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About R.J. Patterson
“R.J. Patterson does a fantastic job at keeping you engaged and interested. I look forward to more from this talented author.”
- Aaron Patterson, bestselling author of SWEET DREAMS
“Patterson has a mean streak about a mile wide and puts his two main characters through quite a horrible ride, which makes for good reading.”
- Richard D., reader
“Like a John Grisham novel, from the very start I was pulled right into the story and couldn’t put the book down. It was as if I personally knew and cared about what happened to each of the main characters. Every chapter ended with so much excitement and suspense I had to continue to read until I learned how it ended, even though it kept me up until 3:00 A.M.
- Ray F., reader
DEAD SHOT
“Small town life in southern Idaho might seem quaint and idyllic to some. But when local newspaper reporter Cal Murphy begins to uncover a series of strange deaths that are linked to a sticky spider web of deception, the lid on the peaceful town is blown wide open. Told with all the energy and bravado of an old pro, first-timer R.J. Patterson hits one out of the park his first time at bat with Dead Shot. It’s that good.”
-Vincent Zandri, bestselling author of THE REMAINS
“You can tell R.J. knows what it’s like to live in the newspaper world, but with Dead Shot, he’s proven that he also can write one heck of a murder mystery.”
- Josh Katzowitz,
NFL writer for CBSSports.com
& author of Sid Gillman: Father of the Passing Game
DEAD LINE
“This book kept me on the edge of my seat the whole time. I didn’t really want to put it down. R.J. Patterson has hooked me. I’ll be back for more.”
- Bob Behler
3-time Idaho broadcaster of the year
and play-by-play voice for Boise State football
DEAD IN THE WATER
“In Dead in the Water, R.J. Patterson accurately captures the action-packed saga of a what could be a real-life college football scandal. The sordid details will leave readers flipping through the pages as fast as a hurry-up offense.”
- Mark Schlabach,
ESPN college sports columnist and
co-author of Called to Coach
Heisman: The Man Behind the Trophy
Other titles by R.J. Patterson
Ed Maddux thriller series
King of Queens
To Catch a Spy
Whispers of Treason
Brady Hawk series
Dead Shot
Dead Line
Better off Dead
Dead in the Water
Dead Man's Curve
Dead and Gone
Dead Wrong
Dead Man's Land
Dead Drop
Dead to Rights
Dead End
James Flynn Thriller series
The Warren Omissions
Imminent Threat
The Cooper Affair
Seeds of War
Brady Hawk series
First Strike
Deep Cover
Point of Impact
Full Blast
Target Zero
Fury
State of Play
Siege
Seek and Destroy
Into the Shadows
Hard Target
No Way Out
Two Minutes to Midnight
NO WAY OUT
A Brady Hawk Thriller
R.J. PATTERSON
For John Moore, a great friend
and an even better man
CHAPTER 1
Cuevita, Colombia
BRADY HAWK PULLED UP on a low-hanging branch and ascended the acacia tree with relative ease. Locating a sturdy limb three-fourths of the way up the trunk, he set up his perch. He pulled out his binoculars to make sure he had a clear line of sight on where the alleged deal was supposed to occur. Once he confirmed his position was optimum, all he could do was wait for darkness to settle over the jungle and Al Hasib agents to engage with the arms dealer pedaling an intercontinental ballistic missile.
Hawk glanced at his right hand steadying him on the branch and watched as an ant crawled nearby. The insect almost seemed disinterested in the presence of a human as it meandered across Hawk’s hand—right up until he felt the searing pain of a bite. Hawk flicked the ant away and turned his attention back toward the meeting place. The area remained devoid of people and any activity.
“Are you sure the intel is good on this one?” Hawk asked over his communication device.
“Getting bored out there?” Alex Duncan asked. “You’re only in one of the most beautiful jungles in the world.”
“Tell that to my itching hand.”
“Mosquitoes?”
“Ants. They look like little ninjas, and their bites pack quite a punch.”
“If only there was something I could do,” Alex said, sarcasm dripping in her voice.
Hawk grunted. “Just trying to make small talk and stay focused. Staring at a clearing in the jungle for several hours isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“I’m not sure anyone ever said—”
“Wait,” Hawk said. “I think I see some movement.”
He peered through his binoculars and saw a large transport truck rumbling across the forest floor.
“Is that it?” Alex asked.
“I’ve got eyes on the target.”
“Well, get ready because they’re going to want to point that thing at somebody after they figure out what we did. If you’re the closest target . . .”
Hawk didn’t need Alex to explain the situation any further. He knew just how dangerous his mission was, which ranged anywhere from captured by extremist Muslim terrorists to annihilated by a missile. No outcome seemed satisfactory to Hawk, except for the one he went to Colombia to achieve: Stop the sale of an Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles (ICBMs) to Al Hasib and return to the U.S. with one of the men associated with German arms dealer Dietrich Oberfelk.
