During the drive to the White House, Flynn stared aimlessly out the window from his backseat position. He noticed the people marching to jobs, some of them undoubtedly spies, agents and operatives. It wasn’t easy protecting the world from chaos and mayhem. It took training, skill, and sometimes luck. Flynn considered just how much good fortune he had on his latest mission, concluding it was equal to his misfortune. In the end, the balance of the scale didn’t matter — only the results did. Millions of people would not die and neither would the President.
Away from the auspices of the press, President Briggs welcomed Flynn and Osborne into his office for a private meeting. A debt of gratitude this big needed to be paid in person.
“Mr. Flynn, I can’t thank you enough for what you did for me and this country,” Briggs began. “I know you may have felt like we turned our back on you in the past, but what you just did for the United States — for me — you deserve an apology for how you were treated.”
Flynn nodded. “Thank you, Mr. President. I appreciate the sentiment. I’ve never had anything but pride in my heart for this country. If that wasn’t evident before, I think you know that. It was that same pride that made me ashamed when some of our men weren’t honoring this great nation the way they needed to.”
“I understand,” President Briggs responded. “I’m going to have your file expunged and make sure you get the Intelligence Star — and your former boss will be the one to present it to you in a ceremony in front of the entire agency.”
Flynn laughed nervously. “I don’t think that’s necessary, Mr. President. I appreciate the sentiments, but I was just doing what I was asked. I don’t really want any attention over all this.”
“Very well, then,” President Briggs answered. “But there’s someone else in this equation who needs to be rewarded — and that’s you, Mr. Osborne.”
Osborne politely nodded and thanked the President.
Before the meeting concluded, Osborne was informed that he would be given full command of a special black ops unit with unlimited funding, and completely autonomous from the CIA. He would have the authority to investigate and pursue anything he deemed necessary within the country’s national security interests. Osborne confessed to Flynn that he hoped for a promotion — but this was far better than anything he could’ve imagined.
As their time drew to a close, Flynn spoke up.
“Mr. President, there’s just one more thing I want to talk to you about,” Flynn said.
“Oh, what’s that?”
“It’s about your Vice President, Gerald Sandford. I’ve heard rumors that he might be indicted for his actions.”
President Briggs nodded, affirming the rumors.
“I’m just going to ask that you don’t do that — as a special favor for me.”
“And why should I overlook his treasonous acts? For goodness sake, he almost launched another world war while I was incapacitated — and he did it against my wishes.”
“I understand how you might feel, Mr. President, but I think you might want to consider just what a difficult situation he was in and how terrorists blackmailed him. I’m not a parent myself, but I can empathize with a parent who was pushed into a corner and felt compelled to do whatever it took to save his or her child. Can’t you?”
The President dropped his head and stared at his feet for a few moments before speaking.
“Mr. Flynn, your objection has been noted. I’m not sure how it will play out, but you’re a bigger man than I am — a man to whom I owe my life. Thank you for your service.”
Flynn and Osborne thanked the President again and exited the room.
On their way out, Flynn filled Osborne in about the CIA’s leak — a Mr. Livingston. Osborne promised to look into it and told him not to worry about it any longer.
Then Flynn excused himself. He needed to make a phone call.
“Hello? Is that you, Flynn?” Natalie asked.
“Yes, I made it back alive.”
“And you’re a national hero — though I doubt anyone will know about it.”
“Not unless you tell them.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
“And how are you?”
“I’m good — I’m alive. I’m not sure if I’m cut out for this spy life. I think I’ve had enough excitement for a lifetime.”
“Well, I’m just glad everything worked out all right. Now it’s time to celebrate.”
“Let me guess, Georgia Brown’s tonight at eight?”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
Flynn hung up and smiled. At least there was one sane woman in his life.
Flynn remained in Washington for two more days. He performed a few follow-up interviews for a story his editor Theresa demanded and sought to bring closure to the harrowing turn of events that led him to discover one of the darkest secrets in American history: the group responsible for the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. Yet that story seemed like a simple tale compared to the one he just lived.
Between interviews with officials at the U.S. State Department, Flynn walked by an office with a news program running. On the screen was Gerald Sandford with his wife, sitting next to their daughter, Sydney. The type across the bottom portrayed a far different story than the one he knew to be true: Vice President’s Daughter Escapes Russian Terrorists in the Ural mountains.
All three of the Sandfords were crying — an emotion that even affected the interviewer. The staffers gathered near the television also appeared moved by what they saw and heard on the screen.
Flynn shook his head and marched on. It was a happy little ending, but it wasn’t the truth — the thing he cared the most about. The Sandfords’ version only masked the reality of what happened. Eventually, the truth would come out. But someone else could do it. He had other stories to tend to.
Flynn’s phone buzzed with a text message. It read:
Call the office ASAP. Big lead on a story in New Mexico.
Flynn smiled. “It never ends, does it?” he muttered to himself.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
No writer can exist in a vacuum. And this project proved to be one that required the assistance of plenty of people.
For starters, without readers who have found my work — and enjoyed it — I never would have trudged on with the arduous task of writing a novel. Just knowing that you’re all out there and enjoying the diversions created by my books inspires me to press on and work diligently to refine my craft.
None of this novel could have been fleshed out the way it was without the guidance of Steven Hamilton, who steered me in the direction of one of the most fascinating characters who emerged from the JFK assassination investigation. His help along with that of fellow archives employees, Amy DeLong and Mary Kay Schmidt, proved invaluable in helping mix fact with fiction.
Pieter VanBennekom provided excellent fodder as someone who actually pursued some of the more mysterious elements of the JFK assassination as a journalist. His stories are deserving of a book.
Jennifer Wolf’s editing helped make this a better story. Without her, this novel might be more confusing, not to mention full of female characters wearing horribly matched clothes. Jessica Nelson also helped with the copy edits.
Former U.S. Air Force fighter pilot Darrell Chatraw helped craft some of the aviation scenes, lending credence to dogfight descriptions from a veteran of the cockpit.
Though my Russian is all but non-existent, Lesy Chatraw helped me craft some strong phrases throughout the book.