D.C. There was a time when Hawk didn’t mind living in the nation’s epicenter, but it seemed like ages ago now. He and Alex never imagined they could find such peace and contentment living on a mountainside in Montana, deciding to move into such isolation for a year to decompress from the enduring stress of keeping the country safe in the shadows.

  “Dad, watch me!” John Daniel shouted from atop a hay bale.

  Hawk turned toward the direction of his son’s voice. The four-year-old had a piece of straw hanging out of his mouth as he crouched low. Once Hawk locked eyes with him, the boy jumped upward, leaping into the snow. He rolled a few times before coming to a stop and then scrambling to his feet. Throwing his hands in the air, he looked up at his dad.

  “Was that cool or what?” John Daniel asked.

  Hawk chuckled and nodded. “That was pretty great, son. Where’d you learn to do that?”

  “I saw Spiderman do it on TV,” John Daniel said. “I’m going to be like him one day.”

  Hawk appreciated the fact that his son could have a stable childhood. Growing up with a single mother wasn’t easy for Hawk. She was always looking for work and trying to figure out ways to keep food on the table. The fact that Thomas Colton, CEO of Colton Industries, was believed to be Hawk’s father and helped lighten the financial burden for Hawk’s mother helped as he grew older. But everything felt fragile to Hawk, as if anything he counted on could vanish without any warning. And Hawk determined that wasn’t how things would be for John Daniel.

  Hawk smiled as he trudged through the snow back to the barn for another bale, thinking about John Daniel’s re-enactment of a superhero scene. However, Hawk stopped in his tracks when he looked up and saw a person leaning against the edge of the barn.

  Alex was walking hurriedly toward Hawk. “I tried to tell her you won’t be interested, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  Hawk glanced up at the woman wearing a dark pant suit and clutching a leather portfolio. He put his head back down and kept walking toward the stack of hay bales.

  “Alex is right, you know,” Hawk said as he wrapped his arms around another bale.

  Morgan May was tapping at the dirt floor when Hawk turned around. “Right about what?”

  “About not being interested,” Hawk said.

  “How can you say that? You don’t even know why I’m here,” she said.

  Hawk lumbered toward the feeding trough before filling it with hay. He spread it out so the horses could get to it more easily before whistling.

  “Tucker! Dusty! Come and get it,” Hawk said. He waited for the horses to come running before returning to the barn.

  Morgan hadn’t moved.

  “I warned you,” Alex said to Morgan. “I hate that you came all the way out here for nothing, but we’re not interested in returning to your world.”

  “Alex,” Morgan said, “you were always a terrible liar.”

  “This isn’t a lie,” Alex said. “We love it out here. Just look at this place.”

  Hawk nodded. “Alex speaks for the both of us, Morgan. This is our life now. And it’s that little guy’s life too.”

  Morgan cut her eyes toward John Daniel, who was constructing a horse out of snow.

  “Look, Dad. This one is my size,” he said. “I’m gonna call him Snowflake.”

  Hawk and Alex both laughed softly and then offered John Daniel encouragement.

  “He’s definitely a cute kid,” Morgan said.

  Hawk shrugged. “What can I say? He takes after his mother.”

  Morgan offered a thin smile before it quickly faded.

  “What are you doing out here?” Hawk said.

  Morgan sighed and stared off into the distance. “You won’t return my calls. And it feels like you’re avoiding me.”

  “Unless you’re selling ranch equipment, I’m not interested in whatever mission you’re trying to wrangle me into.”

  “Actually, I wanted to speak with both of you about this particular mission,” Morgan said, a faint smile creeping across her lips as she glanced at Alex. “I don’t plan on leaving until you’ve heard me out.”

  “Fine,” Alex said. “If it’ll make you go away, I’ll listen.”

  “Should we go inside?” Morgan asked.

  Alex led everyone back to the house. They sat down across from the large fireplace situated in the center of the room.

  “Don’t you worry about John Daniel climbing up on the hearth?” Morgan asked.

  Alex shook her head and laughed. “It only took one time for him to get too close before he figured out on his own that it wasn’t a good idea.”

  Morgan leaned forward in her chair. “I understand the two of you are helping with private security now. Are you enjoying the work?”

  “It beats getting shot at with real bullets,” Hawk said.

  “And I get to stay home most of the time,” Alex said, glancing at John Daniel, who’d moved on to riding around the house on his metal fire truck that was more suited for outdoors. “But if I have to travel, my aunt and uncle live in Billings, which isn’t too far away. John Daniel seems to enjoy his visits with them as well.”

  Hawk stared at the mix of snow and mud still clinging to his boots. “How’s J.D.?”