The thrum of insects and sounds of other nocturnal animals filling up the night air paused briefly due to the grumbling diesel engine that invaded the territory. The brakes squeaked as the monstrous vehicle slowed to a stop. After a few seconds, the doors to the truck’s cabin swung open and a half dozen armed men spilled out. Moving with precision, they circled the truck and inspected the weapon.
Hawk shook his head in disbelief that a weapon that size had found its way into the jungle without a pursuing entourage.
“How did they get that thing in here?” Hawk asked aloud.
“You’re in Colombia,” Alex answered. “Grease a few palms, customs agents look the other way.”
“But they had to drive this thing on the road. If a missile this size was just cruising down the road in the U.S.—”
“It’d be all over social media, right?” Alex interrupted. “That’s why we don’t transport weapons that way.”
“I know, but it’s just—it’s just astounding.”
“Don’t get too caught up in your fan boy moment. You still have a mission to accomplish.”
“Roger that,” Hawk said.
The infrared function on his binoculars had been rendered ineffective due to the headlights from the truck and the bulbs ringing the flatbed. No one could sneak up on the arms deal without getting caught in the beams of what Hawk figured was enough wattage to illuminate a soccer field.
He trained his glasses on the sole entrance
into the clearing. When the Firestorm team learned about the proposed arms deal from U.S. Army intelligence, the exchange was schedule to occur at 23:00.
Two more minutes.
General Van Fortner had notified Firestorm head J.D. Blunt about the deal almost immediately after receiving the intel. While U.S. troops held a constant presence in the Colombian jungles aiding the South American nation in ferreting out drug lords, Fortner wanted to more than eliminate the threat of Al Hasib volleying a missile at an east coast metropolis. Fortner wanted a prisoner. And prisoners complicated matters when official military action was undertaken. But Firestorm? There was nothing official about them, still identified as Project X on the Department of Defense’s line item budget.
Hawk understood how critical—and dangerous—his mission was to the overall success of putting an end to Oberfelk’s activities on the illegal weapons market. Without an arms seller, many of the terrorist cells would resort to more desperate measures to seize weapons, forcing the usually hidden enemy into the open for easier removal.
“How do things look on your end?” Alex asked.
“Still waiting for Al Hasib.”
“You won’t have to wait long. I’m watching them on satellite now. They’re about thirty seconds away, so get ready.”
“Roger that.”
Hawk pulled out his rifle and peered through the scope. Swinging from left to right, he put in his sights Oberfelk’s half dozen guards and refrained from pulling the trigger. To do so might have made sense under normal operational procedures, but this mission was anything but normal. Hawk caught the glint of headlights through the trees just ahead of an entourage of trucks lumbering up to the semi holding the ICBM.
Hawk watched as representatives from the two groups approached one another and shook hands. They exchanged some papers before walking over to one of the Al Hasib trucks and opening up their laptops. They set their computers on the hood, and Hawk watched one of the men hammer away on the keyboard. Seconds later, he was hammering away on the fender with his fists.
“Something’s wrong,” Hawk said with a hint of satisfaction. “Did you do that, Alex?”
She chuckled. “Of course I did. What’s happening now? It’s hard to make out details from my view.”
“Someone just pulled out a sat phone and is handing it to someone in an Al Hasib truck. Is that—” Hawk stopped, holding his breath as he strained to make out any more identifiable features.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” Alex said, breaking the silence. “Karif Fazil came to the exchange.”
“Did I make it that obvious?”
“The only other person I could imagine you’d react like that to is dead, so I guess it was. Have you got him in your sights?”
“Sneaky bastard isn’t letting me get a clean shot,” Hawk said. “He’s hiding behind the door, acting quite dodgy.”
“Think he’s nervous?”
“I know he’s pissed. He’s got one clenched fist, and his other hand is holding a gun.”
“I’d guess that he just found out he doesn’t have any money to buy that missile and realizes we’ve dried up another one of his money streams.”
Hawk flinched as a gunshot erupted in the night air, setting off a series of shots. Without hesitating, Fazil had raised his gun and fired a bullet at point-blank range into the head of Oberfelk’s negotiator.
Guards from the two sides fanned back, taking cover behind their respective vehicles.
“I came prepared,” Hawk said, studying the action through his scope. “But I didn’t foresee anything like this happening. These fools are going to leave some serious carnage behind if anyone survives.”
“You better make sure at least one of Oberfelk’s men lives, that is if you don’t want Fortner ripping you a new one.”
“I got this,” Hawk said. “I might even get a three-for-one if Fazil will move into view.”
Hawk slung his rifle back over his shoulder and decided on a better course of action when considering his number one priority—eliminate the threat of an ICBM. Hustling down the tree, Hawk pulled the rocket-propelled grenade launcher off his back and took aim at the missile. The two sides continued their back and forth while Hawk prepared to take his shot.
Three, two, one . . .
He squeezed the trigger and braced himself for the kick that came from the launcher as the grenade went hurtling toward the missile.
