Final Strike (A Brady Hawk Novel Book 21)

by R. J. Patterson

  “Pretty much. We need to hack into some CIA databases and find out who’s responsible as well. I’d like to exact a little retribution.”

  “That should be fun,” he said.

  “Great. I want to get started right away.”

  “Okay,” he said. “First thing tomorrow. But tonight, we have much to celebrate. And I must admit that if I’d known Helenos-9 was so hot, I would’ve told your brother I was only dealing with you directly.”

  She suppressed an urge to roll her eyes. His comment was the exact reason she didn’t want to deal with people like him. In the moment they shared, she realized that he had a genuine affection for her brother. And she had leveraged that into getting him to help her, even if it was a little lie. He’d forgive her … at least, she hoped he would.

  After a couple hours of drinking and dancing, Lord Override convinced her to stay at his apartment while they worked together on her project. She commandeered the couch after he placed fresh sheets on top of it and in a matter of minutes, she drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  BEFORE MIA OPENED her eyes, she felt something cold jabbing at her. Still in that place before she was fully awake, she wasn’t sure if the pain she sensed was from her dream or was real.

  She wanted to open her eyes but refused, her eyelids heavy from a half-night of sleep. She turned to the side, but the sensation was still there. She rolled onto her back and then opened her eyes.

  Standing over her was Lord Override, a gun jammed into her forehead. His eyes were narrowed as he glared at her.

  Startled by the image, Mia tried to scramble away, but he held her down, his free hand pinning down her chest.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, her eyes wide with fear.

  “No more fooling around,” he said. “Who are you working for?”

  CHAPTER 10

  Monza, Italy

  HAWK LUGGED A PAIR of suitcases up the narrow staircase and into the hotel room. Alex had already flung the windows wide open, drawing in deep breaths of the crisp autumn air. Hawk dumped the bags at the foot of the bed and joined her at the window.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” she asked. “This place is just perfect.”

  Hawk nodded in agreement. “Don’t get too caught up in this place. We still have a job to do.”

  “Stop ruining my fun,” she said, hitting him playfully on the arm. “A girl can dream, right?”

  “Of course you can … just as soon as we nab Sinclair.”

  She sighed and began unpacking. Hawk lingered at the window, scanning the cobblestone street below. Their room overlooked the Lambro River, which lazily snaked through the city.

  “Come over here and help me get our stuff out,” Alex said. “You’re not allowed to bask in the beauty of this town if I can’t.”

  He spun around and began to get to work.

  Just a day earlier, neither one of them imagined visiting Monza. In fact, they both admitted they weren’t even familiar with the town situated in northern Italy, just a half-hour drive from Milan. But it had quickly become a place of incredible importance to them, if not for their job, for the fate of their country.

  Hawk’s and Alex’s conversation with Cameron Daniels wasn’t full of earth-shattering information on Falcon Sinclair, but they gleaned the kind of intel needed to figure out a way to capture the Aussie businessman. Daniels mentioned Sinclair’s affinity for Formula 1 auto racing, a sport wildly popular everywhere but the United States. Upon digging further into his love of Formula 1, Alex uncovered an interview with Sinclair where he mentioned he hadn’t missed the Italian Grand Prix for the past twenty years. She also found real estate records from Italy, where he owned a home in the Alps, just a short drive north of Monza, site of the Italian Grand Prix.

  Once Hawk and Alex determined the race in Monza might be their best opportunity to snag Sinclair, they continued to search for the best way to catch him separated from his security detail. After sifting through several newspaper reports, Hawk found multiple pictures of Sinclair talking with his favorite racer, Italian driver Antonio Giovani.

  On the day before the race, Giovani’s publicity team was hosting a private VIP meeting with fans, invitation only.

