Fortner chuckled. “You know how the system works all too well, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. That’s why I have this job.”
“I wish it was just an agency, but it’s worse—it’s Senator Thurman.”
“Thurman? What’s stuck in his craw?”
“Apparently, the fact that his son’s murderer hasn’t been brought to justice.”
Blunt sighed. “The Phoenix Foundation isn’t like some magical genie where we just snap our fingers to make problems go away. We might operate outside the bounds of the law, but we aren’t reckless in how we go about our business.”
“That’s not the answer Thurman wants to hear.”
“Thurman can stick it where the sun don’t shine for all I care. We’re working on this issue, but it’s a delicate situation. We can’t afford to act too hastily.”
“I’m not sure caution is a luxury I can afford at the moment.”
“Is Thurman threatening you?”
“More or less,” Fortner said. “He said his position on the senate’s intelligence committee wields plenty of power and he’s not afraid to use it if he doesn’t get a satisfactory answer soon.”
“With apologies to the senator, our team is not going to start an international incident over this. And let’s be frank: Thaxton Thurman wasn’t some model citizen out there. He was almost always in the news for all the wrong reasons. I’ll be damned if I’m going to rile up the Russians over this without having all the facts straight. The man we suspect of doing this might be the guilty party or he might not be. But the day this foundation goes out and exacts justice on foreign nationals—people who no doubt have diplomatic immunity—is the day we get shut down. I’m just not going to let that happen.”
“Tell that to Thurman. He warned me that if I didn’t take care of the problem right away, he was going to speak with President Young about it.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Blunt said. “I have the president’s ear.”
“Apparently, so does Thurman. He also helped raise more than fifty million for Young last election. Can you compete with that?”
“I shielded Young from a big scandal and kept him from going to jail.”
Fortner sighed. “That might mean something to you, but that’s yesterday’s news. It won’t count for much when held up against Thurman’s contributions.”
“Just give me twenty-four hours to get you a full update,” Blunt said. “In the meantime, tell Thurman that we’re zeroing in on the suspect, and once we’re satisfied that he’s the trigger man, we’ll handle the situation quickly.”
“And if Thurman doesn’t want to hear it?”
“Screw him. Don’t let him rattle your cage. You have plenty of people in your corner to counter whatever a grieving and half-cocked senator says to the president. Besides, Young knows you and he likes you. If he didn’t, he never would’ve appointed you this post.”
“Okay, twenty-four hours,” Fortner said. “Don’t let me down.”
Blunt hung up and swung a hard right toward Union Station.
* * *
BLUNT STROLLED inside Union Station, toting a briefcase. There weren’t any pertinent documents inside, but he’d learned long ago that accessories were important in certain situations. This was one of those moments.
Blunt approached the customer service desk and asked to speak with a manager.
“Can I tell him what this is about?” the woman behind the counter asked.
Blunt, who wore his glasses low on the bridge of his nose, peered over the top of them and cut his eyes in both directions before answering. “Tell him it’s a matter of national security.”
The clerk’s eyes widened before she hustled away, disappearing around the corner.
Blunt looked at his watch as he awaited the return of the woman and her boss. A few seconds later, the woman returned with a bespectacled balding man who would’ve been better served having shaved his head instead of attempting an ill-fated comb over.
“May I help you?” the man asked.
Blunt nodded subtly. “I hope so, but we need to speak in private.”
The man motioned for Blunt to walk around the corner and then led him down the hall to an empty office.
“Let’s speak in here.”
Blunt sat down on the opposite side of the desk from the man.
“Kyle Court,” the man said, offering his hand.
Blunt leaned forward to shake it before settling back into his chair. But he didn’t say another word.
“And you are—” Court asked, letting his words hang.
“In a hurry,” Blunt said.
“Your name, sir. What is your name?”
“I’d rather not say,” Blunt said. “This issue is rather sensitive, and I just need you to help me get into the locker of a deceased man.”
Court scowled. “I’m not about to help you if you don’t tell me your name. How do I know that you have any right to go inside?”
“I wish I could tell you, Mr. Court, I really do,” Blunt said. “The fact of the matter is that I’m not exactly supposed to go around blabbing my name to everyone who asks.”
Court’s eyes widened. “So you’re a spy?”
Blunt put his index finger to his mouth, his gaze darting around the room. He then frowned at Court. “They might be watching.”
Court leaned forward, speaking in a whisper. “Who exactly is they?”
“I’ve already said too much,” Blunt said. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you any more or risk putting you in further jeopardy. My mere presence here places you in danger.”
Court eased back in his seat before breaking into a slow clap. “Nice performance, whoever you are,” he said, “but I’m not about to let you into one of our lockers that belongs to anyone but you. Deceased or otherwise, it doesn’t matter to me.”
“You’re putting thousands of lives at risk if you don’t,” Blunt said. “How are you going to feel if there’s a bomb inside that locker and hundreds die on account of your stubbornness?”
“You’ll have to do better than that if you want me to open one of the lockers for you,” Court said.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met such a callous man.”
“Get out of my office, and don’t come back unless you have a warrant.”
Blunt collected his
