enemies of the state (36 page)

“Two helicopters went down on a training mission on the border of Ethiopia and Djibouti the same day the bunker blew during your rescue mission, according to news reports.” The colonel pocketed his phone.

“Who was he talking to?” Cooper finally grunted.

Faisal spoke before Colonel Song. “We don’t know for certain. We can’t get a match on vocal recognition, and his identity has been scrubbed from the databases that we’ve hacked. But, we know two things about him. Whoever he is, he’s close to the president. These calls have been made from the same location as the president at the time of the call. Washington, DC. Camp David. Turin. Prague. Ethiopia. He’s in the president’s inner circle. Or he’s an agent.” Colonel Song’s eyes slid sideways, catching Ethan. “We also know that the man that the general has been talking to has been his right hand for years. They work closely together, and they have for a long time.”

“How do you know this?” Ethan slowly moved closer. Dread pooled in his stomach.

“It’s obvious in how they speak to one another. This man is General Madigan’s right hand. We believe that General Madigan and this mystery man are affiliated with Black Fox.”

Cooper shot Ethan a dark look, long and lean. Ethan stared back at him. He searched for Collard, but couldn’t find him.

Black Fox was the disavowed military unit run out of the Department of Defense’s Joint Special Operations Command. They’d been responsible for some of the largest victories in the past thirty years, and some of the largest and greatest defeats and embarrassments. Parts of America’s darkest history were embroiled in Black Fox. If the American government wanted to overthrow a democracy or install a dictatorship, Black Fox was the unit to turn to. Officially, they’d been disbanded.

They’d officially been disbanded six times.

Ethan had seen enough inside the White House to know that they were very much still an active presence. Insidious, Black Fox had routinely scattered, burrowing into other organizations, propping up their members in new agencies, though their loyalties were always to each other and to the unit.

And, back in the 2000s, General Porter Madigan, then Major Madigan, had led the unit.

“That would explain how his identity has been scrubbed.” Cooper crossed his arms, growling. “Those guys don’t exist. Not just in an abstract way. They truly don’t exist. Any identity they do have is a pure cover. A smokescreen. All lies.”

Jesus
. Dizziness stole over Ethan. He swallowed, trying to find his center. Black Fox, General Madigan. His brain hurt. “Why is Black Fox trying to kill us? What did we ever do?”

Colonel Song smirked. “They weren’t interested in killing you. You just got in the way.” The Colonel pulled out his phone again and tapped the screen. On the wall, the TV hummed on, and Chinese characters popped up, rooting through the TV’s operating system. Faisal’s mouth opened, but with one sideways look at Colonel Song, he closed it.

Three windows flashed on screen. One showing a list of phone calls, dated and time stamped. One showing a map of the Near East, and Chinese and Russian troop movements into Iraq. And one showing the dead body of Talib Al-Syria, his mangled corpse photographed in black and white.

“In the past four months, the Russians and the Chinese have moved massive amounts of ground troops into the Syrian and Iraqi regions. They’re trying to stabilize reconstruction projects and protect their investments in the region. Russia has committed to supporting the destruction of the Islamic Caliphate and the Syrian Transitional Government, thanks to the diplomatic efforts of President Spiers, but we aren’t sure what their price for that cooperation is yet.”

Colonel Song blew up the window highlighting the call logs and pulled out six calls to one international number.

“We would normally applaud this kind of international cooperation. But it is built and based around a lie. The enemy the world has united to fight is not who they appear to be.” Colonel Song gestured to the call logs. “These six calls were placed from General Madigan’s mystery accomplice to Al-Karim. Immediately after these phone calls, Al-Karim made an attack or executed a major military operation. He blew up the Chinese reconstruction projects. He executed hostages. He sent fighters to Europe on terror missions. He dispatched weapons to refugees in the resettlement zones.” Colonel Song stared at Ethan. “We believe that Al-Karim has been taking orders from this mystery man, and thus, from General Madigan himself.”

Doc whistled from where he leaned against Faisal’s couch. “The US government is running Al-Karim?”

Cooper’s jaw clenched so hard, Ethan heard his teeth grind.

“Not the US government,” Ethan growled. “Whoever this guy is. General Madigan. Black Fox.” All of them together, working against everything Jack stood for.