  Alex called the publicity team, posing as an administrative assistant of Sinclair. Speaking with a young woman, Alex confirmed the time and place of the meeting. The plan, while complex, was straightforward. Alex would work as one of the caterers for the event and give Sinclair a drink laced with a compound to make him weak and faint. She would volunteer to call the paramedics, which Hawk would respond to immediately with an ambulance they secured with their connections with the AISI, Italy’s internal security agency. He would drive Sinclair to a warehouse, detaining him there for questioning before determining how to proceed.

  After Hawk and Alex unpacked, they checked their messages and confirmed all the details for the next day’s operation.

  “I think we’re good,” Hawk said.

  “Let’s get out and see some of the sites,” Alex said. “We can’t let the extent of our time in Italy be crashing a mafia castle and scuba diving in the canals of Venice.”

  Hawk nodded. “I know. Our trips to Italy are always so mundane.”

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, they arrived at the track, prepared to capture Sinclair. While the Australian billionaire had been a thorn in the side of the U.S. government, they never had the necessary evidence to pin a crime on him. But the Phoenix Foundation operated with a lower bar, one that could be adjusted down if the threat seemed imminent. Based on how Obsidian appeared to be mobilizing more and more globally, the lesser standard was approved by Blunt. Not that it took much arm twisting to get President Young to green light the operation.

  Alex glanced at her watch as she tied the black apron around her waist. She adjusted the earbud from her coms and took a deep breath.

  “So, how do I look?” she asked.

  Hawk’s eyebrows shot upward. “Sexier than I imagined in a catering uniform.”

  “Well, the feeling’s mutual,” she said. “Your paramedic outfit makes you look handsome too.”

  “Maybe we should keep these disguises and put on a photo shoot later for a calendar.”

  She smiled. “I wouldn’t go that far. Now, wish me luck.”

  “Good luck,” he said. “I’ll be ready when you are.”

  She walked toward the hospitality suite near the main entrance before taking a quick glance over her shoulder at Hawk. He was leaning against the side of the vehicle while scanning the area.

  He’s always ready.

  Alex was, too. She was ready to put down Falcon Sinclair and end the threat Obsidian posed to the free world.

  She slipped into the service entrance, flashing her badge to the security guard. Once inside, she met with the woman running the catering business who greeted Alex warmly with a firm handshake.

  “I’m so glad you made it out today to help us,” the woman, Liliana, said. “It’s getting more and more difficult to find young people willing to work in our industry, even for such a grand event as this.”

  “Happy to be here,” Alex said.

  Liliana gave Alex detailed instructions as to how they were to handle the trays and the food distribution throughout the room. An hour later, everything was set and ready for the guests.

  When Antonio Giovani strode into the room in his racing uniform, his presence drew audible gasps from many of the women present. He flashed a wry smile and raised his eyebrows at one young woman. Alex could tell he enjoyed the attention, especially the type that gawked over his ruggedly handsome face.

  “How’s it going in there?” Hawk asked over the coms. “Any sign of Sinclair yet?”

  She covered her hand with her mouth. “Negative. The VIP fans are just now arriving.”

  Alex glided across the room, holding out her tray of hors d’oeuvres for the guests. Only a few of them took anything she offered, while the men carting around wine glasses were only
out of the kitchen for one pass before returning to re-stock their drinks.

  In another hour, this ought to be real fun.

  Another twenty minutes passed, and she still hadn’t seen any sign of Sinclair. She returned to the kitchen to trade in her platter of grilled tomato crostini for potato-leek focaccia. Upon re-entering the room, she saw two muscular men she hadn’t noticed before casing the area.

  “Hawk, I think he’s about to make an appearance,” Alex said softly into her coms.

  “Roger that,” he said. “Go do your thing.”

  Alex quick walked back into the kitchen and grabbed a tray of wine in anticipation of Sinclair joining the gala in the VIP lounge. However, one of the men strode up to the event’s host and whispered something in her ear. The woman frowned and cocked her head to one side. Alex tried to read their lips and made out something about they felt the situation wasn’t safe.

