State of Conspiracy (Titus Black Thriller series Book 8) Page 10

  Black dove low to the ground, sticking his nose just inches from the soil. But Shantu didn’t do the same. He stood still refusing to move or respond.

  “Shantu!” the guard called. “What are you doing out there?”

  Black looked up in time to see Shantu collapse with a bloody wound on his left shoulder. Without hesitating, Black threw his final grenade in the direction of the guard who’d been shouting at Shantu.

  Then Black scooped up the kid and headed for the river.

  CHAPTER 21

  Washington, D.C.

  BLUNT COULDN’T SLEEP and showed up at the office just after 6:00 a.m. He wished he could’ve watched Black’s rescue attempt on a body cam, though Blunt doubted he would’ve wanted to if it was actually possible. Shields’ capability of communicating with Black was hampered by a technical malfunction, leaving everyone in the dark. The cell service in the rural parts of Congo were spotty, and all attempts to reach his phone had failed.

  All Blunt could do was wait—and hope.

  Assigning Black to such a mission required little thought. Of all the agents Blunt had ever worked with, Black was by far the most willing to charge into danger, holding more regard for the mission’s objective than his own well-being. But with all the stipulations President Young had placed on this operation, Blunt felt that even Black would’ve refused what amounted to little more than a Kamikaze bombing run—and one that wasn’t guaranteed to hit the ultimate target.

  Blunt tried to get his mind off the situation, his angst building the longer he went without getting an update. He stood. He sat down. He paced his office floor. Nothing could distract him.

  But about an hour after showing up at his office, he received a phone call from Edge.

  “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon,” Blunt said. “What did you find?”

  “I don’t want to talk about this over the phone,” Edge said. “Can you meet me on the steps at the Lincoln Memorial in a half-hour? We need to talk.”

  Blunt agreed and grabbed his coat. For a moment, he’d almost forgotten about Black.

  * * *

  EDGE WAS SITTING off to the side of the steps, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the sprawling area in front of him through his dark sunglasses. Edge looked more like a federal agent than a private investigator. Blunt could only assume it was out of habit after working for the bureau for so long.

  Usually Edge was cool and calm, unbothered by anything. He’d arrested hardened criminals, serial killers, and terrorist masterminds. If there was something in the criminal world that could be seen, chances were Edge had seen it. But Blunt noticed something looked different about the investigator. His feet were jumpy and he twiddled his thumbs, a nervous tick that Blunt never remembered noticing before.

  “You’re up and at ‘em early today,” Blunt said as he sat down next to Edge.

  Both men stared out at the joggers hustling along the paths surrounding the park area.

  “So, you’re just going to sit there?” Blunt asked, prodding Edge again.

  Edge pursed his lips before speaking. “Who is she, J.D.?”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “This woman I’m looking into for you, this Elaine Gibbons. Who is she?”

  “That’s what I hired you to find out for me,” Blunt said. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t need you. So, what’d you find?”

  “I’ve found plenty of people in my day,” Edge said, “but this one literally scares me.”

  “Scares you? You can’t be serious. There’s something that scares Edge?”

  “Ghosts scare me,” Edge said. “And I’m not talking about the kind that jump out and shout boo at Halloween. I’m talking about a ghost in the system.”

  “So, are you suggesting that Elaine Gibbons is a ghost?”

  “Not suggesting,” Edge said. “Stating it as a fact.”

  Blunt cocked his head to one side. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

  “She’s not a real person, at least, Elaine Gibbons as you know her doesn’t exist.”

  “But I saw her. Charles Harris was in a relationship with her. She’s real. She even left some bruises on me.”

  “Elaine Gibbons is an alias for someone, but a carefully contrived alias. The woman you met as Betty Green is also Elaine Gibbons. But everything about her was fed into a database.”

  “Like Social Security number, birth certificate, credit history—it’s a massive fabrication. Her true identity isn’t known. And get this, even her fingerprints are fake.”

  Blunt furrowed his brow. “How is that even possible?”

