Honorable Lies (A Titus Black Thriller Book 6)

by R. J. Patterson

  But it was the way he said vodka that made Besserman curious, that long “o” drawn out. Like only a native Russian speaker would say it.

  Besserman hung up and immediately launched his own investigation into Flier. All of a sudden, something didn’t seem right. And it didn’t take long for Besserman to prove his intuition was correct. Flier’s business had been on the rocks during the recession, and Besserman found that Flier was receiving payments through a consulting business from a Russian-controlled oil company. Flier didn’t have any equipment an oil company would need, not in the U.S. or on foreign soil. And neither did he possess any familiarity with the industry, according to his past professional experience. All that led Besserman to question why an oil company would put Flier on such a healthy retainer. It didn’t make sense. Then Besserman called the country club and asked about who was scheduled to play with Flier’s foursome that day, learning the missing golfer was a man named Randy Moneymaker. When Besserman visited Moneymaker, he disclosed that Flier called two hours before they were scheduled to start and said that the tee time had been canceled. Besserman never said another word to Flier, who was promptly arrested by the FBI on tax evasion charges later that week.

  So, when Besserman heard that J.D. Blunt had been arrested, the deputy director wondered how he’d been fooled so badly again. Or had he? Besserman’s investigation into Flier led to information that made sense. Flier needed money. The Russians needed someone close to the agent looking into the Russian journalist. But Blunt’s arrest seemed to come out of the blue.

  The deputy director didn’t want to believe that Blunt was involved in passing along information illegally to a rogue Mossad operative as the FBI alleged, but Besserman couldn’t dismiss it out of hand, not after everything he’d seen and experienced in his years with the agency. He’d been fooled before, but something just seemed off about the situation with Blunt. And that’s why Besserman called a meeting with Blunt’s team.

  Besserman threw the folder into his briefcase and then locked up his office. He told his assistant he’d see her in the morning and hurried to his car. He wanted to beat the traffic in order to reach the Firestorm offices on time.

  When he arrived in the lobby, Blunt’s assistant ushered him to the conference room. He greeted Titus Black, Christina Shields, and Jana Shadid before taking a seat.

  “I’m glad you made it back in one piece,” Besserman said as he looked at Black and Shields.

  “It almost cost us an arm and a leg,” Shields said. “Black was luckier than I was.”

  She raised her foot in the air, displaying her prosthetic.

  Besserman stared at her, unsure of how to respond.

  After a few awkward seconds, she slapped him on the shoulder. “Lighten up. It’s a joke. I’m an amputee and I find them funny. Don’t be so stodgy.”

  Besserman sighed and smiled. “Blunt’s never mentioned your sharp wit before.”

  Shields waved dismissively. “He’s got other things on his mind than promoting my upcoming comedy tour, like how to get out of prison and beat those bogus charges.”

  Jana leaned forward. “They are bogus charges, aren’t they?”

  Besserman sucked in a breath through his teeth. “I wish I knew. I mean, if you had to pin me down and make me bet my life on whether they’re real or not, I’d say someone is trying to frame him. But at this point, I know about as much as you do.”

  Black leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “So, what are we doing here today then?”

  Besserman stood and paced around the table. “Three days ago when Blunt was arrested, I was briefed on the matter. Due to the nature of my close working relationship with your director, I was told that anything I knew might help. What I learned was that the case against Blunt is largely circumstantial with the exception of a few key pieces of evidence.”

  “Fabricated evidence, I’m sure,” Shields said before leaning back and hoisting her prosthetic leg onto the table.

  “That’s what I’m hoping,” Besserman said. “But here’s what I know. Right before Blunt was arrested, he was in contact with a Mossad agent named Ben Levine. Mossad hasn’t heard from him in over a week. They’re assuming that he’s gone rogue since he was on the cruise ship that was attacked in the Bahamas. According to Mossad, he switched identification cards with someone else. Their agency sent someone to Freeport to identify the body and bring it home upon hearing the report that he had died in the explosion. But obviously, the man identified as Ben Levine was someone else.”

  “And he made an attempt to see Blunt?” Black asked.

  “Not just an attempt,” Besserman said. “They actually met in Blunt’s SUV before he escaped when agents started to close in on the vehicle. Now, is there anything else you might know that would be helpful?”

  Black nodded. “There was an agent that Blunt told us about, one of your people.”

  Besserman raised his eyebrows. “Kenneth Parker?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one,” Black said. “He’d called Blunt and told him that he was investigating the attack in Freeport but that he suspected something else was going on. Blunt didn’t tell us what exactly, but Parker had shared how someone tried to kill him. What did his report say?”

  “Well, here’s where it gets interesting,” Besserman said. “What he said in his report may contradict reality.”

  “How so?” Shields asked.

  Besserman sat down in his seat. “Kenneth Parker was found dead in the Freeport harbor while you two were in Istanbul.”

  Black looked at Jana. “Did you know about this?”

  She nodded her head. “Blunt sent Hawk and Alex down to rescue him when he asked for help. Parker had said he was unsure who he could trust. But by the time Hawk and Alex arrived, he was dead.”

