As Bobby walked toward Doug, who was leaning against the inside wall of the shower, he could tell by the look on Doug’s face that something terrible had happened.
Doug ushered him into the open shower room. The twelve-showerhead, white-tiled room smelled of soap, ironically mirroring Bobby’s wish to wash all of this away. Doug poked his head back out to make sure nobody else was around.
“We have a problem,” Doug said.
The words of every presidential hopeful’s demise.
Bobby searched Doug’s beady brown eyes for the depth of the problem. The salt-and-pepper-haired, skinny, middle-aged man was anything but physically intimidating. However, the power he wielded in political circles was the stuff of legend. He’d been with the CIA for fifteen years before beginning a career of political fixing. All of those covert operations he’d learned at the agency were very useful to powerful men like Bobby. Doug was someone he never would have hired if there’d been other viable options.
“Not really what I wanted to hear, Doug. How bad is it?”
Bobby watched Doug swallow hard. He knew right then that when a man as hard as Doug paused before bad news, it was really bad, and things would never be the same.
“Doug, what did you do?” Bobby folded his arms across his chest. He could feel his heart thudding.
“You heard about the explosion in London earlier today?”
“The car bomb some terrorists set off? Yeah, what about it?”
Doug was quiet.
“Doug?”
“I told you the less you knew, the better.”
“I don’t understand,” Bobby said, moving his hands to his hips. “You brought me back here with an update on clearing me of the Everworld bullshit. Now, instead of updating me, you mention a terrorist attack in London and then tell me the less I know the better? What the hell is going on?”
“It was us,” Doug said.
“What was us? What are you saying? Stop being vague and spit it out.” Bobby’s heart was beating so fast he was short of breath.
Doug’s jaw was set as he squinted his eyes. “The attack, in London. That was us. And it didn’t work.”
9
London, UK
King turned off the shower and began toweling off. He bumped his knee against the toilet as he exited. Months spent in London and he still wasn’t used to the small spaces. The cold tile beneath his feet gave him a chill as he limped over to the sink. The hot water had left a layer of steam on the mirror. He wiped it away with his hand, revealing his unbearded face in the cleared strip. He looked down at the bushy beard lying on the floor and smiled. He knew when he’d put it on earlier that it was a bit “costume dramatic,” but it had done the job. No camera in the city would be the wiser.
He stared at the stubble on his iron jaw. To shave or not to shave? He rattled his finger in his ear to clear some residual water—the same ear that was still ringing from being so close to the explosion. Other than the ringing, he’d come out unscathed. Many times in his career he hadn’t been so lucky. He wiped another streak of steam away, and his torso came into view. There he saw the scars to prove other incidents had been a lot more painful. He rubbed the scar from a bullet wound on his right shoulder—a memento from Syria. Sam and his closest friend, Kyle, had been captured by Sanharib Khatib. It was a miracle they’d survived. His other friend, Sean, hadn’t been so lucky that night.
King moved his hand from his shoulder to his stomach. A scar from a brutal shotgun blast to the solar plexus. The men had come for him on his boat. This time it was Sam and his former flame, Sarah Gilbright, who saved him. King was in a coma for two weeks after that.
He reached down for his calf muscle, another bullet wound scar.
He often wondered why he’d been lucky enough to survive those and countless other situations where there seemed no way out. Sam would often tell him it was because he was doing what he was meant to do. But it wasn’t like this life was one he chose. Like most men in uniform, he supposed, this life had chosen him. He just happened to be particularly good at it. He asked Sam once what she would be doing if her life hadn’t led her to MI6. She responded like she often did—telling him he was a fool for contemplating such things. When he asked her what she’d thought he’d be doing if the murder of his parents hadn’t pushed him into the military, she just laughed, and mused that he and Kyle would probably be bartenders. Like the one Tom Cruise played in the movie Cocktail.
However, in the end, King supposed Sam was right. It was foolish to ponder things that never were or never would be. In a moment much like the one he was having in front of the mirror now, when he was flying to Los Angeles to try to save a young girl from a sex trafficking ring, he realized he was meant for nothing else. He was supposed to be the one they called when shit hit the fan. The man who could fix it. But things had changed in the past year. Ever since the day he faked his own death.
The thing that hadn’t changed was his resolve to nail every last one of the bastards involved in the nanobot terrorist attack in March of 2019. Even though Sam, Kyle, his sister, and his niece, who’d all been implanted with one of the nanochips that could have killed them at the touch of a button, were now clear of the threat, it didn’t lessen his desire to make all responsible parties pay. Pretending to be dead had been the only way to do that. No one responsible for the failed attack could know he was alive and preparing to come after them. The hardest part about all of it was that CIA Director Mary Hartsfield—one of only two people in the world who knew he was alive—couldn’t know he was still going after them either.
Though King had promised Mary that he would let the CIA do the work to bring them all to justice, not for a single second had he planned to keep that promise. It was the entire reason he was living a lonely existence to that day. Not even his sister and niece, nor Kyle—who was like a brother—knew he was still alive. As a loner he could move and gather intel in a way an agency man never could. He didn’t have to worry about rules. And he didn’t have to worry about someone taking their anger out on his loved ones. That had happened far too many times in his life already.
