State of Conspiracy (Titus Black Thriller series Book 8)

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State of Conspiracy (Titus Black Thriller series Book 8) Page 21

by R. J. Patterson


  “It’s worth a shot,” Blunt said. “Give me a second.”

  Black wheeled around in the parking lot and drove along the route the motorcade would’ve most likely taken. He didn’t get more than a mile away from The Kennedy Center before he saw the flashing lights of Metro PD cars that had already responded to the scene. Two SUVs were on fire, while two more looked like they had been thrust into buildings. Paramedics worked on some of the Secret Service agents lying in the street.

  He stopped and stared, shaking his head. With each passing second, Black’s anger swelled. He’d escorted the terrorists into the country and allowed them to do more damage than he’d ever imagined possible. Nobody got away with the crimes they were committing. He felt like he was watching a mob movie in real time. Zahiri and Kazadi acted as if they didn’t care if they lived or died. They were wreaking havoc at every point of conflict and needed to be stopped before innocent people died—or the president.

  “Done,” Blunt said. “I just notified Besserman.”

  “That’s a good first step,” Black said.

  “So, what are you planning on doing next?”

  “What do you think I’m gonna do?” Black asked. “I’m gonna hunt those bastards down and make sure they pay for what they’ve done.”

  “Are you armed?”

  “Barely,” Black said. “I’m going to call Kazadi’s number and then head straight over to headquarters.”

  “I’m here now,” Blunt said.

  “Good,” Black said. “Open the munitions rooms. I have a feeling I’m going to need to stock up tonight.”

  “I’ll be waiting for you.”

  Black hung up and dialed Kazadi’s number.

  “Did you make it?” Kazadi asked in French.

  “I suppose if you mean, did I survive, yes,” Black said in English.

  The sound of his voice must’ve startled Kazadi, who remained silent for nearly half a minute despite Black’s pestering.

  “Are you not gonna talk to me?”

  “How did you—”

  “I look hideous now, like some freak show who survived a fire,” Black said, grinning to himself. “But I can still see—and shoot straight. And I’m gonna shoot you straight right now: I’m coming for you and I’m gonna kill you and Zahiri both if it’s the last thing I do.”

  “Oh, and one more thing,” Blunt said. “Agent Shields is trying to reach you. How about answering her call next time? I’m texting you her number now.”

  Black hung up without another word and stomped on the gas.

  If he was going to make good on his promise to Kazadi, he knew he’d better be ready for a fight because he had a big reason for surviving any kind of battle. And there was no room for error.

  CHAPTER 48

  Washington, D.C.

  BAHIRI ZAHID TIGHTENED the bindings on President Young and Secretary Geller’s hands, securing them to their chairs situated near a wall in the bottom level of a parking garage. A stark white folding table was positioned in front of the captives. Now two floors below the surface, Zahid stood and admired the finished product of his crew’s fast work. A backdrop with the logos of both Alsheri and the ADF was stretched the length of the table behind them. It didn’t look like anything he’d seen from a corporate social media account, but Zahid didn’t care. He wasn’t trying to sell a slick product; he was trying to send a resounding message.

  With Young and Geller taken care of, Zahid hustled around behind a camera affixed to a tripod and bumped the man behind it out of the way.

  Zahid kissed the tips of his fingers. “Mwah,” he said with a smile. “This is perfect. In just a few minutes, the world will be changed forever.”

  Kazadi pumped his fist and grinned. “It’s not enough to avenge the thousands of deaths caused by the blood-thirsty Americans, but perhaps this will convince them to change their policies in Africa.”

  “And everywhere else,” Zahid said. “No one has been immune to the cancer they’ve infected us all with in the name of their holy democracy.”

  Kazadi crouched down in front of Young and got eye level with him. “I will never bend my knee to an American, but their leader will bend his knee to me tonight.”

  “Just tell me what you want,” Young said. “My Secretary of State is here. She can make it happen.”

  Zahid and Kazadi broke into laughter.

  “Oh, now you’re interested in appeasing us,” Zahid said as he moved near the table in front of Young. “You couldn’t just help our people because we need it. No, you’ve wallowed in your wealth for years, unwilling to lift a finger, all while putting your boot on our throats. Well, Mr. President, the game is over. You, just like your predecessor, will leave office in a very unceremonious manner.”

  “Look,” Young said, his face pleading as he spoke, “I’ll do anything you want me to.”

  “Anything?” Zahid asked.

  “Yes,” Young said.

  Geller cast a glance at him. “Sir, I’m not sure—”

  “Shut up, Rachel,” Young snapped. “Can’t you see I’m trying to save our lives here?”

  Zahid rubbed his hands together. “In that case, I do have one request.”

  “Anything,” Young said. “Just name it.”

  Zahid placed a piece of paper on the table in front of Young. “I want you to read this.”

  Young scanned the document and then slowly looked up. “I can’t do this.”

  “You said anything.”

  “Yeah, but not that.”

  “It’s your choice, Mr. President. If you don’t read it—and in convincing fashion—I will chop off your head and share the footage of the event with the rest of the world. It will be … what do your TV stations here call it? Must-see TV?”

