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.”