Brady Hawk 10 - Into the Shadows

by R. J. Patterson

  “Is this some kind of joke?” Michaels asked.

  “Let’s just see what the pundits are saying.”

  Preston grabbed the remote from the edge of the desk and turned on the television. For the next ten minutes, Michaels watched in silence as every political talking head eviscerated him for the leaked video. No one was willing to defend him, much less call for everyone to wait until all the facts came out. The writing was on the wall—his career was over. And Preston offered him what amounted to a virtual pardon, albeit one that ended in death.

  “Okay,” Michaels said. “I’ll accept your offer as long as you promise to keep your word. Defend me on this and make up a plausible cover story. Don’t let them tarnish what I’ve done over a single mistake.”

  “You have my word,” Preston said. “Now, what’ll it be?”

  Michaels nodded toward the knife.

  “It’ll be quick and painless as far as suicides go—and easier to cover up.”

  Preston gathered all his items, including his laptop and the rope, and placed them into his briefcase. He slipped the thumb drive into his coat pocket and strode toward the door.

  Stopping at the door, he turned back to Michaels and threw him the keys to the handcuffs.

  “You’ve got half an hour,” Preston said.

  Michaels watched the door shut before he started to unlock himself. He rubbed his wrists and then stared down at the knife. Picking it up, he fingered the blade before he pricked his thumb. He watched a drop of blood bead up before dripping onto the desk.

  He closed his eyes and put the knife against his wrist.

  Here goes nothing.

  CHAPTER 27

  HAWK KEPT HIS FOOT on the gas as he wound along the two-lane roads leading to Camp David. For too long, President Michaels had played games with Hawk, placing him on terrorist watch and most-wanted lists. Hawk had grown tired of living with his head on a swivel. But even more importantly, he’d grown tired of serving under a president who was a bigger threat to the country than the tough-talking terrorists oceans away from U.S. soil.

  Hawk called Big Earv, his longtime friend and Secret Service agent, to find out if there was anything he should know about Michaels’ visit to the presidential retreat.

  “Big Earv, where are you?” Hawk asked once his friend answered.

  “I’m at Camp David with the president.”

  “Think you can get me a private meeting with him, one that’s totally off the books?”

  Big Earv sighed. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Hawk. I just went off duty, but there’s some crazy stuff going on up here right now.”

  “Such as?”

  “The VP and the attorney general both just arrived a few hours ago. They met with Michaels in the library and talked for a while. I was posted outside on duty and told not to let anyone inside. After the VP and attorney general exited, they told me not to let Michaels out. My shift ended a few minutes ago, but Michaels was still sequestered in there.”

  “Alex was right.”

  “Right about what? She said she had something brewing that was going to get Michaels in hot water and end him through legal channels.”

  “Well, she might be right but nobody knows what’s going on. We haven’t been told anything other than our supervisor telling us to protect the president but that he wasn’t in charge anymore.”

  “What could that mean?”

  “I don’t know. Something is happening, something big. But nobody is talking about it.”

  “You didn’t hear anything while you were standing at your post outside his library?” Hawk asked.

  “No, at least nothing that I could make sense of. It sounded like they were watching a video. Michaels demanded that we leave the room.”

  “Thanks for the heads up. I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be up there soon.”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Hawk. This place is on high alert. I’ve never seen anything like it. If someone dropped a bomb on this place right now, it’d be chaos in Washington.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.”

  Hawk hung up and checked his GPS. He was only ten minutes away.

  CHAPTER 28

  MICHAELS WATCHED THE BLOOD trickle down his wrist before changing his mind. I’m not a quitter—never have been, never will be. He stopped cutting before he reached any substantial arteries and grabbed a blanket from a chair in the corner of the room. Ripping a swatch off, he wrapped it around his wrist until the bleeding stopped.

  He glanced at the clock. There were five minutes remaining before Thomas Preston returned to the room and expected to find his president dead. But Michaels had worked too hard to go down without a fight.

  I’m the president, damn it. I should be able to do what I want.

  Michaels mulled over his options, which weren’t as numerous as he hoped for. Since he’d ruled out suicide, he could fight everything in court, where his chances were conservatively 60-40 that he’d win. Despite any accusations, most Americans still admired anyone who won the presidency, even if they hated the man. Or he could make a run for it and try to disappear. The odds of just blending in weren’t in his favor. Or he could spin the whole thing and make Noah Young take the fall. It’d be risky, but it could be done. Michaels put those odds at 50-50.

  But none of that would matter if he didn’t figure out a way to escape Preston’s iron fist. Michaels contemplated how he would handle the return of the attorney general to his library. Would it be a violent surprise attack? An attempt to appeal to Preston’s humanity? Maybe even a bribe would work?

  Michaels concluded all those would have to wait. He needed Preston’s discovery to be dramatic.

  As the clock wound down, Michaels braced himself and rehearsed exactly what he’d say.

  Tick, tick, tick.

  The seconds passed by slowly. Michaels shifted in his chair and spun it around so that his back was to the door.

