“It’s all right,” Black said. “You’re safe now. Your uncle sent me. In fact, he’s watching right now.”
Morgan embraced Black and began sobbing. He dug some clothes out of his pack and gave them to her along with some privacy to change. While she was putting on more appropriate attire for the cool temperatures outside, Black called Blunt.
“If you were watching, you know I’ve got her,” Black said.
“I know,” Blunt said, his voice quivering. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see her again.”
“You will soon enough. Just let the pilot know that he needs to get the plane gassed up and ready to go. We’ll be ready to leave in half an hour.”
“You got it, champ,” Blunt said before he hung up.
When Morgan was finished, Black led her outside, warning her to watch her step as the hostile’s body lay lifeless on the porch. He stepped over the corpse and held his hand out to help her. She froze and then spit on him before stomping on his head.
“Take that,” she said before calling him a whole slew of names as she repeatedly kicked him.
Black grabbed her and bear-hugged her, pulling her away from the body. “It’s okay now. He’s gone, and you’re safe.”
She broke down again and started crying. Black carried her over to the man’s Jeep and placed her in the passenger seat before hustling around to the driver’s side. He ignited the engine with the twist of the key and roared off toward the airport.
* * *
A HALF HOUR LATER, Blunt hung up with Black, who reported that they’d safely arrived at the airport and were preparing for takeoff. For the first time in over two weeks, Blunt felt like he could breathe. He clipped off the end of a cigar and jammed it into his mouth. While too early to drink a celebratory toast, he wouldn’t wait long before popping open one of his favorite bourbon bottles.
He thanked Shields for her help during the mission and returned to his office. On his desk, he found a piping hot cup of coffee and the morning’s paper. He had just settled in to read about the upcoming G8 summit when his phone rang.
“This is Blunt,” he said as he answered.
“Well, Mr. Blunt,” said Falcon Sinclair, “I wanted to let you know that I’ve decided not to keep my end of the bargain since you broke yours.”
“I broke our bargain? What are you talking about?”
“I told you if you tried to dissuade the president from coming with me that your niece would be killed.”
“And I never breathed a word to him about it,” Blunt said. “All I did was encourage him to go.”
“As well as send a team after him.”
“You think I’m just going to let you take President Young on some joy ride and not at least have an eye on him? Think again.”
“No matter,” Sinclair said. “It’s your niece who will pay the price. She’s such a sweet young woman. I hate to have to needlessly take her life, but there are consequences. And what kind of man would I be if I didn’t keep my word?”
“Well, seeing that your kidnapper couldn’t keep Morgan and is dead in the New Mexico desert, I doubt you can keep your word in this case. But I promise, I won’t hold it against you.”
“You’re gonna pay for this.”
“No,” Blunt said, “I’m gonna have my men hunt you down and kill you like they did Osama bin Laden or Saddam Hussein. Better watch your back.”
Blunt hung up and smiled. He couldn’t wait to hear from Hawk and find out how they’d managed to rattle Sinclair so much.
CHAPTER 33
Rutland Island, Indian Ocean
HAWK WATCHED THE OBSIDIAN facility implode, turning the entire building into a raging inferno. He urged everyone to their feet and directed them farther away from the perimeter. They ran, refusing to stop until they found a spot behind a small hill. Alex grabbed his hand as a pair of missiles rained down on the compound, turning what was left of it into little more than ash.
“I thought we weren’t gonna make it,” she said in a hushed tone to Hawk.
“When we’re together, I never count us out, even when the odds are stacked against us,” he said.
President Young turned to Hawk. “Thank you for coming after me. If you hadn’t, I don’t know—”
The president stopped, unable to find the words. A tear streaked down his face.
“It’s all right to cry, Mr. President,” Alex said. “That was terribly traumatic.”
“I’m not crying about what happened today,” Young said. “I’m crying about Madeline.”
Hawk helped Young stand, and they started down the road back toward the tent in silence. Alex finally put her arm around him.
“It’s always tough when we lose someone,” she said.
“That’s the thing,” Young said. “I didn’t really lose her. She left.”
Hawk drew back, eying Young carefully. “What do you mean?”
Does he know?
“According to Falcon Sinclair, Madeline helped set up the bombing on the White House,” Young said. “Apparently, she’s living it up by a pool somewhere in some tropical paradise. And I’ve been played for a fool.”
“Do you want us to track her down?” Hawk asked.
“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. If she wanted out of our marriage, she didn’t need to be a traitor to do it. I just wish she would’ve at least talked to me about it.”
“So, what next?” Hawk asked. “I will relish the opportunity to go after Falcon Sinclair. And it’ll be our pleasure to deliver his dead body to you.”
Young sighed. “As much as I’d like that right now, we must remain singular in our focus and capture Evana Bahar.”
“But the truth is that she wasn’t even responsible for the bombing at the White House,” Alex said.
“That doesn’t matter. Perception is reality in today’s world. And if you
