“What is it?” Black asked.
“The president is very busy today,” Besserman said. “I doubt you will hear from him today, if at all.”
“Did you explain what was on the line?” Black asked.
“I did.”
“And?”
“And he’s busy. He’s the leader of the free world. I doubt he has much time to entertain your theories on why Blunt was apprehended.”
Black clenched his fist. “Look, it was your job to sell the president on why he needed to talk to us. I’m starting to wonder if you even believe us yourself.”
“I want to believe you, I do,” Besserman said. “But I’m in a different place than you are. I need hard proof or else I won’t be able to get far here. I’ll help you however I can, but I’m not going to lie to the president just to help you get a meeting with him.”
“Fair enough,” Black said. “We’ll just have to figure out another way to reach him.”
“What are you going to do?” Besserman asked.
“Don’t worry. We have plenty of ideas.”
Black hung up the phone and sighed. He resisted the urge to pound his fist on the table.
“That didn’t go as planned, now did it?” Shields said.
“I have a friend on the White House communications team,” Black said. “She might be able to get us cleared to attend President Young’s press conference later this afternoon.”
“And then what?” Shields asked. “We’re just going to walk up to him and have a private conversation with him?”
Black shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just spit-balling here.”
“Maybe we should ask Besserman to ask the president again,” Jana suggested.
“He’s made his position clear,” Black said. “And I understand why it wouldn’t be good for him to do that, especially if there is some kind of mole within the CIA leaking all this information. He also has a political minefield to navigate too.”
“So, got any other ideas?” Shields asked.
Before Black could respond, his phone rang. He furrowed his brow as he scanned the number.
“Who is it?” Shields asked.
“I don’t know,” Black said before answering. “This is Agent Black.”
“Please hold for the President of the United States,” a woman said.
Black’s eyes widened as he spoke in a hushed tone to Shields and Jana. “I guess President Young has had a change of heart.”
He put the call on speaker and sat down.
“Agent Black?” Young said.
“Yes, Mr. President,” Black said.
“Sorry about all that,” Young said. “I was in a meeting with several other people when the deputy director called, and I have some misgivings about some of the men in the room. I didn’t want anyone to think I would seriously entertain a call with you.”
“Well, I appreciate you doing so, Mr. President.”
“All right then. What do you want to talk about?”
Black went over his well-rehearsed story, recounting the interview of Ben Levine and its implications on national security. Black could tell Young was hesitant and needed more convincing.
“I understand how you might be apprehensive in taking any action on this, but the most troubling piece of intel that we learned was how smaller terrorist cells in the Middle East might be banning together to sneak people into the country. Killing our deep cover operatives isn’t enough for them. These terrorists intend to inflict harm on the American people, and we must vigilant. I know the last thing you want is an attack on American soil just a few months after you’ve taken the office.”
“And you’re certain Levine is trustworthy?” Young asked.
“He may have had an incentive to lie, but everything he said tracked with what we know,” Black replied. “If I had the authority, I’d act on it.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“Because the person who gives us these orders is being detained by the FBI and charged with treason. It’s a farce. You know and I know it. And you’re the only person I could appeal to who could change this with one phone call.”
“Consider it done, Agent Black,” Young said. “But you better not fail me.”
“You have my word, Mr. President.”
Young ended the call, and then Black turned to look at his colleagues.
“Not bad,” Shields said, punching Black playfully on his arm. “Not bad at all.”
Chapter 20
Washington, D.C.
J.D. BLUNT HAD his best night of sleep in over a week, but he remained grumpy as ever when he lumbered into the Firestorm offices the next morning. He was surprised when Fulchum showed up late in the afternoon with a smile on his face and release papers in his hands. But Blunt wasn’t ready to release his grudge just yet. Nor was he content that he’d really escaped whoever tried to set him up.
Fulchum explained that Blunt’s release had been “strongly advised” by President Young in a direct conversation with the head of the FBI. That was all the information relayed to Blunt about how he got out of federal custody, which worried him. The fact that someone had managed to convince the FBI that he was trafficking state secrets with a rogue Mossad agent awakened Blunt to the idea that whoever coordinated the attack on the cruise ship was well-connected and powerful.
Blunt mumbled a “good morning” to his assistant, who handed him a cup of coffee. He wasn’t a fan of the popular hot caffeinated drink, but he didn’t refuse this morning, catching his assistant by surprise.
“Glad to have you back, sir,” she said.
“When I wake up, I’ll tell you how glad I am to be here,” Black said, offering a thin smile.
“Sure it had to be better than sleeping on a cot in a federal prison.”
He stopped and eyed her closely. “It’s not always about comfort. Sometimes, it’s about safety.”
She drew back and furrowed her brow.
“Having a target on your back in public is far worse,” he said. “Trust me.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” she said before returning her attention to her computer screen.
Blunt resumed his walk to his office. He unlocked the door and settled into his chair with a groan. After taking a few sips on his drink, he stuck his tongue out and then tossed the cup into his trash can.
Who can drink that nasty stuff?
