“Look, honey, I have to warn you that some things need to happen before you can begin orientation for the CIA,” Blunt said.
She furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”
“Becoming an agent doesn’t make those who are targeting you magically disappear,” Blunt said. “It’s more than likely to put others at risk.”
“So, what are you getting at?”
He took a long pull on his bourbon before answering. “Until Falcon Sinclair is eliminated, you can’t join the CIA.”
“What? You can’t—how can you …”
“I know that’s not what you want to hear, but I couldn’t let you believe that as soon as your semester ends next spring that you’re going to waltz right into a spot with the agency. The threat against your life is real.”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
Blunt nodded. “I understand, but it’s not a risk the higher-ups will allow.”
“Then you better take care of that bastard,” she said, “if not for me, for everyone else he’s harmed. You know how much I want this.”
“I know,” Blunt said. “We’re working on taking him out. Just know that I want you to pursue your dreams, and if this is really what you want, I’ll do whatever I can to help make that happen … but in as safe of a way as possible.”
“I’m holding you to that,” she said. “Don’t let me down.”
Blunt held up his drink. “To the agency.”
“To the agency,” she said before clinking her glass with his.
They spent the next hour and a half catching up while watching football games, high-fiving strangers, and finishing off two baskets of chili cheese fries.
Blunt glanced at his watch and then told Morgan he needed to leave so he could get back to Washington. She put her arm around him and walked him to his car.
“Do you think anyone is watching us?” she asked as they reached his car.
“If someone recognized me in this disguise, the end will come quickly for me,” Blunt said with a wry grin. “But if one of Sinclair’s goons knew where you were, I doubt either of us would still be standing here right now.”
As Blunt’s phone buzzed, he fished it out of his pocket and glanced at the name on the screen. His eyebrows shot upward.
“Who is it?” Morgan asked. “Someone important?”
“It’s the president,” he said before giving her a quick hug. “Gotta run.”
“Love you,” she said. “And catch Sinclair soon.”
Blunt nodded and smiled as he eased behind the wheel of his rental. Moments later, he answered the call. A woman told him to stay on the line for the president. A few seconds later, President Noah Young’s voice boomed over the cell’s speaker.
“Damn, J.D., your team is absolutely amazing,” Young said. “I ask you to deliver a win, and you don’t waste any time.”
“With all due respect, sir, we’re patriots first. Everything we do is for the betterment of this country.”
“And my campaign, too,” Young said. “Every talking head on cable news tonight is singing my praises, so I figure I ought to revel in the moment with the man who made it all happen.”
Blunt huffed a laugh through his nose. “I’m so amazing, I made it all happen while eating cheese fries at a cozy sports bar in the middle of nowhere Idaho.”
“Idaho? Should I even ask?”
“It won’t do you any good because I won’t tell you.”
“Probably for the best then. Well, anyway, I just wanted to give you my hearty thanks and ask you to pass that congratulations along to your team.”
“I’ll be happy to do that for you,” Blunt said before his tone took a serious turn. “And since I’ve got you on the line, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“What is it, J.D.? You’re starting to scare me.”
Blunt drew in a deep breath and then exhaled slowly before continuing. “I’ve given this a lot of thought, sir, but it’s time for me to call it quits and retire.”
“Retire? But, J.D., you’re still in your prime.”
Blunt chuckled. “On what planet is being just a few years shy of seventy considered in your prime? I want to know because I want to retire there.”
“Let’s talk about this when you get back,” Young said. “I don’t want you making any hasty decisions.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I’ve already made up my mind.”
“Have you told your team?”
“Not yet, but I will. I’m sure you’ll be able to find competent leadership for them.”
“That’s something in short supply around Washington. Scrounging up someone who can lead your team won’t be easy.”
“That’s why you get paid the big bucks.”
“Well, I might not be happy about this, but you certainly deserve a good retirement for all you’ve done to keep this country safe, all of it without any fanfare.”
“That’s the way I like it, sir,” Blunt said. “That’s also how I intend for my retirement to go, out of the limelight and disappearing.”
“You’ve made an art form out of it, so I’d expect nothing less from you. But, are you sure I can’t talk you out of this?”
“Positive. But I’m not ready to go quite this minute.”
“Unfinished business?” Young asked.
“Uh-huh,” Blunt said. “Namely, Falcon Sinclair. I can’t just walk away from this job knowing he’s still free.”
“That would be a nice parting gift from you. But don’t feel obligated.”
“I told my niece she couldn’t join the CIA until Sinclair was eliminated. And I’d hate to disappoint her.”
Young laughed. “You do whatever you need to do, and when you’re finally serious about leaving, you let me know so I can talk you out of it.”
“Try to talk me out of it,” Blunt said. “You will try … and fail. But I won’t fault you for trying.”
“Hurry home,” Young said. “There’s still plenty to discuss as well as celebrate.”
“Of course, sir,” Blunt said before he hung up.
He zipped along the two-lane road leading to the airport when his phone rang again, this time with a call
