“Did you get everything you needed off that?” the officer asked.
Hawk nodded. “And you can keep it. No need for a jurisdiction tussle. Though I do need to take a quick peek at his wallet.”
The officer fished Reaper’s wallet out of the plastic bag and handed it to Hawk. He rifled through a stack of credit cards and IDs until he found a piece of paper that had bank account info on it. Hawk palmed it and returned the wallet to the officer.
“Thanks for your help,” Hawk said, patting the man on his shoulder.
* * *
IT WAS ALMOST DAWN by the time Hawk caught a ride back to Pike’s Place Market. He hoped that he would find Travis Taylor waiting by his car. But there was no sign of him.
Hawk was tired but decided to go for a walk along the water. He contemplated what life in the military had done to a few people he knew, particularly the ones who’d been jaded. Some event resulted in a break from the commitment to the overall mission. For Hawk, that happened early in his time with the Navy SEALs. It wasn’t that anyone in his unit was inherently evil, but they couldn’t separate the mission from being reasonable. There were people who died that day who didn’t deserve to. Hawk was grateful he’d recognized the disconnect early, which is why he enjoyed targeting the masterminds and evil players involved in the world of terrorism. His work was surgical, removing the disease so that everything else could function the way it was supposed to. Reaper had thought he was doing the same thing, but he was duped, serving under the perpetrators of global violence and oppression.
Hawk pulled out the bank account info he’d taken from Reaper’s wallet. He stuffed the paper back into his pocket and made a mental note not to forget to set up that account for Charlie.
Hawk stared out across the bay and watched shrimp and fishing boats returning from a night at sea. The area along the water awakened, coming alive with a flurry of activity as the sun started rising. Ferries chugged into the harbor, releasing hundreds of commuters hustling to get to work. Joggers huffed past him more frequently along the sidewalk.
He eased into a cafe and ordered a cup of coffee, despite his disdain for it. If he had his druthers, the caffeine would’ve been injected straight into his veins. He’d only caught a few hours of sleep while sitting in the room with Reaper during the night after the chase in the bay. Between that and the long drive from a day that started being shot at while riding horses in the open range, Hawk barely had any energy left to function.
“Want anything to eat, honey?” the waitress asked Hawk as he gazed blankly out the window.
“Maybe some scrambled eggs and potatoes,” he said. “Oh, and my own pot of coffee.”
“Rough night, eh?” she said as she refilled his mug.
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“Tell me about it,” she said. “I worked a twelve-hour shift yesterday and came home to two kids with a stomach bug and a deadbeat husband passed out drunk on the couch.”
“Maybe you should sit down and have a pitcher or two of coffee with me.”
She chuckled. “No offense, but I need something much stronger than coffee.”
Hawk resumed his vacant stare across the water as the woman shuffled away. However, he snapped back to reality when his phone buzzed with a call from Alex.
“You’re up early,” Hawk said.
“John Daniel wet the bed about five o’clock this morning, so I decided since I was up, I should get to work,” she said.
“Might sound odd, but I’m jealous. You definitely got more sleep than I did.”
“We’ll compare notes later, but we need to talk about what I found.”
“Go on,” he said as the waitress placed a plate off eggs and breakfast potatoes in front of him.
“I contacted Mallory Kauffman at the NSA and fortunately she was in the office early too,” Alex said. “I sorted through the data and sent her the ones regarding the phone calls. She was able to triangulate within a few hundred yards where the call originated from.”
“And?”
“It was right by the address of a home belonging to DEA Director Dan Timmons.”
Hawk furrowed his brow. “Dan Timmons, the one who gave us medals?”
“That’s the one. The same man who wanted us to conclude our investigation.”
“But what solid connection do we have between the people Reaper was hunting and the Border Patrol Agent who ended up dead?” Hawk asked. “The only reason we found out about the Special Forces unit from Afghanistan was because these guys were all working with the Border Patrol Agent who arrested Diana Lorado.”
“That’s exactly what I thought. Timmons wasn’t in Special Forces nor was he deployed to Afghanistan during that time.”
“Then why would he be calling Reaper?” Hawk asked.
“Well, I did a little more digging and found out that he was sent on a secret mission to Afghanistan during the time Taylor, Guidry, and Langston were all deployed there. It was hidden from his public files.”
“So, what happened?”
“Obviously something happened—and I think it’s not a big leap to say that Timmons didn’t want anyone else to know about it.”
“But Guidry and Langston were living private lives,” Hawk said. “And Taylor was about as private as you could get. Why would Timmons suddenly want them all dead?”
“I don’t know, but something is afoot. And I’d be willing to bet Diana Lorado is part of it, too.”
Hawk took a long sip of his coffee. “Put together a quick report of what you just told me and send it to Morgan. It’s apparent that we just opened a can of worms.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to head back to Montana, but there’s something I need to do first.”
CHAPTER 37
Maclean, Virginia
THREE DAYS LATER, Hawk and Alex pulled up to the gate outside the home of DEA Director Dan Timmons. Hawk pushed the call button and waited for Timmons to answer. As they waited for him to answer, Alex drummed her fingers on the console.
