Line of Fire

by R. J. Patterson

  “And you think Wellington wanted to get revenge on Newton?” Shields asked.

  “Do you have a better theory?” Blunt asked.

  “Not at the moment,” she said. “But Wellington made plenty of enemies in Washington. I wouldn’t put all my eggs in one basket on that notion alone.”

  “That’s a tough task,” Black said. “It’s probably easier to find out who wasn’t Wellington’s enemy.”

  “It’d take us less time for sure to do that, but we wouldn’t be able to figure out what Wellington was planning,” Blunt said. “So, this afternoon I want all of you digging into Wellington and seeing if there’s any other plan that makes sense.”

  “I’ll tell you what doesn’t make sense to me,” Alex said, speaking up for the first time. “Why was Tony Acworth released? He doesn’t seem to be a threat and from what I read about him, he’s not someone who would be ideal for any kind of stateside operation, especially given the fact that we’re watching him.”

  Blunt nodded. “That’s a long story, but you’re right. Black, why don’t you contact the sheriff’s deputy in Bedford Springs and find out what’s going on with Acworth since you left yesterday. Give me a full report as soon as you find out something. If Wellington did have a plan cobbled together for Newton to embarrass him—or worse—on the night he was scheduled to receive his medal from President Michaels, we don’t have much time. The gala is tomorrow night.”

  Shields slapped the table before standing. “I’m on it, sir. I’ll start checking with the different intelligence agencies to figure out how we can ensure that everything runs smoothly tomorrow night.”

  Blunt clapped his hands. “All right, team. Let’s stay after this. More than anything, I don’t want any blowback on the president, especially tomorrow night.”

  * * *

  BLACK EXITED the conference room and went back to his office. Shields stopped in to check on him.

  “You doing all right?” she asked.

  Black shrugged. “I’ve been handling this okay for now, but I’m constantly thinking about my dad and about how he’d probably still be here if it wasn’t for that bastard.”

  “For what it’s worth, I thought you showed a great amount of restraint yesterday when dealing with his son.”

  Black waved dismissively at her and laughed. “He’s just another politician’s lazy son reaping the rewards of a system that’s rife with corruption.”

  “To hear Blunt tell it, Collin Wellington despised his father.”

  “Maybe his policies but not his money. And that’s why he probably got antsy yesterday about what Blunt and Besserman were doing at the house. Collin’s income would plummet if a huge scandal about his father broke right now. As much as Collins hated his father, money trumps everything else.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” she said. “Just remember if you need anything or want to talk, let me know. What Wellington did to your father wasn’t right or fair to you. But I’m sure that whatever he cooked up, we’re going to snuff it out before it comes to fruition.”

  “I appreciate that,” Black said. “And I hope you're right. I don't want Wellington to win twice.”

  Black watched Shields leave his office before he picked up his phone and dialed the sheriff’s department in Bedford Springs. He was patched through to Deputy Kyle Ridgecrest.

  “What do you know?” Ridgecrest said as he answered the phone. “It’s my favorite federal employees.”

  “Don't say that too loud,” Black said. “The boys at the IRS don’t like to hear that they’re not number one.”

  Ridgecrest laughed. “Good to know. So, what can I help you with?”

  “I was checking in to find out how things are going with Tony Acworth.”

  “Everything seems normal to me,” Ridgecrest said. “I rode by the family shop this morning and saw him already at work.”

  “Excellent,” Black said. “Please keep me posted if anything changes or you hear something different.”

  “Roger that,” Ridgecrest said.

  Black hung up.

  Now, if we could just find Preston Vogle.

  CHAPTER 25

  LATER THAT EVENING, Blunt rode with Besserman in the Ferrari to visit Gary Newton in person. With Vogle still on the lam, Blunt was concerned about what stunt Wellington’s disciple would pull next. Even more disconcerting was Blunt’s lack of confidence about Vogle’s end game. No matter how confidently Blunt projected himself to his team, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something right in front of him.

  Besserman eased into the Massachusetts Avenue Heights neighborhood located northwest of downtown. Blunt gawked at the houses, all marked by stunning architecture both from modern times and years gone by.

  “Think they got any starter homes in here?” Blunt cracked.

  “Depends on how much you’re willing to spend. If you’ve got two million for a three bedroom, two bath brick ranch that has only been moderately updated in the last half century, I think you could find something in here.”

  “What are you? A realtor now in all your spare time?”

  “When we moved here from Houston, my wife nearly drove me insane, dragging me around to every open house in the market.”

  “And you settled in Alexandria, didn’t you?” Blunt asked.

  “Of course we did. And by settled, I mean I can still barely afford it. But at least my wife is happy.”

  “Happy wife, happy life.”

  A few moments later, Besserman eased into the circular driveway in front of Gary Newton’s Tudor-style home.

  “I bet Newton’s wife is happy,” Blunt said as they stepped out of the car. “Just look at this place.”

  “She should be since she’s the one who made all the money so they could buy this mansion,” Besserman said.

