Brady Hawk 07 - State of Play

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Brady Hawk 07 - State of Play Page 8

by R. J. Patterson


  “Loud and clear,” she replied.

  “I don’t know if you saw all that, but Bashir is dead.”

  “The power is out, which includes the security cameras, but I was hoping you were going to make it.”

  “Think you can turn the power back on?”

  “I can do it, but do you think it’s a good idea yet? I told Blunt I was in, but I haven’t received confirmation that our backup was here.”

  Hawk found Bashir’s gun and pocketed it. “Just open these doors and let me the hell out of here.”

  “You got it.”

  The power surged back on as did the lights, while the doors rolled up. Hawk stood and looked at the fallout from the fight. He winced at seeing such ancient documents scattered on the floor, some covered in blood, but he’d survived a protracted fight with the Missile Man.

  Before he had any time to revel in his victory, he heard approaching footsteps echoing down the hall. Hawk turned and ran in the opposite direction.

  “Alex, I’m gonna need your help right now,” he said.

  “Doing all I can,” she said. “Turn left.”

  Hawk followed her instructions as she continued to guide him through the maze of Bashir’s hideout.

  “Where are you taking me?” he asked.

  “To the storage facility,” she said. “It’s where I am—and where backup will arrive.”

  After several minutes, Hawk arrived in the storage facility and was sprinting across the vast room when someone told him to stop.

  “Make another move and you’re dead,” the man said.

  Hawk, whose hands were already in the air, braced himself for a bullet. Instead, he was pleasantly surprised.

  “Who are you?” the man asked. “Mr. Bashir doesn’t allow just anyone in here—and if you’re running, you likely don’t belong here.”

  Before Hawk could answer, the door to the outside exit began to roll up, allowing the entrance of several Humvees with mounted machine guns. Hawk didn’t wait around, instead sprinting toward several parked tankers on the other side of the room.

  The man took a shot at Hawk but missed.

  Seconds later, the Humvee roared toward the man and peppered him with several shots. He collapsed to the ground, dropping his weapon.

  Hawk raised his hands as he jogged toward the vehicles.

  “Are we glad to see you,” Hawk said.

  “Glad you survived, sir,” one of the soldiers said. “But we don’t have time for chit chat. We need to get to work because there’s still a big job to do.”

  CHAPTER 20

  KARIF FAZIL WARMED HIS HANDS with a cup of tea while he stood outside the bakery in the village of Rejal Al-Maa. Through a secure email complete with a cipher, The Missile Man delivered detailed instructions to Fazil regarding the exchange. Fazil would be blindfolded and taken to The Missile Man’s hideout, where Fazil could inspect the product, make final payment, and ride with his men to the port town of Jazan. Once there, the missiles would be loaded onto a cargo ship headed for the assigned port.

  While Fazil usually let his top lieutenants handle these exchanges, he felt the magnitude and importance of this deal necessitated his presence. The Missile Man’s protocol seemed standard for most of the weapons dealers Fazil had personally ever conducted business with, and the procedure gave him no reason for concern. Until they were five minutes late.

  Fazil had already finished his tea when a black SUV rolled up to the bakery and immediately initiated contact. Without saying a word, one of the guards ushered Fazil near their vehicle and began a pat down. Fazil’s efforts to engage in small talk were met with silence.

  As Fazil was about to get into the vehicle, a black bag was slipped over his head and his hands were tied together.

  “How long does this take?” Fazil asked.

  “Half an hour,” one of the men said.

  Unable to see any of the beautiful surroundings that he found breathtaking during his ascent into the mountainous region, Fazil was left to imagine where he was. But the landscape wasn’t what had captured Fazil’s thoughts. Something far more captivating had arrested Fazil, something far more gratifying, too—revenge.

