State of Conspiracy (Titus Black Thriller series Book 8) Read online

  “I thought you were a decorated Marine, ma’am?” asked Victor Porter, the co-pilot.

  “I’m not worried about myself. It’s the rest of my staff that doesn’t have the training for the kind of situation we could encounter here.”

  “Relax, Madam Secretary,” Fogle said. “You have more than enough former military personnel on this plane to keep you safe. Now, please have a seat.”

  Geller sighed before closing the door and returning to her chair. She latched the belt across her waist and pulled it tight.

  “Everything all right, ma’am?” Janet asked.

  “No, it’s not,” Geller said with a growl.

  Nixon shifted in his seat and leaned toward her across the aisle. “I went over the whole procedure with the pilot. The part will already be on-site and shouldn’t take more than an hour to install. We won’t even have to leave the plane. We’ll be out of there before you know it.”

  “An hour is a long time,” Geller said. “And in a place like Kinshasa, anything can happen.”

  “The only thing that’s going to happen is our plane getting fixed and us getting the hell outta there in a hurry,” Nixon said. “We’ll be fine.”

  “You don’t know these people,” she said.

  Nixon eyed her cautiously. “Ma’am, have you been here before?”

  “Officially? No.”

  “I can read between the lines,” Nixon said.

  “Don’t think you’re going to get me to talk about it. That was an experience I’ve tried many times to forget, but trauma doesn’t go away that easily.”

  “I understand,” Nixon said. “But it’s my job to keep you safe. Just read a book or watch a movie, anything to get your mind off the fact of where we’re going to be. Pretend like we’re stopping in, say, Madagascar.”

  Geller forced a smile. “Thanks for trying to reassure me. I’m not sure it will help, but I appreciate the effort.”

  She turned her attention toward the front of the plane as it began its descent.

  * * *

  FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, the plane came to a stop outside a hangar near the end of the runway. A pair of armed guards patrolled the area outside as the door swung open. One of the men motioned for the plane to enter the structure.

  Geller let out a loud sigh when the door shut again. She peered through the window, noticing a couple of maintenance men studying what looked like a replacement part of some sort.

  “It’s going to be all right, ma’am,” Fogle said. “I need to have a brief conversation with the head of maintenance here and make sure that we’ve got the right part. But there’s no need for you to get off the plane.”

  “That’s right,” Nixon said. “It’s probably safer that you didn’t. Besides, you’ve got everything you could want right here.”

  “Except my Glock,” she said.

  Nixon chuckled and patted his side piece. “Would you like to borrow mine?”

  She shook her head and decided to read up more on the South African delegation she’d be meeting when they reached Pretoria.

  The minutes ticked by slowly for Geller, who compulsively checked her watch every five minutes. When an hour had passed, she poked her head out of the cabin and called to Fogle.

  “What’s the holdup?” she asked, pointing to her watch. “You said this would only take an hour.”

  Fogle shrugged. “They needed a tool they didn’t have on-site and had to go across the airport to get it. Maybe twenty more minutes.”

  “I’m holding you to that, captain.”

  She sat back down and returned to her reading. A couple of minutes later, Nixon strode back into the cockpit.

  “Everything is still buttoned up outside,” he said.

  “And from what I can tell on social media, nobody has figured out we’re here,” Janet said.

  “Thank you—both of you,” Geller said. “But I won’t be fully at ease until we’re in the air again.”

  After another ten minutes passed, Geller was startled by the sound of gunshots.

  “What the hell is that, Nixon?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Just stay put. I’ll check it out.”

  Seconds later, the door to the hangar began to open. Gunmen poured inside, spreading out and encircling the aircraft. Geller watched the scene unfold through her window. With hands raised in a gesture of surrender, Nixon approached one of the men who appeared to be the group’s leader. The man didn’t hesitate, shooting Nixon twice in chest.

  Another man toting a rocket launcher on his shoulder joined the group.

  “You have fifteen seconds to hand over the U.S. Secretary of State or else we’re going to fire upon this aircraft,” the leader announced.

  Geller swallowed hard and unbuckled her seatbelt.

  “What are you doing?” Janet asked. “They’re bluffing.”

  Geller shook her head. “You want to risk your life on the chance that they aren’t?”

  “They might shoot us anyway,” Janet said. “Don’t give them the satisfaction.”

  “You might be right, but I have to try. Call Robert Besserman at the CIA. He’ll know what to do.”

  She raised her arms high and exited the jet.

  CHAPTER 9

  Las Vegas

  BLUNT STROLLED PAST the marble columns inside Caesar’s Palace and entered the casino. The room buzzed with conversation and nervous energy from players attempting to amass small fortunes. Slot machines beeped while coins clinked, some going in one by one, others coming out in an avalanche. Blunt stopped and leaned on his cane as he surveyed the room, drinking in the personification of greed and becoming intoxicated by it.

  Wish I had time to play.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d visited Vegas for pleasure. And it was all business this time as well.

  After scanning the tables, he found his appointment. The man said he’d be wearing a mesh baseball cap with the words “Pit Boss” airbrushed across the front—and he was seated at a booth in the corner as promised.

