Brady Hawk 08 - Siege

by R. J. Patterson

I’m coming for you, bastard.

  Hawk entered the edge of the small town that had been their original destination. The heart of the city was less than a mile from the highway, so Hawk knew if he could stay close to the assassin, he’d be able to catch him—especially since surprise was on Hawk’s side.

  Hawk maneuvered through the city at a slow pace, hoping no eager deputy spotted him and saw it as an opportunity to pad the community’s coffers by issuing him a ticket for driving without valid plates. But that was the least of his worries. Getting a visual on the Jeep was his top priority, and he’d yet to accomplish that.

  “Take a right onto Surrey Street,” Alex instructed. “He’s not that far ahead of you.”

  Hawk took the right Alex suggested and scanned the road ahead for the black Jeep. After a few seconds, he spotted the vehicle.

  “I’ve got him,” Hawk said.

  “I’ll keep monitoring everything on this end,” Alex said.

  Hawk was careful not to speed in an effort to both disguise his pursuit as well as not draw the attention of any local law enforcement. But it was killing him. He wanted to roar up to the assassin’s window and deliver a quick kill shot and dig through his personal effects to find out who he was and working for. Yet, Hawk restrained himself.

  Soon enough.

  He went another quarter of a mile before he heard Alex screeching in his ear.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “NSA just cut me out,” she said. “You’re on your own.”

  “No worries. I can handle it from here.”

  Hawk rolled up to a stop sign. Before he came to a complete stop, he’d confirmed that the intersection was clear. But when he went to rev the accelerator, the engine sputtered.

  “Come on, come on,” Hawk said.

  “What’s wrong?” Alex asked.

  Hawk glanced at the fuel gauge. It was pegged a half an inch below empty.

  “Damn it, Blunt,” Hawk said, pounding one of the handlebars. “I’m out of gas.”

  Hawk looked up and watched the Jeep turn onto the main road that led straight to the interstate.

  CHAPTER 11

  Washington, D.C.

  PRESIDENT CONRAD MICHAELS HOVERED OVER THE WET BAR in his lawyer’s office and pondered his choice of drink. After carrying on a rigorous debate in his head for several seconds, he finally settled on scotch over vodka. In the moment, his feelings toward the Russians were strong—and they weren’t positive in any way.

  “It’s not even ten o’clock, Mr. President,” Michaels’s lawyer, Stan Fullbright said with a disapproving look. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

  “I have a few other ideas, but none of them are as good as this one,” Michaels said, pausing to shrug. “Well, at least none of the other good ideas I have are legal.”

  “You could stand to keep the law on your side at this point,” said Fullbright, who rubbed his protruding stomach. “Playing by the rules is your best option moving forward.”

  Michaels stared at his drink before taking a long pull. He sauntered around the room, stooping over periodically to inspect the pictures dotting Fullbright’s wall. They were covered with government dignitaries from both the U.S. and abroad. The lawyer had become quite a political player over the years and was skilled at winning cases that the press deemed slam dunks in favor of the prosecution.

  “You met Putin once?” Michaels asked, pointing at a photo depicting Fullbright and the Russian president together.

  “I certainly didn’t Photoshop him in,” Fullbright said before he sighed. “Can we sit down and talk about your situation?”

  “Did you like Putin? Did you find him trustworthy?”

  Fullbright ignored him. “Do I need to remind you that I bill by the hour? And that I’m also the most expensive lawyer in Washington?”

  “All right, you win,” Michaels said as he took a seat across the table from Fullbright. “”What do you want to talk about?”

  “I need to know how difficult my job is going to be here,” Fullbright said. “You were a lawyer once. Is this case winnable?”

  “Since it’s not exactly a case, I absolutely think it’s winnable. All we have to do is show the committee that there was no wrongdoing on my part.”

  “If there was, it won’t be easy to bend the truth in your favor. The press is going to have a field day if we don’t stick to a tight narrative that leads no room for interpretation.”