  “That’s right, Natalie Newton,” Blunt said. “She’s a fitness model with her own TV show, isn’t she?”

  Besserman nodded. “I think it’s safe to say Newton married up, especially since she’s fifteen years his junior.”

  Blunt rang the doorbell and waited patiently with Besserman for someone to answer. After about a minute, Blunt heard the clicking of heels before the door swung open.

  “Well, hello, gentlemen,” Natalie said. “Gary’s expecting you out back. Come with me. I’ll take you to him.”

  Blunt scanned the house as they strolled through it. Aside from minor cosmetic changes, the exterior of the home looked as it did when it was built a century ago. But the interior had been completely gutted and updated. Warm-colored walls dotted with modern art highlighted the walk to the back. When they arrived outside, Newton was smoking a cigar while jangling the ice cubes still left in his tumbler.

  “Honey, did you let these two men inside our home?” Newton said, eyeing Blunt and Besserman closely. “We’re gonna have to talk about your lack of judgment when they leave.”

  Blunt narrowed his eyes. “Newton, you sonofabitch, you haven’t changed a lick.”

  Newton broke into laughter. He shot a glance over at Natalie, who rolled her eyes and walked off, unimpressed with their act.

  Blunt and Newton embraced before withdrawing.

  “You’re familiar with CIA Deputy Director Bobby Besserman, aren’t you?” Blunt asked, gesturing toward his colleague.

  “Of course,” Newton said as he shook Besserman’s hand. “We’ve been in a few joint task force meetings together.”

  “Would either of you like something to drink?” Newton asked.

  “To be honest, we don’t want to take up much of your time,” Blunt said. “And we really need to get back, but we both felt it was important to speak to you in person.”

  “Well, this just took a very serious turn,” Newton said. “Why don’t you have a seat while I refresh my drink?”

  Blunt and Besserman sat down and waited for Newton to return. When he did, he wore a furrowed brow.

  “J.D., you said this was important on the phone, but now you’re starting
to scare me a little,” Newton said.

  “I wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble to visit you in person if it wasn’t,” Blunt said. “Now, what I’m about to tell you has yet to be verified, but you know how my hunches usually go.”

  Newton nodded. “Please continue.”

  “I know that you’re excited about your big night tomorrow where you’re going to receive your award from President Michaels at the big gala at the Kennedy Center. But—”

  “Just spit it out,” Newton said.

  “But I want to warn you that your life might be in danger,” Blunt said, completing his thought.

  Newton chuckled. “That’s about the least scariest thing I’ve heard in the past year. I get threats all the time. Nothing ever happens. It’s usually just some whack job who equates my decisions in the war with some problem he’s having in his life and then takes to social media to hurl toothless threats.”

  “This threat isn’t like those,” Besserman said.

  “That’s right,” Blunt said. “This is credible and far more serious, as in Wilson Wellington serious.”

  Newton scowled as he started at Blunt. “Wilson Wellington is dead.”

  “Yes, but he trained an army of soldiers who live in the shadows,” Blunt said. “And they’re starting to come into the open.”

  “And they’re coming for me?” Newton asked. “Are you sure about this?”

  Blunt nodded. “At this point, I’d say it’s about a ninety percent chance that they come for you.”

  “Wellington always resented me for exposing him,” Newton said with a huff. “But that bastard deserved all the ridicule he got for that program. It was ruining our morale and threatening the ability of our pilots to do their job. I was tired of playing tug-of-war with the CIA over him. No offense, Deputy Director.”

  Besserman held up his hands. “None taken. I understand you were in a predicament. And quite frankly, someone at the agency should’ve recognized how that might affect your squadron.”

  “I appreciate you saying that,” Newton said.

  “We can rehash the past all we want, but that isn’t going to change the fact that Wellington put a plan in motion before he died that ends with you dead,” Blunt said.

  “This is the plan you’re not a hundred percent sure about?” Newton asked.

  Blunt sighed. “Look, you don’t have to take me seriously, but don’t say you weren’t warned.”

  “So just to be clear,” Newton said, “you think this is all going to go down tomorrow night at the awards ceremony with the president and all of the security protocols in place so he can make a public appearance?”

  Blunt nodded. “Is Natalie going with you?”

  Newton shook his head. “Remember? She’s got enochlophobia. She’s a good Catholic, but I doubt she’d even show up if the pope was going to appoint me Archbishop of Canterbury.”

  “Then if I were you, I’d look into getting some security for her,” Besserman said.

  “We have a security staff here,” Newton said. “They’re just so good that you probably missed them on your way in.”

  “Even so, increase their presence tomorrow night because you don’t know what these guys are capable of doing,” Blunt said.

  “Who exactly are you talking about? Do you have a name? Is there a face to go with this suspect?”

  “Preston Vogle,” Blunt said. “Does that name mean anything to you?”

  Newton took a long pull on his drink as he gazed skyward. “Preston Vogle. Preston Vogle. The name isn’t ringing any bells right off the bat.”

