Two Minutes to Midnight

by R. J. Patterson

  Young thought for a moment. The question made him uncomfortable. Perhaps he was being selfish and using Daniels’s dignity as a shield.

  “I know what you’re getting at,” Young said. “The reason not to tell should be for the protection of others, not myself.”

  “Exactly. If the public perceives that you refused to tell the truth because you cared more about winning your office, it’ll come back to haunt you. Besides, what are the latest polls showing? Aren’t you up by a considerable amount?”

  Young nodded. “It’s hard to lose to a man whose son is a known traitor and attempted to assist a terrorist organization in attacking us on our own soil. I daresay that everyone in my campaign office thinks this election will be a cakewalk.”

  “At this point, the result seems like a foregone conclusion.”

  “And that’s what I’m afraid of, if I’m being honest. That this easy victory will vanish and I’ll be scrapping for my life the moment this news goes public.”

  “Better to get out in front of it than let it run you over.”

  Young eased onto the brakes. They squeaked as the cart halted just shy of his ball. With silent precision, he pulled out his eight iron and ripped a shot that landed less than a foot from the hole.

  “Nice shot,” Hawk said. “You’ve got some nerves of steel. I bet you can spin this story in a way that turns out to your advantage.”

  Young released the brake and sped toward Hawk’s ball.

  “You’re probably right. I need to get over my fear and do it before I end up paying a steeper price for the backlash.”

  Hawk jumped out of the cart and watched his shot skip onto the green and roll to a stop five feet from the pin. He threw his club in the bag and climbed back inside the vehicle.

  “But just in case things don’t go the way I want them to go, I was wondering if you could do me a favor,” Young said as he stepped on the gas pedal.

  “What’s that?”

  “Find out who this guy is. Find out what his real motive is. Maybe he’s an operative working for James Peterson. Maybe he’s a family member with an axe to grind or some member of the press looking for a big exclusive.”

  “At this point, you can’t worry about his motivation. You just need to do the right thing.”

  Young nodded and sighed. “But just in case—”

  “Okay, I’ll see what I can find out, but I want to go on the record as saying that I don’t like this idea.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from any blowback.”

  Hawk pulled his putter out of his bag. “The fact that you’re even making that statement concerns me the most.”

  “It probably won’t matter—it’s just a backup plan.”

  “Let’s hope you’re right.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Zagros Mountains, Iraq

  KARIF FAZIL SIFTED THROUGH a stack of documents on his desk, looking for one in particular. After several minutes of searching, the title of the report caught his eye. He stopped and snatched the page out of the pile, reading every word intently. Fazil smiled as he picked up his phone and dialed Brady Hawk’s number.

  “Are you ready for further instructions?” Fazil said after Hawk answered.

  “I’m not going to kill him for you. Let’s just be clear about that up front.”

  “And I have already assured you that I will not ask you to do that.”

  “Is your word really that trustworthy?”

  Fazil laughed softly. “Your two friends are still alive, are they not?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen or heard from them in a while.”

  “Just a moment.”

  Fazil typed a few things into his phone and pushed send.

  “Check your phone,” he said. “If you click on the link I sent you, you’ll be able to see them and speak with them.”

  A few seconds later, Fazil watched a monitor showing his two prisoners. They waved at the camera capturing their every move and tried to speak.

  “They can hear you, but you cannot hear them,” Fazil said. “But I can assure you that they are eager to speak with you.”

  “I bet they are.”

  “So, does that satisfy your proof of life question?” Fazil asked.

  “It’ll do.”

  “In that case, we need to get down to business. You have much to do in the next couple days leading up to the assassination attempt on Noah Young’s life.”

  “Getting close enough to the man currently serving as President of the U.S. won’t be easy, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “You must not get ahead of yourself,” Fazil said. “Take a deep breath, relax, and listen. I have all the plans taken care of, and your role is a simple but vital one. I need you to help one of my men gain access to Andrews Air Force Base without raising any suspicion.”

  The sound of Hawk chuckling came in clearly. “That’s your big plan? What is your man going to do when he gets there? Getting arrested is imminent.”

  “My men will never be taken alive. I would think you would know that by now.”

  “Perhaps you’re forgetting that we took one of your men recently while foiling another plan of yours in Colombia,” Hawk said. “He’s very much alive and eager to talk. From what I’ve heard, he’ll do anything to get out of solitary confinement.”

  Fazil stroked his beard and pondered if he should reveal the truth about the prisoner. He decided against it and continued his banter with Hawk.

  “Despite my best efforts, I cannot control everyone. If someone wants to leave Al Hasib for another group of jihadists, I will not try to stop them. There are also others who simply want to betray you. While I would have no mercy on such a man if he were to return, I understand that such men exist in the ranks of every military power on earth.”

  “You’d be hard pressed to find men who would betray their own country here,” Hawk said.

  “Is that a fact?” Fazil asked.

  “Absolutely. The only thing more absurd than thinking there are a plethora of men—let alone a single man—who are just eager to betray their nation is the fact that you think I can help your man get close enough to the president.”