  Blunt lumbered toward the table before easing into the seat across from the man.

  Blunt sat down and rested his cane against the side before offering his hand. “My name’s—”

  “I know who you are,” the man said.

  “And you are?”

  “Just call me Colt.”

  “Okay, Colt. You seem like the kind of guy who isn’t much on small talk, so let’s get down to business.”

  “I like you already, Senator.”

  Blunt offered a thin smile before continuing. “I’m aware of what you do and I want to see if you’d be willing to help me.”

  A waitress eased up to the table, but Blunt didn’t make eye contact as he waved her off.

  “I’m always willing,” Colt said. “It’s just a matter of whether or not the deal makes sense for me.”

  “Well, I’m prepared to offer you a hundred thousand.”

  Colt chuckled.

  “Did I say something funny?” Blunt asked.

  “A hundred thousand? That’s a bold first offer.”

  “So you’ll take it?”

  Colt shook his head. “I’m not interested in money.”

  “You’d like to take this on pro bono?” Blunt asked with a wry grin.

  “Hardly,” Colt said as he produced a Zippo lighter from his pocket. He flicked it on before snapping the lid shut, repeating the process several times without saying anything else.

  “Tell me what you want?” Blunt asked.

  “I want a royal flush in my hand with twenty million in the middle of the table,” Colt said. “But I doubt you can make that happen.”

  “You want twenty million dollars?”

  “Not from you,” Colt said as he fiddled with his lighter again.

  “While I have plenty of talents, mind reading isn’t one of them,” Blunt said. “If it were, my life would be much easier. Now, I don't want to waste any more of your time if we’re not going to be able to co
me to an agreement, so—”

  “You have the ear of the president, don’t you?” Colt said without looking up.

  “I do speak with him on occasion,” Blunt said.

  “In that case, I don’t want your money, but I do want a favor.”

  Blunt’s eyes widened. “A favor? From the president?”

  Colt nodded subtly.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” Blunt said as he leaned forward. “What kind of favor do you want exactly?”

  “Do you remember a guy named Norman Fox?” Colt asked.

  “The name sounds familiar. Can you help me place him?”

  “Eight years ago he was arrested for hacking into the Pentagon and divulging U.S. military misdeeds on a government accountability website.”

  “Ah, yes. I believe I remember one of the headlines, too: ‘What did the Fox hack?’”

  “Written by some lazy editor who thought he was being clever.”

  Blunt shrugged. “As I recall, the song about what the Fox said was all the rage that year.”

  “Still lame,” Colt said as he fired up his lighter again. The flame danced for a few seconds before he closed the lid.

  “And what does Norman Fox have to do with your request?” Blunt asked.

  “I want him pardoned for what he did,” Colt said.

  Blunt groaned. “That might be a bridge too far.”

  “This is a different administration than back then,” Colt said. “President Young could send the message that while Fox’s method was wrong, the end result was correct. Our military was conducting some unethical and unauthorized missions that directly contradicted our country’s foreign policy mantra that each nation’s sovereignty must be respected.”

  Blunt winced. “I don’t know how well that will play in Washington, particularly at the Pentagon.”

  “Who cares what they think,” Colt said, slapping the table. “The Pentagon leaders think they’re above the law and can operate without repercussions. And you know what? They’re right. So, let’s just ignore their likely protests for a moment and consider how this might improve the president’s standing against those who are leery of the U.S. military and bureaucrats running it.”

  “It’s a fair point,” Blunt said.

  “That’s how you pitch it to Young,” Colt said. “Sell him on the idea that pardoning Fox will be better for him politically in the long run than dealing with a hissy fit or two from some spoiled generals.”

  “And if he says no?”

  “Then no deal,” Colt said. “It’s just that simple.”

  “All right,” Blunt said. “I’ll make a call, but I won’t make any promises.”

  “That’s fine. I don’t need to do this for you, but I’ll gladly do it if I can free Fox.”

  “Give me a few minutes and I’ll make the call.”

  * * *

  BLUNT FOUND a pillar to lean against as he dialed the number for President Young’s assistant. After answering, she put Blunt on hold.

  Several minutes passed before Young’s voice boomed from the other end with a greeting. “J.D. Blunt, to what do I owe this pleasure? Are you calling to tell me that you just figured out a way to shut down Iran’s nuclear power plants or have extracted a list of all the Chinese spies living in the U.S.?”

  Blunt grunted. “Why don’t you just ask if I found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow?”

  “That’d be fine with me too. An endless pot of gold would help me reduce taxes to unprecedented levels.”

  “Sir, need I remind you at one point in our country’s history, we didn’t pay taxes. That’s the precedent.”

  Young huffed a laugh through his nose. “Okay, enough of my dreaming for today. It’s been a rough one politically, and I was hoping that you’d be calling with some good news to turn around my misfortune.”

  “I wish I was, sir. However, I’ve got a request of you instead, one that just might bolster your political fortunes.”

  “I’m all ears, J.D.”

  “Are you familiar with a man named Norman Fox?”

  “Sure. That bastard threatened the security of hundreds of covert operatives all over the world before we stopped him.”

