“This is utter garbage,” she said. “I can’t believe you brought this into my office today. Now go home and get some rest.”
“Seriously? There’s proof Brady Hawk didn’t do what he’s accused of doing. It’s all getting exposed.” He paused. “Or do we not do that any more? Are we simply involved for the money like everyone else at this point?”
She picked up the manuscript and shook it. “Who are your sources for this story?”
“Do you think I’d be willing to risk my journalistic integrity by making this up?” he asked.
“Who are your sources?”
“That’s the first time I’ve ever been asked that question by you in five years,” he fired back. “You trust me, and you know my work is good. And this story is front page worthy for every newspaper in America and beyond.”
“This reads more like a work of fiction to me,” she said before slamming it down on her desk.
Hendridge was about to rip into her again, an act that would likely cost him his job, when an uproar in the newsroom grabbed their attention.
“Did you hear?” a reporter asked as she rushed into Carlisle’s office. “Michaels has been cleared and exonerated. He’ll be reinstated as President within the hour.”
Carlisle picked up Hendridge’s manuscript and dropped it in her trashcan. “Peddle your fiction elsewhere,” she said. “Tomorrow we’re going to have a real news story on the front page, one that’s built upon facts. Maybe you should take some notes.”
She got up and exited her office, walking past Hendridge without so much as a glance.
CHAPTER 27
Washington, D.C.
J.D. BLUNT RECOGNIZED the familiar Caller Unknown tag across the top of his phone’s screen. He assumed Hawk and the Firestorm team were calling with an update. But Blunt was wrong.
“Did you just hear the news?” a man asked.
It took Blunt a few seconds for the voice to register. Noah Young.
“Did Michaels get cleared?” Blunt asked.
“The committee announced they didn’t find any indication of willful wrongdoing and proceeded to recommend he be reinstated in full immediately.”
“Well, ain’t that just a kick in the pants?” Blunt said, devoid of any emotion.
“This isn’t something to joke about,” Young said. “I heard Michaels was fuming when he learned Hawk and Samuels were responsible for stopping Al Hasib’s attack on the Verge oil facility in Kuwait City.”
“He’d get upset if someone shot a charging bull,” Blunt countered. “You have to take such reports with a grain of salt. Besides, who told you this?”
“General Kauffman.”
“Kauffman.”
“Yeah, apparently the General kept meeting with Michaels to keep him abreast of what was going on in the event that he got reinstated soon. I guess it was just a precautionary measure.”
“Bullshit. Michaels is up to something. He should’ve never been briefed under the circumstances of the agreement.”
“Well, he knows I’ve been talking to you apparently, that I was the one who informed Hawk and the team about the potential attack.”
Blunt huffed softly through his nose. “And who told him that? Frank Stone?”
“Maybe, but my money is on Kauffman.”
“Why would Kauffman do that to us? He was supposed to be our ally in all of this.”
“Just goes to show you can’t trust anyone in this town.”
Blunt sighed. “That doesn’t show me anything. I’ve known that for years, but that doesn’t mean I’m still not surprised sometimes when people switch allegiances and what motivates them to do so.”
“So, what’s our next move?” Young asked, the angst in his voice elevating.
“Stay calm and don’t breathe a word of this to anyone else, understand?”
“Got it,” Young said. “Is there anything I can do to help? I really want to help.”
“Stay out of the way,” Blunt said. “That’s always the best way for you to assist me in this process. Leave it in the hands of the professionals and move forward.”
Blunt hung up and sauntered over to his record player. He sifted through several jazz albums before he found one he felt fit his mood. Charles Mingus, Better Git It In Your Soul. He inspected the vinyl before putting it on and pouring himself a glass of scotch.
Blunt needed to think. He needed to figure out a way to avoid becoming a target of Michaels. Blunt needed to put the bullseye back where it belonged—on the President of the United States.
CHAPTER 28
Paris, France
PETROV STEPPED INTO THE STRETCH limousine first at the behest of her guests. She wasn’t sure if it was a sign of respect, chivalry, or distrust. Ultimately, she didn’t care. Tucked out of sight up her right thigh was a holster for her gun. She felt it just to make sure it was still there. Eventually, she’d have to use it, but not now. Not here. No, she intended to make her point with more than a simple bang. She had much more in mind for each of The Chamber’s board members.
Ricardo Valencia, the Mexican ambassador to Russia, slipped into the seat next to Petrov. She considered him a valuable asset based on his connections to the Western hemisphere. But, like everyone else climbing into the limo with her, he was still expendable.
Once the final passenger was loaded, bringing the total number to seven, the driver shut the door and then drove them toward the airport. Outside, the lights of Paris flickered against the twilight. A discussion broke out about the best restaurant in the city, quickly followed by a robust debate over the finest wine. Petrov remained quiet amid both conversations.
“Katarina,” Valencia began, “what is it that keeps you so preoccupied tonight? You seem distant.”
“I apologize, Ricard,” she said. “I’m lost in my thoughts about The Chamber.”
“And what might those thoughts be?” he asked. “I’m sure everyone here would be interested to hear them.”
She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I’m excited—but nervous—about what’s happening with The Chamber.”
“Nervous? You?” Ricardo asked, resulting
