Honorable Lies (A Titus Black Thriller Book 6) Read online

  Campbell climbed into a cart that held four people. She sat in the front and waited for Black and Shields to join her before activating the transport device that ran on a monorail.

  “How do you know how to do this?” Shields asked.

  “They’ve taken me up and down plenty of times,” she said. “I pay close attention. And I can’t wait to come back and kill these bastards one day.”

  “You and me both,” Shields said.

  After ten minutes, they reached the end of the track as the car slowed down. Once they exited, Campbell looked at Black.

  “Didn’t you need to call your drone?” she asked.

  “What drone?” Black asked with a smirk.

  “Thank you,” Campbell said. “I just now realized I haven’t told you that.”

  “It’s our pleasure,” Black said. “And I’m glad you’re all right. What did those bastards do to you?”

  She shook her head and sighed. “It could’ve been much worse,” she said. “Let’s just leave it at that.”

  They exited through a door that opened up into a courtyard at the base of the mountain. The car Black and Shields had rented to drive to the small village was waiting just a block away. After they all piled inside, Black picked up his phone and dialed Blunt’s number to let him know that they had secured Campbell.

  “That’s great news,” Blunt said. “And Lord knows I needed some today.”

  “What’s happening?” Black asked.

  “There’s been an attack earlier today,” Blunt said. “Early intelligence reports believe Alsheri hit a cruise ship in the Bahamas.”

  “Any casualties?”

  “So far, forty-five people are dead,” he paused and let out a long breath, “including the Secretary of State. You need to get back here quickly.”

  Chapter 2

  Washington, D.C.

  J.D. BLUNT HAD MET Noah Young on several occasions, but only once since he assumed the office of the President following Conrad Michaels’ untimely demise. Young was more than competent, handling the transition as smoothly as could be expected under such adverse circumstances. But the situation brewing in the Bahamas was his first real test where the American people would expect strong leadership in response to a deadly terrorist attack, especially when it included the death of the beloved Secretary of State Sheila Hatcher.

  Blunt sat in the small room in the bowels of the White House and awaited Young’s arrival. The former senator gnawed on a cigar, anxious to hear Young’s ideas for how to proceed.

  After a few minutes, Young opened the door before nodding at his Secret Service detail. One of the agents closed the door, leaving the two men alone. Young finger-combed his hair before shaking hands with Blunt and taking a seat.

  “Rough day?” Blunt asked.

  “You have no idea,” Young said. “When I signed up for this job, I never considered the possibility that I’d be in this position so soon. But here we are.”

  “Well, you’ve done a fine job at managing the country over the past few months since Michaels died. I don’t think anyone can really complain.”

  Young chuckled. “As a former senator, you ought to know as well as anyone that people will complain no matter what you do.”

  “Unfortunately, I know that all too well,” Blunt said. “But any unfounded criticism will morph into a groundswell of dissent if this situation isn’t handled properly.”

  Young leaned forward in his chair. “Exactly. And that’s why I wanted to solicit your advice on how to move forward. I’m aware that a situation like this might require a more covert approach. I could stand in front of the press and shake my fist, pound the podium, and threaten revenge, but I’m not sure if that will make me look tough or just angry.”

  “I ascribe more to Teddy Roosevelt’s philosophy on such matters, preferring to speak softly and carry a big stick. There are other ways to send a more direct message without being so direct publicly, if you know what I mean.”

  “Of course. But what does that look like with a burgeoning terrorist organization? And can we exact retribution in a way that the rest of the world sees we won’t tolerate such acts against Americans, let alone high-ranking government officials?”

  “There are ways to do that,” Blunt said. “But I feel obligated to remind you that Firestorm is about operating in the shadows. If you want something done, we can do that for you. In fact, we are designed to address specific situations such as these. However, we’re not supposed to exist. So, the quieter we go about this, the better.”

  “But won’t that make me look weak?” Young asked. “Shouldn’t I at least say something?”

  “That’s something for you to discuss with your aides, but I think you must assure the American people that you’re going to handle it. When we’re finished, you can show the results of our operation, explaining what happened on a covert mission. That should satisfy the press and anyone else looking to question how you handled the situation.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Young said. “So, what do you intend to do?”

  Blunt leaned back in his chair as a wry grin spread across his face. “We’re going to do what we always do and get to the bottom of this. And right now, I have far more questions than answers.”

  “Such as?”

  “Was the Secretary of State the only target? And if so, who would benefit from her being dead as well as where did the information about her trip come from? And who else died in the attack? That’s just for starters. Making rushed assumptions is sure to either get egg on your face or guarantee that you won’t catch the perpetrator. These types of investigations need to be handled discreetly and with caution because you never know who you’re really dealing with.”

  Young templed his fingers as he eyed Blunt closely. “Are you suggesting that perhaps this was orchestrated by someone within our own government?”

  Blunt shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. I take it you’re up to speed on the Fullgood Initiative and how they were operating within the Pentagon?”

  “Yeah, I got a security briefing on them, but I was assured that Fullgood had been completely dismantled and everyone involved had been removed.”

