“The Daniels Act will grant further liberties for our troops and special forces attempting to ferret out and eliminate terrorist organizations, much like the one that recently made a failed attack on New York City. With the Daniels Act, our counterterrorism forces would’ve been able to act more swiftly and decisively in squelching the activities of these nefarious agents who try to do harm to this country. They would’ve never been able to even mount something akin to what we consider a credible threat.
“As someone who loves this country deeply, I want to ensure that the freedoms we’ve had for a couple of centuries remain in place for generations to come. Terrorists thrive on fear, but I want them to fear us. No longer will we cower at their efforts to bring chaos to our culture. No longer will we wonder when we’ll experience the next attack. No longer will we be afraid.”
Hawk watched the crowd rise to its feet and explode with applause. Young smiled and waved, raising both hands. He pumped his fists and spouted off a few campaign slogans, whipping the crowd to a fever pitch.
And then he walked off the stage.
That’s not exactly how this was supposed to go.
Campaign aides and other staffers swarmed Young once he reached the stage wings. Hearty hugs and wide smiles marked the scene. If the speech had been a sporting event, Young would’ve certainly been carried off on the shoulders of his teammates while they chanted of his glory.
The corners of Hawk’s mouth remained down, unwilling to even flash a grin despite the joyful celebration occurring a few feet away. Instead of being honest with the American people about what happened to Daniels, Young chose to bask in the adulation. Hawk couldn’t really blame Young either. The crowd could feel the energy, the surging momentum that swept them all away. Though the label sounded cliché to Hawk, hope was the best way to describe how everyone in the building felt.
But all Hawk could see was the closet in the background, looming over Young and waiting to be opened. Everything was on the verge of being swept away. If Young’s blackmailer decided to make the video public, the campaign moment everyone had just experienced would be a footnote, if not all forgotten. And Hawk sensed he needed to remind Young of that fact.
“That was a moving speech,” Hawk said, shaking Young’s hand.
“It was almost as if I was feeding off of them,” Young said.
“You were feeding them something because they were eating out of your hand.”
Young flashed a grin. “Selling hope has a way of doing that with people, though I believe every word of what I just said.”
“Well, it’s not what you said that got my attention. It’s what you didn’t say.”
Young grabbed Hawk by the arm and led him farther away from the cluster of aides that had formed nearby.
“Look, about that—”
“You better pray that man hasn’t pushed the button yet and published that video to social media,” Hawk warned. “If he did, this entire event won’t get a single minute of air time. It’ll all be an endless cycle of that footage of you and Daniels, and you know it.”
“I can’t do it—at least, not before the election. It’s only a few days away.”
Hawk eyed Young closely. “But didn’t you tell me that the man gave you a deadline that was before the election? I don’t think you want this story gaining traction a few days before the vote.”
Young clenched his teeth. “I’m the President of the United States, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let someone bully me.”
“I want to go on record as saying I think it’s a bad idea to ignore this guy.”
“I’m not ignoring him. In fact, I’m giving him more attention than he ever dreamed of getting.”
“And how are you doing that?”
“I’m sending you to pay him a little visit and take care of the problem.”
“But, sir, I—”
Young slapped Hawk on the arm. “Thanks, Hawk. I knew I could count on you.”
Hawk sighed. “Well, there’s something else I need to talk with you about.”
An aide rushed up to Young and whispered something in his ear. “It’s gonna have to wait. Duty calls. But give Big Earv a call. I had him start digging into the guy.”
Hawk watched Young stride off as he spoke with several advisors. In that moment, Young appeared presidential to Hawk. No longer was Young the man behind the scenes pulling all the strings. He’d ascended to the steps of the throne and was angling to have a seat for four—perhaps even eight—years.
But Hawk knew every aspiration Young had of moving into the Oval Office would permanently be dashed if he didn’t deal directly with the man who was blackmailing him. Hawk didn’t want to be the one to handle it either, given the other extenuating circumstances that were far more pressing.
He turned to leave but noticed Young had stopped to take a picture with a woman backstage. At first glance, Hawk didn’t recognize her. But then as he took a second look, he realized who she was—Deepika Padukone. Hawk doubted hardly anyone would recognize the Bollywood star out on the street, but he did. And he wasn’t about to let his opportunity to take a picture with her go to waste.
For a moment, he felt sheepish about fawning over a famous actress. But Hawk got over it, telling himself that he was doing it for Alex.
She’ll think this is great.
He asked Padukone if she minded posing for a picture, which she readily agreed to. Moments later, Hawk was headed for the exits while he stared at the photo of Padukone on his phone. He couldn’t wait to show Alex. Then he had another thought.
I hope Alex is still alive for me to show her this picture.
He turned off his phone and slid it into his pocket. Hawk had plenty of things to do before he could start pondering if Fazil would keep his word.
CHAPTER 14
Zagros Mountains, Iraq
KARIF FAZIL SHOOK HIS HEAD as he watched the report about Noah Young’s speech on terrorism that the newscaster described as “stirring and inspiring.” Fazil considered the rhetoric nothing more than empty talk, the kind of message that would only excite his current base of supporters. Though Young sounded benign politically, Fazil didn’t miss Young’s opening salvo. If elected, Young had promised to make terrorists’ lives difficult through an aggressive campaign.
