Brady Hawk 19 - Divide and Conquer Read online

  The fact that someone found out about Blunt’s relation to Morgan angered him. He’d been careful to prevent any link from being made through online documentation, including family photos and ancestry websites. He only had one photo of her that he took with an old camera that required film development when she was eight. But somebody had managed to figure out who she was and connected the dots, resulting in an exploitation that put her at risk. Blunt could only imagine who was behind it, much less what would be demanded of him.

  When the limo pulled up to the curb, a burly man stepped out and frisked Blunt. Once they were both inside the car, the man checked Blunt for any electronic devices.

  “Strictly a precautionary measure,” the man said. “We must make sure that everyone adheres to our stipulations.”

  “Our?” Blunt asked, cocking his head to one side.

  The man clasped his hands together, resting them in his lap and staring straight ahead.

  “You may proceed,” he said, refusing to answer Blunt’s obvious question.

  The car eased into Washington traffic and drove for several minutes until it parked beneath an overpass. Once the vehicle came to a stop, Blunt’s door flung open and another man greeted him by pointing at the limo behind him.

  Blunt slid out and trudged to the other vehicle. He didn’t get in until he watched two identical limousines depart in opposite directions at the same time while his remained stationary.

  “Get in,” came a soft voice from inside.

  Blunt hunched down and peered inside, his gaze locking with that of a young woman, who couldn’t have been much older than thirty, if that.

  “Mr. Blunt,” she said in an accent that he wasn’t quite convinced originated in England, “we appreciate you agreeing to meet with us.”

  “You didn’t give me much choice,” Blunt said with a snarl.

  “Unfortunately, we must apply the necessary pressure to ensure that you agree to work with us.”

  “And who is this us you’re speaking of?” Blunt asked.

  “My name is Elizabeth Silverstone, and I work for a very powerful organization,” she began. “Perhaps you’ve heard of Obsidian?”

  Blunt glared at her. “So, this is how you do it? Exploit everyone’s relationships and force them to do your bidding?”

  She shrugged. “Sometimes you can’t ignore a proven method, no matter how barbaric it might seem at the time.”

  “I get it,” he said. “Results matter.”

  “And that’s precisely why we chose to work with you for this particular project,” she said. “All our past intelligence reports have shown that you have the president’s ear—and that he listens to you.”

  “I’m not sure what this is all about, but I can assure you that I’m only an advisor to the president. He pretty much does whatever he very well pleases. If you think I’m going to whisper in his ear and steer him to do what you desire, I’m afraid you’re making a grave mistake.”

  “How so?”

  “President Young doesn’t like anyone to tell him what to do,” Blunt said. “He’s very much a maverick in that respect.”

  “In that case, we expect you to be a good Texas rancher and corral him.”

  “And how am I supposed to do that?”

  “It’s simple, really,” she said. “All we want you to do is get someone on the guest list for the First Lady’s funeral later this week. We understand from media reports that she won’t be lying in state due to her disfigured nature suffered in the explosion.”

  Elizabeth smiled slyly before closing her eyes. When she opened them again, Blunt had narrowed his and pursed his lips.

  “This was a complete set up, wasn’t it?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure what you’re suggesting, Mr. Blunt, but I do know that my employer demands that you acquiesce to the terms of this arrangement or else face severe consequences, dare I say, fatal consequences.”

  “And just who is this person?”

  “I’m not at liberty to reveal that to you,” she said. “All I’m asking is that you deliver this envelope to President Young. It will also be up to you to persuade him to comply with the request.”

  “Do I even need to run this past him?” Blunt asked.

  “That’s up to you, but I’d advise you to select the path of least resistance,” she said. “In my experience, I’ve discovered that things always work better that way.”

  She handed him an envelope. “Don’t open it. Just give that to the appropriate people and let them finish the task for you. Your niece will be most grateful that you did.”

  “You know I’m going to find out who’s behind this,” Blunt said.

