“And what was that?” Young asked.
“There’s a picture of a flyer they found underneath the floorboard.”
Young flipped through the document until he reached the image. “So what, it’s a flyer about the Fourth of July event. We sent them everywhere.”
“Even San Francisco?”
“Well, I don’t know the extent of the distribution, just that it was widespread.”
Blunt shook his head. “I can answer that for you, sir. You didn’t send any to San Francisco.”
“Maybe they picked it up along their trip?”
“That’s not how an investigation works. We ask questions and follow where it leads us, not try to fit what we learn into a narrative we prefer.”
“But that could be what happened, right?”
Blunt rubbed his face with both hands and sighed before continuing. “I’m going to level with you, sir. Based on what we know right now, if this extravaganza you want to host so badly goes forward, I’m afraid it’ll be more than just the end of your presidency. Hundreds if not thousands of lives could be lost.”
Young bristled at the comment. “It’s your job to make sure that doesn’t happen. And if it does, you failed.”
“That’s not fair, and you know it. Part of thwarting potential threats includes being wise when handling a large crowd environment like the one you’re expecting on the Fourth.”
“J.D., you’ve never let me down before. And I doubt you’re about to start. Just find those people, and we’ll have nothing to worry about.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Blunt said, resigning himself to the fact that Young wasn’t budging.
They exited the room, leaving Blunt to ponder the conversation as he walked back to his car.
Politics over people. Man, I hate what this town does to people.
Blunt sat in his vehicle for a few minutes without going anywhere. He slammed his fist on the steering wheel and called Young a few choice words before contemplating the next move. After weighing the consequences against the potential that the big Fourth party would be canceled, he scrolled through his contacts and selected the number of The New York Times' reporter Camille Youngblood.
Camille had nearly blown the whistle on his secret clandestine outfit before Blunt dissolved it and started afresh under the guise of a security and defense think tank with the Phoenix Foundation. She’d been instrumental in keeping the truth from leaking into the public by feeding her cover stories when a couple operations went south. And while she always held his motives suspect and only published about half the tips he gave her, she couldn’t complain about the way the ones she did report rocketed her career.
After she answered his call, Blunt hadn’t said five words before she cut him off.
"I don't really have time for one of your bullshit stories today, Senator," she said. "So, if you just wanted to chit-chat with me, please do me a favor and hang up."
“There’s something about a reporter who cuts to the chase.”
“It’s called deadlines, sweet cheeks. Now, is there a legit reason why I’m talking to you?”
Blunt sighed. “As a matter of fact, there is. And what I’m about to tell you is going to really irk the president.”
“You mean, I have a chance to get under the administration’s skin with this story?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“Then I’m all ears,” she said. “What’ve you got?”
CHAPTER 16
Washington, D.C.
HAWK STARED AT the television on the wall of the Phoenix Foundation conference room along with Alex and Blunt. The news anchor recounted the details of a bloody massacre in Texas where gunmen jumped out of a stolen truck at a checkpoint and killed eight law enforcement officers with a ninth in critical condition.
“Stolen truck?” Hawk said in disbelief. “Where are these reporters getting this information from?”
“A spokesperson for Nicolo is claiming that their truck was stolen,” Alex said. “They even have a police report to go along with it.”
A grainy picture of the driver taken from a webcam at a weigh station flashed up on the screen.
“This photo is all authorities have to go on at the moment,” the newscaster said. “If you or anyone you know has information about this person, please call the tip line number at the bottom of your screen.”
Blunt grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. “Enough of that. We’ve got some killers to catch.”
“The FBI is involved now,” Alex said. “I doubt they’ll want us meddling in their case.”
“We’re going to leave them alone,” Blunt said. “They can handle the national manhunt. We’re going to take what we already know and catch these terrorists ourselves.”
“Terrorists?” Hawk asked. “Are we sure that’s what these people are?”
Mia walked into the room, carrying several files. “It’s a safe assumption considering what I discovered last night while sifting through some information I found.”
Alex smiled as Mia sat down. “Found? Was it just lying on the ground somewhere?”
Mia chuckled. “Maybe. Or it could’ve been on a server. I’ve been working so hard, it’s all a bit fuzzy to me where I picked this up.”
She doled out the folders. Hawk snagged one and opened it up.
“What are we looking at here?” he asked.
“I met with the president yesterday, and he’s determined to move forward with this big Fourth of July blast despite my warnings to cancel it,” Blunt said.
“Did you expect him to say anything different?” Hawk asked as he looked up from the document. “He’s getting hammered in the polls because of all the near terrorist attacks during his term.”
“But we’ve prevented them all from happening,” Alex said.
“Of course,” Blunt said. “But that’s typical politics for you. The opposing party seizes on an issue and attempts to brainwash the
