Two Minutes to Midnight

by R. J. Patterson

  “I appreciate this, Milt,” Young said as Delaney entered the room with his aide, who went by the alias of John Smith.

  “I’m more than happy to help,” Delaney said, “and more than happy to get your support on the immigration bill I’ll be submitting in January.”

  “Of course,” Young said. “Whatever you want.”

  Delaney smiled and shook Young’s hand before slipping back down the hallway. If anyone noticed Delaney had lost his companion, word never got back to Young that afternoon.

  “Please have a seat,” Young said, gesturing toward an open chair across from him.

  Both men sat down. Young leaned forward and asked his guest if he wanted coffee or water. He declined and suggested they get straight to business.

  “I must begin by saying that this is highly unusual,” Young said. “Such demands often land you in prison or under surveillance by the Secret Service.”

  “In that case, I appreciate you keeping quiet about this meeting, if anything for your own sake. As I warned before, I have plenty of stopgap measures in place should this not play out to my liking.”

  “All right then. Let me see if I can address your concerns. But first, I must know your name.”

  “I know this may be irritating to you, but I’m not ready to give up my identity,” the man said. “You know me as John Smith, which is about as much as I want to say about it. It’s for my own protection—and possibly yours too, you know, plausible deniability and the like.”

  Young sighed and shook his head. “I don’t like this. I try to be transparent with my governing as well as who I’m meeting with.”

  “Then maybe you should’ve been transparent with the American people in the first place about the real reason why President Daniels is dead.”

  “The truth is complicated,” Young said.

  “Doesn’t look that complicated to me,” Smith shot back. “Daniels looked angry and vindictive as he committed suicide. Something had clearly gone wrong.”

  “He snapped, plain and simple. But if I had gone out and told the American people that Daniels committed suicide because he flipped out, no one would’ve believed me. Politicians and pundits would’ve accused me of trying to make some power play, which couldn’t be further from the truth.”

  “But you see, that’s the problem, Mr. President. We’re all further away from the truth because of the lies foisted upon the American public in the first place. If you’d just come out in the first place and—”

  “I don’t know what axe you have to grind, much less where you got a copy of that video, but let me assure you that there was no foul play involved. I think deep down you need to ask yourself if our country is better off for seeing one of its strongest leaders take his own life? Do you feel like they have some right to see it? Because rest assured, it will steal any dignity Conrad Daniels had regarding the end of his life. He went out on his terms, and I can assure that he had no intentions of anyone else witnessing his final act on this planet.”

  Smith shifted in his chair. “I haven’t decided whether I even have the right to make the decision for people regarding the contents of the video. But what I do know is that the American people are owed the truth, which is something only you can give them. I can go to the press with this footage, and it’ll stir up plenty of trouble for you right before the election. But that’s not how I want this to play out. I simply want you to set the record straight.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Young said as he leaned back in his chair.

  “No, don’t think about it—do it. You have a big rally in two days at the Capital One Arena downtown. I can’t think of a better opportunity for you to cease with this charade and tell America what really happened that day and why. And who knows, maybe it’ll even boost your poll numbers.”

  “I appreciate the courtesy of you coming to me first, though I must admit I don’t like the way you’ve cast veiled threats on this office if I don’t do exactly as you say. Once I take the time to examine all sides of this issue, I’ll make a decision and act accordingly.”

  “That’s not how this goes, Mr. President. You’re going to tell everyone what happened at the rally or else I’m going to put that video on the Internet. It’ll go viral, and your political career just might be finished. But if you’re willing to chance it, that’s your decision. But I will be watching.”

  Young glared at Smith. “You better be watching your back, too.”

  “Speaking of veiled threats,” Smith said as he stood. “Killing me isn’t going to kill this footage, just so you know. Killing me will only make things worse for you, but you do what you need to do.”

  “I will,” Young said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to the business of governing this country.”

  Smith exited the room without even glancing back at Young. With stealthy movements, Smith eased the door shut behind him. A half a minute later, a knock at the door startled Young, shaking him out of his trance. He was still seething over Smith’s demands when the voice outside interrupted him.

  “Mr. President, I have some paperwork for you to look at now that your meeting is over,” one of Young’s aides said.

  “Come in,” Young said.

  The aide dropped a stack of documents on the desk before stopping and staring at the president.

  “Is everything all right, Mr. President?”

  Young nodded slowly. “Everything is fine.”

  “Well, you just seem kind of down. Is everything okay? Who was that last guy you met with? I didn’t recognize him nor was his name on the schedule today since I know what all of them look like.”

  “That’s none of your concern. But everything is fine now. Just stressed about the upcoming election, that’s all.”

  “Well, sir, with all due respect, you don’t really have much to worry about. I saw the latest polls this afternoon, and you’ve built pretty much an insurmountable lead with less than a week to go.”

  “Fickle are the November winds,” Young said.

  “Good thing this election is being held in December.”

  Young forced a smile. “I’ll take a look at these and get back with you on them tomorrow.”

  “No problem, sir,” the aide said. “I won’t take up any more of your time, sir. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon then.”

