Brady Hawk 19 - Divide and Conquer

by R. J. Patterson

  “Fair enough,” Ian said as he pocketed the drive. “I’ll email you the wire instructions. Half of it up front.”

  “You’ll have the money within the next fifteen minutes,” she said as she stood. “I’m counting on you, Ian.”

  “Darling, have I ever let you down?”

  Alex shook her head. “But let’s not start now. This is by far the most important project I’ve ever been a part of.”

  “You know I’d do anything for you.”

  Ian replaced the rat to its previous position and then hugged Alex again. He offered a polite nod at Hawk, never once asking who he was or what he was doing here.

  As they descended the steps, Hawk eased up next to Alex and spoke in her ear so she could hear over the music.

  “That was weird,” he said.

  Alex was already on her phone, inputting the information required to wire fifty percent of Ian’s fee.

  “You didn’t tell me the guy had a pet rat,” Hawk said.

  “There are some things that are best not to tell you about and simply let you experience them,” she said.

  “So, now what?”

  “Now, we wait. And in the meantime, we dance.”

  Hawk sighed and followed Alex onto the floor, hoping that he could satiate her desire with no more than a song or two. But he knew that wasn’t going to happen.

  * * *

  WHEN IAN RETURNED to his apartment, he dialed a number on his cell.

  “What do you have for us?” the man on the other end asked.

  “They showed up here, just like you predicted, Mr. Sinclair,” Ian said.

  “In that case, I’m sending you the file to pass along to them right now.”

  Ian smiled. “And the twenty million Euros?”

  “I’ll have my assistant wire you half now and the other half when you hand over the physical device. I’ll have her text you the address for delivery.”

  “Excellent,” Ian said before he hung up. He shoved the drive into his top drawer and closed it.

  The night was still young.

  CHAPTER 6

  Charette Mesa

  Mora, New Mexico

  BLUNT HUNKERED DOWN on his seat, a converted five-gallon paint bucket, and poured piping hot coffee into the cap of his thermos. He watched the steam rise off the top before taking a sip.

  “Ah,” he said. “Now that’ll put hair on your chest.”

  George Wickham, the deputy director of the Secret Service, chuckled. “If it put hair on my head, I might join you.”

  Blunt winked at him. “It obviously doesn’t do that, does it?”

  “Perhaps it’s delivery method.”

  “Delivery method?”

  “Yeah, J.D., technological innovations have come a long way since that thermos of yours was manufactured about fifty years ago.”

  Blunt grunted. “When I find something that works, I don’t change.”

  “That’s how you become a fossil,” Wickham said.

  Blunt shrugged as he drained the rest of his coffee. “You’re only a fossil if you can’t be effective. And I think based on our results we’re pretty damn good at what we do.”

  “Is that why we’re both reeling from the attack on the White House?”

  “I’ll admit that wasn’t pretty,” Blunt said. “But we tried to warn your boss. He wasn’t having any of it. And he’s the fossil now.”

  “Touché,” Wickham said as he took Blunt’s thermos lid and filled it with coffee. “So, what are we doing out here?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? We're trying to get a pronghorn, which at the moment feels about the same as trying to catch these terrorists infiltrating our country and government. They’re everywhere.”

  “It’s becoming far more difficult to tell friend from foe these days.”

  Blunt nodded. “Back in the day, we only had to look at someone to tell whose side they were on. But with the way Obsidian has infected our government, the enemy could be sitting right next to us and look just like we do.”

  Wickham scanned the plateau through his binoculars. “So, what are we gonna do about it?”

  “We’re gonna snuff them out, no matter how long it takes. And we’ll remind people what’s made this country the greatest one in the world.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Our undying devotion to freedom. We’ll do anything to protect it for ourselves and help others preserve it. Freedom actually matters to us.”

  “As much as I want to believe this was about snagging a pronghorn, I think you really want to discuss some things.”

  Blunt nodded. “You’ve known me long enough to know that I’m not one to beat around the bush.”

  “Ain’t that the truth. So, let’s hear it. How are we gonna stop Obsidian from rotting our government to the core?”

  “We’re gonna deal with it the same way we handle Texas rattlesnakes,” Blunt said. “You chop the head off.”

  “Do you know who’s pulling the strings at Obsidian?”

  Blunt picked up his binoculars and zeroed in on some movement on the horizon.

  “See one?” Wickham asked.

  “No, just a wild mustang kicking up dust,” Blunt said, putting his binoculars down and directing his gaze at Wickham. “How familiar are you with Falcon Sinclair?”

  “The Australian billionaire space entrepreneur?”

  Blunt nodded.

  “I don’t know too much about him,” Wickham said. “I just know he’s trying to make space tourism a real thing. And from what I understand, he’s giving Elon Musk a run for his money.”

  “He’s also orchestrating a world takeover,” Blunt said. “And I don’t mean that in some metaphorical sense. Obsidian has agents all over the place or has compromised someone to do their bidding.”

  “Have they approached you?” Wickham asked.

  “Not exactly, but they’ve tried to strong arm me into doing some things for them.”

  “And I trust you told them no.”

