Brady Hawk Series, Books 4-6

by R. J. Patterson

  “Get in,” she yelled at Fatima.

  Alex waited for her valuable passenger and then spun the car around so that it was facing the road.

  Come on, come on.

  She handed her phone to Fatima.

  “Call your father,” Alex said. “I know he’s been worried sick about you.”

  Fatima took the phone and began dialing her father’s number.

  “Where is he?” Alex asked aloud.

  After a few moments, she spotted Hawk sprinting up the hill toward the car, while gunfire ripped through the early morning air.

  She leaned across the front seat and pushed the door open.

  “Get in,” she yelled.

  He almost dove into the car and ducked as Alex stomped her foot on the gas.

  “Nice shooting,” Hawk said. “I had no idea you had such good aim.”

  “Neither did I.”

  Alex tore down the long driveway until she hit the main road, her tires barking on the pavement.

  “Fatima, have you reached your father yet?” she asked.

  Fatima handed the phone back to Alex. “I called him three times but he hasn’t answered yet.”

  Alex looked at Hawk. “We’ve got to hurry. He’s supposed to speak in ninety minutes.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Tangier, Morocco

  BLUNT SCOURED NEWS WEBSITES to see if something monumental had happened somewhere in the world, namely Prague. But there hadn’t been anything to appear online yet. If he were to believe the news sites, it was as if the entire world was living in peace and harmony.

  What a joke.

  Blunt checked his phone again. No messages. He wanted to speak with Hawk about the condition of the mission in Prague and hopefully urge him back to the states where there was apparently a real and credible threat, even if no one knew what it was yet. Still nothing from his top and only active operative.

  Christopher Roland had been a big help to Blunt, even if he didn’t fully trust his friend who’d been a member of the U.S. Senate Committee on Foreign Relations. But Blunt needed someone else, someone active within the CIA to find out where the United States’s espionage division was actively engaged abroad.

  Blunt picked up his phone and called Mark Westin, a former U.S. Army General who had strong connections at Langley.

  Maybe he knows something.

  “Hello,” Westin said as he answered his phone.

  “General Westin, this is Senator Blunt.”

  Westin broke into a soft chuck. “J.D. Blunt, why I swear I thought you’d been wiped off the face of the earth. What’s it been? Ten years? Fifteen?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, whatever the exact time, it’s been too damn long. What can I help you with?”

  “I’ve run into some trouble and need your help.”

  “I don’t know how much help I can be to you these days. I hardly talk to the boys over at the Pentagon, and most days I’m out fishing.”

  “Must be nice.”

  Westin laughed. “More than you know. But I’ll be glad to make a few phone calls on your behalf in between baiting my hooks. What’s going on?”

  Blunt sighed. “I need your help in a serious way.”

  “Are you in trouble?”

  “I’m not sure, but it sure does feel that way,” Blunt said. “But for the record, I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “But what does everyone think you did?”

  Blunt laughed nervously. “They think I’m cajoling the facts to my own benefit.”

  “And?”

  “Of course I didn’t do that. I was simply trying to help a friend,” he said.

  “That gives me some relief. But it never seems to be enough around this town, which seems to swing between phases of reviled enemy and mighty prosperous champion.” The former general sighed. “So, what do you want me to help you do?”

  “I need someone to help me figure out if I’m being played or not?”

  “Played? By whom?”

  Blunt chuckled. “It’s easier for me to tell you who might not be trying to have their way with me than to list all the potential suspects. It seems like I’m always inundated with people who are after me.”

  “Tell me what you know.”

  “I know there’s a potential terrorist strike on U.S. soil and nobody there knows a damn thing. I’m trying to decide if it’s worth me removing my top asset in the field and sending him home to stop this bombing from happening.”

  “And no one at home seems interested in helping?” Westin asked.

  “Not interested in helping stop it—or simply doesn’t care that it does.”

  “I see,” Westin said before pausing.

  Blunt waited, hoping that he hadn’t wasted his or Westin’s time.