  “Everyone that we knew of,” Black said. “I’d be shocked if there weren’t others.”

  Young resolutely shook his head. “If there’s anyone left, they’re powerless.”

  Blunt sighed. “I know you’ve been in Washington for more than a minute, but I’ve been here a long time. And the number one thing you better never forget is how you can’t ever underestimate anyone. I’ve been surprised time and time again at the lengths to which some people are willing to go to seize power or control. I’m no longer surprised, nor am I underestimating anybody.”

  “Trust me,” Young said. “The Fullgood Initiative is dead.”

  “I wish I could share your optimism, Mr. President,” Blunt said.

  “I just want to see Alsheri gutted and burned to the ground, both figuratively and literally.”

  “We’ll do our best to make sure that happens.”

  “Good,” Young said. “I’m counting on you and your team to help me as well as the American people breathe a little easier at night, even if they aren’t privy to any impending threats.”

  Blunt nodded before rising. “At the moment, I think it’s safe to say we’re in the dark, but that’ll soon change. I’ll keep you posted, sir.”

  Young thanked Blunt before he exited the room. Blunt exhaled as he lumbered down the hallway. He wasn’t as confident as he presented himself, doubt seeping in before he even reached his car. But he didn’t have time to let such thoughts take hold. He had a mess to sort through and only one shot to impress the new president.

  Chapter 3

  Freeport, Bahamas

  KENNETH PARKER FLASHED his CIA credentials at the officer standing watch in front of a yellow police tape that cordoned off the blast site. He nodded and gestured for Parker to enter. As he strode along the dock, he stared skyward at the hulking cruise s
hip blotting out the early morning sun. At the far end of the vessel, investigators and other law enforcement officials examined the gaping hole exposing the innards of the fourth and fifth decks.

  The Caribbean breeze whipped past him, easily slipping over his bald head. He didn’t like the fact that he’d lost all his hair worth keeping by the time he turned thirty-four a year ago, but he was warned hair loss or going gray early was one of the many hazards of the job. And while he hated the consequences, he was pleasantly surprised he got to use a comb as long as he did. The stress of being a CIA field agent was enormous at times, and he already sensed just how heavy the weight of this particular assignment was. The CIA always demanded justice for a fellow fallen agent, but this time the pressure to return to Langley with answers was even higher given that Secretary of State Sheila Hatcher was also among the casualties.

  Parker strode up to Mitch Travis, the U.S. ambassador to the Bahamas, and shook his hand.

  “Glad you could come down,” Travis said. “What a mess.”

  Parker nodded. “Ain’t that the truth.”

  He glanced up at the hole where several men hung from safety harnesses while welding around the crumpled metal.

  “They’re not wasting any time getting the ship back in order, are they?” Parker said.

  “Ever heard of ship-shape?” Travis asked. “This ship needs to be back out at sea as soon as possible, though I’m not sure anyone is going to be rushing to purchase tickets for it after this.”

  Parker nodded. “So, what do we know?”

  “Whoever did this knew exactly where to place the explosives and when to detonate them. It’s almost as if they had inside information on Madame Secretary’s plan for the evening.”

  “How so?”

  “She was scheduled to stick around longer after she spoke at a small gathering, but she decided to retire early. And fifteen minutes after she returned to her room, the explosion happened.”

  “Did any of her aides survive?” Parker asked.

  “Just one,” Travis said. “Gordon Musselman, head of security for Hatcher.”

  “Is he still around?”

  “He’s staying at the embassy. And he’s a little shaken up right now. I can’t imagine it’d be easy watching all of your colleagues get blown into the water and then knowing that you’d likely be the one held responsible for it.”

  “What’s your read on him?” Parker asked. “Think he had something to do with it?”

  Travis sighed. “Look, I’m not an investigator, so I doubt my intuition means much. But he certainly doesn’t appear to be guilty in any way. From what I understand, he was fond of Hatcher and they had quite a bond.”

  “What kind of bond exactly?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just going by what I was told from some of the other staffers here who’d interacted with the two of them. They didn’t say much more, so it might have been the kind that was out of bounds, if you know what I mean.”

  “What was Secretary Hatcher doing here anyway?”

  “She was coming to the Bahamas for a summit with a handful of other government officials in the Caribbean to discuss ways to strengthen relations and cooperate in matters of security.”

  “The irony,” Parker said as he shook his head.

  “I just don’t understand how this could happen,” Travis said. “Between her own personal security and the ship’s, this doesn’t make any sense.”

  Parker put his hands on his hips and stared upward again at the hive of activity overhead. Sparks scattered from the welders working above as the incoming tide lapped against the side of the boat. Slowly inhaling a deep breath, Parker’s nostrils filled with the salty air while he considered the ambassador’s comment. But Parker wasn’t perplexed about who did it. That much was cut and dry to him. The intended target was what he was grappling with.

  “At least we know who’s responsible,” Travis said, breaking the long silence. “Those Alsheri bastards are always causing the worst kind of trouble.”

  “Just because they claimed to do this?” Parker asked. “Even if they had nothing to do with this, they’d be trying to take credit.”

