“You can’t pander for those votes,” Blackwood said. “At the end of the day, you need to do what’s best for the security of this country. If you present the plan for addressing this situation and stick with it, voters will appreciate your honesty and straight-forward approach. You’ll get rewarded for it more than you might think.”
“Then maybe I can win if I don’t take action,” Young said. “I’d prefer to run on a platform of peace than war mongering.”
“The platform you run on is irrelevant if it’s going to ensure that you won’t get re-elected. You can kiss that label of two-term president goodbye if you don’t put boots on the ground over there as soon as possible.”
“I’ll be a three-term president,” Young corrected.
Blackwood shook his head and pursed his lips. “Finishing out a dead man’s term doesn’t count. Besides, Michaels was a lame duck anyway. And you will be too if you don’t listen to me on this.”
Young threw his hands in the air. “Okay, okay. Let me think about this.”
Blackwood ambled over toward the door and paused after putting his hand on the knob. “You know, Mr. President, this isn’t nearly as tough of a decision as you’re making it out to be. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised at how everyone reacts to you showing the world what kind of cajones you have.”
Young sighed. “Send in Pembroke, will you?”
“Of course, sir.”
Blackwood exited, closing the door behind him. Moments later, John Pembroke entered the room.
“What was that all about?” Pembroke asked. “Clive looked like he was setting out to murder someone.”
“He’s mad that I won’t start a war in Iran like he’s asking me to do.”
“Well, forget about putting your focus anywhere else but your own country for a few days,” Pembroke said. “You’ve got much bigger problems here at home.”
Young cocked his head to one side. “Domestic problems?”
“Here,” Pembroke said as he scooped up the remote, “let me show you.” He turned on the television and landed on a channel that was showing the tragedy unfolding in New Orleans.
“Is this happening right now?” Young asked before his jaw fell agape.
“Yes, sir. Right this very minute.”
Young watched as one woman holding her child’s hand staggered in the street before falling to her knees. She crawled along for a few more meters before collapsing face down. The little boy fell on top of her and shook her, trying to wake her. She didn’t move.
“Dammit,” Young said. “We’ve gotta do something about this.”
The president clutched his stomach, afraid that he might throw up.
CHAPTER 31
Sydney, Australia
SHIELDS CHECKED HER COMS to make sure they were working before looking over the schematics for Falcon Sinclair’s home. They were parked a block away in a white utility services van, the blue-and-green magnetic logo of Ausgrid plastered on the side door. Shields had lifted the magnet from another van she saw making residential repairs just an hour before, hoping that it would keep down suspicion. She stuffed a couple clips into her pocket and tucked her gun into the back of her pants.
As dusk fell, Shields gawked at the four-story home towered high atop Point Piper and overlooking Port Jackson. She couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to live in such a majestic place. Lush vegetation bloomed from nearly every spot of dirt within the tightly-drawn property lines where nearly every square inch was consumed by the sprawling house. Aside from an automated garage gate, the only way in or out was through a small door just off the sidewalk. An armed guard patrolled the grounds, drifting from one side to another, pausing only to stare vacantly out at the water every few minutes. But she couldn’t yearn for such a place, at least not in the moment. She had a job to do, and it wasn’t going to be easy.
Shields and Mia went over the protocol for installing the device on Sinclair’s computer one final time before the two women parted ways. Darkness had now fallen, giving them the opportunity they needed to initiate the operation. With Mia hunkered down in the van, Shields eased up to the house. They had collected plenty of damning information, but there was still one piece they were missing: the definitive link between Sinclair and the Drisi Enterprises bank account.
Shields paused to watch the rhythmic pacing of the lone guard. He patrolled the place from the veranda on the second floor, which wrapped around the entire building. For the first ten minutes, he circled around without stopping. But after that, he slowed his pace before stopping altogether for a smoke.
Just as she was about to scale the wall, she noticed another guard on the roof.
Where’d he come from?
She waited, using a nearby car for cover as she observed the guards’ walking pattern in tandem.
“What’s taking so long out there?” Mia asked over the coms.
“There’s another guard out here,” Shields said. “There was only one before, but now there are two. I’m waiting to see if there’s a third.”
“Roger that,” Mia said. “I’m here if you need me.”
“Not sure what you can do at this point. I’m just extending my recon on this place until l’m confident I can get in and out without any trouble.”
Satisfied that there were only two men outside, Shields eased up to the house once the second-story guard was on the opposite side. She shimmied up the drain pipe affixed to the outer wall in order to reach the second story. Once there, she hid around the corner and listened for the guard. Not much time passed before she heard his heavy footfalls approaching.
It’s time to rumble.
When the man came around the corner, she punched him in the throat. Instinctively, he reached for his neck before doubling over while trying to catch his breath. Shields put him down with a swift dose of carbon fiber and titanium from her prosthetic leg. His body went limp, but she caught him before
