Black strolled into the room and settled into the seat across from Alex.
“So, what rousing conversation am I missing out on?” he asked.
“I’m trying to convince Blunt to expand his movie tastes, and he seems dead set against it.”
Black shrugged. “If you’re pedaling those Bollywood films again, I don’t blame him.”
“And what’s wrong with appreciating another culture’s film offerings?”
“Because they’re crap, that’s why.”
Hawk shut the door behind him as he settled next to Alex. “What’s crap?”
“Bollywood films,” Blunt said. “I’d rather have my eyes taped open and be forced to watch that Ben Affleck disaster Gigli for twenty-four hours straight than watch fifteen minutes of a Bollywood flick.”
“Harsh,” Hawk said. “Though I thoroughly enjoyed Ben Affleck’s Argo, despite it resembling somewhat of a normal workday around here.”
“Well, speaking of work, let’s get to it,” Blunt said. “Lord knows we’ve got more terrorists crawling out from underneath rocks than we can shake a stick at it.”
“All trying to get a piece of Orlovsky’s latest new technology, ripped off straight from Colton Industries?” Black asked.
“He certainly must’ve advertised the fact that he was getting some innovative designs from a major weapons company,” Alex said. “But thanks to Hawk and his new friend from the CIA, Orlovsky’s got nothing of substance.”
“And what about Littleton?” Black asked.
“We’re detaining him for now,” Blunt said. “And when the time comes, I might let you interrogate him.”
“I think what we all want to know is if that backdoor we planted on the flash drive helped us connect the dots between Orlovsky and any Obsidian operatives,” Hawk said.
“And the answer to that is a big fat maybe,” Alex said. “Since our database on who is involved with Obsidian is still relatively short, it’s difficult to tell. At this point, all I can say is that Orlovsky is only partial to money. If you’ve got it, you can be his client.”
“We need to keep digging into that,” Blunt said, nodding at Alex. “I’m sure there are more avenues to explore since we’ve been able to get into his mainframe.”
Alex shifted in her seat and sat up straight. “I’m still rummaging through every piece of data I can find on his machine. So far, I’ve found nothing definitive, but I’m not giving up yet, so don’t you worry.”
“That’s my Alex,” Blunt said before grunting. “Like a dog with a bone.”
“Speaking of dogs, I need to update the team about General Fortner,” Black said.
Hawk shook his head. “Please tell me you’re about to show us photos of the bullet you put in his head.”
“I’d never let that traitor off that easily,” Black said. “Besides, we have big plans to use him to climb the ladder with Obsidian and find out who’s calling the shots.”
“So, what did you find?” Hawk asked.
Black pushed a folder across the table toward Hawk. “Fortner has a place on Bourbon Street in New Orleans that he’s apparently living in these days.”
“If you need help flushing him out any time soon, just let me know,” Hawk said. “I’d be more than happy to assist you.”
Blunt raised his hands. “We’ll consider that as well, but we can’t lose any more leads. We need concrete connections to Obsidian’s upper brass. And I think we might just have one.”
Hawk leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “Where’d you dig this one up?”
“Perfect choice of words, Hawk,” Blunt said with a grin. “It all started with an obituary.”
“Who died?” Alex asked.
“Nancy Coleman, the filthy rich New York socialite,” Blunt said.
“Are we supposed to know who she is?” Black asked. “If she was on one of those reality shows, I sure as hell have never seen her or know anything about her.”
Blunt shook his head. “No, she wasn’t one to step into the limelight, other than her one major indiscretion, which was having an affair with married U.S. Senator Richard Antley.”
“That was all over the news,” Alex said. “I’d almost forgotten the woman who was involved with him.”
“Yeah, well I didn’t,” Blunt said. “Turns out, Antley blabbed about Firestorm to Nancy and not-so-subtly urged her to talk with one of her journalist friends about it. Nancy’s daughter just so happened to go to college with Camille Youngblood.”
“Now that’s a name I’ll never forget,” Alex said.
“Me either,” Blunt said. “Though we shut down Firestorm before Camille wrote anything about us, starting over has been a pain in the ass. And I never forget those who cause such pain.”
Hawk chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” Blunt asked.
“You’ve built a team of people who all cause you varying degrees of pain each day,” Hawk said. “I’m starting to wonder if you’re a masochist.”
“That’s what it feels like sometimes,” Blunt said. “Now, Coleman’s death wasn’t anything I celebrated, but her obituary had a bit of information that I took a keen interest in.”
“Inheritance issues?” Black asked.
Blunt shrugged. “In a sense, yes. It wasn’t anything crazy like a Grisham novel where everybody’s scrapping over a five billion dollar inheritance. Nancy didn’t have any children. However, she was quite a prolific philanthropist and chose to leave her entire fortune to just one non-profit called A Hand Up.”
“A Hand Up,” Alex said, furrowing her brow. “I’ve never heard of them.”
“Neither had I,” Blunt said, “but they’re no small player. According to their website, they have offices all over the world in places like Paris, Geneva, London, Frankfurt, Madrid, Chicago, and New York.”
“Impressive,” Hawk said.
“That’s what I thought,” Blunt said. “But then I started digging through news articles about them. And you know what I found?”
All three of Blunt’s employees shook their heads.
“Nothing,” Blunt said, answering his own question. “It was like A Hand Up didn’t even exist. At first, I thought this was an obvious front, but they have legitimate offices in all those countries and supposedly do good work according to one watchdog website. However, the people heading each one of those branches gave me reason to pause and consider what might be going on.”
Blunt stood and
