“He wasn’t working with them. They were trying to prevent him from talking about the group publicly.”
“You have a fanciful imagination, Mr. Osborne. Where did you get this picture anyway?”
“Flynn sent it to me several days ago.”
“What for?”
“He thought some group was trying to keep him from finding out the truth behind the JFK assassination. He sent it to me so I could help identify the guy.”
“And you gave out classified information to James Flynn?”
“I thought he might want to know who he was dealing with. And I warned him to stand down.”
“A lot of good that did!”
“Look, I know —”
“I’m done with you. I need all hands on deck now, but when this search is over with, you’re suspended. And if I find out you spent one more minute after this conversation trying to prove Flynn’s innocence, I’m going to make sure you never sniff another government job the rest of your life. Do you understand me?”
Osborne nodded and walked away. He felt more defeated than when he began.
But it didn’t take long for that to change.
Osborne heard one of the analysts shout gleefully about some footage she found. She transferred it to the main monitor so everyone could see. It was a security camera that showed Flynn being led away by a man holding a gun closely to Flynn’s back.
“We need to be looking for that guy,” the analyst said, pointing at Ivan.
Barksdale jumped in. “OK, people. It looks like we have a hostage situation here and we need to let all other law enforcement know about it. And get me an ID on that shooter.”
Osborne glared at Barksdale. “I think we already know who he is.”
Barksdale didn’t even acknowledge Osborne’s find. “Everybody, we’re looking for Ivan the Terrible, a Kuklovod operative. He’s trained, armed and dangerous. Get a BOLO out on him right now. Move it!”
Osborne returned to his office, feeling vindicated. Now if they could only find Flynn before Ivan put a bullet in his head.
CHAPTER 31
Saturday morning started with a flurry of activity for Gerald Sandford. Becoming the President of the United States overnight isn’t a smooth process, no matter what the Constitution allows. Convincing resistant cabinet members that it was in the best interest of the country to hand over power to him wasn’t easy.
Sandford’s staunchest opposition came at the hands of Diane Dixon, the Secretary of Education. Dixon never liked Sandford for a number of reasons. First and foremost was the fact that he unseated her late husband in a Tennessee Senate race. Despite her southern charm and uncanny ability to convince people to do whatever she wanted them to, Dixon didn’t fool Sandford. She possessed an ulterior motive for every action she took. Her antics annoyed Sandford so much that he even came up with his own nickname for her: Dixon the Vixen. There wasn’t an ounce of love lost between the two, and Sandford wasn’t surprised at her strong resistance to joining the rest of the cabinet in declaring the President unfit to lead. When questioned by Josh Perkins as to the reason for her reluctance to sign the letter, she quipped, “A comatose Briggs is better than a fully coherent Sandford any day.”
Nevertheless, she eventually joined the others and signed the letter, requesting that power be transferred to Sandford immediately.
By noon, the power of transfer was complete. Wearing a dark suit with a red power tie, Sandford even looked the part when he assumed his new leadership role. An hour later, he addressed the nation:
“Good afternoon, fellow Americans.
“As you know, we have all struggled with the news — and graphic images — of our beloved President, Arthur Briggs, getting shot yesterday afternoon during a speech at the U.N. The President and I have been friends for years, and seeing him shot like that pained me to no end. We will not stand for an attack against our leader, and I guarantee you we will exhaust every resource we have to track down the person or group responsible for this travesty and bring them to justice.
“Meanwhile, while President Briggs fights for his life, we still have a battle of our own to fight, one that involves a disconcerting swell of aggressive talk of war from Russia.
“As a result, the President’s cabinet decided it best to maintain a presence of leadership during such difficult times. While we all hope and pray for the President’s full and speedy recovery, the cabinet has invoked Section Four of the Twenty-Fifth Amendment, which allows me to serve as acting President.
“Our office will provide the media and consequently the American public with daily updates on the progress of President Briggs’ recovery.
“Also as my first act as President, I want to announce a new special weapons defense program that we will begin building in earnest, immediately.”
“Thank you for your time and your prayers. May God bless America.”
The moment the camera turned off, Sandford removed his microphone and stepped from behind the podium, greeted by several staffers who congratulated him on a well-delivered speech.
“You looked very presidential, sir,” said one staffer.
The butt kissing has already begun.
He rolled his eyes. He was more interested in doing some butt kicking — namely, the Russians’—and getting his daughter back home.
He stepped into the Oval Office, his phone buzzing with a text message:
Well done, sir. Now time to take action.
Sandford hated feeling like someone’s puppet, though no one had yanked any strings yet — as long as he overlooked the assassination attempt on the President. Other than that, the text messages were annoying and sometimes informational, particularly regarding his daughter.
No one is going to tell me what to do. I’m the President of the United States.
A staffer approached Sandford with a stack of documents.
“Here you go, Mr. President. I thought you might want to see these,” he said, handing Sandford the papers.
Mr. President. Now, that’s what I like to hear.
He smiled and thanked the staffer for the information. He needed to sit down. There was work to be done.
He had some missiles to prepare to launch.
CHAPTER 32
Flynn awoke late Saturday morning with an aching back and a stiff neck. It was like most mornings for him. Except now his arms and legs were zip tied together — and he lay on the floor. He squinted as he looked around the room. A small vertical window at the very top of the room provided a scant amount of light, but it was enough to see Natalie in all her morning glory. Still asleep, Natalie’s hair remained matted to the side of her face, her mouth slightly open. At least she looks cute in the morning before she gets ready for the day. Not that Flynn really cared, but it was a nice bonus.
Those were the types of thoughts that kept Flynn going. Less than forty-eight hours ago he reveled in victory, solving one of the greatest mysteries in U.S. history: Who was behind the JFK assassination plot. But none of that mattered. He didn’t want to think about his legacy, determining that he wasn’t done creating it yet. Flynn wanted to tell more stories and expose more lies. He wanted to live.
But such desires seemed like nothing more than dreams at this point, locked in a cell and immobilized. While freedom would be nice, he would settle for a piece of bread and water.
He scooted back toward the door to see if there was any movement going on outside. He noticed two larger men sitting in chairs with their arms folded and heads slumped down. They both wore black tank tops with green Army surplus pants and boots. Tattoos covered the arms of both men. Flynn wanted the men to be dead, but he recognized that they were simply asleep. The third guard, who was wearing a black turtleneck shirt and similar pants to his cohorts, walked around the room with a cup of coffee in his hand, pistol holstered on his hip. Ivan was nowhere to be seen.