Deep Cover (A Brady Hawk Novel Book 2)

by Jack Patterson

  “And?”

  “It was packed, and I didn’t get to read it all but—”

  “Out with it, Alex. You’re killing me.”

  She smiled. “But I read several pages about the CIA’s attempted recruitment of you.”

  Hawk looked at her incredulously. “The CIA never tried to recruit me. And as far as I know, the CIA doesn’t even know about Firestorm.”

  “Well, you’re wrong. They tried on several occasions, but you rebuffed them.”

  “I don’t ever recall being approached by anyone.”

  “There were several records of interactions different agents had with you after Jessica’s death.”

  Hawk leaned back in his seat and furrowed his brow. “They used Jessica’s death as a tool to recruit me?”

  Alex shrugged. “Not sure. What I thought was interesting is that the report never referred to her death but instead as The Thornton incident.”

  “What do you think that means?”

  “I have no idea, but I thought it was curious for sure.”

  Hawk sighed. “Just another thing I need to ask Blunt about.” He paused. “By the way, thanks again for your help on the mission in Sierra Leone.”

  “So, it was a rousing success?”

  “An Al Hasib funding pipeline was eliminated along with other underworld characters.”

  “That’s always a good thing.”

  “And I got to help some people.”

  “When you rescued them from a mine?”

  Hawk smiled. “Yes, but that wasn’t the only thing. I deeded the mine to Amad, one of the workers I pulled out from beneath the rubble. He was a single dad who helped me out.”

  “How’d you pull that off?”

  “I killed Demby, the Sefadu Holdings owner, and went back and found the deed to the land and business—and I transferred it over into Amad’s name.”

  “I guess we can add forgery to your skill set.”

  “Got my start in elementary school by writing notes from my mom to cover all the times I played hooky.”

  “You were an agent in training all the way back then.”

  He laughed. “I’ve still got plenty to learn—including how to research better and pull on those threads until the ball of lies unravels.”

  “Keep tugging,” Alex said as she glanced at her watch. “Gotta run. I’ll be in touch.”

  Hawk grabbed Alex’s wrist and smiled as he looked up at her. “Have fun writing code tonight.”

  She rolled her eyes and left.

  ***

  THE NEXT MORNING, Hawk tugged his hoodie over his head and sat on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial overlooking the reflecting pool. He adjusted his sunglasses, pressing them further up on the bridge of his nose as the water shimmered. It was the perfect spot to contemplate everything happening around him and to him.

  He had plenty to smile about in the midst of the chaos. Amad and Solomon would have a chance to make a better life for themselves and the people around them. Blunt had managed to find an anonymous donor to supply Dr. Ackerman with all the resources she’d ever need to continue operating SLAM. And Al Hasib was going to have a more difficult time financing its operation.

  But Hawk still felt unsettled. He had a thousand questions for Blunt, starting with Hawk’s father. How did his father die? Or was he really dead yet? What happened that led to his death? Hawk also had questions for Blunt regarding his involvement in everything around Hawk’s recruitment. Was Jessica still alive? Was she a plant?

  But it was the questions he couldn’t ask Blunt that nagged Hawk the most: Was Blunt dirty?

  Hawk hadn’t even sorted them out in his own head when he caught the smell of a cigar wafting on the wind. He didn’t even move before he began speaking.

  “Smoking those second-rate cigars is going to not only kill you with cancer but it’s also going to make it impossible for you to sneak up on someone,” Hawk said. “If you were a real spy, you’d know that.”

  Blunt sat down next to Hawk on the steps and stared off into the distance. “I only do this so we don’t have to engage in a formal greeting before we begin our conversation.”

  “For a man of such means, you really have no taste in cigars,” Hawk said.

  “I could say the same for your taste in scotch.”

  Hawk took a deep breath. “Your smoking is the last thing I have a beef with you about.”

  “Go on.”

  “For starters, did you know the CIA was actively trying to recruit me after the Peace Corps?”

  “I heard rumors, yes.”

