Cunningham held up his hand. “As my secretary of state, I’m asking for an informed opinion on the current state of foreign diplomacy as a whole. Will sending our troops overseas make any significant difference, in your opinion?”
She nodded and took a breath. “At the moment, I think GlobaTech is doing a fantastic job. Aside from the foreign aid and security it’s providing, it’s the PR equivalent of celebrities visiting an orphanage on Christmas Day. With both China and Russia so drastically affected by 4/17, the UN peacekeeping force has been crippled. Forgive my frankness, Mr. President, but the way things are right now we might as well privatize the entire United Nations and give GlobaTech the contract. It’s representing this country, and we as a nation are pretty much exclusively rebuilding the world. I don’t know what kind of threats our country might face in the future, but I don’t see that our immediate involvement would make enough difference to justify it, sir.”
Fielding smiled, and Phillips cast a quick, apologetic glance to General Green, who looked even more deflated now that his point of view had been debunked by another member of the council.
Cunningham nodded slowly, taking the comments on board. Secretly, he was happy that his gamble had paid off and that someone independent to his cause had agreed with his most recent move.
“General Green, I appreciate your concerns and your advice,” he said, looking across the group. “But I will not send any of our armed forces overseas at this time. GlobaTech Industries has the full backing of the White House, and I personally have every confidence it can provide the necessary assistance needed by the affected nations while using its not-insignificant security forces to maintain peace.”
Green went to say something but stopped himself. The president had spoken, and everyone knew that was the end of the matter. He sat back in his chair and nodded. “Yes, Mr. President.”
“Thank you.” He paused, looking at the man sitting to the left of Secretary Phillips. “General Matthews, I’d like you to stay for a few minutes to discuss some intelligence reports.”
Matthews nodded. “Of course, Mr. President.”
“The rest of you, thank you for your time. We’re done here.”
Heskith remained seated but the others stood, thanked the president for his time, and made their way out of the room. Only when the door was closed did anyone speak.
General Matthews leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the desk. “Mr. President, I—”
“Tom, let me stop you there,” said Heskith. “Now isn’t the time for excuses or apologies or anything else, do you understand? The president has given you one task, and that’s all we’re interested in.”
Matthews went to reply but refrained. He knew Heskith spoke for the president, and despite feeling undermined, he accepted the fact he was out of favor right now, which was likely the reason President Cunningham wanted to keep any direct communication to a minimum.
“Of course,” he replied. “Mr. President, for the last forty-eight hours my team has been using the Cerberus network to locate and track Adrian Hell. A unit intercepted him in Bangor, Maine, less than an hour ago…”
Cunningham sat up straight in his chair, suddenly a lot more interested in the words coming out of the CIA director’s mouth. He exchanged a glance with Heskith. “You have him?”
Matthews shifted uncomfortably in his seat, sliding a finger between the collar of his shirt and throat — a subconscious effort to get more oxygen. “Ah… not exactly, sir, no. He managed to escape, but we’re confident we’ll relocate him any time now. There’s only so far he could’ve—”
Cunningham held up his hand for silence before resting his head in it and massaging the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb. He took a couple of deep breaths trying to summon a hidden reserve of patience. “So, let me see if I understand this… After that clusterfuck in Prague a few days ago, I — against my better judgment, I might add — gave you full control of the Cerberus satellite with the sole purpose of finding one man and killing him. You found him and sent a team to take him out. Not only did he manage to escape, you’re now telling me you can’t find him again? Is that about right?”
Matthews sighed and nodded. “At the moment, that’s where we’re at, sir.”
Cunningham looked at Heskith, who silently raised an eyebrow. He took another sip of water before turning back to Matthews. “Okay, here’s what’s going to happen… Get a unit over to his last known location. Remove any traces of the CIA’s involvement in whatever the hell happened that led to him escaping. Then find him again. The next time we speak, Tom, you’re going to tell me Adrian Hell is dead. Are we clear?”
Matthews nodded again.
“Good. You don’t need me to tell you how close we are to the next phase, Tom. Adrian Hell is the only thing that could potentially stop it from happening, and I can’t allow that.”
“Of course, Mr. President.”
Cunningham nodded. “Okay, we’re done here.” He looked at his chief of staff. “Gerry, I want you to sit in on this conference call, okay?”
“Yes, Mr. President,” he replied.
Matthews stood. “Thank you, Mr. President.” He left the room and the door was closed again behind him.
Heskith got to his feet and walked to the end of the table, picking up a remote and turning on the large screen facing them.
“Are we good to go?” asked Cunningham.
Heskith pressed a few buttons, looked at the president, and nodded. “We’re good, sir.”
He sat back down in his seat, and after a moment the screen flickered into life. A man sitting behind a desk appeared on the screen. He was wearing a brown military suit, with medals adorning the left breast. Behind him was a North Korean flag.
“Mr. President,” said the man in a broken English accent. “It’s been too long… my friend.”
5
I left Case’s Audi in the parking lot outside a grocery store and borrowed an old brown truck that was sitting next to it. I made it to Manchester without further incident and found a no-name, low-rent motel for the night.
New Hampshire is similar to Maine in that you can walk pretty much anywhere and it will always feel like autumn. The sun’s beginning its descent, and the deep orange glow is lighting up the early evening sky.
I’m standing on the street corner near the motel, trying to get my bearings. The last known location of the first name on my list is a hospital close to the Notre Dame Bridge, not far from the banks of the Merrimack River. According to a local, who I asked for directions, it should be on the opposite side of Lafayette Park from where I am now.
Bit strange, though — a hitman working in a hospital.
My spider sense is all over the place. I don’t doubt the information Case gave me for a second… Maybe I’m just a little shaken from the unexpected run-in with the CIA? Still, it’s not as if I have any alternative options, so I guess I’m going to see the doctor…
I set off walking, making my way through the park and coming out the other side face-to-face with a Dunkin’ Donuts. Seriously, I saw, like, eight of these things as I drove through town earlier… I’m astounded there aren’t more fat people in New Hampshire!
I can see the hospital up ahead on the other side of the street. I take a seat on a bench and study the building. There’s a semicircular driveway in front of the entrance designed for ambulances to get close to the doors in an emergency. To the left is the parking lot, which looks full — typical of most hospitals nowadays. I can see some staff loitering outside, having a quick cigarette on their break by the looks of it.