“You remember when China took control of Taiwan for the province’s protection, after the Islamic Caliphate attacked Taipei?” Colonel Song scrolled through the call logs, going back in time. He also pulled up another window, this one showing an email account and a series of messages pinging back and forth.

“How could we forget?” Ethan’s memories surfaced, Jack cast in the half light of a subdued fire in Camp David and asking him what he thought about China. He shook his head. Gripped his biceps. Felt his skin break where his nails dug into his arms.

“The Islamic Caliphate gained access to Taiwan through this man.” On screen, a picture of a middle-aged Chinese man, sullen and boring looking, spun in a circle. “HU” was stamped beneath the headshot. “Mr. Hu was an international businessman. His travels took him from Lebanon to Dubai, Indonesia to Iraq and then back to Taiwan. He had legitimate reasons for being in countries where the Caliphate operated, and legitimate reasons for moving massive amounts of money around between bank accounts. That’s why Black Fox used him as a false flag.”

Cooper stopped breathing, and Ethan watched his pulse skyrocket.

“Black Fox ran money and information through accounts set up in Mr. Hu’s name. A mistake in his transactions brought him to Faisal’s attention. Faisal, doing his due diligence, brought Mr. Hu in, where he, sadly, did not survive initial questioning.”

A chill tap-danced down Ethan’s spine.

“These fake accounts were used by General Madigan and Black Fox to communicate directly with Talib Al-Syria.” Colonel Song brought up email after email between Hu’s fake email account and Talib, each discussing the then-imminent invasion of Taiwan. “Black Fox manipulated and ordered the Islamic Caliphate’s attack on Taiwan.”

Jack had known something was off about the Islamic Caliphate’s attack on Taiwan. He’d known it back at Camp David, and he’d known it when the Chinese had asked him for a meeting. “You tried to bring this to the president, didn’t you?”

“Back in the spring. Yes. He wouldn’t see us.”

Ethan shook his head. “How could he have suspected something like this?”

Colonel Song ignored Ethan. “When the Russians captured Talib Al-Syria, just prior to Prague, General Madigan made another call to his mystery man. He ordered Talib to be killed before being dropped off at the US embassy in Moscow. When Talib was delivered, he was dead and in a body bag.”

Jack had been furious. Ethan remembered that day. It had been early on in their relationship, when everything was new, and he didn’t know if one moment would last, or lead to another moment for the two of them.

Collard appeared at Ethan’s elbow, breathing hard. Sweat rolled down his forehead.

“Capturing Talib and the Russian’s tentative partnership with the Americans, brokered in Prague, put a damper on General Madigan’s plans. Your president is brokering deals with Russia, negotiating peace, and saving Europe. He plans to save the Middle East, and for the first time, he’s got international cooperation.” Colonel Song smiled, and it was a cold, evil thing. “That, unfortunately, doesn’t fit with Black Fox’s plans to upend the world. Madigan told his man that they would need to resort to a “plan B”, and that they needed “a sacrifice”.”

“Nairobi…” Cooper breathed. Behind him, his men cursed, and Doc flopped onto the couch, shaking his head.

“Nairobi was just the first step. Maybe just a practice round,” Faisal said. “A test.”

“What do you mean? Test for what?” Ethan stepped forward, but Collard’s hand on his shoulder held him back. He glared at his friend, but froze when he saw Collard’s bone white complexion and the panic in his eyes.

“We’ve been intercepting the mystery man’s calls since Prague,” Colonel Song said. He called up a new window, and four sound files were queued to play. “We cannot identify this man right now. But perhaps you can.”

“Ethan!” Collard hissed. “Jesus, Ethan—”

The start of the player cut off whatever Collard was about to say. In the file, Al-Karim answered first.

“
As-salamu alaykum
.”

“Karim. Is he dead yet?

“Not yet. We made the first video.”

“There’s not supposed to be a first video. There’s supposed to be one video. Your men fucked up. The Americans are coming for him.”

“He will be dead before then.”

“He’d better be. We don’t want to clean up your mess again.”

“He will be.”

“Oh. And Karim.”

“Yes?”

“He and the president are lovers.”

The phone clicked off.

Ethan couldn’t breathe. The world spun, everything upending, as everyone’s eyes burned into him. He fought for words, fought to breathe, fought to think, even, as the world shattered and crashed around him, and betrayal stabbed him through the back.

