“Excellent,” came the reply. “Return back here at once.”
Hawk smiled. “Let’s get rid of these bodies and then figure out a way to determine where these lackeys worked.”
“I’m not sure that’ll be easy,” Alex said. “These guys are careful with every move they make.”
As they finishing the cleanup portion of their operation, Hawk’s satellite phone rang.
“This ought to be interesting,” Alex said.
Hawk nodded. “I know. There’s only one person other than Blunt who knows this number.”
He answered the call.
“Brady Hawk?” a man said in a familiar voice.
“Big Earv?” Hawk replied.
“You know it,” Big Earv said before breaking into his baritone laugh. “I hope you crazy cats are all right.”
“Yeah, we are. How did you get this number? There’s only one person who—”
“Actually, there are two of us now. But you’re right. That one person gave me your number.”
“But how did—”
“I’ll have time to explain it later,” Big Earv said. “Let’s meet up, and I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”
“Perfect,” Hawk said. “I know just the place where we should meet.”
Hawk gave his old friend from the Secret Service an address and a time before hanging up.
“What was that all about?” Alex asked.
“It was Big Earv,” Hawk said. “He knows where Blunt is. And Big Earv is going to help us break our boss out of prison.”
CHAPTER 28
Washington, D.C.
PRESIDENT YOUNG RETREATED to his office for a drink. His early afternoon had been a mix of good news and bad, making his glass of whiskey sour the most appropriate drink he could have. On the good side, he received a text that three members of the Phoenix Foundation team had been killed, news that he wanted to share right away with the public. However, he was cautioned against it in wake of the other big story.
Franklin Templeton, the U.S. Ambassador to Iraq, had been found dead just hours earlier with two bullets in the back of his head. Early intelligence reports claimed that Templeton’s death was performed execution style. And it was performed by the Iranians.
Payback for the oil tankers … even though we had nothing to do with that.
Young sighed as he mulled over a response to all the day’s news.
Lacy Wickersham, Young’s press secretary, cautioned him against trying to share the good news in a press conference. She warned that news about the elimination of rogue agents would be lost amidst a sea of questions about Templeton, who was a Washington icon after serving in Congress for more than two decades. And if Young wanted any positive publicity in the press, he needed to let that story die down.
The president took a long pull on his whiskey sour. This was the moment he was hired for, yet all he wanted to do was let someone else come up with a solution. However, he didn’t trust anyone else but himself to do the best thing, especially with the election on the line. But that ship had sailed. Someone else was calling the shots now. And Young didn’t like it one bit.
Young sifted through a report on his desk from a couple of Pentagon officials urging the president to strike swiftly against the Iranians. Phrases like “weak” and “bullied” were underlined twice throughout the document. The war hawks had already fallen in line with the drumbeats. If it were up to them, an all-out offensive would’ve been launched on Iran the second the report about Templeton’s death reached their ears. While Young didn’t oppose taking action when necessary, he felt like it wasn’t the politically expedient thing to do. The press would hammer him on security issues, which was enough to tip any election among the fear-prone American voting populace. Promise, or at least give off the appearance of, security and people would listen with votes to follow.
But Young already had a record, a fairly good one, thanks to J.D. Blunt and his team. Their ability to thwart serious threats against both the country’s citizens and interests had made Young appear stronger than his policies truly were. But Blunt was going to be the fall guy, his arrest announced at just the right moments, perhaps when his campaign needed a boost. In the meantime, he was going to make other moves to shore up his national security persona, but not the kind of moves he necessarily wanted to make.
Two days earlier, Young received a note informing him that he had forty-eight hours to replace Doug Quinn with NSA Director Clive Blackwood as the Secretary of Defense. Refusal to do so would result in the release of his private conversation with his wife. Young checked his watch.
Only a half-hour left. Might as well get this over with.
Young notified his administrative assistant that he was ready for the pre-press conference consult and to send in Wickersham. Moments later, the bombshell blonde glided into the room with Blackwood in tow.
“Here are your talking points, Mr. President,” Wickersham said as she handed Young a small stack of neatly-typed notes. “Highlights from Mr. Secretary’s bio are bulleted on page two.”
“Thank you,” Young said as he studied the documents.
“I’ll be back in five minutes,” she said before exiting.
Blackwood stood silent against the wall on the far side of the room. With his hands clasped behind his back, he cleared his throat.
Young looked up from his reading and stared at Blackwood. “Did you want something?”
“Well, maybe a hello would be nice,” Blackwood said.
Young sighed and shook his head, returning his gaze to his paper. “Don’t think you deserve to be here? Because you don’t. You obviously were bought, just like everyone else.”
“I suppose that’s not the worst thing you could say of a bureaucrat in Washington.”
Young grunted. “I don’t care how long you’ve been in this city; you obviously still have a lot to learn.”
A few minutes later when Wickersham returned, she looked Young in the eyes. “Are you ready?”
Young nodded.
“Just say it with conviction, like you really mean it … even if you don’t,” she said.
“Of course.”
Wickersham led them down