  “I might be able to help you,” Westin said. “Hang tight.”

  Blunt waited as Westin put their call on hold. While it was no more than a couple of minutes, it felt like an eternity.

  Damn it, I don’t have all day. Hurry up, Westin.

  No sooner than Blunt had finished thinking his less than flattering thoughts did the line come alive with the sound of Westin’s gravely voice. “The intel I’ve seen suggests a high value target will be in the crosshairs of Al Hasib this weekend,” Westin said. “And there’s strong evidence to suggest Nationals Park is the focal point of the attack.”

  “Those bastards are going to try and blow up a baseball stadium?”

  “They’re going to succeed if you don’t stop them,” Westin said. “They’ve probably already planted the explosives.”

  “And none of your contacts is interested in stopping them?”

  “Terrorism—it can create political leverage at times,” Westin said. “If this goes down like Al Hasib is planning—”

  “Wait. Are you sure Al Hasib is behind this?” Blunt interrupted.

  “According to this report I just got my hands on, Karif Fazil is in the Washington area and overseeing the operation.”

  “They know where he is, but they won’t do anything about it? This is insane.”

  “I’m not sure they know exactly where he is, but he’s been spotted around town. I wish it wasn’t like this, J.D. Really, I swear.”

  “When will this go down?”

  “It looks like it’ll be Saturday.”

  “That’s all I need to know,” Blunt said before he hung up.

  He immediately tried to dial Hawk again.

  Still no answer. Blunt wasn’t one to worry, but he was worried now. The situation was far more serious than he previously believed—and Hawk was nowhere to be found.

  CHAPTER 20

  Prague, Czech Republic

  Pachtuv Palace Hotel

  HAWK HIT THE STEERING WHEEL and let out a few expletives. Getting out of the city in the middle of the night was rather easy; returning in the thick of rush hour traffic would test any driver’s patience.

  “Just take it easy,” Alex said. “I’m sure we’ll get there before he speaks.”

  “What time is he scheduled to address the conference again?” Hawk asked.

  “Eleven o’clock, less than an hour,” Fatima said.

  Hawk checked his rearview mirror and watched Fatima stare blankly at the surrounding traffic.

  “How are you doing back there?” he asked.

  Fatima didn’t respond. She did little more than blink a few times.

  “Have you ever had anything like this happen to you before?” Alex asked.

  “What do you mean? Like kidnapped?” Fatima asked.

  “Yeah, kidnapped or any other situation where your life was in danger,” Alex said.

  Hawk watched as Fatima closed her eyes and sighed.

  “Well, I no longer live in Jordan with my father, if that tells you anything.”

  “What happened?” Hawk asked.

  “I had a brother once,” Fatima said, her voice quivering. “My father told him a hundred times to avoid some friends he’d hanging a
round. But he didn’t listen. During an attempted coup, some of the same guys my brother thought were his friends turned him over to some of the militants trying to overthrow the Jordanian government. They were trying to use my brother as leverage, but it didn’t work. The king was scared and wasn’t sure he could trust anybody in the military, so he called on a few favors for the U.S. and asked them to destroy a known compound of the coup leader. And the drones did just that. They also killed my brother who was there, too.”

  Hawk exhaled slowly, burying his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Those kinds of stories remind me of why I’m here.”

  “My father was angry for a few months, first at the U.S., then at the king. But he knew it was ultimately my brother’s fault for hanging around the wrong crowd he’d been warned against spending time with.”

  “And that’s why you attend a boarding school here in Prague,” Hawk said.

  “My father didn’t want to take chances with me making friends with the wrong people. But I guess that didn’t stop the people who wanted to kidnap me. When terrorists want to kidnap someone, they’ll find you no matter what.”

  “Well, you were brave,” Alex said.

  Fatima chuckled as she broke her stoic gaze. “I was scared out of my mind. You two were the brave ones. I owe you my life.”

  “You owe us nothing, Fatima,” Hawk said. “Those men tried to take something your father valued dearly, but they failed. All we did was stop them.”

