“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” chirped the elderly woman who settled into the seat next to him.
Hawk nodded without saying a word, giving her only a hint of a smile. He buckled his seatbelt and tugged it tight. Outside his window, airline workers scurried around on the tarmac, shoveling luggage onto a conveyor belt that didn’t seem to be moving fast enough for one of the workers. The impatient employee bounced a bag onto the conveyor belt and watched it slide off the edge. Tumbling onto the concrete, it sprang open upon impact; the contents spilled onto the ground. The worker rushed over and shoved the passenger’s clothes into the bag before quickly pushing it back onto the belt. Hawk had become so fixated on the events below that he almost didn’t notice his neighbor craning her neck into his personal space.
The older woman playfully swatted Hawk on the arm with the back of her hand. “That’s why I only use a carry-on,” she announced. “Who wants a strange man tossing your unmentionables onto the runway?”
Hawk cracked a more visible smile and nodded. Glancing at the woman again, he saw a faint resemblance to Jessica, his girlfriend from when he was in the Peace Corps. If the woman’s face didn’t remind him of Jessica, her good nature did.
He closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat, transporting himself to some of his more fond memories of her. Jessica grew up in Los Angeles and bled Dodger blue. Every chance she got, she would tease him for cheering for the San Diego Padres. He insisted that every Navy Seal stationed in Coronado who didn’t already have a rooting interest defaulted to the local team, San Diego. She once bought him a Padres shirt with the number zero on the back. “That’s just to remind you how many World Series titles the Padres have.”
But as ruthless as she was when it came to her teasing of him, she was even more relentless when it came to her deepest passion in life: helping others. Teeming with talent, Jessica could just as easily sew a dress from scratch as she could fire a rifle and hit a target dead center from 200 meters. But whenever she met someone in need, nothing could stop her from doing everything in her power to make sure that need was met. If government officials needed a scolding, she’d give it to them. If a shopkeeper wasn’t being fair to a widow, she would dress him down. If a woman needed help affording groceries, she’d dig into her savings. If a child needed a pair of shoes, she’d make sure those little feet didn’t walk another step without them. She toiled in a thankless job and loved every minute of it—until some horrible men stripped the world of such a beautiful soul.
Hawk couldn’t think about Jessica without eventually drifting back to that painful image seared into his mind, the one where a group of terrorists dragged her away to commit horrible acts against her. When he was a member of Seal Team 3, the acts he was authorized to commit against a Middle Eastern village made him physically wretch. The killing didn’t bother him so much, but the widowing and orphaning of young children did. Yet anything he witnessed or participated in wasn’t close to what terrorists did to Jessica that day. Her death is why he decided to leave the Peace Corps for good and seek out a position that would wage war against such monsters. He was convinced the world would never be a safe place as long as groups like Al Hasib roamed free. When Blunt offered Hawk an opportunity to do what he longed to do—systematically remove such scum from the earth—he couldn’t refuse.
The plane’s jet engines roared as it zoomed down the runway and launched skyward. Hawk leaned back and closed his eyes again, trying to forget but determined to remember. After all he’d experienced, he didn’t want to waste his life away. He wanted to make it count. And if part of that meant meeting with a man who existed in a strange paradox—both warmonger and peacemaker—and believed he was his father, so be it. The world wasn’t so neat and tidy, no matter how much he wished it was.
After the plane leveled off, the old woman tapped him on the shoulder. “What are you going to Atlanta for? Going home?”
Hawk forced a smile. “Going to visit my father.”
It was a lie, though he said it with conviction. Only a few weeks before, the same statement would’ve been true—to him.
“How sweet,” she said. “Cherish those moments. You never know how long you’ll have him.”
“For sure.” He forced another smile and nodded, giving off the impression that he agreed with her. But he didn't share those same sentiments.
Hawk’s meeting with Colton wouldn’t be endearing in the least. It was all about extracting information and doing something that would make the world a safer place. It was all about doing his job. It was all about making sure that the Jessicas of the world would get to fight for others instead of being victimized by those animals.
Hawk’s face eased into a smile at the thought of what his impending mission would entail. He couldn’t wait to get going.
CHAPTER 4
ALEX ADJUSTED HER WIG and climbed out of her car. Her counterfeit credentials passed the initial security checkpoint without drawing even a slight hesitation from the guard; her confidence grew by the minute. She’d walked through the doors at Langley hundreds of times, but never like this. This time, she was trespassing, intent on gaining access to one of the CIA’s most secure locations at its headquarters. Cracking firewalls and spoofing IP addresses was one thing, but beating a building full of spies at their own game? Such bravado required a motivation beyond mere curiosity. With each step toward the front entrance, she wondered if maybe she was getting blinded by Hawk’s ripped chest and handsome good looks.
