“God bless you, and God bless America.”
Members of the media shouted out questions as he walked away. Young’s communications director informed them that there would be no questions, but that didn’t deter the press corps from attempting to get a few answered.
Young never even looked at them as he strode away from the lectern. He glanced at the director, who gave the president the signal to hold his pose. After a few seconds, he exhaled as the red light on the camera in front of him powered off.
“How was it?” Young asked Patricia Langston, his campaign manager.
“I’m not sure I could’ve scripted that any better myself,” she said. “That was simply beautiful, relatable, humanizing, brilliant. If we don’t see a bounce in the polls next week, I’ll be wondering what is wrong with this country.”
Young nodded in agreement, forced a smile, and then gave Olivia a hug. Langston made sure that the pathway was cleared so photographers could capture the moment. While Langston made some suggestions about how he should approach his daughter in public, Young didn’t require any coaching. His emotions were real and raw—and he didn’t want them to appear staged or forced in any manner.
“Let’s go, honey,” he said in a hushed tone. “We’ve got a party to get ready for tonight.”
* * *
BLUNT RECLINED IN HIS chair as he watched the press conference unfold on live television. He shook his head as the pundits in the network studio began pummeling the president for his comments. However, he sat up and lunged for the remote when video of Evana Bahar appeared on the screen next to b-roll footage of Young.
An anchor gazed sternly at the camera as he read a report. “While the president declared victory in this situation, avowed terrorist Evana Bahar suggested on social media earlier this morning that Americans are still under a severe threat and that the president is lying to them.”
The screen flickered as Evana appeared in the center, laughing over Young’s speech.
"Evana Bahar apparently live-streamed the press conference, adding her personal commentary as the president spoke just moments ago," the anchor said. "But this is the clip you'll want to see."
The next image on the television was of Evana guffawing as Young said, "And I look forward to seeing as many of you there tomorrow night as possible."
“Yes,” she said. “And I can’t wait to see you there.”
Blunt grunted as he turned off the television. He’d seen enough.
Your fifteen minutes are about to be up.
CHAPTER 29
July 3, 7:00 p.m.
HAWK AND BLUNT ENGAGED in a short debate over whether bourbon or whiskey was better, while waiting for the rest of the team to join them. While Hawk recognized they were both avoiding talking about the threat that still hung over the president's ill-advised Fourth of July bash, a break was required. The mental energy expended over discussing leads without apprehending Evana Bahar had started to take a toll on the Phoenix Foundation team.
Alex strode into the room and furrowed her brow. Both men stopped and looked at her.
"Are you still arguing about bourbon and whiskey?" she asked.
Neither man said anything.
“Of course you are,” she continued. “And you’re both wrong. It’s tequila for the win.”
Blunt squinted as he shot a glance at Hawk. “How does she know?”
“She’s the mind reader in our relationship,” Hawk said, “though I’m often expected to read hers.”
Blunt chuckled as he sat down at the head of the table. “There are some things I don’t miss about being married.”
Alex shook her head and smiled. “I can read Hawk’s mind right now, sir, and I can promise you that he isn’t agreeing with you.”
Hawk nodded, not only because he’d pay a steep price if he didn’t, but because she was right. Even though he hadn’t been married to Alex that long, he suddenly couldn’t imagine life without her at his side.
“You can pause this liquor debate because Mia has some good news for you,” Alex said, nodding at Mia as she entered the room.
"That's right," she said while taking a seat to the left of Blunt. "I've been poring over the code from her live stream yesterday, and I was able to identify its origination point in a warehouse downtown."
“Who’s the owner?” Hawk asked.
“I’m not sure, but according to city records, the business shuttered a month ago,” Mia said. “However, the lease runs through the end of the year.”
“Smart,” Blunt said.
“But not smart enough to leave a noticeable trail of breadcrumbs to find where you’re streaming from,” Hawk said.
Mia nodded in agreement as she slid a piece of paper across to Hawk. “That’s the address right there.”
Hawk turned to Blunt. “Want me to get a team together and go check this out?”
“Of course,” Blunt said. “The president is so stubborn about this event and insists on having it, ignoring all the advice he’s been receiving.”
“That hasn’t changed from day one,” Hawk said.
“I know, and it’s going to get him in trouble. Take Black with you and go check it out. I don’t want anyone else catching wind of this and making Young look even worse in the eyes of his detractors, so let’s keep the circle of information tight on this one. Now, if you need anyone else, grab someone from his team. Otherwise, be careful, and I’ll anxiously await to hear what you find.”
Blunt turned to Mia. “The only question I have is this: Could this possibly be a trap?”
Mia sucked in a long breath through her teeth. "It's not out of the realm of possibility, but it more likely looks like someone was a wee bit careless. Or her tech person was bowing to the pressure of getting Evana online in a matter of minutes and didn't have time to double-check everything."
“Which one do you think it is?” Blunt asked.
“I
