They bumped along for a half-hour until Hawk noticed a dirt road that disappeared up over a hill.
"If you were going to ditch a tractor-trailer, where would you put it?" Hawk asked.
“Somewhere nobody would see it,” she said.
"Exactly. And so far, the roads around here meander into these vast plains that would have a difficult time concealing a semi. And there aren't many trees either. But that road back there goes over a hill."
“Let’s check it out.”
The car rattled as they drove over the washboard dirt road.
Alex shot a side glance at Hawk. “Gotta love Texas.”
“West Texas," he corrected. "And no, you don't. It's a different world than the part of Texas where I grew up. The cows outnumber the people out here."
“And that’s a bad thing?”
Hawk shook his head. “Not if you like to eat beef. But you just better hope the cows don’t smarten up one day and figure out what’s really going on.”
As they crested the hill, Hawk spotted a cluster of trees near a watering hole in the small valley below.
“There,” he said, pointing at it. “What’s that?”
“Just a few trees.”
“But what’s that behind there? A barn?”
Alex pulled out a pair of binoculars. “If it is, it’s a strange coincidence.”
“Yeah?”
“Just so happens to be painted the same blue as the Nicolo truck.”
“Nobody paints their barn blue in Texas.”
Hawk cut the engine and let gravity do the rest. If the gunmen were still around, he at least wanted the element of surprise on his side. When the car came to a stop about fifty meters away from the semi, he and Alex eased outside, approaching it with their weapons drawn.
As they drew nearer, the back doors were flung wide open. They crept closer and realized the bullet-riddled vehicle was abandoned. Hawk and Alex climbed inside to inspect it and found nothing. Hawk ventured into the cab and didn’t find a trace of anything, not even the registration information.
“Someone cleaned this place out in a hurry,” Hawk said.
Alex moved the passenger side seat forward and snatched out a loose piece of paper.
“Not everything,” Alex said as she held up her find.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Why don’t you read it for yourself,” she said, handing it to him.
Hawk scanned the paper. “It’s a leaflet about a protest march on the Fourth of July in Washington.”
“We’ve got a big problem now,” she said.
“Yeah, and we have no leads on how to find those deranged lunatics before they get to Washington.”
“At least we know where they’re going.”
Hawk sighed as he scanned the area. “I don’t find that comforting at all. In fact, I find it downright terrifying.”
CHAPTER 15
Washington, D.C.
BLUNT HUSTLED THROUGH a back corridor for a quick off-the-books meeting with President Young. By now, the Phoenix Foundation director was comfortable with the clandestine protocol that accompanied their impromptu meetings. Blunt had worked in intelligence long enough to know that when you didn’t want something you said in Washington to leak out, you didn’t talk about it over the phone—even with the president.
After a few minutes of waiting, Young finally appeared in the doorway, his face flush.
“Did you sprint here?” Blunt asked.
Young used his pocket square to dab the sweat beading on his forehead. “I’m not sure anyone would consider it sprinting, but a light jog? Some might call it that.”
Blunt studied the president as he laughed softly to himself. “You’re in a good mood today.”
Young sat down across from Blunt. “It’s a great day to be an American, J.D. The stocks are up, consumer confidence is high, and people are talking about how much pride they have in this country again.”
“Then someone must be shielding you from the latest poll results.”
“Latest polls? You mean the ones that have me ahead of the party conventions?”
Blunt shook his head and then handed Young a copy of The Washington Post, fingering a story on the front page.
“‘New Poll: Majority of Americans still fearful of another domestic terror attack’,” Young read aloud.
He folded the paper and tossed it to Blunt. “You know what they say about the newspaper, right? Don’t believe everything you read.”
"Surely, you can't ignore that," Blunt said as he leaned closer to Young. "If people are feeling fearful, you need to reassure them that everything is fine and guarantee that there won't be any more attacks under your watch."
“I’m not about to make that promise just before the election. Radcliffe’s likely to stage one just to make me look bad. I won’t do it, even if I believe it. The political risk is just too high.”
Blunt went in for the kill. “Then cancel the Fourth of July extravaganza.”
“We’ve been over this,” Young said. “If anything, this event needs to go off without a hitch for the sake of the country. We need to heal as a nation, putting aside our differences for one night and coming together to celebrate what makes us great.”
“And what does make this country great?”
Young scowled at Blunt before drawing back. “You of all people ought to know the answer to that question. I don’t even know why you’re asking it.”
“Sometimes I like to hear people try to explain a statement like that.”
“Look, if I wanted to hire you as my campaign manager, I would’ve done it. Now, what is it you needed to meet with me so urgently about?”
Blunt rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes. “You’ve got some real problems headed your way, literally.”
“What do you mean?”
Blunt handed Young a folder detailing the incident in Texas. “Here’s a brief, but I’ll give you the rundown. We’ve been investigating a tip about a Greek import-export company, Nicolo Logistics, receiving a cache of weapons in Bolivia. The trail ended up in San Francisco, and we