  Michaels drained the last of his scotch and set the glass down hard on the table. “I’ll let you handle that as I prefer to keep my mouth shut.”

  Fullbright shook his head. “No, you’re going to have to talk to the special investigator. If you don’t, you’ll look guilty.”

  “I don’t want to perjure myself or give my political rivals ammunition in the next election.”

  “Be honest with me, Conrad,” Fullbright said, studying Michaels carefully. “Is there a smoking gun I need to be worried about?”

  “Of course not. This whole thing is a witch hunt. Some people just want to feel good about themselves—and they think ruining the political fortunes of a rival will do that. They’re little people, and I have no patience for them.”

  “Whether you have patience or not, you need to demonstrate some as we move through this process. But you’re going to have to put something on record.”

  “A public record?”

  “I’ll do my best to file a motion with the committee to make sure anything you say to the special investigator is suppressed publicly and sealed. Can you live with that?”

  “I guess I’ll have to.”

  Fullbright opened a folder and scanned several documents before continuing. “So, let’s get to the biggest issue here—suppression of evidence. There’s a recorded conversation between you and a Mr. Harry Bozeman where you discussed framing a U.S. operative if he didn’t go along with your covert plan.”

  “We’ll argue that the recorded conversation was taken out of context,” Michaels said. “We were discussing issues of national security and methods of taking down a known terrorist who leads one of the most dangerous cells in the world, something we actually accomplished, by the way.”

  “I’m not sure everyone is going to see it that way.”

  “Context is everything. And it’ll be a difficult case to make against me.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because I happen to know the only portion of that recorded conversation remaining is what was on that streamed Facebook video that slimy reporter ambushed me with.”

  “How do you—oh, never mind. It’s probably best I don’t know.”

  “Even with lawyer-client privilege?”

  Fullbright took a deep breath and exhaled. “It’s mostly so I can sleep at night.”

  Michaels rolled his eyes. “You’re so noble, Stan.”

  “I don’t have to take this case, Conrad. In fact, it’s bad for business in the long run. Defending an unpopular sitting president for committing a crime against the republic? That’s hardly my best career move.”

  “But we will win, and you’ll be regarded as the hero—and there will be no end to the disgraced Washington bureaucrats beating down your door the moment they screw up. Perhaps you’ll be able to increase your hourly rate after this.”

  “Fine, but you must come up with a reasonable explanation for that recorded conversation between you and Bozeman. And it’s got to be one that can be public.”

  “I’ll come up with something. Besides, it shouldn’t take much. If President Clinton could beat a hearing by clarifying the definition of the word ‘is,’ I figure I should be all right.”

  Fullbright gathered the papers and stuffed them back into a folder. He then opened another one.

  “Okay, on to the next order of business, the list of those the committee has requested to testify. It’s a lengthy list, but I happen to know almost every one of them plans to refuse. Congress can’t compel them, and they all have legitimate excuses. The ones who can’t
make it to the hearing but have agreed to meet with the special investigator all plan to plead the fifth on every question, so I think you’re in the clear there.”

  “Excellent,” Michaels said. “How did you? Oh, never mind. It’s probably best that I don’t know.”

  Fullbright cut a sideways glance at Michaels before continuing. “I think we’re in the clear here as long as you’re telling me everything.”

  “I am,” Michaels said. “It was a poorly conceived plan; that much I’ll admit. But there wasn’t anything illegal about what we did. That operative survived as did the rest of his team. Besides, if the committee wants to make an issue out of that, I’ll grill them for starting such a clandestine operation under my nose without my knowledge.”

  “But you knew—”

  Michaels clucked his tongue and wagged his finger at Fullbright. “I knew nothing, remember?” Michaels smiled and stood. “I need to make some calls, but we’ll continue this conversation tomorrow.”

  * * *

  KATARINA PETROV’S EYES WIDENED as she glanced at the screen on her phone. She hadn’t expected to hear from Conrad Michaels so soon.

