Final Strike (A Brady Hawk Novel Book 21)

by R. J. Patterson

  “How are the coms?” Hawk asked as he approached the door.

  “I can read you loud and clear,” Alex said. “Just make sure Black waits a few minutes before shooting anyone.”

  “Stop worrying about a high body count,” Black said. “We’ll be fine.”

  “Sorry, but I don’t share in your confidence,” she said.

  “Trust us,” Hawk said.

  “I wish I could,” Alex said. “But you’re both not exactly the most trustworthy when it comes to restraint.”

  Hawk shrugged. “I won’t argue with that, but I can promise that we’ll be on our best behavior.”

  “Until we get our hands on Blunt,” Black added.

  “See,” Alex said, “that’s what I’m talking about.”

  Hawk laughed. “Talk to you soon, Alex. We’re about to go in.”

  They entered a cozy lobby and were quickly asked about the nature of their visit by a guard.

  “We’re federal prosecutors,” Hawk said, “and we need to talk with one of your inmates.”

  “It’s a little late for that,” one of the guards said. “Visiting hours ended thirty minutes ago.”

  “We’re not here to visit,” Hawk said. “If you’d like to check my credentials, feel free. I’m sure your boss won’t like getting an earful from my boss, who sent me down here with instructions to get some answers from one of your prisoners asap.”

  The bulky guard held his hands open and shook his head. “Not my problem.”

  “It’s gonna be your problem tomorrow morning when your boss gets a call from the president,” Black said. “This case is top priority for the White House, and if they want answers right now, we’re going to give them to them. You catch my drift?”

  The guard sighed and held out his hand. “Give me your credentials, gentlemen.”

  Hawk and Black forked over their badges, which the man scanned. After a few minutes, the computer beeped.

  “Sorry, Mr. … Callaway,” the guard said, “but you’re not appearing in my computer as someone authorized to access this facility.”

  “What do you mean?” Hawk asked.

  “I mean, according to my computer, you don’t even exit.”

  Alex’s voice came through the coms. “Move closer to his terminal.”

  Hawk did as he was told, edging his briefcase with a transmitter device. “Why don’t you look again?” he suggested.

  The guard took a deep breath and glared at Hawk. “Last time, counselor.”

  This time, the beep was a different tone. “Ah, here you are, Mr. Callaway, as well as your associate. Please, step this way.”

  After another guard waved his wand around Hawk’s and Black’s bodies, they were admitted into the prison.

  “Someone will meet you on the other side of that door to escort you to your prisoner,” the guard said.

  Hawk and Black continued forward, opening the door once it clicked. Another guard perused their paperwork before telling them to follow him down the hallway.

  They were almost to the end of corridor when another guard shouted at them, making them all freeze.

  “Hold up there,” another man called. “We’re not done yet.”

  Hawk swallowed hard as he turned around to see who was thwarting his entry into the prison.

  CHAPTER 33

  Sydney, Australia

  FALCON SINCLAIR PLACED his hands on the railing from the top deck of his yacht, Proud and Pretentious. He gave a polite wave to a small motor boat struggling against the outgoing tide in the middle of Port Jackson. As he strained to see in the fading light, he was almost certain one of the passengers was make an obscene gesture toward him.

  Enjoy your pathetic life.

  Sinclair turned toward the dock and watched his last guests for the evening disembark and head home. The pressure cooker of conducting a scheme to seize world power was exhausting, and he got a much-needed break. With his mind still loose from the considerable amount of alcohol he’d consumed earlier in the evening, he wondered for a fleeting moment what anyone would think of him doing a cannon ball over the side of his boat. He snapped back to reality when Madeline Young wrapped her arms around his midsection.

  “Is everyone gone?” he asked in a suggestive tone.

  She laughed. “I wish. Randy Parker is still here along with Wagner and Caron. Apparently, they have something they want to discuss with you, so you’ll have to wait.”

  She winked at him before heading in the direction of his cabin.

