Behind Enemy Lines Read online

Incensed that he was denied a peek, he shrugged the two women off his arms and got in Black’s face.

  “Just who do you think you are?” the drunk said.

  Black ignored the man again, looking straight ahead. Irked by the apparent disrespect, he stepped back before taking a swing at Black. He reacted quickly, putting his hand up to stop the attempted blow. Then he twisted the man’s hand around, forcing him into submission and onto his knees.

  Black leaned down and spoke in a low and measured tone. “I think I’m the man who could further embarrass you right now, but you’re not really worth my time.”

  A ding signaled that the elevator had reached the lobby. As soon as the doors parted, the two girls hustled out and turned around to look at their escort.

  “Have a nice night,” Black said before turning the man’s hand once more, resulting in a yelp of pain.

  He scrambled to his feet and strode over to the girls, smoothing out his shirt and trying to act like nothing hand happened.

  Black hustled to his car and drove a half-hour south to Prince William Forest Park, where he dug a hole. Black knew it wasn’t deep enough to bury the body without it ever being found, but he was exhausted and knew there was plenty of work to be done if he and the Firestorm team were going to successfully apprehend the people behind the trafficking ring.

  Black returned to his apartment and reset his security system. After doing a thorough check of all the rooms, he crashed on the couch, passing out in a matter of minutes.

  When he awoke, he wasn’t certain if he was still dreaming. His blinds were closed, but there wasn’t anything other than the glow of the city lights illuminating the edges around the window.

  That’s when he heard it again, the sound that startled him awake. Someone was pounding on his front door.

  Black sat upright, yawned, and rubbed his eyes. He glanced at his watch.

  Are you kidding me?

  His clock read 4:30 a.m. He’d only been asleep for an hour.

  Black lumbered toward the front door and groaned. He looked at the camera and noticed it was Shields.

  “Do you know what time it is?” Black asked.

  “I’m fully aware,” she said. “Now, grab your go bag. We need to get moving.”

  Black squinted and shook his head. “Did I miss something?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I’ll fill you in once we get to my car.”

  “Seriously? Can you at least give me a clue as to what’s going on?”

  Shields sighed and set her jaw. “The feds are coming for you.”

  “For me? What on Earth for?”

  “The attempted murder of Sen. Gaither and the murder of Capt. Watkins.”

  CHAPTER 19

  BLUNT SPENT THE NEXT morning fielding calls from several high-ranking officials within various intelligence agencies to get his input on what might be the best way to capture Titus Black. While Blunt’s leadership over the clandestine black ops group was one of the better kept secrets in Washington, he was still regarded as one of the best intelligence minds in the city. And given the circumstances, he wished he wasn’t so highly regarded.

  After finishing a call from someone at the FBI, Blunt sank into his chair at his office and turned on the television to see if there were any more reports breaking about Black’s alleged crime. If Black wanted to disappear, he could. But Blunt needed one of his best assets pulling the curtain back on the apparent trafficking ring operating through the U.S. military. And Blunt hadn’t heard from Black since the FBI fingered him as the assassin.

  The news anchor blathered on about world markets and stock trends for a few minutes before a bold graphic flashed up on the screen along with some dramatic music, signaling that a big piece of news was forthcoming.

  “Law enforcement officials have released photos of the man they believe to be responsible for the attempted murder of Sen. Gaither yesterday as well as the death of Capt. Watkins at a welcome home rally for the Air Force pilot,” the newscaster said in a somber tone.

  A picture of Black flashed on the screen. Blunt breathed a sigh of relief when the image depicted was one of Black in disguise. In the photo, he had bleached-blond hair, a matching goatee, and contacts that turned his eyes brown.

  Blunt chuckled at the attempt to assist the public in identifying the alleged culprit, who appeared to be an entirely different person.

  That’s real helpful.

  “According to sources at the FBI, this man, Titus Black, is a former CIA operative who turned rogue several years ago and is a hitman for hire. Officials believe that Black may be connected to several other unsolved murders of political officials in Washington, including the death of longtime lobbyist Francis Norton, who was found dead under suspicious circumstances last month in his home overlooking the Potomac River.”

  Blunt shook his head and sighed. Someone was trying to cut Firestorm off at the knees—and there was no doubt who it was.

  The anchor continued his report, which was a rehash of the shooting, preceded by a warning that viewer discretion was advised. Shaky footage taken by members of the audience showed the attack again, though any images of Titus Black were conspicuously missing.

  “Officials found a sniper rifle with Black’s fingerprints on it on top of the Museum of Natural Sciences and have released footage of him scoping out the area several hours before the event began,” the newscaster said.

  Before the report concluded, Blunt’s phone buzzed. When he answered, Robert Besserman was on the other end.

  “J.D., how are you getting along this morning?” he asked.

  “I’d rather be on a sailboat in the Caribbean,” Blunt said.

  “Wouldn’t you rather be doing that any day?”

  Blunt grunted. “Here lately, I would. But there’s important work to be done, and I can’t entrust this work to anyone.”

  “Maybe not for long,” Besserman said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Gaither knows about Firestorm.”

