R Patterson - The Shadow Hunter

“Like I said, Barbara, write up a plan and if I like it better than Miller’s, I reserve the right to change my mind.”

“I could give you a million ideas,” she said. “And all of them will be better than trying to win a contest between two leaders trying to show who’s more macho.”

Norris interlocked his fingers behind his head and looked at the ceiling. “You really think North Korea is bluffing?”

“We don’t have any actionable intel, which tells me that Kim Yong-ju is probably leaking that information just to get you all riled up. He’s going to play you for the fool while gun-slinger Miller coaxes you on.”

He paused for a moment before answering. Barbara’s critique was hard to take, but he knew she was right. It’s why he appointed her to the position. She’d never minced words before when she was serving in the Senate and becoming the Secretary of State hadn’t changed her.

“Okay, I’ll sleep on it,” Norris said. “And just know that as of right now, I’m still undecided about what to do, but your way seems to make more sense.”

“And I know that’s what you’d rather do,” she said. “You always lead better from a position of strength rather than one of fear.”

With that statement, Wheeler got up and exited the situation room, leaving Norris by himself with his thoughts.

He sat with Wheeler’s words for a few minutes before getting up. He knew she was right.

All he needed from her now was a good excuse to tell Miller to shove his dreams of a conflict with North Korea.

Central Siberia, Russia

HAWK STARED WIDE-EYED at Andrei Orlovsky, who templed his fingers as he surveyed his prisoner. Orlovsky wore a tailored gray suit and a pair of black Salvatore Ferragamo moccasins. As he paced around the room, the scent of too much Italian cologne wafted behind him. The once world-renowned illegal arms dealer was still portraying himself as a VIP from Venice, like a 45-year-old man still bragging about his days as the star quarterback while working at a car wash. If Orlovsky hadn’t been responsible for thousands of deaths, Hawk would’ve felt sorry for him.

“The infamous Brady Hawk,” Orlovsky said as a faint smile spread across his face, “delivered to me as if you fell out of the heavens. This is a most pleasant surprise to my day.”

“It’s only going to get worse from here.”

Orlovsky chuckled as he walked over to the corner of the room where a liquor caddy rested on a serving table. He poured a pair of drinks and then handed one to Hawk.

“It’s vodka,” Orlovsky said as he sat down in a chair across from Hawk. “It’s a custom for old friends to drink together in Russia.”

“Who said anything about us being friends?”

The two men who’d brought Hawk to Orlovsky’s compound stood against the wall near the door. They both tried to stifle laughs. Orlovsky turned slowly toward them and glared.

“Do you find his comment funny?” Orlovsky asked.

Their smiles disappeared as they turned silent.

Orlovsky threw back his drink and slammed it down on the table. He smacked his lips and shook his head while studying the glass.

“It’s like nectar from the gods,” Orlovsky said. “I hope you enjoy Russia’s finest.”

Hawk placed his glass on the table as well without having tasted a drop. “I’m more of a scotch guy.”

Orlovsky shrugged. “We drink vodka in Russia.”

Hawk glanced around the room, admiring the decor. What the house lacked in location, it made up for it in style and craftsmanship. The crown molding contained ornate carvings of soldiers engaged in battle. And from Hawk’s first glance, the scenes depicted appeared unique.

“Quite a place you’ve got,” Hawk said. “It’s much nicer than your home in Venice, but it’s in Siberia, so I’m not sure it’s worth it. By the way, what are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”

Orlovsky pulled a cigarette case out of his coat pocket and ignited the tobacco. He took a long drag before exhaling the smoke through his nose.

“I have the same question for you,” he said. “At least my excuse is that I’m Russian.”

“A Russian with connections doesn’t live in the middle of Siberia unless he’s either disgraced or hiding.”

Orlovsky grunted. “You know little about Russia and even less about me.”

“Enlighten me.”

“I’d love to, but I need to take care of a little business.”

Orlovsky reached into his coat pocket and produced a gun. With a cigarette dangling from his lips, he trained his weapon on Hawk’s head. Orlovsky moved closer as Hawk placed his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender.

“Settle down,” Hawk said. “I’m not here for you. Your men brought me here, remember?”

Orlovsky jammed the barrel of the gun into Hawk’s head. “Do you have any idea what I had to endure while being held prisoner by the CIA?”

Hawk steadied his breathing, trying to remain calm. For a moment, he wondered if he’d be able to move fast enough to snatch the gun from Orlovsky, kill him, and shoot the other two men at the back of the room. But they were both armed, clutching their weapons. Then there were the armed men patrolling the perimeter of the house to consider. The odds were terrible, though they would give him a better chance of survival if Orlovsky’s trigger finger twitched.

Orlovsky backed away, but his gun was still pointed at Hawk’s head.

“It was horrible,” Orlovsky said. “Inhumane even. I didn’t even get three meals each day. My bed felt like it was made out of rocks. And I was awakened at odd hours of the night and interrogated by angry men who beat me over and over.”

Hawk sighed and shook his head, remaining quiet.

“Don’t give me that look,” Orlovsky said. “This is just the kind of arrogant thing I would expect from an American.”

“I feel sorry for you, Andrei,” Hawk said. “You blame others, completely unaware that you are at fault.”

“Me? At fault? I am innocent.”

Hawk huffed a short laugh through his nose. “Selling weapons of mass destruction to terrorists who use them to kill thousands of innocent people hardly qualifies as innocent.”

“How do you Americans say it? ‘A man has to make a living’?”

“There are other ways to earn a decent wage that don’t include finding buyers for stolen weapons.”

“Someone has to do it.”

“Based on finding you out here, I’m sure someone else is doing it these days,” Hawk said as he scanned the room again. “You’re not interacting with many terrorists out here.”

Orlovsky took another long drag before removing the cigarette from his mouth and slowly releasing the smoke. “I’ve diversified my interests, which leads me to the reason we’re having this conversation. I need a new driver.”

Hawk furrowed his brow. “A driver? For what? You’ve got one standing behind you.”

Orlovsky wheeled around and fired a bullet in the head of each of the men standing against the wall. They slid down to the ground and collapsed.

“They were useless,” Orlovsky said. “They picked you up because they wanted to frame you for what they did to Maxim Popov and his men.”

Hawk tried not to react to Orlovsky’s brutal actions.

Orlovsky leaned down, getting eye level with Hawk. “Did that bother you?”

Hawk shook his head. “If they wanted to frame me, I can’t say that I care what you did to them.”

“They acted carelessly in picking you up and then in bringing you here,” Orlovsky said. “They felt indebted to you because you saved their lives.”

Hawk glanced at their bodies, blood still pooling around them. “And apparently it was all for naught.”