The Warren Omissions (17 page)

“It’ll be all right,” he said. “They got what was coming to them.”

“What if they could’ve helped you and given you more information about what they were up to?” she asked.

“They already did.”

He offered Natalie his hand to help her up. She reached for it and was instantly pulled to her feet.

There was still no sign of Ivan.

Flynn spent the next fifteen minutes taking pictures and videos of the building from one of the dead guard’s phones. It would be valuable for law enforcement to determine the organization’s next move—assuming Flynn didn’t figure it out first.

CHAPTER 36

SANDFORD WALKED INTO THE CABINET MEETING and closed the doors behind him. He had been in debates that were less contentious than the one going on in the room he now presided over. Despite his best efforts to ignore the buzz of staffers in the hall, Sandford understood the situation, ruled by chaos and confusion. Some staffers quietly whispered how Sandford could take over the White House like he did. Others wondered aloud who was behind the assassination attempt, questioning if it was an inside job. All the while, television and radio reports being monitored depicted nothing short of anarchy outside the Capitol steps. Protesters had already taken to the streets, demanding the U.S. strike whoever did this to their Commander-in-Chief. While no group had claimed responsibility, based on the signs toted by angry citizens, the instigators ranged from Middle Eastern terrorist organizations to Syria, Iran, China and Russia. It was clear nobody understood the situation at hand. And neither did Sandford.

He poured himself a glass of water before assuming the chair previously occupied by President Briggs. Sinking into the leather chair, Sandford felt good. Whatever was going on was his problem now—and he was going to fix it. But he first needed to create solidarity with Briggs’ cabinet members.

“I want to thank you all for your work during these extenuating circumstances,” Sandford began. “It’s never easy to thrive under duress, but that’s what we’re under right now. I trust you’re all aware of the current situation.”

That was the last moment Sandford felt any sense of control in the meeting, for the next five minutes resembled an unmoderated
 
Crossfire
 
debate more than a room full of experts serving at the pleasure of the President. Fingers pointed, wagged and even formed crass gestures. Accusations flew around the room. Words like “coup” and “anarchy” and “unpatriotic” filled the air. This was no cabinet meeting aimed at gaining control of the situation—this was a hive of political partisanship where the worker bees were eating their own.
 
If I can’t control the cabinet, how am I going to control this country?

Sandford stood up and slammed his palms on the desk.

“Enough!” he screamed. The room immediately fell silent.
 
At least they respect anger.

“The President asked you to serve on this cabinet, but nobody here seems to be able to do that. I suggest if you want to maintain your position here, you need to stop with these shenanigans and do what you’re supposed to do: give me advice on how to proceed. Otherwise, I’ll replace you with someone who will.”

Sandford’s control grab worked, creating a more cooperative environment. But it didn’t take long before the meeting grew tenser.

“Our final item is to talk about what’s going on in Russia,” Sandford said. “I’ve read reports from Homeland Security that not only are the Russians building more missile silos in Siberia but they’re also pointing some at us right now. I think we need to show them that we won’t be intimidated.”

Sandford’s suggestion was met by some resistance, as the doves in the room pleaded against using any force, much less showing some. The hawks created an echo chamber for Sandford’s idea, urging him to do what President Briggs lacked the fortitude to do. The ensuing debate caused an uproar that rivaled the early minutes of the meeting.

This time, Sandford pounded his fist on the table, quieting the room once again.

“Thank you for your input,” he said. “I’ve made my decision. We’re going to show Russia that we mean business.”

With that, he thanked everyone for attending the meeting before dismissing them.

It’s time somebody with some real guts led this country.

Sandford wished he didn’t need the near death of the President to gain access to his power. But such were the casualties of war. This was war, too. Sandford couldn’t be convinced otherwise. Russia had been needling the U.S. for far too long and shirking any attempt at diplomatic relations. On the international stage, Russian president Ruslan Petrov made Briggs look like a fool.
 
Not me. They’re going to wish they never picked a fight they couldn’t win.

Sandford was going to launch missiles at Russia. They were going to pay for whatever they did to his daughter.

***

DIANE DIXON EXITED THE ROOM, seething at what just happened. The Secretary of Education was not about to let President Briggs’ decision to err on the side of diplomacy take a backseat to the hawkish Vice President.

She dialed a number on her cell phone as she retreated into a private office down the hall.

“We need to talk,” Dixon said.

“What’s going on?” the woman on the other end of the line said.

“Briggs is about to start a war with the Russians—and you’re the only person who can stop it.”

CHAPTER 36

FLYNN AND NATALIE made their way to the subway and headed toward Grand Central to take a train back to Washington. Unwilling to risk being apprehended, Flynn decided railway was the easiest and quickest way to escape the city. After all, he had immobilized a federal agent—and that wouldn’t be looked upon too kindly, even if it did garner results.

“What’s going to happen now?” Natalie asked as they stepped inside their private car on a train headed toward the nation’s capital.

“You are going to find some place where the Kuklovod can’t find you—I don’t know—a long lost friend or a distant relative. I don’t care who, but someone who isn’t going to be easy to trace back to you. Understand?”

Natalie nodded. She stared out the window. The blank look on her face told Flynn the trauma of the past few days disturbed her, to say the least.
 
This isn’t exactly the way to impress a woman. She’s probably wondering if it will be like this forever.