The next sound file automatically started. The same voice, this time starting the call.

“Do you have the package?”

“Yes, sir. It’s secure and ready for transport to the White House. And the base has been eliminated.”

“Good. Are your men in position?”

“Yes, sir. We’re ready for the invite.”

“And Al-Karim?”

“He made it out of Ethiopia. He’s in the hole.”

A pause. “You’re ready for this? The end of the mission?”

“Yes, sir.” No hesitation.

“Good. I’ll see you soon.”

The phone clicked off.

“Ethan…” Collard breathed, anguish tearing his voice in two. “God, Ethan…”

It all made sense. One man who had traveled with Jack, always at his side. Who had his trust. Who had Ethan’s trust, and his friendship. Who knew about them.

Who could betray them so perfectly, so entirely.

“It’s Jeff,” Ethan whispered.

* * * * *

Jeff Gottschalk headed for the Oval Office, his eyes fixed forward, unblinking. This mission had been harder than his others. Longer, too. He’d been undercover for two and a half years, ever since General Madigan had reintroduced him to then-Congressman Spiers and recommended him as an excellent advisor.

“Get close to him,” Madigan had ordered. “More info to follow.”

Almost three years later, and they were finally executing their plan. The final moment would come, soon.

It was everything Black Fox had ever wanted. Had ever worked for. This was their Rachmaninoff’s Third, their Mona Lisa. The pinnacle of their success.

Jeff paused, his hand on the door handle of the Oval Office, before heading inside. He inhaled, drawing his identity tighter around him. He was Jeff Gottschalk. He was Jack’s friend and closest advisor. He was his support network during Jack’s time of grief.

He was a stone cold killer who didn’t blink an eye at ordering Ethan to his death, and who urged Al-Karim to slice his neck faster. He’d befriended Ethan, approaching him when he was alone and vulnerable, and then reinforced that he was someone trustworthy. Someone they could rely on.

He was going to destroy Jack, like he’d destroyed Ethan. He would be the one to put the bullet in Jack. A bonus for his three years undercover.

And when it was all over, he would be standing on top. He’d be where Ethan had been, at the side of his lover and next to the most powerful man on the planet.

Jeff pushed open the door to the Oval Office. “Mr. President.”

Jack was at the desk, his head in his hands and his elbows on the desk. Dark shadows hung beneath his eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping much since Ethiopia. Nightmares, the stewards said, sadness in their eyes as they answered Jeff’s questions.

“Sir, the daily press brief is beginning at one o’clock. If you’d like to make your comments there, we should head down now.”

Slowly, Jack nodded. “Am I doing the right thing?” he whispered.

“I believe so, sir. You’re defining this situation. Getting ahead of the press. It’s gotten more intense since the funeral.”

Jack sighed and closed his eyes, slowly standing. “Let’s go.”

Walking with Jack to the briefing room was like leading a funeral dirge. Resignation clung to him, as did mourning, and an aching, soul-sucking loneliness that had settled on his shoulders after Ethiopia.

“Jeff,” Jack asked in the hallway. “Have you found Levi Daniels?”

Jeff’s teeth ground together. The one agent he hadn’t been able to eliminate. He’d done a good job of shaming the man, though, and destroying his sense of self-worth. Maybe Daniels had blown his brains out by now. If not, he should ask General Madigan if he wanted Daniels to be taken out. It would be an easy kill.

“No, sir,” he said. “Do you want me to check his apartment?”

Jack shook his head. “No. Thank you, Jeff.” They stopped outside the briefing room. Inside, Jeff could hear the rabid call of the reporters, each straining to be called on for questions.

Inhaling deep, Jack squared his shoulders. “Wish me luck.”

“Break a leg.”

* * * * *

Jack waved off the rise of the press pool and the flash of cameras. “Please, sit down. I have a quick statement I want to make. I’ll answer a few questions afterward.”

He swallowed. Stared out at the sea of reporters. Cameras hovered in the background. Microphones angled his way. Pens scribbled on notepads. Tablet screens winked on.

What was he doing?
Ethan, what am I doing? Is this right?

Jack breathed deep. “I want to address the rumors circulating about a relationship between myself and Special Agent Reichenbach of the Secret Service.”