“What are you then? CIA? FBI? You still can’t touch me.”
“Claiming immunity won’t help you survive a bullet to your brain. Now we have some questions for you, and you better start talking.”
Krasnoff raised both hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. “I’m sure we can work this out, Mr—”
“Hawk.”
Kransoff smiled. “How fitting. Here you are, swooping down on your prey.”
“We don’t have time for your wisecracks,” Alex said. “We want to know why you murdered Thaxton Thurman.”
“So, that’s what this is about. Thaxton Thurman. What a sad young man. All he ever did was spend all his daddy’s money while partying away his promising future.”
“Why did you kill him?” Hawk asked, pressing the barrel of his gun against Krasnoff’s back for emphasis.
“I’m not interested in talking with you about that situation.”
Alex glared at him. “Maybe you call that a situationin Moscow, but here it’s called murder.”
“You’re wasting your time,” Kransoff said.
The door to the back alley flung open, and three large men lumbered outside, all of them sporting brass knuckles.
“Is this gentleman bothering you, Mr. Krasnoff?” one of the men asked.
Krasnoff nodded. The three men spread out and formed a circle around them.
“I would suggest you and your little woman friend here walk away,” Krasnoff said to Hawk. “But I doubt these men are going to let that happen.”
“No,” one of the men said. “It’s too late for that.”
CHAPTER 7
Langley, Virginia
CIA Headquarters
SENATOR LON THURMAN FLASHED his credentials to the guard standing watch outside the entrance to the CIA headquarters. The guard studied the documents closely, comparing the photograph on the access card with Thurman’s face. After skimming through a few papers attached to a clipboard, the guard handed Thurman’s badge back to him.
“I’m sorry, sir, but you’re not on any access list today,” the guard said.
“Access list?” Thurman said with a sneer. “I don’t have to be on any access list. Do you know who I am?”
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, sir. It’s protocol.”
“Protocol, my ass. I’m the one that makes sure this place has the money to hire nitwits like yourself who don’t even know their government leaders. I’m on the Senate intelligence committee for god’s sake.”
The guard scowled. “Sir, if you think insulting me is going to let me allow you to pass without a formal request being filed by someone on the interior, you’re sorely mistaken.”
Thurman narrowed his eyes. “What if I called my friend Director Van Fortner and told him what an asswipe the guard at the gate was to me? How would you feel about me making that call? Because I’m going to do that right now.”
Thurman grabbed his cell phone and started punching buttons.
“Fine, sir. Just this once,” the guard said as he raised the gate. “Don’t let this happen—”
Thurman didn’t wait around to listen to the rest of the guard’s toothless warning. Speeding along the road leading to the main parking lot, Thurman bristled over how he was treated, even though he knew the guard was simply following orders. But those rules weren’t for everyone, especially people like Thurman. He could’ve called Fortner and requested his name be put on an access list, but Thurman didn’t want the freshly minted CIA director to have a chance to brace himself. This was going to be an ambush, straight and simple.
Fortner’s secretary put up a weak fight to prevent Thurman from entering her boss’s office. Thurman shot her a sideways glance, ignoring her protests. When he thrust the door open, he found Fortner on a massage table, receiving a pounding from a woman who looked barely in her twenties.
“So, this is how you’re spending your time these days?” Thurman asked, gawking at the scene.
Fortner rolled over and sat up, keeping himself covered with a towel. “It’s not what it looks like,” Fortner said. “I was just—”
“Getting a massage on the clock?” Thurman said with a grin. “That’s exactly what it looks like.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.”
Thurman looked at the woman and held up a one hundred dollar bill.
“Thank you for your time,” Thurman said, handing the cash to her, “but your services are no longer required for today.”
She smiled and took the money.
“Wait,” Fortner called after the woman, but she’d already slipped outside and pulled the door shut. He turned toward Thurman. “Thanks a lot. I only get one massage a month, and I stay late to compensate for the time that I lose while doing it. I’m not cheating the taxpayers out of anything.”
Thurman strode across the room and settled into the chair opposite of Fortner’s desk.
“This is more important,” Thurman said. “We have business to discuss.”
“The kind of business that can’t wait?” Fortner asked, pulling his pants on.
“The kind that I don’t want showing up on any official documentation.”
Fortner put his shirt on and worked his way down the buttons. “Am I going to regret this, Lon?”
“Of course not. I just need you to handle a few things for me.”
“Does this have to do with the Russians and their involvement in Thaxton’s murder?”
Thurman shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. You draw your own conclusions.”
“Shoot me straight, okay? I’m a busy man, and I need to tend to other matters if I’m not going to get my stress-relieving massage this afternoon.”
“I need to know what you’ve learned so far.”
Fortner sighed. “As of right now? Nothing. I had to work some back channels to get things moving because our agency isn’t exactly equipped or trained to handle this type of investigation.”
“Are your back channels involving a pair of agents named Brady Hawk and Alex Duncan?”
“Technically, it’s Alex Duncan-Hawk now.”
“Those two are married?” Thurman asked with an arched eyebrow.
“Just became official a few weeks ago, but I’m sure it won’t interfere with their missions. They’ve been working together for a while anyway.”
“But they still haven’t come up with anything yet?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Fortner said.
Thurman stood, his fists clenched, and then paced around the room. “We can’t let
