Full Blast (A Brady Hawk novel Book 4)

by Jack Patterson

  “I have a private matter to attend to—and it’s urgent.”

  Hawk held his ground. “I have an urgent matter as well. And it involves the well-being of the thousands of people in this ballpark.”

  “Then I suggest you speak with security about it. Now, step aside or I will get security involved.”

  Hawk moved a half step and put his shoulder into Adams as he walked by. Then Hawk grabbed Adams and pulled him close. “I’m going to hunt you down after this is all over with. I know what you’re doing.”

  Hawk released Adams, who didn’t look back as he exited the suite. If Hawk had his way, he would’ve pummeled some answers out of Adams, but if security hauled him off again, he wouldn’t be of much use to the people who were blissfully unaware their lives were in his hands.

  Hawk circled the room, searching for a suspicious person or object. In his first cursory glance, nothing seemed unusual.

  “Having fun, Son?” Thomas Colton asked as he approached Hawk.

  Hawk chose to ignore the annoying suggestion that the man in front of him was his father. They both knew it wasn’t true, and the facade still irked Hawk.

  “Something bad is going to happen here,” Hawk said.

  Colton ignored him. “A simple thank you for getting me on the guest list would’ve sufficed.”

  “I wouldn’t stay here for long. If you see me leave, you might want to leave too.”

  “Trouble follows you around, doesn’t it?”

  Hawk took a deep breath and decided to make one more sweep.

  CHAPTER 35

  MUDIN WAITED IN THE CONCOURSE for the man who was going to slip him a pass for the Silver Slugger Suite. He tried to go through each step mentally. Where he would place the vest to not draw attention yet still inflict maximum damage? How he would do it in a way that no one would notice? Then his mind drifted toward myriad scenarios. What if his rigged detonator didn’t go off? Would it trigger a nationwide manhunt for him? A global manhunt? Who would he rather find him first—Al Hasib or the U.S. government? Or would he just take his own life?

  With nothing else to pass the time than to wonder about the future, Mudin scanned the concourse anxiously for the man who’d let him end all the speculation. It was only a matter of minutes before Mudin would put his plan into action.

  Then he saw the man heading toward him. The tell was that his contact would be wearing a special edition green Washington Nationals cap and eating a plain pretzel. Mudin couldn’t miss the man, who was dressed in a suit. It was common to see men dressed in suits for most games at the stadium, but it wasn’t the norm for weekend tilts.

  The man slid a pass into Mudin’s hands without anyone noticing. Mudin tucked it into his pocket and glanced around at the people milling around the concourse. To him, the people appeared as mindless zombies. It was as if such a decadent outing at the park was an obligation instead of a privilege. A couple of kids threw tantrums, begging their fathers to give them ice cream. He watched in shock as a woman wearing a tight-fitting pair of jean shorts didn’t flinch when her boyfriend slapped her on the butt and instead of getting upset, she simply reached behind her and held his hand there.

  And they all have no idea they’ll be dead in about fifteen minutes.

  Mudin basked in his moral superiority for a moment, partly because he felt it was real but also because it helped assuage his conflicted conscience.

  He strode toward the elevators leading to the private suite on the third level. It was time to follow through with his plan.

  Mudin tugged at his vest and reached into his pocket for his second cell phone. He simply wanted to make sure it was there. His phone buzzed with a text message from Fazil. It simply read, “Make Islam proud. Make Al Hasib proud.”

  Mudin took a deep breath. This was what he intended to do, all while planning his wily escape. He stepped onto an elevator and moved forward with the next part of his plan: disable the live feed.

  He snipped the wires, which drew an almost immediate text from Fazil again: “Live feed down. What happened?”

  Mudin texted back: “Don’t know. Just stepped onto an elevator.”

  Then Mudin stepped off the elevator. He went directly to the access point and flashed his pass.

  Mudin looked around at the men he was about to kill and sighed.

  You can do this. You can do this.