  Sinclair watched her for a moment, admiring her svelte figure sashaying away.

  “Sir, we’re ready for you below deck,” Parker said, interrupting Sinclair’s ogling.

  Sinclair sighed. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  He closed his eyes, burying his head in his hands. The night could’ve had a fantastic ending. Instead, he was stuck dealing with business. And for a fleeting second, he wondered if what he was doing was worth it.

  What good are the spoils if you can’t enjoy them?

  But then again, Sinclair wondered what there was left to conquer. Beautiful women? He could have as many of those as he wanted. Fancy houses? He’d lost count of how many he owned and where in the world they were. Ultimate power? That was the only thing lacking.

  Damn right, it’s worth it.

  Sinclair spun and followed Parker downstairs. The men were all seated around a table, playing a game of cards.

  The Obsidian mastermind threw his hands in the air as he surveyed the table. “What’s this? You didn’t think to deal me in?”

  “You were busy,” Caron said.

  Wagner puffed on a cigar while mindlessly making quarter-turns with his empty glass.

  “I told them we had more business to conduct and to put the cards away,” Parker said.

  Sinclair held up his hand in Parker’s direction. “I’m not interested in your hall monitor report. Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

  “Of course, sir,” Parker said as he adjusted the angle of his laptop screen. “What do you want to know?”

  “First of all,” Sinclair began. “I’d like to know how things are going with our Freedom Homes downloads.”

  Parker sucked in a long breath through his teeth. “Probably not as well as you’d like, sir.”

  “Give me the numbers.”

  Parker read off a list of all the Freedom Homes downloads from the various app platforms. Sinclair almost choked on the drink he’d just poured.

  “That’s it?” he asked, his eyes bulging.

  “Yeah, that’s all we’ve got so far,” Parker said. “I think it’s a solid start.”

  “Those are abysmal numbers. We need to escalate this.”

  Parker winced. “Respectfully, sir, I think we should give it more time.”

  “That’s why this is my yacht and you’re working for me,” Sinclair said. “Start the next phase.”

  “But, sir, we need more time,” Parker protested.

  “Get it done, or I’ll find someone else who will.”

  Parker nodded as he closed his computer. He scurried up the steps and off the boat.

  Wagner looked up at Sinclair. “Be careful. That kid spooks easily. You need him.”

  Sinclair waved dismissively. “Those bean counters are a dime a dozen. He just needs to stop questioning me and do what I tell him to.”

  “At least let him think he came up with a good idea,” Caron said. “It’s how you keep them in your fold.”

  “Well, I’m not keeping either of you in my fold tonight,” Sinclair said. “It’s time this dinner cruise came to an end.”

  Caron laughed. “And I know why too. I saw how Madeline was looking at you tonight.”

  In the distance, thunder rumbled as sheet lightning spread across the sky.

  “Get outta here,” Sinclair said. “There’s a storm coming tonight, and I’ve got to batten down the hatches.”

  “Need any help?” Wagner asked.

  “I can handle it myself,�
�� Sinclair said. “We’ll discuss our plans further tomorrow.”

  “Aye, aye, Cap’n,” Wagner said with a mock salute.

  “Good luck tonight,” Caron said, flashing a thumbs-up sign.

  “Go,” Sinclair said sternly. “I’ll call you both tomorrow.”

  Sinclair followed them up the stairs and watched them both exit onto the dock. Madeline came out of the glass doors on the second deck and waved goodbye. Sinclair looked up at her.

  “Do you want to stay here tonight?” he asked.

  She turned and looked in the direction of the storm. “I think I’d rather go back to your house. I’m not interested in tossing and turning all night if I can help it.”

  “Gather your things and meet me back at the house,” Sinclair said. “I need to take care of a few things before I call the crew back to prepare the ship for the impending storm.”

  “Sure thing, Admiral,” she said before returning inside.

