The Warren Omissions (21 page)

General Timothy Hill of the U.S. Air Force refused to acquiesce to Sandford’s demands.

“I’m sorry, President Sandford, but we can’t skirt protocol. Our intelligence has not shown an imminent threat coming out of Russia, despite what reports you may have read. Is it possible the Russians could fire missiles at us? Yes. Is it likely based on the activity we’re seeing around known Russian military sites? No.”

Sandford grew more incensed by the moment.

“Get your head out of the sand, General. I looked at satellite photos last week that showed covert Russian bases preparing to launch missiles toward the U.S. They are building silos all along Siberia at a rapid rate.”

“I might have my head in the sand, but launching missiles at Russia isn’t as simple as getting a few launch codes,” Gen. Hill replied. Then he got snippy. “With all due respect, sir, perhaps you’ve watched too many Tom Clancy movies.”

If Sandford had been a missile, he would’ve detonated and destroyed half of Washington. He ran off a string of expletives that effectively ended any cordial conversation. When Sandford finished, Hill said nothing.

“When I call back tomorrow, you better have those launch codes for me,” Sandford demanded.

“If you call back tomorrow, sir, maybe we can schedule a meeting with some of the other officers here at the Strategic Command. Your demands aren’t unreasonable if you can divulge some intelligence that we haven’t seen. But for now, we’re going to stick with the protocol.”

Sandford slammed the phone down. It had been a tumultuous Saturday afternoon that now spilled late into Saturday night.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
 
I’m the President! People are supposed to do what I say!

Instead, Sandford found that he wasn’t surrounded by
 
yes
 
men and women. Maybe they were when President Briggs sat in the chair, but not now. Allegiances ran deep to the man who appointed them to their positions. Briggs wasn’t for inciting a war—and neither were they.

Sandford had to figure out a way to change things in his favor.

He picked up the phone and called one of his advisors.

“Jim, who do we know over at Strategic Command? We need to see about relieving a certain General Hill of his duties.”

CHAPTER 48

FLYNN SCRAMBLED UP A STEEP HILL, seeking cover from the soldiers stalking him in the rugged terrain of the Urals. His fingers grew numb from the bold cold air—and he’d only been there less than thirty minutes.

Finding refuge in a cave partially blocked by two large boulders, Flynn found the perfect location to put his long-range sniper skills to use. He quickly set up his rifle’s tripod before putting on his night vision goggles. In his first survey of the valley below, he picked up four soldiers heading toward him. It was easy to detect even the mildest heat from the thick cold that blanketed the area.

They stopped shooting in his direction, but they were still coming. Flynn did what he was trained to do—eliminate the targets. One by one, he fired long-range shots at the oncoming soldiers, dropping them without as much as a yelp.

After the four victims disappeared into the valley brush, Flynn waited, scanning the area for more enemy fire. At least three miles away, large flames from the CIA’s downed QSST jet leapt skyward. A patrol helicopter roared overhead, shining spotlights down into the valley. It hovered in an area for a few moments before moving on. Flynn held his breath, hoping the search party wouldn’t see the soldiers he’d picked off. They didn’t. In a matter of minutes, the helicopter vanished over the closest ridge.

Flynn waited for a few more minutes. Silence. He then fished his phone out of pocket to call Osborne.

“You still alive?” Osborne asked as he answered Flynn’s call.

“Barely,” Flynn said.

“Did you get shot?”

“No. I’m fine.”

“Thank goodness. Are you still up for the mission?”

“Yeah, but so much for a stealthy entry and the element of surprise.”

“Oh, you still have all of those when it comes to the Kuklovod. You’ve just got two groups who will be trying to kill you now—the Kuklovod
 
and
 
the Russian government.”

“Are you
 
trying
 
to get me killed?”

“No, of course not. I’m trying to get you to stop a war.”

“Well, I almost single-handedly started one tonight.”

“Look, just stick with the plan and you’ll be fine.”

“Roger that. I’ll check back once I’m all set up.”

Flynn ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. Nothing was going as he envisioned it. But it never really did.

He surveyed the valley one more time, confirming it was clear. After jamming his gear into his pack, Flynn shoved his pistol into the back of his pants.

As Flynn rose to get up, he slumped back to the ground, thanks to a swift knee in his back. He rolled over only to find a gun pointed at his head. His own gun was removed and cast aside as he heard the metal clank against rocks several few away.

“Don’t move, cowboy,” came the husky voice from the person brooding over him. It was the voice of a woman.

Flynn froze, raising his hands in surrender. He squinted to get a better look at her face but couldn’t make out much under the moonless sky.

“Who are you and what do you want?” he asked, slowly sitting up.

“No, no, no. I ask the questions and you do the answering. So—who are you and what are you doing here?”

Flynn tempered his response. “I’m an American here on a hunting expedition in the Urals.”

The woman laughed. “Really? I didn’t know American hunters came here to shoot Russians. This must be a new thing I haven’t heard of before.”

That laugh. It sounded so familiar to Flynn, like he knew to whom it belonged.

“Lexie? Is that you?” he finally asked.

“James? James Flynn?”

Once the two realized they weren’t combatants but friends, the tone of the conversation changed. The woman lowered her weapon.

Lexie Martin once ran missions with Flynn when they were both in the CIA, but Lexie left the agency a year before he did. Tired of the agency’s grind, she took a job with a private security firm that guarded tech secrets for global companies. When a company suspected corporate espionage might be happening, Lexie uncovered the mole while guarding whatever secrets remained. She loved the new job so much that she tried to coerce Flynn to join her. He refused but stayed in touch, running in to her on occasion over the next year while on various missions.