  Mudin retreated to the restroom where he planned to take his vest off and package it small enough that no one would notice it when he carried it out into the public dining area. But before he could pull his arm out of his sleeve, his phone buzzed, his son’s face appearing on the display screen.

  “Tabiq,” Mudin said. “I’m so glad you called.”

  “Where are you?” Talib inquired.

  “I’m at a baseball game. But don’t worry, I still like cricket more.”

  Mudin blinked hard and tried to resist the urge to cry. He stared at his phone, running his finger across every contour of Talib’s face—as if it even really mattered. Talib was going to think his father had died. It was a cruel punishment, but it was necessary if they were going to have a real future.

  Mudin told his son he loved him and hung up. He started to pull one of his arms out of the vest when he froze.

  I can’t do this. I can’t kill all these people. I can’t leave my son and wife.

  Any moral superiority he’d felt only moments before had vanished beneath a tidal wave of guilt. The men and women in the room just beyond the restroom door also likely had sons and daughters, just like he did. They were also someone else’s son or daughter. It was a line of thinking he’d been taught to ascribe to at a young age. But Al Hasib tried to make him forget all of that.

  “Just do what feels right,” one of his Al Hasib colleagues once had told him.

  Yet it was that lingering idea—the one that encouraged him to do whatever felt right—that caused him to abandon his mission. A difficult dilemma morphed into an impossible situation, one that Mudin suddenly couldn’t endorse, even if it was all by his own making.

  Mudin exited the restroom. If there was another way, he’d find it. Otherwise, he’d utilize the vest while he was alone, far away from anyone else. He still had time to think, that is until someone brought attention to his Arab appearance.

  “Hey, you,” a man yelled. “Stop right there.”

  Mudin didn’t want trouble, but he didn’t want to be questioned either. Without hesitating, he dashed toward the door.

  CHAPTER 36

  HAWK’S SECOND AND FINAL SWEEP netted at least one terrified look from a young man, who looked suspicious. For starters, the man was Arabic, easily identifiable from thirty meters across the room. But the man also wasn’t interested in sticking around either.

  He glanced over his shoulder at Hawk before taking off running.

  Hawk followed in pursuit, nearly bowling over a security guard as he went by. Instead, Hawk kept the man upright while discreetly lifting the guard’s firearm.

  Another security guard attempted to join Hawk in his pursuit of the man.

  “If he gets to the main concourse, we’re screwed,” the guard said with a snarl.

  “I’m not gonna let that happen,” Hawk said loudly.

  After about a minute, they hit the main concourse—and the mystery man was nowhere to be found.

  The security guard, who went by the name Jermaine Cook, radioed to the security with a status update on the man who escaped Hawk’s grasp.

  “Try to keep up, Cook,” Hawk said. “If you can’t, I’m going to leave you in the dust.”

  Cook fell down. “Just go on without me,” he said. “I’ll find other ways to pass the time.

  Hawk preferred it that way. Zipping through the crowds on his own as opposed to babysitting an overweight glorified mall cop? Hawk knew which option he’d choose a hundred out of a hundred times.

  Free to pursue the man without any inhibitions, Hawk took off. He thought he saw a glimpse of the man’s hat, though he w
ondered if the terrorist had thrown it away at some point. Then he caught a whir out of the corner of his eye near the turnstiles.

  Hawk followed suit, ripping through the admission gate and chasing the man down the stairs toward the street.

  “Alex,” Hawk began, “where are you at? Are you with me?”

  “Oh, I’m here,” she said. “What do you need help with?”

  “Can you put a satellite on my position? I want to see if you can spot the terrorist and tell me where he’s going next.”

  “I’ll do my best, Hawk.”

  Hawk heard plenty of clicking on the keyboard, which gave him hope that she’d yield results. After a few long seconds, she returned with an efficient way.

  “Got an answer for me?”

  “Go to Dock 79. It looks like that’s where he’s headed.”