  “I'm sure you will, but I’d caution you against reacting in a rash manner,” she said, wagging her finger. “Sometimes when we jump to conclusions, we make grave mistakes.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  Elizabeth chuckled and waved dismissively at Blunt. “Dear one, you’re already being threatened. We know how much you adore your niece, which is why you’ll do exactly as we say. Now run along.”

  “Run along?”

  “Yes, there’s a car waiting for you outside to take you back to the same place we picked you up.”

  Blunt looked down at the envelope and then back at Elizabeth. “Someone is going to pay for this.”

  “Your niece will be the one paying the price if you don’t pass that envelope along to the right person and secure my employer a spot at the First Lady’s funeral. Is that understood?”

  Blunt didn’t say a word, responding only with a grunt. He climbed out of the vehicle and found a taxi waiting for him. He opened the door and watched as the two other limos returned before all leaving together in a caravan.

  Blunt cursed under his breath before getting into the cab and slamming the door shut.

  “I’ve been instructed to take you to the corner of Constitution and 7th,” the driver said as he looked in the rearview mirror at Blunt. “Is that correct?”

  Blunt nodded. He eased back in his seat and buckled himself in. Then he slid his finger beneath the flap of the envelope, breaking the seal. If he was going to be blackmailed, he wanted to who was victimizing him.

  When he saw the name on the paper, he stared stoically at it. He wasn’t surprised at all.

  That’s who I knew was behind this.

  He sighed and then read the name aloud with a hint of disgust: “Falcon Sinclair.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Washington, D.C.

  WHEN HAWK AND ALEX returned to The Phoenix Foundation headquarters, they found Blunt gnawing on a cigar and pacing around his office. His gaze was affixed on a document in his hands, lines creasing his forehead.

  “Reading the latest stock market report?” Hawk asked.

  Blunt looked up over his reading glasses and sneered. “Don’t get me started about my IRA. But it’s nothing compared to this.”

  “Latest Homeland Security briefing?” Alex asked.

  “A scathing rebuke of the intelligence community for allowing the attack on the White House,” Blunt said as he gestured for Hawk and Alex to sit in the two chairs across from his desk.

  “When both the White House and the FBI has been infiltrated by multiple assets, it’s difficult to avoid an attack like this,” she said.

  Blunt nodded as he sank into his chair and flung down his papers. “That doesn’t mean somebody’s head isn’t going to roll over this. But there’s nothing we can do about what’s happened. The question for us is how are we going to stop this from happening again?”

  “We’re working on it,” Hawk said.

  Blunt sighed. “What happened at the Cocos?”

  “Sorry about Tyler Timmons, sir,” Alex said. “We know that he was more than just someone who worked for you.”

  “Thanks,” Blunt said. “I appreciate that. His father and I were friends for years. I was the one that steered Timmons into this line of work, and I can’t help but shoulder some of the responsibility for
his death.”

  Hawk leaned forward in his seat. “No, sir. Don’t go there. This wasn’t your fault. Timmons wanted out, and he reached out to you. If we would’ve just had more time—”

  The silence that hung in the room after Blunt trailed off weighed heavily on Hawk. “Obsidian obviously has something big planned. I mean, whatever it is, Timmons was willing to sacrifice his life for it. I’m sure he knew the risks. In fact, I’m not convinced that he necessarily expected to escape.”

  “What makes you say that?” Blunt asked.

  Hawk leaned back in his chair. “For one thing, the flash drive is heavily encrypted, protecting anyone who got caught with it, himself included.”

  “From what you told me about the incident, it doesn’t sound like anyone gave him an opportunity to explain himself, did they?”

  Hawk shook his head. “The Obsidian guards certainly weren’t attempting to make a capture. And based on the fact that they were firing rockets at us, they weren’t interested in questioning us either.”

  “So, what’s the status of the decryption?” Blunt asked. “Anything yet?”

  Alex shook her head. “I reached out to a couple of local people first, but neither one of them think they can crack it within a month.”

  Blunt’s jaw fell slack. “A month? I don’t think we have that kind of time.”

  “I agree, sir, which is why we need to go a different route,” Alex said.

  “I’m listening,” Blunt said. “But why do I have the feeling I’m not going to like this?”

