The worker panicked. “You said you’d help me. Come on.”
Demby continued to rake more dirt on the opening above the man until his voice was muffled to almost a whisper beneath the weight of the rubble. He then stood up and dusted off his hands.
Searching for a high point in the mine, he found an excavator and climbed on top of the cab. “Gentlemen, it’s time to go home. Go ahead and take the rest of the day off. We’ll double our efforts in different mines tomorrow. There’s nothing more we can do to help.”
A few of the men started shouting back at Demby.
“We can’t just leave them,” one of the men said. “They’re going to die if we don’t help them.”
“They’re going to die even if you do. They’re as good as dead.”
The man scowled. “I can’t stand by and do nothing.” He bent over and started shoveling rocks to the side.
Demby yanked out his pistol and shot the man in the head then hopped down from the cab. “Anyone else care to disagree?”
Nobody said a word. A few shook their head.
“Good. I’m glad we’re all in agreement.”
Ibrahim rushed up to him. “Do you think these men are seriously going to leave their friends to die in the mine like this?”
“I’m counting on it.”
“And what makes you think they’re going to go along with it?”
“Because everyone likes getting paid—and nobody else wants to die.”
Demby grinned as he watched the workers begin to climb out of the mine and head home for the day.
CHAPTER 14
FOR A MAN WHO PREFERRED to work in the shadows, Blunt spent plenty of time in the daylight, soaking up the sun whenever he had an opportunity. Surviving D.C. winters was something that made him pine for the Texas sunshine. So when he had any free time during his workday, Blunt walked around the National Mall. He claimed it helped him clear his mind. But the truth is the sunshine served as his antidote to depression.
During these walks, he was often acknowledged by other Capitol Hill employees, some staffers and some politicians. But it was never more than a slight head nod or a touch to the brim of man’s fedora.
Until today.
As Blunt was circling the National Mall for the second time that morning, he almost stumbled to the ground as a man bumped into him from behind.
“Hey, watch what you’re—” Blunt froze for a moment then scanned the area. “What are you doing here?” he asked in a loud whisper.
“Don’t worry,” the man said. “I wasn’t followed.”
“I should hope not, but that doesn’t change the fact that this breaks protocol. I’m never to be approached in public or contacted in the open. You ought to know that by now.”
The man nodded knowingly. “I understand, but this just couldn’t wait.”
“What couldn’t wait?”
“What I’m about to tell you and show you.”
Blunt’s eyes widened. “Are you out of your freakin’ mind? You’re jeopardizing everything just by being here.”
“I’m afraid we’re past that point.”
“What do you mean?”
The man handed Blunt a manila folder. “Take a look at these.”
“Where’d you get these?” Blunt demanded.
“It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that someone is on to you; someone is on to Firestorm. And they’re going to shut down the organization as soon as possible if you don’t do something.”
“Who’s they?”
“There’s another shadow organization, ironically named Searchlight. They’re completely independent of any government entity, fully funded through private means. The rumor is that they’re making a play to move to the top of the food chain.”
“Who’s behind all this?” Blunt asked as he continued to study the report in his hands along with several photos.
“It’s best that I don’t tell you the who. But I can take care of the who for you.”
Blunt shrugged. “Then by all means, don’t waste any time.”
The man looked around nervously as he led Blunt off the main path and to a nearby patch of bushes. Putting his arm around Blunt, the man said, “I’m going to need some more assurances. I’m sure you understand.”
“Such as?”
“Twenty percent more to take care of him.”
“Twenty percent more? Are you nuts?”
“Take it or leave it.”
Blunt sighed and stared at the glimmering water. “Fine. Twenty percent it is.”
“Great. Just wire me the money. Once I see it in my account, I’ll take care of the problem.”
“It’ll be there,” Blunt said. “Now, get outta here.”
The man collected the folder back from Blunt. “I’ll only need forty-eight hours.”
Blunt watched the man scurry away into a shady patch of trees nearby. He hadn’t gone more than fifty meters until he collapsed to the ground.
Blunt rushed over to him. “Talk to me. Are you okay?”
No response.
Blunt called 9-1-1 and reported their location to the dispatcher.
“Don’t die on me yet,” Blunt said as he studied the man’s face. “The paramedics are already on their way.”
“Run,” the man said. “Get out of the shadows or you might be next.”
Blunt didn’t know if the man was speaking figuratively or literally, but he didn’t want to stick around to find out. He grabbed the folder and cell phone from the man and scampered toward the main sidewalk into the open.
Who the hell is behind Searchlight?
CHAPTER 15
HAWK REMAINED CONSTRICTED by Visser’s grip and somewhat concerned about the gun shoved underneath his chin. Struggling to break free, Hawk decided to relax for a moment and opt for a different way out of the situation.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“I think I’ve already made it clear what I want,” Visser said. “I want to know who you are.”
“I already told you: I’m Oliver Martin.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that load of rubbish?”
