“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”
She led them onto the podium and gave a brief introduction behind the lectern before yielding to Young. The media throng covering the event clicked their cameras and shouted questions before he even had a chance to open his mouth. He held up both hands in a gesture to silence the reporters, but they ignored him, continuing to bombard him with a full inquiry on a range of topics, from the campaign to Iran to the debacle in Afghanistan.
When they didn’t stop, Young slammed his hands down on the lectern and shouted. “Would you all shut the hell up, please?”
An awkward silence fell on the room.
“The American people want to hear what I have to say, not you,” Young said. “And if you won’t behave, we’ll conduct the pressers in the future without any members of the media here. Are we clear?”
Heads bobbed in agreement, while a few reporters muttered “yes.”
“Good,” Young said. “Now, let’s proceed.”
Young spent the next fifteen minutes introducing Clive Blackwood and then touting his record as head of the NSA. When Young was finished, he yielded the floor to Blackwood, who received his baptism by fire. But despite Young’s misgivings about having to make Blackwood his Secretary of Defense, he did an admirable job in handling the press corps.
After that portion of the press conference was over, Young gave a brief update on the ongoing search for J.D. Blunt as well as how the U.S. was planning a measured response to avenge the murder of Franklin Templeton. Young fielded a handful of questions from media members he found friendlier toward his administration before exiting the stage.
When he reached the hallway, John Pembroke, the deputy secretary of Homeland Security, was waiting in the hallway.
“John?” Young asked as he cocked his head to one side. “What are you doing here?”
Pembroke nodded. “I’m sorry about this, sir, but we have a situation. And it can’t wait.”
“What kind of situation?” Young asked.
Pembroke glanced at the bevy of aides circling the president. “Let’s talk about this in your office … alone.”
CHAPTER 29
Old Firestorm bunker
HAWK’S SUV SHIMMIED as he navigated the washboard-dirt road. For all the hideouts, safe houses, and interrogation locations Blunt employed, this was the one place that Hawk knew the team could utilize as a retreat. Years ago when the facility was first built, Blunt took great caution to ensure that nobody knew he owned the place. To purchase the land, Blunt used an alias Alex created along with a corresponding social security number that could never be traced back to Blunt. With only a couple of rundown barns, some rotting fences, and two rusted out tractors, it wasn’t going to attract much attention.
Hawk pulled into the barn at the back of the property and parked.
Alex looked up, eyeing the aging building. “This isn’t exactly what I imagined when you said Blunt had a bunker out here, but it does have some country charm.”
Hawk chuckled as they got out. “This isn’t the bunker. Follow me.”
Alex and Black followed Hawk to a small tack room along the left side. He knelt and then tugged on a handle concealed by some strands of hay, lifting a hatch. After flipping a switch to light the tight staircase, Hawk led the way. They descended a couple of flights before reaching the main room.
The musty smell overwhelmed Hawk as he coughed and then wrinkled his nose.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been down here,” he said.
“I think it’s been a while since anyone has been down here,” Black quipped.
Hawk tore the furniture cover off the conference room table and chairs, while Alex dusted off the monitor on the far wall. She powered on one of the screens.
“Nice picture,” she said. “Based on the way you talked about this place, I would’ve guessed the monitors wouldn’t be this nice.”
“I don’t know the last time Blunt used this place, but I’d guess three or four years ago,” Black said. “He still kept the technology down here fresh.”
“At least since the last time he used it,” Hawk said. “Everything in here isn’t that outdated though.”
“It’ll be fine,” Alex said. “As long as we have wi-fi, I’ll be able to do everything I need to do with my laptop.”
Hawk stroked his chin as he scanned the room. “Look in that cabinet over there. I think that’s where the router is.”
Alex opened the cabinet and powered on the router. Then she searched the drawers for a remote to control the monitors on the wall. She gasped as she sifted through some papers.
“What is it?” Hawk asked.
Alex held up a black-and-white photo. “Do you know who this is?”
Hawk shook his head. “I don’t know, but she’s certainly cozier with Blunt than any woman I’ve ever seen him with.”
“How many women have you seen him with?” Black asked from across the room. “I thought he’d given up dating a long time ago.”
“Maybe this is why,” Alex said.
“Forget Obsidian,” Hawk said. “Now we have a real mystery on our hands.”
The trio laughed before setting up their computers and getting to work. Alex turned on the television to see the director of the FBI showing footage of Hawk at a gas station and urging the public to call if they’ve seen him.
“Just wonderful,” Hawk said. “They don’t even get my good side there.”
“You’ve got bigger problems than that,” Alex said as she looked at Hawk.
“Maybe not as big of a problem as those people,” Black said as his eyes bulged.
Hawk quickly turned his attention back to the screen where a news anchor was reporting about a leak from the Zeus Chemical plant in New Orleans. As the woman delivered the story in a somber tone, images from a drone over a portion of the city showed what was happening better than she could ever tell it.
People scurried from one house to another, pounding on the doors and begging
