State of Conspiracy (Titus Black Thriller series Book 8) Page 2

  Gus squinted and shook his head subtly. “I mean, she could be any number of people who’ve come through here. We’re not exactly known for our retention rate, if you know what I mean.”

  Blunt wrapped his hands around the coffee mug that Gus slid onto the counter. “It would’ve been recently, maybe in the last three or four months.”

  “Nobody is coming to mind,” Gus said. “Are you sure she worked here?”

  “I guess it’s possible I could be wrong,” Blunt said. “That’s been prone to happen a time or two in my life.”

  Gus broke into a hearty laugh. “That’s about how many times my ex-wife said she was wrong.”

  “Hence the ex.”

  “Exactly,” Gus said, pointing his spatula at Blunt again. The cook turned around to face the grill, tossing the shredded potatoes across the hot surface as he continued their conversation. “I’m a gullible person, but I’m not stupid. There’s only so far you can push me before I figure out what’s going on.”

  “And your ex wasn’t going on, was she?”

  “No, she was going out—on me,” Gus said as he shook his head. “There’s only so much a man can take, even a man like me who’s madly in love with his wife.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Blunt said. “But I feel your pain.” He took a long sip of his coffee before looking up at Gus.

  “Pain? More like a gaping flesh wound,” Gus said, the bitterness still evident in his voice.

  Blunt nodded in agreement before casting a quick glance back toward the supply room. He noticed a man lugging a large white container on his shoulders while shuffling toward the griddle. As the door swung shut, Blunt saw a woman dashing around in the back.

  “Who’s that?” Blunt said, nodding toward the door.

  “I’m sorry,” Gus said. “Who are you talking about?”

  “That woman back there. What’s her name?”

  “Well, it’s not Elaine Gibbons—I can tell you that much,” Gus said.

  “You sure?” Blunt asked as he tapped the picture on the counter. “Because she really looks like her.”

  Gus leaned over the counter and inspected the picture again. “Nah, that’s not our gal.”

  “Who is your gal back there?”

  Gus frowned. “You’re not going to quit asking, are you?”

  Blunt resolutely shook his head.

  “Fine,” Gus said. “I guess there’s no harm in telling you her name. That’s Betty Green, and she’s worked here quite a while.”

  “And?” Blunt said, continuing to prod the cook for more information.

  “And what? She’s been here for several months, maybe even a year. I can’t always keep track.”

  “Well, which is it? Because that matters to me, Gus.”

  “I’m sure it does, but I’m not really comfortable telling you. She’s had a few suitors who’ve turned out to be traffickers. And quite frankly, I don’t know you.”

  Blunt exhaled. “Do I look like a trafficker to you? Never mind. Don’t answer that. I don’t really care what you think, to be completely honest.”

  Gus’s tone turned caustic. “You look like a sad old man, who’s part predator, part desperate.”

  Blunt scowled. “Nothing could be further from the truth.”

  Gus ended the small talk by nudging a plate with eggs Benedict in front of Blunt. “Why don’t you get started on your breakfast and stop with your interrogation? I’m not too fond of spooks.”

  “I’m not a spook,” Blunt said with a sneer.

  Gus didn’t turn around, already at work on his next order.

  Blunt didn’t appreciate Gus’s tone but didn’t dwell on it. Betty Green’s resemblance to Elaine Gibbons was difficult to dismiss. She had a different hairdo and coloring, but Blunt could see past all that. He’d spent enough time looking at profile pictures to know that most people couldn’t see past the superficial features like eye and hair color and style. Betty Green wore her blonde hair up in a bun, her roots barely showing but obviously there. Elaine Gibbons was a natural brunette and in her mid-40s. Yet it was Gibbons’ crow’s feet that betrayed her otherwise youthful appearance.

  Blunt was sure Betty Green was an alias, but he needed a closer look.

