Morgan called several of the men mentioned in the sealed report. Her investigative skills proved Blunt gave the information to the right reporter as she managed to wrangle three of the four officers mentioned in the official documents. She found the fact that a judge had sealed the personnel record of Captain Black from reaching the light of day equally troubling. At least the truth had a chance to come out now.
The detail that made the story extra scandalous was the one omitted from everything Morgan had received from Blunt. And it was the one element that everyone would want to know—the why. Why would a commander sabotage one of his most decorated pilots? Why would a leader entrenched in a war make such a selfish decision? And why would Wellington try to hide it?
Morgan found one officer, Jarrett Gordon, willing to tell it all on the condition of anonymity. Apparently, there were several people who knew, but he told her that if they talked longer than a minute on his cell phone, “people would find out.”
Gordon was working at the Pentagon but called in sick so he could meet Morgan for an early morning meeting over coffee. What he told her left her shocked and disheartened.
“I hope you nail that bastard to the wall,” Gordon said. “He was always condescending and arrogant toward nearly everyone. Everyone in the squadron had grown tired of him as the war came to an end.”
“I’m not interested in settling a personal vendetta,” Morgan said. “I just want the truth.”
“You already have it. I just hope you do something with it. I’ve told this story to three other reporters. Two of them ended up dead. The other one lives in a waterfront house in Hawaii. Draw your own conclusions from that.”
Morgan swallowed hard. “How did anyone know you spoke with them?”
“I’m guessing someone with access to my phone records. That’s why I wanted to talk in person. The other three times, I conducted the interviews on the phone. If you called the other officers mentioned in the report, nobody will suspect a thing.”
“Except that you did speak with me briefly.”
Gordon shrugged. “Wellington cobbled together a life founded on lies and murder. What kind of journalist would you be if you just walked away from this story? The only way to protect yourself is to run it as soon as possible. The other reporters all sat on this information, hoping to get more confirmation. What they got was either a bullet to the head or a hefty gift that landed them on a tropical island in the Pacific. I’m sure you’d rather have a Pulitzer.”
“I’ll settle for the truth,” she said.
“Well, you got it from me. Now what you do with it is up to you.”
Morgan nodded and wasted no time returning to her office to pound out a story that she knew was going to lead every broadcast and garner headlines in every paper across the country. Once people learned that Wellington was a murderer, the country would go mad—even if he was the odds on favorite to oust Michaels from the White House. Somebody needed to do something. She figured it might as well be her.
As Morgan pecked away on her keyboard, her fingers trembled. The words on the screen seemed surreal, an article that seemed perfectly at home in a country eroding with corruption. But not the United States. She struggled to believe what she wrote, even though she was merely relaying the facts that had been given to her.
Senator Wellington Battlefield Murder Covered Upblared her headline. The editors would likely choose something different. That was their job. Hers was to piece together the kind of story that would serve the public’s best interest. All the clicks and traffic on the website were simply a nice bonus.
“Lead with the who and the what, follow with the why,” her favoring journalism teacher preached while she attended the Missouri School of Journalism at the University of Missouri. She exhaled when she sent the story to her editor. But she grinned when the story was posted to the website three hours later, just before everyone’s afternoon commute. Her editors had become pros on knowing the right moment to garner the most attention for a bombshell story such as this one. As she read the headline and first paragraph, her heart pounded, not out of anticipation for how the rest of Washington would react to the accusations, but out of fear that Wellington or someone else might actually try to kill her.
Senator Wellington Under Fire for Wartime Murderblared the new headline, which was happily accompanied by a brief header to explain what was really happening.
“Wellington had hand in death of pilot, records show” read the short tagline. She took a deep breath and re-read the first part of her story.
Senator Wilson Wellington escaped punishment after sending a pilot into a no-fly zone over Afghanistan that resulted in his death more than fifteen years ago, personnel records show that recently came to light.
Sources involved in the incident confirmed what has been hidden in sealed military files for years. A spokesperson with Wellington’s office denied that the senator committed any wrongdoing during his stint as an officer in the U.S. Air Force during the conflict.
The pilot, Captain Victor Black, reportedly learned of Wellington’s affair with a subordinate and threatened to report it. However, court records show that Wellington’s father, Rutherford Wellington, the former senator who at one time chaired the Armed Services committee, pressured high-ranking officials to suppress the report and lighten the punishment for his son. Rutherford died in a hunting accident a year ago.
Her eyes widened, almost in disbelief that the story was true, much less that she’d written it. But every word of it had been verified by multiple sources—and there was no doubt that not even The Teflon Man could survive such a story.
In a matter of hours, if not minutes, Wilson Wellington was about to be done in Washington.
CHAPTER 32
BLUNT THREW HIS BAG into the trunk and then slammed it shut. While he was anxious to capture and eliminate Antoine, Blunt didn’t like being dangled as bait. He trusted Black or else he never would’ve agreed to the plan, but Blunt couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling he had. If one thing went wrong, the consequences could cost him his life. He’d already been granted one reprieve during the committee hearing, and he wasn’t thrilled about the idea of charging back into harm’s way. Yet given how quickly they needed to contain the situation—both for his sake and the sake of the country—he didn’t feel like he had much of a choice.