  “What a pleasant surprise,” she said as she answered. “How are things coming along?”

  “Better than expected.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, I appreciate your help in making those documents go away.”

  Petrov laughed softly. “Well, I’m afraid you’re thanking the wrong person. I’ve barely had time to formulate my next move, let alone get one of my people to do your dirty work for you.”

  Michaels was silent for a moment.

  “Conrad, are you still there?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I’m here. Just wondering who might have done that and why.”

  “I’m sure you have plenty of friends in high places by this point in your career, do you not? It was likely someone there. But you can thank them for me, I suppose.”

  “Just another person to owe a favor to.”

  She smiled. “Just remember we’re on the same side. You’ll get what is owed to you in the end for your loyalty to The Chamber. Just be strong and weather the storm. If they don’t have the tapes, they don’t have anything.”

  “But what if we missed something?”

  “You’ll always miss something. Just don’t let it be the main thing. As long as it isn’t, you should be just fine.”

  “I’m counting on you to be true to your word.”

  “As am I,” she said. “I’ll be watching.”

  She hung up and snapped her fingers, arresting Anatoly’s attention.

  “Anatoly, I need your help.”

  “What is it?”

  “Do you remember that document forger we worked with in the past?”

  He nodded. “He wasn’t the easiest person to work with.”

  “But his results were stellar, were they not?”

  Anatoly shrugged. “No one ever figured out they were fake.”

  “He could be as obnoxious as a Hollywood starlet, as long as he produces a perfect document.”

  “I’m sure he can fulfill whatever request you have.”

  She held out her hand, waiting for Anatoly to offer her a cigarette. He obliged. Resting the butt gently on her lips, she eyed him closely and waited for him to offer her a light. She watched him fumble around in his pockets for one.

  “Get him on the phone with me,” she said. “I have a very important assignment for him.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Shenandoah Mountains, Virginia

  J.D. BLUNT WASTED little time in getting out to the cabin. He’d heard enough to make him nervous, even initially a little bit concerned. But when Alex explained Hawk had used Blunt’s motorcycle to pursue the assassin, Blunt initially dropped his phone as he hobbled toward his car. He stooped down to pick the phone up and kept moving. Hawk wasn’t being reckless, since Blunt’s bike was the only vehicle available to maintain pursuit of the mystery man. However, it was still Blunt’s bike, Blunt’s baby.

  He exited his car and hustled up the steps, tapping on the front door with his cane.

  When the door swung open, Hawk, with a furrowed brow, was standing in the doorway.

  “Back to using the cane again, I see,” Hawk said.

  Blunt grunted and pushed his way past. “Take me to her?”

  “Alex?” Hawk asked.

  “I want to see Matilda.”

  Hawk seemed confused. “I’m afraid there’s no one on the Firestorm team by that name. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Matilda is the name of my bike. Take me to her,” Blunt said flatly.

  “This way,” Hawk said, meandering through the house until they reached the back door. Walking down the steps and into the back yard, Blunt spied the storage shed, which was located about forty meters away from the house and held a wide variety of tools and supplies. Blunt’s sole focus was to inspect his bike. He wasn’t sure if he was going to beat Hawk with a cane or not, which happened to be the real reason Blunt had brought it along.

  “Not a scratch on her,” Hawk said as they arrived in the storage shed. “Just like the day you bought her.”

  Blunt stooped over and inspected Matilda more closely, running his fingers across the front chrome bumper. He climbed aboard and tested the seat.

  “Apparently, it was much ado about nothing,” Blunt finally said when he spoke.

  “Your opinion or what other people suggested?” Hawk asked.

  “Both.”

  “At least you’re honest,” Hawk said.

  “Let’s get back inside,” Blunt said as he climbed off the bike. “We have a lot to talk about.”

