* * *
JUST AFTER 4:00 A.M., Black sauntered down the steps and onto Bourbon Street again. There were still a handful of Mardi Gras partygoers milling around, shuffling from one pub to the next, but there hadn’t been the slightest hint that Fortner was at home. Once Black was satisfied that no one was paying him any attention or too drunk to see straight, he eased into the alleyway and found the door leading upstairs to the home on the third floor. He picked the lock and crept inside.
Black searched through Fortner’s desk in search of any clue that would reveal what his plans were. But after a thorough search, Black found nothing. Out of frustration, he slammed the drawer shut. Then he paused.
Well, look what we have here.
Black noted the hollow sound and immediately re-opened the drawer. He tapped on it to confirm his suspicion of a false bottom. Using his pocket knife, he pried open the lid to reveal the secret compartment that contained a folder and an address book. Black set them on the desk and started reading.
Detailed in the document was the master plan for how Obsidian would seek to boost its financial portfolio by controlling world markets. Black’s eyes were glued to the pages, fascinated by the scope of the ambitious endeavor. While the endgame wasn’t anything novel, Black had only seen groups attempt to use war as a way to profit from an uptick in sales for a certain commodity, never the other way around. Obsidian aimed to use terrorist threats and acts of war as a way to create a volatile market that one could profit from significantly.
Alex will love digging through this.
Black moved on to the address book, which contained mostly initials and post office boxes from countries all over the world. The two items combined told a starkly different story than the one Fortner tried to tell in Chile. He wasn’t a helpless victim or some cog in the wheel. No, he was high up on the chain of command within Obsidian, though Black doubted at the highest level. He concluded that Fortner lacked the sophistication and knowledge of the economic sector’s inner workings to hatch such a scheme.
After capturing every page on the camera on his phone, Black was more eager than ever to capture Fortner. And knew just the way to do it.
CHAPTER 7
Washington, D.C.
LATER THE NEXT DAY, the Phoenix Foundation team convened to discuss the results of the simultaneous operations. Alex was the first to the conference room, interested to share what she’d learned regarding her deep dive on A Hand Up’s financials for the past few years. She found their spikes in contributions interesting, if not suspicious. However, the fact that it was all tidy and apparently above board made her wonder if she was just seeing what she wanted to or if A Hand Up had someone in the IRS shielding them from an audit.
Hawk brought her a cup of coffee and sat next to her as they waited for the rest of the team to enter the room. Black and Blunt followed in short order, and they began rehashing the events of the past twenty-four hours.
“Everything is beginning to come into focus,” Alex said. “Obsidian is attempting to do exactly what we thought they were going to do—and now we know how they plan to do it.”
Hawk leaned back in his chair and interlocked his fingers behind his head. “The real question now is if we’re able to stop it and eliminate these people.”
“Exactly,” Blunt said, pointing at Hawk. “This whole thing is going to be dicey since we’re talking about making prominent people disappear.”
“Disappear is a euphemism, right?” Black asked. “These bastards need to be put down. They’re the sickest kind of people, profiting off death and destruction. And there needs to be a reckoning.”
“Agreed,” Blunt said. “But we’re going to have to do this our way. The circle of people who know about this needs to be small. Plausible deniability must be something we consider when it comes to who we tell and who we don’t. And President Young is one of those people who can’t find out what we’re up to.”
“I think we need to let him know about Fortner,” Hawk said. “After all, Young was the one who picked Fortner to head up things at the Pentagon.”
Blunt grunted as he chewed on his cigar. “We can tell Young after the fact. This intel needs to be kept in this room unless it’s absolutely necessary to bring others in.”
“Sounds like the best way to proceed to me,” Black said.
“Is there anything else you feel we need to know before calling it a day?” Blunt asked.
Black nodded and connected his phone to the monitor on the far wall. “Before we split, I wanted to see if anyone recognized any of these addresses here in Washington?”
He scrolled through the images he took from Fortner’s address book with a Washington, D.C. zip code. The team collectively shook their heads as Black flipped from one image to the next.
“Wait a minute,” Blunt said. “Go back one.”
Black swiped to the image Blunt requested. “See something there, boss man?”
“The one at the top,” Blunt said, pointing at the screen. “I recognize that street and number.”
“Is this some spy we should know about?” Hawk asked.
“Not exactly,” Blunt said. “That belongs to one Catherine Tiller, better known as Kitty Tiller.”
“Is that an exotic dancer stage name?” Alex asked.
Blunt cracked a wry smile. “She is known as a man-eater, ruining the livelihoods of several politicians in this city, some even before their careers got off the ground.”
“And how is she significant in all this?” Hawk asked. “She doesn’t seem to fit
