Edge of Danger (Deadly Ops #4)
Katie Reus
For the men and women who put their lives on the line every day for complete strangers, often without gratitude. Your sacrifices are appreciated in ways words can never express.
Chapter 1
Unmanned aerial vehicle (UAV): aka drone, an aircraft without a human pilot physically aboard. Controlled by computers or a pilot at another location.
Rayford Osborn strode down the brick sidewalk of the quiet Georgetown neighborhood, trying to keep his walk natural. Not easy when a wild energy hummed through him. It was a little after ten and this area of the city was relatively quiet. As a sedan drove by, he automatically pulled his hoodie down a fraction to hide his face. A fucking hoodie.
His chosen adolescent attire grated against everything in him, but it was necessary for tonight’s meeting. Things were about to change; he felt it deep in his bones. His country needed to be on a different path, and if that happened to make him richer, he wasn’t going to complain. People who thought money was the root of all evil were fools. He and his wife did well for themselves, but more was always better. More money meant more power. And power was everything.
As the car continued past him without slowing a fraction, he let out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. This cloak-and-dagger business wasn’t for him. Since college and beyond he’d been so careful about his image, both in public and in private. No affairs, no drinking to excess, no drugs—nothing that could come back to bite him in the ass later on. So many of his peers had screwed that up in college, but not him.
Now what he was doing could get him sent to jail for the rest of his life, or more likely tried for treason and given the death penalty. Only if he and his like-minded allies got caught, of course.
Which they wouldn’t. They were too good and had been flying under everyone’s radar for too long. And now the time for talk was over. It was time to strike.
When he reached his destination, a high-priced townhome—they all were in Georgetown—the front door opened before he’d ascended the short set of stone stairs.
Thad Hillenbrand stood in the doorway, his icy blue eyes glinting as he frowned at him. “You’re late,” he growled as Rayford moved past him into the dimly lit foyer. “Everyone else is here.”
Rayford shoved his hoodie back and loosened his plain black scarf from around his neck. “I walked from the Metro.”
Hillenbrand’s shoulders relaxed at that. “Which station?”
“Dupont Circle. And before you ask, I was careful of the cameras.” The truth was, it was impossible to stay off all the CCTVs, but there was no connection between him and Hillenbrand. At least not an electronic or physical one. And Rayford already had a reason for being in the Georgetown area tonight if he was ever questioned. Once he’d left the Metro station, avoiding cameras had been a piece of cake. “I’m the last one here?” he asked, even though Hillenbrand had just stated he was.
The older man nodded once then gave a sharp jerk of his head that Rayford should follow. He’d only been in the townhome once before, for a covert meeting just like this one. He knew that Hillenbrand used the exclusive property to bring escorts to. It was the man’s one vice and something Rayford had thought he could use against him at one point.
But Hillenbrand wasn’t in politics—not directly—and made enough money on his own that he didn’t need his wealthy wife’s money if she decided to leave him. Not to mention the man treated his whores well so Rayford couldn’t even blackmail him on allegations of abuse. It appeared he only brought his women here because it was convenient. Plus, his wife was cheating on him too, so she likely knew of his affairs.
Rayford might work with the man because they shared common goals, but he didn’t like being involved with someone he had no dirt on. In his world, having leverage was king.
They only walked a few feet, bypassing the stairs, Hillenbrand instead opening the door that led to the basement.
Rayford went first on Hillenbrand’s insistence. The man didn’t like to have anyone at his back, and Rayford knew it was more or less a power play. But he didn’t care. If things went well, soon he’d be the top aide to the most powerful man in the country.
A low hum of voices grew louder as he turned the corner at the end of the stairs and walked down the last three steps. Eight men in all were there, ten total including him and Hillenbrand. There was only one man Rayford didn’t recognize. Something about the guy’s face tickled his memory bank, but he couldn’t place it. Blond hair, in shape, an almost forgettable appearance, but he knew he’d seen the man somewhere before.
Soon he’d find out, but he didn’t bother asking Hillenbrand. The man was more cautious than any of them, and he wouldn’t have allowed someone to come to this meeting he wasn’t one hundred percent sure of.
“We need to fight a war we can win,” Wagner, one of the men, said, stating something everyone in this room believed in. Mainly because he liked to hear his own voice.
So many of these men did. It annoyed Rayford, but he was used to the type. Hell, he worked for one. Men who couldn’t stand not to be the center of attention. Rayford had no problem living in the background.
“But is this the way?” Padilla, a dark-haired man in his late forties, rubbed a hand down his face, his tension clear.
“If you have doubts, you’re free to leave,” Hillenbrand said, his edgy tone making the room go silent.
Because everyone knew his words were a lie. Padilla could leave if he wanted, but if he did he’d be dead within twenty-four hours, likely less. They all knew what they’d signed up for when they began their cause, when Hillenbrand contacted them and brought them together. They all knew what was at stake and what the cost for backing out would be. It was like the mob. The only way out was in a body bag.
Padilla straightened against the brown Chesterfield where he sat next to Wagner, his gaze narrowing on Hillenbrand. “I don’t have doubts, but I do have an opinion, which I’m free to voice, yes?”
Coming to stand next to Rayford, Hillenbrand crossed his arms over his chest as he faced down Padilla. “We’re all welcome to our opinions, but in the end we know what has to be done, so these discussions are pointless and tiring. The current administration needs to be proven inept beyond a shadow of a doubt. We must pave the way for a new leader for the next election. Once we have our chosen man inside, we’ll be even closer to our end goal. And we’ll all be richer in the end.”
There was a low murmur of agreement throughout the room. Rayford inwardly groaned. Just like the others in the room, Hillenbrand liked to speak simply to hear his own voice. Rayford hoped the man wasn’t going to get long-winded on them now. He’d managed to break away from dinner at his wife’s parents’ house stating a work emergency, but he didn’t have time to waste.
“The time for talking is over. Now’s the time for action.” Striding to the minibar, Hillenbrand picked up a small black remote. “If you will all direct your attention to the screen,” he said, motioning toward the mini movie theater screen that took up one of the walls.
Hillenbrand used this as an entertainment room and occasionally let his college-aged boys use the place too. But he knew they weren’t going to be watching a movie in it.
“About a month ago a U.S.–owned drone was stolen from a military base,” Hillenbrand continued.
It wasn’t public knowledge, but Rayford knew of the incident. His own boss was sitting on the information, waiting on the right time to release it for the best of their political gain.
“Now you all are going to see why.” As Hillenbrand pressed a button on the remote, the lights in the room dimmed and a feed popped up on-screen that looked like an eagle eye from a plane.