Brady Hawk 10 - Into the Shadows

by R. J. Patterson

  A buzz began to fill the auditorium as Michaels’ tone turned decisively off topic.

  “Quite frankly, we need all of you to combat terrorism more than we need you to invent more green technologies. There are plenty of brilliant minds who conjure up ideas each day to make our world a cleaner place to live in. But there are also corrupt minds who constantly plot and scheme how to enforce their extreme beliefs on others, utilizing the tool of terrorism to do so. And that must be stopped.

  “I’m proud of the advances we’ve made in the area of addressing terrorists all across the globe who seek to impose their brand of horror on the American people as well as our trusted allies. We will not take a passive stance on this during my tenure in the White House. Al Hasib and other groups who hope to impose fear on the global community will receive their comeuppance. No longer will we address such provocative rhetoric with attempts to merely thwart their forthcoming attacks. Today, I put forth a new resolve led by my administration and this country. Terrorists, you have nowhere to hide. We will find you and destroy you. Our actions will be swift and decisive, and you will know where we stand on your tactics designed to kill innocent people while dealing in the currency of fear. No, you will fear us. This country and any other allies who wish to join us will be protected by a union of resolve that will take aim at your pathetic attempts to sow discord and terror among the masses. We will wipe you off the face of the earth.”

  Michaels nodded toward one of the Secret Service agents standing off stage to his left. He hustled onto stage and walked off with Michaels.

  However, the applause was somewhat muted, which confused Michaels. He’d never considered that his topic might create a backlash at worst or even just a lukewarm reception at best. He fully expected to hear a triumphant standing ovation.

  “Why aren’t they standing?” he asked the agent.

  “Perhaps the translation is still being processed. Sometimes it can take up to thirty seconds before the words are translated.”

  Michaels nodded. “That must be what it is.”

  They disappeared offstage where Michaels met David Kriegel.

  “So, how did I do?” Michaels asked with a wide grin.

  “Why the hell did you go off script? You were supposed to talk about green technologies—that was it.”

  “Never let a rapt audience go to waste,” Michaels said. “I couldn’t care less what those bureaucratic bozos out there think of me. That was for the American people. That was for my campaign.”

  “You’re already ahead in the polls. Why do something that’s not going to engender goodwill across the board?”

  “Vying for voters across the board doesn’t get you elected,” Michaels said. “But pandering to the majority opinion is one way to divide and conquer.”

  “But everyone thinks we should fight terrorism,” Kriegel said. “Even your opponent is a staunch believer in that.”

  “He can’t demonstrate action, but I can.”

  “Heaven forbid you have something planned.”

  Michaels smiled. “Heaven won’t be able to stop the hell I have planned for a certain group of terrorists in the Middle East. It’s going to make for terrific television.”

  “I don’t even want to ask.”

  “Good, then don’t. I just know that voters will definitely pull the lever for me on Election Day if they feel like they’re going to be safer with me as their commander in chief.”

  “This is absurd. I didn’t agree to stay on another term so you could retain the White House with bullshit fear-mongering tactics.”

  “The only thing that matters about political tactics are if they work or not. Besides, no one ever claimed that politics was a sanitized profession.”

  Kriegel sighed as he hung his head. “We might be through here.”

  “You gonna quit on me now?” Michaels said. “You’ve done a fantastic job, David. All I did out there today was seal the deal—Well, it’ll be sealed in a few days after I back up my talk with action.”

  “And how exactly are you going to do that?”

  Michaels wagged his finger. “No, no, no. You said you weren’t going to ask.”

  “You’re right. I did. Forget I ever said anything.”

  “So you’re still on board, right? I am going to be president again—and you’ll be justly rewarded for your allegiance. At the end of the day, I’m a far better ally than I am an enemy.”

  One of Michaels’ aides approached the two men and held out a cell phone.

  “It’s for you, sir,” the man said as he handed the phone to Michaels. “The caller said it’s urgent.”

  “Yes,” Michaels said.

  “That was a nice speech, sir.”

  “Ollie, so nice of you to give me a call.”

  “I watched your speech online. It was a thing of beauty, sir.”

  “So, what do you need? I’m presuming you didn’t just call me to heap praises on my speech-making ability.”

  “No, I wanted to talk about the delivery you want me to make.”

  “What about it?”

  “I’m getting nervous, sir.”

  “About what?”

  “That this might be a setup of some sort.”

  Michaels chuckled. “A setup? By who?”

  “I don’t want to deliver the weapons—uh, package, if we’re going to be placed in a compromising position.”

  “Did you read the message I sent you from my secure phone?”

  “Yes, sir. I just—”

  “Stop wasting my time. Make the tough call. That’s what leaders do.”

  “I understand, sir. However, I wanted to let you know that everything is ready to go. All I need is the green light for the mission.”

  “I feel like we’ve already had this conversation. I told you that I’ll send you the orders to move forward when it’s time. Are we clear?”

  “Crystal, sir.”

  “Good. Now stay safe out there.”

  Michaels hung up and walked across the room before handing the phone back to his aide.

  “Everything all right?” Kriegel asked as he approached Michaels.