He pulled out a bottle of bourbon from his bottom drawer and poured a small glass. He took a long pull, savoring the smooth taste as it went down.
That’s more like it.
Blunt sifted through a few reports on his desk before he was interrupted by a knock on his door, which had remained open. He looked up to see Titus Black.
“Rough night?” Black asked, eyeing the glass of liquor.
“It could’ve been worse.”
“Could’ve spent another one behind bars.”
Blunt leaned back in his chair. “Who do I have to thank for getting me out?”
“Probably President Young,” Black said with a shrug.
“And you had nothing to do with it?”
“I may have had a conversation with him.”
Blunt winked. “Good work, Agent Black. Now, is everyone else here?”
“We’re all waiting for you in the conference room.”
“Tell them I’m on my way,” Blunt said.
He watched Black leave before gathering his notes and standing up. After taking another swig from glass, he slammed it down on his desk.
“Here we go,” Blunt said aloud and then exited his office.
Down the hall, Blunt found Black, Shields, and Jana all gathered around the conference room table. They were laughing when he walked in.
“What’s so funny?” Blunt asked. “Another cat video making the round on the internet?”
Shields shook her head. “We were just listening to Black’s impersonation of Brady Hawk. It’s pretty good.”
“Let’s see it,” Blunt said as he settled into h
is chair.
Black grinned and then turned serious. “Look here, Alex. We don’t have time for that. I’m gonna need to go in. And after this is over, we’ll cuddle and watch a Bollywood movie.”
Blunt tried to suppress a chuckle but failed. “That’s pretty good.”
“Wait until you see how he impersonates you, sir,” Jana said.
Black and Shields cast sideways glances at her.
“What?” she said. “I thought we were having fun.”
Blunt squinted as he studied Black. “Don’t pretend like you haven’t imitated before. Go for it.”
Black sighed. He hesitated a moment before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a cigar. After jamming the unlit stogie into his mouth, he bit down hard and conjured up a good Texas accent.
“Oh, hell, Mr. President, you think we can’t turn that entire desert into a sheet of glass?” Black said, mimicking his boss. “Just give me a chance to show you what my team of talented operatives can do.”
Blunt grinned. “The Texas accent is spot on. Not sure I’d say that to the president, but not sure I wouldn’t either.”
He proceeded to fish a cigar out of his pocket and clip both ends of the stogie. “I missed these the most. Nobody in prison has cigars, only cigarettes. Anyone else want one?”
Black reached for a cigar that Blunt held out, but he drew it back before his agent could grab it.
“Cruel,” Black said.
“You would’ve wasted it.”
“Adding it to my impersonation repertoire wouldn’t have been a waste.”
“That’s your opinion,” Blunt said. “Now, let’s get down to business.”
“Welcome back, sir,” Shields said. “We’re glad you were able escape the long arm of the FBI.”
“Bastards,” Blunt grumbled. “Those were a few nights of sleep I’ll never be able to get back.”
“Speaking of bastards,” Black said, “we’ve got a few to catch.”
Blunt nodded. “So I understand. How are we going to handle this?”
Black gestured toward Shields. “Would you mind showing how you’re going to do this?”
Shields nodded and then stood. “I can’t take complete credit for this because Jana helped me design this program.”
“Program to do what?” Blunt asked.
“Good question, sir,” Shields said, clicking the remote for the projector. “Based off the information we gleaned from Ben Levine, we cross-referenced the data of arrests on attempted illegal entries through various ports on both coasts. The port on the east coast made the most sense, so we narrowed down our search there. We found that over the past eighteen months, the Department of Homeland Security was arresting about five people per month with ties to various terrorist cells in the Middle East. But as of six weeks ago, nothing.”
“Sure that’s not a reporting delay issue?” Blunt asked.
“We factored for that, but most of the information reached the FBI within two to three weeks at the most,” Shields said. “So, we still have a significant gap between the last arrests and now.”
“So, what’s happened?” Blunt asked.
“We think these terrorist groups have started sneaking into the country,” Jana said. “As you can see on the screen, these arrests were concentrated around ports in New York, Charleston, and Miami. And according to our research, all very diverse cities where it’d be easy to hide.”
“How do you recommend we proceed?” Blunt asked.
“We’re still breaking down the data,” Shields said. “But we’re going to cross-reference the previous arrests with facial recognition data to see if we can find any of them who’ve returned.”
“I like it,” Blunt said. “Stay on this. We can’t lose any more time.”
“Roger that,” Shields said.
Blunt dismissed the meeting. The two women left quickly, while Black lingered.
“Did you want something?” Blunt asked.
Black remained seated and nodded. “I’m a little concerned about where this might lead.”
“What do you mean?” Blunt asked.
“It’s hard to imagine that there isn’t a leak. If Levine is to be believed, someone within our government was feeding this intel about deep cover operatives to a rogue Mossad agent. It’s as if they were using a middle man to avoid any culpability.”
“Got any feeling about who’s behind this?”
