“I have dirt on everyone, remember?” Blunt said with a wry grin. “Now, why don’t you two have a seat so I can catch you up to speed on our first official case?”
“Case?” Alex said. “So, what are we? Investigators?”
“As far as anyone around here knows, you’re junior analysts, but technically we’ll be confirming any intelligence we receive before taking action. I think case is more fitting—until it isn’t. Now, have a seat and let’s get to it.”
Hawk gestured for Alex to sit down first before taking his seat. He shifted in his chair and leaned forward.
“So, what’s the job?” he asked.
Blunt opened a file folder and pulled out a few sheets of paper with a picture and corresponding profile. He slid them across the desk to Hawk and Alex.
“You’re looking at a photo of Dmitry Krasnoff, a Russian diplomat suspected of murder,” Blunt said. “Of course, Krasnoff has diplomatic immunity. He can be evicted but not tried for murder here. If we find that he’s guilty, he gets shipped back to his homeland to be tried there.”
“And we know that’ll never happen,” Alex said.
“Who did he kill?” Hawk asked.
“We don’t know if he’s guilty for sure. That’s why you two are looking into this, but he’s suspected of murdering Thaxton Thurman, the son of Florida senator Lon Thurman.”
Hawk perused Krasnoff’s bio.
“Krasnoff has been spotted near the crime scene of eight murders, and nobody has investigated this guy before?” Hawk asked, his jaw going slack.
“No, there have been plenty of investigations,” Blunt said. “The problem is that he’s always managed to hide behind the embassy.”
“And we’re going to do things differently?” Alex asked.
Blunt smiled and nodded. “Yes, you are. You two won’t be burdened with the bureaucratic red tape that has entangled all the previous investigations.”
“Will we be sending him back to Russia if we conclude that he’s the killer?” Hawk asked.
“Yes,” Blunt said, “and we’ll be shipping him in a body bag.”
“As it should be,” Hawk said.
“Everything you need to know to get you started is in that file. If you have any other questions, just ask.”
Alex bit her lip as she read over the document. “What about database access? Cameras? Security clearance?”
“You’ll have access to everything you need, Alex,” Blunt said. “You’ll be able to legally get into everything all our intelligence agencies have—CIA, FBI, NSA—you name it.”
“And will my access be restricted?” she asked.
Blunt furrowed his brow. “Are you asking because you want to know if you’ll have to hack in illegally from time to time?”
A hint of a smile crept across Alex’s face. “Now why would you ask me a thing like that? You know I always play by the rules.”
Blunt shook his head. “If the situation calls for it, I’m sure you’ll figure out a way to get all the information you require.”
Hawk stood. “Now that we’ve settled that, it’s time to get to work.”
“There’s a funeral this afternoon for Senator Thurman’s son,” Blunt said. “That’d be a good place to start. Thurman will be fired up and willing to talk right after he watches his son get lowered into the ground. Raw emotion will serve you well. Good luck.”
Blunt dismissed them both with a backhanded wave.
As soon as the door latched shut, he leaned back in his chair and exhaled. This was almost the life he imagined for himself years ago. By his second term in Washington as a Texas senator, he understood politics were more or less a means to an end. He’d already grown tired of the means. The endwas all he was interested in. And serving in an oversight role in the intelligence world was a far more direct way to influence outcomes, the kind of outcomes that mattered. Americans would retain their freedoms and be kept safer because of the work that he purposed to do.
He was still smiling when Linda buzzed his phone.
“Sir, you have another visitor.”
Blunt scowled. There had been no formal announcement of his employment here, not to mention that The Phoenix Foundation had yet to appear in any media articles. Keeping a low profile was paramount to avoiding the scrutiny of the press. Yet someone had found him already.
“Who’s here?” he asked.
“A Rebecca Paris.”
“Who?”
“Rebecca Paris. She’s a blogger for a website called The Skinny.”
“Never heard of her.”
“She says she was Lee Hendridge’s girlfriend.”
Blunt dropped his head and closed his eyes. While he normally held reporters at arm’s length, he viewed Hendridge as one of the good guys and still felt a sense of responsibility for his death, even though former President Conrad Michaels was the one who ordered the brazen attack that resulted in Hendridge’s death.
Blunt took a deep breath and templed his fingers.
“Sir? Are you still there?” Linda asked.
“Yes, I’m still here,” Blunt said. “Send her in.”
CHAPTER 4
HAWK PEERED THROUGH his binoculars at the graveside service at Oak Hill Cemetery and watched the small crowd. The funeral downtown at the Cathedral of St. Matthew the Apostle earlier that morning had been packed, but only close friends and family had been invited to the burial. It was also a good gauge for determining who Senator Thurman’s allies were. Several high-ranking government officials joined the family graveside, including Vice President Charles Bullock.
“What are you thinking?” Alex asked.
“Now that we’re married, isn’t that my line?” Hawk shot back.
“No, you’re the man. You’re supposed to read your wife’s mind. Don’t you know anything?”
Hawk grinned, keeping Senator Thurman in the center of the viewing frame. “Most people wear dour looks on their faces while attending a funeral, but not Thurman. He looks angry, almost as if he’s going to hit someone. His fists are clenched, his jaw set. He doesn’t look like someone in mourning, at least not a week after his son has been shot.”
“Think it’s a good idea to approach him here?” Alex asked. “We could wait.”
“Like Blunt said, Thurman’s emotions are going to be raw right now. He’ll be more open to talking about what
