Brady Hawk 08 - Siege

by R. J. Patterson

  “You two should go ahead and let me sort this out on my own,” Hawk said over his com as he ran.

  “We’re a team,” Alex said. “We’re sticking together.”

  “Leaving you behind would go against protocol,” Samuels said.

  “You and that damn protocol,” Hawk said. “It’s going to get you killed one day.”

  “Today, it’s saving your ass,” Samuels fired back. “Now hurry up.”

  Hawk tried to suck in more air as he pumped his arms and raced toward Alex and Samuels. With legs burning and chest aching, Hawk powered on, ignoring the pain. Less than a minute later, he approached the SUV.

  “Samuels, you better not be in the driver’s seat,” Hawk said.

  “She’s all yours,” Samuels said. “Getting in the backseat now.”

  Hawk slipped behind the wheel and already had his foot on the accelerator before the door was shut. The engine whined and roared as they flew out of the parking lot.

  “You know,” Hawk said, “I knew this was a stupid idea.”

  Alex huffed a soft laugh through her nose. “That’s rich coming from you. Have you kept track of all your stupid ideas? Because I have, and you’ve acted on at least two dozen of them.”

  Hawk shook his head slowly. “One man’s stupid idea is another man’s genius.”

  “Well, we found out the truth, didn’t we?” Samuels chimed in.

  “It would’ve eventually come out,” Hawk said, checking his rearview mirror.

  “But by then, Petrov would’ve had a huge head start and may have disappeared,” Samuels argued. “Charles de Gaulle has temporarily halted all departures, so at least we know she’s still in the city.”

  “A lot of good that’s going to do us if we’re sitting in a Paris jail somewhere.”

  Hawk turned a corner and saw several police cars heading toward them about 400 meters down the road.

  “I’m gonna need some help navigating here, Alex,” Hawk said.

  She typed furiously on her laptop. “Take the next right.”

  Hawk whipped the vehicle to the right, tires screeching as he turned. He bumped along a narrow street until he approached another major intersection.

  “Which way?”

  “Left.”

  Hawk followed her instructions before she led them down another small alleyway off the main road. When Hawk saw an open garage, he darted inside.

  “You sure this is a good idea?” Alex asked.

  Hawk nodded. “This is how we lose them. They’re not going to find us in here.”

  “We need to split up,” Samuels said. “But we need a new rendezvous point. They’ll be watching for us at the hotel.”

  “Memorize this address,” Hawk said before giving them the address of SnyperNet. “The passcode is the Pied Piper, okay? Don’t forget it. He won’t let you in under any circumstances.”

  Samuels and Alex nodded.

  “Be careful, both of you,” Hawk said.

  Before they had time to respond, a convoy of police cars roared into the parking garage.

  All three of the fugitives scrambled to get out of view of the headlights, but one of the police vehicles came to a stop just behind the SUV. Officers spilled out of the cars.

  Hawk held his hands up and stood gingerly. “I surrender,” he said.

  One of the officers rushed over and roughly handcuffed Hawk.

  “How did you find us?” Hawk asked.

  The apparent officer in charge smiled. “Never underestimate the power of French CCTV.” He gestured toward Samuels and Alex who were crouching nearby. “Arrest them, too.”

  “You might want to see this,” one of the officers said, handing his superior a tablet.

  “Well, what do you know? It’s the three criminals responsible for the Stuttgart Massacre. You just made my night, maybe even my career.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Thurmont, Maryland

  BLUNT LOATHED NAVIGATING the quagmire of Washington traffic. However, he enjoyed a short road trip, the kind where he didn’t have to worry with clogged city arteries or depend on the faulty navigational app on his phone. He just wanted to drive and think.

  After a tumultuous few days, he needed a respite from the chaos, even if he knew it would only be brief. The breaking story that the trio responsible for the Stuttgart Massacre had been nabbed by French Police the day before made Blunt’s stomach churn. He wanted to think about anything else but struggled to do so. However, he thought Noah Young’s request that Blunt make the jaunt north of Washington to Camp David might help get his mind off the mess in Paris. But Young had a predicament of his own. Since Michaels’s reinstatement, Young had been reluctant to meet with his superior.

  While Young remained confident that Michaels couldn’t legally do anything to him, the president would certainly attempt to freeze Young out and neuter him at best, vengefully destroy his allies at worst. Young prepared for the worst.

  Blunt had been a longtime confidante of Young, dating back to their time together at Princeton. Neither of them ever expected to be where they were in terms of power and influence, but it wasn’t a shock to anyone who knew both men. They were cut from the same cloth—driven, determined, dedicated. Most importantly, they were fiercely loyal, both to each other and their country. And during the time since Michaels’s return to power, both expressed fear for the other.

  After several checkpoints, Blunt cleared security and arrived at the main lodge. When he pulled up, Young was waiting outside.

  “It’s good to see you,” Young said as he shook Blunt’s hand. The exchange quickly turned into a hearty hug.

  “You too,” Blunt said, glancing around at the Marines on duty. “Let’s get inside somewhere so we can talk.”