King was now a ghost, a reality that had its perks, but as he realized with Bentley in the kitchen earlier—when he was happy just to have someone in his residence for the first time in a year—being a ghost also had some serious drawbacks. He knew it would all be worth it—at least that’s what he’d convinced himself—when he found himself standing over the last person who almost killed what was left of his family. Then and only then would he be done with this mission.
There were a lot of things he had to figure out, though, to get there. In the meantime, he had to appease Director Hartsfield. And when his phone began vibrating on the nightstand in the bedroom, he knew it was Sam calling to let him know the drop had been made with info on his latest target. And this had nothing to do with what King had been up to with Bentley.
As he walked over to the phone, he couldn’t help but laugh at the irony of his situation. A man who was supposed to be dead, he was not only alive but living two lives. A top secret counterterrorism assassin for the director of the CIA by day, vigilante justice seeker by night. He was exhausted just thinking about it. However, the revelation he’d had not long ago about who he was, and why he did what he did, helped him understand that he would never tire of going after those who meant his country harm. As long as there were people alive in the world wanting to take away his sister’s and his niece’s freedom, and jeopardize their safety and way of life, King would be there in the shadows to make sure they failed. That was what he was meant to do.
King answered the phone. “Hey, Sam. Miss me?” His brother-sister relationship with Sam had never wavered, even though they hadn’t seen each other in so long.
“Not even for a moment,” Sam said. Her sharp British accent had become less grating since he’d been living amongst the Brits for the past six months. But he would never tell her that.
“I love you too. I suppose the file i
s ready?”
“A courier just dropped a box at your flat. But that isn’t why I’m calling.”
He already knew what Sam was about to say.
She cleared her throat. “I suppose you heard about the terrorist attack just ’round the corner from you. Car bomb . . . dozen people injured . . .”
“I heard a lot of sirens, but I haven’t had the TV on all day.”
“Don’t, X.” Sam was stern. Ever since he “died,” she’d made sure to call him X. Just in case anyone was listening. “Not with me. Why didn’t you tell me you were running this thing down with Bentley?”
“Let me guess, the agent said an American stopped his asset from dying, and you just assume it’s me?”
Sam let out a sigh. “You may think you are different now, but I know you. Saving a woman is one of your favorite pastimes.”
“She’s just a girl, Sam. And we shouldn’t be talking about this over the phone.”
“Where is she?”
“I’ll call you from the new burner phone.”
“If you insist on doing this, at least let me help you. Things are about to get a lot more complicated for you. For everyone really.”
King didn’t like the sound of that.
“Why?”
Sam dodged the question. “I’m running into a meeting just outside of Athens. Let’s continue this once you’re up to speed.”
“Why are things about to get more complicated, Sam?”
“You’ll see when you get a look at your new target.” Sam ended the call.
10
Columbus, Ohio
Bobby’s stomach felt like it was turning inside out. Right after Doug told him that the attack in London was their own people, they were interrupted by his campaign manager. She told him that the media couldn’t wait any longer and he needed to give them some sound bites on how the rally had gone. He knew this conversation with Doug wasn’t going to be a quick one, so he was left with the pit in his stomach as he smiled for the cameras a moment ago, and played his role of the surefire pick for the next president of the United States.
He was wringing his hands in the back of the SUV when Doug finally opened the door and sat down.
“Tim, can you give us a few minutes?” Bobby said to his driver.
“Yes, sir.” Tim got out of the car and left the two men alone.
Bobby’s voice was shaky. “What the hell is going on, Doug? I gave you the okay to make sure the last of the information tying me to McDonnell and Thomas in this whole Everworld debacle would stay quiet. How in the hell did this end up in a bombing? I would’ve never okayed anything like that. Are you nuts?”
Doug reached across the leather seat and took a handful of Bobby’s shirt. Bobby couldn’t believe what was happening.
“Let me tell you something, Bobby. You might as well quit your run for president right now ’cause you obviously don’t have the stomach for it.”
The fire in Doug’s eyes was white-hot. Bobby had heard from the men who’d recommended Doug that he was an animal. But they had also said no one got things done like he could. That said, Bobby never thought for a second the man would lay his hands on him.
Bobby slapped away Doug’s grip on his shirt. “Who do you think you are, Doug? Don’t you ever touch me again. I’m a United States senator.”
Doug looked Bobby right in the eyes. “You should remember who I am. If you think it matters to me that you’re a senator, then whoever suggested you call me didn’t explain my methods clearly enough. I’m trying to help you. But I’ll just leave you holding the bag if that’s what you want.”
Bobby looked in the man’s eyes and could suddenly see he was dealing with someone with no moral compass whatsoever. Whatever Bobby was able to do himself to rectify things, it would have to wait. Right now he was just going to have to play along with this savage. Maybe there was still a way out of this mess.
“Just tell me what happened,” Bobby snapped back. The vein in his forehead nearly popped through his skin. “And don’t question whether I have the balls for this position. Don’t forget I’m a Marine. I’ve stared down many a long barrel.”