  Blunt kicked at the dirt. “Those bastards could offer me all the money in the world to give Falcon Sinclair a glass of water, and I wouldn’t lift a finger.”

  “Well, I know there have been a few agents contacted, but they’ve reported the solicitation.”

  “That you know of,” Blunt said.

  “Sure, one or two of our agents could be on their payroll. But these guys are hard to reach without someone else knowing it. They do a good job of policing themselves.”

  “But you can’t be positive, can you?”

  “Not really. But we can monitor all their communiques outside of their work parameters. They know they’re being spied on, which also dissuades that type of criminal behavior.”

  “Again though, you can’t be positive that Obsidian doesn’t have a couple of your guys feeding information back to Sinclair?”

  “Well, no. But I know every single one of those men and—”

  “Sinclair is trying to meet with the president,” Blunt said, cutting off Wickham.

  Wickham furrowed his brow. “Wait. What?”

  “You heard me. Sinclair wants to meet with Young.”

  “What for?”

  Blunt shrugged. “At this point, I’m not sure. But I can only guess that it’s to entice him to do something that will benefit Obsidian.”

  “Well, that’s news to me,” Wickham said. “And every single off-site meeting must be vetted by our staff before it’s approved. If Sinclair is trying to get a captive audience with Young, that’s not going to happen unless we’re able to sweep the area and do thorough background checks to make sure there’s not a bad apple floating around the party meeting with the president. And you and I both know Sinclair would never agree to such stipulations.”

  “Sinclair would find a way around that somehow,” Blunt said.

  “Then I have to stop Young from meeting with him.”

  “That seems like the safest approach, but, again, we want to cut off the head of the snake, not just subdue
it.”

  “What did you have in mind then?”

  “Use Young to help us gather intel on Sinclair.”

  Wickham eyed Blunt closely. “You want the president to be a spy?”

  Blunt nodded. “It’s brilliant, isn’t it?”

  “No, it’s lunacy. There’s no telling what Sinclair would do to him if he found out, especially while they were meeting privately.”

  “Your men will be there with him, won’t they?”

  “One of them will be, per our standard protocol.”

  “Then let one of my agents go as a Secret Service agent and be the one in the room with Young. You know that my agents are more than capable of handling a situation like this.”

  Wickham sighed. “You know I can’t do that, J.D.”

  “What’s stopping you? Some ridiculous precedent? Throw that stuff out the window because we’re all venturing into uncharted waters right now. If the president is meeting with a powerbroker, not for the interest of his own nation, but for his own selfish reasons, we’re doomed. When will this end? This is our opportunity to do something about it.”

  “It’s not that I don’t trust your guys, but I can’t do that.”

  “Come on, George. You know this is a golden chance to make headway in pulling the covers back on Obsidian. If you won’t let Young spy, at least let one of my guys do it for you—and all while keeping Young safe.”

  “No, you come on, J.D. If you’ve got an agent preoccupied with gathering intel, his focus isn’t going to be on the president. And protecting Young—that’s the job. I think we’d be better off just convincing Young to reject any overtures from Sinclair.”

  “I’m afraid it might be too late for that,” Blunt said.

  “What are you not telling me?”

  “Sinclair was at the First Lady’s funeral and spoke with Young afterward.”

  “And you were privy to their conversation?” Wickham asked.

  “No, but—”

  “Then don’t worry about it. I’ll do my best to make sure Young doesn’t set foot anywhere near Sinclair.”

  “I think that’d be a mistake,” Blunt said.

  “Look, you focus on your job, and it’ll all be fine. You go get the head of that snake on your own. Your people are more than capable of doing that.”

  Blunt sighed and nodded, resigning himself to the fact that he couldn’t make a compelling enough case for Wickham.

  Blunt tapped Wickham on the shoulder and pointed to a nearby ridge. “There’s your pronghorn.”

  Wickham dropped to his knees and took his time putting the pronghorn in the middle of his crosshairs. Blunt trained his binoculars on the lone animal meandering around the edge of the cliff and cut his gaze over at Wickham.

  Just as he pulled the trigger, Wickham flinched, resulting in a missed shot.

  “Well, damn,” Wickham said. “I thought I had him.”

  Blunt nodded knowingly. “I know. I thought so too.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Washington, D.C.

  WHEN THE PHOENIX FOUNDATION team returned to headquarters two days later, Blunt was anxiously awaiting some good news. Blunt was also concerned that President Young would be pressuring the intelligence community for a quick win against terrorists as opposed to focusing on Obsidian’s plot. Both targets needed to be handled, but Obsidian was the far more urgent of the two.

  A half-hour into Blunt’s work day, he found out just how desperate the president was. Blunt took a call and was greeted by Young’s secretary.

  “Please hold for the President of the United States,” she said.

  That announcement used to excite Blunt, but now he was dreading it. He never enjoyed telling the president what he didn’t want to hear.

  “Good morning, J.D.,” Young said when he finally connected on the line.

  “Mr. President, it’s good to hear your voice again,” Blunt said.

  “You too,” Young said. “I was getting tired of talking to nurses and doctors and morticians.”

  “That was a lovely service for Madeline. You let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”

  “How about tracking down Evana Bahar?”