“You really think this is going to work?” she asked.
Hawk shot her a sideways glance. “You think we’d be here if I didn’t?”
“This isn’t some wide-eyed bureaucrat feeling his way around Washington,” she said. “He’s a seasoned veteran, obviously capable of navigating the military and the federal government for personal gain.”
“How unfortunate for him that we’re on the job,” he said with a wink.
“There are other ways we could’ve done this,” she said. “I don’t feel proud about this.”
“Look, the president doesn’t want a scandal of this magnitude. And I don’t really blame him. The public’s trust is at stake, which we already know is very tenuous.”
“But really? This is how we have to do it?” she asked.
Hawk nodded. “It’s dirty, but it’s only leverage. Once he tells the truth, we can move on.”
“I still don’t like it,” she said. “And I want to be on record as saying that.”
“Your objection has been lodged and noted.”
The call box beeped and a screen flickered to life, depicting Timmons’ face. “Hello?”
“Director Timmons,” Hawk said, surveying the white colonial home on the sprawling property buttressing the Potomac River. “This is Agent Hawk. We need to speak with you regarding a sensitive matter.”
“You came out to my home?”
“This isn’t the kind of conversation you want to risk having on the phone or in the office, if you know what I mean.”
“Of course,” Timmons said. “I appreciate your discretion, whatever this is regarding. I’ll buzz you in.”
Timmons met Hawk and Alex on the front porch and invited them to sit down in a pair of rocking chairs.
“I appreciate the gesture,” Hawk said. “But I’m afraid this isn’t the type of conversation we have over lemonade on the porch.”
Timmons smoothed down his mustache. �
�Whatever it is you want to discuss, I’m a big boy. I can handle it.”
“We’re about to find out.”
“Does this have anything to do with your recent investigation?” he asked.
“Not exactly,” Alex said. “We have a long list of questions for you. And I suggest you think about your answers very carefully before responding. It might be the difference in spending five years in prison versus twenty-five.”
Timmons drew back and scowled. “Prison? What are you talking about?”
“I think you know,” Hawk said. “But if you don’t want to be forthcoming with us, we’ll be happy to put your private actions in the public sphere.”
Timmons sighed and stood, putting his hands on his hips. He stared at the woods surrounding his house, hesitant to speak.
“I can’t think of anything I’ve done that would reach this level of intervention. I mean, I don’t even know who you guys work for exactly.”
“We handle issues for top government agencies that require discretion,” Alex said.
“In other words, you don’t want to embarrass anybody?”
“That’s one way of looking at it,” Hawk said. “Now, do you want to tell us what was happening in Colombia? Or would you like me to tell you?”
“Fine,” Timmons growled. “I concocted the whole designer drug story. There were never any designer drugs killing people. I had someone on my staff make up some statistics and send them out to journalists willing to publish a scoop without further investigating.”
Hawk cocked his head to one side. “But—”
“I know, I know,” Timmons said, lifting his arms in the air and shaking his head. “It was wrong. I admit it. I should’ve never done that. But do you know how difficult it is to get Congress to approve basic funding for government entities these days? It’s a never-ending battle we have to fight just to get above the noise, so they’ll notice us and throw us a bone instead of funneling money to their lobbyist pets.”
“That’s quite a mixed metaphor,” Hawk said.
“Look, I know it’s wrong, but I promise not to do it again,” Timmons said as he sat back down.
“We’re not here about that,” Alex said.
Timmons narrowed his gaze. “What?”
“Yeah, we didn’t know anything about that,” Hawk said. “But thanks for letting us know. We’re here about you hiring Doug Mitchell to assassinate three guys you served with in Special Forces in Afghanistan.”
“I never—”
Alex held up her hand. “Before you start making grand proclamation, I think it’s important that you understand we have everything. Telling lies isn’t going to help your cause.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Timmons said. “I don’t know anyone named Doug Mitchell. And I’ve never paid anyone to kill someone else. That’s unimaginable.”
“Is it?” she asked. “Because we have phone records that say something entirely different. Unless you’re housing a criminal here that we don’t know about.”
“Whatever you’re talking about is news to me,” Timmons said. “I’m innocent of these scandalous accusations.”
Hawk stood and signaled toward the gate. Seconds later, an SUV crashed through the gate and was followed by a small caravan of FBI vehicles.
Timmons rushed toward them before seeing that the number was overwhelming. “This is a violation of my privacy. Do you even have a search warrant?”
One FBI agent dangled a document in front of him before waving more agents into Timmons’ backyard.
“You can’t do this,” Timmons said.
Hawk walked up next to the director. “Oh, yes, we can. And as someone who tries to root out illegal drugs in this country, I think you know exactly how warrants work.”
“This is ridiculous and you know it,” Timmons said.
“I’m sorry, sir. This is the truth. You’re a murderer, even if only by proxy and we need you to come with us.”