  “I don’t know if she wears special gloves or had them altered, but her fingerprints aren’t normal.”

  “And you’re sure about all this?”

  Edge nodded. “Whoever put her in the system is very well connected—and very good at what they do.”

  “So, how’d you spot this?”

  “They made one tiny mistake, but only enough that it tipped me off that this entire alias was fabricated,” Edge said. “I still have no idea who did this or how. But it was all data entry at once, uploading an entire portfolio and history of a person. It’s frightening actually. Who knows what she’s done or how many times everything she did was wiped from federal databases.”

  Blunt let out a low whistle. “So, we’re dealing with some high-powered people here.”

  “Yeah, the kind you don’t want to cross.”

  “That’s what some people say about me, too,” Blunt said with a chuckle.

  Edge didn’t laugh. He turned slowly and took off his sunglasses, his gaze meeting Blunt’s. “This is very serious, J.D. You don’t know who you’re dealing with here, and I suggest you tread carefully moving forward.”

  Blunt stroked his chin and cut his eyes over at Edge. “In your opinion, was the Fullgood Initiative capable of doing something like this?”

  “They’d certainly have the access to plant something like that, that’s for sure.”

  “So, how do you recommend we proceed?”

  Edge sighed. “I’m afraid we’re also hunting a ghost. I called a friend with connections at the Laramie PD to do a welfare check on Betty Green. Apparently, she’s gone. She left the remaining amount of money she owed on her apartment and a note telling the owner to sell all her things and pocket the change.”

  “That’s not normal behavior.”

  “She probably knew we’d be back,” Edge said. “She got the hell out of dodge, probably the night you went to talk to her.”

  “So, now what?”

  “I don’t have any leads, if that’s what you’re looking for from me, but I can try to scrounge up something to work with. Maybe track if she had any bank accounts. Or I can investigate if there are any other similar stories of people just abandoning everything overnight like this.”

  “Sounds good,” Blunt said. “I think letting this go would be a mistake.”

  “I’ll do what you ask, but I strongly caution you against talking with anybody else about this.”

  Blunt nodded. “It’s our little secret for now. But I want to find her and question her myself. I just have a gut feeling that the Fullgood Initiative simply went underground.”

  “If I were a gambling man, I’d put money on your intuition.”

  “Thanks, Edge,” Blunt said. “Keep me posted.”

  “Of course.”

  Edge put his sunglasses back on and stood. He placed his hands on his hips and took a deep breath before striding down the steps and disappearing around the corner.

  Blunt didn’t move, remaining behind to ponder what he’d just learned. It was a welcome relief to not think about Agent Black. But the tyranny of the urgent pulled him back into real life when his phone rang with a call from Shields.

  “Any word from Black?” he asked as he answered.

  “Not yet,” she said. “I’m still waiting. But there’s something else brewing.”

  “What is it?”

 
“I got a call from Besserman looking for you,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Blunt said. “He’s called me twice since I’ve been here. What’s going on?”

  “It’s President Young. He’s upset over a report that’s about to be released in an hour on Secretary Geller. They’re going to report that she’s being held by terrorists.”

  Blunt let out several expletives and hung up before hustling back to his car.

  CHAPTER 22

  Kwango Province, Congo

  SECRETARY GELLER WRAPPED her hand around the handle of the weapon Black had given her and broke into a full sprint in the direction he’d pointed her. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever engaged in such blind faith. There was no plane on the horizon, no final destination she could see. However, she could sense the tension as bullets strafed the landscape, hitting all around her.

  Using her military training, she darted into the dense forest, maintaining her parallel path with the river. The vegetation provided more cover for her as she raced along.

  Geller tried to stay focused in the moment. Even as she was literally running for her life, she considered that if she survived, Young might fire her. Getting captured by militant terrorists wasn’t even the worst possible outcome she could conceive before she left. But things had gone much worse than she’d ever anticipated.