  For the next fifteen minutes, Blunt nursed his cup of coffee while eyeing Betty Green. He pretended to be interested in several articles from The Boomerang, the Laramie daily newspaper, but he was far more engrossed by the movements of Green. She seemed at home as a waitress, refilling coffee cups and chatting up the regulars.

  Gus nudged Blunt’s bill toward him. “You plan on settling up any time soon?”

  Blunt retrieved his wallet from his coat pocket and slapped a credit card on the counter.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Gus said and then snatched the card. He jammed it into a machine and waited for it to spit out a receipt. After a few seconds, the printer hummed before ejecting a small slip of paper. He ripped it off and placed it in front of Blunt along with a pen.

  “Last chance,” Blunt said holding up a picture of Elaine Gibbons. “You sure you’ve never seen this woman?”

  Gus shook his head. “Still coming up with nothing.”

  Blunt filled out the receipt, giving Gus the minimum on the tip. The Firestorm director had been prepared to write a lavish number but decided against it when the short order cook stonewalled him.

  Blunt watched the lights in the back dim as the patrons exited the cafe. In less than a minute, the Prairie Rose had emptied out. Blunt was the last customer to leave.

  “Come back and see us the next time you’re in town,” Gus said, offering a friendly wave.

  “I doubt I’ll be back,” Blunt said. “But if I am, I’ll pay you a visit.”

  Gus smiled. “I look forward to it.”

  Blunt turned toward the door and then left. He jammed an unlit cigar into his mouth as he lumbered down the street toward his car. As he prepared to get inside, he stopped and scanned the area. The waitress known as Betty Green hustled across the street toward her car.

  “Betty,” Blunt called. “Hold up for a minute. I want to speak with you.”

  She ignored him and scrambled to get into her vehicle.

  Blunt fought through the pain in his knee, reaching her car as she scrambled inside. He grabbed the top of the door and prevented her from closing it.

  “Miss Gibbons, we need to talk.”

  She forced the door open wider, causing Blunt to lose his grip on the door for a moment. However, he managed to keep her from shutting it.

  “I just have a few questions for you,” Blunt said.

  “Buzz off, creep,” Gibbons said before spraying mace in his eyes.

  Instinctively, he let go of the door to cover his eyes as the burning sensation consumed him. He let out a yelp and a few choice words, garnering the attention of a few pedestrians. As Blunt struggled to cope with the pain, he looked up to discover Gus standing over him.

  “He’s right here, officer,” Gus called to the cop.

  A policeman meandered over to Blunt, who was sitting on the street curb. Before Blunt could explain what had happened, he felt cold steel wrap around his wrists. The officer yanked Blunt to his feet.

  “Let’s go, sir,” the officer said. “We need to have a little chat down at the precinct.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Washington, D.C.

  PRESIDENT NOAH YOUNG LEANED back in his chair and tapped a pen on his knee while perusing another document from the State Department on the rise of terrorist cells in Africa. Though the global intelligence community had experienced a run of success in snuffing out some of these emerging terrorist organizations, the proliferation of such groups had become a troubling trend. The paper laid out a case for increasing resources in the region to fight terror or they could expect to suffer horrific consequences in the next five to ten years. And for a man who was concerned with the kind of legacy he’d leave behind, ignoring the problem was unacceptable.

  He chewed o
n a toothpick while scribbling a few notes ahead of his meeting with the newly appointed Secretary of State, Rachel Geller. As he put his pen down, his assistant knocked on his door to announce Geller’s arrival.

  With a leather attache in one hand, Geller offered her other as she approached Young. The two shook hands before Young invited her to sit down. She smiled as she took a seat.

  “I really appreciate you hitting the ground running like you have,” Young said, easing into a chair situated on the other side of a small coffee table across from Geller. “What happened to Secretary Hatcher was tragic and it couldn’t have come at a worse time.”

  “There’s never a good time for tragedy, sir,” Geller said as she tucked stray blonde tendrils behind her ears. “Fortunately, Secretary Hatcher had a great staff around her that didn’t skip a beat.”