  Sinclair took a deep breath and drank in the bustling scene on the water. The wind whipped across his face. Flags on adjacent ships rustled in the strong breeze. A storm was coming, and it was one of the few things on this earth that he couldn’t do anything about.

  Madeline descended the steps and exited the boat before turning toward Sinclair.

  “Don’t keep me waiting long,” she said. “My moods don’t last forever.”

  Sinclair gave her a mock salute before spinning on his heels and heading back inside. He called one of his crew members and ordered him to get back down to the docks to prepare the ship for the evening. When Sinclair was finished, he made one final round through his yacht to make sure no one else had stowed away. Satisfied that the boat was empty, he waited inside until the crew member arrived and handed him the keys.

  “Completely clean, both inside and out,” Sinclair said. “That’s how I want it.”

  “Of course, sir,” the young man said. “However, in my rush to get down here, I left my cleaning supplies at home. Is it all right if I hustle home to get them? I’ll be right back.”

  “Very well,” Sinclair said. “As long as you hurry straight back.”

  Sinclair watched the man dart toward the docks and then into the direction of the public parking lot. With the crew member gone, Sinclair descended to the lower deck to gather a few items. When he was finished, he walked up to the top deck and surveyed his boat. She was grand, still lit from the party.

  He smiled as lightning flashed overhead and wind bent some of the sailboats moored nearby. Then he stopped. He thought he heard something, and not from the wind, but he couldn’t be sure.

  CHAPTER 34

  Sydney, Australia

  SHIELDS SETTLED INTO her spot on the hill overlooking the dock and then peered through her binoculars. She counted two guards standing near the boat, both of them carrying weapons that bulged from the side of their blazers. As the party emptied out, she noted one woman struggling to stay upright, a martini glass still in her hand.

  One of the guards relieved the woman of her drink and offered a friendly wave as she staggered away. The other man lit up a cigarette.

  “From what I can tell, there are just two men guarding Sinclair’s yacht,” Shields said over her coms to Mia.

  “Roger that,” Mia replied. “Wish I could help you, but you know I’m not much good in that hand-to-hand combat stuff.”

  “Actually, I do need your help.”

  Mia sighed loudly. “You know I do my best work from behind a computer screen, right?”

  Shields chuckled. “Look, if I had two decent legs to strut in front of these Neanderthals, I’d do it, believe you me. But flashing carbon fiber and titanium just doesn’t have the same effect on a man as a woman with a nice set of legs.”

  “Fine. I’ll help. What do you want me to do?”

  “Just stroll by casually and give them a suggestive look.”

  “I’m not very good at that,” Mia said.

  “You don’t have to be. You’ve got nice legs and a curvaceous figure. There’s not a whole lot you need to do other than act coy.”

  “Coy?” Mia asked.

  “You know, be a tease.”

  “My brother used to always call me that, but I had no idea what I was doing when he called me that.”

  Shields shook her head. “Act like you might be interested in talking with the guy. Can you do that?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Good. Now, get the one on the right interested and keep his attention on you so his back is to the other guy. You’ll know when I’m finished.”

  “I can’t promise anything, but—”

  “Be friendly,” Shields said. “That’s all I’m asking you to do.”

  “Heading down now.”

  “Wait for my signal before you get closer to the boat.”

  Shields kept her head down as she walked past Sinclair’s yacht, unable to attract even a second glance from the guards. The wind picked up as sheet lightning spread across the sky. One of the men chatted on his cell phone, while the other struggled to light a cigarette due to the stiff breeze. After she was in position, she gave Mia the signal.

  “Go for it,” Shields said. “And remember to just act casual.”

  Mia walked down the dock, her tight figure sashaying in the moonlight. The first guard pocketed his cell phone as he looked Mia up and down.

  “Hello, there,” the man said in a thick Australian accent. “Where are you headed tonight?”

  Mia smiled and stopped.

  “Excellent,” Shields said in the coms. “Keep his back to me.”

