“I just started filming on my tablet when the initial video began. I wanted to get a wide shot for my own personal records, so I set the device down and started making a few notes when the takeover of the video system occurred.”
“Can I see it?” Black asked.
“Sure, I guess,” she said. After entering the password, she opened up the footage and started playing the clip. Black moved the video along to the moment just before the shooting began.
“Would you look at that?” he said before his mouth fell agape.
“What is it?” Brittany asked.
“Look on top of the building about thirty seconds before the shooting begins.”
She watched the man on top moving around and then disappearing just before the first shots were fired.
“What was I looking at there?” she asked.
“Back it up and look on the other side of the roof,” Black suggested.
When she did, she put her hand on her mouth and then shot a glance at Black.
“The man on the right just running around without a long-range gun, he’s one of the good guys,” Black said. “He’s the one who’s being accused of staging this entire attack.”
“And the man on the left?”
“That’s Mack Walsh, a man who murdered a federal judge about ten years ago and has been wanted by the FBI ever since.”
“And they arrested the man on the right?” she asked.
Black nodded. “He’s an undercover agent. Please blur his face before you put this out there so no one can see who he is. It’s a matter of national security.”
She knit her brow. “You’re not going to confiscate this from me?”
“I'd love a copy,” he said, “but in light of all that happened today, I think it'd be best if this story were debunked by someone other than a law enforcement agency and merely confirmed by them. Plus, it's going to make your career and win you some kind of reporting award.”
She smiled. “Are you sure there’s no catch?”
“None,” he said with a wink. “I’m just trying to help a friend.”
Black gave Brittany an email address to send the footage to, and by the time he returned to the van, he already had it.
“Did President Young help?” Alex asked as Black strode into the van.
Black shook his head. “But don’t fret. I’ve got something even better.”
She sighed, her eyes welling up with tears. “It better be good.”
“Watch this,” Black said as he started the footage and held his phone out so Alex could see it. Once she noticed there were two men on the roof, she zoomed in on Walsh. That’s it. This will exonerate Hawk.”
“No doubt about it,” Black said. “I just need to get this into the hands of the agent in charge of the case.”
“Great work,” she said. “He’ll be forever indebted to you for getting this footage.”
“Too late for that,” Black said. “He already owes me for shooting Walsh just as he was about to stab Hawk. I’m gonna have to figure out a way to cash in on all these things Hawk owes me for.”
“I’m sure he’ll balance the ledger at some point soon,” she said. “By the way, have you heard back from Blunt yet?”
“Still no word,” Black said. “I’m starting to get concerned.”
“If you’re concerned about that, wait until you hear what I found on Walsh’s phone.”
CHAPTER 30
HAWK WAS RELEASED FROM FBI custody later that evening after giving his full statement to the bureau. He greeted Alex with a long embrace before shaking Black’s hand and giving him a quick side hug. Blunt, who had been stuck going over hours of interviews with several agency directors following the attack, waited back against the wall and smiled at his trio of agents.
“You look like a proud father,” Alex said to Blunt, who was working on another unlit cigar.
“Perhaps that’s because it’s exactly how I feel,” he said. “You were incredible today, diffusing what could’ve been an even more disastrous situation and working quickly on the fly to prove Hawk’s innocence. It’s why you’re all the best at what you do.”
“We haven’t done anything yet,” Black said.
Blunt nodded. “So I’ve been told. Is it too soon to talk about this at the office?”
“As long as you buy us plenty of food and drinks, we’ll talk all night long,” Hawk said.
“I’ll make it happen,” he said. “I’ll meet you back at the office in an hour.”
* * *
HAWK INSISTED on stopping back by his apartment with Alex to take a quick shower and get a fresh change of clothes. Swimming in the Potomac River resulted in a pungent odor settling everywhere. Alex admitted that she didn’t care what he smelled like as long as he was alive, drawing a hearty laugh from Hawk.
“Not everyone will feel the same way as you,” Hawk said.
When they reached the office, they took their seats as Blunt and Black were already sitting down and waiting.
Blunt removed the cigar out of his mouth and studied the chewed end for a moment before jamming it back between his teeth. He swirled some bourbon around in his glass and then took a long swig, draining all the contents.