  Fazil hammered away on his cell’s keyboard. “Check your phone for the picture I just sent you.”

  A few seconds later, Fazil heard an audible gasp come from the receiver.

  “How did you—”

  “That’s not important,” Fazil said. “My point is that you’re wrong on both accounts. There are people eager to betray their own country, living in your midst and perhaps serving at the pleasure of the president himself. And you are far more than capable of getting close to the president, as evidenced by the photograph.”

  “Even if you are right, how is this going to help you assassinate President Young?”

  “I can assure you that it will be spectacular. Television crews will be filming the president’s flight to his final campaign rally in Texas when his plane will disintegrate right before everyone’s eyes.”

  “You sick bastard,” Hawk said. “You want your own 9-1-1 moment.”

  “And I’m going to have it with your help, that is if you want your two friends here to live.”

  “You can’t possibly think you’re going to get away with this, much less that I’ll go along with you.”

  Fazil chuckled. “You have no choice now. Besides, Mr. Hawk, you have so much to learn about me and Al Hasib. No one ever embarks on a mission with the belief that they will return. Instead, they go with the hope of entering eternity as a martyred hero.”

  “I don’t care what you believe,” Hawk said. “What I’m saying is that you’ll likely never even get an opportunity to take a shot. The President of the United States is one of the most heavily guarded men on the planet. Your presumption about an operation like this is astounding.”

  “That is why I have you on my side now, Mr. Hawk,” Fazil said. “You’re going to make sure that my man not only gains access to the grounds but also
that no one sees him before he destroys Air Force One. If he fails to take the shot, I will take two shots at your friends, but only after they have been thoroughly tortured.”

  “After this is all over, I swear I’m going to—”

  “What have I told you about making empty threats? It will do nothing but bring you further embarrassment. I’ll be in touch.”

  Fazil hung up and grinned. Listening to Hawk get worked up brought on an inordinate amount of pleasure. But that’s how Fazil liked it—rubbing his power and control in the faces of his enemies. He felt confident he would be doing the same thing to the entire world soon enough after he finished avenging the death of his brother.

  He looked at Jafar and held his hand out. “Those two Americans are having a virtual vacation here. Let us go show them how we like to handle people who try to stand in our way.”

  With Jafar perched on Fazil’s shoulder, the Al Hasib head lumbered down the hallway, excited about the prospect of roughing up Hawk’s two favorite people in the world.

  They will survive, but they will wish they were dead before I’m through with them.

  CHAPTER 12

  Zagros Mountains, Iraq

  ALEX WAITED UNTIL THE DOOR rattled shut behind Fazil before she spit blood onto the cell floor. She looked at Blunt, whose left eye had already swelled up. He groaned as he shifted positions. While Fazil said little other than disparaging comments during the torture session, Alex wondered if beyond the prison walls the situation wasn’t going as he planned.

  The overhead pipes in the ten-foot by ten-foot cell dripped several times per minutes, enough to keep the air damp and a small puddle in the center of the room. Alex and Blunt stood with their arms chained to the wall. Their movement was limited, though Alex tried to jog in place to keep her blood moving.

  She waited to speak until she was certain no guards were close enough to hear.

  “You still hanging in there?” Alex asked.

  Blunt grunted. “I’m too old for this.”

  “That’s not what I asked,” she said. “I need to know that you’re still with me.”

  “What the hell for? It’s not like we’re going somewhere any time soon.”

  Alex took a deep breath and winced from the pain in her ribs. “We need to be if we’re going to survive. Do you honestly think Fazil is going to let us live?”

  Blunt shook his head. “We’re as good as dead.”

  “And that’s all the more reason for us to attempt an escape.”

  “We’re chained to the wall, not to mention we have no idea where we are. Afghanistan, Iraq, Oman. Who the hell knows? If we get out, we’d probably be dead within the hour—or worse.”

  “Worse than dead?”

  “Sometimes death is a merciful mistress.”

  Alex scowled. “I hope this doesn’t mean that you’re ready to throw in the towel because I’m certainly not.”

  “If we’re dead, it means they can’t hurt us any more. And I think so far, Fazil has been surprisingly kind to you. It’s only a matter of time before things get far more unsavory for you, if you know what I mean.”

  “All the more reason for us to get out of here.”

  “Alex, they’re just going to drag us back in here and do more vile things to us—all before they kill us.”

  “From what you’re saying, it sounds like we’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t. Quite frankly, I’d rather die trying than simply await some fate Fazil has dictated for us.”

  “So, you have a plan?”

  “I guess you could say that,” she said with a faint smile. “I’ve got an emergency tracking device in my shoe one of my friends at the CIA gave me.”

  “That could be a game changer. Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?”

  “I wanted to wait and see what happened first before I used it, not to mention the battery life is very short. A couple hours at the most. So I wanted to make sure we weren’t going to be moved around. And there hasn’t been any indication that they have plans to take us somewhere else. Plus, I haven’t really had a chance to talk about this since this is the first time there haven’t been guards right outside the door.”

