For a moment, she tried to resist, twisting and turning in defiance of her captor, but the efforts were in vain. Resigned to her fate, she lay limp.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
Nobody answered.
She persisted. “I demand to know what is going on.”
Still no response.
Instead of asking, she screamed, which resulted in a strong hand clamping down over her mouth. She felt hot breath on her neck.
“Don’t make things more difficult than they already are,” Shadow Lancer said.
The dragging continued, resuming the painful trek. She didn’t know where she was going, but she was sure it’d be the last trip she’d ever take. Certainly not the way she imagined it.
About ten minutes later, the two people carrying Mia released her. She hit the ground with a thud, banging her head. She groaned in pain while lying on her back. Without warning, she was pulled up by her collar. Mia teetered before regaining her balance.
“Here’s the girl,” Shadow Lancer said.
“Your money is in that bag over there,” another man replied in a gruff voice. “Thank you for contacting us. Your loyalty will be noted.”
“Thank you,” Shadow Lancer said.
Mia listened as two sets of footsteps grew faint in the cool night air.
“I don’t know what this is all about,” Mia said, “but this has to be some kind of mistake.”
The man grunted. “There was a mistake all right. But it’s one that you already made. And it’s going to cost you.”
“How much?” she said. “I can pay.”
The man chuckled. “There’s not enough money in the world for me to let you off.”
“I can get you millions of dollars.”
“Still not enough,” the man said. “Money’s worthless if you’re dead … just like you’re about to be.”
“Name your price,” she said, her voice quivering. “I know that everyone has a number.”
“Not me, lady. Now, get on your knees.”
Mia didn’t move. “How much?”
Her knee buckled as he kicked her from behind. She staggered to the ground.
“Come on,” she pleaded. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t kill me.”
“If you haven’t figured this out yet, I’m going to tell you straight. This isn’t a negotiation.”
“But it can be,” she said. “You can change this story. I’ve done nothing to you. The world has enough senseless death. Don’t add to it by killing me and doing someone else’s dirty work for them.”
“Who says I’m doing this for anyone?” he asked.
“If you’re going to kill me, at least tell me who you are or who you’re working for,” she pleaded.
“Not a chance.”
She heard the click of a pistol and tried to think of anything to dissuade the man from killing her.
“Say goodnight, princess,” the man said before a shot rang out through the woods.
CHAPTER 19
Washington, D.C.
PRESIDENT YOUNG SAT in a briefing with his press secretary to discuss how to handle the barrage of questions the White House correspondents were about to fire at him. An hour earlier, he watched an FBI spokesperson deliver the story dominating the news cycle: The U.S. intelligence community formed a joint taskforce to determine who was responsible for Omar Ebadi’s death, and the group concluded the failure rested on the shoulders of former Texas senator J.D. Blunt.
The media was briefed on Blunt’s background on the intelligence committee and how he’d managed to put together a team of former special ops agents who engaged in global vigilante justice. According to the FBI, Blunt and his team had engaged in plenty of altruistic missions that protected Americans, but had been known to go over the line. One reporter from CNN asked why the U.S. government had allowed Blunt to operate as long as he did, drawing a sharp rebuke from the spokesperson. He explained that Homeland Security had been searching for these rogue operators for years, but this event gave them the opportunity to uncover the identities of some of those involved.
Young could only shake his head as he watched the debacle unfold on live television. He knew it was mostly a giant lie wrapped in tattered truth. And he was prepared to give a Presidential briefing that would reiterate the narrative the FBI and the White House decided upon. Part of Young hated throwing Blunt under the bus, but the priority was maintaining power.
It’s for the good of the American people. And what’s best for them is for me to be president instead of Collin Radcliffe.
Just the thought of Radcliffe made Young wince. His chief challenger was obnoxious and lacked the statesmanship to handle being the leader of the free world. But if the story about Blunt’s team fell apart, Radcliffe would waltz into the White House.
“Mr. President, are you still with me?” Young’s press secretary, Lacy Wickersham, asked.
“Oh, yes, I’m sorry, Lacy. Just a lot on my mind today.”
“Of course. I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you after the kind of relationship you had with Senator Blunt. I understand he was quite the confidante.”
“And presuming upon my good graces for his own personal gain, too. I just can’t believe this is happening, especially so close to the election.”
“Better now than next month, Mr. President. It’s not fun when you get an October surprise.”
Young nodded in agreement. He’d never been the recipient of one, but he’d seen plenty of elections turn on a damning revelation. And authorizing a secret black ops unit without any effective oversight would certainly qualify as the kind of October surprise his press secretary was referencing.
“If you don’t want this to bleed over into October, you need to go out there and be forceful,” she said. “Make sure the people know you’re just as shocked as they are that this could happen within the U.S. government. Make them understand that we will not tolerate rogue agents portending to act on behalf of this country.”
“I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”
An aide knocked on the door and poked his head inside. “It’s time, Mr. President.”