  As she rounded a bend in the river, the plane came into view. Buoyed by pontoons, the plane bobbed on the water, rocking with the flow of the current. She fired a shot in the air to get the pilot’s attention as she emerged from the trees. Moments later, a man poked his head out of the door and looked at her. She gestured for him to fire up the engine, which he promptly did.

  Geller thought her days of harrowing escapes were over, but she was wrong. When she’d accepted the appointment as Young’s Secretary of State, she never imagined that she’d be thrust into a combat situation again. The job was supposed to be about reading foreign diplomats and assuaging their fears while negotiating deals that would be beneficial for the United States. But the gun in her hand suggested there were some other parts of the job she’d never considered or, at least, never imagined possible. And it was foolish for her not to, given her predecessor died in a terrorist attack.

  Geller glanced back one more time back toward the direction of the compound. She saw heads bobbing up and down as ADF soldiers raced through the trees to recover her. Directly in front of her in the river, the prop engine sputtered before kicking to life with a smooth hum.

  Geller splashed through the water, bounding up to one of the pontoons. She stepped on it and pulled herself up to the door before opening it.

  “Hello, sir,” Geller said. “Agent Black told me that you’d be here. Is your name Gene?”

  “Can you put the gun down?” he asked, glancing at her weapon.

  She lowered the gun, but persisted. “Is your name Gene?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Excellent,” she said as she climbed aboard. “Let’s go.”

  Gene didn’t move.

  “Sir, I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer not to die today,” she said. “So, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you’d get this plane moving.”

  Gene sighed. “I’m not going anywhere without Agent Black.”

  Geller wanted to punch the man in the face and fly the plane out herself. And when she glanced over her shoulder and noticed the ADF contingent rapidly advancing toward them, she was opposed to such an extreme response.

  “Agent Black told me not to be a hero and wait for him,” Geller said. “He told me to leave him.”

  “I was instructed to pick up Agent Black and one other passenger,” Gene said. “I don’t ever leave any passengers behind.”

  “Gene, Gene—do you know who I am?” she asked.

  “I’m hoping you’re the other passenger since Agent Black isn’t here,” he said. “Otherwise, you’re simply trying to commandeer my aircraft. And I won’t let that happen.”

  “I’m the Secretary of State, Gene. Rachel Geller. Name ring a bell?”

  He shook his head. “In case you haven’t noticed, I live in Congo. We have spotty Internet and I’m not all that interested in U.S. politics. So, you’ll have to excuse me if I don’t recognize you.”

  She closed her eyes and threw her hands in the air, trying to figure out a way to persuade Gene to take off.

  Pretend he’s another diplomat. Think, Rachel, think.

  Geller took a deep breath before continuing. She glanced over her shoulder to see the onslaught of ADF soldiers drawing ever nearer.

  “Gene, why are you here?” she asked.

  “Honestly?”

  “Don’t lie to me, Gene.”

  He pursed his lips. “I’m here because I was told that the State Department might be able to help us get a plane through customs and operational, if truth be told.”

  “So, no altruistic motives for you?”

  Gene shrugged. “Well, it’s not my airplane. I view all these airplanes as belonging to the people of this beautiful country.”

  “Okay, I get it, I get it. They’re all going to die if you don’t do something to help them, Gene. And you have to understand that I am the person who’s going to make that happen. Me, Gene, me. And if you and I die out here, no airplane for you. Understand?”

  “It’d almost be exactly how one of the greatest aviation missionaries of all time, Nate Saint, died,” Gene said. “He was martyred trying to reach indigenous people while his plane was on a sandbar. It wouldn’t be so bad.”

  Geller wanted to shake some sense into him, but she had to think. “I don’t think you get it. They’re going to burn us alive for the sheer pleasure of a bunch of radical terrorists in a video that will live in infamy on the internet. You’ll be set on fire and you’ll watch your skin melt off. Is that how you want to go?”

  “I’ve never considered getting burned alive,” Gene said. “Plane crashes? Yes. But burning to death seems rather barbaric.”