  The host protested for a few moments before the men handed her a slip of paper and disappeared out one of the side exits.

  Alex decided to see if she could get any answers. She eased up next to woman and offered her a drink.

  “You look like you could use one,” Alex said. “Besides, it keeps that British guy in the back from getting another one.”

  The woman offered a quick smile before holding up her hand. “We just had one of Giovani’s biggest fans cancel because he thought there was a security threat to him. Everyone has entered the metal detectors, so I don’t know why they were so paranoid. Someone told him there was a credible threat.”

  Alex shrugged. “Well, that’s a shame. Mr. Giovani looks like he’d be fun to meet.”

  “You interested in meeting him privately later?” the woman asked. “I do have a request for someone to meet him later on, which I’ll fulfill.”

  “Sounds tempting, but I’m spoken for.”

  “Oh, it’s not like that. I just thought you might want to get your picture taken with him. He’s quite the gentleman.”

  Alex sighed. “Well, in that case, you don’t have to ask me twice.”

  “Good,” the woman said. “Just follow me out back, and we’ll meet him in the tunnel underneath the stands.”

  Alex resumed her duties and waited a few minutes to find a quiet corner to alert Hawk. “There’s been a change of plans.”

  * * *

  FALCON SINCLAIR followed his two bodyguards down an empty breezeway beneath the stands. The grimy dirt on top of the concrete crunched beneath his feet. While he was worried about scuffing his brown leather Kiton wingtips, he was more concerned with the idea that someone was trying to target him. For all the people he paid to owe their allegiance to Obsidian, he shivered at the idea of getting caught so close to unleashing his plan. Once everything was completed, he’d be untouchable, a fact he was banking on.

  “Are you sure this was necessary?” Sinclair asked. “After all, no one has anything on me.”

  “Boss, you’re the one who pays us to keep you safe,” one of the men said. “We have our sources, and if we get the feeling that something is off, we’re not going to let you walk right into it.”

  “And I appreciate that,” Sinclair said. “It’s just that this seems ridiculous.”

  “You’re the one who has to get your picture taken with Antonio Giovani. We can turn around now.”

  “No, no,” Sinclair said. “Giovani is a master in the way he races. Whenever I get a chance to meet with a genius, I never pass it up … even if it means walking through such filth.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  They came around the corner, and Sinclair found himself face to face with Giovani.

  Giovani offered his hand. “Mr. Sinclair, are you aware that your voice carries quite a distance under the grandstand.”

  Sinclair drew back and scowled. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I heard everything you said about me,” Giovani said as Sinclair tenuously took the driver’s right hand. “And coming from you, it’s enough to make me blush. I don’t even care if I win the race tomorrow, my week here is complete.”

  “You’re too kind,” Sinclair said. “But I guess you know how I really feel.”

  “I do,” Giovani said. “And it’s very flattering.”

  One of the bodyguards took a picture of Sinclair and Giovani. The two men discussed the upcoming race as well as the ongoing season. Giovani then steered the conversation back toward getting an opportunity to ride in one of Sinclair’s spaceships.

  As they were winding down their chat, the public relations agent approached them with another woman.

  Sinclair’s eyes widened. “Wait a minute,” he said, holding up his hand.

  “Take the boss,” one of the bodyguards said to his colleague. “I’ll handle this.”

  The public relations agent furrowed her brow. “Is there a problem?”

  Before Sinclair could answer, he was turned in the opposite direction by one of his guards and ushered away from the meeting.

  “Don’t look back,” the guard said. “We need to move right now.”

  * * *

  ALEX WATCHED SINCLAIR hustle off under the protective wing of a bodyguard, while one of the burly men she’d seen earlier confronted her escort about bringing someone else to their get together.

  Giovani took a step back, his head swiveling as if he was watching a tennis match. “I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

  “And neither do I,” Alex said. “I just wanted to get my picture taken with you and—”

  “This is unacceptable,” the guard said as he stamped his foot. “Your office knows Mr. Sinclair’s protocol.”

