Hours later, President Alden addressed only a handful of his closest security council members inside the Oval Office. Whitford stood before him, the file on Maxwell in his hands.
“The Bureau has no leads, Mr. President,” Whitford admitted. “Our agents are compromised at every turn. But there’s one man who can move where we can’t. Maxwell. He’s off the grid, but alive. I want authorization to bring him in.”
The president leaned back in his chair, his lined face grim. On the desk before him sat the folded flag from Senator Hale’s funeral, a reminder of what was at stake.
“Jaxon Maxwell,” Alden repeated slowly, as if tasting the name. “A man who walked away from his duty.”
Whitford held his ground. “A man who knows Gabriel better than any agent alive.”
The president’s gaze hardened. “If