“It’s true. I swear. I’ve got no reason to pretend to be someone else.”
Visser tightened his grip. “That remains to be seen. Now, who are you really?”
“I already told you. I’m an exporter from New Zealand.”
“You sure about that?”
“Look me up. I have a website. Martin Exports.com. My firm deals in all types of antiquities and rare items that must be transported between countries. Air, sea, land—it doesn’t matter. We do it all.”
Visser relaxed and released Hawk. “If I find out you’ve been lying to me—”
Hawk did his best to act scared, putting up his hands in surrender as Visser kept his gun trained on him. “I haven’t. I promise. I might even be able to help you if you have something that needs to be moved. I’m not here to judge, but perhaps you do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Nothing. Just if you need help, I can help you.”
“You have a license that can get dead exotic animals out of one country and into another?”
Hawk winked—and continued trolling the waters to see if Visser was more than he let on. “Dead animals are easier to move than you might think. And sometimes they can help you get other things out of the country.”
“Such as?”
“You name it, though I won’t because I never ask my clients about such matters. Quite frankly, it’s none of my business.”
Visser eyed Hawk closely. “But that shot back there—that wasn’t just some ordinary shot, was it?”
Their guide had realized he’d lost two members of his party and tramped back through the thick brush to find them. “What are you two doing back here?” Jacobs asked. “The others are up ahead—and we’ve spotted a bongo.”
“A bongo?” Visser asked. “Here?”
“They’re not as rare as you might think
,” Jacobs said. “Now if you want to see one, grab your guns and get moving.”
After they joined the rest of their party and traipsed along through the jungle for a few moments, Jacobs held up his hand.
“The bongo is just up ahead on the right,” Jacobs said as he peered through his binoculars. “Does everyone see it?”
All the hunters put their binoculars to their eyes and strained to see the large beast in the distance.
“This would complete our day,” Jacobs said. “Anyone want to take the first shot?”
“I will,” Visser volunteered.
“Be my guest,” Jacobs said, gesturing in the direction of the large animals.
Visser knelt down and positioned his gun on a nearby fallen tree. Hawk joined.
“What are you doing?” Visser asked. “I said I’d take the first shot.”
“And I’m here for when you miss,” Hawk quipped, followed by a wink.
Visser steadied his gun on the log and waited for a moment. He exhaled and waited some more before he finally squeezed the trigger. The bullet whizzed through the thick brush, disrupting the otherwise calm jungle.
He missed.
The bongo lifted its head in panic before bounding away.
It didn’t get more than another ten meters before Hawk unleashed a shot that dropped the animal almost immediately.
Jacobs excitedly grabbed Hawk’s tricep and gave it a squeeze. “Did you see that? What did you say you did again?”
Hawk stared out at his kill. “I deal in exports.”
“Well, that’s one helluva shot, Mr. Export Man. I don’t know many people who can do that.”
“Got lucky, I guess.”
Visser ripped his sunglasses off and glared at Hawk. “Lucky, my ass. That’s a sniper-level shot right there.”
Hawk shrugged. “I spend a lot of time practicing at the range.”
“Who doesn’t?”
Jacobs started to chuckle. “Apparently you need to spend more time there.” He motioned for everyone to follow him. “Let’s go look at Mr. Martin’s kill.”
Visser grabbed Hawk by the arm, impeding him from joining Jacobs. “Exports, you say?”
Hawk stopped and nodded. “Do you need something?”
Visser looked Hawk up and down. “We need to talk.”
CHAPTER 16
AS DUSK FELL, MUSA DEMBY gathered with some of his men at the mine office. Several foremen who’d escaped the collapse informed Demby they’d received phone calls from anxious girlfriends, wives, and mothers, all wondering where their men were. They were running out of stories to tell.
“I’m sure someone will help us,” one of the foremen said. “This isn’t the first time a mine has collapsed. They even made a movie about the men who rescued the miners in Chile.”
“They’re not going to make a movie about anything that happens in Sierra Leone, much less come help us,” Demby said. “We have to settle this our way.”
Another man with a furrowed brow stepped forward. “So, what is our way? To let them die beneath the rubble? Is that any way for us to act?”
Demby’s narrowed his eyes. “We don’t have the resources or the time to save them. And if we’re all honest with ourselves, we know they’ll all be dead before we can get to them.”
“Maybe not all of them,” said another foreman, Akili. “I was down there a half hour ago. There were some men who were just beneath the surface. It wouldn’t take much to rescue them.”
Demby paced around the room before he stopped dramatically, stomping his foot when he did. He fixed his gaze on Akili. “And who would rescue these men?”
Akili shrugged. “I don’t know. Us? Other workers along with people in the city? Everyone would be willing to help, I’m sure.”
“I don’t have time for this,” Demby said with a sneer. “Any rescue mission is going to cost this mine more than two million dollars due to the lost time. We have a deadline to make, and my clients won’t tolerate any delays.”