  Left alone to ponder what he should do, Young felt his stomach churn. He knew the decision to hide the truth from the American people could come back to haunt him; he just hoped that if it ever did, it would’ve been years later, unable to do any damage to Daniels’s reputation and deliver more pain for his family. Young needed to squelch this story before it took on a life of its own. But was a public confession the best way to do that? Young wasn’t so sure.

  CHAPTER 9

  Washington, D.C.

  HAWK STRODE THROUGH a Pentagon hallway and made his way to the conference room, where General Van Fortner sat waiting. Once Hawk locked eyes with Fortner, the general’s face dropped. He looked at the floor and shook his head.

  “I’m so sorry, Hawk,” Fortner said. “I don’t know how we didn’t anticipate this.”

  “Fazil surprised us all with his bait and switch maneuver,” Hawk said. “Given the fact that we’d just frozen all of Al Hasib’s assets, why would we have suspected anything more? We knew they were desperate for cash, and we couldn’t see past that. Tactically, I have to tip my hat to Fazil on this move. It wasn’t just bold; it was also a blindside.”

  “Now it’s time for us to return the favor.”

  “I like the sound of that, but we can’t forget that Fazil has two of our best,” Hawk said. “We can’t put them in more danger than they’re already in—and any attempts at stringing Fazil along is going to result in that.”

  “I’m assuming Fazil has some conditions for returning Alex and J.D.”

  Hawk nodded, unsure if he wanted to reveal the demands. Staring blankly at the wall for a few seconds, he struggled with what to say next.

&
nbsp; “Hawk, what is it? What does he want you to do?”

  Hawk didn’t flinch, maintaining his distant gaze.

  “Help me out here,” Fortner said. “What does Fazil want you to do?”

  “He wants me to help him kill the president,” Hawk said, his voice stripped of any inflection or emotion. “He wants Noah Young dead.”

  “Bastard,” Fortner said as he slammed his fist on the table. “That’s a situation that won’t be easy to escape.”

  “Not without some serious collateral damage. And I don’t think either one of us are willing to let that happen, are we?”

  “Not a chance. I’d send a team of Rangers in to rescue Alex and J.D.—if I only knew where they were.”

  Hawk sighed. “That’d only make Fazil more determined. I know it might not seem possible now, but I think he’d turn into an even more dangerous foe if we did that to him.”

  “We need put him down before this turns into Osama bin Laden all over again.”

  “Agreed,” Hawk said, nodding resolutely. “We’ve had our chances, but every time we put him in the crosshairs, pulling the trigger would usually mean more senseless tragedy. So far, we’ve been able to stave that off by thwarting his attacks. But at some point, he’s going to get the better of us if we don’t take him out once and for all.”

  “Think you can find out where he is?”

  “It’s possible, but without Alex, I don’t know that I’ll be able to successfully pull it off.”

  “I’d send some of my best Rangers with you. You’d have an elite team around you to assist in the operation.”

  “Then I guess all I have to do is find out where they are, which is easier said than done.”

  “You said you might have a way. At this point, it’s all we’ve got.”

  Hawk nodded. “Let me try my contacts and see what I come up with. I’ll get back with you once I hear something.”

  After leaving the Pentagon, Hawk returned to one of Blunt’s secret apartments downtown. Blunt had a few numbers stuck in his head from his time in Iraq, though he wasn’t sure any of them would lead to the person he needed to talk to: Kejal.

  Kejal’s uncle, Jaziri, had been a great asset for the Seals over the years on secret missions in Iraq. Hawk had met the elderly man just once while with the Seals, but the bond they forged was a lasting one. When Hawk went on one of his first missions with Firestorm, he leaned heavily on Jaziri to gain a tactical position on an alleged Al Hasib hideout. Jaziri’s willingness to assist Hawk cost the old man his life, according to his nephew Kejal. Out of desire for revenge, Kejal joined Al Hasib with the intention of sabotaging future operations and getting even with the soldier who killed his uncle. Without Kejal’s help escaping a few weeks earlier from an Al Hasib prison, Hawk might still be stuck in the desert while New York dealt with a nuclear fallout. The fact that the world was a much better place because of Kejal wasn’t something Hawk would ever forget.

  But Hawk needed Kejal’s help again.

  Dialing an old number Hawk recalled from his memory bank, he hoped for a friendly voice on the other end of the line.

  “Alo,” said the voice of what sounded like a middle-aged woman to Hawk.

  Hawk spoke in Arabic. “I am trying to reach Kejal. Could you help me get in contact with him?”

  “Who is this?”

  “I am a friend of Jaziri’s. And I also know Kejal.”

  “If you were a friend of Jaziri, you would know that he is dead.”

  “I was a friend of Jaziri’s. Yes, I heard the news. I did not mean to suggest that I didn’t know. Blessings to you and your family.”

  “Why do you want to talk with Kejal?”

  “I need his help.”

  “To do what?” the woman asked.

  “I can’t really say.”

  “Then I can’t really tell you how to reach him.”

  “No, no, please don’t hang up. I really need to speak to him. It’s a matter of life and death.”

