A low roar erupted from the galley as onlookers discussed the heated exchange between the two men. The head of the committee banged a gavel in an attempt to quiet the conversations.
Michaels looked at Fullbright, who flashed the thumbs up sign. The speech was brilliantly rehearsed, one Michaels had worked on for about a week. He’d memorized every line of it and delivered it with all the passion he felt while writing it. It was all how he felt when he first came to Washington, but even Michaels would admit privately that the city’s power was intoxicating. It had consumed him as well, sucked him right into the jetstream like everyone else who’d come to the nation’s capital before him.
But the speech sounded good and was guaranteed to resonate with Americans of all stripes and parties. It was all he needed to sway public opinion back in his favor and make everyone forget about the video they’d seen where Michaels misspoke. In the political climate of the day, misspoke was the excuse du jour whenever a politician said something stupid or made a regrettable comment. These poorly worded statements occurred more often, happening mostly due to the proliferation of recording devices. Apologies alone couldn’t whitewash such statements. Michaels had learned long ago that the only way to survive in politics was to follow up one’s latest sin with a win. Make people forget what they heard and who said it. Remind them why they voted for you in the first place. And it was a winning formula, time tested and proven over and over again. Michaels had practically turned it into an art form.
So skilled was Michaels that the only thing that ever seemed to stick to him was the nickname Mr. Teflon.
CHAPTER 21
Paris, France
HAWK GENTLY AWOKE ALEX, who’d fallen asleep on his shoulder during their final approach. Though he enjoyed watching her sleep, he needed to talk with her. They didn’t have much time to pull off the operation, but success was vital. If Petrov escaped this time, it was anybody’s guess as to when she might resurface. And by then, it would likely be too late.
“Get ready,” Hawk whispered.
Alex opened her eyes, squinting as she looked around the cabin. “What time is it?”
“Time for us to land,” he said.
She sat up in her seat and tightened her seatbelt.
Seconds later, the tires barked as the pilot set the plane down on the runway and then taxied to the executive jet section of Charles De Gaulle Airport. Hawk peered out the window at the blinking lights surrounding the airport and the night skyline serving as a picturesque backdrop. He would’ve preferred his first trip to Paris with Alex to be under a romantic pretense. But their line of work rarely made room for such indulgences, refusing to guarantee them anything but danger and adventure.
“Isn’t this city so beautiful?” she asked, leaning on Hawk’s shoulder.
He put his arm around her and pulled her tight. “Maybe we can make another trip here sometime and enjoy Paris for what it is.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Once they came to a halt, the team deplaned and went through a watered-down customs process. Their aliases and fake passports withstood the scrutiny of a fastidious customs officer, who defied the norm for even France’s open border policy.
After they cleared customs, Blunt sent a man to meet them and brief them on the situation on the ground. Strikingly tall, Ned Villareal shook each person’s hand before ushering them toward his vehicle.
“I didn’t know Blunt had people working for him in Paris,” Samuels said.
Villareal chuckled. “How long have you been working with Senator Blunt? A week? Two?”
“Sounds about right,” Samuels said.
“Then you haven’t been around him enough to know just how well connected your boss is. He was supposedly dead at one point, but I knew better. No one would take down J.D. Blunt so easily. He might as well be immortal.”
“How long have you worked for him?” Hawk asked.
Villareal turned on the blinker as he changed lanes. “For the better part of the past decade, but it’s just spot work. Whenever he needs a hand with surveillance or if he wants to confirm a rumor, he contacts me.”
“So, who’s your actual employer?” Samuels asked.
Villareal smiled and wagged his finger. “Now, that is not a question I will answer under any circumstances, but you’re free to make all the suppositions you like. Just don’t expect me to confirm or deny any of them.”
Hawk shifted in his seat. “So, tell us what we’re up against here with Petrov and the rest of The Chamber.”
Villareal shrugged. “The usual suspects—tight security, multiple plans, armored body guards, bullet proof convoy vehicles, and an airport checkpoint that will be next to impossible to get into without proper credentials. And weapons? Forget about trying to get them in.”
“No weapons?” Hawk asked as he furrowed his brow.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got you covered. The weapons are already safe and sound, hidden at the airport. Getting them out so you can use them is going to be your biggest challenge by far.”
Hawk exhaled as he stared out the window at the traffic crawling through the city. “From the way you’re talking, it sounds like this operation’s only chance is if it were to occur at the airport. Is that correct?”
Villareal nodded. “That’s a correct assumption. You have little chance of pulling off any kind of op away from