She wasn’t the only one wondering that. Flynn tried to imagine any scenario where the Kuklovod would give up on him and just let him live his life. They had before—but that was only because he hadn’t uncovered their plot to incite a war between the U.S. and Russia. Now, Flynn proved to be an even bigger liability. They couldn’t just let him go get on television and broadcast such plans to the public now that he had more detailed firsthand knowledge. They would make every effort to silence him, if not for his intelligence, for murdering three of their operatives—though Flynn wondered if they were simply freelancers. Either way, he wasn’t safe. And neither was Natalie.

I’ve got to talk to Osborne.

He dialed Osborne’s number on the burner phone he purchased in the train station while waiting to board.

“Osborne.”

“Osborne, it’s Flynn.”

Osborne’s voice turned to a whisper. “Are you OK, man? Where are you?”

“We’re heading back to D.C.,” Flynn said.

“We? Who’s with you?”

“Natalie. They took her hostage as leverage.”

“Natalie? The gal from the archives?”

“Yeah, that’s her.” Flynn looked at Natalie and smiled. She didn’t look at him, continuing to gaze out the window in a stupor.

“Are you guys dating?”

“Look, I don’t want to talk about that right now. We’ve got more important things to discuss.”

“You’re telling me. Barksdale listed you as the prime suspect before I proved that you were trying to stop the assassin. Of course I knew he would be with you, but I couldn’t risk some trigger-happy blockhead wanting to squeeze a round off into you because he wanted Seal Team Six fame.”

“Thanks. But the assassin is still on the loose. I left a mess for you to clean up at a warehouse a few miles from the U.N. building.”

“Who’s the assassin?”

“Ivan. This was a Kuklovod hit.”

“What else do you know?”

“I know they’re trying to start a war between us and Russia.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know. They don’t need to help that process.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Gerald Sandford is now the acting President and he’s ready to fire the first shot, if my sources are right.”

Flynn then asked Osborne if he could help hide Natalie at a CIA safe house until this whole thing settled down. They set up a time to meet and go over any other information Flynn learned.

“There’s something else you need to know, Flynn.”

“What’s that?”

“I can’t talk about it now, but I need to know something.”

“Oh?”

“Are you still up for a mission?”

CHAPTER 37

IVAN SEETHED AS HE WATCHED the news from his hotel room. Three Russian terrorists were found dead in a warehouse several miles from the U.N. According to the report, law enforcement officials hadn’t yet identified if they were involved in the assassination attempt on the President, but early indications showed this was likely the case.

He flipped through the television channels. He wanted a shred of good news, something that let him know his mission wasn’t a waste. Though he was in critical condition, the President was still alive. His men had let his hostages escape. And no news agency reported any sign of impending war. Maybe there was still hope that something would go right.

After thirty minutes of sitting and waiting, Ivan fumed even more. James Flynn was still out there, that rock in his shoe. More like a gash on his wrist. If this plan failed to incite a war, Ivan knew it would be because of Flynn’s meddling. With no other directive at the moment, he needed a diversion.
 
Time to make Flynn pay.
 
He picked up his phone and began dialing some numbers.
 
Time to get serious.

CHAPTER 38

BY THE TIME FLYNN MET with Osborne on Saturday afternoon in Washington, the President’s death had been erroneously reported via Twitter by three different reporters. Every newsperson worth his weight in salt wanted to be credited as the journalist who broke the news first. This race to be first trumped the race to be right, leaving the general public weary of their ridiculous games. Flynn had fallen for news of Brad Pitt’s death, Jay Leno’s campaign donations to the Republican party, and Miley Cyrus’s decision to quit making music—the first sad, the second shocking, and the third wishful thinking. And all of it on Twitter, not a word of it true.
 
Where’s my cynicism when I need it most?

With plenty of rumors swirling around the Beltway over who was really running the show at the White House and who was at whose throat, only one thing seemed clear: A leadership vacuum existed. Not that this came as any surprise to Flynn—or any other American. The country had been floundering in the eyes of the international community due to its constant meddling in foreign affairs and inability to stabilize the global financial sector. Now a new drummer was thrumming for a war.

“Thanks for coming down here,” Osborne said to Flynn as he shut the door to his office.

“Well, I’m curious as to what you might have in mind,” Flynn said.

“Without being overly dramatic, I need you. This country needs you. The world needs you.”

Flynn chuckled. “Do I look like Jesus Christ to you?”

“Save your sarcasm for later. I’m serious. There’s some big stuff about to go down—and I need you to do something about it.”

Flynn drummed his fingers on the desk before leaning forward to speak.

“What could I possibly do to stop this madness?”

“If you execute an off-the-books mission, the answer is
 
everything
 
.”

“And what if I happen to fail?”

Osborne let Flynn’s question hang in the air before answering. “I think you know.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“No, but you’re the best option I’ve got.”

“You seriously don’t have any other operatives who can do this mission to
 
save the world
 
?” Flynn asked.

“Sure, I do. But none of them could pull it off. It’d be a death sentence. You on the other hand —”

“So, I’ve been gone from the agency for several years and you still think I’m your best option?”

“Yes.”

“Playing to my ego won’t work.”

“If only I was simply playing to your ego. But I’m being honest. I need you like never before.”

Flynn buried his head in his hands then tugged at fistfuls of his hair. He let out a low growl.

“If it works out, I know it’d make a heck of a book—though you wouldn’t be allowed to actually write it,” Osborne said.

Flynn looked up and glared at Osborne.

“OK, OK, I’m sorry—just a little humor. But I’m serious when I say I need you.”