“I don’t make threats,” Petrov said, studying her scarred knuckles. “I only make promises. And I would strongly suggest you stop giving me reasons to eliminate you altogether. I have other agents, you know.”
“But none with access to the President of the United States.”
“Are you prepared to stake your life—and your ambitious mouth—on that fact?”
Bozeman exhaled and realized he needed to check his ego before it got him killed.
“Don’t worry. I will make sure the president is on track for re-election with a high favorability rating in the polls. You can count on that. Just give it some time to play out.”
“Do you have a plan, Harry?”
“It’s being put into motion as we speak.”
Petrov pulled her gloves back, tugging on them to tighten them on her fingers. “Don’t disappointment me.”
She pointed to the door.
Bozeman nodded. “I won’t. You’ll see soon enough.”
CHAPTER 7
Portree, Isle of Skye
Scotland
HAWK STUDIED BLUNT’S FACE as he returned to the room. Clutching a full glass of scotch, the former senator lumbered across the room. He’d appeared weary and haggard for quite some time, but in Hawk’s latest visits, Blunt’s ageing seemed to escalate. The hair turned grayer, the lines around his eyes more pronounced. Even his shuffle was slower, signaling a gallop to the grave.
Hawk even wondered aloud how the old man had ever managed to survive an attack in Morocco.
“What moves did you do to kill that agent who was in your room in Morocco? I’d really like to see it.”
Blunt grunted and shuffled toward his chair. He took a long pull on his scotch and then set the glass down forcefully on the end table next to him.
“Think I’ve got one foot in the grave, don’t you?” Blunt said. “I’m not in the best shape right now, but I will be soon enough. It just takes me longer to recover these days.”
“I really would’ve loved to have seen the look on his face,” Alex said.
“It wasn’t anything to write home about.” Blunt finished his drink. “Now, let’s talk about our next steps.”
“I still think we should return to Washington and go after Bozeman,” Hawk said. “It’s the only way to—”
“Enough,” Blunt growled, holding up his hand. He stood, steadying himself with the arm of the chair. “I don’t want to hear any more about Washington for now. Besides, I have a new assignment for the two of you.”
“A new assignment?” Alex asked, eyebrows raised. “Is that what that call was about in there?”
Blunt nodded. “General Fortner called and asked for our help on a top secret mission.”
“Wait. Now, we’re working on a mission with the U.S. Army?” Hawk asked.
“It’s complicated, but you two are the operatives best suited for the assignment.”
“Complicated? Who exactly does General Fortner take his marching orders from anyway?”
“Nobody you’ve ever heard of, but he’s one of the good guys,” Blunt said, waving off Hawk. “Military intelligence picked up some information about a possible arms deal going down, and they need someone to stop it.”
“This sounds more like a CIA operation to me,” Alex snipped. “Let them deal with their own problems. They don’t seem too interested in helping us with ours.”
Blunt held up both hands, a symbolic gesture that was clear: enough with the dissent. Then he continued, “You might change your tune when you hear who’s involved.”
Hawk rubbed his face with both hands. “Out with it.”
“Karif Fazil,” Blunt announced.
“Fazil is involved personally?” Alex asked. “That’s a little out of the norm for him, isn’t it? We always seem to cross paths with his minions, but never him. At least we haven’t since that op in Iraq.”
Blunt paced around the room. “The Missile Man does not deal with underlings.”
“Wait. The Missile Man? He’s involved in this?” Hawk asked.
“He is always involved, yet extremely careful, which is why we’ve never been able to catch him. He conducts all the business end of the transactions at his fortified home in the southern part of Saudi Arabia. Thanks to the natural landscape, it might as well be a damn fortress.”
Hawk watched Blunt meander around the couch. “But not an impenetrable one, I assume, or else we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?”
Blunt stopped and eyed Hawk and Alex cautiously. “I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I didn’t think the two of you were capable. In fact, I think the likelihood of achieving success is quite high.”
“And you trust General Fortner enough that you don’t think this is some kind of trick?” Alex asked.
Blunt didn’t flinch. “I’d trust him with my life. Besides, if he was going to do anything to you and get away with it, he would’ve done it at Camp Lemonnier. The fact that the two of you are still here and standing today is proof that he’s not the monster you perhaps fear he could be.”
“He still could be a monster,” Hawk said, “but if you have that much confidence in him, how could we not offer him the same reasonable level of trust?”
“Speak for yourself,” Alex snapped. “I’ve been burned too many times to go blindly risking my life on an op directed by a guy I know very little about.”
“The guy you know very little about is a master tactician,” Blunt said, “and one hell of a leader. Plus, he would never screw me over, not after what I did for him in Beirut in 1991.”
“And what exactly did you do?” Alex asked, her tone softening.
“I saved his life. Dragged him fifty meters away from the middle of a firefight between the military and terrorists.”
“You? Saved his life?” asked Alex, slack-jawed.
“Don’t act so surprised,” Blunt said, glaring at her.
“No, no, no. It’s not that I’m surprised you did it; it’s just that I’m surprised you could’ve actually dragged a man as large as Fortner that far.”
Blunt huffed a laugh through his nose. “Fortner wasn’t always that big. In fact, he was just average sized back then. But adrenaline will help you do things you never thought were possible.”
“Are we going