  Young growled. “I swear when this is over with—”

  “You’ll what, Mr. President?” Zahid said in a mocking tone. “Report us to our respective governments? Revoke our passports? Tell us we can never come to your country again? You give us whatever threat you feel will make you seem big to us. But I have a little secret for you—I won’t believe any of it. In fact, I know that you’re going to read this and there won’t be any consequences for us. But there will be for you.”

  Young cast a sideways glance at Geller, who kept her head down, staring at her feet on the floor.

  “You won’t get what you want, that much I can promise you—not if you make me read that.”

  Zahid chuckled and shook his head. “Noah, I’m going to tell you something that’s very important, so pay close attention. You are not in charge here. Your word means nothing, whether you’re being threatened with a gun to your head or walking around in complete freedom. But you’re going to say this. And if you don’t, I’m going to butcher you so that’s how your entire country will remember your final moments. Now, it’s your choice.”

  Young sighed. “I’ll read it, but you have to let her go as soon as I’m finished. She doesn’t need to be here for any of this. Your beef is with me, not her.”

  “No, no, no. Your entire country is who we are at war with, only they don’t know it. But every politician and bureaucrat does. Their will is to suppress and oppress our people, extracting whatever you want from us for very little in return. That’s how you treat us, so this is how you’re going to be treated tonight by us. We’ll release your Secretary of State, but she’s going to see every minute of it as you read what’s on this paper exactly as it is printed—and you say it like you mean it.”

  Zahid tapped the paper in front of Young and smiled.

  “Everyone will know I won’t mean these words,” Young said as he scanned the paper again.

  “Make them believe it,” Zahid said.

  * * *

  BLACK GLANCED BACK and picked up the phone, debating whether he should even call Shields. He was conflicted, desperately wanting to call her on one hand to see how she was doing, but also concerned that she’d try to join him. Even if he urged her to help from the Firestorm offices
, he wasn’t sure she’d comply.

  As he sped along, the debate raged in his mind until he finally dialed the number Blunt had texted him.

  “Finally,” she said as she answered the phone. “I was beginning to get worried something else had happened to you.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “So, I’ve heard.”

  “How are you?” Black asked. “What did those bastards do to you?”

  “Let’s just say it could’ve been a lot worse, and let’s leave it at that.”

  “Are you all right?”

  She huffed a laugh through her nose. “Definitely all right.”

  “Did they hurt you?”

  “Nothing permanently,” she said. “After all, I’m already missing a leg. If I retain all the rest of my appendages, I consider that a win.”

  Black chuckled. “Your sense of humor is still intact too, I see.”

  “They’d have to exorcise that out of me. I’m never going to take life so seriously that I can’t laugh about it every once in a while, even when things are in the dumps.”

  “Like getting abducted by terrorists?” Black asked as he flashed his credentials to an FBI agent at a roadblock up ahead.

  “Good luck, Agent,” the FBI guy said in a hushed tone.

  Black nodded and mouthed “thank you” before rolling up his window and continuing to listen to Shields.

  “Especially getting abducted by terrorists. I mean, one guy wore a bunny head and the other guy wore a Richard Nixon mask. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if we were going to a rave party or to rob a bank.”

  “I’m glad you survived, which is a credit to your skills after Blunt sold you down the river.”

  “He did the right thing,” Shields said. “And you know it. Your sense of nobility almost got you in trouble.”

  “Almost?” Black asked. “We’re far from out of the woods yet. The President and the Secretary of State have both been abducted by these bastards.”

  “Let me help,” she said.

  “I’d love that,” Black said. “I swung by the Firestorm HQ and grabbed a bunch of weapons and munitions. And I also grabbed some coms, hoping that you might make it back in time to help me out.”

  She sighed. “I was really hoping to pump these guys full of lead. You sure you don’t need me there?”

  “If they suspect there’s a group of agents, then they’ll probably either run off with the president or kill him on the spot. Your guess is as good as mine, but the bottom line is we have to strike quietly and with precision. And I think that’s best done with just one agent.”

  “So, we’re sending our second best marksman to save the president?” she asked. “Sounds like a bad idea to me.”

  “Please, just help from the office, okay?”

  “Fine,” she said. “We’ll do it your way. But you better promise to come back.”

  “Of course,” he said. “I’ll see you soon enough.”

  Black ended the call as he sped to the coordinates Besserman had given him. With just a quick phone call to Kazadi, Besserman’s team had pinpointed the location of the terrorist’s phone by triangulating with cell towers. From there, it was a process of elimination that resulted in determining the most likely place they’d have taken the president.

  Besserman had warned Black that Zahir and Kazadi might have plans to sneak the president somewhere else. That was a logical conclusion, but Black wasn’t sure that was the plan based on what he’d overheard.

  He parked along the street a block away and crept toward the parking deck just off F Street. When he noticed a man milling around the entrance, Black picked up his cell phone and feigned as if he’d just received a call. He talked loudly and obnoxiously, swaying from side to side to give the appearance that he was drunk. After rounding the corner, Black hustled toward a back alley and slipped inside.