  “You want to kill Kejal, don’t you? What did he do this time? Not chop off the heads of the people you commanded him to? I’m sure if he is hiding, then it is for good reason. And I’m not exactly inclined to give you his number. You probably have it already, but he isn’t answering your calls.”

  “No, no. That’s not it at all. I’m not with Al Hasib.”

  “Of course you’d say you weren’t. I’m not falling for that.”

  “Is Kejal there?”

  “If he was, I wouldn’t tell you. Now, leave me alone, and don’t ever call here again.”

  Hawk hung up, disappointed over the rejection from the woman that he figured was Kejal’s mother and Jaziri’s sister. Al Hasib had torn her family apart, and she suspected Hawk was affiliated with the terrorists. While lamenting the inability to connect with Kejal through his family, Hawk understood the woman’s reticence to help.

  Hawk was convinced that pressing her would only make it worse, especially if Al Hasib was listening in on her conversations or if Kejal really had abandoned his post with the group. Instead of wasting more time in what Hawk suspected would be a futile effort, he reported the news back to Fortner.

  “We don’t have much time now,” Fortner said. “We need to come up with another plan.”

  “I’m already on it,” Hawk said.

  CHAPTER 10

  NOAH YOUNG TOOK A FEW practice swings with his golf club while waiting just off the cart path for his playing partner. A grin spread across his face as he saw Brady Hawk approaching on another cart driven by a member of Young’s secret service detail. Once the vehicle came to a stop, Hawk climbed out and strode toward the president.

  “How did you rig this?” Hawk asked as he put on his gloves.

  “I just told them that I was going to play with a guy who could drive the ball with such force that he could easily kill a person, though he never could tell where the ball would go,” Young said with a chuckle.

  “That’s actually pretty accurate,” Hawk said. “Fortunately, this is a ruse, is it not? Because you’d take all the money in my pocket and the shirt off my back if we were betting on a round of golf.”

  “It’s all right,” Young said. “We’ll probably only need the time it takes to play three holes to discuss this. And you’re up first.”

  Hawk shook his head. “You’re really gonna make me play, aren’t you?”

  “Purely for entertainment purposes only. It would bring me great personal satisfaction to know that there’s at least one physical activity I can do better than Brady Hawk.”

  Hawk chuckled as he shoved his tee into the ground and balanced a ball on top. After a few swings to loosen up, he prepared to take his first shot.

  “This hole plays long,” Young said. “Don’t think about trying to lay up around that pond there.”

  Hawk shot Young a sideways glance before recoiling and unleashing a blistering shot. The ball whistled over the pond on the par four hole, landing less than fifty yards from the green.

  Hawk winked at Young as they passed near the base of the tee box.

  “You’re a golf shark,” Young said. “And to think I was very close to falling for it.”

  Hawk shrugged. “I got decent at golf on Uncle Sam’s dime while waiting for training school to get started. They called it casual status. Make a few pots of coffee in the morning and play loads of golf in the afternoon.”

  Young grunted as he set up his ball. He barely got the ball over the pond, but he remained in good shape for his next shot.

  “It’s not how you start but how you finish,” Young said.

  They both climbed into the same cart with driving privileges taken by Young.

  “I guess it’s time to get down to the real meaning for this golf outing,” Hawk said.

  Young adjusted his sunglasses and tugged at the sleeves on his jacket. “I appreciate you coming out because I’ve got a real problem, Hawk. We have a real problem.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Som
eone recorded Daniels’s dying moments, and there’s a guy who’s essentially blackmailing me over it.”

  “Blackmailing you? That takes some guts. Do you know who he is?”

  “Not sure yet, but his identity isn’t what has me worried—it’s what he plans to do with the footage if I don’t tell the American people what really happened with Daniels.”

  “There’s a reason we never told anyone in the first place.”

  “I know,” Young said as he averted a jarring pothole. “I tried to tell him that. We didn’t want Daniels to lose his dignity in death. Once that video goes public, it’ll forever be in the public sphere, available on the Internet for all of time. We obviously didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of issues, but I still wouldn’t want Daniels disparaged like that.”

  “What were this mystery man’s demands?”

  “I need to tell the truth or he’s going to take the footage public.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  Young threw his head back, scratching underneath his chin. “He seemed pretty intent on following through.”

  “And he didn’t ask for money?”

  “No, which was strange. So, I guess it’s not technically a blackmail when we’re looking at it from a legal perspective.”

  “He’s still coercing you to do something against your will. And that’s technically blackmail.”

  Young furrowed his brow as he turned toward Hawk. “Were you also a lawyer and I’m just now finding out about this?”

  Hawk stared off in the distance. “No, but I know all about blackmail. Just don’t ask me how, okay?”

  “If you insist.”

  Hawk put a tee in his mouth and gnawed on the sharp end for a moment before continuing the conversation.

  “Let me ask you,” Hawk began, “what are you afraid will happen if this man releases the footage?”

  “I’ve seen it, and it doesn’t look good.”

  “Yeah, but what are you afraid of personally? Losing the election?”