  Dock 79 was a waterfront apartment complex built on the banks of the Anacostia River, just across the street from Nationals Park. And it was the perfect place to disappear.

  “Tap into the security feed there,” Hawk said. “I need to know where he’s headed.”

  “Roger that,” Alex replied.

  Hawk danced through the slow-moving traffic on the road right outside Nationals Park, mouthing apologies to the drivers who laid on their horns. Once he reached the other side, he sprinted toward the main entrance of Dock 79.

  “Talk to me, Alex,” he said.

  “He took the stairwell and went up.”

  “All the way?”

  “That’s what it looked like, but I still haven’t seen him emerge on the roof.”

  Hawk rushed onto an empty elevator once he slipped into the lobby and selected the highest floor. Once he got out, he sought to go even higher by locating the stairwell and ascending to the roof. He pulled out the gun he’d lifted off the guard and crept outside.

  Hawk crouched low as he wove in and out of a maze of air conditioning units.

  “You’ve got nowhere to hide now,” Hawk said. “Come out with your hands in the air.”

  “Stay away,” a man said.

  Hawk spun in the direction of the water and saw a man standing on the ledge with his hands in the air. Hawk trained his gun on the man, continuing to walk toward him.

  “I’m warning you—stay back,” the man said.

  “We need to talk,” Hawk said. “I found four explosive devices in the stadium. I’m assuming that you planted them there. Are there any more?”

  The man’s phone rang.

  “I need to answer this or someone may detonate my vest remotely,” he said. “I don’t think you’d want that.”

  Hawk gestured for the man to go ahead, but Hawk refused to drop his weapon.

  Slowly, the man reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. “I’m a little busy right now,” he said. He waited for a moment. “I don’t know what’s wrong with the video transmitter, but I’m in the restroom. I’ll be there in a minute.” Another pause. “Perhaps something went wrong with the detonators, but at least I’ll be able to finish the most important part of the job.”

  The man hung up.

  “Having seconds thoughts?” Hawk asked.

  The man slid his phone into his pocket and nodded. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  “Neither do I,” Hawk said. “Why don’t you step down from that ledge, remove your vest, and let’s talk about it?”

  “There were only four devices, but you need to step back.”

  Hawk continued to walk toward the man, who glanced over his shoulder at the river behind him nine stories below.

  “That’s a long fall. I’m not sure you want to do that,” Hawk said, continuing his steady gait.

  “I said stay away.”

  “It’s clear that you’ve had a change of heart and you don’t want to hurt anyone,” Hawk said. “Neither do I.” He dropped his gun. “Let’s just talk for a minute.”

  “You don’t understand. Someone else could detonate this vest at any moment.”

  Hawk stopped and cocked his head to one side. “Sounds like someone doesn’t trust you. Sounds like someone turned you into a weapon without giving you a choice.”

  “I have a choice, and I’m about to make it.”

  “And what kind of choice is that?”

  “I’m going to blow up this vest so that no one gets hurt.”

  Hawk walked closer and had edged within ten feet of the man. “You don’t have to die like this,” Hawk said. “In fact, you don’t have to die at all.”

  “You don’t understand. They’ll kill my entire family if I’m still alive.”

  “Then let’s trick them. Take the vest off and throw it in the water.”

  “I can’t,” the man said. “It measures my biometrics. If I take it off, they’ll know and set it off. I only have one option.”

  The man leaned back and started to fall. Hawk rushed toward the man and grabbed his leg before he vanished over the side. Hawk held tightly to the man’s leg as he dangled over the roof.

  “Just take off the vest now.”

  “No, they’ll detonate it immediately. And it’ll kill us both. You have to let me go. If I go into the water, it’ll short circuit the vest and I can take it off.”

  Hawk glanced at the water. “You may not survive the fall.”

  “It’s my only option at this point.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Just let go,” the man said.

  “You haven’t even told me your name,” Hawk said.

