Extreme Measures (A Brady Hawk Novel Book 20)

be difficult to clean up without losing face. In an election year, this was not the kind of political gaffe Young wanted to commit.
No, we’re gonna have my Fourth of July party—and it’s going to be epic.

CHAPTER 8
Washington, D.C.
BLUNT WELCOMED HAWK and Alex back at the Phoenix Foundation headquarters, cutting the small talk short as Blunt directed them to the conference room. He was eager to discuss the next steps in handling the stockpiling of Russian weapons in Bolivia. Blunt sifted through intelligence reports as Hawk and Alex settled into their chairs.
“I understand that your little vacation to Greece wasn’t entirely a waste,” Blunt said.
Alex glared at him. “Trust me, if that was really a vacation, I wouldn’t have any information to give you. We would’ve been snorkeling, cliff diving, and touring ancient ruins, not spending all our time at a shipping facility.”
Blunt winked. “Nice to know you had your coffee this morning, Alex.”
“Sometimes, I don’t know whether to strangle you or shoot you,” she said.
“If you ever have to make that choice, I’d prefer a bullet,” he said. “Far quicker.”
Hawk shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. “About what we learned regarding Nicolo Logistics—”
“Yes,” Blunt said. “So according to what you wrote, you didn’t get any traction from working with the local authorities there?”
“Nothing,” Alex said. “It’s like they knew we were coming, which according to the informant we met, they probably did.”
“But someone stepped forward?” Blunt asked.
“We met a Nicolo employee at a bar after our visit to the warehouse,” Hawk said. “He explained that he’d been highly suspicious for a while of some of the activity there and gave us the number to the company’s import contact in the U.S.”
Alex nodded. “We did a little digging and traced that number back to a man named Adonis Karalis, a native of Greece who’s now a naturalized U.S. citizen and has been working in San Francisco for the past five years with various importers.”
“Any red flags?” Blunt asked.
“The extent of Nicolo’s business in the U.S. centers around the import of quinoa,” Hawk said.
Blunt furrowed his brow. “Quinoa?”
"It's a grain," Alex said. "It's a healthy one, too, though I'm not surprised you haven't heard of it."
“You must have taken a double shot today with your espresso,” Blunt said.
Alex smiled wryly. “You’ve never tried quinoa, have you?”
“I try to stay away from foods that taste bad,” Blunt said.
“Anyway,” Hawk said, drawing out the word, “that’s about the extent of Nicolo’s business dealings in the U.S., which is quite different than what they’re bringing into Bolivia.”
“Which begs the question, what are the Russians doing sending weapons to Bolivia?” Blunt asked.
“That’s still working off the assumption that all our intel from Marco Lopez was correct,” Hawk said. “And we haven’t been able to verify that since Nicolo’s warehouse isn’t easily accessible.”
“Where do you think you should go next with this investigation?” Blunt asked.
“We want to go to San Francisco,” Alex said, “confront Adonis in person and see what we can learn about what he’s doing.”
“That sounds like the next logical step,” Blunt said. “There’s also another issue I want you to be aware of. I’ve hired Helenos-9 to work with us on a project.”
“You hired Mia?” Alex asked.
Blunt nodded. “Had to go to one of those seedy rave clubs to ask her.”
Hawk chuckled. “I would’ve paid to see that.”
“If you would’ve been here, I would’ve sent you instead,” Blunt said. “Believe me, it wasn’t a task I was excited about.”
“Why do you need her?” Alex asked.
“I met with Doug Quinn from the Pentagon. He’s concerned about all these hackers from the dark web disappearing at an alarming rate.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” Hawk asked.
“It’s odd for sure, but it also matches up with some chatter we’ve heard about a big event happening soon. Maybe it’s a coordinated effort or a forced one. Either way, if all those dangerous hackers are working together, it can’t be good.”
“Any indication as to the target?” Alex asked.
“Maybe the financial sector, Wall Street,” Blunt said. “We’re just playing hunches at this point.”
“Let us know if we can help with that, though I’m sure Mia will be able to track them down,” Alex said.
“That’s what I’m counting on,” Blunt said. “Now, get outta here. You’ve got a plane to catch.”
Blunt scooped up his papers and lumbered back to his office. Once he organized the documents, his assistant buzzed in over the intercom.
“Senator, I’ve got Clive Blackwood from the NSA on line one for you,” she said.
Blunt pressed the button as he picked up the receiver. “Why do I have the feeling that you are about to ruin my day?”
“Because that’s what I do, J.D. I ruin people’s days, if they’re lucky. The rest of these sorry sots get their entire lives ruined.”
Blunt chuckled. “In that case, I’ll consider myself fortunate. So, how the hell are ya?”
“I’d be doing a lot better if I didn’t just hear a recorded phone call.”
“How bad is it?”
Blackwood sighed. “Worse than anything I could ever imagine. In fact, my head is spinning right now.”
“Don’t keep me in suspense any longer. Spit it out.”
"We just intercepted a call on a phone we were asked to track several weeks ago. To be honest, I'm still not sure who placed the request or why, so I'm still looking into that. But the phone call itself as well as the people on each line makes me wonder what's really going on in this country—and you know I've seen a lot of crazy stuff over the years."
“Am I gonna have to drive over there and beat this information out of you?” Blunt asked. “You’re talking this up like you’re introducing the Super Bowl.”
“I promise you that I’m not overhyping this information.”
“Dammit, Blackwood, if you don’t—”
“All right, all right. We just intercepted a call to President Young . . . from Madeline Young.”
“That’s impossible,” Blunt said as he furrowed his brow. “She’s dead.”
"That was my first thought, too. But we analyzed the voiceprint.