She glanced around as the other employees trudged up the steps and toward the front doors like mindless automatons. It hadn’t been that long ago that she was one of them, doing the government’s bidding without pause. For someone who’d dreamed of being a spy her whole life, working for the CIA exceeded her expectations—until it didn’t. Operations that showed disregard for innocent life gave her reason to pause and consider what it was she was really doing. Concluding that this wasn’t what she signed up for, she decided to blow the whistle on some of Director Coker’s more nefarious missions. And it didn’t take her long to be swept aside. If truth be told, she was lucky they didn’t put a bullet in her head and bury her in a Virginia mountainside after the embarrassment she caused Director Coker. If he caught her this time, a bullet might be a merciful ending.
Getting into The Vault required solid tactical planning, an ability to remain a wallflower and unmemorable, impeccable timing, and a dash of luck. Each day, two deposits were made in The Vault—one at 9:30 a.m. and the other at 2:30 p.m. She planned to slip in on the coattails of the unsuspecting curator during the first deposit of the day. That was the easy part. Her most daunting challenge, however, was simply getting access to The Vault floor.
The Vault was located in the second basement with highly restricted access. During her time at the CIA, she only met one person from the archives department who had a keycard to access the floor from the elevator—even some of the curators weren’t issued cards. Most of them were forced to rely on a guard or their supervisor to grant them access. But the research division, also located in the second basement, was teeming with employees in lab coats, employees who all had access.
Toting a small stack of files marked “confidential,” Alex slipped into a bathroom and dug out a tightly rolled lab coat from her purse. She donned the coat along with a pair of glasses and waited for an unsuspecting target. Less than five minutes passed before she saw her first opportunity.
Dr. Samuel Finkle trudged down the hallway, his head too buried in a file for him to pay attention to what was happening in front of him. Glancing at his security badge again to verify she had the right name, Alex tousled her hair and tried to appear flustered standing outside the elevator doors.
“Dr. Finkle,” she called.
He stopped and looked up, his brow furrowed. He pointed at himself and mouthed Me?
“You are Dr. Finkle, aren’t you?”
He looked around. “Yes,” he said as he approached Alex. “Who are you?”
He nodded. “Interesting. This is the first I’ve heard of this.” He paused. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“Actually, yes, there is. It’s simple but my keycard isn’t working now for some reason, and I need to get back to the lab to finish working on this report for Director Coker.”
He eyed her closely. “What report are you working on? All of Director Coker’s personal requests go through my office. What did you say your name was again?”
“Sarah Tillman from NSA. Look, I don’t know why you were left out of the loop on this one, but I will mention it to Dr. Coker. But I really need to get this report finished.”
“Fine,” Finkle said. Moments later, the elevator door swung open and he swiped his keycard in front of the panel, granting access to the second basement floor.
The door started to shut, and Alex jammed her foot near the edge to keep it open. “I appreciate it. And I’ll stop by your office this afternoon and get more acquainted.”
The elevator doors closed, and she began to descend to the second basement floor. With only five minutes until the 9:30 a.m. deposit, she couldn’t afford any more delays.
When the doors slid open, she hustled down the hall and found an ideal location to wait for the deposit. A small supply closet next to a water fountain was about ten meters away from The Vault entrance. Once the door opened, she estimated she’d have just enough time to hustle down the hallway and sneak into the room before the door closed.
Checking in every direction for other employees, Alex began to jimmy the lock. In a matter of seconds, it clicked open and she dashed inside upon hearing the clicking of heels coming down the hall. With the door slightly cracked, she peeked through the open slit and waited.
Only two minutes passed, but it felt more like two hours to her as she waited for the curator to make the morning visit to The Vault. Then, she heard an intermittent squeaking noise along with a low steady roll. She didn’t recognize the man, but his cart stacked high with boxes headed back to The Vault was unmistakable. He fumbled for his keycard, dropping it once before picking it up and waving it in front of the panel. After a second, the door clicked open. He pulled on the door and propped it open with his foot. The instant he turned his back fully to Alex, she dashed out of the closet and walked in his direction.
However, the part of the operation that she believed was the simplest turned out to be far more difficult, complicated by the unexpected presence of a researcher heading toward her down the hall. Alex had to think fast or risk losing her opportunity.
She went for broke and faked a trip. As she stumbled, she slid one of her folders toward the door. It was just enough to hold it open.
“Are you all right?” asked the woman, who rushed over to help up Alex.
Alex pushed herself up off the floor and shook her head. “I think so. I don’t know what happened back there. I’m such a klutz.”
The woman gathered a few of Alex’s folders and stacked them together before handing them over.
“Thank you,” Alex said. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble. Here, let me help you up.”
The woman grabbed Alex’s right bicep and forearm and tugged her to her feet.
“Thank you again for your help,” Alex said again.
“Oh, looks like I missed one,” the woman said as she stooped down and reached for the folder that was wedged between The Vault door and jamb.
Alex’s eyes widened as she realized the woman was about to ruin her chances of accessing the room. Quickly, Alex slid her heel against the door, keeping it from slamming shut.
“There you go,” the woman said as she handed the last folder to Alex. She paused and tilted her head to the side as she studied Alex. “I don’t know if I’ve seen you around here before.” She offered her hand. “Mary Alvarez, head of fiber optics research. And you are?”