  “Evana’s organization wasn’t the one responsible for the bombing.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “It’s highly unlikely that they would’ve been able to orchestrate such an inside attack. On the other hand, Obsidian is—”

  “I don’t care about Obsidian,” Young bellowed. “They’re some shadow organization that nobody knows much about. We’re not sure they really exist. But Evana Bahar is real, and if we don’t track her down soon, she may soon lead Al Fatihin to strike again.”

  “We’ll do our best,” Blunt said.

  “Do better. Make her a top priority. I’ll be in touch for progress reports.”

  Young hung up, leaving Blunt frustrated. His angst only continued to grow when he met with Hawk and Alex in the conference room an hour later.

  Blunt found his two agents sitting around the table and sifting through intelligence reports. After lumbering to his seat at the head of the table, he dumped out a stack of folders.

  “Please tell me that you got some actionable intel off that flash drive,” Blunt said.

  Alex shook her head as she slid some documents toward him. “I’m not sure if Timmons had been holed up on that island for so long that he just had to get out, but there wasn’t anything of consequence on that device.”

  “Nothing?”

  “It looked like a few stolen weapons plans from Colton Industries, but nothing to write home about,” Alex said.

  “So we’re back to square one?” he asked.

  “As far as knowing what Obsidian is up to, yes,” Hawk said. “We’re still in the dark as far as how they intend to accomplish their end game.”

  “At least we know what their aim is: world power,” Blunt said. “But we still need to know the how if we intend to stop them.”

  “And the president? How is he?” Alex asked.

  “Fully recovered and ornery as ever,” Blunt said. “Which means that he’s back to becoming a pain in our ass if we don’t track down Evana Bahar.”

  Hawk shook his head. “We haven’t any reports about her in a while, so it’s safe to assume she’s gone underground. We can’t exactly manufacture something if she’s gone into hiding.”

  “I think we need to stay on Obsidian,” Alex said. “Despite this latest setback with Timmons, we’re getting closer to unmasking what this organization doing. We need to keep the pressure on.”

  “Easy for you to say since you don’t have to juggle the politics,” Blunt said.

  A faint smile spread across Alex’s lips. “That’s why you get paid the big bucks.”

  “See what else you can learn about Falcon Sinclair, and we’ll talk later today,” Blunt said before dismissing the meeting.

  He returned to his office with a note that CIA Deputy Director Randy Wood had left a message. Blunt sat down and dialed Wood’s number.

  “What do you need?” Blunt asked Wood when he answered.

  “I got some information that might interest you and your team,” Wood said.

  “Fire away,” Blunt said. “I could use some good news.”

  “We just got a hit about an hour ago on a device we’ve been tracking that belongs to Madeline Young.”

  “You found her?” Blunt asked. “Isn’t this going to present a problem since we just buried her?”

  “Sure it will, which is why I’m turning this over to you,” Wood said.

  “Where is she?”

  “Cape Verde, relaxing beachside from what I understand at a private resort there. I’m sure she might be willing to talk once you ply her with booze.”

  “You really do want me to get in hot water with Young, don’t you?”

  “If you’re that concerned about staying in his good graces, there’s always Andrei Orlovsky you can use,” Wood said.

  Blunt’s eyebrows
shot upward. “You have Orlovsky?”

  “Caught him last night in a sting we set up in Algeria. Nobody knows about it, so you could have him set up some kind of weapons sale with Evana Bahar. That ought to draw her out of hiding.”

  “Let me mull this over and discuss it with my team,” Blunt said. “You’re giving me two can’t lose situations at once.”

  “I aim to please,” Wood said. “Just don’t hurt Madeline. She might prove to be helpful in the future.”

  “You have far more faith in her than I do,” Blunt said.

  “I simply know her, that’s all. She’ll do anything to save her own bacon, even if that means returning to the U.S. and groveling at the president’s feet. In any case, I’m sure you’ll be surprised by how much she offers up.”

  Blunt called Hawk and Alex back to his office and briefed them on the developing situation.

  “So, which one do you two want to pursue first?” Blunt asked.

  Alex cocked her head to one side and furrowed her brow. “Is there even a question about this?”

  “I agree,” Hawk said. “It’s got to be Madeline Young. We need all the intel we can get on Obsidian.”

  “Then off you go,” Blunt said. “I’ll have to figure out a way to appease Young in the meantime.”

  “That’s what you do best,” Hawk said.

  CHAPTER 8

  Santa Maria, Cape Verde

  HAWK TUGGED ON HIS cap and looked at Alex. She smiled as she tucked a tuft of his dark locks flaring out of the side of his hat. After looking him up and down, she patted his bare chest and gave him a playful push.

  “You know I don’t feel right about this,” he said while adjusting his pants.

  “What? Using your body to get information?”

  He nodded. “I have a policy against that, something my wife might understand.”

  “You’re just using those rock hard abs of yours and sculpted chest to get Madeline Young’s attention, that’s all,” she said before patting him on his rear end.

  “I feel like a piece of meat right now.”

  “You’ll feel much better when you get the chance to interrogate her so we can stop Obsidian.”