  Blunt nodded subtly. “Makes sense. Now, where exactly is this handy little gadget?”

  “It’s in the sole of my shoe.”

  “Can you activate it now?”

  Alex laughed softly. “I’m fairly flexible, but I’m not a contortionist.”

  “So, how do you plan on turning that sucker on?”

  “Tomorrow when they feed us, they unshackle us. I’ll try to do it then.”

  Blunt’s eyes widened. “They usually have a guard or two in the room watching us.”

  “Maybe you’ll have to get creative to distract him. I’m sure you’re more than capable.”

  “I’ll think of something.”

  Alex had more she wanted to say, but she decided against it when she heard the scuffing of footsteps headed toward them from down the hall.

  She took a deep breath and readjusted her position once more, and a searing pain overtook her body. The combination of the beating and being forced to keep her hands raised above her head while standing was taking a toll on her, both physically and mentally.

  You can do this, Alex. Just breathe.

  CHAPTER 13

  Washington, D.C.

  HAWK STOOD IN THE WINGS of the stage that stretched across the south end of the Capital One Arena. Noah Young was still fifteen minutes away from kicking off his final rally in the nation’s capital before the election, but the arena was packed and buzzing with excitement. News of a big forthcoming announcement from Young had the media whipped into a frenzy and the curious public wondering if this was just another overhyped political stunt.

  Rolling up the program Hawk had picked up when he was in the hospitality suite, he tapped the paper against his leg. He looked at his watch again, the seconds dripping past slowly. Despite the importance of Young’s announcement, Hawk was ready to move on and return his focus to the more pressing issue of how he was going to handle Karif Fazil’s demands without killing the president.

  Hawk studied Young, who stood in the corner and flipped through his speech notes. With relaxed shoulders and an expressionless demeanor, Young looked to be engaged in nothing more than a routine procedure like washing his hands or drinking a glass of water. Hawk searched for the slightest glint of sweat on Young’s forehead yet noticed nothing. He looked up briefly when a senator came by and patted him on the back, saying something that elicited Young’s megawatt smile.

  Checking the time again, Hawk turned his focus toward one of Young’s campaign aides, Emma Fulton. She was a rising star in Washington’s political scene, mostly for her ability to help candidates connect with a new generation of voters. Hawk walked over to Emma, who was texting off and on, reacting quickly to each new message that popped up on her phone.

  “You can’t ever leave your work at work any more, can you?” Hawk asked.

  She paused to cast a sideways glance at him. “Can’t afford to. Someone else will take your job.”

  Hawk’s attempt at small talk was just to break the ice so he could ask the question that he really wanted answered. His primary intention was to gauge her reaction about the forthcoming announcement by her candidate.

  “So, what did you think when you heard the news?” he asked.

  She didn’t look up from her texting. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific than that with me.”

  “Sorry, I’m sure it probably doesn’t even feel like news to you when you’re on the inside. I was referring to Young’s big announcement that he plans on making at this rally.”

  She shrugged. “I wish he would’ve said something earlier than waiting this late in the campaign.”

  “Do you think it’s going to hurt him?”

  “What? Waiting this late to announce it?” she asked before shaking her head. “It shouldn’t matter with the voting public.”


  “But this will dominate the headlines for days. You don’t think it will sway some folks?”

  Emma looked warily at Hawk. “I don’t know if you’ve seen the polls lately, but this election isn’t going to be decided by last-minute undecided voters. This announcement will only give Young more credibility.”

  Hawk furrowed his brow. Emma had become known for her ability to spin a story, but he struggled to believe she could sugarcoat the truth surrounding Conrad Daniels’s death.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got another fire to put out,” she said before walking away while hammering out another text.

  Hawk killed the remaining time by staying in the shadows and watching the crowd anxious to begin the rally.

  When Noah Young glided onto the stage to thunderous applause, he wore a big smile and waved in all directions. He sauntered over to the glass podium and waited for the cheering to die down before speaking.

  “Thank you for that warm welcome,” Young began, only to be interrupted by yet another twenty seconds of clapping.

  Young raised his hands again, gesturing for the crowd to calm down. He then broke into his stump speech, reiterating the promises and points of focus that his campaign had drummed into the heads of voters who bothered to listen. Half an hour into the speech, Young had excited them. Hawk noted how the hope seemed almost palpable. Everyone in the building was going to leave with the idea that the future was bright if Young retained his position as president.

  Then Young’s tone turned somber. “In moving forward, we must not forget the man who came before me, President Conrad Daniels, God rest his soul.”

  Here we go. Hawk took a deep breath and closely watched the audience’s reaction as Young continued.

  “Before President Daniels’s tragic death, there were a few pieces of legislation that he was passionate about. And one of those had to do with keeping the American people safe from terrorists.

  “Now, I know he wasn’t perfect. He had his faults like anyone does. But I never once questioned his commitment to this country. And I can’t think of a better way to honor his memory than opening up my presidency by passing a bill in his honor that will help us fight terrorism more effectively and keep this nation one of the safest on earth.