Hawk put his hand on Timmons’ bicep, but he jerked his arm away. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Found it,” one of the agents announced loudly.
Two people rushed over with a gurney.
“Load the body now, but be careful as to not contaminate it,” the team leader said.
“Body? What do you mean? There’s no body in my backyard?”
Hawk shook his head. “My eyes are telling me something different. Now, if you’d like to contest this finding, be my guest.”
“I think I will,” Timmons said. “I’m calling my lawyer.”
“Before you do,” Alex said. “You might want to consider deleting all those photos we found on your computer. But I’m not sure that’ll do you much good since they’re also all uploaded to a cloud account in your name.”
Timmons scowled before darting inside. Hawk and Alex hustled behind him. They watched as Timmons frantically opened his laptop. He searched his photos and slammed the screen down in disgust. He narrowed his eyes and pointed his finger at Hawk.
“You know I didn’t do that,” Timmons said.
“I just follow the evidence,” Hawk said.
“You can’t prove anything.”
Hawk shrugged. “Does it really matter if I can prove my original claim as long as I have other dirt on you?”
“Planted evidence,” Timmons said.
“See it however you like,” Hawk said. “But the truth is that you’re either going to tell us everything or I’m going to call a journalist—maybe even one of those journalists you so easily duped—and give them one helluva story about a DEA director and his penchant for—”
“Enough,” Timmons said. “Don’t say it. I’ll talk. What do you want?”
“We want you to tell us everything,” Alex said. “And then we want you to go away.”
CHAPTER 38
FBI Holding Facility
Undisclosed Location
MORGAN MAY STROLLED into the detention facility wearing a pair of aviator sunglasses and a red dress. She tossed her briefcase onto the conveyor belt for the x-ray machine and flashed her credentials to the security guard.
Robert Besserman, the head of the CIA, was on hand to greet her.
“Morgan, dressed to kill as always,” he said, offering his hand.
She shook his hand. “If there’s a murder, you won’t be able to see any blood stains on this dress.”
Besserman cocked his head to one side. “Metaphorically speaking, of course.”
“Of course,” she said with a wink.
The guard waved her through and then gestured toward her briefcase. “You’re clear to go, ma’am.”
She thanked him before turning back toward Besserman. “Lead the way.”
Besserman escorted her down a long corridor until they came to a holding room. He stopped outside the door. “Remember the objective here. We need to get him to talk. If you have to incentivize him, the president has authorized you to do whatever it takes short of letting him return to his job. But just keep that in mind.”
“You think I need to cheat to win?” she asked. “He’s gonna tell me everything and be crying for his mama before I’m done with him.”
“That’s what I’m counting on,” he said with a smile before opening the door.
Morgan entered the room and then kicked the door shut. She tossed her briefcase on the lone table where Dan Timmons was seated and rolled up her sleeves.
“As far as interrogations go, I guess it could be worse,” he said with a wry grin.
“Would you rather be waterboarded? Because I can arrange that if you want to make more comments like that, you disgusting pig.”
“I guess I’m good.”
“Thought so,” Morgan said. “Now, I expect your full cooperation unless you want to spend the rest of your adult life staring at three brick walls and iron bars.”
“I’ve done nothing deserving of such a punishment.”
“Between murder and what we found on your computer, you’l
l be lucky to survive one night on the streets.”
Timmons sneered at her. “You can’t prove any of that, and you know it. If you could, I’d be meeting with my lawyer instead of you.”
“Why did you order Doug Mitchell to kill all of those men that you served with in that Special Forces platoon in Afghanistan?”
“This again? Really? The agents who came to my house tried this same tactic. It won’t work. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You can play dumb as long as you like, but it’s only going to cost you more,” Morgan said.
“You can’t extract money out of a turnip.”
“But I can get my pound of flesh from a criminal bureaucrat. And if you sit here long enough, you’re going to have a front row seat.”
“Give it your best your shot,” Timmons said. “I mean, you might as well. You’re only in the position you’re in because of your uncle.”
“And that ought to scare you. Because my Uncle J.D. taught me plenty about people like you who think they live in a place above the law. For you, that ends today.”
Timmons laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’m hearing lots of talking, but no action.”
Morgan clicked open her briefcase and reached inside, producing a manila folder. She sifted through several pages until finding the document she wanted.
“You know this girl?” she asked.
Timmons rolled his eyes. “Of course I do. She’s my daughter.”
“And from what I understand, she’s a good student at Harvard.”
“Straight A’s,” Timmons said proudly.
“Then it’d be a shame if she was expelled for cheating.”
“Cheating? Alayna would never do that.”
Morgan shook her head. “That’s not what an anonymous report would say to Harvard’s online security department. According to this report, there’s a footprint leading right back to the ISP from the computer in her room. She could contest it, but it’d be like trying to convince everyone that the world is flat.”
“That’s blackmail.”
“That’s life,” Morgan said. “If you won’t tell me what I need to know, I’m going to use other means at my disposal until I get what I want.”
The Reaper (The Phoenix Chronicles Book 2) Page 18