  “Just a few more days, David, and everything will be more than all right. Just a few more days.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Brighton, England

  ALEX RUBBED HER HANDS together, her eyes wide with excitement. She couldn’t remove the grin from her face if she wanted to. Utilizing her powerful software, she managed to transform her voice into Oliver Ackerman’s—and President Michaels remained oblivious throughout the entire conversation. For a moment, she started to wonder if he had caught on to her ruse. But then she considered that Michaels’ arrogance would likely never allow him to admit he’d been duped.

  Pride cometh before a fall.

  She smiled as she tightened up the audio file and made copies. After dropping several versions of the recording in various folders located in clouds around the Internet, she saved one onto a thumb drive and contemplated her next move. Ever since she hatched the plot, she was convinced it would work. But to be sitting at her computer with the power she’d been trying to attain in her hands—the moment felt somewhat surreal to her.

  Part of her wanted to blast the story to all of the media from an anonymous account and be done with it. She considered sending it to Wikileaks and letting the media fight over the crumbs of the story. Despite her desire to move on to other issues that demanded her attention, this story needed to be walked into a news outlet and told by a journalist respected by everyone.

  However, there was one portion of the recorded phone call that bothered her, the part about Michaels claiming to have already sent a message.

  What did Michaels say?

  That was the question she wanted answered at the moment, though she believed there was enough incriminating evidence to bring about public ire. Once a journalist linked “Ollie” to Oliver Ackerman, the questions would mount faster than an avalanche storming down a mountainside and envelop Michaels just
the same. The final hurdle Alex faced was selecting the perfect journalist.

  She couldn’t pick a partisan hack or even a serious writer from an oft-dismissed news outlet. This story needed a respected political writer, one with a penchant for breaking stories and free from the trappings of political bias.

  I know just the person.

  Alex took a deep breath and dialed Brian Lawton’s number from The Chicago Tribune.

  She’d met Lawton in college at Northwestern University, and while they hadn’t been close friends, she was still comfortable with calling him up out of the blue. After she spent a few minutes explaining the bombshell story and evidence she possessed, he stopped her.

  “Should we really be talking about this on the phone?” Lawton asked. “With the precedent already set by the government for listening in on journalists’ calls, I’m not really comfortable with continuing this conversation, much less even writing such a story. Now, if you want to call me some other time to reminisce about the good ole days, you can. But if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”

  Alex listened as the line went dead. She hung up, disappointed that she’d made such a mistake. If Michaels had The Chicago Tribune’s lines monitored, the brief explanation she gave would raise red flags. Lawton was smart to get off the line.

  But as Alex considered his parting words, she realized he was sending her a message. The Good Ole Days was a bar they used to frequent near campus—and one apparently Lawton still visited on occasion. She still had the number memorized from calling to see if certain friends had beat her to their favorite gathering place.

  She waited a couple of hours before calling Good Ole Days. Lonnie Cooper, the same man who’d owned the bar when she attended Northwestern, answered the phone.

  “Hi, Lonnie. I’m looking for Brian Lawton,” Alex said. “Is he there by chance?”

  “Who is this?”

  “It’s your favorite Wildcat.”

  “Well, I’ll just leave that right there and won’t make any guesses.”

  “Lonnie, you tell all the girls that, don’t you?”

  Lonnie chuckled. “It’s how I keep all my customers. They all think they’re my favorite here. Now, who were you looking for again?”

  “Brian Lawton.”

  “He just sat down at the bar. Hold on a second.”

  Alex listened as the familiar background sounds filtered through the receiver. She could hear the pings of the pinball machine in the background, two men arguing loudly in what sounded like a sports debate, and a patron trying to get Lonnie’s attention for another round.

  “You got my message,” Lawton said as he answered the phone.

  “Sorry about that. A momentary lapse in judgment. I just wasn’t thinking.”

  “I heard you were a spy now of some sort.”

  “Not at the moment,” Alex said. “What I’m doing now might be considered treasonous by some. But when the truth comes out, everyone will know what kind of patriot I am.”

  “You’re likely just a decent human being above all else,” Lawton said.

  “I don’t care what you call me as long as you don’t include my name in the article. This is going to blow the lid off Michaels’ campaign.”

  “You send me whatever you got, and I’ll get everything verified before I even take this to my editor,” he said.

  “Good because the last journalist we tried to convince to take a story of this magnitude didn’t fare so well.”

  “What happened to him?”

  Alex sighed. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this since it might make you reconsider.”

  “What? Did he wind up dead?”

  Alex remained silent.

  “Seriously, Alex. He died?”

  “Yeah. The official report was suicide, but that wasn’t an outright lie.”

  “I don’t care,” Lawton said. “I’ll do it anyway. Partisan politics aside, I’ve always had an uneasy feeling about him, like he’d somehow gamed his way into the White House.”

  “Well, he’s trying to game his way into a second term—and he doesn’t even need to based on the latest polls.”

  “Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen then.”

  “Good. I’ll be in touch tomorrow with details on where you can pick up the assets for the story.”

  Alex hung up and pumped her first.

  Michaels was going to go down in a glorious blaze.