  “Don’t be so modest, Rachel,” Young said. “It’s my understanding that this latest paper on the rise of terrorism in Africa wasn’t even in the works under Hatcher. You put this together quickly, and I can’t thank you enough.”

  “This is the job,” she said with a shrug. “And I wish I had better news to report.”

  Young waved dismissively. “Good news is a thing of the past. We live in a world that would be a heap of smoldering ashes were it not for our ability to somewhat control the chaos. And I know that’s something you’re good at.”

  “Picking off insurgents on a hillside outside of Kadahar hardly qualifies as controlling chaos,” Geller said.

  “According to the handful of your former superiors I spoke with, you did that quite effectively during your time in the Marines. But that’s not what I was referring to.”

  Geller offered a thin smile as she shook her head. “Then did you mean my time on Capitol Hill?”

  Young worked over the toothpick in his mouth and winked at her. “Handling all the egos in the House is the epitome of controlling chaos. And you did an exemplary job. To be honest, it was the only reason I was hesitant about appointing you to this position. But it’s also probably why you were approved so quickly.”

  Geller chuckled. “Everyone in Congress was ready to get rid of me, weren’t they?”

  “They were, though they didn’t really get rid of you since you now have more pull than ever before.”

  “Does that mean you’re going to take my recommendation on how to handle the growing situation in Africa?”

  Young sucked a breath through his teeth and shook his head. “I don’t know. After what happened to Hatcher, I’m not sure I want you parading all over that continent. The security there is marginal at best, not to mention all of their existing corruption would make what they do have even less effective.”

  “Considering that we already dealt with the source of the leak, that shouldn’t be an issue moving forward,” Geller said.

  Young pointed toward the document on his desk. “Your department makes it clear that a past leak is the least of our worries for venturing into Africa right now. Another attack isn’t something I want on my conscience.”

  Geller sighed. “Look, South Africa is an important ally over there, and they’re begging for us to partner with them. They don’t have the resources to fight terrorism alone at the rate it’s growing around their country. And if we don’t deal with it now, we’re going to be dealing with it when it arrives on our shores, which will be too late and little more than damage control at that point. I don’t think you want that.”

  Leaning forward, Young shook his head. “I know it’s ironic, but the case you made for going is the exact reason you can’t go.”

  She frowned and cocked her head to one side. “I’m afraid I’m not following you.”

  “Rachel, you have too brilliant a mind to risk another event, one that could be catastrophic to our efforts in the region, not to mention fatal for you.”

  “Sir, you do remember that I endured three months as a captive of the Taliban, right? I can handle anything that terrorists might throw at me.”

  “Or they could just kill you, which is not something I want happening on my watch.”

  “But, sir, I—”

  “That’s enough,” Young said as he held his hand in the air. “Find another way to appease South Africa without taking a trip there. I’m sure they’d be more than forgiving if we figure out a way to direct more funding to them.”

  “Money can’t solve every issue, sir, and I believe that’s why you hired me for this position. Real relationships will outlast—and sometimes even trump—monetary considerations.”

  “Exactly,” Young said. “Find another way. Figure out how to form a partnership with South Africa to fight terrorism in the region without taking a visit there. You’re creative and I’m counting on you to do that.”

  Geller closed her eyes and shook her head before looking up at him solemnly. “I’m not a magician, sir.”

  “I know,” he said. “You’re a wizard.”

  She stood and offered her hand. “I’ll see what I can do, but I won’t make any promises. The South African ambassador has stressed to me the importance of a face-to-face meeting.”

  “I have confidence in you, Rachel. Make it happen.”

  After she walked out, Young snapped the toothpick in half with his tongue. For the first time since hiring her, he wondered if she was going to be the problem that his chief of staff had predicted.

  * * *

  GELLER EXITED the White House and climbed into her vehicle. As the motorcade returned her to the State Department, she dialed a number.