  “Did they catch who did it?” Black asked.

  Shadid shook her head. “I doubt it. Parker thought the person who first tried to kill him was a Marine.”

  “Former Marine,” Shields said.

  “Once a Marine, always a Marine,” Besserman said.

  Shields shook her head. “Not when you try to murder a fellow patriot who’s just doing his job.”

  Black shifted in his seat and sat upright. “Right now, we need to get Blunt out of prison. And what I’m most concerned with is how we can do that.”

  “Of course,” Besserman said. “That’s my priority right now, too. He’s vital to this investigation and you guys need him. Hell, I need him. We all need him back in the saddle so we can figure out the true target of that attack and who initiated it.”

  “Amen to that,” Shields said.

  Black looked at Besserman. “So, I’m hoping you have an idea on how to free Blunt.”

  “I do, but it centers around tracking down Levine and getting him to tell us what he was so desperate to tell Blunt.”

  “Can’t you get into see Blunt?” Shields asked.

  “They’re not letting anyone in to see him other than his lawyer,” Besserman said.

  “Maybe he can get a message to Blunt,” Shadid suggested.

  “Unfortunately, he’s being held on treason charges, and the protocol is a little different,” Besserman said. “The conversations between the lawyer and client are supposedly confidential, but that doesn’t mean that they aren’t being recorded.”

  “They spy on them?” Shadid asked.

  Besserman shrugged. “That’s where we detain intelligence officers. It only seems fair.”

  “So, from what you’re saying,” Shields began, “it looks like the only way we’re going to get Blunt out of prison quickly is by finding Levine.”

  “That’s right,” Besserman said. “And I was hoping that you might be able to do that.”

  “That’s a tall order,” Black said.

  Shadid smiled. “And I think I know just how we can find him, too.”

  Chapter 14

  Washington, D.C.

  BLUNT SHUFFLED INTO the interview room for his meeting with his l
awyer, Rob Fulchum. Being detained for three days was torture enough for the Firestorm director, but the slow response to bringing in legal representation made him wonder how he might be treated fairly in a court of law. However, nothing about his situation surprised Blunt. He’d taken many of the country’s enemies to the CIA black site prison, hidden well below ground in the nation’s capital.

  When he was first arrested, Blunt was questioned for an hour and then placed in a cell. He was mildly concerned but knew there appeared to be a misunderstanding somewhere. But when he learned the Department of Justice was formally charging him with espionage, he became panicked. All of his connections in Washington couldn’t help him with an espionage charge. In an instant, Blunt had become politically toxic. Nobody would help a traitor.

  A guard attached the shackles around Blunt’s feet to a ring in the floor and secured the ones around his hands to a metal bar on the table. The man retreated from the room, leaving Blunt alone to his thoughts.

  Did I make a mistake in speaking with Levine? Is this about Agent Parker?

  He contemplated how anyone could charge him with espionage. The basis of his arrest didn’t make sense. All the questions he’d initially been asked dealt with whether or not he’d been in contact with any rogue operators. No specifics were given, which made Blunt think the agent who’d interviewed him was on nothing more than a fishing expedition.

  Where is this coming from?

  That was the question Blunt was eager to ask Fulchum when he finally lumbered into the room and slung his briefcase onto the table.

  “Well, J.D., it looks like you’ve finally gone and done it,” Fulchum said.

  “It’s nice to see you too, Rob,” Blunt said followed by a sigh.

  Fulchum loosened his tie as he sat down. “I warned you that these bastards will eat their own, but you didn’t listen.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you know and ask some questions before you jump to any conclusions?” Blunt suggested.

  “I already know you didn’t do it. But that doesn’t mean you weren’t playing with fire either.”

  Blunt cocked his head to one side, squinting at his lawyer. “If doing my job is playing with fire then I guess I’m guilty as charged.”

  Fulchum waved dismissively at Blunt’s comment. “No jury of your peers will be allowed to see what you did as simply following orders. When the DOJ gets their hooks in you, prying them out isn’t pretty . . . or easy, for that matter.”

  “What are they saying I did?” Blunt asked.

  “As you already know, there are a half-dozen espionage charges, all bundled together to ensure that even if you escape one, you won’t avoid jail time on all of them.”

  Blunt shook his head. “No, I mean specifically. What did I do?”

  “You passed on information to an agent who is regarded as an enemy of the state, a rogue agent, if you will.”

  “Who exactly?” Blunt asked.

  “A former Mossad agent named Ben Levine.”

  Blunt’s eyes widened. “Former? Who’s calling him a former spy?”

  Fulchum pulled a folder out of his briefcase and scanned a few pages before singling one out and sliding it across the table to Blunt. “Read that bottom paragraph. According to a report received by the agency, former Mossad agent Ben Levine has been inactive for the past six months and is considered rogue. Any attempt to engage with him regarding American intelligence would be considered treasonous.”