  “What about before the Peace Corps?”

  “Your skill set makes you an attractive recruit. It’s why I sought you out.”

  “Was Jessica a plant?”

  “What did you say?”

  Hawk narrowed his eyes. “You heard me. Was Jessica a plant? Is she still alive?”

  Blunt appeared taken aback by the line of questioning. “Not to my knowledge. If she’s not, someone played a cruel and twisted joke on you.”

  “Will you find out for me?”

  Blunt put his hands up. “Look, I don’t know all the CIA’s dirty business, and I don’t think I could get certain things out of them either. But I’ll ask around. If I hear something, I’ll let you know.” He paused. “Any other burning questions you have for me?”

  “Yeah, the one that burns in my mind almost a dozen times a day—what happened to my father? The real one, not the guy you people have been trotting out as my replacement dad? What happened to him?”

  “Your father was a good man, one of the best agents I’ve ever known in this business. But sometimes even the best men have a challenging time standing up to the evil powers that operate above the law.”

  “So, what are you trying to say? What did he do?”

  “What I mean is that—” Blunt stopped and started to gasp for his breath.

  “Senator! Senator!” Hawk put his hands on Blunt and tried to gently shake him out of the trance he appeared to be going into. Each time Hawk called his name, his voice grew louder. “Senator! Talk to me!”

  While intensely focused on Blunt, Hawk could hear a small crowd beginning to gather around him. He kept his head down as he pleaded with people to stop filming on their phones and call 9-1-1.

  Within five minutes, paramedics rushed onto the scene and hoisted Blunt onto the stretcher. During that period of time, Blunt hadn’t changed. His eyes remained opened and glazed over.

  “What’s going on?” Hawk asked one of the paramedics. “Is he going to be all right?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” the paramedic replied, gently pushing Hawk backward. “Please step away and let us do our job.”

  Hawk hovered over the medical professionals while they tested and prodded Blunt. Within thirty seconds, they were preparing to push the senator toward their ambulance.

  Hawk rushed over and got down close to Blunt’s ear, whispering as they rushed toward the vehicle. “Damn it, Senator, don’t die on me. I need you to make it. I need answers about who I am.”

  Hawk tried to climb aboard.

  One of the paramedics held out his hand. “Sorry, sir. Family only.”

  “I’m the only family he’s got,” Hawk protested.

  The paramedic ignored Hawk and closed the door. The driver then roared away, turning on the sirens that echoed through the D.C. morning air. The wailing ambulance sounded the same to most people—another emergency vehicle trying to save someone. To Hawk, the siren sounded more ominous. Most importantly, Blunt’s life hung in the balance. But so did Hawk’s answer.

  Don’t die on me yet.

  CHAPTER 42

  HANDS CLASPED TOGETHER in front of him, Hawk watched the casket of Senator J.D. Blunt lowered into the ground. He didn’t move with the rest of the mourners, who started to head back to their vehicles. A chorus of sorrowful cries from Blunt’s ex-wives and former girlfriends provided a sad soundtrack carried by the wind whipping through Arlington Cemetery. It faded so
ftly until Hawk was left alone with his thoughts.

  He simultaneously liked and loathed Blunt, though Hawk felt more of the latter in recent days. Blunt’s refusal to tell Hawk the truth about his father created a tidal wave of bitterness, one that crashed around Hawk as he looked at the mound of dirt waiting to be shoveled on top of the senator’s casket. It was a simple request, yet Blunt refused to honor it. At least, Blunt refused to honor it in a reasonable amount of time. And time had run out.

  The longer Hawk stared at the overturned earth, the angrier he got.

  “He’s not coming back, if that’s what you’re thinking,” came a familiar voice behind him.

  Hawk spun around to see Tom Colton.

  “What do you want?”

  “Just came to offer my condolences. I know what Senator Blunt meant to you, son,” Colton answered.

  Hawk felt his face get flushed, not out of embarrassment but out of rage.