  “But that’s exactly what they’re going to do to us if they catch us.”

  Geller glanced back to see the ADF forces drawing dangerously close. She heard gunfire as some bullets splashed into the water around them.

  “I’m not going to ask you again, Gene,” she said.

  “I was under strict orders to take Agent Black and one other passenger back to our base in Kinshasa with me.”

  Geller growled, realizing her attempt at diplomacy was a failure, one that was going to cost both her and the obtuse pilot their lives.

  She brandished her weapon and jammed the barrel into Gene’s chest. “Either you take off now, or I’m going to shoot you and fly this bird myself.”

  Gene raised his hands in the air. “Fine. You don’t have to be so violent about it. But the blood of Agent Black is going to be on your hands, not on mine, if he doesn’t make it for some reason.”

  “Fly the damn plane, Gene,” she shouted, pressing the gun harder against his chest.

  He adjusted the throttle as the plane lurched forward.

  “Come on, come on,” Geller said, pounding the dashboard with the palm of her hand. “They’re gaining on us.”

  “Not for long,” Gene said.

  Seconds later, the plane dipped and then lurched skyward. He banked hard right as a pair of missiles in tandem flew past them.

  Gene smiled and gave her a wink. “Just another day at the office, Madam Secretary.”

  Geller swallowed hard, her heart pounding within her chest. The soldiers on the ground fired another shot at them, but they fell woefully short, crashing into the river beneath them.

  “Fly, Gene, fly,” she said.

  In the distance, thunder rumbled and lightning streaked across the sky.

  Geller said a prayer under her breath and closed her eyes. She just wanted everything to be over, but there was still plenty for her to do.

  She’d have to grieve another time over her staff. That was part of the job no one warned her about. And it had pu
shed her to the brink.

  You can do it, Rachel.

  She had more reason than ever to do so—and she didn’t intend to fail.

  CHAPTER 23

  Kwango Province, Congo

  WHEN BLACK REACHED the shore of the Kwango River, he raced into the water lugging Shantu over his shoulder. In the distance he saw the Cessna 172 soaring skyward as it headed straight toward the storm. He was relieved that she’d escaped but worried about her facing such conditions. Given a choice, he wasn’t sure if he’d choose armed insurgents on the ground over a thunderstorm in a single engine plane. But his choice had already been made for him.

  “Stay with me, Shantu,” Black said.

  The river’s current carried Black along as he neared the center. He repositioned Shantu to keep his head above water as they went with the flow. Occasionally, he heard shouting from the bank followed by gunshots, but Black was moving too quickly through the fast-moving waters for anyone to get a clear shot at him.

  After a couple of minutes, Black stopped hearing the shouts from the shore as well as the gunfire, and he decided to get to the bank. His movement through the water was a slow one, hampered by Shantu, who had remained passed out from the shock of the wound. The slog through the water took longer than Black wanted, but he eventually reached land.

  When he walked ashore with Shantu draped over his shoulder, he received curious looks from a group of young boys playing on the bank nearby. They stared at Black, unsure of what to make of the hulking foreign soldier. He forced a smile and tousled one of the kids’ hair.

  Black scanned the area only to hear gunshots echo through the jungle. He darted behind a tree and noticed a pair of ADF soldiers with their weapons trained in front of them as they forded the river. Black broke into a sprint, zig-zagging his way around trees and bushes. More shots landed nearby as he continued to stretch his lead.

  Black ran for another hundred meters before he entered a jungle village. Despite the small clearing, the clouds overhead kept the area relatively dark. But Black’s entrance into their domain attracted a crowd. Circular wooden huts with grass roofs dotted the clearing with a common area in the center, while intrigued villagers ventured outside to look at him. Black received everything from slack-jawed stares to scowls before a couple of men confronted him. They barked at him in a language he didn’t understand, but Black realized he was only wasting time by indulging their curiosity. If they continued to hold him up, he’d be in danger of getting caught by the ADF soldiers pursuing him.