That seemed to relax Doug. He loosened his tie and relayed the bad news.
“We’re still operating under the less you know, the better, but I have to tell you this in case there’s blowback.”
“Just spit it out. How the hell could anything I’m doing necessitate a car bomb in London?”
“All I can tell you is that there is a girl—a financial mathematics prodigy—who knows everything that happened with the money in Everworld Solutions. She masterminded how to hide all of the money that was funneled from Everworld to the terrorists, who then used it to build the nanotechnology that almost killed the president last year.”
“Doug, I told you, I didn’t have anything to do with that. That was Jerry McDonnell and Graham Thomas.”
“But you hired me to do a deep dive. And what I’ve found out is that the money you gave them to invest went directly into funding Gregor Maragos and the nanotech he built for this attack.”
The pit in Bobby’s stomach grew deeper. “How could you possibly know that?”
“It’s what I do.”
Bobby rubbed the corners of his eyes with his thumb and index finger. He could feel a migraine coming on. “So what could that—and this girl—have anything to do with a car bomb? I just don’t get it.”
“The bomb was meant to kill her, get her out of the picture so she couldn’t link the money trail back to you,” Doug said without emotion.
Bobby swallowed hard. “What? You can’t kill someone just because I might be in trouble!”
Doug leaned in. “You sure about that, Senator Gibbons? Mr. Presidential Hopeful?”
Bobby leaned in as well. “Yes, I’m damn sure of that. Under no circumstances would I have ever okayed that. Not even if I was guilty. Are you kidding me?!”
“Well, she didn’t die, someone saved her. I’m back-channeling my CIA sources to see who it was. As of right now, nobody knows.”
“You’re telling me that someone knew about this, and saved the girl you were trying to kill with a car bomb? Who set the bomb, Doug? The news said it was men tied to a terrorist cell.”
Doug smirked. “That’s because I made sure that it was tied to a terrorist cell. Unfortunately, it was all for naught because we didn’t get her. But don’t worry, I will.”
“You’re out of your mind.” Bobby reached across Doug and opened the SUV’s door. “Get the hell out of my truck. You’re fired.”
Doug shook his head and pulled the door back shut. Then he pulled a pistol from his hip holster and shoved the barrel right beneath Bobby’s chin so hard it made his teeth rattle. “You can’t fire me, Bobby. That’s not how this works. I’ll see this through until you’re a hundred percent in the clear. Then you’ll get me the other half of my money. Then I’ll move on to help someone else.” He shoved the gun, snapping Bobby’s head back. “You understand?”
“Yes. I—I understand. Now get that gun out of my face!”
Doug put the gun away, opened the door, and stepped out. He poked his head back inside. “Don’t forget that I know your secrets. I didn’t just find things out about you being tied to Everworld when I did my digging.” The yellow interior light shone down on Doug’s prideful smirk. “I know about that intern several years back too. You do your job, and I’ll do mine. No one, including your pretty wife, has to know all your secrets. Good luck with the rally tomorrow night. I’ll be in touch.” The door slammed shut.
Bobby was shaking. Fifteen years as an active duty Marine and he’d never had a gun held to his head. He runs for president, and it happens in the back of his very own car. Maybe Doug was right. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for this level of politics. He wanted to be the president of the United States but not if it meant people were going to die. Much less some innocent girl. This had spun out of control more quickly than he could have imagined. He was far worse off now than
he had been before he hired Doug. He wasn’t concerned about the intern. What Doug didn’t know was that Bobby never lied to his wife. Bobby had made a mistake a decade ago, but he’d told Beth the next day. That was the least of his worries anyway, because a sex scandal paled in comparison to being an accessory to acts of terror.
Bobby shook his head and racked his brain. He had to handle this, but he had to treat it delicately. Doug was obviously connected, but so was Bobby. He just had to make sure whoever he contacted about this could be trusted absolutely. If Doug made this look like a terrorist cell was responsible, it meant he somehow had terrorist ties. Which, ironically, was the exact thing Bobby was trying to absolve himself of when he hired Doug.
The other major concern was the unidentified man who saved the girl in London from the car bomb. Who was this man and what did he know? If he was CIA, that means the CIA must know. If so, Doug could be tied back to Bobby, and that made the question of whom to call pretty simple. His old buddy Mary Hartsfield. Director of the whole damn agency.
Bobby picked up his phone and dialed her number.
“Senator Bobby Gibbons,” Mary answered, “to what do I owe this pleasure? Aren’t you on the campaign trail?”
“Hi, Mary. Just finished up a rally in Columbus this afternoon actually. How’s the state of affairs in the world these days?”
“Bleak. But that’s the job. Always has been, always will be. Please don’t tell me it’s about to get worse.”
Bobby’s wife got in the car. He held up a finger to let her know the call was important.
“I can trust you, right?”
“Shit,” Mary said.
“I know. Sorry. But I didn’t know who else to call.”
“I get that a lot. You coming back to Washington?”
“I can.”
The Secret Weapon Page 5