Flynn struggled to say no to her. She had long dark hair, sultry lips, and piercing blue eyes. Beautiful enough to earn a second look but not so much as to attract the wrong kind of attention.

The two exchanged an awkward handshake that morphed into an even more awkward hug. Flynn wasn’t sure he was initiating or if she was. Nevertheless, it served as an even stranger beginning to their subsequent conversation, despite the fact that Lexie almost killed him.

“I thought you left the agency?” Lexie asked.

“I didn’t really leave—it left me,” Flynn said.

“So, what are you doing here?”

“It’s classified.”

“It’s classified? How can it be classified when you’re not even with the agency anymore?”

“Trust me, it is.”

“Well, how about I declassify it for you since I know why you’re here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I know what you’re up to. I’m guessing Osborne has you on some off-the-books mission to single-handedly take out the Kuklovod’s command center since it took the CIA long enough to figure out where it was.”

Flynn strained to see her piercing blue eyes but couldn’t make them out in the thick darkness still awaiting dawn’s first ray of light.

“How do
 
you
 
know about the Kuklovod? I never even heard about them until a few weeks ago.”

“Yeah, well, they’ve been around a while—but I didn’t learn about them until I had a client ask me to track down the bastards who stole a shipment of their long-range missiles. Turns out, it was the Kuklovod.”

“Wait a minute. I thought you worked for a private security firm.”

“I did. But I’ve moved on. I was getting bored.”

“So you’re working for some arms dealer now?”

“Kind of. More like an arms broker.”

“Is that what you’re doing here? Trying to get your weapons back?”

“Yes, I am. And maybe I’ll get you to help me do it.”

“I can’t do that, Lexie. I’ve got orders.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time you went off script. Now grab your stuff. We’ve got to hike out of here before daybreak.”

CHAPTER 49

GERALD SANDFORD BARELY SLEPT more than thirty minutes at a time. His mind raced with the endless possibilities of what might happen in the coming days—both to his country and to his family. Fear turned to anger turned to disgust. It was a cycle that ran on repeat in his mind until the first light of day struck his bedroom window.

He crept out of bed so as to not wake his wife and went to brew himself a pot of coffee. With the way things had been going, he considered spiking it with vodka. Sunday usually meant peace and quiet, but he suspected he wouldn’t sniff either of those two ideals today—or maybe for quite some time.

His coffee pot sputtered, spitting out the last remaining drops of its brew before signaling its completion with a steamy hiss. Sandford poured a cup and sat down to clear his head for just a moment. Then his phone buzzed.

“What’s taking you so long?” asked the man on the other end. “I thought we had an agreement.”

Caught off guard, Sandford stammered through his answer. “I—I am working on it. It’s complicated.”

“Well, our guy made it a lot less complicated for you by making you President. Now it’s time for you to uphold your end of the bargain … that is, if you ever want to see your daughter alive again.”

Sandford grew enraged.

“Now you listen here. If you as much as touch a hair on her head—”

“What? You’re gonna do what? Come and get me? Promise death and destruction to my entire family?” The man laughed. “You’re so pathetic. No, you are going to listen to me. If I don’t see missiles in the air within the next twenty-four hours, I’m going to take care of things my way. And I can promise you that you won’t like how I take care of things. Do
 
you
 
understand
 
me
 
?”

Sandford nodded, too scared to speak.

“I know you’re nodding, but I need to hear you say it.”

Sandford mumbled a yes before jumping up from his chair and looking around the room. He headed straight for the window with the clearest vantage point into his house and searched for someone who might be watching him. Nothing. The street was quiet and vacant. His eyes shifted back and forth again as he contemplated how his every movement might be visible to someone he believed to be thousands of miles away.

“I’m glad we’re clear. So, missiles in the air within twenty-four hours or else Sydney dies.”

The line went dead.

Sandford fell into his chair and tried to hold his coffee. He couldn’t. His unsteady hands led to a hot stream of coffee boring through his bathrobe and into his skin. He set the mug down and buried his head in his hands—and wept. It was bad enough to lose Sydney once. Now he was going to lose her all over again unless he found a way to launch those missiles and start another war.

He promised himself he would find a way.

CHAPTER 50

TODD OSBORNE LOATHED THE TERM “going dark.” He preferred “flying blind” because that’s what his agents were doing. In the meantime, Osborne was left in the dark, wondering what was happening, wondering if he’d ever see a particular “agent” alive again. It proved to be a legitimate fear on more occasions than he cared to recall. He hoped Flynn was up to the task—and that he hadn’t gone dark just yet.

Osborne’s last communication with Flynn came hours ago when he learned the QSST had been shot down by the Russians and that his asset on the ground was located by a team of soldiers, probably Russian military—though he couldn’t be sure. Every rebel faction acted like they owned the country, even if it was just a sliver of land in the godforsaken Ural Mountains. But if air support was involved, it was likely the Russian government. He just hoped all his precautions to keep the plane from being traced back to the U.S. worked.

Domestically, Osborne felt like he was juggling chainsaws as he tried to keep Sandford from blasting off a few missiles at Russia. The rumors of dissention among President Briggs’ cabinet had begun circulating among intelligence circles in Washington. It was only a matter of time before something drastic and bad happened. If Sandford let things get too personal, it was going to be a mess.

Osborne’s phone buzzed.
 
Speak of the devil.
 
It was Sandford.

“Hello, Mr. President. What can I do for you?”