  “Malik. Malik Mudin.”

  “Good luck, Malik,” Hawk said before releasing the man.

  Mudin began his rapid descent toward the water.

  CHAPTER 37

  MUDIN FELT THE WIND rush against his face as he started falling. He was certain that the world was in desperate need of change, but he was also certain that Al Hasib’s way wasn’t it. And it took him strapping on a suicide vest and contemplating his own humanity—and mortality—to realize it.

  Mudin was amazed at how many thoughts he could have in such a short period of time, how he could consider so many things in a matter of fleeting seconds. He didn’t know if he’d survive or not, yet he had plenty of regrets. He wished he’d been a better husband to his wife, as well as a better father to Tabiq. If something went awry, they’d both grow up without a spouse and a dad, respectively. A widow and a fatherless child—their fate in their culture would be a cruel one unless someone saw it fit to redeem their situation. And all of that seemed suspect, even if he survived.

  Mudin could see the water getting closer and closer. He had no idea if the murky waters below were five meters deep or fifty. And it mattered. One he could survive, the other might not.

  He closed his eyes and prayed to Allah, asking for favor and safety.

  In an instant, nothing no longer mattered for Mudin.

  His vest exploded a few feet before impact, rocking the apartment complex above him.

  CHAPTER 38

  HAWK WITHDREW FROM THE LEDGE the moment he recognized the explosion. The building shook, and he dove to the ground to avoid any shrapnel. He couldn’t believe Malik Mudin was dead. Hawk bit his lip and shook his head. He rarely had the opportunity to save someone, and this time he’d failed in his bid to do so. Mudin’s body was strewn across the Anacostia River. He’d likely never be identified, but Hawk would know along with the people who made the decision to pull the trigger.

  “Did you see that?” Hawk asked into his com link.

  “I saw it all,” Alex said. “What a shame. Seemed like he wanted to do the right thing.”

  “I agree, but we’ll never know now.”

  “Well, the mission wasn’t a bust. We did save the lives of thousands of people and prevented President Michaels’s administration from gaining an opportunity to railroad the American people with a bogus claim about lack of security.”

  “Yes, we do have something to celebrate,” Hawk said. “But we also missed our chance to find out where Fazil might have been hiding.” />
  “We’re gonna catch him, you know. He won’t be able to run forever.”

  “And when we do …” Hawk trailed off, leaving the rest of his thought unsaid. But he knew that Alex would know how to complete it.

  “I do have some good news though,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Check your phone. I just sent you some footage that you might want to see.”

  Hawk pulled out his phone and watched a security video feed of Senator Adams interacting with Malik Mudin. One of the clips was from several weeks prior, while the other was from earlier that afternoon.

  “I hope you have high resolution footage of this,” he said.

  “I do—and I already sent it to the FBI.”

  “Excellent. When do you think we’ll see him arrested?”

  “It won’t take long with that kind of evidence. I also included a line in my email about the location of the C-4 explosive devices and where they could be found. I wanted to make sure they traced all of the supplies back to Adams.”

  “And you think they’ll be able to?”

  “I also hacked his personal credit card account and found charges from corresponding companies that produce those same materials used to make those explosive devices.”

  “Did you include those in the file?”

  Alex laughed. “Oh, Hawk, when are you going to realize I’m not an amateur?”

  He smiled. “That’s what I like to hear.”

  “So is a celebration in order tonight?” she asked.

  “I was thinking about a Bollywood marathon. What do you say?”

  “That might be just what the doctor ordered.”

  CHAPTER 39

  HAWK AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING to the ringing of his phone. He moaned as he rolled over on the couch to see who was calling. There was only one person he’d answer for, aside from Alex, who was sound asleep in his bed. He never considered for a moment to send her home late at night by herself—or let her sleep on the couch. And he wasn’t ready to do anything that would compromise their working chemistry. Not yet, anyway.

  Hawk glanced at the screen on his phone. It was Blunt.