  “But without you, I would’ve—”

  “It’s over,” Hawk said. “Try to move on and not think about the what-ifs. I would lie awake for eight hours every night, staring at the ceiling wondering how I was alive if I allowed myself to be consumed by near misses. What makes us stronger is how we put adversity behind us, yet never forgetting what it took to get through it in case it ever happens again.”

  She didn’t say another word for the next few minutes.

  When traffic started moving again, Hawk found the nearest exit and attempted to navigate his way around Prague, utilizing the surface streets. The GPA app on his phone helped him avoid missing the start of Yaseen Abbadi’s speech. Abbadi was pacing back and forth in the hallway just outside the hotel’s ballroom where the conference was taking place.

  Hawk watched as Abbadi dropped his entire speech, sending papers everywhere. Abbadi then grabbed Fatima and hugged her, pulling her tightly against his chest. The father-daughter pair broke into tears.

  Hawk knelt down and collected the stray papers off the hallway floor. As he picked up the loose pages, Hawk glanced at the first few lines. “So, it is with a heavy heart today that I regret to inform you that Jordan must pull out …” Hawk dropped his head and exhaled, exasperated over the fact that Abbadi was still kowtowing to Al Hasib’s demands, even with his daughter out of harm’s way and secure.

  Abbadi took the papers from Hawk.

  “How can I ever thank you?” Abbadi asked. “There just aren’t enough words.”

  “Our work isn’t done here yet,” Hawk said. “We came to protect you while you delivered your speech, and that’s what we intend to do.”

  “Very well then,” Abbadi said with a shrug. “I’ll make a few final adjustments to the script.”

  Hawk smiled, knowing Abbadi was likely going to revert back to his original speech.

  Ten minutes later when the meeting commenced, Abbadi took his position behind the lectern, both hands gripping the sides of it and leaning slightly forward. To Hawk, he appeared to be a man who was about to unleash an attack.

  But then Hawk, who sat with Alex on the front row directly in front of Abbadi, became confused as the speech the prime minister read sounded like the original one Hawk quickly perused while scooping up the pages off the floor.

  “The last few days have been very trying for me personally with the kidnapping of my daughter. However, it’s nothing compared to the last few years that have been trying for our entire region. We have all lost fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, friends and acquaintances—and for what? This must stop. But it is with a heavy heart today that I regret to inform you that Jordan no longer feels bound by duty to uphold this peace treaty that I’ve helped draw up to bring stability to our region.”

  A collective gasp could be heard throughout the room, but Abbadi didn’t stop.

  “No, Jordan feels—and I feel—morally obligated to stand up to the oppressors who want us to go back to our lives of fear, lives controlled by men whose true intentions are to impose their will on the people they consider their enemies. But no longer.”

  The murmuring ceased.

  “Today, when we sign this peace treaty, we will be joining hands and standing together to say enough to the terrorists who seek to control us. We will sign together as free nations because we want to remain free nations.”

  The room erupted in applause. Hawk looked around in awe. He noticed several men and women crying as they all applauded Abbadi. Camera’s flashed and clicked around him, and a bank of television cameras in the middle of the large ballroom captured video footage of the momentous occasion.

  Abbadi threw up both hands and gestured for everyone to stop. But it was a battle he couldn’t win. The audience rose to their feet in a wave that spread across the room. After thirty seconds, Abbadi, whose face had flushed red, finally forced a smile.

  Then Hawk saw—a tiny red dot flickering across Abbadi’s chest. On instinct, Hawk leapt onto the stage and dove in front of the prime minister. The applause abruptly ended and was replaced by shouts and screams and more gunfire. Conference attendees wormed their way underneath chairs and covered their heads with their hands.

  Hawk had assumed that with all the tight security at The Pachtuv Palace hotel, the stage would be a safe place for Abbadi. Nevertheless, Hawk had scouted out the room the day before in the event of something happening during the conference. There was a door just behind the stage that was across the hall from an emergency exit stairwell.

  Hawk wasted no time in rushing Abbadi out of the room and into the stairwell.