“Sarah Tillman. I’m here on loan from the NSA and working on a few projects for Director Coker.”
“Sounds interesting. We’ll have to chat some time. What office are you in? I’ll come by and say hello sometime.”
Alex was stumped again. Every floor had their unique numbering systems and she knew if the next words out of her mouth weren’t right—or at least convincing—she’d draw some more suspicion.
“Oh, I’m mostly working upstairs with an office Director Coker set me up with.”
“I see. Well, I’ll see you around.”
Alex sighed quietly as she watched Alvarez turn and continue down the hall until she disappeared around the corner. Forcing the door open with her heel, Alex eased inside The Vault and gently shut the door behind her.
The Vault was divided into three sections: surveillance, operations, and personnel. She then removed her shoes and started to search for the personnel files. With one eye in the direction of the curator who was noisily milling around on the other side of the cavernous room, she identified her target.
Foster, Foster, Foster. Where are you?
She ran her fingers along the cabinets in search of the F’s until she finally found them.
Ah-ha. There you are.
She pulled the bulky drawer open and fingered the files until she found the one for Franklin Foster. She grabbed it, and it didn’t feel right.
Too light. What is this?
When she opened the folder, it was empty.
You gotta be kidding me!
She replaced the file and closed the drawer. Darting down one of the aisles and sinking to the floor, she tried to think about any other possible ways for her to learn about Franklin Foster. Nothing readily came to mind.
After realizing her mission was a bust, Alex’s curiosity conflicted with her sense of good judgment—and her curiosity won. She shuffled toward the next row of file cabinets and knelt to open the bottom drawer marked “Ha-He.” Opening the drawer, her eyes widened as she found the folder she was searching for, one she’d hoped to find but was still surprised to lay her hands on it. “Hawk, Brady.” She opened it up quickly and started to scan the pages, her mouth agape at what she read.
Oh my god.
Rattled, she replaced the file, stood up, and snuck toward the door in an effort to escape before the curator got there. She waited for a moment to open the door, listening to hear where he was in relation to her. He continued to rattle around far across the room.
She opened the door and was shocked to find Dr. Finkle and a pair of guards standing there in front of the door, waiting for her.
“Unlucky for you, Sarah Tillman, I was on my way to a meeting with Director Coker after I ran into you,” Dr. Finkle said. “Looks like you’ve got some explaining to do—whoever you are.”
CHAPTER 5
SENATOR BLUNT AMBLED up the steps of the Library of Congress. His reputation as a regular visitor to the library made it a smart choice for a place to begin receiving secret messages from his consortium. If any other government agency had surveillance on him, his weekly trips there would be dismissed.
Blunt remained one step ahead of everyone, even if he wasn’t sure exactly how many people were behind him. It’s how he got to the top—that and his stubborn refusal to back down to anyone.
While he did enjoy spending two hours at a time reading ancient books or little known historical accounts, he created a randomizing system to determine which books the messages would be placed in. If found, the notes appeared like gibberish to the average researcher and likely would have been thrown away. But to Blunt, the messages were a way to communicate without leaving a trail.
This morning’s message happened to come in a book about Prussian History, a subject that always fascinated Blunt. He enjoyed studying how empires crumbled, a pastime that melded together pleasure and research. To realize his ambitious plans, he understood the importance of identifying all one’s strengths and weaknesses.
He
pulled out the note and deciphered it with an encrypted code using a special app on his phone. One by one, he wrote the letters down beneath the original message until it was complete, avoiding entering anything on any digital device. Keystrokes and screen grabs were the death of many plots.
Everything is almost in place. Wait until you hear from us again to give the green light on the operation. Agent Green will brief you tomorrow.
Blunt rolled up his translated note and stuffed it into his shirt pocket. He closed the book with a loud thud and stood up. A faint smile eased across his face.
As he steadily moved down the hall, he wondered if he should feel guilty for what he was about to do. After all, everything was coming together almost effortlessly.
CHAPTER 6
A LIMO PICKED UP Hawk at Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport and whisked him north on the interstate toward Big Canoe. The exclusive enclave in the North Georgia mountains nestled in the foothills outside the Chattahoochee National Forest provided the privacy Tom Colton craved when he wanted to relax—or escape.
For Hawk, Colton’s estate at Big Canoe was familiar, a place he’d visited Colton a handful of times as a child and as a teenager. But knowing what Hawk knew now, it seemed different. Relating how he felt to others would be a challenge since the majority of people in the world grow up having at least a vague idea of who their father is even if he’s not present. Though his name wouldn’t be mentioned often, an absent father would at least have a name. Hawk would’ve been fine with that. But in some ways, this was worse—a lie, a betrayal, a fraud. Yet for the mission’s sake, he’d have to maintain the charade.
For the mission.
Hawk swallowed hard and rang the doorbell. Moments later, Tom Colton appeared at the entrance with outstretched arms.
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