Dr. Grant glanced down at his chart before pushing his glasses up on his nose. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that right now.”
“Why not? Is he still in a coma?”
“I can’t actually release any information about his status unless the family allows me to. Unfortunately, they haven’t. I can tell you that he’s resting comfortably and needs to refrain from seeing any visitors.”
“We have a national security matter right now and I need to know if he’s fit to lead the country. You must at least be able to tell me that.”
“Sir, I’m not the one to make that call. He and his family are the ones who determine that.”
“Well, if you can’t tell me his current medical condition, you can tell me whether you believe he wrote this letter.”
Sandford pulled out of his inner coat pocket the letter purportedly from Briggs requesting immediate reinstatement. He handed it to Dr. Grant, who began scanning the letter.
“Look,” Dr. Grant said, handing the letter back, “I didn’t see him sign this letter, if that’s what you mean. But that looks like his signature to me.”
“Thanks for your time, Dr. Grant. I won’t forget this.”
Sandford turned around and huffed away. I’m going to make sure that doctor gets fired. What is wrong with these people? Why won’t anyone give me what I want?
One way or another, Sandford was going to get what he wanted. He felt like it wasn’t too much to ask. What he wanted was simple — a set of launch codes and his daughter back.
Once he returned to his car, his private phone buzzed.
“Have you got good news for me?” Sandford asked.
“Yes. I found you a man.”
“Make it happen.”
Sandford hung up and smiled. Diane Dixon’s little run around didn’t matter. He only needed a few more hours to launch his plan — and a flurry of missiles at Russia.
CHAPTER 53
Osborne balanced a cup of coffee between his legs as he drove to CIA headquarters. He hadn’t heard from Flynn in a while and grew more concerned with each passing minute. Why hasn’t he called me yet?
It wasn’t uncommon for Flynn to skip a check-in or two while on a mission. But this felt different for some reason. Flynn usually didn’t go this long without consulting him. It shouldn’t have taken him this long to get set up.
Osborne pulled up to the guardhouse in front of the CIA and handed over his credentials.
“Working early today, Mr. Osborne?” the guard asked.
“You know our work is never done.”
The guard chuckled. “I know that’s right. Too many crazies out there right now. Have a good day, sir.”
The guard handed Osborne his credentials and raised the arm on the gate.
While Osborne parked and walked to his desk, he continued to worry about Flynn. He second-guessed his decision to ever send the former operative on such a mission. If truth be told, he knew better. An active, more trained operative would have been more suited to tackle the covert nature of the directive. Yet there wasn’t anyone else Osborne trusted more — active or retired. Flynn was his man — he also might be Osborne’s undoing at the agency.
Osborne reached his office and shut the door behind him. He took the last swig of his coffee before sitting down and rolling up his sleeves.
His first order of business was to check all possible secure lines of communication. His encrypted voice mail. His secure email. Nothing. Even the most recent terrorist chatter report failed to yield any significant news — or even a hint of what might be happening abroad.
He slumped back in his chair, running his hands through his hair. Frustration mixed with fear resulted in a sick feeling.
Suddenly, his phone buzzed. He lunged for it, hoping to see a familiar number on his screen. It wasn’t the number he wanted to see; it was Sandford.
After exchanging pleasantries, Sandford went straight for the point.
“I hope you weren’t jerking me around about not having any operatives on active missions in Russia right now.”
“Why’s that, sir?”
“Because I’m about to light it up. Everything is falling into place for me to launch a volley of missiles into Russia.”
“But, sir, you can’t do that,” Osborne protested.
“I have no choice.”
“Please hold off as long as you can. I actually do have someone on the ground who might be able to mitigate the situation.”
“What exactly do you mean by that?”
Osborne bit his lip. He carefully selected his words, hoping it wasn’t a lie. “I think we can get your daughter back without launching a single missile.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“There’s a covert mission under way right now. I just need a few more hours to verify the mission’s success.” Another potential lie. Osborne had backed himself into a corner and knew the only way out was if Flynn came through — an unknown variable at this point.
“I’ll give you four hours,” Sandford said. “If I don’t hear from you by then, I’m going to fire first and ask questions later. Got it?”
“Yes, sir. I got it. I’ll call you by 10:30 a.m.”
Osborne hung up. As if things weren’t bad enough, they now grew worse. Flynn was living ten hours ahead of him, but it did nothing to ease Osborne’s angst. In action or not, a clock ticked away — and he had no idea if Flynn was even still alive, much less in position to avert a potential world war in less than four hours.
CHAPTER 54
Flynn awoke to a searing sore neck. It didn’t take him long to realize why when he went to rub it. The handcuffs chaining him to the iron bedpost over Lexie’s bed ensured that wouldn’t happen without much effort. He looked at the clock. It was five-thirty in the evening and the sun was already dipping below the Urals in Khanty-Mansiysk. No sign of Lexie.
Flynn let out a scream of frustration, angered over trusting someone he knew he shouldn’t have. Lexie’s intoxicating charm burned him several times when they worked together — but nothing like this. It was as if Lexie had fully embraced her darker side. She doesn’t even care to see her dying father. Pathetic. He rattled the handcuffs again but to no avail. It only made him feel more foolish.
Sulking and yelling let out the steam Flynn needed to release — but it did nothing to change his current situation. He surveyed the structure of the bedposts, looking for any way to get free or move.
Near the top of each iron post, Flynn noticed a decorative ball. I hope this isn’t just a decoration. Flynn twisted his body so his feet could reach the ball. Clamping his feet around the ball, he began to slowly turn the ball, loosening it. After about three minutes of careful footwork, the ball bounced onto the wooden floor, freeing the ironwork that served as the headboard from the post. He flipped his body in the other direction and began working the counterpart ball off the post. Once it hit the ground, he jammed the ironwork toward the wall as it disengaged from the bedpost completely. He wasn’t exactly free, but walking around attached to a bedpost was far better than being immobile and fastened to one.
Flynn maneuvered awkwardly around the room, searching for something to jimmy the lock. That’s when he spotted the key to the cuffs on the kitchen counter. Flynn smiled at Lexie’s arrogance — for once he appreciated it. He grabbed the key with his mouth and sat down on the floor in the living room. Employing his feet again, Flynn grabbed the key with his toes and inserted it into one of the cuffs. Using both his feet, he carefully turned the key until one of the cuffs released. He then used his hand to unlock the other one and free himself.