“It’s been that kind of day,” Blunt said as he placed the tumbler down hard on the tabletop.
“It’s been that kind of week,” Black said as he poured himself a drink.
“It’s been that kind of month,” Hawk added, “or maybe even year. Tracking Obsidian has been like chasing a ghost.”
Alex chimed in. “The only difference is we know this ghost is real.”
“So catch me up to speed on everything,” Blunt said.
“Before we do that,” Alex said, “I’d like to hear an update on Fortner. Do you know if he’s going to pull through?”
“I was told Fortner was in a coma,” Blunt said. “I went to the hospital where they took him following the incident and tried to get in to see him, but I was denied access. One of the doctors told me that they were uncertain if he’d make through the night. However, something didn’t seem right to me.”
“What do you mean?” Hawk asked.
“I just had a feeling that the doc was feeding me some bullshit,” Blunt said. “So, I asked one of the nurses about Fortner. She told me that he had been moved hours ago. Yet there were still several agents posted outside the door.”
“Why would they still be there if Fortner was gone?” Alex asked.
“That’s exactly what I want to know,” Blunt said.
“Well, maybe I can help shed some light on that for you,” she said.
“You were able to crack open Walsh’s phone?” he asked.
She nodded. “It’s not as difficult as you think, so don’t throw me any parades just yet.”
“I love you, honey,” Hawk said, “but if anyone is getting a parade around here, it’s Black. He saved my life twice today, once with his spectacular shooting skills and the other with his detective prowess.”
Black waved off Hawk dismissively. “One of those was luck.”
“Luck or skill—it doesn’t matter to me,” Hawk said. “I’m here right now because of what you did in both situations.”
Alex sighed. “You can sleep on the couch tonight,” she said with a wry grin.
“As long as it’s not a jail cell, I don’t care,” Hawk said with a wink.
“Anyway, as I was about to say earlier,” she continued, “Walsh's phone proved to be quite the treasure trove for us. The fact that it wasn't more heavily encrypted underscores just how arrogant he was. I'm pretty sure he thought he was going to frame Hawk and get away without being caught.”
“What kind of information did you find that backs that up?” Blunt asked.
“There are several text message threads from different numbers, indicating that either Obsidian leadership is exercising extreme caution by changing phones every few days or that there are several people who were directing Walsh. Either way, it raises some serious
questions.”
“Were you able to find out where those calls originated from?” Hawk asked.
“Of course,” she said. “I cross-checked them with data gathered from the NSA and found that they were in various parts of the city, except for one number. It was recorded as ‘not available', which means it was from someone inside one of our intelligence agencies as that's how calls in those sectors are classified when recorded.”
“It was one of our own?” Blunt asked.
“Every time we encountered Walsh, he warned us that Obsidian is operated by powerful people and that we don’t have any idea just how powerful they are,” Alex said. “I just ignored these inane statements for the most part until I came across a file of deleted voicemails. They were supposedly removed from the phone, but I know how to retrieve them.”
Blunt narrowed his eyes. “You have the perpetrator’s voice?”
“Sort of,” Alex said. “Listen to this.” She pushed the play button on a recovered message.
“You need to eliminate Brady Hawk,” a man said in a heavily modulated voice. “He needs to be framed for an attempted assassination. I will send you details on how to make that happen.”
The team all stared at one another with raised eyebrows and mouths agape.
“We don’t know who that is?” Black asked.
Alex put her finger in the air. “I was able to reverse engineer the modulation and come up with what the person actually sounds like. Here it is.”
The recording played again, this time without all the extra effects. When it finished, Blunt buried his face in his hands and sighed.
“I never would've guessed that,” he said.
“Walsh was right,” Hawk said. “There are far more powerful people than we ever could’ve imagined pulling the strings behind Obsidian.”
Blunt nodded in agreement. “Yes, but I never would've guessed that General Fortner would've been one of them.”
“But that’s not all,” Alex said. “I found another deleted voicemail and didn’t immediately recognize the voice. So, I put it into the NSA’s system and cross-checked it against their audio database.”
“Anyone we know?” Black asked.
“Tanya Starikov, the Russian billionairess who owns Sermo, the fastest-growing social media platform on the planet,” Alex said.
“How come I’ve never heard of it?” Blunt asked.