  Blunt sighed. “Well, that’s going to make this request all the more difficult, I imagine.”

  “Just spit it out.”

  “I need you to pardon Fox.”

  Young laughed and waited a moment. But Blunt didn’t say a word. “Oh, you’re serious?”

  “I don’t joke about these things, sir.”

  “Then you must be smoking something because there’s no way in hell I’m going to let him walk.”

  “Even if it was the difference in catching who’s behind the Fullgood Initiative?” Blunt asked.

  “Find another way, J.D. Fox needs to pay for his crimes, and I’m not about to give my political enemies fodder for their campaigns against me.”

  “If you were able to expose the Fullgood Initiative, I’m willing to bet the American people would forgive you for pardoning Fox.”

  Young huffed. “I’m afraid you’ve been inside the Beltway for far too long. Nobody outside of Washington is even talking about the Fullgood Initiative, much less caring about how they controlled key military decisions.”

  “But if they knew …” Blunt let his words hang in the air, hoping it’d be enough to get the president to at least consider it.

  “Not a chance. I won’t entertain it under any circumstances.”

  “Okay,” Blunt said before taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. “You’ve made your position clear. I’ll find another way.”

  “Thank you. Now keep up the good work, J.D.”

  Blunt hung up and then turned his attention back toward the dining room where Colt sat flicking his lighter.

  Upon returning to the table, Blunt eased into his seat and then leaned forward, clasping his hands together as he eyed Colt.

  “Let’s say there was another way we could do this,” Blunt said.

  Colt cocked his head to one side. “The president turned you down, didn’t he?”

  “I don’t know if turned down is the phrase I would use, but the result is the same.”

  Colt chuckled. “He told you to go to hell, didn’t he?”

  Blunt didn’t blink.

  “I figured as much. Well, it was a pleasure meeting you. I best be getting on my way.”

  “You could at least let me buy you a drink for your time,” Blunt suggested.

  “I try not to make it a practice to spend time in public with spooks.”

  “I’m not a spook,” Blunt said, glaring at Colt.

  “Maybe not, but there’s no denying you’re a delusional and desperate old man.”

  “What makes you say that?” Blunt asked.

  Colt smiled. “You actually thought, for starters, that I’d help you. You also believed that you could talk the president into releasing one of the most hated criminals in U.S. intelligence history. I’ve gotta hand it to you, you’ve got some gumption.”

  “That doesn’t make up for the lack of help I have to capture dangerous criminals who pose a threat to our country’s national security.”

  Colt waved dismissively. “Well, you’re part of the American intelligence community. You’ll figure it out.”

  He flicked his lighter a few more times before pocketing it and then sliding out of the booth. Colt subtly tipped his cap to Blunt before meandering out of the restaurant, disappearing into a stream of gamblers looking for their next table to strike it rich.

  Blunt needed someone else—anyone else—and he needed him fast.

  CHAPTER 10

  30,000 feet over Somalia

  BLACK WAITED TEN MINUTES before opening his eyes again. When he did, the horizon was clear while a sea of puffy clouds stretched out infinitely around them. Black let out a sigh as he leaned back in his seat, the image of a dying Ward haunting him.

  With Black’s heart no longer racing, he dialed Shields’ number so he co
uld update her on the situation.

  “How’s everything in Somalia?” she asked. “Have you taken off yet?”

  “In a blaze of glory,” Black said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I didn’t tell you what was really happening in Mogadishu,” he said. “It was pretty close to being my own Black Hawk down experience, complete with insurgents dragging my body through the streets.”

  Shields was quiet for a moment. “Are you serious?”

  “I wish I wasn’t,” Black said before recounting the details of their harrowing escape out of Somalia.

  When he was finished, she let out a low whistle. “You should’ve contacted me earlier. Maybe there was something I could’ve done to help you.”

  “I doubt it. That was a literal ambush by Ward’s trusted insider. That punk was playing Ward the whole time and he couldn’t see it.”

  “You wouldn’t have trusted him?” she asked.

  “I live in the intelligence world. I trust no one. But Ward was military. He’s not as cautious as I am. Now he’s lying dead in a hotel room in Mogadishu. God rest his soul.”

  “It’s sad, but I’m glad it’s him instead of you.”

  “That makes two of us. Ward was a great guy. It’s a shame that one of his greatest traits—his ability to see the good in everyone—is what ended up doing him in.”

  “Well, as callous as it might sound, we need you alive more than him right now.”

  Black bit his lip as he shook his head. “What’s wrong now?”

  “We just received a report about a major incident going down in Congo.”

  “How major?”

  “One of Secretary of State Rachel Geller’s aides called Director Besserman to report that Geller had been taken hostage by a group of terrorists in Kinshasa. That was right before her call went dead amid a flurry of gunshots.”

  “Kinshasa? What the hell was she doing there? That place is a magnet for terrorists.”

  “Her plane had to make an emergency landing due to a safety issue.”

  “Safety issue, my ass,” Black said. “First, we lost Secretary Hatcher on a cruise ship where her whereabouts were leaked. Now this? We still have some moles in the U.S. government who are a threat to the safety of every public official. And I’m not okay with it.”