  “No one seems to be in danger here,” the woman said. “It was just a favor I was doing for a hard-working fan who spends most of her time stuck behind the scenes.”

  “That doesn’t matter. This isn’t how we do things. Your boss will be hearing from Mr. Sinclair’s office.”

  The guard stormed off, glancing over his shoulder several times as he sprinted down the walkway to catch up with his boss.

  “What was that all about?” Alex asked. “And who was that guy?”

  “That was Falcon Sinclair,” Giovani explained. “He’s one of the wealthiest men in the world.”

  The public relations agent stared at them as they walked away, a tear trickling down her face.

  “Don’t worry about him,” Giovani said, putting his arm around the woman. “I’ll make sure you don't lose your job over this. That was an overreaction on Sinclair’s part and his entourage. You did nothing wrong.”

  “Thank you,” she mustered between sniffles.

  Giovani turned toward Alex and smiled. “Now, what about that picture, Miss—”

  “Carter,” Alex said. “Bethany Carter.”

  The two posed for the picture, which the woman took on Alex’s phone.

  “Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Carter,” he said as Alex retrieved her phone. “And if you’re interested, there’s a private event at my hotel this evening. I’d love to see you there.”

  Giovani handed her a hotel business card with a room and phone number.

  “Thanks,” Alex said.

  Giovani strode off, looking back over his shoulder to flash a smile and a wink at Alex. Once he was gone, Alex turned to the woman.

  “I thought you said he wasn’t a slime bucket.”

  “He’s not,” she said. “He’s a perfect gentleman.”

  “You’re still young, so maybe you’re just naive, but that wasn’t being a gentleman,” Alex said. “He was asking me to return to his room tonight. And it wasn’t for another picture.”

  The woman sighed and then walked off.

  Alex didn’t move. She waited until the woman was out of earshot before hailing Hawk on the coms.

  “We’ve got a problem,” she said.

  “What is it?” Hawk asked.

  “Sinclair is on the move. He’s about to get away unless we hurry. He’s got two bodyguards, and I’m guessing they’re
headed toward the helipad.”

  “Meet you there,” Hawk said.

  Alex whipped off her blonde wig as well as her catering uniform and sprinted down the corridor toward the main entrance. When she reached it, she raced into a tunnel that went beneath the road and into the main infield of the track. On the northeast side was a helipad with a chopper. Its blades whirred around, whistling through the air.

  She caught Hawk running toward the pad out of the corner of her eye. She pumped her arms in an effort to arrive before him. But when she edged within a hundred meters, she knew they would be too late. Seconds later, the helicopter lifted off the ground and zoomed right overhead.

  Alex didn’t stop until she converged with Hawk.

  “Dammit,” Hawk said. “Sinclair got away again.”

  “I’ll say,” said a man nearby in a British accent.

  Hawk and Alex turned to see a tall man in a trench coat, staring up at the sky.

  “I’m sorry, but do we know you?” Alex asked.

  “Nope, but I wish you did,” the man said. “That way you wouldn’t have interfered with my operation this afternoon.”

  “Your operation?” Hawk asked.

  “Yes,” the man said. “I was trying to do the same thing you were.”

  “I doubt that,” Alex said.

  “You were trying to capture Falcon Sinclair, were you not?”

  Hawk cocked his head to the side and squinted. “And who exactly are you?”

  “Well, Mr. Hawk, my name is Pierce Sterling, and I work for MI-6.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Washington, D.C.

  BLUNT STARED AT THE banner that appeared on the top of his cell phone screen, alerting him to a text from Morgan. There were a handful of emojis, most of which he didn’t understand the significance of. That was followed by a short note about how she was enjoying the cooler weather in Moscow and hoped that he was doing well.

  He glanced at the time and resisted the urge to immediately write her back. If he spent any extra time firing off a quick response, he knew he would end up late for his impromptu meeting with President Young.