  “It’s me,” she said. “He refused to allow a face-to-face meeting.”

  “What do you want to do now?”

  “Let’s go with your suggestion. Make the call. I’ll be ready.”

  She hung up and sighed. Geller didn’t feel good about what she was doing, but it was necessary. She had to remind herself that politics were no different on Capitol Hill than they were in the White House.

  Just play the game, Rachel. It’s for the good of the country.

  CHAPTER 4

  Mogadishu, Somalia

  BLACK SLOWLY RAISED his hands and steadied his breathing. The man with the gun behind him spoke English with an American accent. And Black couldn't decide if that was a good sign or a bad one under the circumstances.

  At least negotiations might be easier.

  “Slowly stand up,” the man said as he took a few steps back.

  Black tried to assess the situation as quickly as he could, but that proved challenging. Shields’ inability to surveil the scene put him at a big disadvantage.

  “If it’s not one thing, it’s another,” Black said, the cue for Shields to know that something wasn’t right.

  “Get up,” the man commanded.

  Black stood and turned around, his hands still held high in the air. His eyes bulged as he locked eyes with the gunman, who was also flanked by another man.

  “Ethan?” Black said before his jaw fell slack. “What are you—”

  “I think I should get my questions answered first,” said Ethan Ward, an undercover CIA agent who’d trained with Black when they first entered the agency. “I’m the one with the gun.”

  “Yeah, about that,” Black began. “I’ll be happy to answer all of your questions, but now isn’t a good time. I’m in the middle of a very sensitive op and my window is rapidly closing.”

  Black turned around and returned to his prone position behind his rifle.

  “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” Ward said. “What you’re about to do will destroy five years of work that has cost the lives of three agents. It’ll also make our country more vulnerable to emerging terrorist threats. So, if you insist on staying down there, I’m going to insist in other ways. And I promise you that you won’t like them.”

  Black sighed and rose to his feet. He cut his eyes toward the man standing next to Ward. “Who’s this?”

  “This is Magan, who’s helping us on this all-important operation,” Ward said.

&nbs
p; “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Magan said with a nod.

  Black turned his attention back to Ward. “This doesn’t make any sense. I’m here under the order of the president. I hope the agency is prepared to answer for shutting me down.”

  “Need I remind you that we don’t live in a dictatorship,” Ward said. “The president shouldn’t be ordering assassinations just because he wants a political win.”

  Black scowled. “I assure you this has nothing to do with politics.”

  Ward chuckled. “How long have you been doing this? Ten years? Twelve? I lose track, but I know it’s long enough that you understand by now that everything is political.”

  “So, what you’re doing is completely altruistic?” Black asked.

  “In a word, yes,” Ward said. “Everyone will benefit, except the scumbags who want to destroy our free society by inflicting terror on everyone.”

  Black cocked his head to one side. “You’re going to take out all terrorist groups? And you’re going to use Ahmed to do it?”

  “Not exactly,” Magan said.

  Black shook his head. "Then will you tell me exactly what you are planning on doing?”

  Ward put his arm around his cohort. “My man Magan here is helping us deliver the ultimate strike against terrorism in two days right here in Mogadishu.”

  “And how are you going to do that?” Black asked.

  “There’s an upcoming underground meeting of some of the leaders of the largest terrorist organizations in Africa,” Ward said. “If you took out Ahmed today, they’d surely cancel the event and who knows when we’d have this opportunity again.”

  “But Ahmed is a sure thing if you let me do my job,” Black countered. “But your little op is dependent upon no one finding out or betraying you. I like my odds on a windy day from a thousand yards much better than your dream where everything has to go perfectly. And even then, nothing is guaranteed.”

  “When you have a man on the inside, your chances go up,” Ward said as he nodded at Magan.

  “You work for Ahmed?” Black asked.

  Magan nodded.

  Black thought for a moment before responding. “How did you know I was up here?”