Shortly after the inauguration of a new President, there’s an attack on the White House. Another country has crossed the line thinking they wouldn’t be caught. The US intelligence services are good at their job, however. The evidence is clear and the war drums are beating. There’s just one problem. The President doesn’t believe them. He’s suspicious that the United States is being mislead and lured into conflict. He quietly enlists DJ and his team to run their own investigation. What the off the books team discovers is a conspiracy that no one could suspect. With no help or support, cut off from communications, DJ must not only unravel the mystery, but stop the threat and drag the US away from the brink of World War 3.
Abbi had been feeling contractions all morning, but there was no way she was going to tell her husband. DJ would have put a halt to this little adventure and headed straight for the closest hospital. She wasn’t about to let that happen. For two very good reasons. Number one, her husband needed the pat on the back he was about to receive. Needed it desperately. The man had come a long way in defeating his PTSD. This reminder that his actions and choices were ones that made this world a better place would boost his confidence that he mattered and help spur that progress along.
Number two, there was no way on God’s green earth that she was going to allow her baby to be born in Washington, D.C. This place was a garbage heap of politicians and bureaucrats. Her child, whatever the sex managed to be, was not going to have this armpit of a city emblazoned on its birth certificate. Besides, the contractions were nearly 45 minutes apart and her water hadn’t broken yet. She was sure they could get this handshaking done and be back on the FBI’s private plane and winging back to Texas with time to spare. Worst case scenario, she would give birth in the air headed back home. DJ had insisted that one of the docs back at the base accompany them on this trip anyway. She was too close to the end of this deal.
Good call, sweetcheeks, she thought at her husband sitting next to her in the limo. Good chance we might need the doc’s services. If the contractions were to be believed, she was about two weeks early. They hadn’t started until an hour after takeoff from their reclaimed Air National Guard base outside of Jasper, Texas. There was a good chance that they weren’t real anyway. Probably just false labor pains. Braxton Hicks contractions were common in a first pregnancy. Still…
She looked at her ample belly and rubbed it with one hand. She had gotten pretty large. In the beginning, it seemed that her belly would be nothing more than a cute little baby bump. Then out of the blue, she began to swell at an alarming pace. As a fitness junky, someone who was used to running and proud of her slim figure, she wasn’t too fond of that. Nor was she fond of the fact that the baby kicked when she tried to sleep, loved to tap dance on Abbi’s bladder, and caused her to walk funny. DJ had lovingly started referring to her as ‘Waddles.’ She liked it. She hated it. She just wanted it to be over. But not now. This meeting would be good for everyone, not just DJ.
Across from her and her husband, was her old boss, Special Agent in Charge Brett Foster. Next to him were agents Bradford Cashin and John Argo. On her right, sitting opposite of DJ and trying his best not to inadvertently touch her, was her replacement on the team and their head resident techno-geek, the former hacker known only as Carbon. To this day, she still had no idea what the man’s real name was. He had his paychecks wired to an offshore account that existed only as a set of numbers on a screen. He liked to keep his options open when it came to bailing out of here, it seemed. Whatever, she thought. Carbon had already proven his worth, so his idiosyncrasies could be tolerated. At least Brett seemed to accept them, and she guessed that was all that mattered.