The lead investigator introduced himself as Detective Wilder.
“As you can see, we have a killer on the loose,” Sinclair said, looking down at the water.
“You knew these men?” Wilder asked.
“They were my bodyguards.”
“Bad day at the office. So, when did this happen?”
“Maybe a half-hour ago,” Sinclair said.
“Did you witness their murders?”
Sinclair shook his head. “I was asleep in my bedroom. But whoever did this was a pro. All of the footage from my security cameras was wiped remotely.”
“Any idea who would want to hurt you like this?”
Sinclair chuckled. “Do you know who I am? I’m Falcon Sinclair. It could be any one of a billion people who hate Falcon Enterprises and what we do to make this world a better place. Asking me to narrow it down by my enemies is like asking me to count the number of granules in the Sahara Desert. It’d be pointless, and frankly it’s not worth your time.”
“Then we've got nothing to go on?”
“I don’t know,” Sinclair said as he threw his hands in the air. “You’re the professionals. I must confess I’m not familiar with how these types of investigations work. It’s rare for any member of the public to get too close to me without my handlers around, much less come onto my property with armed guards.”
“Well, sir, I have to admit that this looks rather strange. You have a pair of dead bodyguards in the water, yet you slept through it all and didn’t get injured. It doesn’t seem like they were after you. Are there any valuables missing from your yacht?”
“That’s the odd thing,” Sinclair said. “I didn’t see anything that was stolen. I did a cursory examination of the ship, and everything looks to be in place.”
“Mind if we have a look around?” the other detective asked.
“Actually, I do. We wrapped up a party about an hour and a half ago, and the place is a mess. If I do note something that was stolen, I’ll let you know.”
“What were these blokes’ names?” Wilder asked.
Sinclair answered the rest of Wilder’s questions while the other detective took pictures. The two officers fished the dead guards out of the water as Sinclair looked on.
“If you need anything else, please contact my office,” Sinclair said. “I’ll be happy to assist you in any way possible.”
He retreated to the office in his yacht and fetched his phone. Seconds later, he was on the line with the new U.S. Secretary of Defense, Clive Blackwood.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the chance yet to thank you for this opportunity,” Blackwood said.
“It’s well-deserved,” Sinclair said, rolling his eyes.
“Thank you again. So, what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”
“We’ve got a problem, Clive. Namely, a Phoenix Foundation agent named Christina Shields. Are you familiar with her?”
“I’m aware of her, yes.”
Sinclair flicked his lighter and ignited a cigarette. “She tried to kill me tonight.”
“What did you say?”
“I said she tried to kill me.”
“Where are you?” Blackwood asked.
“In Sydney. She tracked me to my yacht and threatened me.”
“How’d you get away?”
“A little trick I learned a while back from a good friend. She scurried off, but not before she killed two of my guards.”
“So, she’s a murderer?”
Sinclair huffed a laugh through his nose. “Surely you knew that already.”
“What do you want from me exactly?”
“I want you to handle her, eliminate her, bury her in a locker at sea. I don’t really care how you do it, but make her disappear.”
“Okay, I’ll get to work on that. It shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Don’t underestimate her or anyone else on that team,” Sinclair said. “And keep me posted on your progress. I’m not sure I’ll sleep well at night until I know she’s dead.”
“Absolutely. Anything else?”
“That’s all for now. Have a good day.”
Sinclair hung up and settled into his office chair. He poured a glass of cognac before taking a long pull on the glass as he contemplated his next move. With Blackwood firmly entrenched in Sinclair’s camp, he had to do little more than ask to get anything he wanted in the United States. And he had one more important piece to set into action.
He waited for a minute before dialing the number of Tahir Nazari.
“Mr. Nazari, how are you, sir?”
“Well, and yourself?”
“I’ll be doing much better if you’ll accept an assignment I have for you.”
“I’d love to make your day,” Nazari said. “What would you like for me to do?”
* * *
WHEN TAHIR NAZARI hung up his phone, he gathered his men for an impromptu meeting.
“I have an important announcement to make,” Nazari said. “We have secured an assignment of sorts in the United States, the kind that will strike fear in the hearts of Americans everywhere.”
He watched as the men broke into shouts of joy, followed by a triumphant series of chants: “Death to America! Death to America! Death to America!”
When the celebration died down, he continued.
“We’ll be able to do something my brother, Karif Fazil, could never do. We’ll do something not even Evana Bahar could accomplish.”
He paused for dramatic effect.
“We will finally bring America to its knees and strike at the heart of their nation in unimaginable ways.”
The men resumed their celebration, devolving from an organized chant to a primal roar.
Nazari strutted around in the center of them, soaking in the moment.
Victory will be ours.
CHAPTER 37
Langley, Virginia
MALLORY KAUFFMAN ORDERED a martini as she eased into the button tufted booth in the back corner of The Speak Easy and waited for her friend. Since Mallory started working at the CIA, she sought out more upscale places for drinks. The loud bar scene was fine for the sole purpose of drinking, but if she actually wanted to conduct a conversation that was intelligible, she needed a more refined locale. And The Speak Easy fit the bill.
She had barely taken two sips before her friend took a seat in the booth and set her wine glass on the table. Cara Bagwell had taken a job as