  “Just keep an open mind,” she said.

  “I can tell you right now the answer is going to be no.”

  “The only hacker I know who can handle a job like this in a timely manner is Helenos-9.”

  Blunt shook his head emphatically. “Absolutely not. Out of the question.”

  “But, sir—”

  “No,” Blunt continued. “He penetrated all the Pentagon’s firewalls and started distributing names of our assets. He’s certainly not a friend of the U.S. government, and I wouldn’t trust his intel as far as I could throw him.”

  Alex cocked her head to one side. “There’s nobody else who has his expertise. We can’t afford to be bullheaded if Obsidian is about to launch an attack that threatens the security of this country and maybe others as well.”

  Blunt bit down hard on his cigar and then pulled it out of his mouth. “How do we know that he’s not already in Obsidian’s pocket? They’ve been so many steps ahead of us at every turn that I’m reticent to turn over the one piece of intel we have.”

  “Sir, it’s a chance we have to take if we expect to snuff out their plot,” Alex said.

  “She’s right. According to every intelligence report I’ve read, the world is a tinderbox right now. And if Obsidian tosses a spark into the mix, it’s going to explode. If we sit on this and something happens, we’re no better off than if we give it to Helenos-9 and he betrays us. We’ll only have ourselves to blame for inaction. We can’t wait out what Obsidian is doing.”

  “The problem is we don’t even really know what they’re planning to do yet,” Blunt said.

  “We know enough to know that whatever they are plotting is going to compromise our security and put thousands, if not millions, at risk,” Hawk said. “I mean, this is why we do what we do. We make the hard calls, appearances be damned. People are counting on us to keep them safe, and we can’t do that by hoping for the best.”

  Blunt stood and began pacing around the room. “I know you’re right. It’s just that sometimes these decisions can be multi-layered and more complicated than they seem.”

  Hawk eyed his boss closely. “They haven’t gotten to you, have they?”

  Blunt drew back and scowled. “Of course not. Why would you even suggest such a thing?”

  “I don’t know,” Hawk said. “Usually you’re a bit more decisive than this.”

  “Helenos-9 has burned me in the past,” Blunt said. “I’m just a little hesitant to put any trust in him.”

  “He’s the best,” Alex said. “If there was anyone else—”

  Blunt sighed. “I know, I know. Okay, fine. Go find him and see if he’s willing to help us.”

  “If I know Helenos-9, he’s going to ask us to expunge the charges against him,” she said. “Do you have the authority to do that?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get that cleared with Randy Wood at the CIA. If we’re desperate enough to reach out to him, we have to be willing to make some concessions. Now, are you sure you can find him?”

  Alex nodded. “I have a girlfriend who used to date him. I know where he hangs out.”

  “You should’ve told me about that earlier,” Blunt said.

  “Hackers code,” she said with a wink.

  “Go on,” Blunt said. “Get outta here. Report back as soon as you know something.”

  “Roger that,” Hawk said.

  “Good luck at the First Lady’s funeral,” Alex said.

  Blunt furrowed his brow. “Good luck? Why would I need luck?”

  “You’re a terrible actor,” she said. “Just try your best to keep a somber face.”

  “I’ll show you my angry face if you don’t get moving.”

  “Your resting face is your angry face,” Alex quipped.

  Blunt shook his finger at her. “I’m warning you, Alex. You’re going to make me really mad in a minute.”

  Hawk took Alex by the wrist and gave her a gentle tug. “Let’s go, dear.”

  She followed him out of the room, and they headed toward the exit.

  “You think something’s up with Blunt?” she asked in a hushed tone.

  “Without a doubt,” Hawk said. “I just don’t know what yet.”

  * * *

  BLUNT SHUT THE DOOR to his office and then fished his cell phone out of his pocket. He dialed a number and waited for someone to answer.

  “Well done,” the man said as he answered the phone. “Your niece will be home before you know it.”

  “I did what you asked,” Blunt said. “Now, where can I pick her up?”

  “You didn’t think it was that simple, did you? The first part of your assignment was to secure an invitation to the First Lady’s funeral this afternoon.”