  Slackjawed, Blunt shook his head. “How is that possible? There aren’t more than a half dozen people who know about it and—”

  “I don’t know if someone told him or if he figured it out somehow. But he knows who’s on the oversight committee for the black ops programs, and he’s pressuring two of the members to bring it to an end. If Titus Black isn’t captured and brought to justice, Gaither is threatening to expose everything.”

  “Oh, come on, Bobby. You know he didn’t try to kill Gaither.”

  “Have you heard from Black?”

  “Not yet. I’m sure he’ll be impossible to find, even by me.”

  “Fine,” Besserman said. “I’m doing my due diligence as requested by my fellow colleagues at other intelligence agencies. But if you don’t want to tell me, I understand. I feel like Gaither has been playing a long game here, trying to set all the pieces in place before putting them into motion.”

  “Gaither knows we’re on to him,” Blunt said. “He’s trying to eliminate everyone who could unmask him, which I don’t think is all that many people.”

  “Based on what we have right now, we’re going to have a very difficult time proving that he knew anything about that trafficking ring.”

  “I agree,” Blunt said. “But we just need more than what we have right now.”

  “What do we even have at this point? Some cell phone records? Grainy video footage? A few cryptic emails between him and Roman?”

  “We’re trying to set Gaither up, but we need a little bit more time.”

  Besserman sighed. “Unfortunately, that’s not something I can afford to give you at the moment. When there’s an attempt on the life of a U.S. senator, the FBI isn’t going to sit on their hands just so we can trap someone, especially when he was the supposed intended target. They’re going after the low-hanging fruit because they feel the pressure from the public, not to mention from the White House.”

  “I might be able to keep the president appeased if you can urge the FBI t
o relax since we know this isn’t some conspiracy to kill Gaither.”

  “If I tell them that, they’re going to want to know everything,” Besserman said. “And I can’t just hoard info. They expect us to share things, especially if it’s going to lead to the apprehension and conviction of a killer.”

  “Stall them however you can,” Blunt said. “I have an idea how I can steer them toward other leads. But you just have to do whatever you can to protect Firestorm. You know how important this team is to our national security interests.”

  “Indeed I do. I’ll do the best I can, but I’m not promising anything.”

  “We’ll talk soon.” Blunt hung up and then scrolled through his list of contacts in his phone before fingering Nate Miller’s name. The reporter answered after the third ring.

  “Senator Blunt, to what do I owe the pleasure of your call?” the reporter for The Washington Post asked.

  “I’m honored that you picked up,” Blunt said.

  “Honored? Come on now, Mr. Blunt. Let’s dispense with the false humility. I know you need something. What is it?”

  “Look, I know someone tried to take you out, but I need a favor.”

  Miller huffed a soft laugh through his nose. “I just met with someone you might know a few days ago—and he told me if I wanted to live, I need to stop exposing corruption in the military.”

  “What about pulling back the covers on members of congress?”

  “I don’t think that’d be a good idea either at the moment.”

  “If you want to eliminate the threat altogether, I know how to achieve that.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Blunt. But I’m not interested,” Miller said before he ended the call.

  Blunt let out a string of expletives. He needed another plan—and fast.

  CHAPTER 20

  Washington, D.C.

  BLACK DONNED A PAIR of aviator glasses and a stocking cap as he entered the store just after dark. He and Shields had spent most of the day holed up in a hotel room they paid for with cash. They had formulated a tentative plan but needed to connect with Blunt, waiting until nightfall to do so. Having long since ditched their phones to avoid being tracked by the FBI, they still needed to reach Blunt before taking the next steps. Black purchased a pay-as-you go phone and ducked out of the building, keeping a low profile and avoiding direct eye contact with any security cameras. He climbed into Shields’s car and then dialed Blunt’s secret burner cell, hoping the Firestorm director was available.

  After the third ring, Blunt answered.

  “Are you all right?” Blunt asked.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Black said. “Physically, I’m fine except for some exhaustion after surviving an attempt on my life last night. Mentally, not so much. I’ve got a lunatic senator putting out hits on me while at the same time accusing me of trying to assassinate him. It’s quite maddening at the moment.”

  “Gaither sent someone to kill you?”

  “I had a bad feeling that something like that was going to happen,” Black said before launching into a recap of the episode and the events the followed.

  “I would say that I understand, but I don’t,” Blunt said. “I’ve only been hunted out in open waters by our government at the direct order of the president. But the two-pronged approach Gaither is employing to get you shows just how much thought he’s put into making sure you don’t expose him or, at the very least, aren’t taken seriously.”

  Black let out an exasperated breath. “He’s either thoughtful or he’s desperate, throwing everything at me, including the kitchen sink. With that kind of tactic, he’s just hoping something brings me down before he’s exposed.”

  “Is Shields with you?”

  “Yeah,” Black said. “She was beating down my door in the middle of the night to get me out of there once she heard Gaither turned the tables on me and was spinning this story like I was the assassin.”

  “At least the media isn’t using a current picture of you,” Blunt said. “Cable news might as well have posted a picture of Jo-Jo the Dog-Faced Boy in your place. The picture that’s circulating makes you look like some younger version of Guy Fieri.”