  “That’s interesting,” Blunt said, flicking the paper back to Fulchum. “But it’s utter bullshit. I did my due diligence on Levine immediately after he contacted our office. This isn’t my first rodeo. I know how to handle sensitive information from intelligence officers from foreign nations.”

  Fulchum shrugged. “I’m just passing on what I’ve been told. According to that document, a flag has been on his file for at least five months now.”

  Blunt shook his head defiantly. “I’m being set up, Rob. There’s no two ways about it.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  Blunt drew in a deep breath before continuing. “Levine learned something about another rogue agent within Mossad who was working with someone in the top levels of U.S. government, outing hidden assets within certain terrorist cells. The purpose of these revelations remains unknown since all the assets are still alive, according to Levine. I’d like to check that myself, but I haven’t had the opportunity since I was arrested.”

  “But we’re going to be fighting this without access to all these databases that could prove your case,” Fulchum said. “We need hard evidence that this was all true.”

  “The justice department’s evidence is all circumstantial,” Blunt said. “They didn’t record or eavesdrop on our conversation. They’re going to have a helluva time proving that in court.”

  “The preponderance of evidence is too great.”

  “But this isn’t a civil trial, Rob. They’re trying to bring felony espionage charges against me. They’ll have to prove what I knew and when I knew it.”

  “The feds might still be able to convince a jury that you did know these things before you did without hard evidence to prove otherwise.”

  “Then what we have to do is simple,” Blunt said. “We find Levine and deposition him.”

  Fulchum sucked a breath in through his teeth. “There’s just one problem with that plan.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Levine is dead.”

  Chapter 15

  Reston, Virginia

  JANA SHADID FIDDLED with her necklace before taking a deep breath and entering the small watch repair shop. She’d had opportunities to help the Firestorm team before but mostly from behind a computer screen or in a lab. But this time, the situation was different. She was required to go in person, her skills of persuasion and fluency in Hebrew necessary for a successful operation.

  On its face, the mission seemed simple enough: extract the information regarding the whereabouts of Ben Levine. But she was prepared for pushback, for denial, for defiance. And if she were met with such opposition, she was prepared to utilize a weapon more powerful than any device she’d ever created in a lab: persuasion. However, it wouldn’t be the type accompanied by a winsome argument, but the kind made with spine-chilling threats.

  A bell clanked against the glass door upon entering, making her jump. She took another deep breath to calm her nerves and then proceeded toward the counter. Behind it, a man stood over a small towel with tiny parts strewn across it. She cleared her throat to get his attention.

  The man, who appeared to be in his early seventies, lifted up the magnifying loupe attached to his glasses and eyed Jana.

  “Maybe I help you, Miss?” he asked, the light on his glasses blinding her for a second.

  She held up her hand to shield the bright beam.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “Please forgive me. When you spend time with watches, you sometimes forget where you are.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I understand. I feel the same way when I’m playing the piano.”

  “Ah, what I wouldn’t give to hear my daughters play again for me.”

  “It’s never too late to learn how to play,” Jana said.

  The man held up his wrinkled hands and eyed them for a moment. “I can barely fix a watch. I doubt I’d be able to do something that wouldn’t make my dog howl.”

  Jana offered a thin smile. “Fortunately for you, I didn’t come here to listen to a good piece of music.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” he said. “Is it the watch on your wrist that needs to be repaired? I notice that your band is worn.”

  “It’s my mother’s, but, no. That’s not why I’m here.”

  “Whatever it is, I’m sure I can help you.”

  Jana nodded. “I hope so … Moshe.”

  The man furrowed his brow. “How do you know my name? Have you been in here before?”

  She shook her head. “This is my first time. I’ve never had re
ason to pay you a visit, though I’m well acquainted with the wide range of services this establishment provides.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not following,” Moshe said.

  “Your hands do more than just fix watches and jewelry,” Jana said. “Don’t they?”

  Moshe shook his head. “Apparently, you have me mixed up with someone else. This is all I do.”

  She dropped a passport on the counter. “I don’t think so.”

  “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Jana tapped the cover of the dark blue book, the State of Israel’s seal stamped debossed in gold on the front. “Take another look.”

  He glanced down but quickly shook his head. “Nope, I don’t know what this all means.”

  She bit her lip and shook her head. “Moshe, Moshe, Moshe. I was hoping you’d be more compliant.”

  “I think it’s time you leave, Miss,” he said as he slipped one hand beneath the counter.

  Jana wagged her finger. “Put your hands where I can see them. This isn’t a robbery. But if you don’t help me right now, I will be forced to expose your side business. And seeing how the watch repair industry has been in a state of steady decline for quite some time, it’d behoove you to comply.”

  “Again, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  She raised her eyebrows as she produced a document from her purse. “So, you won’t mind if I take a moment to call my superiors and ask them to come execute this search warrant?”

  “Search warrant?” he said as he grabbed for the paper.

  Jana pulled it back from his reach. “Answer the question.”

  He lunged for the paper. This time, she let him take hold of it. Moshe scanned the contents quickly before setting the document down on the counter.