  At exactly thirty minutes after Preston had left, he re-entered the room. He shut the door behind him after instructing the two Secret Service agents on guard to remain outside in case he needed them.

  The floorboards creaked as he crept across the room to inspect the scene of a dead president. Michaels sat motionless, his left hand dangling at his side.

  “What the—”

  Preston froze when he looked at the floor and didn’t see much blood. Without warning, Michaels reached up and grabbed Preston’s hand.

  “I’m disappointed in you,” Preston said.

  “Not half as much as I am in you,” Michaels said through clenched teeth. “I trusted you. I gave you a chance when no one else would. And this is the thanks I get?”

  Preston wrestled his arm away from Michaels and took a step back.

  “You’re out of your mind,” Preston said. “I wanted to protect you, but I can’t now if you try to walk outside those doors.”

  “You wanted to protect me? You? Protect me? By what—giving me a knife so I would kill myself? From where I sit, it appears that you wanted to save yourself the headache of prosecuting a sitting president. Well, you’re not getting off that easily.”

  “The whole world is going to see what’s on that thumb drive,” Preston said. “Is that really what you want? The American people are going to see you betraying your country, the one they elected you to protect.”

  “It’ll never stand up in court and you know it,” Michaels said. “That’s why you’ve staged this whole charade. You and that stooge, Noah Young, have no idea what you’re up against.”

  Preston rubbed his face with his hands before addressing Michaels.

  “You really think you know how this is all going to go down? I’ve got news for you, Mr. President. I have friends in high places as well—and all of them would love to see you go down in flames.”

  “I demand your resignation right now,” Michaels said.

  “Really? Good luck with that because I’m not resigning from anything. I’m going to see
this through for the good of our country. I tried to do you a favor before, but not anymore. You’re going to go down, but it won’t be in a blaze of glory. It’ll be more like flittering ashes as you and your pathetic legacy drift to the ground.”

  Michaels narrowed his eyes. “Where did you get that video from? Who sent it to you? Do you even know?”

  “Are you challenging its legitimacy? I’ll have experts lined up to testify that it’s your voice, not to mention Pentagon generals who loathe your leadership and will be frothing at the mouth to verify all your illegal activities.”

  “Did someone send this to you?” Michaels asked.

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Do you have a backup copy, or did you come straight here with this?”

  “What?”

  Before Preston could get another word out, Michaels recoiled before driving his knife into the attorney general’s hand and pinning it to the desk.

  Preston let out a visceral scream before Michaels snatched the thumb drive out of Preston’s other hand.

  “You’ll never get away with this,” Preston said.

  Michaels didn’t look back, storming through the door and racing down the hallway. He heard Preston scream for the Secret Service agents to arrest the president, but it was too late. Michaels had already left the house and raced into the wooded area surrounding the Camp David cottage.

  Serves the bastard right.

  Michaels glanced to his left and right. He didn’t see a soul as he ventured into the forest.

  CHAPTER 29

  HAWK TOOK A PRONE POSITION about 200 meters away from the Camp David cottage. Wearing camouflage and nestled against the ground, he pulled out his binoculars and peered through them at the activity inside. He felt as if he’d entered into a life of voyeurism, switching back and forth between the rooms. Despite pushing the twinge of guilt down, he couldn’t deny that something was happening, the kind of something that Big Earv had referenced in describing the scene.

  Hawk bounced back and forth between the various rooms in the house, catching glimpses of the people inside as they moved around. Whatever was taking place, Hawk concluded that Big Earv was right—the peaceful status quo had been long since abandoned. Secret Service agents darted around the house while Thomas Preston appeared to be in anguish.

  “What the hell?” Hawk muttered to himself as he watched Preston contort his face but remain in the library.

  Hawk’s field of vision drifted downward until he could see the full picture and caught the source of Preston’s anguish. A knife appeared to be buried in the back of Preston’s hand.

  Preston continued screaming and crying for help.

  Hawk whipped the binoculars over to the den, which had an exit leading to the back porch. Michaels eased outside and said something to the agent posted by the door. The agent dashed inside, leaving Michaels alone outside. As Hawk watched, Michaels checked over his shoulder once more and surveyed the wooded area behind the house before taking off and sprinting toward the forest.

  Does he think he’s going to disappear?

  Hawk smiled as he refocused his binoculars and followed Michaels’ pathway into the woods. Michaels was headed straight for Hawk.

  While Hawk followed Michaels, a Secret Service agent poked his head outside and called out.

  “Mr. President? Mr. President? Are you outside?” the agent asked.

  Michaels didn’t even turn around, continuing to beat a path deep into the forest.

  Hawk watched the agent squint as he peered into dense vegetation behind the house before shrugging and returning inside.

  After another fifteen seconds, Michaels neared Hawk’s position.

  * * *

  MICHAELS PAUSED TO CATCH his breath. Bending over with his hands resting on his knees, he closed his eyes and tried to gather his thoughts. Left alone with the knife in his library, Michaels had time to formulate a plan, though a hasty one. Before he set it in motion, he realized it was far from perfect and would need everything to fall his way in order to survive the impending scandal. But it was better than slashing his wrist.