“These men are being suffocated and crushed beneath the weight of the debris,” Akili argued. “We can’t just stand by and let that happen.”
“We can and we will. Besides, that’s nothing compared to what my client might do to all of us if we miss the delivery deadline.” Demby circled the room once again. “Now, let’s give these men who are trapped a merciful ending. Round up the rest of our demolition team and put them to work. I want that area demolished as soon as possible with no trace of what happened. Is that understood?”
Almost every man nodded—everyone except Akili, that is.
“No. You can’t let those men die like this. I won’t let you do it,” Akili protested.
Demby unholstered his pistol and wheeled in Akili’s direction. Demby stopped and trained his gun on his contentious subordinate.
“Then you can join them,” Demby said.
Akili put his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. You’ve made your point.”
“Does anyone else want to protest?” Demby said as he turned to face the rest of the men.
He waited briefly as the room remained silent.
“Very well then. Now, go round up the demolition team.”
CHAPTER 17
ALEX DUNCAN STOPPED HER MIDDAY RUN short when her phone started buzzing again. She’d sent the first call straight to voicemail with the click of a button without even bothering to see who it was. Her regular exercise routine calmed and centered her like nothing else could—not even yoga. Her time wasn’t to be interrupted. But today, it couldn’t be helped.
When the phone vibrated again with another call immediately after she’d ignored the first one, she knew it could only be one person.
“Senator, sorry. I was running,” she said as she tried to catch her breath. “What’s so urgent?”
“I need you to look into something for me right away,” Blunt said.
“What’s going on?”
He exhaled. “I’m not sure. But this morning around ten o’clock, I was approached by a man who told me about another shadow organization called Searchlight.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Me neither, which really made me question if it exists. But I implicitly trust the source, and he told me that Searchlight was making a play to shut down Firestorm.”
“And how would they do that?”
“I’m not sure, but my source died moments after he told me this.”
“You saw him die?”
“Yeah. I was at the National Mall when he surprised me with a visit and then collapsed right after he finished meeting with me.”
“Who is this source?”
“Plausible deniability, Alex,” he grunted. “There are some things it’s best you don’t know—and it’s for your own good.”
“So, you want me to look into Searchlight?”
“Would you? And do it right away?”
“I’ll do my best. I’m also working with Hawk right now, remember?”
“Have you heard from him lately?”
“He’s fine. He made it to Sierra Leone and made contact with the outfitter he was scheduled to meet.”
“Anything else?”
“Not yet, but I’m keeping an eye on the mine. They had some kind of explosion there, but I haven’t been able to find out anything through the news.”
“Keep me posted, and find out what you can as soon as possible on Searchlight. I want to know who we need to put in the crosshairs.”
Alex hung up and finished her run, her mind spinning with possibilities over the turf war about to take place between two black ops programs. She felt confident that Hawk gave Firestorm the upper hand.
***
FRESHLY SHOWERED, ALEX WALKED back into the office with a new sense of urgency and purpose. She sat down at her desk and concluded that before she continued with her task, she needed a power ballad.
Adele should do the trick.
Her favorite Adele album began pumping through her computer speakers as she
started pounding on the keyboard in search of answers.
Searchlight, who are you?
For the next hour, her searches led her from one dead end to the next. She decided to phone her friend at the CIA, Mallory Kauffman, and find out if she’d heard anything.
“Searchlight?” Mallory asked. “That name doesn’t ring a bell, but that doesn’t mean much.”
“It’d sure mean a lot to me if you could figure out who’s behind it.”
“I’ll do some poking around, but if you can’t find anything, I doubt I’ll be able to. You’re the one with all the freedom out there to hack away until your heart’s content, free from all repercussions.”
“That doesn’t work so well when you don’t have a starting point. I literally know nothing other than what Blunt told me.”
“Which was what?”
“That they’re trying to take down Firestorm, and the man who told Blunt about it today was assassinated at the National Mall.”
“Assassinated? Like gunned down?”
“Blunt didn’t get into specifics, but he did say the man collapsed.”
“Find me a name. I’m sure there might be a medical report somewhere or a responding unit that details who paramedics attended to. I mean, I’m assuming he isn’t still just lying there dead.”
“I doubt the guy gave anyone his name, especially if died per Blunt’s report about the incident.”
Mallory sighed. “Aliases work, too. Or even a picture. Just find out something and send it to me. I’ll see what I can do.”
Alex hung up and went to work. She hacked into dispatch databases, called various precincts and hospitals around the city. Nothing. There was no record of any man requiring medical attention at the National Mall. No one had even called in such an event.
She looked at closed circuit monitors surrounding the area around the time Blunt alleged this incident occurred. Still nothing. Even footage of Blunt ever being there didn’t exist.
After Alex exhausted all her tricks, she phoned Mallory.
“I can’t find anything anywhere.”
“No footage?”
“Nothing. I can’t even find an image of Blunt being there.”
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