“In that case, I’ve got sort of a good news-bad news scenario for you,” Frazier began. “Which do you want to hear first?”
“Might as well give me the good news since none of the news I ever get from the intelligence community is truly good news.”
“Tonight, you’re going to get to sleep on a real bed.”
Blunt eyed Frazier closely. “And the bad news?”
“It’s going to be at one of our safe houses.”
“Damn it, Justin. A safe house? Really? What the hell is going on that you have to keep me detained for another night?”
“The truth is, we don’t know how long we’re going to need to keep you.”
“This is ridiculous. Just let me go home and keep me under surveillance there.”
“Too many loose lips around this place,” Frazier said. “Of course, if this was at the NSA, I could trust everyone to do the right thing and keep their mouths shut. But this is the FBI, and this place has become so politicized that I don’t want to risk blowing this thing apart.”
“Can’t you at least tell me what’s going on?”
“I wish I could, I really do. But we’re keeping this operation on a strict need-to-know basis only in order to protect against any leaks.”
“I think I have a right to know what’s going on,” Blunt said as he narrowed his eyes. “You know I have the clearance for it.”
“You also know I could arrest you for what you did.”
“I’d like to see you prove it. Now, I want my lawyer.”
“You’re not getting a lawyer, J.D. You’re here on your own accord so we can help catch a criminal who is attempting to sabotage this country. Now, I’ve said more than I should have already, but that’s all you’re going to get out of me. In an hour, an FBI agent will escort you to a safe house where you’ll stay for the duration of this op. Is that understood?”
“If we ever go fishing again, I just might feed you to the sharks,” Blunt said with a growl.
“Did you get your morning coffee?” Frazier said before hitting his forehead with his index finger. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t drink coffee. You’re just this grumpy no matter what time of day it is.”
Blunt pointed at the cot. “You’d be grumpy, too, if you had to sleep on that damn thing all night. I thought for sure you were preparing me for an interrogation this morning.”
Frazier smiled and shook his head. “You never change, do you, J.D.?”
“My need for sleep has never changed, nor has my hatred for coffee,” Blunt said. “And last night I got no sleep, and some green-behind-the-ears agent dropped off a steaming hot cup of coffee first thing this morning after I told them I don’t drink the stuff.”
“Perhaps I can schedule a massage at the safe house for you. Would you also like a mani-pedi?”
“I don’t know what the hell a mani-pedi is, but I hope you choke on it.”
“It’s not a drink,” Frazier said. “It’s a—oh, never mind.”
Blunt watched Frazier leave the room and disappear down the hallway. Desperate to get out of the FBI offices, Blunt eased up to the door and jiggled the handle. It was locked.
“Those punks are imprisoning me,” Blunt muttered to himself.
He proceeded to sit down on the cot, burying his head in his hands.
* * *
AN HOUR LATER, Blunt was led out the back of the FBI headquarters in a black SUV. The two agents assigned to watch him asked questions that signaled they had no idea who he was. After a few minutes, Blunt stopped their get-to-know-you inquisition.
“How old are you guys?” Blunt asked.
One man was thirty, while the other was twenty-eight.
“And you seriously don’t know who I am?” Blunt asked. “Haven’t you watched the news?”
“Wait a minute,” one of the agents said, snapping his fingers. “Weren’t you that senator who faked his death? I think I do remember this story now.”
Blunt sighed. “Yeah, that was me.”
“Why’d you do it?” the other agent asked. “I’m always curious why people want to disappear. Was it for love? For money? Or were you running from something?”
Blunt chuckled. “Certainly wasn’t for the first two. I’ve got plenty of money and my first love is this country.”
“Then you were running from something?” one of the agents said.
“Yes, I was. Ironically enough, I was trying to escape from a very powerful person in this country.”
“Next you’re going to tell us that it was the president,” the other agent said as he laughed.
Blunt didn’t laugh with him, remaining stoic.
The agent covered his mouth with his hand. “It was the president. Oh my god. What happened?”
“There are some things I just prefer not to relive,” Blunt said.
When they finally arrived at the safe house, Blunt retreated immediately to his room and announced he was taking a nap. After a restless hour of sleep, he wandered into the living room and turned on the television.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” one of the agents said as he tried to take the remote control from Blunt’s hand.
“I’m bored as hell, and I’m not going to sit around and do Sudoku puzzles for the next however many days despite how subtle the suggestion is made in my room by the dozen Sudoku books piled on my nightstand.”
“But there are some things on television you probably don’t want to see.”
“If you’re worried about my feelings, don’t be,” Blunt said. “I’ve seen enough fabricated stories about me to last several lifetimes. And I’m immune to it all. I’ve never been one to be bothered by another person’s opinion about me.”
“Fair enough,” the agent said, releasing his hand from the remote. “Just don’t come crying to me when Anderson Cooper starts saying mean things about you on television.”
Blunt settled down onto the couch and turned on the television. He flipped through the channels until he came across a mid-afternoon cable news program where a fiery debate was underway about the election. Then a question flashed up on the
