Flynn stared at the warped bullet in his hand. It stirred courage in him like nothing else. Not even a bullet can stop me. He knew he was overstating his ability to survive such a hit, but he didn’t care. If he dwelled on the reality of how close he came to dying, he might lock himself up in a room and never see the outside world again. He lived in a dangerous world for a long time, but he also knew he could just as well die in a car accident or from a heart attack going about his everyday life. Dead was dead. Better to die doing something meaningful.
Creeeeeeeak!
Flynn froze again. Am I imagining things? He waited a couple of seconds before moving.
Without warning, Flynn’s closet door burst open as an assailant raced toward him. Flynn recognized him immediately — Ivan. Flynn dodged the blade being waved about. Thinking on his feet, Flynn used the bullet chain to grasp Ivan’s blade-carrying hand, forcing the blade to the floor. The two exchanged blows before Ivan earned the upper hand, taking Flynn down with a swift kick to his outer shin and pouncing on top of him. Flynn struggled beneath Ivan’s imposing frame.
Ivan pinned Flynn’s arms to the ground and grabbed the closest object he could find — Flynn’s bullet chain. He began choking Flynn. Squirming to relieve the pressure on his neck, Flynn freed his arms and jammed the fingers on his right hand beneath the chain to prevent rapid asphyxiation. With his left hand, Flynn groped underneath his bed. He kept trying to wrestle away from Ivan as he felt several items. A pair of socks. Dirty boxes. Where is it? Then, he found it — the cold cylindrical can of bear spray. Gasping for air, Flynn directed the spray right at Ivan, who rolled off him, clutching his eyes in pain. The agonizing yelp pierced Flynn’s ears.
Flynn fished out the pistol from his bag and held it on Ivan as he kicked the knife away from him.
“Now get up!” Flynn barked.
Ivan staggered to his feet, still burying his face in his hands and whimpering from the pain.
Flynn jammed his gun into Ivan’s back. “I’ve got a lot of questions for you — but I don’t have time to ask them now. Unfortunately for you, I’m going to let someone much more unpleasant than myself ask them.”
Flynn led Ivan down into the garage of his townhome and tied him to a support pole, at least eight feet away from any other object in the garage. He then proceeded to pat down Ivan and search for any other objects that might assist him in cutting himself free. Satisfied that Ivan was devoid of any chance at escape, Flynn shook his head as he looked at Ivan.
“The press is going to have a field day with you,” Flynn said.
Ivan spit at him and then hung his head.
Unbothered by Ivan’s gesture, Flynn headed up stairs and turned the lights out.
He locked the door as his cell phone buzzed.
“Where are you?” Osborne demanded after Flynn answered.
“I’ve been a little busy.”
Osborne didn’t seem interested in Flynn’s excuse.
“We don’t have any time to waste. Get down to the airfield now.”
“Sorry, I was just busying apprehending the President’s assassin. You can thank me later.”
Osborne stopped panicking.
“You did what?”
“You heard me. Ivan jumped me in my house and tried to kill me. But I left him for you in my garage. Send someone over here quick to pick him up.”
“Good work. Now hurry up! You’ve got a war to stop!”
CHAPTER 42
Gerald Sandford watched the activity swirling around his office. In just a few short hours, he would unleash his pent-up fury on Russia for taking his daughter from him. Though it was a different kind of taking than he initially believed. Sydney wasn’t dead — and he hoped she wouldn’t become a pawn in this high-stakes game. But he was going to make sure Russia paid for whatever part they played in her disappearance from his life for the past 15 years.
One of the speech writers thrust a document into his hands, hoping to gain the acting President’s approval on the diatribe just written for the American public — and for its number one enemy. While Briggs played to the whims of the American people, Sandford refused any such notions. I’m going to show this country what it means to lead. He scanned the speech, one that conveyed his resolve to remove Americans from the threat imposed by another nation, subtly hinting that his country was about to take its rightful place as the world’s leading superpower.
An aide tapped Sandford on the shoulder.
“Mr. President, I have something that I think you should read.”
Sandford spun around, brow furrowed as he looked up at the timid young man.
“What is it?” Sandford demanded.
“Diane Dixon has requested an emergency cabinet meeting.”
“What would possess her to request such a thing now?”
“Apparently, President Briggs has made a miraculous recovery.”
“Say what?” Sandford began to grow enraged. “How is that even possible?”
“I’m not sure, but I’ve got a letter right here signed by President Briggs himself that he’s fit to lead and is requesting to be reinstated immediately.”
Sandford shook his head. No, no, no! I am the President now! This isn’t happening!
He looked back up at the aide and nodded. “Set it up.”
Sandford needed some time to plot his next move. He wasn’t going to relinquish power this easily.
CHAPTER 43
Fifteen minutes after leaving his house, Flynn’s phone buzzed. It was Osborne again, demanding to know where he was.
“If you’re not a ‘what have you done for me lately’ kind of guy, nobody is,” Flynn answered. “A few minutes ago I told you that I apprehended the President’s assassin and now I’m getting drilled for being late. What is it with you government people?”
Osborne didn’t appreciate the joke.
“This is serious, Flynn. We need to be wheels up in five minutes.”
“Well, good. I’m only two minutes away. Have you got to my house yet?”
“Nope. I sent some agents there ahead of me. I should hear something soon.”
“Good. Keep me posted. I’d love to know if there’s something you can get out of him that will help me on this mission.”
“There’s only one thing you need to know — shoot to kill. We’ll send in a team to clean up the mess after you get control of those missiles.”
“Isn’t Sandford going to shoot first?”
“I hope not. And if he doesn’t, the Kuklovod is ready to ignite this powder keg with their own special flare. It’s why we need you to get there quickly.”
Flynn hung up as he pulled into the hangar. He parked and got out of his car. He grabbed his bag and hustled toward the plane’s open door.
Before he got on the plane, a CIA handler shoved a file folder into Flynn’s hands and began giving him a quick rundown of the highlights and protocol for the mission.