Too bad you won’t be able to follow through on your promise.
Fazil studied several documents detailing the next steps in his plan once the U.S. election was thrown into disarray. Once there was a vacuum of leadership, Fazil recognized there would be an optimum window of opportunity to strike. And Al Hasib needed to strike fast and furiously. He understood enough about the American political culture to know that the nation’s attention would be zeroed in on avoiding a constitutional crisis, just like the one the country almost had with Daniels’s death. Only this would be much worse. All Fazil needed to do now was wait for the first domino to fall. Once Young was dead, chaos would ensue.
“Come, come, Jafar,” Fazil said, snapping his fingers to signal for the bird to join him. “We must check in with Youssef and make sure he has everything he needs to—how do they say it in America?—get the party started?”
Fazil punched in Youssef Nawabi’s phone number and pressed send, waiting patiently for the marksman to answer.
“Alo,” Nawabi answered.
“How are your preparations coming along?” Fazil asked, being discreet as possible in what he said.
“There have not been any surprises yet, so I guess you could say that they are going well.”
“You must stay vigilant,” Fazil said. “Nothing ever runs smoothly—at least, nothing ever runs as smoothly as you’d like.”
“I expect disruptions any day now and am ready for whatever might be thrown my way.”
“Excellent. You must be on guard. Our entire mission is counting on you. Once you remove their leader, we can begin to move into phase two of our plan.”
“How is your training coming along? Have you been able to pr
actice as you had hoped?”
“I believe I’m ready. The past few days I have fine tuned my skills, though I’m not sure anything can prepare me fully for the moment.”
“I know you will be ready. Keep me informed on any changes. I’ll send you the details for the next meeting with your liaison there.”
Fazil was proud of Nawabi and the journey he began after his brother was killed at the hands of Brady Hawk. Nawabi approached Fazil about training for one of Al Hasib’s special missions. At first, Fazil wasn’t sure if Nawabi simply wanted revenge—something Fazil would certainly never hold against anyone—or if he genuinely wanted to help the cause. After a few months of watching Nawabi grow from a fighter in the trenches to one of the best shots with an RPG in the ranks of Al Hasib, the answer was clear.
Fazil always had several missions running, some active while others were of the long-range variety. Sleeper cells, deep cover, infiltrating the U.S. military ranks—they were the kind of operations he needed to prepare for in case he had the opportunity to strike swiftly. Nawabi had been preparing to put his training into action for more than six months, and Fazil had little doubt that his most skilled shooter was prepared. On top of Nawabi’s excellent ability to hit targets with his RPG, he was also a solid marksman. He regularly hit his target from 800 yards, which was enough to help Al Hasib advance as it attempted to besiege several strongholds in Iraq and Afghanistan. Nawabi had thrown a few mundane afternoons in several villages into complete chaos based on his long-range shooting ability. Fazil always preferred the silent assassin, though such a tactic wasn’t always the best. Nawabi’s ability helped Fazil cover both options with one soldier.
Fazil said a quick prayer underneath his breath for Nawabi. The last thing Fazil wanted was to lose his prized asset before Nawabi ever got off a shot. But Fazil knew Nawabi was as good as gone the moment he left for the U.S. If Nawabi did his job, he’d die a martyr’s death, joining his brother in eternity. It was what Fazil wanted, but he couldn’t deny a soldier unafraid to stare death in the face for Al Hasib’s jihad cause.
Fazil paused for a moment before hanging up, adding one final instruction.
“When you meet your contact, control yourself,” Fazil said. “I know you’re going to want to kill him, but please refrain. Your mission will be in vain if you attempt anything, plus you will have to deal with my wrath should you return.”
“Your wrath? Don’t you want him out of the picture?” Nawabi asked.
“I want him eliminated almost more than anything—but I want to be the one to do it. If you bring him back with you, make sure he is still kicking. If not, there will be serious repercussions for your actions. Is that clear?”
“I understand,” Nawabi said.
“I didn’t ask if you understand. I want to know if you think my instructions are clear—and that you plan to abide by them?”
Fazil waited out an awkward moment of silence before Nawabi finally spoke.
“They are clear, sir, and I will abide by them.”
“Good, that is what I was hoping to hear,” Fazil said before he hung up the phone.
I have my own special plans for Brady Hawk.
CHAPTER 15
Zagros Mountains, Iraq
ALEX WAS CERTAIN BLUNT could hear her stomach growling. Hours had passed since they last receive rations of any kind, much less a drink of water. So torturous was the lack of liquids that Alex eyed the puddle in the cell floor and licked her lips.
If only I could get close enough to that water . . .
The shuffling of feet in the distance snapped Alex out of her delusional state. She hoped that the guard heading toward them had something for them to eat and drink.
“You ready?” whispered Blunt.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she said.