  “I saw that picture and couldn’t help but laugh. I have that going for me, I guess, but not much else.”

  “Well, there’s more. I just spoke with Besserman, and he said he can help us if we get more proof of Gaither’s involvement.”

  “That’s a little difficult right now since the two agents you have who can do that are literally running for their lives from the same man accusing me of trying to kill him,” Black said. “I swear if I took a shot at that criminal, I wouldn’t have missed.”

  “I know this is frustrating, but you’ve gotta believe me when I say I’m doing everything I can. I even tried to get Nate Miller from The Post to help out, but he declined.”

  “He’s probably just heeding my advice.”

  “Well, until we come up with something actionable, you and Shields need to get somewhere safe,” Blunt said.

  “That’s why I called. I was hoping you might be able to give us directions to one of your safe houses.”

  “I’m not sure that’s the best idea considering the way Gaither is unleashing all his fury on catching you and playing on public sympathy,” Blunt said. “You need to get out of Washington—and far away from it.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “I can get you two out of the country.”

  “Out of the country?” Black said. “If anyone finds out we’ve left the U.S., we’ll certainly look guilty.”

  “Not any guiltier than you look like right now,” Blunt said. “Look, you two need to figure out a way to gather sufficient proof that Gaither knew what was going on with this trafficking ring. Once you do that, we can clear your name and put him away for good—in a place where he belongs. We’ll talk soon.”

  Black hung up and pocketed his phone.

  “Where to?” Shields asked as she put her rental car in gear and backed out of the parking spot.

  “Leesburg Executive Airport,” Black said. “Wheels up in an hour. Blunt will let us know where we’re going once we get airborne.”

  “He’s sending us somewhere without an extradition treaty, isn’t he?” Shields asked.

  Black shrugged. “He didn’t say, but that would be my assumption. Right now, he’s pretty worried that we’re not going to have enough time to prove our innocence and gather the proof we need.”

  “I’ll get to work on this as soon as we get in the air,” Shields said, patting Black on the knee in a reassuring gesture. “We’re going to figure this out.”

  “Of course we are,” Black said.

  But he didn’t say it with any conviction. In an ironic twist, Black wondered if the only way out of the situation might be to actually kill Gaither. But regardless of how they planned to restore their name and put Gaither away, the degree of difficulty continued to climb with each passing minute.

  CHAPTER 21

  BLACK SCANNED THE AREA as Shields parked in a lot across the street from the Leesburg Executive Airport. They grabbed their gear and hustled toward the perimeter. While it was relatively quiet this time in the evening, Black didn’t want to take any chances of being seen by airport personnel. He searched for a loose spot under the fence and slid beneath it before helping Shields get through.

  They crouched low as they crept toward the hangar which housed Blunt’s jet. A plane roared overhead as it lurched skyward and startled Shields.

  “Don’t be so jumpy,” Black said, speaking in a hushed tone. “Nobody knows we’re here, at least it doesn’t appear that way. Once we get on the plane, we’ll be fine.”

  “I’m not worried about the plane,” she said. “The moment I step on that plane with a fugitive, I’m just as guilty. So, I’m more concerned about what will happen when we return—or if we’ll even be able to return.”

  “Blunt’s gonna figure out some way to get us back. You know we can find enough to put Gaither away.
And if that doesn’t work . . .”

  “I know what you’re implying by that last statement, but that kind of justice isn’t going to get you your life back—or mine either. We need mountains of evidence to show Gaither is a conniving criminal as opposed to a sympathetic public servant.”

  “And we’ll find it, but you can’t waver now. If we do, he wins. And we can’t let that happen. Where’s Courageous Christina when we need her?”

  Shields huffed a soft laugh. “I’m here. Just thinking I need more proof than courage at the moment.”

  “The hangar is about a hundred meters across the tarmac,” Black said, pointing to it. “Do you think you can hustle with me over there so we can talk about your loss of nerve on the jet?”

  “Fine,” Shields said. “Let’s do it.”

  “That’s what I like to hear,” he said. “On my mark. In three, two, one . . .”

  Black stood and bolted across the runway toward a series of hangars. He glanced back to see Shields right behind him. When they reached the side of the building, they unlocked the door and entered. Blunt’s pilot, Kyle Pratt, was going over his checklist for the Challenger 650. The three exchanged brief pleasantries before focusing on getting the plane ready. Pratt resumed his pre-flight checks, while Black and Shields weighed their gear and then loaded up.

  “Don’t you normally fly a Gulfstream?” Black asked as he walked up the steps.

  Pratt looked up from his clipboard. “When we’re on a sanctioned mission. This one doesn’t fill that bill, so I’m using Blunt’s private plane.”

  “I like it,” Shields said.

  “It also means I don’t have a co-pilot,” Pratt said.

  “I don’t care if you’re blind as long as you can fly us outta here,” Black said.

  Pratt patted the side of the plane. “That shouldn’t be a problem in this baby. Plus I know if something happens to me, I hear you know what you’re doing in a cockpit.”

  “There might be some truth to that rumor.”

  Pratt grinned wryly. “And I’d prefer we not find out tonight if it’s true.”