“Timmons? Who’s that?” Hawk said. “I’m afraid you have me mixed up with someone else. I’m just a researcher from San Diego State’s PhD ecology program here to collect some tropical plant specimens.”
“Do I look stupid to you?” the man sneered. “Now, where is it?”
“You’re more than welcome to check my pockets for whatever you're looking for,” Hawk said. “But I'm sure whatever you find there, you’ll be able to find anywhere here along the beach.”
“If you don’t want your pilot dead, I’m giving you five seconds to place the device on the ground and back away.”
“Fine,” Hawk said. “You win.” He knelt and emptied his pockets onto the tarmac.
The man grabbed Kip by the collar, ushering him to the items Hawk had just piled up.
“Grab the flash drive,” the man ordered.
Kip’s hands shook as he sifted through the stuff. He winced when a gunshot pierced the air. A second later, his captor collapsed.
“Nice shot,” Hawk said with a grin on his face.
Alex hustled up next to the man and stepped on his wrist, pinning it to the ground, before kicking the gun out of his hand. She knelt and checked his pulse.
“He’s gone,” she said. “What are we going to do about him?”
“Just take the body with us,” Kip said. “We’ll dump him somewhere over the Indian Ocean.”
Hawk looked at his pilot. “Are you okay?”
Kip shook his head.
“Can you still fly us out of here?” Alex asked.
“Anything to get off this god-forsaken island.”
“Well, let’s not waste any more time,” Hawk said. “We don’t want to be detained and questioned by anyone.”
The trio worked to get the hostile’s body on board and into the cargo hold. Kip said he’d already gone through all his checks and had the plane idling before the man accosted him. In less than five minutes, Kip had them airborne and soaring over the remote atoll.
Meanwhile, Alex didn’t wait long to pull out her laptop and begin her quest to crack open the flash drive. She hammered away at the keys on her computer while Hawk waited anxiously.
“How’s it looking?” Hawk asked.
She sighed as she hung her head.
“What’s the matter?” he pressed. “Did he not give us the right drive?”
“No, we got the right device, all right,” she said. “It just uses an RSA 4096 bit encryption key.”
“I’m guessing by the look on your face that you can’t crack it.”
“Me and a legion of NSA decoders probably wouldn’t be able to get into these files.”
“So this was a dead end for us?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. A situation like this just requires a little creativity.”
“What kind of creativity?” he asked.
“The kind that requires us to dabble in the dark side.”
Hawk’s eyebrows shot upward. “Black hat hacker?”
“Bingo,” she said, pointing at him.
“And I’m hoping you know where to find one of these computing experts.”
“Of course,” she said. “I know just the guy to handle this.”
Chapter 2
Washington, D.C.
BLUNT STOOD ON the corner of Constitution and 7th, waiting for his ride. Ever since he received the horrifying text message containing the image of his niece bound and gagged, Blunt wondered who might be attempting to blackmail him. When he responded, he learned nothing of his niece’s tormentor. The person responding said that they needed to connect in person before specifying the details for their meeting, which they would send later in the week and provide only thirty minutes to reach a street corner in Washington near his office where he would be picked up in a limousine. No cell phones would be allowed, and he would be swept for bugs and trackers after getting inside.
Blunt didn’t like the terms, but he had no choice. Morgan was his sister’s only child, now a twenty-four-year-old woman finishing up her master’s degree in international business just down the road at the University of Virginia. She aimed to enter the CIA’s Clandestine Service Program after getting a job overseas for a couple of years, a plan that Blunt tried—and failed—to dissuade her from pursuing.
The fact that someone found out about Blunt’s relation to Morgan angered him. He’d been careful to prevent any link from being made through online documentation, including family photos and ancestry websites. He only had one photo of her that he took with an old camera that required film development when she was eight. But somebody had managed to figure out who she was and connected the dots, resulting in an exploitation that put her at risk. Blunt could only imagine who was behind it, much less what would be demanded of him.
When the limo pulled up to the curb, a burly man stepped out and frisked Blunt. Once they were both inside the car, the man checked Blunt for any electronic devices.
“Strictly a precautionary measure,” the man said. “We must make sure that everyone adheres to our stipulations.”
“Our?” Blunt asked, cocking his head to one side.
The man clasped his hands together, resting them in his lap and staring straight ahead.
“You may proceed,” he said, refusing to answer Blunt’s obvious question.
The car eased into Washington traffic and drove for several minutes until it parked beneath an overpass. Once the vehicle came to a stop, Blunt’s door flung open and another man greeted him by pointing at the limo behind him.
Blunt slid out and trudged to the other vehicle. He didn’t get in until he watched two identical limousines depart in opposite directions at the same time while his remained stationary.
“Get in,” came a soft voice from inside.
Blunt hunched down and peered inside, his gaze locking with that of a young woman, who couldn’t have been much older than thirty, if that.
“Mr. Blunt,” she said in an accent that he wasn’t quite convinced originated in England, “we appreciate you agreeing to meet with us.”
“You didn’t give me much choice,” Blunt said with a snarl.
“Unfortunately, we must apply the necessary pressure to ensure that you agree to work with us.”
“And who is this us you’re speaking of?” Blunt asked.
“My