  He crept up behind the lone guard at the entrance and put him in a sleeper hold before breaking his neck. After rummaging through the dead man’s jacket pockets, Black dragged the body beneath a car left overnight in the handicap spot by the entrance.

  Black turned the volume down and listened to the chatter on the radio. Based on the distinct voices discussing their assignments, Black identified three other voices and determined that there was at least one more man on the roof.

  The last thing Black wanted was to get sandwiched between Zahid and Kazadi and other guards patrolling the areas. If Black could work his way toward the principal players—as well as the hostages—he could increase his odds of succeeding. He just couldn’t be sure how many there were.

  Black hustled up the ramps until he’d almost reached the top. He stopped a few meters away from it and waited, listening for any footsteps of the guard patrolling the roof. Satisfied that he’d only heard one set, he crouched low as he moved into the space. Black was surprised to see so many cars on the top level. He quickly estimated there were nearly two dozen, which was a mixed blessing. More vehicles gave him more opportunity to stealthily move toward the guard. But it also made it more difficult to find him.

  Where are you?

  Black eased down behind one vehicle and then laid prone. He scanned the area for a pair of feet marching around. The guard was nearly halfway across the roof in an open space, oscillating between the edge and the center. Zig-zagging back and forth, he peeked over the side to look for any activity on the street below. Washington was unusually quiet, though Black knew it was due to the two-mile perimeter the FBI had set up around the area. Black drew closer and waited for the man to look in the other direction. The moment he did, Black raised up and put two bullets in the back of the man’s head. Then Black raced over and plundered the man’s pockets before placing him under another vehicle.

  Just as he finished sliding the man under a high-clearance truck, he heard a click.

  “In my experience, the pilot usually stays with the plane,” the terrorist said. “But not you, Officer Black.”

  Black raised his hands in the air. “What can I say? I’m committed to my passengers.”

  “Get up now,” the man said.

  Black slowly stood. However, he hadn’t stretched out before the man crumpled to the ground and dropped his weapon.

  Black spun around to see Shields there with a smirk on her face.

  He shook his head as he locked eyes with her. “I thought I told you—”

  “You’re welcome would be fine,” she said.

  “I could’ve handled him.”

  “Sure you could’ve,” she said. “Now, we can stand up here and argue, or we can go save President Young and Secretary Geller. It’s up to you.”

  Black set his jaw. “Christina.”

  “Titus,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “I don’t like this,” he said.

  “Neither do I, but I wasn’t the one who ushered them into the country, was I? Like I said, we can debate this later. Right now, we have a job to do. And I suggest we not waste any more time bickering over this.”

  Black nodded in agreement, though he was still irked that she hadn’t tried to help him from the office.

  Shields slapped him on the shoulder. “Besides, how was looking at satellite feeds going to help anyway when all the action was buried in a parking garage?”

  “Fair enough,” Black said. “You just better be careful.”

  “How many more are there?” she asked.

  Black shrugged. “I don’t have a certain number. Three SUVs showed up. Eleven men left the jet. I know at least one man had to have died in a suicide run at the FBI roadblock. The last I heard, there were three casualties when they abducted the president. I’ve killed two men here and you’ve killed one.”

  “This is making my head spin,” she said. “I hate math.”

  “Good thing I don’t,” he said with a wink. “We’re down to seven-ish.”

  “I don’t like working with such ambiguity.”

  “Me neither, but here we are,” Black said. “Let’s go fini
sh this.”

  Black and Shields worked their way down the stairwell, clearing each level. They found two more guards and killed them quickly before they reached the bottom of the deck.

  Black noticed a set of construction work lights in the far corner, illuminating a hive of activity. Several armed men bustled back and forth, tweaking a makeshift set.

  President Young sat behind a table, his tie pulled down, his hair disheveled. He sipped a bottle of water and became animated with the man in front of him. When the man turned around, Black recognized Bahiri Zahid. To his left was Kazadi, whose mere presence conjured more rage. Seated next to the president was Secretary Geller, who sat with her arms behind her, undoubtedly bound. Her expression looked as if she might spit nails at any given moment.

  Three other men scurried back and forth, heeding Zahid’s instructions.

  Black and Shields crouched down with their backs against a minivan.

  “How you wanna run this?” Shields asked.

  “We’ve got to protect the two hostages,” Black said. “Nothing else really matters.”

  “Agreed.”

  “If we back them into a corner, Zahid will jam a gun into the president’s head,” Black said. “And that’ll make the situation almost unmanageable. Because there’s only one outcome we can have.”

  “We need better odds,” Black said.

  Shields waved one of the radios she’d collected off one of the dead guards. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

  Black nodded. “Let’s go.”

  They went up one level and then came back down the back stairwell near where the president and the secretary were being held. The steps went up and cut back, creating the perfect hiding place just above the middle landing.

  “Ready?” Black asked.

  Shields nodded.

  Black had heard the men speaking French earlier, so he requested help on the roof in French. A voice crackled over the radio, affirming that he was on his way.

  Seconds later, one of the terrorists rounded the corner only to find Black and Shields with their weapons trained on him. Black held an index finger to his lips.

  “Call one of the other men now,” Black said. “No games or I will put a bullet in your head before you can finish your sentence.”

 

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