  As the vehicle lurched and rolled up the hills and around the tight corners, Fazil pictured the missiles striking iconic American cities. New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, Houston, St. Louis. Each one accessible from the water, each one allowing his soldiers to reach striking distance with the ballistic missiles he was about to buy without ever having to worry about how to get such destructive weapons, much less people, past customs and into the country. Fazil could already hear the reports delivered by somber newscasters over the shaky aerial images of smoldering landmarks. The chaos caused by Al Hasib’s attack would set off a domino effect—widespread and rampant crime, finger pointing among politicians to score points with constituents, and a rush to strike back at someone.

  Americans are so predictable.

  He smiled as he considered how he’d already been working two steps ahead. If the U.S. military responded as Fazil forecasted, he’d be able to move into phase two of his plan, wreaking even more havoc on U.S. soil.

  It’s almost too easy.

  But that was far from the truth. Nothing had been easy for Al Hasib in its efforts to strike America. Time after time, great plans had been thwarted through leaked information or incredible intelligence, both of which left Fazil wondering how the U.S. intelligence community had been able to stop them at every turn. But those days were over. It was Al Hasib’s turn to reverse the roles. Because of Black Wolf’s ability to syphon millions of dollars from the Bank of London, Fazil was in a position to move forward in an unexpected way. Black Wolf made it easy by helping finance their entire operation. And if it hadn’t been for the hacker’s hatred for the United States, the mutual partnership may have never materialized.

  The long ride up the mountain seemed to pass quickly for Fazil. He’d been so absorbed in his thoughts that he’d barely noticed the SUV had come to a stop. He could hear the muffled voices of several men talking with the driver followed by the hum of the window rolling up. They continued on for a few more minutes before finally stopping.

  Fazil felt the firm grasp on his bicep by one of the guards, who led him out of the car and into what he presumed was the hideout for the Missile Man.

  “Where are we going now?” Fazil asked. “I want to see the product.”

  “Just keep walking,” the guard growled.

  Less than a minute later, they arrived in another room. The guard yanked the bag off Fazil’s head and shoved him farther into the room. Fazil spun around to see the man who’d treated him so roughly and with complete disdain. But all Fazil could see was the back of the man’s cloak before the door slammed shut.

  Fazil strode around the room, inspecting the fish tank built into the rocky wall. Though he wasn’t sure exactly where he was, Fazil had a pretty good idea.

  He tried to activate the GPS signal in his shoe, but he couldn’t get it to work. After he’d spent plenty of time studying the fish, Fazil decided to sit down. He looked around the stark room, searching for any sign of normalcy, the kind of thing that would put him at ease and make him feel more comfortable. But there was nothing.

  Fazil exhaled and checked his watch. He’d waited more than fifteen minutes, and still no sign of the Missile Man.

  Growing uneasy by the moment, Fazil scanned the room for anything he might be able to use as a weapon. It was a precautionary measure, yet that’s the kind of thinking that helped him avoid being on the wrong side of a bullet several times in the past.

  He glanced at his watch again. Twenty minutes had passed, and he remained alone. As Fazil sat on the couch, he heard footsteps coming down the hall. He craned his neck to see who was headed toward him. It was an armed guard, and he appeared to be in a hurry.

  CHAPTER 21

  HAWK CROUCHED DOWN and inspected the body of the man he’d just killed. While the Army Rangers had been helpful in securi
ng Malik Bashir’s palatial hideout, they hadn’t performed up to the standards necessary to consider the operation a success. A thorough sweep would’ve revealed potential hiding places as well as rooted out any soldiers loyal to Bashir. But the man whose throat Hawk had just slit had gone undetected.

  Hawk hardly noticed the blood pooling around the man’s head while examining the tattoo on his limp wrist. The foreign markings meant something, but he wasn’t sure what. While needing to get outside and tend to Fazil, Hawk decided something about his attacker warranted a closer look—and a picture. Hawk snapped a few photos from different angles that he intended to send to Blunt. The designs inked on the dead man’s arm intrigued Hawk and he believed Blunt would know the origins of the markings. If not, Hawk knew he could also rely on Alex to hunt down the images online.