  “Maybe this will jog your memory,” Blunt said as he slapped down a picture of Vogle on the glass tabletop positioned between the two men.

  Newton’s eyes widened. “Oh, yes, I remember this guy. He was trouble. I don’t think he ever really liked me either.”

  “That’s even worse for you then,” Blunt said. “Because tomorrow night he’s coming for you. I’d almost guarantee it.”

  “Thank you for stopping by,” Newton said as he stood. “We’ll be vigilant both here and at the event tomorrow night.”

  “Good luck,” Blunt said, “and congratulations. This honor is way overdue. Just be extra careful so you live to see it.”

  CHAPTER 26

  THE NIGHT OF THE GALA, Shields hung back at the Firestorm offices to monitor the proceedings through security cameras. She also was able to get the raw television feed, all dispersed across a bank of monitors in the conference room. Two hours before the festivities were set to begin, she checked in with Black.

  “How are things looking on site?” she asked.

  “The guests are just starting to arrive,” he said. “But so far everything looks normal.”

  “So, no sign of Vogle?”

  “Negative,” Black said. “If he’s here, I haven’t seen him. And I just about know the names of every person working in this building tonight.”

  “Thorough,” she said. “That’s why you’re the best person for this job.”

  “I think you just wanted an excuse to order take-out from that little Italian place two blocks from headquarters.”

  “Shhh,” she said. “Don’t give away all my secrets. Blunt could be listening.”

  “I knew it,” Black said. “The surveillance van is so much better to have on site. We never have half the technical issues with it that we do when you’re back in the office. I just might tell Blunt about your devious ways now.”

  “I’ll take you to the shooting range and give you a crack at beating me if you keep your mouth shut.”

  “Deal,” Black said.

  “Well, speaking of that little Italian place down the street,” she said. “I’m going to run out and get a plate before we get too close to the start time.”

  “Save some bread for me, will ya? You know how much I love sopping up the oil and roasted garlic with those slices of sourdough.”

  “No promises, but I’ll see what I can do. You just keep your eyes peeled for Vogle while I’m gone. Don’t you dare let him slip inside.”

  Shields hung up and then marched downstairs. When she reached the parking garage, a man stepped out of the shadows from behind a pylon.

  She gasped when she saw Joe Dunn.

  “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” she asked.

  “I’m not trying to scare you.”

  “Then are you stalking me?”

  “I think that’s abundantly clear at this point,” Dunn said. “But not for any reason other than to convince you to come work for my client.”

  “Oh, you’ve made your point clear,” she said. “But I thought I made mine too, and it’s not happening.”

  “Come on, Christina. You’ve seen the photographs. You can’t unsee them now. The question is what are you going to do with that information? Look the other way? Ignore it? Continue to protect the murderer in the White House?”

  “I already told you that my role isn’t to judge anyone. I’m here because I want to protect innocent Americans by snuffing out threats to our freedom. So, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t contact me again or follow me around. If you do, I might be forced to take some action.”

  “I’m not going to stop until you say yes.”

  “Let me be clear,” she said. “I know people, the kind of people you probably would rather never meet. I’m going to them, not the authorities, if you contact me again. Understand?”

  Dunn nodded. “You’re going to regret passing up this opportunity.”

  “I’ll never think twice about it. Good night.”

  She side-stepped him and then eased behind the steering wheel of her car.

  After she returned to the office with her food, she scanned the parking deck for Dunn again. But apparently he’d gotten the hint and was gone—for now.

  She set out her food on her desk and then hailed Black.

  “Anything happen while I was gone?” she asked.

  “Nope, just people filing in and taking their seats,” h
e said. “We’ve still got an hour before the show begins. Plenty of time for something to happen.”

  “You found any sniper’s nests?”

  “I found a couple that could be used for such purposes, so I’m keeping an eye on those spots, but it’s still pretty quiet aside from the hum of the patrons below.”

  She ripped off a piece of sourdough bread from the roll she bought and dipped it into the oil and roasted garlic in a styrofoam container. The crunch was loud enough for Black to hear.

  “Is that what I think it is?” he asked.

  She chewed quickly and swallowed the piece of bread. “I’m saving a piece for you. Don’t worry.”

  “Good. Now, I’m going to scan the area one more time. I’ll contact you if I need something. I’ll leave the channel open, but I’m going dark otherwise.”

  “What about your phone if I need to text you?”

  “Don’t bother,” he said. “I can’t get reception up here on the catwalk for some reason. If it’s an emergency, just say it. Otherwise, wait for me.”

  “Roger that.”

  Shields wanted to be on site, but Black’s theory about her staying behind was off target. She needed all the extra computing power she could get. After woofing down her chicken Parmesan, she rolled in her chair a few feet away to check the computer still tasked with locating Vogle. Images continued to flash on the screen, searching for a match.

  Where are you, Preston Vogle?

  * * *

  KYLE RIDGECREST STUDIED the card the man from the Federal Bureau of Prisons had given him. He carefully matched the numbers on the card with those on the screen of his cell phone and dialed a second time. The call went straight to voicemail.