  “Cut the shenanigans, Tom. You’re not my father.”

  Colton cocked his head to one side. “Now, Son, I know you’re angry, but is that any way to treat your old man.”

  “What? The old man who was never there for me? The old man who isn’t even my old man? The old man who is so stupid that he’ll believe anything he’s told or do anything he’s told just to hold onto his precious government contracts.”

  Colton scowled. “I don’t know what you’ve been told, but I sure as hell won’t sit around and listen to you talk to me like that. It’s obvious that you’re letting your emotions get the best of you. I’m going to walk away now and let you cool off.”

  “Please walk away and never come back,” Hawk said.

  Hawk returned his gaze to Blunt’s plot and continued to sulk. The man in the grave may have given Hawk a job that filled him with purpose, but that was only after Blunt nearly stripped every chance Hawk had of discovering who his father really was. Hawk didn’t have “daddy issues;" he had Blunt issues. And Hawk had to resign himself right then that they’d never be resolved.

  After a few more minutes of standing over the grave, Hawk felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see General Johnson.

  “I know it goes against protocol for us to meet out in public,” Johnson said.

  “It’s what I was doing with Blunt when he suffered his stroke. Some rules are meant to be broken.”

  “And some teams are never meant to be broken up,” Johnson said as he handed Hawk a piece of paper.

  “What’s this?” Hawk said.

  “It’s your next assignment.”

  “Assignment?”

  Johnson smiled and nodded. “Firestorm isn’t going anywhere. Just because Blunt is dead doesn’t mean there aren’t terrorists that need to be stopped out there. Hawk, your government needs you—even if it barely knows you exist.”

  “And Alex?”

  “She’s in too. All the details are there, but you’ll be briefed more fully once you arrive.”

  “Where am I headed this time?”

  “San Francisco. Talk to you soon.”

  Johnson tipped his cap and left Hawk alone again.

  Blunt may have been gone, but Hawk remained determined to find the answers to all his questions. They were out there. That much he was sure of. He just needed to figure out where to look.

  THE END

  Keep reading to get the first two chapters of POINT OF IMPACT, Book 3 in the Brady Hawk series ...

  POINT OF IMPACT

  A Brady Hawk Thriller

  Book 3

  CHAPTER 0

  Tiburon, California

  IN THE HALF DOZEN TIMES Brady Hawk had visited the towering Spanish mission style home overlooking Belvedere Strait, he’d never made this type of entrance. He’d always been greeted at the guardhouse by Randall, the portly and amicable keeper of the gate. After Randall opened the gate, Hawk drove his car into a tight spot a few steps from the porch. He would ring the doorbell and be greeted by a friendly face, a warm hug, and a pair of highly active Bichon Frise puppies, Mitzi and Maria.

  But not this time.

  Hawk clutched the straps on his parachute as he descended from the sky, the wind racing past him at deafening decibel level. He counted down and glanced at his watch. Three … two … one. He yanked the cord hard, slowing his progress as the wind caught his parachute overhead. His free fall transformed into a gentle descent in an instant.

  As he was drifting downward, Hawk took advantage of his position to assess the situation. The target was being held inside, and, according to his eyes and ears on the scene, five guards patrolled the area and protected the hostage. Hawk’s missing was simple, if not difficult: disable all guards and free the hostage. According to the directives he received, how Hawk interpreted the word “disable” was entirely up to him. Given who the hostage was, Hawk preferred an interpretation the leaned toward permanent disability.

  Hawk’s feet hit the ground hard a mere fifty meters from the intended destination and sent shockwaves up his shins. He figured the hostage takers would never expect him to approach through the air—or on foot. Maybe a “smash and grab” approach was more likely for a typical American spy. But Hawk had long since surrendered such stereotypes. He focused on completing the mission by any means necessary, refusing to yield to such standard procedures. His unconventional approach was what kept him at the top of his field.