  “Oh, my uncle, the infamous Senator Blunt,” Morgan said, shaking her head. “He’s still enjoying retirement.”

  “He’s not the one who sent you here?” Hawk as
ked.

  Morgan looked at the floor and shifted in his chair. “To be honest, he told me not to come. He said you’d be reluctant to do anything for Magnum.”

  “Magnum?” Alex asked. “Is this the name of your new secret task force?”

  Morgan nodded. “It’s not quite as secret as I’d like it to be. But keeping our base of operations in Los Angeles has at least kept the meddling politicians out of our business.”

  “Good move,” Hawk said. “Blunt was always proud of you and told me on several occasions that he anticipated you’d do great things in the intelligence field.”

  “We’re just getting started, but I hope to prove Uncle J.D. to be a prophet.”

  Hawk wanted the conversation to end. He didn’t want to be lured into joining any of her missions. He also wasn’t sure he could resist, which would devastate Alex. They’d both agreed that their life of harrowing adventure was over. No more globe-trotting. No more danger. No more risk taking. They’d entered a new phase of their relationship with the birth of John Daniel and decided they couldn’t continue as they had. Someone else would have to save the country from imminent threats. They were done.

  Morgan explained briefly that Magnum had been designed to replace the Phoenix Foundation, picking up where it had left off several years ago. She was working with CIA Director Robert Besserman for off-the-books operations, the kind where the U.S. government couldn’t be involved no matter how badly it wanted to. Then she shared that she’d hired Mia, the infamous Helenos-9 black hat hacker, as well as Big Earv, a former Secret Service agent that Hawk and Alex knew well from their time in Washington.

  “So you want to get the band back together?” Hawk asked.

  “In a manner of speaking, yes,” Morgan said. “I can tell you more later about what we do and how we operate, but I first want to tell you about this mission.”

  “I could save you the time,” Hawk said. “We could just call this visit good, and you can drive back to the airport knowing that you tried.”

  “Or you could at least hear me out,” Morgan said. “I’ve come this far. What would it hurt to listen for a few seconds more?”

  Hawk sighed and looked out the window at John Daniel. “I really do appreciate you thinking about me, but Alex and I can’t leave. We have John Daniel to think about now.”

  “Well, we have an operative who may never see his son again unless you help us,” Morgan said.

  Hawk squirmed in his chair, reluctant to ask the question because he was afraid of what Morgan might tell him. But he also couldn’t let her leave without at least knowing who was in trouble.

  “Do I know this operative?” he asked.

  “I think so,” she said. “Do you recall serving with Eddie Tyson?” Morgan asked.

  Hawk pursed his lips and nodded almost imperceptibly. “He was one of the Navy SEALs I met during training. We have quite a history.”

  “Go on,” she said.

  “On our final training mission, my oxygen tank started leaking when we were trying to investigate a shipwreck. We had to swim through an old destroyer that the Navy sank off the coast of our base at Coronado. On our way out of the wreckage, I got hung up on some rusted metal, and when I tried to get free, some of the structure collapsed, pinning me down. Tyson gave me his tank while he freed me from the debris. If he hadn’t been able to get me loose so quickly, I don’t like to think about what would’ve happened. But I have a feeling you know this already.”

  Morgan shook her head. “I knew you were close, but I didn’t realize he’d saved your life.”

  “Yeah, we didn’t exactly put that in the post-op report,” Hawk said. “So what’s going on with Tyson? Is he in trouble?”

  “Yes, very much so,” Morgan said. “And he needs your help.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Yakutsk, Russia

  EDDIE TYSON LOOKED at his bloody knuckles as the Russian who’d once appeared invincible was lying prone on the concrete floor. The crowd shouted at the fallen fighter, urging him to continue with the match. Tyson took a deep breath as he shot a sideways glance at the event’s organizer. Peter gave Tyson a knowing look, one that he was about to ignore.

  The Russian staggered to his feet amidst the chants of “Ursa, Ursa, Ursa!” The Russian Bear was his nickname, and tonight’s bare-fisted brawl was supposed to be staged. With a handful of Russian generals in town visiting the Yakutsk prison, the owner instructed Tyson to go three rounds before taking a dive in the fourth. But five rounds into the match, Tyson was getting the best of his opponent.

  The Russian staggered to his feet and spit in Tyson’s direction.

  “You missed,” Tyson said.

  Bear growled through gritted teeth. He backed up a few steps before rushing toward Tyson. Diving to his left, he avoided all contact. Tyson scrambled to his feet and hit the unsuspecting Russian in the back. Bear turned around and grabbed both of Tyson’s arms, lifting his feet off the ground. As Tyson struggled to free himself, the crowd laughed and shouted, delighted by the power move.