  She crept up on the other man, who was working on another cigarette some twenty meters away. Shields eased up from behind the man before slashing his throat. He tried to call for help, but nothing came out. As he gasped for air, he attempted to apply pressure to the cut, which was gushing with blood. Shields caught him as he fell to his knees. She eased him into the water and then rushed toward the other guard.

  He was in mid-sentence when she stabbed him in the throat from behind. Mia covered her mouth as her eyes widened. When the man was done struggling, Shields dumped his body into the water, too.

  “I wasn’t ready for that,” Mia said as she looked at Shields.

  “What’d you think I was going to do? Smash them over the head and knock them out? We’re trying to stop the next big criminal mastermind. I’m not taking any chances. Now, come on.”

  “But don’t you need me in the van?” Mia asked as rain started pounding the deck.

  “You’re right. I do. I’ll handle it from here. Just get ready to capture everything Sinclair tells me. However, if I call for you, come down right away. And don’t forget how to hit your target.”

  Mia hustled down the dock in the direction of the van. Once she was there, she signaled she was ready to Shields.

  Shields stealthily maneuvered onto the yacht, which rocked gently. She eased around the side and headed toward the sleeping quarters below deck. Quietly descending the steps, she entered the galley and found Sinclair making himself a sandwich.

  “Drop it,” she said as he was about to take a bite.

  Sinclair scowled at her and then glanced at his food. “It’s just a club sandwich.”

  “Is taking a bite worth your life?”

  He shrugged. “Well, when you put it like that, I guess not.”

  “It’s probably not any good anyway,” Shields said. “Now, move over here, and keep your hands where I can see them.”

  Sinclair didn’t flinch. Instead, he put a glass of wine to his lips before placing it on the counter and continuing to prepare his food. “So, I’m really curious who sent you, seeing that practically the entire world is owned by me.”

  “Not everyone’s for sale.”

  “That’s an answer to my question,” Sinclair said, shaking his knife at her. He put a piece of bread on top of his creation and then sliced it diagonally.

  “I’m the one holding the gun,” she said. “You answer my questi
ons.”

  “Not when you make idle threats. You’re not going to shoot me. In fact, you’re going to tell me who you are, and then I’m going to kill you.”

  “My name is Inigo Montoya,” she said. “You killed my father. Prepare to die.”

  Sinclair shook his head and laughed. “Good one. I’m a fan of The Princess Bride, too. But that isn’t a real answer to my question.”

  Shields fired a shot at the pickle jar, causing the juice to cascade over his sandwich.

  Sinclair sighed. “Now that wasn’t very nice, was it?”

  “The next one is in your chest if you don’t tell me what I want to know,” she said.

  “With an attitude like that, you’ll never get answers out of me.”

  “I can live with that, especially if it means living on this planet without you.”

  “Temper, temper,” Sinclair said. “I’m sure the agency taught you better manners than that.”

  “That’s why the agency didn’t want me,” Shields said. “Now, I’m only going to ask you this question once.”

  Sinclair held up his index finger. “Just one moment, please. I’m really hungry.”

  Shields sighed and shrugged. Then Sinclair acted as if he was going to take a bite out of his soppy sandwich, but instead popped a pill in his mouth. Within seconds, he collapsed to the ground, convulsing back and forth.

  Sinclair swore as she rushed over to him. “Don’t you die on me, you sonofabitch.”

  “What is it?” Mia asked over the coms.

  Thunder rumbled overhead as a flash of lightning flickered through one of the portholes.

  “I think Sinclair took some kind of suicide pill,” she said as she stood over his body, twitching and thrashing back and forth. The whole episode lasted about thirty seconds, and then he stopped moving.

  “Get down here, Mia,” Shields said. “I need you. This bastard took the easy way out.”

  Shields proceeded to sweep the rest of the yacht. When she returned to the kitchen, she knelt next to Sinclair and felt for his pulse. Mia entered the room with her gun drawn.