  Hawk gathered his parachute and shoved it behind the rock wall of the neighbor’s home. Quietly hustling down the street toward his target, Hawk peered through his binoculars at the familiar setting. It was just as he’d remembered it several years ago when he last visited the house.

  Two guards patrolled the gated home, one on the east side and another on the west. Like automatons, they marched around the area, turning their heads in a mechanical fashion. If Hawk didn’t know any better, he would’ve guessed the men were robots of some sort. But as he studied them through his infrared binoculars, he saw the truth—they were scared and frightened men who tried hard not to show it.

  This ought to be easy enough.

  Hawk crept up on the property and surveyed the area. He had two exit points in case things went sideways. With the house sitting on a point, he could leave either on the east or west side, which both connected to a winding Alcatraz Avenue. The rooftops on the streets below provided quick access to other roadways or an opportunity to dive into the harbor and disappear, though he wasn’t sure the hostage would be willing to take a plunge. Either way, the property wasn’t lacking in escape routes, making it a nightmare to secure.

  But exit means were only minor concerns for Hawk since he didn’t intend to utilize any of them—at least, not with anyone in pursuit. His primary objective was to secure the hostage, and he had no intention of failing, especially considering who she was.

  He pulled out his binoculars and scanned the property once more before engaging the guards.

  “Are you sure there are only five guards?” Hawk whispered into his comlink.

  “Roger that.”

  “Okay. I’m going dark.”

  Hawk turned off his comlink and yanked it out of his ear. He didn’t need any distractions, just intense focus. He took a deep breath and then hustled down the hill toward the house.

  Hawk stopped about ten meters from the edge of the gate on the east side, waiting for the guard to clear the gate. Once he spun around and headed south toward the water, Hawk hopped the fence and crept up behind him.

  Hawk’s first boxed the man’s ears, catching him off guard. Then Hawk hit the guard in the throat. The guard gasped and staggered to the ground. Hawk leapt on the guard’s back and twisted his neck until a slight snap echoed off the house. Hawk froze and let down the man’s limp body, quietly letting it settle onto the small patch of grass beneath him.

  Sneaking around the front of the house, Hawk waited to make a move until the guard on the west side turned his back and walked north. In a matter of seconds, Hawk slipped up behind the guard and snapped his neck in one
smooth motion. The guard crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

  Hawk took a moment to admire his work before dragging the man behind the trio of rose bushes up against the side of the house.

  Two down, three to go.

  Hawk pulled out his binoculars again and surveyed the scene. From where he was standing only a few feet outside of the window that looked into the house’s dining room, he could see one guard. Without the location of the other two guards, he could only imagine what he was walking into. In a best case scenario for him, it’d be two against one. They weren’t the best odds, but he’d been up against worse before.

  Keeping his back flushed against the wall, Hawk slinked his way to the back porch, where he could peer inside through the french doors. He knelt down on the same patio where he’d enjoyed many delicious meals in the past. If he stopped and took a deep breath, he could almost smell the seasoned steak wafting from the grill across the porch. The mere thought made Hawk hungry.

  Focus, Hawk, focus.

  He glanced inside the doors again and saw the other two guards.

  You bastards—this is gonna cost you more than you imagined.

  He snuck up to the door and turned the handle slowly. He was about to engage in the most personal mission he’d ever been a part of it. He said a quick prayer, asking for forgiveness.

  Hawk knew he shouldn't take pleasure in killing, but he was going to enjoy every second of this assignment.

  CHAPTER 1

  One Week Earlier

  Washington, D.C.

  BRADY HAWK STARED at the Beltway traffic, blinded by brake lights from the vehicles of early morning commuters. The last thing he wanted to do was inch his way along the highway and think. His purpose as a Firestorm operative felt different without Senator Blunt issuing directives. Although Hawk remained certain he wanted to spend his life hunting down terrorists, he wasn’t sure he wanted to do it for Firestorm with General Johnson leading the way. For reasons Hawk couldn’t pinpoint, he just didn’t trust Johnson. But Hawk decided to try a few missions with Johnson at the helm and see how it went.