“Are you ready for this?” Shields asked as Blunt opened his car door.
“Is anyone ever prepared to be used to draw out a trained assassin?” he asked, patting his chest now protected by a bulletproof vest.
“You don’t have to wear that now,” she said. “I know how hot those things are. You can just put it on when we get to the house.”
“I know it’s silly, but it makes me feel a little safer. I know those guys are trained to shoot targets in the head. However, if he misses, I’d love to have a fighting chance.”
Shields took his hands, her gaze meeting his. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. We got this. You’re working with two professionals who are going to do everything in our power to make sure you get out of there without a scratch. Do you understand?”
Blunt nodded. “It’s still a risk.”
“You know we’d do anything else if there was another way to bring this situation to a quick resolution, right?”
“Of course. Let’s just go nail Antoine and get this thing over with.”
Shields released his hands and spun toward her SUV, where Black was waiting. Blunt watched her walk away, basking in the moment of gratitude to have people around him who weren’t just operatives. They were his family, and they’d do anything for each other.
Blunt jerked the door open and climbed behind the steering wheel. He glanced at his phone, which had several text messages from lawmakers he’d worked with who were in shock about the breaking news regarding Wilson Wellington. As Blunt turned out of his driveway, he picked up his phone and prepared to dial Wellington’s number. But Blunt didn’t have to. His cell vibrated in his hand with an incoming call
.
“This is Blunt,” he said, answering and then placing the call on speaker phone.
Wellington opened with a string of expletives, calling Blunt just about every derogatory name he’d ever heard.
Sounds like some of my former constituents.
When Wellington took a breath, Blunt responded. “Are you done?”
“No, I’m not, but I don’t have the time to sufficiently describe what kind of person you are.”
Blunt cracked a faint smile. “I warned you, but you didn’t listen. You only have yourself to blame.”
“I couldn’t stop Elliott. He decided to press on despite my best efforts to persuade him to do something else.”
“I wish I could believe you, Wilson. But after what happened today, I’d be a fool to.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That ambush at the hearing was a disgusting personal attack,” Blunt said as he navigated his car onto the freeway. “And there’s only one person who could’ve fed that information to Elliott.”
“Where are you right now? We need to discuss this in person.”
“I’ve got to get out of town for a few days, get out in nature, clear my head,” Blunt said. “Maybe when I get back.”
“This can’t wait.”
“It’s going to have to,” Blunt said. “I don’t want reporters camping out around my house.”
“Neither do I. But that’s going to be the case, thanks to you. They’ll all be there to capture the moment the authorities come to arrest me for this sham. You don’t know the whole story. That report didn’t have everything in it.”
“You think that’s going to make me call some media outlets and recant these accusations?” Blunt asked with a chuckle. “Forget about it. Now, after you’ve cool down for a few days, maybe we can have an adult conversation about this issue. But nothing is going to change the fact of what you did, no matter what the reason was—or what else I don’t know.”
Blunt hung up and smiled. The trap had been laid; the message had been sent.
And in Blunt’s mind, there was no doubt Wellington was already dialing Antoine’s number.
CHAPTER 33
Sperryville, Virginia
ANTOINE PARKED HIS VEHICLE well off the main road and covered the sides of his SUV with branches and limbs. It wasn’t the best camouflage job he’d ever done, but Antoine didn’t intend on staying much past dark. He planned to make his conversation with Blunt a short one. Plenty of begging and pleading, maybe even some genuine tears from the former Texas senator before Antoine pulled the trigger. He already had the moment planned out. The shot was going to be perfectly placed, guaranteeing maximum pain from a slow bleed. Antoine wasn’t usually so cruel, but his life had been ruined by Blunt. So he deserved every bit of it, even the humiliating finale.
As Antoine crept through the woods toward the target location, he recalled the entire exchange that day between him and Blunt.
When Blunt first made eye contact at their meeting at a coffee shop in College Park, he wore a scowl on his face. Antoine had just watched someone serve Blunt with papers in the parking. He also had salsa stains on his white shirt, which he later explained happened while trying to avoid a jaywalker in early morning traffic.
“Maybe we need to trade places for a few hours,” Antoine suggested.
Blunt looked around before leaning across the table and hunching low. “You think killing someone is going to help me have a better day?”
“Depends on who you’re killing,” Antoine said.
“That’s a fact,” Blunt said. “I know one guy in particular whose death might turn this entire day around.”
“Who’s that?”
“Senator Guy Hirschbeck.”
Antoine chuckled. “Any man named ‘Guy’ probably deserves to die an excruciating and painful death.”
“Someone with that name beat you while you were growing up?” Blunt asked.
Antoine’s face went white. “No, at least not on a regular basis. Why would you ask that?”
“That’s some strong pent-up animosity toward someone simply because of their name.”
Antoine rolled up his sleeve and traced a long scar that ran from his elbow to his wrist. “That’s from a man named Guy. Another slash of his knife nearly caught me in the neck, but I jumped back just in time to avoid it.”
“Was this on a mission of yours?”