Alex chuckled. “The fact that you’ve never heard of a trendy social media company doesn’t surprise me. However, you’ll get a pass on this one since its users are primarily in Europe, Asia, and Africa. But they’re expanding here soon.”
“And she’s working in conjunction with Fortner?” Blunt asked. “That seems rather unlikely.”
Alex shrugged. “He’s probably working for her.”
“Now what?” Black asked.
“You and Hawk are going infiltrate Sermo.”
Blunt’s phone buzzed with a call. He glanced at the screen. “I better take this.”
* * *
BLUNT STOOD AND LUMBERED out of the room before accepting the call.
“Please stay on the line for the President of the United States,” a woman’s voice said.
After a few clicks, Noah Young’s smooth voice came through. “J.D., are you okay?”
“I’ve been better, but I’m alive. What about you?” Blunt said.
“Just trying to fend off this PR nightmare.”
“I wish I could help you, sir, but that’s not exactly my strong suit.”
“You owe me one after that stunt you pulled going around me and Fortner to get Agent Black back home.”
Blunt remained silent.
“What? You didn’t think I was going to find out about that?” Young asked.
“I’m sorry, sir. I couldn’t just leave one of my men out there, and I couldn’t exactly get help from anyone to retrieve him either since we don’t really do what we’re doing.”
“I understand why you did it and I’m glad it worked out for you, but you still usurped my authority. It’s bad enough that I once said that I’d negotiate with terrorists, even though I never did. But if this ever came to light that what I said was more than a statement taken out of context, the press—and any future political candidates I face—will eat me alive.”
“So what do you need, Mr. President? Just name it.”
“I need a win right now, and we just received some intelligence about Al Fatihin and what they're planning,” Young said. “I need you to capture Evana Bahar within the next month.”
“That’s a tall order, sir. You remember how long it took us to catch Karif Fazil?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you could deliver.”
“But there are other problems we’re dealing with now and—”
“Nothing is bigger than this one,” Young said. “I think you know if I go down, the Phoenix Foundation is going to crumble into ashes and never arise again.”
Blunt sighed. “Okay, we’ll get on it, sir. I’m meeting with the team right now.”
“Thank you, J.D. You’re a great American.”
Blunt hung up and returned to the conference room.
“Was that President Young?” Alex asked.
“It was,” Blunt said. “And he’s got a different assignment for us.”
“There’s nothing more important than stopping Obsidian right now,” Hawk said.
“That’s not how President Young sees it. We owe him—and he wants us to catch Evana Bahar.”
Hawk nodded. “Well, in that case, it’d be my pleasure to accept this assignment.”
“And he wants it done within a month,” Blunt added.
“Well,” Hawk said, “I guess we better quit fretting over Obsidian and start making plans to take out Evana Bahar.”
THE END
To keep reading in the Brady Hawk series, order the next book CODE RED here.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am grateful to so many people who have helped with the creation of this project and the entire Brady Hawk series.
Krystal Wade was a big help in editing this book as always.
I would also like to thank my advance reader team for all their input in improving this book along with all the other readers who have enthusiastically embraced the story of Brady Hawk. Stay tuned ... there's more Brady Hawk coming soon.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
R.J. PATTERSON is an award-winning writer living in southeastern Idaho. He first began his illustrious writing career as a sports journalist, recording his exploits on the soccer fields in England as a young boy. Then when his father told him that people would pay him to watch sports if he would write about what he saw, he went all in. He landed his first writing job at age 15 as a sports writer for a daily newspaper in Orangeburg, S.C. He later attended earned a degree in newspaper journalism from the University of Georgia, where he took a job covering high school sports for the award-winning Athens Banner-Herald and Daily News.
He later became the sports editor of The Valdosta Daily Times before working in the magazine world as an editor and freelance journalist. He has won numerous writing awards, including a national award for his investigative reporting on a sordid tale surrounding an NCAA investigation over the University of Georgia football program.
R.J. enjoys the great outdoors of the Northwest while living there with his wife and four children. He still follows sports closely.
He also loves connecting with readers and would love to hear from you. To stay updated about future projects, connect with him over Facebook or on the interwebs at www.RJPbooks.com and sign up here for his newsletter to get deals and updates.
Vengeance
© Copyright 2019 R.J. Patterson
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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