Osborne decided that sharing Flynn’s photo with Barkdale wouldn’t be the smartest move given his aggressive tone.
“No, we haven’t heard anything.”
“That proves my point — Flynn is just an attention whore. He doesn’t care about what’s best for this country anymore. It’s quite obvious to me what he’s concerned with — and it’s not national security.”
Osborne bit his tongue. He knew Flynn was a true patriot, more so than Barkdale. But if the better part of valor is discretion, Osborne was one incredibly courageous man.
“I’ll keep you posted if we hear any chatter,” Osborne replied.
Barkdale left Osborne’s office, heading down the hall to torture some other poor soul. The man was insufferable and wore his grudge against Flynn on his sleeve like a military decoration. It sickened Osborne — and for the moment, it put the President’s life at risk.
Sandford perused his itinerary for the day. It was full of boring meetings with members of congress trying to use him to get the President’s ear. He hated being used. Maybe I won’t have to be Briggs’ lapdog much longer.
He also looked at the President’s schedule. The two o’clock speech to the U.N.’s general assembly was his only public appearance of the day. Sandford suspected if anything was going to happen to the President, it was going to be then.
Suddenly, his phone buzzed, alerting him to the arrival of a new text message:
How does President Sandford sound?
Sandford immediately deleted the message. He stared out the window and smiled. “President Sandford” sounded great. Maybe he could actually get something done in this godforsaken town. If nobody else there had the guts to do what was best for the country, he did. No constituents to pay back, no donors’ backs to scratch. He could govern the way a president should govern — willfully and confidently. Sandford was going to restore faith in the republic both at home and abroad. And Russia was going to fear the U.S.
With his thoughts drifting toward Russia, he remembered that he needed to check his secret email account. He was anxiously awaiting Osborne’s verification as to the authenticity of the photo he received of Syndey.
Sandford didn’t even need to open the message. The subject line read: It’s real.
Now Sandford hoped more than ever that he would be the President by the end of the day. He paused for a moment. The thought of losing his friend, Arthur Briggs, was not a happy one. Despite their political differences, Sandford still considered the President his friend. But sometimes love for country trumps friendships. For Sandford, this was one of those times.
All he could do was sit and wait — and hope.
CHAPTER 20
Flynn spent the better part of Friday morning returning emails and phone calls regarding his bombshell interview from the night before. The news outlets had scoured all the juicy details from his blog post and were hashing and rehashing the details. Critics decried Flynn as an attention seeker, who was “devoid of depth” in his reporting. Others skewered the FBI for failing to reveal what a normal journalist could find. However, Flynn also had his fans, people who upheld his findings as “spectacular” and “earth shattering.” He noticed that his subscribers to his monthly newsletter highlighting the latest conspiracy had grown by 20,000 over night. Though putting together the pieces to uncover the truth was reward enough, Flynn didn’t mind reading his fan mail either.
Take that CIA. See if you can keep the American people in the dark with me around. If only I could see Barkdale’s face this morning.
Flynn muttered more zingers under his breath, directed at all his detractors. It was one thing to uncover a conspiracy — one that haunted American politics for over fifty years. But more than uncovering conspiracies, Flynn loved to be right, especially when everyone was trying to prove him wrong. Yet deep down, he hoped he was wrong about the threat on the President’s life. Despite his best efforts, Flynn couldn’t shake it.
Natalie!
In the tidal waves of messages, he hadn’t seen anything from Natalie. Surely she had heard about the newscast or seen his blog by now. Flynn imagined it had to be the topic of discussion around the water cooler at the National Archives this morning. Everyone he ever met there while researching the JFK Assassination papers freely shared their theories with him. And they were as varied as a field of snowflakes. It was almost as if each person felt the need to take widely known theories and add his or her own little twist to it. Unfortunately, Flynn ruined that fun sport by uncovering the truth, though he suspected there would still be legions of doubters who imagined the conspirators differently.
Flynn dialed Natalie’s number, hoping to hear from her. Straight to voice mail. He then texted her. Five minutes passed. Nothing. Maybe she’s in a meeting. Flynn didn’t want to create doomsday scenarios in his head just yet, but he started to feel uneasy about her lack of communication — if not for her safety, for the future of their newly kindled relationship.
By lunchtime, Flynn still hadn’t heard from her. He told himself that Natalie was probably busy and she’d call or text him later. Instead of worrying about it, he needed to focus his energy on preparing to cover the President’s speech in a couple of hours.
As Flynn made his way down the street toward the U.N. building, his phone buzzed again. It was Osborne.
“So were you able to convince anyone at the agency that the President’s life is in danger today?” Flynn said, skipping the formalities.
“No, but I’m convinced something is up.”
“How come?”
“Listen, nobody knows about this, but I just got a call from the Vice President. He wanted me to authenticate a proof of life picture of Sydney.”
Flynn didn’t know he could be stunned by such news and remained silent.
“Flynn? You still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. I… I just can’t believe that. I thought she died when those rebels attacked the school she was teaching at.”
“We all did. But this photo is real,” Osborne paused for a moment before continuing. “And she looks as good as ever.”
“So what do you think this all means?”
“I’m not sure, but I wouldn’t be surprised if something was up today.”
“You mean, you think I’m right?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Did you tell Barksdale about this?”
“I told him this morning that I thought you were right and we needed to take the potential threat seriously. He rolled his eyes and blasted you, as usual.”
“That jerk.”
“Yeah, but as much as he hated to admit that you might be right, he at least ordered an extra security sweep this morning.”
“So, what do you want me to do? Anything?”
“I don’t know. If you were going to kill the President in front of the U.N. general assembly, how would you do it?”
“I’d lie in wait. That place is like a fortress. Nobody is sneaking weapons into that place today.”
“Where would you hide?”
“Where no one could find me.”
“Good answer, genius. Got any ideas exactly where that location might be?”
“Not off the top of my head. But once I get there, I’ll scout it out.”
“The Secret Service will be there today in force, so be discreet. You know how they hate getting shown up by civilians.”
“You still think of me as a civilian?”