“Gentlemen, this is a historic moment for us,” Nazari began. “We’re not here to simply to unleash a powerful force of destruction on this city. We’re here to right wrongs. We’re here to transform minds. We’re here to assert ourselves and let these evil westerners know the full force of our fury. No longer will we be subject to the whims of this country. From now on, we will dictate the terms. We will demand a place at the table. We will use fear to carve out a new path for our people, a path of prosperity and peace, a path that no longer is trodden by the boots of western soldiers.”
The men erupted into more applause before chanting Nazari’s name again.
Nazari smiled as he watched the unfolding scene. He glanced at his watch to note the time.
In less than twenty-four hours, victory will be mine.
CHAPTER 41
Bethesda, Maryland
J.D. BLUNT EASED across the parking lot at the Congressional Country Club and found one of his favorite groundskeepers. Harry Copperfield was bent over, inflating a tire on one of the golf carts, his crack on full display. While Blunt found it mildly amusing, he resisted making a joke.
“Harry,” Blunt called.
The man paused what he was doing and glanced over his shoulder through his black-rimmed spectacles. “As I live and breathe. It’s Senator Blunt.”
Blunt knew he was taking a chance by showing his face in a public place, but he figured Harry wouldn’t be attuned to the news that Blunt was a wanted man.
“It’s good to see you, Harry,” Blunt said, offering his hand.
The two men shook vigorously. “I haven’t seen you in forever. What brings you over here to the repair shop?”
“I was wondering if you might be able to hook me up with a cart.”
“Are you about to play a round?” Harry asked.
“Not today, but there’s someone I need to see.”
Harry leaned in close, speaking in a hushed tone. “You know I can’t do that, Senator Blunt. I might very well lose my job over such a stunt.”
“If you leave the keys in the ignition, I won’t tell anyone.”
Harry peered over the top of his glasses at Blunt. “That wouldn’t be very responsible.”
“Look, I wouldn’t ask you to do something like this if it wasn’t important,” Blunt said, pleading with his eyes. “I have some urgent business with Senator Wharton. And if I’m not able to talk with him soon, innocent people might lose their lives.”
Harry shook his head. “Every time you ask me for a favor, it’s like the world is teetering on the brink.”
“Have you ever stopped to consider that I’m the one who keeps it all together?”
“I guess not,” Harry said before digging a set of keys out of his back pocket and tossing them to Blunt. “Number thirty-four. It’s my cart,”
“Interesting number.”
“Yeah, the same number that the greatest college football running back of all time wore while playing at the University of Georgia.”
“Ricky Williams?” Blunt said with a wink.
“I’m not sure I’ll even dignify that with a response,” Harry said.
“That’s the best number thirty-four I’ve ever seen run the ball.”
Harry huffed. “But not even the best to come out of Texas. How quickly you’ve forgotten Earl Campbell.”
“But he wore number twenty,” Blunt said.
“I’m beginning to think you want me to take those keys back.”
Blunt smiled and rattled the keys. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
He lumbered toward the cart and then sat down. Inserting the key into the ignition, he turned it and stepped on the gas. Within seconds, Blunt was zipping through the parking lot and headed toward the back nine. By the time he reached the fourteenth hole, he spotted Wharton in his iconic red-and-black plaid pants, red long-sleeve shirt, and grey sleeveless cardigan. He was nearly impossible to miss.
Unless there was a vote on whether or not to send the country to war, Wharton always found time to play a round of golf on Thursday afternoon. If the economy was falling apart, he didn’t care. Playing eighteen holes trumped even his constituents. And if Wharton’s standing tee time wasn’t proof enough of how important golf was to him, his office wall was decorated with candid photos of him with some of the game’s best players over the last four decades.
Blunt slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop along the cart path. Wharton looked up as he had just pushed his tee into the ground and situated a ball on top. He scowled as he studied the sudden interruption to his tee shot.
“J.D. Blunt,” he said with a scowl, “is that you?”
“In the flesh,” Blunt said.
“What on Earth are you doing here?” Wharton asked in his thick Brooklyn accent.
“I’m here to save you from not using enough club,” Blunt said. “You really need to drive that thing and not be afraid of the narrowing fairway.”
Wharton rolled his eyes. “I think somebody needs a cigar to chew on, if anything to keep his big mouth shut.”
Blunt shrugged. “That’s my advice. Take it or leave it.”
Wharton hiked his pants up and excused himself from the rest of his foursome. “What the hell are you doing here? I heard the president’s press conference. He’s supposedly hunting you like a rabid dog, itching at the chance to put you down.”
“I can fill you in on that later. But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to talk about you.”
“Me? Why would you want to do that?”
“America, or more specifically, New York, is about to be brought to her knees,” Blunt said. “And I’m hoping you can help me stop that from happening.”
“Look, J.D., I can do a lot of things, but I’m not a superhero.”
“I’m not asking you to be a superhero. I’m asking you to help me out.”
“You think I’m going to help a fugitive? Get outta here.”
Blunt narrowed his eyes. “You’re going to help me right now, or I’m going to let the