“To be honest, I’m not sure the Fullgood Initiative is completely dead.”
Blunt nodded. “I’ll mention this to Besserman when I meet with him later today. But keep your ear to the ground on this and see if you can poke around to see who might be involved.”
“Will do.”
Blunt shuffled his papers and looked up at Black. “Either way, this isn’t good.”
Black turned to walk out of the room when Blunt called after him.
“What is it, sir?”
“On second thought, why don’t you and Shields come with me to Langley? I want both your input when I talk to Besserman.”
Chapter 21
CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
BESSERMAN PICKED IMAGINARY LINT off his suit jacket as he waited for his guests to take a seat. He wanted to speak with Blunt alone, but he insisted on bringing along two of his operatives, Black and Shields. It wasn’t that Besserman didn’t trust them. But plugging the leaks he was finding required extra diligence. Sussing out a mole was sometimes easier than trying to batten down all the hatches in an agency that trafficked in secrets. Spies were great at keeping things to themselves but were prone to say too much when they became too comfortable with their colleagues. And that’s what concerned Besserman the most about Blunt’s team.
Black and Shields sat down while Blunt shuffled toward his chair. He leaned his cane against the side of the table before easing into his seat.
“A cane, J.D.?” Besserman asked.
“Don’t be fooled,” Blunt said. “It’s also a lethal weapon.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Besserman said.
“Wise decision,” Shields said.
Besserman slapped the table, his gaze meeting Blunt’s. “So, let’s talk. What has your team here been able to unearth while you were lounging around at Club Med?”
“Club Med,” Blunt grumbled. “I ought to stick this up your—”
“Lighten up,” Besserman said. “Can’t you take a joke anymore?”
“When you work in intelligence and your own government tries to frame you, those aren’t the kind of jokes you find very funny.”
Besserman nodded. “I understand. This coming from a man who had to fake his own death to avoid getting hunted by his own government.”
“Now you’re gettin’ it,” Blunt said.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” Besserman said.
Blunt gestured toward Shields. “Why don't you take it away?”
“Of course, sir,” she said.
Shields explained to Besserman how the Firestorm team was plotting on a U.S. map all the terrorists who’d been deported while trying to sneak in at seaports. She also went into detail about their efforts to use facial recognition to track some of the previously deported terrorists.
“And what have you found so far?” Besserman asked.
“We’re working our computers overtime to capture the images of anyone who’s currently in the country but shouldn’t be. It’s a monumental effort, but we’re hoping to have some news one way or another within the next day or so.”
“Let me know as soon as you hear something,” Besserman said. “If we can coordinate efforts, all the better.”
Blunt arched his eyebrows. “Do you have a team of operatives you can trust?”
“I’m working on that,” Besserman said.
“What’s that look like?” Blunt asked.
“I have some of my closest aides conducting an internal investigation,” Besserman said. “We still haven’t been able to pin down
the source of the leak, but we’re working on it.”
“Is it a high-level leak?” Black asked.
Besserman nodded and smoothed out his tie. “I’m afraid that’s what it looks like. And it’s far trickier to gather enough proof to prosecute those bastards. We might be on a fool’s errand, but I don’t care. The truth matters.”
“Amen to that,” Blunt said. “I want whoever that son of a bitch is who got me arrested; he deserves to have the book thrown at him.”
“That’s guaranteed to happen if we can prove it,” Besserman said. “Those agents sacrificed everything to go deep cover. And to have their lives ended because someone in our own organization outed them angers me to no end.”
“That’s the kind of thing that makes my blood boil,” Blunt said.
“To be fair, your blood is usually already simmering,” Shields said.
Her crack resulted in Besserman and Black chuckling. Blunt remained stoic.
“Getting back to business,” Besserman said, “I have more bad news. Last night, the bodies of two more agents who were deep cover embedded with different terrorist cells were found dead.”
“I want their names and who they were working with,” Shields said. “Maybe we can plug that information into our database and see if it helps us narrow down our search.”
“I’ll send over that information as soon as we’re done,” Besserman said.
Black shifted in his seat and locked his gaze with Besserman. “Sir, what else can we do to help? I feel like we haven’t been much help since we lost Zahid in Istanbul.”
“Getting your boss out here was a monumental win,” Besserman said. “We need his brilliant mind directing this investigation so we can shut down this leak and keep our people safe.”
“Are you pulling out the other agents?” Black asked.
Besserman nodded. “As soon as possible. Losing them is a crushing blow, but I can’t in good conscience let any more of them be slaughtered.”
“Good,” Black said. “If you don’t have anything for us, there’s something we’d like to check out.”
“Go on,” Besserman said.
Black glanced at Shields. “I’ll let her give you all the details.”
Shields leaned forward. “So, as we’ve been analyzing all this data, there are some patterns that we noticed, particularly in the way that these terrorists have attempted to enter the country. I believe I’ve identified a freighter that’s coming into Miami tomorrow night that fits this pattern and we’d like to investigate.”
Honorable Lies (A Titus Black Thriller Book 6) Page 11