  CHAPTER 10

  Muscat, Oman

  JUST OVER TWENTY-FOUR HOURS after penetrating Fortress Security’s headquarters, Hawk crouched against the edge of the building across the street from Ray’s apartment. Deciding his next move wasn’t easy given the circumstances. As a person, Hawk liked Ray. They’d definitely had their differences while in Navy Seal training, but Hawk had grown to respect his fellow soldier. Yet Hawk couldn’t dismiss the nagging feeling that Ray’s loyalty to Ackerman exceeded any goodwill accumulated while serving together. In short, Hawk spent the night on the street because of his distrust for Ray.

  Yet Hawk’s fondness for Ray as a person created a personal dilemma, one that Hawk struggled with before choosing self-preservation over a fragile friendship.

  After a few minutes, Ray exited his apartment and headed down the street. With his hands stuffed in his jacket, he cast frequent glances over his shoulder until he disappeared from sight.

  Hawk waited another minute and checked the street, which was empty and lit only by the pale fluorescent street lamps. He stood up and hustled toward Ray’s apartment and used the key he’d been given to unlock the door. In an effort to remain discreet, Hawk kept the lights off. He rummaged through the bedroom dresser in search of some cash.

  Ray has to have some emergency money stashed around here somewhere.

  Frustrated at coming up empty, Hawk headed toward another room before he heard an awkward squeak beneath one of the floor planks. Hawk knelt down and used a knife to jimmy open the loose board. About a foot below was a small treasure trove—cash, weapons, and passports.

  Maybe Ray doesn’t trust Ackerman as much as I thought.

  Hawk scooped out a healthy portion of cash before replacing the plank and securing it. With his mission accomplished, Hawk exited the apartment and walked down the empty street toward a location several blocks away that he’d seen advertising an apartment for rent. He knocked on the door several times before it swung open. An elderly man looked Hawk up and down before asking him what he wanted. After waving a wad of cash in front of the man’s face, Hawk signed the papers for a monthly rental on an apartment.

  * * *

  HAWK DECIDED TO LAY LOW for a couple of days after he’d infiltrated Fortress Security. Severely injuring one of the thugs Ackerman had sent after Hawk wouldn’t exactly endear himself to the company’s boss. But Hawk had come to the conclusion that his work was done. He’d yet to contact Alex and find out how her operation went, but he decided the best move for the time being was to regroup and form a plan to get out of the Middle East. Oman had provided cover at a time when he needed it most, but he was growing weary of being watched everywhere he went.

  Oman’s public library system was almost non-existent, but he decided to venture to the university in Muscat and figure out a way to communicate with Alex. The results of her plan would have to dictate his next steps.

  On the campus of Muscat University, Hawk attempted to blend in as best as he could. Though the students were overwhelmingly Omani, the faculty members were diverse. Based on the frequent visiting members, an American walking around between buildings wouldn’t draw the same kind of attention such an action would anywhere else in the city.

  Hawk bought a brief case on his way downtown to serve as a prop while at the school. Though he’d been the recipient of many long glances elsewhere, nobody on campus paid him any attention. Upon arriving at the library, he talked his way past one of the librarians. Hawk claimed that he’d lost his faculty card, convincingly enough that the man at the desk gave him a temporary use
rname and password to log into the computers.

  Hawk logged into the joint email account and sent Alex a message, inquiring about how things went. He also asked if she was online at the moment. Passing the time by catching up on current events, he logged back in a half hour later to find that Alex had responded. Her note included a detailed report on her phone conversation with Michaels and how she delivered the information to her reporter friend.

  By employing a family friend, Alex explained how she set up a drop on the L train in Chicago as a way of protecting everyone involved. She told Hawk that the reporter reached out to her after receiving the information and promised that he’d write a story within the next couple of days.

  Hawk smiled as he read the message. He wrote her back and shared his desire to leave Oman since they’d accomplished what they needed to with Michaels. Since nothing was left for him in Oman, Hawk shared how all he wanted to do was get back west, preferring to wait out Michaels’ demise somewhere in Europe.

  “I haven’t seen a Bollywood movie in ages,” he wrote. “And I think I know just the person to watch one with me.”

  She responded by letting him know that she would contact Blunt and they would establish a rendezvous point.

  “Isn’t telecommuting amazing?” Hawk wrote in his final message. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

  Hawk walked toward the library exit, thanking the man at the reference desk before leaving. Once the warm air blasted Hawk as he stepped outside, he couldn’t help but smile. Fortune had smiled favorably upon the Firestorm team. A prideful and sloppy Michaels had sealed his own fate. In a matter of days, living in hiding would be a distant memory.

  However, as Hawk walked back home, he continued to be bothered by the fact that Michaels might still intend to sell weapons to terrorists. Stirring up conflict might still be his way of dodging scrutiny. Hawk considered the possibility that Michaels might dismiss the allegations and claim his victories over terrorist groups as his reason for why the American people should still vote for him. His ability to spin any negative news had become almost legendary. Pundits marveled at the way voters extended grace to a man, who, time and time again, had proven to be anything but trustworthy. But polls showed people felt safe with Michaels in the White House, which proved to be an insurmountable attribute.