  Hawk stood and checked his gun. He preferred not to waste any more bullets on Fazil than necessary. Hawk took a deep breath and prepared to exit the room. While the attempt on his life shook him, Hawk focused in on what he was going to say next and how he was going to deliver the news to Fazil that they’d hijacked his arms deal—all just before Hawk put a bullet in the infamous leader of the Al Hasib terrorist organization.

  The moment weighed heavily on Hawk as he recounted all the people Fazil had been responsible for killing. While most of those who died at Fazil’s hands lived abroad, Hawk couldn’t help but remember that Fazil had been relentless in his drive to bring terror to American soil. Fazil’s obsession had grown so much that it was about to become the reason for his downfall.

  Hawk had a strong disdain for gratuitous murder. If he felt a person was never going to pose another threat, Hawk would let them live. He resisted the urge to go on indiscriminate killing sprees even in the heat of battle. However, he rarely felt comfortable about giving anyone a second chance that was trying to kill him. Hawk’s mercy, while more plentiful than most in his profession, existed only within distinct boundaries.

  Hawk clenched his fist and prepared to open the door. He was almost disappointed in himself that he looked forward to the literal sitting target, the unarmed man lounging on a couch just beyond the room and excited about purchasing weapons that would kill hundreds of thousands of Americans. But Hawk tried not to think about the unfairness of it all and concentrated on the justice he would exact. After all, if anyone deserved to die, Karif Fazil did.

  Hawk slowly turned the knob but stopped when Alex spoke to him over the comlink.

  “Hawk! Are you there?” Alex said.

  He stepped back from the door and made his way toward the couch, striding over the dead body.

  “What is it? Talk to me.”

  “They’re on their way. You’ve gotta get out of there.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down. What are you talking about, Alex?”

  “There is a convoy of CIA vehicles climbing the mountain road toward us right now.”

  “I thought those bastards didn’t want to engage in a gunfight like this on Saudi soil. Liars, every one of them.”

  “I’m working with one of the Rangers’ tech guys, and he found their frequency once I spotted them on the security feed. Apparently, you’re just as much of a target as Fazil.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “This is a set up, Hawk. They’re gunning for you. They’re going to be here in a few minutes and will take you out. I’m not sure how these soldiers are going to treat the Rangers, but I know what they plan to do with you. Get out now.”

  “Roger that.”

  A door at the back of the room opened, and one of the Army Rangers entered.

  “Mr. Hawk, I’m Sergeant First Class Tyler Thomas, and we need to get you out of here.”

  Hawk eyed the man cautiously. “I’ve got some unfinished business first.”

  “I don’t think you understand. There are armored vehicles headed right toward us.”

  “I do understand. I just spoke with Alex, and she told me what’s happening. But perhaps you don’t understand that the leader of one of the most dangerous terrorist organizations in the world is sitting unarmed out in the parlor, and he’s waiting for me.”

  Before Thomas could respond, two shots rang out in the parlor where Fazil was supposedly waiting for Hawk.

  “Doesn’t sound like he’s unarmed any more,” Thomas said.

  Hawk didn’t bother with a reply, instead racing toward the shots.

  CHAPTER 22

  FAZIL HAD EYED THE GUARD standing over his shoulder for several minutes without saying a word. The keffiyeh the guard wore appeared disheveled to Fazil, who started to wonder what was really going on. According to everything he’d heard about The Missile Man, he greatly valued promptness. Yet, he was more than twenty minutes late. It struck Fazil as odd and disturbing.

  Fazil proceeded to ask the man in Arabic if he could use the restroom. The guard nodded but said nothing. However, when Fazil attempted to leave the room, the guard put his hand on Fazil’s chest and wagged a scolding index finger.

  Something is not right.

  Fazil had sat back and contemplated his next move before getting up and walking confidently across the room. When he tried to exit again, the guard repeated the same non-verbal warning. But Fazil didn’t acquiesce.

  Instead, Fazil delivered a swift punch to the guard’s throat, surprising the man. Fazil grabbed the man’s gun and shot him twice before dashing down the dark corridor.