“Just be careful, okay? If you don’t have a good opportunity now, you can try again later. That device is our lone silver bullet at this point.”
“One we need to fire right away if we’re gonna have a chance.”
“Just be patient.”
Alex sighed and chewed on her lip. She was glad she wasn’t alone. Having Blunt in the cell helped her not lose her mind—and her patience. She knew he was right, but she didn’t like waiting, especially in a situation like this. Escaping her shackles was her top priority because eventually Fazil would turn his men loose on her. And that wasn’t something she wanted to experience.
The guard jangled his keys, taking his time to find the right one before inserting it into the lock. With a loud echo, the deadbolt clicked open and the hinges creaked as the guard pushed his way into the room.
“Have food for you,” he said in his broken English. “Hungry?”
Alex nodded and then glanced at her shackles.
“Oh, I help you.”
He set down the tray of food in the center of the room, directly in the path of the dripping pipe. Alex watched as water splattered on the food. In most cases, her stomach would’ve turned at such a sight, but she shrugged it off, too hungry to care.
The guard fiddled with her chains for a few moments until he finally unlocked them, allowing her to move freely again. Her eyes met his, and he tapped the gun holstered in his belt. He then wagged his finger, his insinuation clear. She nodded and shook her hands for a few moments before kneeling down next to the tray and collecting a plate.
She eyed the guard as he proceeded to work on Blunt’s chains. For a second, she contemplated ripping her shoe off and activating the homing beacon while the guard wasn’t looking. But her gaze met Blunt’s, and he nodded subtly.
Be patient, he says.
Alex wanted to growl and hit something. But she knew Blunt’s approach was the one that gave her a better chance at success. One misstep and the man would have her tracking device. And nothing good would come of that.
After the guard freed Blunt, he gestured down toward the food.
“You take and eat,” the guard said.
Blunt nodded and stooped down to collect his plate just before another drop soiled his food even further.
“Thank you,” Alex said as she stuffed her face. “I was hungry.”
“Is good?” the guard asked.
“Yes,” she said with her mouth half full.
Less than a minute later, she was finished. What exactly she had eaten, she wasn’t sure, nor was she interested in finding out. A paisley-colored soup that was thin and bland along with a stone-hard biscuit and a cup of water. But it didn’t matter to Alex. She was simply content to put anything in her stomach.
While Blunt scarfed down his food, the next order of business for Alex was going to the bathroom. The lack of liquids didn’t put her in emergency situation, but she had been holding her pee for longer than she wanted.
The single toilet against the wall was moldy and didn’t appear to have been cleaned in months, if not years. The pungent odor of stale piss permeated the room when she put the lid down to use the restroom.
Forcing a smile, she looked at the guard and turned to take a seat. But the guard didn’t move.
“Do you mind?” Alex said. “I have to pee.”
She gestured with her hand for him to turn around.
“I sorry. I must watch whole time. Orders from boss.”
She sighed. “Really?”
He nodded, almost apologetically.
“Fine,” she said, ripping her pants down and sitting on the toilet seat as quickly as possible, careful not to expose herself so openly.
She glanced over at Blunt, who had turned his back to her in an apparent effort to give her some privacy. Meanwhile, the guard focused all his attention on Alex. Due to the language barrier, he came across as dopey to her, but she could tell he was more creep than dolt. His gaze didn’t move off her for the entire time she was sitting down.
So much for that plan.
For a second, she contemplated leaping off the toilet and shoving the guard backward over Blunt so that the soldier would topple to the
ground. But once she considered it fully, she wasn’t sure she’d have the time necessary to remove the tracker and activate it before guards descended upon the cell. And if she failed, there wasn’t going to be a second chance.
“Do you mind?” Alex said as she prepared to stand up.
The guard didn’t flinch. “No. Please.”
She rolled her eyes and shimmied her pants up as quickly as possible to prevent the pervert from seeing anything. He smiled at her.
“Thank you,” he said.
“I swear you better hope we don’t meet outside of this prison.”
“Thank you,” he said again.
She let out an exasperated breath and took one last swig of the water remaining in her cup.
“Remember what I said, Alex,” Blunt said. “Be patient.”
“I know, I know. But I really just want to go ballistic up against the side of this guy’s head.”
“So do I, but we can’t—at least, not right now. Just stay the course.”
The guard glanced at the chains and then back at Alex. She knew what to do. She set the clamp over her wrists and held them up for the guard so he could lock them down. Once the bindings clicked into place, she watched him reattach the chains on Blunt.
I guess this idea is officially tabled for now.
“You need anything?” the guard asked as he moved to the doorway.
“A bigger portion of food and then a map on how to get out of this place.”
The guard smiled. “Tomorrow?”
“Okay,” Alex said, surprised that he even responded, though she was certain he was just going through the routine of asking questions he was trained to ask.
Then the guard did something that surprised her even more: he spoke in perfect English.
“I’m not sure what you are planning, but I suggest you reconsider. Fighting against anything Karif Fazil wants to do is pointless and will only mean a more painful death for you in the end.” He pointed to the camera in the corner of the room. “We will be watching you.”
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