  Young led Blunt to a great room overlooking the grounds. The trees were green and full, swaying gently in the early morning summer breeze. Squirrels scurried back and forth between towering oaks. Birds chirped a constant calm refrain. For Blunt, the nature scene stood in stark contrast to the roiling storm brewing in Michaels’s wake just sixty miles south of them.

  “I didn’t know if you’d be able to make it with the way things have been lately,” Young said.

  “I’ll drop anything to help you,” Blunt said. “You know that.”

  “Your team needs you,” Young said. “And they need you because I asked them to take on an assignment.”

  “That’s what Firestorm is all about. Hawk, Alex, Samuels—none of them would accept your apology even if you gave them one.”

  Young shrugged. “That might be how you feel, but I still feel the weight of each decision.”

  “That burden has been lifted now.”

  Young cast a sideways glance at Blunt. “I’m not happy about it. He’s coming for me, J.D.”

  “He’s coming for all of us.”

  “In the meantime, I want to know how I can help your team. They’re in a tough spot.”

  “You can’t,” Blunt said. “Nobody can. We’re all stuck here. Hawk knew they would be on their own yet took the assignment anyway.”

  Young paced around the room. “Aren’t there any favors you can call in with the French?”

  “It’s not the French who hold the power here. It’s Interpol. And I don’t exactly have many friends over there.”

  Young’s eyebrows shot upward. “Oh?”

  Blunt waved him off. “It’s a long story and not one I want to get into right now. It’s involves lots of cheap booze, women, and some serious indiscretions while in Berlin once.”

  “Say no more,” Young said. “Look, I only want to help. You insist that this is their job, but I can’t help but think how I’m responsible. If I hadn’t sent them . . .”

  “It was only a matter of time before they got caught, either stateside or there.”

  “At least they would’ve had a fighting chance here.”

  Blunt sighed and shook his head. “What they really need is for someone to exonerate them.” He took out a cigar and sta
rted gnawing on it.

  “Still chewing on those things?” Young asked.

  “Only when I’m nervous—or not.”

  Young chuckled. “So, how are we going to clear their names? We know Petrov set them up with those German bankers.”

  “They met with a guy I know who specializes in those things, but I’m not sure if they got anywhere with him. We haven’t exactly had hours to debrief, if we’ve had any contact at all.”

  A knock at the door interrupted their conversation.

  “Pardon the interruption, sir,” a Marine said as he stepped inside the room. “The president is on line one for you.”

  Young ambled over to the desk in the corner of the room and picked up the receiver before pressing 1 on the console and putting the call on speaker.

  “Good morning, Mr. President,” Young said.

  “I bet you never thought you’d say that to me again, did you, you little rat?” Michaels said. “I just wanted to warn you that I’m coming for you. I’m going to make you a lame duck vice president if there ever was one. You’re going to wish you never joined me on the ticket.”

  “Too late for that,” Young said.

  “Your little secret agent friends are getting exactly what they deserve—and you will too soon enough.”

  Young’s eyes widened as he looked at Blunt, who reassured his friend with a gesture that shrugged off the threat. Before Young could respond, the line went dead.

  “Damn it,” Young said. “We’re screwed.”

  Blunt took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I wouldn’t count Hawk out yet, but you, on the other hand, have an uphill battle to fight. You’re the one who’s going to need more help than anyone as you butt heads with the most powerful man in the world.”

  “You really think you can help me?” Young asked.

  “Sure,” Blunt said.

  No harm in telling a lie.

  CHAPTER 35

  New York City

  LEE HENDRIDGE TAPPED HIS PENCIL against the arm of the chair while waiting for Janet Carlisle to finish reading his piece. Only two days before, Hendridge received a video showing how someone made the German bankers from the Stuttgart Massacre appear to look like certain powerful leaders with ties to The Chamber, a secret organization that national security officials labeled as terroristic in nature. Most of Hendridge’s report was working off deep background and an unlikely casual interview of the trio accused of the crime.

  Carlisle remained resistant to the story idea but eventually caved. When Hendridge showed her the video along with two corroborating video forensic experts verifying the authenticity of the images, she considered it. Yet Hendridge’s threat to quit and take his story to The Daily News persuaded her to relent.

  “Who is The Chamber?” she asked. “I’ve never heard of this group.”

  “They operate in the shadows, influencing prominent people, both in the private sector and government,” Hendridge said. “Not much is known about them, at least not the kind of information any of my contacts at Homeland Security were willing to divulge. The general consensus seems to be that they’re dangerous—and so is anyone who works with them.”

  “Who’s their leader?” Carlisle asked.

  Hendridge shrugged. “Nobody knows, or at least no one would tell me. I did a lot of digging into them but couldn’t find a thing about them anywhere.”

  “But your bandit friends know about them?”

  He nodded. “They didn’t say it outright, but that’s why they were there. They got a tip that they could eliminate these leaders and went for it.”

  “If you could enhance the video footage, maybe you could identify who the people were supposed to be by the masks they were wearing,” Carlisle suggested.