  Michaels stood upright and scanned the woods, deciding on his next path. Before he took off running, his phone rang. Michaels pulled it out to inspect it. Anxious to answer the call, he tapped the screen and said hello.

  “How’d you get this number? I never give it out,” Michaels said with a scowl.

  “Seriously? That’s the first question you ask me,” a man said. Hawk recognized the voice almost immediately. It was Oliver Ackerman.

  Michaels spoke in a whisper. “What do you want?”

  “I think I already made that clear earlier. I want all my money back.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Michaels said. “I never took your money.”

  “How come my account is empty then?”

  “Maybe there was a computer glitch.”

  “I called the bank. There’s nothing in there. And there’s only one person who knew about that account.”

  Michaels sighed. “Apparently not—because I had nothing to do with it, unless your bank is taking you for a ride. I’ve heard those financial institutions in the Caribbean aren’t always on the up and up.”

  “I called the bank and they traced the withdrawal back to your people.”

  “Like I said, must’ve been a mistake. Or perhaps there’s some rogue staffer in my office doing unscrupulous things with your account. But I don’t have time to hash this over.”

  “Well, you’re going to make time to put everything back as it should be or else I’m going to release proof of who the real President Conrad Michaels is.”

  Michaels looked around as he spoke. “Then you’d never get your money—and I’d deny everything. Meanwhile, you’d spend the rest of your life in jail.”

  “I’m sure you’re familiar with the acronym MAD—mutually assured destruction.”

  Michaels chuckled. “If you make a play like that, it’ll be SAD—self-assured destruction—because I sure as hell won’t go down for anything you’ve done over there. And before you get any ideas, just remember how that whole Wikileaks scandal turned out. Nobody believes a damn thing they say anymore.”

  “Put the money back in the account and this all goes away,” Ackerman said. “We’ll go our separate ways and never speak of this day again. Otherwise, you’ll never forget it and rue your stubbornness until the moment you breathe your last breath.”

  “You’ll never see a dime from me again. Burn in hell, Ollie,” Michaels said before he hung up.

  He shoved his phone into his pocket and felt the thumb drive. Escaping so he could regroup was a high priority, but not as important as destroying the video that could actually ruin his presidency, not to mention his entire legacy.

  Michaels looked around for an appropriate spot and identified a location near the base of a tree that was shrouded by a large fern. The spot was off the beaten path and wouldn’t likely be discovered by even the most observant searchers. Michaels knelt down next to the tree and dug down a foot before hitting some rocks and deciding the hole was deep enough. Dropping the flash drive into the hole, he carefully covered it back up and dropped a thick coat of pine straw on top.

  If they ever do find that, it’ll be too late.

  Michaels dusted his hands off and identified the path he’d chosen earlier. Pausing only to look behind him and noticing no one was searching for him yet, he blasted into the woods.

  * * *

  HAWK WATCHED AS MICHAELS tore through the forest, his head down and feet sure. Michaels leapt over a fallen pine and pumped his arms as he moved. For a moment, Hawk was mesmerized that Michaels hadn’t lost more than a step from his acclaimed career as a track star in college. Michaels pumped his arms and breathed heavily.

  But with his head down, Michaels never saw Hawk—or his locked arm. Catching Michaels right in the throat, Hawk smiled wryly as the president went airborne and landed on his back.

&n
bsp; Michaels hit the ground with a thud, followed almost immediately by a moan.

  “Nice of you to stop by, Conrad. Seems like we always seem to meet when you’re in desperate need of some help.”

  Michaels groaned before letting out a string of expletives directed at Hawk.

  “I’m not sure denigrating me is the best approach when I’m the only person who can give you a hand.”

  Wide-eyed, Michaels looked up at Hawk.

  “You’ll help me?”

  Hawk shook his head. “Not a chance. Today is when it all ends. You, me, the American people—we all need to come to a better understanding about who you really are and what you’re really doing during your presidency.”

  “What are you gonna do to stop me?” Michaels jeered.

  Hawk reached for his gun tucked in the back of his belt.

  “Settle down,” a man said a few meters downhill from Hawk and Michaels’ position.

  “Big Earv,” Hawk said. “About time you arrived.”

  “Put the gun down, Hawk,” Big Earv said. “You don’t wanna do this. This isn’t you.”

  Hawk cocked his head and frowned. “Isn’t me? What are you talking about? This is all I do. I take out the trash. And this sack here has a stench that’s overwhelming.”

  “There are better ways to handle this.”

  “Name one.”

  Michaels sat up. “You let me go and I’ll appoint you to some position in the Pentagon.”

  “Shut up,” Hawk said. “You couldn’t pay me all the money in the world to sit behind a desk and kiss bureaucratic ass all day long. Besides, my character isn’t up for sale.”

  “There are legal channels to take him down,” Big Earv said, glancing at Michaels.

  “So my own Secret Service agents aren’t even on my side?” Michaels said. “Unbelievable.”

  “Is that really so hard to believe?” Hawk asked. “You’ve treated people as if they were your slaves doing your bidding for a long time. It’s how you got to the top, but it’s going to cost you everything now.”