A staffer shoved a piece of paper into his hand. It was a security brief regarding the missile silos being erected in Siberia. According to satellite photos, it appeared that five silos were already operational. Intelligence reports suspected another five would be operational by week’s end. It was enough to help Sandford remember why he never said anything. If Russia wanted to bang the drums of war, the U.S. better disrupt the beat. Briggs or no Briggs, the country needs me right now. And they need me more than ever.
CHAPTER 25
Ivan glared down at Flynn. He was sure his shot accomplished the job, but he didn’t appreciate Flynn’s brazen attempt to distract him. By the time Flynn reached him, where he was wedged between a structural beam and the wall, the bullet had long left the chamber headed for President Briggs. Ivan quickly grabbed the barrel of his rifle and used it as a battering ram against Flynn’s head.
With Flynn moaning on the ground, Ivan scuttled Flynn’s pistol a safe distance away from him.
“Get up,” Ivan barked. “We’ve got to move now — unless you want me to leave you here with the weapon, after I wipe it down.”
Flynn staggered to his feet, moving groggily.
“Here, put this on,” Ivan said, tossing an FBI windbreaker in his direction. “Put this hat on, too. God, I love American merchandise.”
Once Flynn regained his composure and put on the FBI disguise, Ivan would’ve sworn he was a real agent.
Ivan, still wearing his catering uniform, led them through a ventilation shaft that allowed them to slip down to the third floor. With the chaos emptying the building, nobody even noticed them merge into the crowd and make their way out to the street.
Once outside, Ivan felt Flynn resist his firm grasp as if he might try to make a dash to escape. Ivan tightened his grip and pulled Flynn’s ear closer to his mouth so he could hear him.
“If you want to see your girlfriend alive again, you won’t do anything stupid. Understand?”
Flynn nodded and relaxed, continuing to follow Ivan’s lead through the mass hysteria.
After another hundred yards, they arrived at the curb, where a dummy news van awaited with its doors wide open. Ivan’s cousin, Andrei, was driving.
“Hurry up and get in,” Andrei said. “We need to get moving before they quarantine the area.”
Ivan shoved Flynn to the back of the van where another operative zip tied his hands and feet.
“You’re not going anywhere for a while unless you know some magic tricks,” he said as he yanked on the tie to make sure Flynn had no chance at escape.
Ivan slapped the inside of the van wall twice and off they went.
He then edged next to Flynn and whispered in his ear.
“That was a stupid thing you did back there,” he said. “You almost made me miss. Fortunately for you — and your girlfriend — I’m not easily rattled. You just better hope your President died from that shot. If he didn’t, I’m holding you personally responsible. You might have to die in his place.”
Ivan watched Flynn’s hand shake.
“You nervous?” Ivan said, gesturing toward Flynn’s hands.
Flynn shook his head.
“Well, you should be. My boss says if you prove to be useful, you can live. Once you start being unuseful—”
Ivan made a throat slashing motion with his thumb.
It only made Flynn tremble more.
“Don’t worry. You’ll get to see your girlfriend in a few minutes. Maybe she can kiss your forehead and make it feel all better.”
Ivan laughed out loud before slamming his elbow against Flynn’s forehead and banging him into the side of the van. The vicious hit knocked Flynn out again.
Staring at the reporter, Ivan almost felt sorry for him. If you would’ve just stuck with the story I gave you, you wouldn’t be in this mess.
Ivan leaned against the van wall and reflected on the events of the previous hour. His back still ached, but his heart felt good. He had been training his whole life for something like this, hoping that he could be part of influencing change in the world. Good change.
He glanced at Flynn, who started to edge back into consciousness. Ivan bashed his head against the van wall one more time, putting him out again. When he wakes up, he’ll have no idea where he is. He then took Flynn’s phone, turned it off, and tossed it out the window.
Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at a warehouse used as a staging area for all of the Kuklovod’s operations. Ivan grabbed Flynn by the back of his jacket and led him to the door. He proudly showed his catch to the three other men, who offered a light-hearted applause as they congratulated him on a successful operation.
“Is he dead yet?” Ivan asked to no one in particular.
“Who?” one of the men asked.
“The President, you idiot. Who else do you think I’m talking about?”
“Not yet, but from the sound of it, he won’t be alive much longer. That was one heck of a shot, Ivan.”
Ivan beamed with pride as he shoved Flynn toward one of the men.
“Lock him up with the girl,” he said. “They may still be of some use to us yet.”
One of the guards slammed Flynn’s head against the wall, knocking him out cold again. He dragged Flynn’s body across the floor before sliding him into the room with Natalie and locking the door.
Ivan then sat down in front of the small television set placed on an empty desk near one of the barren walls. It wasn’t often that he got to watch his target die on national television. He grabbed a bottle of vodka out of the bottom drawer and took a long pull on it. It was almost time to celebrate.
CHAPTER 26
Osborne stormed down the hall toward the conference room. The stack of operational papers in his hand meant little to him now. If Barksdale’s ego wasn’t so big, we wouldn’t be in this mess right now. He entered the room and sat down in the closest empty seat, slamming his papers down in front of him. The agents already present buzzed about how the Secret Service let such a thing happen. It only made Osborne angrier. This was our nightmare to stop and we did nothing.
Osborne seethed, unwilling to engage in any speculation with the others as to the whereabouts of the shooter or the chance of survival for the President. He joined the agency to serve his country, to protect the ones he loved. Yet an incident like this made Osborne question his competency, as well as that of the entire agency. He wondered how directors and agents let their egos mitigate their ability to make wise snap decisions. Perhaps he was making more of the situation than he should have, extrapolating an isolated incident with one bull-headed director across the entirety of the CIA. Nevertheless, the happenings in the past hour gnawed at him.
Instead of casting blame, Osborne realized that he needed to focus on the task at hand: locating and capturing the shooter.
When Barksdale breezed into the briefing, nobody was ready for what he was about to say.
“Quiet everybody!” Barksdale hissed.
He glared at each person around the table, spending more time looking at Osborne more than any other person. It made Osborne uneasy.
“We have our first lead — and we are working with other law enforcement branches to find who we believe is our shooter,” Barksdale said, gesturing toward the screen. “This is who we think shot President Briggs.”
Osborne’s jaw dropped, leaving him staring at the screen in disbelief.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Osborne blurted out.