Antoine shook his head. “At a pub one night after this guy started in on me about a comment I made to the bartender.”
“How’d it end?”
“Three people pulled me off him or else I would’ve killed him that night.”
Blunt stroked his chin. “So, is this profession of yours now a type of therapy?”
Antoine lied. “Absolutely not. I don’t show emotion any more. What I do now is strictly business.”
He wasn’t about to concede that he still felt rage along with a sense of satisfaction every time he watched his targets gasp for their last breath.
“Well, if you killed a man named Guy, I certainly wouldn’t complain,” Blunt said with a chuckle.
That was the only comment Blunt made, moving along to the target Antoine was actually hired to take out. But Antoine sensed that was more than a passing mention. Two days later, he staged a carjacking to make every agency believe that Senator Hirschbeck had been nothing more than the victim of a random robbery. Blunt never said anything to Antoine about it, but he felt like Blunt knew.
But over the following weeks, Antoine became more and more intimately acquainted with Blunt’s methods, including the ways he distributed funds for completed jobs. Through research and attentive observation, Antoine realized that Blunt acted as if he was autonomous, answering to no one. And the day Antoine dared to question Blunt, their entire professional relationship changed. No more openness. No more discussing personal life. No more acting normal and carrying on. Two days after that, Antoine was accused of an attempted assassination. While the U.S. government considered extradition, someone with enough clout persuaded the FBI to leave him banned from the country and decided to work with Interpol to capture him in Europe. The problem with their plan was that Antoine was too slippery.
And now it was time to make Blunt pay for everything.
After stealthily navigating the Blue Ridge Mountains, Antoine settled into the natural blind he found in the wood about two hundred yards away from Blunt’s mountain cabin. The two men had met at the place once before, but this time Antoine wasn’t coming at the behest of Blunt. Antoine pulled out his binoculars to inspect the target. The former Texas senator was sitting on the porch, reading a John Grisham novel and sipping on a glass of bourbon.
You have no idea what’s coming.
A stiff breeze rushed fallen leaves along the ground in the twilight. Antoine wondered if anyone else was here. But he’d done his due diligence before even venturing out. Blunt’s house was secluded, and for good reason. The nearest neighbor was more than a mile on either side of him.
Antoine opened his rifle case and assembled his weapon. Peering through his scope, he sighted in Blunt. All Antoine had to do was slide a bullet into the chamber and pull the trigger. Everything would be over in an instant. But that’s not how he was going to say his goodbyes to Blunt. Not after the way he’d treated Antoine, turning him into a fugitive. Not after the way Blunt acted as if he were God, exacting payback against his political rivals. No, the way that Blunt chose to eliminate Antoine was cruel, allowing him to live while making him a fugitive.
Before Antoine finished the job, they needed to talk first. Or more precisely, Blunt needed to beg and plead after he asked for forgiveness.
Antoine slung his rifle over his shoulder and headed toward the house. He stepped lightly as he went, careful not to snap any twigs and alert Blunt that an intruder had invaded the premises.
By bringing Antoine back to U.S. soil, Blunt had unwittingly set up his own demise.
And Antoine couldn’t wait t
o finish off the man who’d destroyed his life.
CHAPTER 34
BLACK PEERED THROUGH the slats in Blunt’s garden shed situated about fifty yards away from the back of the house. A porch wrapped all the way around the house, and Blunt sat at the rear reading a book. The land immediately surrounding the mountain home was cleared but dotted with small clumps of pine trees and occasional oaks and other hardwoods, while the perimeter was a thick forest. From Black’s position, he had a clear view of Blunt and would be able to see anyone approaching. However, the sun had just dipped beneath the tallest peak, and daylight was quickly giving way to dusk.
“Are you sure this plan is going to work?” Blunt asked over the coms, covering his mouth as he spoke.
“We set traps and hope they work,” Black said. “According to Mallory Kauffman who was monitoring Wellington’s communications for us, we know that he texted someone giving them the time and location of the hearing that morning. We also know that Antoine is a known associate of Wellington’s. According to one report I read, Wellington hired Antoine to, quote unquote, handle some issues.”
“And you’re sure Wellington would tell Antoine about this?”
“I’m betting my career and your life on it,” Black said.
“Not exactly a fair gamble.”
“We’ve got your back,” Shields chimed in. “Just whatever you do, keep that ear piece inserted.”
“Roger that,” Blunt said. “I’m going inside to fix some tea and keep reading. It’s getting a little bit too chilly even with this jacket on.”
Black had set up a perimeter alarm earlier in the day and tested it several times to make sure everything functioned properly. All he could do was sit and wait. And while he took no joy in eliminating Antoine, killing him was a necessity. Plenty of doubt had already been cast on Blunt, which didn’t sit well with Black. He accepted Blunt’s explanation for now, but working with integrity, even while scribbling outside the lines of the law, was important. Getting the job done and keeping people safe was the mission, not settling personal scores. If that’s what Blunt was doing, Black knew he would have a problem with it. But those were answers he’d never get if he didn’t protect his boss first. Antoine had gone from helpful ally to loose cannon. And there was only one way to stop him.
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