The blast rocked the ground and set off a jarring explosion. Guards from both sides hit the jungle floor and looked up in awe as flames lapped high into the night sky. However, Fazil remained upright and took advantage of the situation, eliminating three of Oberfelk’s men behind the cover of his truck.
Hawk scanned the area through his rifle’s scope, cautiously optimistic the explosion hadn’t outed him as a party crasher. Lying prone, he studied the field in front of him with the two sides continuing to exchange fire.
“Looks like you scored a direct hit there, Hawk,” Alex said. “Congratulations.”
“And bonus points for doing it anonymously,” Hawk said. “I don’t think they know I’m here yet.”
“You do know how to announce yourself.”
“Apparently not well enough, which is fine by me in this case.”
Hawk slithered across the field toward the warm glow that lit most of the clearing. However, his heart sank when he watched the final two of Oberfelk’s men crumple under a hail of bullets.
“There aren’t any of Oberfelk’s men to get since they’re all dead. Now what?” Hawk asked as he froze.
“Take out Fazil,” Alex answered. “I’m guessing you were already planning on that, but that’s probably the only thing that will satisfy Fortner.”
Hawk took aim at Fazil, subsequently eliminating the advantage of surprise. With all six bodies from Oberfelk’s men lying in plain view, Fazil would figure out soon enough that there was an intruder among them. Hawk watched Fazil and noticed where the shot had missed.
Just low and to the left.
Hawk adjusted his sight and continued his belly crawl as he sought a more favorable position to take his next shot.
Fazil glanced around the area, never moving from his protected place behind the truck door. He yelled something to his men, who rushed over to the vehicle. They piled into both trucks that had arrived with the caravan and roared out of the clearing.
“Damn it,” Hawk said. “They’re gone.”
“Well, look on the bright side,” Alex said, “it wasn’t a complete failure of a mission. The weapon was crippled, and the country is safe for another night.”
Hawk forced a laugh. “A lot of good that’s going to do me when Fortner crawls all over me and blames me for failing to get the job done. And then I’ll have to deal with Blunt.”
“It’s not the first time you’ve failed to accomplish all the mission objectives—and I doubt it’ll be the last.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Just being honest,” Alex said. “Black ops don’t always go as smooth as you’d like them to. I knew that long before you signed up to stop the sale of this ICBM.”
“I like it better when you’re on site.”
“Why’s that?”
“You don’t feel the need to be so honest when we fail.”
She chuckled. “What’s your next move?”
“See if I gather any info off these soldiers to bring back and let Fortner’s Pentagon buddies analyze any devices for clues about Oberfelk’s comings and goings.”
“Well, you better make it quick because you’re about to have company.”
Hawk bolted upright and sprinted toward the dead bodies. “What do you mean?”
“I see three Humvees barreling toward your position. And I’d be willing to bet they aren’t Fazil’s men.”
“That’s all I need,” Hawk said as he reached the first body. Hawk knelt beside it and felt the pockets until he retrieved a cell phone and small journal.
“Better make it
snappy,” Alex said. “I’m estimating you’ve got about fifteen seconds before they roll up on you.”
Hawk checked another man quickly before finding nothing. As soon as Hawk saw the headlights flicker through the trees out of the corner of his eye, he hid a GPS tracker underneath the carriage of the truck before racing toward the edge of the woods. He crouched low in the shadows and watched the oncoming vehicles.
A team of men poured out of the trucks and cleaned up the scene. They collected as many bullet casings as they could find and scooped up all the bodies. A pair of men worked to put out the missile, which was still ablaze. After ten minutes, any random observer would’ve questioned if anyone had ever actually been in the clearing other than to chop down the trees and burn the undergrowth.
Hawk waited to give Alex an update until the men were finished and were driving away with the destroyed ICBM in tow.
He was about to raise Alex on his coms when he heard a twig snap in the jungle behind him. Hawk turned around slowly and strained to see into the darkness. He thought he saw something moving in the shadows but wasn’t sure if his eyes were playing tricks on him. Refusing to move, Hawk remained planted in his spot. After ten minutes of relative silence, Hawk started walking in the direction of the noise.
As he went, Hawk reached into his pack and pulled out a pair of night vision goggles. He saw plenty of nocturnal wildlife mostly scurrying along the jungle floor with some occasional movement in the forest. But after slogging through the dense vegetation for a couple minutes, he stumbled upon something he didn’t expect to see—a man stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers huddled in the fetal position next to a tree.
Hawk studied the man closely before speaking. Once his hands were in full view—and devoid of any weapons—Hawk addressed the man.
“Who are you?” Hawk demanded. “And what are you doing here?”
“I’m trying to survive,” the man answered in heavily accented English while refusing to look up at Hawk.
“Survive? There are better ways to do it.”
“Not if you don’t want Karif Fazil to chop off your head.”
Two Minutes to Midnight Page 1