  Inside the cabin, Blunt took a seat at the head of the table and waited for Hawk, Alex, and Samuels to join. To get situated, Blunt pulled out a cigar and started to chew on it.

  “We’re going to get you three out of here as soon as this conversation is done,” Blunt announced. “I don’t expect your little friend is coming back any time soon, but it won’t matter because there’s some pressing business that needs to be handled in the Middle East, namely Kuwait.”

  “We’ve been talking about that, Senator,” Hawk said.

  Blunt leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “And what can you tell me?”

  “If Al Hasib strikes Verge, it’s going to be a mess in the desert,” Samuels said.

  “Oil prices are going to spike, and every member of OPEC is going to be up in arms and wanting to join us in the mission to hunt down Al Hasib,” Alex added.

  “So, good news, bad news?” Blunt asked.

  “I think the fact that Karif Fazil is still alive can only be bad news,” Hawk said. “We thought he was gone, but apparently that’s just some good ole fiction.”

  A hint of a smile appeared on Blunt’s face. “Well, I have to admire a man who can fake his own death.”

  “It’s the staying dead part that’s most important,” Hawk said. “And I don’t know if it was either his ego or Petrov’s offer that brought him back from the grave, but either way it sounds like he’s ready to return to wreaking havoc.”

  Blunt shrugged. “As best as I can tell, we still hold the upper hand.”

  “How do you figure?” Samuels asked.

  “Fazil doesn’t know that we know he’s still alive,” Blunt said as he uncrossed his arms and leaned forward. “He probably thinks his greatest weapon is surprise, but that will be muted when we meet him at his point of attack.”

  “Yeah, about that,” Hawk said. “Hitting Verge is like throwing a rock in the ocean—you can’t miss. There are so many vulnerable points along their vast pipeline, not to mention all the places they could target at the refinery. If Al Hasib manages to penetrate the perimeter, it could be raining oil for days over Kuwait City.”

  “It’s not like the pipeline is unguarded,” Blunt countered.

  Alex nodded. “True, but Verge doesn’t have enough personal contractors to withstand a siege like the kind Al Hasib
is capable of bringing.”

  “The pipeline is a concern,” Hawk explained. “Depending on where they attack and how damaged it is, Verge could have trouble shutting it down. However, it won’t spill into the desert forever. At some point, it’s going to run dry.”

  Blunt raised his eyebrows. “So, I take it you’re more concerned about the refinery?”

  Hawk nodded. “That seems to be the most vulnerable location and the place that would result in the greatest damage. Three quarters of a million barrels of oil per day would either be spilled or unable to be processed.”

  “But why now?” Alex asked. “Why does the attack seem so likely to happen in the next few days?”

  “I know you probably haven’t paid attention to the markets lately,” Blunt began, “but they’re tanking. After Petrov screwed us over and had you take out the leaders of Germany’s financial sector, putting everything into a chaotic state, she sees this as her window of opportunity to gain control of the world markets.”

  “And how exactly is she going to do that?” Samuels asked.

  “The same way she does everything else—bribes, blackmail, bullets, and bombs,” Blunt answered. “There’s little she can’t accomplish without that combination. For whatever reason, she’s chosen to escalate things now. Unfortunately, we have to act now.”

  “It’d be much easier if some Seals or other special ops unit went in on this program,” Hawk said. “They could kick ass and be out of there before anyone knew what happened.”

  Blunt inspected the thick outer wrapping on the smoldering cigar for a moment. “I agree with you, but that’s not going to happen in this political environment. The mood of the country is that we need to butt out of the Middle East, not to mention the fact that this is an overseas operation—and all of those have been temporarily suspended until this mess with Michaels gets sorted out.”

  “What about the Kuwaiti Guard?” Hawk asked. “Couldn’t they at least provide some support?”

  Blunt shrugged. “Perhaps, but they don’t like to be shown up. They’re also not very fond of having us rooting around in their backyard.”

  “They owe us,” Hawk said.