Young got up and ambled down the hall. Once he was given the signal, he ascended the podium and placed his notes on the lectern.
Flashbulbs exploded as he began to talk. His opening comments apologized again for Omar Ebadi’s death. Then he paused and took a deep breath before calling it “murder.”
“Let’s not kid ourselves here,” Young said. “This attack was a deliberate one, not the case of mistaken identity as we previously believed. J.D. Blunt, who has been a close ally with this administration since day one, orchestrated this attack, likely to keep the war in Afghanistan going. He has ties to some of the country’s biggest weapons manufacturers and stands to benefit financially from the escalation of a conflict in the Middle East. Follow the money, isn’t that what they say?”
Young made his comments with conviction, something he conjured up by imagining he was talking about something else. The truth was Blunt had become an integral part of Young’s national security plan. During his tenure, time and time again, Blunt and his operatives prevented terrorist strikes and squelched political upheaval. They delivered victory after victory in the face of sure defeat, making him look stronger than he really was … until now.
Once Young completed his statement, he opened the floor for questions.
A reporter from The Washington Post took the microphone as he stood. “Mr. President, earlier today when the FBI discussed Senator Blunt’s involvement in this assassination of Mr. Ebadi, the spokesperson didn’t give us an opportunity to get answers the public deserves. So, I’m hoping that you can tell us these two things: Where is Senator Blunt? And how do you intend to handle his trial?”
As the man sat down to listen to Young’s answer, the president took a deep breath and shook his head. “Not wasting any time, are you? So, to answer your questions: First off, Senator Blunt is on the run. We�
��re not sure where he is right now, but we have the best trained agents in the world hunting him. And make no mistake about it, we will find him. And as for our plans with him upon his arrest, I’ve spoken with federal attorneys who intend to prosecute him to the fullest extent of the law.”
“Will you seek the death penalty?” one reporter called out.
Young nodded as he repeated his last phrase slowly. “To the fullest extent of the law.”
Another reporter took the mic. “Mr. President, while your administration has leveled charges against Senator Blunt, what about the people carrying out his bidding? Do you know who pulled the trigger on the shot that killed Mr. Ebadi?”
Young shuffled the papers on the lectern as he formulated an answer. “At this point, we aren’t certain who the gunman was, but we are actively searching for known associates of Senator Blunt.”
The president signaled to his aides that he would take one more question.
“Sir,” another reporter said, “how can you be sure that Senator Blunt won’t fake his own death again?”
“I guess we can’t be sure of anything, but if he tries that, he won’t get away with it. We won’t rest until we find him. Thank you for your time, and good afternoon.”
With that final statement, Young stepped off the podium and exited through a side door, ignoring the barrage of questions lobbed toward him.
“I thought that went rather well,” Lacy said, joining him in stride down the hallway.
“That makes one of us,” Young said.
“What do you mean?”
He stopped and turned to face her. “They clearly aren’t satisfied with my response. The media is opening the door for Radcliffe to hammer me on national security issues during the debates. If we don’t round up everyone involved in this whole debacle, we’re going to be fighting an uphill battle these last two months on the campaign trail.”
Young retreated to his office and shut the door. He paced as he weighed his next move. While he could announce Blunt’s capture at any time, Young didn’t have any interest in a trial. Hiding Blunt away until after the election was the best possible move. However, the rest of his team needed to be apprehended immediately.
Young sat down and dialed the number for John Pembroke, the deputy secretary of Homeland Security.
“Mr. President,” Pembroke said, “it’s an honor to speak with you today. How can I be of service?”
“I was calling for an update on all the names I gave you,” Young said. “Have you captured any of them yet?”
“I’m afraid we haven’t located any of them yet. It doesn’t appear that they’re even on U.S. soil.”
“Dammit. Someone must’ve warned them somehow.”
“I wish I had better news to report, but we’re working on it,” Pembroke said. “Earlier today, I spoke with several people at Interpol about enlisting their help.”
“You think they’re in Europe?”
“Based on their connections and past behavior, that makes the most sense.”
“Keep me apprised if there are any changes,” Young said. “I want to know the minute they are found.”
Young hung up and sighed. He could feel the pressure building, and he didn’t like any of his options.
Where are you, Brady Hawk?
CHAPTER 20
Paris, France
HAWK PULLED INTO a spot at the Vaugirard Hospital parking garage less than two miles away from the Pasteur Institute. He glanced over at Alex, who had already changed into her physician’s coat. She fished out their two identification badges from her pocket and handed Hawk his card.
In the backseat, Sterling tested the coms on his laptop. “We’re so close, I can almost feel it.”
“I wish I shared your confidence,” Alex said, adjusting her red-haired wig. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned so far about Falcon Sinclair it’s that if he were going to be named after an animal, an eel would be more appropriate.”
Sterling chuckled. “I’d always thought of him as more of a slug.”
“Definitely slimy enough,” she said. “But he moves far too fast to get caught easily.”
Hawk studied his face in the mirror, sagging eyes with more pronounced crow’s feet than he’d ever noticed before. He finger combed his hair and caught Sterling watching.
