No Way Out by Patterson R. J

Author:Patterson, R. J. [Patterson, R. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: thriller
Amazon: B078HBFPZ5
Goodreads: 37755714
Publisher: Green E-Books
Published: 2018-03-18T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 18

Springfield, Virginia

HAWK PARKED ALONG THE CURB in front of the one-story brick ranch and turned off his car along with the headlights. After grabbing the folder from the front passenger seat and switching on the dome light, he sifted through the Secret Service dossier prepared on Jared Fowler, the identity of Young’s blackmailer.

At first glance, nothing set off alarm bells for Hawk regarding Fowler. The twenty-seven-year-old majored in business at Georgetown and graduated with honors five years ago. Since then, he started working at a real estate development firm and was responsible for several deals that resulted in the revitalization of a handful of Washington metro area neighborhoods. Fowler didn’t have any parking tickets to his name, much less a criminal record.

The most curious thing was that Fowler had no known connections to the White House or Secret Service. However, this concerned Hawk. Video footage like the kind Fowler had doesn’t just tumble into someone’s hands on accident—not unless he happened to be there. And since Fowler was a virtual Boy Scout, Hawk questioned just how in-depth the report was. Hawk was convinced something was missing.

“Where’s the connection?” Hawk asked aloud. He pondered this question for a few more minutes but came up with nothing. He tucked the file away and climbed out of the car.

Hawk donned a fedora and put on a pair of fake glasses as he strode up the steps to Fowler’s home and rapped hard on the screen door frame.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” a man said.

When the door swung open, Hawk didn’t waste any time addressing the man.

“Jared Fowler?” Hawk asked.

“Yeah. Who are you?”

“I stopped by to speak with you on behalf of the president.”

Fowler glanced down at his dinner plate and set it on a table in the entryway. He brushed the crumbs off his hands by clapping them together and ran his tongue around mouth before opening the door.

“I guess if you’re here on behalf of the president, I ought to listen,” Fowler said.

“Thanks,” Hawk said as he ducked inside.

“Right this way,” Fowler said, gesturing toward the adjacent sitting room. “And I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Max Summerton,” Hawk said, giving an alias without skipping a beat. “I’m an advisor to the president, and he asked me to stop by and speak with you.”

“I would ask how you found me, but that would be a stupid question.”

Hawk sat down across from Fowler and chuckled. “There’s not a lot the president can’t find out about anyone, even those who come to him anonymously.”

“Look, I don’t want any trouble, and I’m not here to throw a fly in the political ointment just before the election. I just want the American people to know the truth out of respect for the office. And it’s with that same respect that I wanted to give Vice-Pres—I mean, President Young—the opportunity to tell the truth about what happened to President Michaels.”

“Help me understand why this is so important to you.”

“Do you like to be lied to?”

Hawk shrugged. “I don’t prefer it, but I realize it happens all the time.

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