Hawk used the cart’s decorative black apron to hide the three missile cases as much as possible. On his way out the door, he noticed a laptop on a nearby desk. He stooped over to look at what was open on the web browser: an article from a news site about this evening’s rally.
“We need to hurry,” Hawk said. “Looks like they might intend on using that missile tonight.”
“What did you see?”
“A laptop on the desk is open to a page about President Young’s appearance at Hard Rock Stadium in Miami at a campaign rally with Oscar Fuentes.”
“Hawk, when is that rally taking place?”
He skimmed the article and then glanced at his watch. “Less than two hours from now.”
“Better hurry back. Whoever has these missiles is going after the president.”
CHAPTER 20
BLUNT BUTTONED HIS SHIRT and tucked it into his pants. After tightening the belt, he turned and looked at himself in the mirror. It had been a long time since he’d put on a uniform of any kind, but this was a first for him—suiting up as a police officer.
He adjusted the badge on his shirt and took a deep breath. Impersonating a police officer was a crime, but that was rather benign on his list of illegal activity for the day. Blunt took his pledge to protect his country seriously, even if that meant breaking a few laws.
After having made bail for his earlier run in with the Union Station police, the officer in charge refused to return all of Blunt’s belongings, claiming they were evidence a theft was committed. Blunt was given his keys and wallet, but nothing else. Yet there was only one other thing in his pocket besides the device he used to cut open the locker: the flash drive he’d found in the envelope. That small memory stick was also what likely got Lee Hendridge killed. Blunt needed to find out what was on it, laws be damned.
Blunt made the short drive to the precinct where he was processed and got out of his car. He walked up to the door, took a deep breath, and strode inside like he had been doing it every day of his adult life.
Dressed in uniform and wearing a cap along with a fake mustache, Blunt was barely recognizable from his arrest earlier that day. It also helped that no one who had processed him was still on the clock. A whole new shift oblivious to the arrest of a crazy old man breaking into Union Station lockers.
Blunt navigated through the station toward the back, following the signs to the evidence room in the basement. As he walked farther away from the offices and descended the stairs, the cacophony of officers talking on the phone or discussing arrest details with colleagues faded. The only sound Blunt could hear was the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead.
At the end of the hallway, a man was situated behind a counter, reading a newspaper. Approaching the man, Blunt tried to gauge what kind of fight he was in for. Was the guy a stickler for the rules or simply passing time? The answer to that question would determine how difficult it would be to gain access and take the flash drive back.
Blunt jammed his hand into his pants pocket and felt for the replacement drive he planned on putting in the evidence locker. To avoid drawing suspicion, Blunt deleted the most recent files, making sure that the ones remaining coincided with the time Lee Hendridge was alive.
Once Blunt reached the counter, he placed both hands on it and tapped out a little drumbeat in an attempt to get the man’s attention. Instead of looking up, he kept his head down, apparently engrossed in the article.
“Excuse me,” Blunt said, straining to read the officer’s name on his badge.
The man still said nothing.
“Barker,” Blunt said, “are you going to help me, or should I just go back there and get what I need by myself?”
Barker snapped out of his trance and looked at Blunt. “I’m sorry, Officer—” Barker said, staring at Blunt’s nametag, “Officer Tyson.”
“No worries,” Blunt said. “I just need to get into the evidence locker for a minute and check something out.”
Barker slid a clipboard across the counter toward Blunt. “Just fill this out, and then let me know when you’re ready to proceed.”
Blunt followed the directions and listed all the pertinent information, including the case number, which he got off his arrest record. He returned the document, which Barker glanced at.
“Got your signature here,” Barker mumbled to himself. “Looks like you’re ready to go. Just make sure you wear gloves. And remember that you’re on camera the whole time.”
He reached under the counter and pressed a button. A buzzer sounded and a latch clicked, unlocking the chain link gate that led inside. Blunt glanced back at Barker, who had returned to reading his newspaper. Taking a minute to familiarize himself with the layout and the organizational structure of the room, Blunt navigated straight to the area where the evidence from his arrest had been filed.
Blunt slipped on a pair of gloves and opened the folder containing the envelope and flash drive. He retrieved the device, studying it for a moment before switching the two. After returning the file to its prescribed location, he headed to the locker exit. He cleared his throat, which got Barker’s attention. Still engrossed in the paper, Barker buzzed the gate open without even looking up then slid the clipboard across the counter toward Blunt.
“Record your time out.”
Blunt glanced at his watch and jotted down 6:45 p.m.
“Have a nice day,” Barker said, his eyes still focused on the article he was reading.
Blunt walked back through the precinct, acknowledging a pair of friendly officers who nodded politely at him. When he reached his car, he climbed inside and let out a sigh of relief. He drove straight home