  “That’s what I thought too, but the video experts I spoke to said they couldn’t enhance the images any more.”

  “So, this is as good as it gets?” Carlisle asked, gesturing toward the article print out on her desk.

  “For now,” Hendridge said. “But I can keep digging with some follow up stories. The important thing is that this article could get them all released.”

  “And you’re sure these are the same three being held in Paris? No media outlet has mentioned the names of the agents arrested. I haven’t even seen their names on any conspiracy websites.”

  Hendridge cocked his head to one side. “You read conspiracy websites?”

  She ignored him. “The point is you might be doing some killers a favor if this isn’t them.”

  “It’s them,” he said. “I know it. I got one State Department official to tell me off the record the name of one of the agents arrested. They’re not even willing to help them at this point.”

  “Fine,” she said. “I’ll post it this afternoon. If this story is really as big as I think it’s going to be, I definitely don’t want this to get lost in the Michaels’s coverage.”

  Hendridge exhaled and smiled. “I promise you’re making the right call here.” He turned toward the door.

  “Hendridge,” she began, “don’t ever threaten me to take a story to The Daily News again because I’ll let you go to that rag in a heartbeat next time.”

  Hendridge smiled sheepishly. “You know they’d have a better headline than us on this story.”

  She shook her head. “Get outta here, and start working on a follow up for tomorrow.”

  * * *

  WHEN NEWS BROKE in The New York Times about how secret operatives were targeting known terrorists in the bait and switch by the leader of an unnamed clandestine terrorist organization known as The Chamber, Washington was abuzz. Other media pounced on the story, while government officials worked to identify the three Interpol had arrested.

  Blunt celebrated the news by pouring himself a glass of scotch far earlier in the day than usual and calling the head of Interpol, Jinjing Bao, a former Chinese UN ambassador who managed to ascend to the top of the law enforcement alliance of nearly 200 countries. Blunt had spent time with Bao in the past while drawing up trade legislation that affected the United States’ relationship with China. While considering Bao a friend was a long stretch, Blunt knew the Interpol leader would take his call and have a conversation.

  “What a pleasure to speak with you, Senator Blunt,” Bao said, “though not surprising given the nature of what’s happened in Germany and France in recent days.”

  Blunt took a deep breath. “I know you’re busy, so I’ll dispense with the small talk. I need a favor.”

  “Hopefully this isn’t regarding the three Americans who were captured in Paris because I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you.”

  “Did you read The New York Times article about the event?” Blunt asked.

  “I did.”

  “And?”

  “And I find it’s some extraordinary propaganda.”

  “It’s not,” Blunt said flatly.

  “Can you prove this?”

  “Those three agents are working undercover to combat terrorism. If you reveal their names and identities, it could jeopardize their future missions.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Senator, but you have two problems here, starting with the fact that their images are posted at nearly all the Interpol installations throughout Europe. The second is what makes you think they’re ever going to get out of prison? They committed murder on an unsanctioned hit, I’m presuming, since the State Department hasn’t come to their rescue yet.”

  “You have to trust me on this,” Blunt said. “You need to release them. Make up a story for the public that they all hanged themselves or were murdered in a prison fight. I don’t care. Just let them out so they can capture Katarina Petrov.”

  “Katarina Petrov?” Bao asked, gasping. “Is she the one behind all this? She murdered my father.”

  Blunt smiled at his good fortune. “I had no idea.”

  “I’ve been searching for her more than a decade.”

  “If you do as I suggested, I’ll make sure you get to have a word
with her before we enact justice. Does that sound like a deal you can go along with?”

  Bao remained quiet for a moment. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Blunt hung up and waited. Less than an hour later, his phone buzzed with a major news update: Three Stuttgart Massacre Suspects Murdered in Prison.

  Ten minutes later, his phone rang. It was Hawk.

  “I don’t know what you did, but thank you,” Hawk said.

  “Don’t thank me,” Blunt said. “Thank Jinjing Bao.”

  “You got the head of Interpol involved in this?”

  “Turns out he has a score to settle with Katarina Petrov as well, which is kind of the deal.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Bao wants a word with her before we mete out justice, considering that you find her first.”

  “Well, thanks to Bao we’ve got a chance now.”

  “And apparently a lead as well,” Blunt said.

  “How’s that?”

  “SnyperNet sent me some footage he scavenged from French CCTV. I’m texting you the address now of where Petrov was last seen in Paris. It’s not much, but it will give you a starting place to look.”

  Blunt hung up the phone and sighed. He wasn’t lying to Young after all.

  CHAPTER 36

  Paris, France

  HAWK LED ALEX AND SAMUELS out a back alley and wound around the police station where they’d been held until they came to a major intersection. They took a bus back to an impound lot where they found their vehicle sitting out by the road. Hawk twirled the keys in his hand, grateful a reluctant officer on duty at the jail gave them to him. He had terse words for Hawk, who ignored the snide comments. It wasn’t worth his time to explain the nuances and intricacies of his work as a black ops agent.

  Once everyone piled into the car, Hawk gave the address to Alex, who plotted a course on her laptop.