  “Finish him! Finish him!” they chanted in Russian.

  He had seen the Bear’s signature move before and wanted no part of it. Frantic to escape Bear’s grip, Tyson drew his leg up and kicked backward, jamming his opponent in the stomach. The shock of the blow was just enough for Tyson to break away. He hustled across the room and spun around to find Bear charging toward him.

  This time, Tyson didn’t have a chance to evade the Russian. Instead, Tyson dropped to the ground and aimed a kick toward Bear’s kneecaps. The Russian buckled and collapsed, falling on his side with a thunderous clap on the concrete.

  The bloodthirsty crowd gasped as their hero lay motionless.

  Tyson glanced over at Peter, who set his jaw and shook his head subtly. The warning wasn’t heeded.

  Tyson delivered several body blows before dishing out a half-dozen headshots. He would’ve happily continued, but the Russian tapped out, ending the match to a chorus of boos. In the corner of the room, Tyson noticed the generals tearing up their betting slips and throwing them onto the ground. A scantily clad woman presented a tray full of glasses of vodka that one of the men knocked out of her hand, sending the drinks crashing to the floor.

  Tyson resisted the urge to smile as he shuffled toward the locker room. He only took one full stride inside it before Peter started berating the American.

  “We agreed that you would take a dive in the fourth,” Peter said. “But what was that? You knocked him out in the fifth.”

  “Maybe you should be talking to Bear for not being able to hold his own,” Tyson said.

  Moments later, Bear shuffled through the door, his face already starting to swell from the beating he’d taken. If he was upset about the way the fight had gone, he didn’t show it, instead taking a seat near his locker and changing in silence.

  Peter put his hands on his hips and paced, muttering to himself. Tyson ignored the man and started changing. After Tyson finished putting on a fresh pair of sweatpants, he heard the door whine as three familiar men entered the room. One of the men looked at Bear and Peter, who both understood that they needed to leave.

  “So,” Tyson said, “you came back for another show. And it hasn’t even been a week.”

  “It’s been five days, but this is no laughing matter,” the mustached man said. “Were you aware that there were generals here to witness your fight tonight?”

  Tyson nodded and refused to suppress a smile any longer. “They got one helluva show, didn’t they?”

  The bald man settled onto a bench across the room. “One of the generals wanted to put you in the Yakutsk Prison immediately.”

  “And who could blame him?” the bespectacled man chimed in. “He lost five thousand dollars on that fight.”

  “That explains why Peter wasn’t as mad as I thought he was,” Tyson said.

  “Peter will be dealt with in due time, but you are the person who ruined the visiting generals’ evening,” mustache said. “And tha
t doesn’t reflect well on any of us.”

  “So, what are we gonna do about this, gentlemen?” Tyson asked. “Are you just going to keep threatening me?”

  Mustache shook his head. “No more threats. Just promises. And there’s only one way out of this for you.”

  “Sorry, but I don’t have any more information for you,” Tyson said.

  “We already know,” baldie said. “Instead, you’ll be delivering a package for us.”

  Tyson smirked. “A package? Has Russia run out of couriers?”

  Mustache shook his head. “We need you to make a special delivery to North Korea.”

  “Oh, no, no, no,” Tyson said. “That’s not happening in a million years. You might as well put a bullet in my head right now because I won’t set foot in that country. They’ll tear me from limb to limb if they catch me.”

  “We’re aware of what you did there,” mustache said. “But there are consequences for your actions, including your reckless ones tonight. You will atone for what you did.”

  “Like hell I will if it means going into that cesspool of a country,” Tyson said, shaking his head. “Like I said, shoot me now or take me to the prison because those people are sick, and I have no doubt that you’ll just be using me and then handing me over to them.”

  “You will do what we ask,” baldie said.

  Tyson sneered in disgust. “Unless you plan on physically forcing me to drive there, dream on, Comrade.”

  “When we come, you better be ready,” mustache said. “There will be no grace extended to you again.”

  Tyson glared at the men as they filed out of the room. He finished gathering his things and stood to leave.

  Peter returned and looked at Tyson. “You should’ve taken the dive in the fourth.”

  Tyson mouthed a few choice insults at Peter before exiting the locker room.

  * * *

  IVAN VOLKOV ignited a cigarette and took a long drag before releasing a lungful of smoke skyward. He smoothed his mustache and looked at General Nikolai Orlov. The other two FSB agents accompanying Volkov flanked him, their hands dug deep into their pockets.