  “Where are you taking me?” Abbadi asked.

  “Some place safe,” Hawk answered.

  Abbadi took two steps up the stairs before Hawk yanked him back down.

  “We’re not going that way,” Hawk said. “Stay with me for your own safety.”

  Hawk led Abbadi on a long descent into the bowels of the hotel. Once they reached a wall that appeared to be a dead end, Abbadi began to panic.

  “What are we going to do now? They’re going to kill us both,” Abbadi said.

  Hawk flashed a smile at Abbadi. “Watch this.”

  Hawk pushed a portion of the wall that revealed a keypad. Typing in the access code, the sealed wall opened up.

  “What is this place?” Abbadi asked in awe as he stepped inside.

  “It’s the catacombs, where the dead are buried,” Hawk said. “Prague is full of them from when Catholicism dominated the country. And even this palace had one.”

  Abbadi furrowed his brow as he stared at the dimly lit and damp surroundings. “This is still far better than the alternative.”

  Hawk nodded. “I want you to stay here while I go out and find who did this to you. You’re not going to be safe until we capture whoever was behind the shooting.”

  Hawk hustled back toward the door.

  “Thank you, Mr. Hawk,” Abbadi said.

  “My pleasure, Mr. Prime Minister,” Hawk said.

  He exited the catacombs and typed in the code to shut the door and secure the room.

  Hawk headed up the stairs and winced. He grabbed his upper right arm with his left hand and grimaced due to the pain.

  In all the chaos that unfolded moments earlier, he’d been so focused on his mission of protecting Abbadi that he’d hardly noticed the bullet wound that was leaking blood.

  Hawk gritted hit teeth and trudged up the stairs. He knew what he needed to do next. He needed to find Alex.

  CHAPTER 21
r />   Washington, D.C.

  AS MUCH AS KARIF FAZIL enjoyed walking around in the open without anyone suspecting him, he knew it wouldn’t be long before he drew a distrustful glance or two. Even though it was still considered bad form in U.S. culture to suspect an Arab man simply because of how he looked, people still did it—and law enforcement still acted on it. The If you see something, say something mantra that had been drummed into the minds of Americans through saturated messaging was part of the reason why Fazil felt uneasy about remaining in one place for too long. He needed a change in scenery and a place with more heightened security.

  The compound Malik Mudin rented for Al Hasib activities sat just off the Potomac River in an industrial area of Washington. A brick wall about eight feet tall surrounded the property, which consisted of a large parking lot and a 50,000-square foot building three stories high in the center. A small dock provided access to the water or—as Mudin had told Fazil when he first secured the location—an emergency escape route.

  There were six other operatives along with Fazil and Mudin who were there to assist in the mission. Three men would join Mudin inside the stadium to make sure that it properly imploded and all targets were destroyed. Two other men would handle the transportation needs of the group, while Fazil planned to remain at the compound with another operative to handle communications. It was a plan two years in the making ever since they saw the meeting of G-8 leaders would be held in Washington. Fazil didn’t simply want to unleash a bomb to strike terror into the hearts of Americans; he wanted to make a statement. With all the leaders in attendance, they would suffer at the hands of an Al Hasib attack and realize there was nowhere they could go to escape Al Hasib’s wrath.

  When Fazil learned that the G-8 leaders would be attending a Nationals baseball game, he focused the entire operation on detonating a bomb at the stadium. With someone on the inside feeding him information, Fazil could have planned for any number of targets, but a baseball stadium was more than a random building. It was an American cathedral. And Fazil intended to bring it down in front of the entire nation.

  With everything in place, Fazil decided his team needed to relax and enjoy themselves. He’d noticed how uptight they’d been for the past few days. Instead of sitting around and worrying if every little detail was going to go as planned, he wanted the operatives to enjoy some American delights. He ordered two dozen prostitutes and an extravagant catered meal from a steakhouse. To get the mood right, he also hired a DJ. By 11:00 p.m., the compound had turned into a raging party.