  A door opened down the hall, but he didn’t consider it prudent to investigate. It was at that point he began to wonder if he’d made a grave mistake. Surely The Missile Man wouldn’t forgive an attack Fazil initiated on the guard of his host and business partner. But Fazil didn’t dwell on it. Survival was too intrinsic for him. He’d been in far too many life-threatening situations to react passively. If there had ever been a time to aggressively pursue an exit strategy in Fazil’s life, he figured this was it. Those missiles wouldn’t be worth anything if he didn’t emerge from The Missile Man’s hideout alive.

  Another guard shouted at Fazil to stop running, but he dove to the ground and fired twice more, hitting the guard both times in his chest. Down the hall, a familiar voice called for him, but it wasn’t a friendly voice if Fazil recalled correctly. He darted around the corner only to hear more clearly the rumbling of military vehicles and another door being broken down.

  Fazil ducked into a room off a secondary hallway and looked out the window. At first glance, the scene was confusing. Several guards wearing traditional Saudi attire operated U.S. military Humvees. However, there were also men in army fatigues on other armored vehicles.

  What the hell is going on?

  Fazil couldn’t imagine a single scenario where he was in a good situation to surrender to whoever held charge of the operation. Perhaps it was a coup—or a set up with the U.S. government working with Saudi officials. Neither of those scenarios held a particularly favorable outcome for Fazil.

  He rushed back to the door and opened it, peering cautiously into the hallway as he looked in both directions. They were both clear.

  Fazil wasted no time in venturing back out toward the danger. He had little choice given the circumstances.

  “Karif Fazil, don’t make another move,” a man yelled.

  Fazil froze for a beat before diving to the ground. As he slid across the floor, he contorted his body so he could look back at the man. Fazil started firing his gun again, sending the man dashing for cover.

  Scrambling to his feet, Fazil kept running until he reached a pair of glass doors leading to a balcony overlooking the valley. Fazil looked around for a way out. The deck soared out over the valley floor by at least five meters and was no less than ten meters off the ground. But Fazil didn’t have time to lament the height. Instead, he climbed over the balcony and lowered himself down as much as he felt comfortable before letting go and dropping to the rocky ground.

  Calls of “Karif Fazil” echoed from above less than a minute later. “We’re going to find you,” one of the m
en said. “And when we find you, there will be no mercy.”

  Fazil chose to ignore their attempts at bargaining. It would be a rouse, anything to get him to come out and yield his position.

  But Fazil wasn’t falling for it. Instead, he determined to hide out as long as it took before they stopped looking for him.

  “Get the drones,” one of the Rangers said to the others.

  Fazil swallowed hard. He hated drones, whether they carried missiles or simply cameras. In his limited experience, they could be an effective tool to give someone conducting an operation additional eyes and ears. And if the men chasing him had drones, his time to reach safety was dwindling more quickly than he’d assumed.

  He continued to ascend the mountainside, tucked beneath the shade emitted from the overhanging deck. A boulder lodged into the dirt provided a temporary hiding place, one in which he could avoid being captured by any drones.

  He worked himself into a comfortable position and waited. It wasn’t more than five minutes before the hum of a squadron of reconnaissance drones covered the mountain. Fazil peeked around the side of a boulder and noticed several flying objects headed straight for him.

  For a brief second, he contemplated shooting down the device, though he was certain that would give away his position. All he could do was sit and wait—and hope.

  CHAPTER 23

  THE MISSION OF APPREHENDING Karif Fazil went on hold when two armored Humvees topped with gun turrets crashed through the gates of Bashir’s compound. Hawk was on the back balcony searching the mountainside for Fazil when the message from Alex came through.

  “Our company has arrived,” Alex said. “We need to get out of here now.”

  “And how do you suggest we do that?” Hawk asked. “Besides, Fazil is still out there.”

  “We’ve got to forget about him for now and think about ourselves, Hawk. They’re going to lock you up—or worse.”

  Hawk felt a firm hand on his shoulder. He turned and saw Thomas.

 

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