  “First part?” Blunt asked. “Nobody ever mentioned anything about becoming an errand boy for Falcon Sinclair.”

  The man clucked his tongue. “You looked at the invitation, Mr. Blunt. You’re a bad boy.”

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

  “What was that?” the man asked.

  “I said—”

  Sounds of Morgan screaming made Blunt stop mid-sentence.

  When her cries of pain stopped, the man continued. “Now, what were you saying again, Mr. Blunt?”

  “Let her go,” Blunt said. “She’s done nothing to deserve this.”

  “You’re right. She hasn’t. But you have. Now the sooner you cease with the empty threats, the sooner we can establish a better understanding of how this relationship is going to work moving forward. I have people give you orders, and then you do them. Understand?”

  Blunt seethed as he stared out his window, refusing to answer.

  “Perhaps you didn’t hear me, Mr. Blunt. Do you understand?” the man asked again.

  “Yeah,” Blunt muttered.

  “Good. Now that we’ve cleared that up, you’re going to do what we tell you to do, and you’re not going to complain about it.”

  “Or what?”

  “Do I really need to spell it out for you? You’re a smart man, Mr. Blunt. You know what’ll happen.”

  Blunt hung up and resisted the urge to kick his trash can across the room. He strode over to the mirror and studied his weathered face.

  “Think I look angry now, just you wait.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Washington, D.C.

  FALCON SINCLAIR DUG HIS Patek Philippe Calibre 89 pocket watch out of his suit vest to check the time. His Airbus ACJ319 jet came to a halt
as he calculated that he would have just about five minutes to spare in reaching the First Lady’s funeral if the city’s traffic didn’t become more snarled than usual. Due to the number of dignitaries attending the service for Madeline Young, congestion at Washington National meant his pilot had to spend an extra half hour circling the airport. His extravagant wealth bought him plenty, but apparently it couldn’t compete with the power of important American politicians.

  “Alfred,” Sinclair said in his thick Aussie accent, “change of plans.”

  “What would you like me to do, sir?” asked the genteel septuagenarian who’d spent the past five decades serving the Sinclair family.

  “Without the motorcade, we’re going to need an alternate form of transportation to the service.”

  “Again, I'm sorry, sir, that we weren’t able to arrange that beforehand. Working on such short notice along with the apparent large influx of VIPs attending the First Lady’s funeral created obstacles that were too much for us to overcome.”

  “It happens,” Sinclair said. “But nothing a short helicopter ride won’t remedy.”

  “Sir, I already considered that,” Alfred said. “I just couldn't find a place to land.”

  Sinclair sighed. “Alfred, when are you going to catch up with the times? I swear, I might as well let you go since I have to do everything myself around here these days. I’ll make a donation to the St. Albans School just a block away, and they’ll let us use their athletic fields to land the helicopter.”

  “I’m terribly sorry, sir. I just thought that—”

  “It's all right, old chap,” Sinclair said. “I’ll just take a portion of that gift money from the generous salary I give you. But trust me when I say that if my father hadn’t been so kind to you when he endowed you a job until the end of your life, I would’ve moved on a long time ago.”

  “I understand, sir. You remind me of that daily.”

  Sinclair rested his head in his right hand and sighed. “Sadly, it’s a point that bears repeating. Do better.”

  Sinclair relied upon Selena, his perky twenty-five-year-old assistant, to handle most of his transportation requests. But she was getting married in less than a week and had requested time off months in advance. If she had been any other employee, he would’ve demanded that she work, wedding be damned. But she was different. They had a special relationship, the kind that he went to great lengths to keep from his wife and two other mistresses. Selena had promised him that nothing would change after she got married, an arrangement that made him abnormally forgiving of her absence at such a critical juncture in the overall timeline of his plan. Having to rely upon Alfred to arrange transportation concerned Sinclair, but not to the point that he was overly worried. The kind of power he’d only dreamed of was within reach once a few more pieces fell into place. Complete command was so close now it was almost palpable. And the last thing he wanted was a little traffic jam to delay his scheme—or possibly thwart it all together.