Headhunters Read Online Free Page A

nodded, relieved in a way, I’m sure. I wasn’t
flipping out. I wasn’t psychotic. I was just keeping the family safe. “Things…
are going to be different now with Claire gone. And I’d like to talk with you
about that. OK? About what that might mean? The kids really love you and I
could really use some help.”
    Alaina smiled and wiped away a tear. She was like a daughter
to me.
    “I’ll be back. I shouldn’t be long,” I said and headed for
the door. I stepped outside, stopped and leaned back in.
    “Alaina? Can I borrow your car?”
     
    ***
     
    I sat on the park bench and waited
for Kendrick. The man was a legend, but only among his closest associates.
Beyond that, he wasn’t known at all. He stayed behind the scenes. He handled a
thousand tasks every day and never dropped the ball once. I was his right hand
man. His confidante. His conscience and his confessor. And right at this very
moment, I was scared to death to talk to him.
    Randall Kendrick appeared out of the darkness as if he’d
been born there. He was well over six feet tall and frighteningly thin. His
hair had gone white, but there was a strength in his face that belayed his
years.
    I knew the man for a long time. Before he became what he was
that day, Kendrick had been a good man, a good husband. Someone to joke with,
to golf with. But things changed.
    For Kendrick, they changed on September 11th, 2001. His wife
had been working in Tower 1 that morning. Her body eventually was identified. I
was with him when he saw the news report. I put my arm around him as a friend
as we watched the towers fall. Something broke in him that day. Something that
never got fixed.
    He became harder after that. Others may not have noticed it,
but I did. There was a desperate sadness, but beneath that was rage. A rage so
deep and so black, you could reach into it and never find the bottom.
    Five days after her body was identified, Kendrick approached
the Director of the National Security Agency. They’d plotted and schemed and
eventually, practically under the cover of night, a civilian division was
created. In much the same way that independent military contractors were used
in Iraq, we became the first and only independent civilian intelligence
service. We worked outside of the purview of the NSA or CIA. Funds were
diverted through offshore accounts. And our company was born.
    Kendrick’s wife’s name was Rose. On the day that Kendrick
told me about the company, he told me that if there had only been an agency
that could work to defend this country the way it ought to be defended, Rose
wouldn’t have died. To protect people like his Rose, Kendrick created
Blackthorn, Inc.
    We were a civilian subcontractor for domestic intelligence
operations. We were our own anti-terrorist cell. Kendrick ran the operations. I
recruited the talent. We didn’t require congressional oversight. We did what
needed to be done.
    I recruited underground software developers, hackers,
crackers, anyone who could exploit the weaknesses in databases for banks and
foreign powers. We captured phone conversations, broke into confidential
records, e-mail accounts, whatever it took to track threats to national
security. We re-tasked government satellites at will. Our chain of command was
short. The red tape nearly non-existent.
    And in each of our files, we held presidential pardons in
the event we were ever caught.
    “You were a little rough on our boys today, buddy,” Kendrick
drawled. He still talked like a southern college football coach.
    “I’ve had a rough couple of days.”
    “I’m deeply sorry about that, Simon.”
    “I know.”
    “I’ve prayed for you and your family.”
    I smiled. God and I weren’t on speaking terms.
    “I think we need to talk about something,” I said.
    “Alright, then.”
    Kendrick settled beside me on the bench and we sat for a
moment looking over the pond before us. I wondered for a second if anyone was
watching or if he’d come alone. I scanned the