“Getting old is never easy,” Sterling said with a faint grin, “but you get used to it.”
“What are you trying to say?” Hawk asked.
Sterling shrugged. “Nothing in particular. Perhaps I’m just sharing a timeless truth, a nugget of wisdom from an agent who’s had ten more years in the field than you have.”
“I’ll file that away for later,” Hawk said. “In the meantime, did you double-check to make sure our profiles are still in the hospital’s security system?”
“You’re both in there as ER doctors,” Sterling said. “If you get any feedback from the guards, tell them you’re new and push them to let you through. Keep your coms as well as your camera on at all times so I can see and hear what’s happening in case you run into any problems.”
“Roger that,” Hawk said before he glanced at Alex. “You ready?”
“Let’s roll.”
They walked into the lobby and headed toward the emergency room. Flashing their badges to the nurse at the triage desk, she leaned forward and squinted.
“Venez ici,” she said in French.
Alex and Hawk obeyed the command, drawing closer to the woman.
“I’m not familiar with either of you,” the nurse said in French.
“We’re new,” Alex said. “But our shift is about to start and we’d appreciate it if you would let us get to work.”
“I don’t see you on my schedule, Dr. Dubois. I’m going to need to check your badges against my administrator’s roster.”
“We just started yesterday,” Alex said.
The woman snatched Alex’s badge and studied it, keying in the numbers at the bottom. While Alex’s file popped up on the monitor, the nurse continued to hunt on her computer.
“Is there a problem?” Alex asked.
“Yes, there is, Dr. Dubois. You’re not on any schedule for today.”
Hawk remained calm. He turned his head and covered his mouth as he spoke into his coms. “A little help here, Sterling.”
“Give me a moment,” Sterling replied.
“Keep stalling,” Hawk whispered behind Alex.
As the two women continued to discuss how and why Dr. Dubois wasn’t listed on the schedule, a voice over the intercom interrupted them: “Docteur Dubois et Docteur Chartrand, on a besoin de vous aux urgences.”
The nurse sighed and nodded at the door before buzzing them through. They both hustled inside, not wanting to give the nurse a chance to change her mind.
Alex, who was more fluent in French, took the lead. She approached the triage nurse and picked up a chart.
“Do you have the patient list?” Alex asked.
“Right here,” the woman said, trading clipboards with Alex. “You must be new to our department because I haven’t seen you before.”
Alex offered her hand. “Yes, I’m Dr. Dubois and this is Dr. Chartrand. We’re visiting doctors from Geneva.”
“Welcome,” the nurse said with a warm smile.
Alex responded in kind. She returned her attention to the clipboard and ran her finger down the list in search of Sinclair’s room number.
“Perfect,” she said and handed the clipboard back to the nurse.
Alex resumed her trek down the hall with Hawk matching her stride for stride.
“He’s in room 119,” Alex whispered.
However, they both slowed as they neared Sinclair’s room. Two armed men stood posted outside the door.
Alex stopped an orderly walking by and asked him if it was normal to see men with guns in the emergency room. The man shook his head as he kept walking.
“I’d just stay away,” he called out over his shoulder.
Hawk m
ade eye contact with one of the men, who glowered back. He raised his sleeve and said something into his coms, never looking away from Hawk.
“Dammit,” Hawk said. “We’ve been made.”
“Officers, here they are,” one of the gunmen said, gesturing toward a pair of policemen rounding the corner in full sprint.
Hawk and Alex didn’t hesitate, turning heel and racing toward the entrance.
“Sterling, we’ve got a problem,” Hawk said.
“I know,” Sterling replied. “I just received a bulletin seconds ago from Interpol that they are searching for the two of you. I’ll bring the car around the back alley.”
“Hurry,” Hawk said.
As they turned toward the main exit, they were overwhelmed by an emergency response team rushing a patient down the hall on a gurney. One man hustled ahead of everyone and implored all other staff to make way.
Hawk glanced behind him and saw the officers converging on his position. But with a trauma patient being ushered down the hall toward him, Hawk realized they were getting hemmed in. He yanked on Alex’s sleeve as he reversed course and ran straight toward the Interpol officers.
“Turn here,” he said, nodding toward his left. He used the parade of paramedics and doctors behind him to slow down the officers and buy more time to escape.
Alex stayed on his heels as the duo raced down a dim corridor. “Where does this lead?”
“Outside … I hope.”
Hawk glanced up and followed the exit signs to a side doorway that opened up onto the street. Up ahead, he saw several law enforcement officers standing outside. They made eye contact, putting Hawk and Alex on the run.
“Sterling,” Hawk said over the coms. “Where are you?”
“I see you,” Sterling said. “Turn left at the next intersection, and be quick about it.”
As they followed Sterling’s instructions, they found the MI-6 agent waiting along the curb. Hawk and Alex scrambled inside before Sterling stomped on the accelerator and pulled into the regular flow of traffic.
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