  “Perhaps, but within minutes after the explosion, they were distributing a video that included footage of the blast. Seems like they at least had an insider knowledge that this was going down and are connected in some way.”

  Parker slapped Travis on the shoulder. “Guess that’s why I get paid the big bucks.”

  Travis managed a smile. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

  “Actually, there is,” Parker said. “Do you happen to have a copy of the manifest from the cruise line? I want to match it up with the one we have.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll get my assistant to text it over to you right away.”

  “Thanks,” Parker said.

  After a few minutes of looking at the ship’s hull, he boarded the ship and ascended to the site of the attack. He acknowledged a few of the workers before poking his head around what was left of Hatcher’s cabin for the voyage. Charred clothes and electronics lay strewn around the room. Most of the bed had burned, exposing the springs. Shards of glass crunched beneath his feet as he explored the area.

  “C4 explosives make these kinds of investigations difficult,” a man with a heavily accented English accent said.

  Parker turned to see Kai Knowles, the deputy director of the Royal Bahamas Police Force. “Hello, sir,” Parker said before introducing himself.

  “I know who you are,” Knowles said, offering an outstretched hand. Parker shook it and then drew back, eyeing Knowles cautiously.

  “I’m afraid to ask how.”

  “Don’t worry, Agent Parker. It’s nothing for you to be worried about. There’s just not much that happens on this island without me knowing about it, perhaps this plot to assassinate your Secretary of State withstanding.”

  “I don’t think anyone saw this coming,” Parker said. “The Secretary was beloved by all, at least that’s what we thought.”

  “Those terrorists hate everything and everyone. They will never be happy, not even after they’ve destroyed the part of the world that doesn’t agree with their way of thinking.”

  Parker nodded as he scanned the room once more. “Were there any clues about how these explosives were planted in here?”

  “I believe everyone working with the team is dead, except the Secretary’s head of security.”

  “That’s what I hear.”

  Knowles stroked his scraggly goatee. “I tried to talk to him about the incident, but he wasn’t much help.”

  “What’d he tell you about where he was when the blast went off?”

  “He was going to get the Secretary some ice down the hall. Convenient, right?”

  “Or maybe he was just helping her out. Either way, it’d be difficult to prove without any hard evidence.”

  Knowles shook his head. “That’s where this is even more difficult to comprehend. All of the security cameras were disabled about two minutes before the blast. So, we have no idea what really happened in those hallways leading up to the explosion.”

  “Well, I appreciate you letting me take the time to look around here,” Parker said.

  “I know this wasn’t our fault, but I do want to extend my condolences to you and your country,” Knowles said. “This is a damn shame.”

  “Thank you,” Parker said. “And I completely agree with you.”

  * * *

  LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Parker returned to his hotel room to sort through all of the evidence he’d collected. A brief interview of Gordon Musselman at the embassy in the afternoon left Parker feeling more bewildered than ever regarding the case. Parker concluded that Musselman was either a good actor and an even better liar, or he truly was in the dark. After listening to him recount the events of the attack, Parker was all but convinced Musselman was suffering from survivor’s guilt, exacerbated by the fact that it was his job to keep Secretary Hatcher safe.

  Nothi
ng about Musselman’s actions looked good on paper, but Parker had long since learned that the truth isn’t always so on the nose. And if anyone truly wanted to get away with murdering Secretary Hatcher, they would have a better alibi than the one Musselman possessed. As it stood, the suspicion around Musselman was understandable, one Parker couldn’t dismiss, but he couldn’t help but think the real reason for his trip to the Bahamas better explained the attack.

  In short, Secretary Hatcher wasn’t the only important government officer lost in the explosion. However, the other one almost anonymous to most, his name was just another one in a list of the deceased: Darryl Oliver.

  Parker wasn’t even sure what Oliver’s real name was, but the fellow CIA agent had long since operated under an alias, both publicly and privately. After cross-checking the ship’s manifest he’d received earlier with the one Travis sent over, Parker couldn’t see anything but Oliver’s name as if it were a blinking neon sign.

  And then there was another name that arrested Parker’s attention: Ben Levine.

  The Mossad agent, who was among those who died in the explosion, was apparently the one who was going to pass along information to Darryl Oliver. And furthering the mystery was the fact that Oliver’s room was situated just below Secretary Hatcher’s on the fourth deck. Parker couldn’t be sure that the two men were together at the time, but they were at least in the vicinity of the blast.

  After a day of examining all the available evidence, Parker wasn’t convinced that Secretary Hatcher was even the target. While he had no idea what kind of information Levine planned to pass on to Oliver, it was likely something major, the kind of intel someone would go to great lengths to suppress.

  Parker ordered room service along with a bottle of wine for an early dinner, deciding to stay in his hotel room and continue to pore over the incident report.

  Maybe there’s something I missed.

  Parker didn’t want his suspicions to be confirmed. The implications of Secretary Hatcher being collateral damage wasn’t one anybody at Langley would readily accept. He’d need solid proof that went well beyond normal confirmation protocols to convince anyone that his findings were correct.