Two Minutes to Midnight

by R. J. Patterson

“What are you talking about?”

  “Al Hasib kidnapped Blunt and Alex a few days ago.”

  “How did this happen?”

  “It’s a long story, sir, but the abbreviated version is that they used Colton to get at me, all for the sole purpose of forcing me to do something for them in exchange for the lives of Blunt and Alex.”

  “And you’re going to do this thing for them?”

  Hawk shook his head. “Not a chance.”

  “What do they want you to do?”

  “Help someone assassinate you.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me, sir. I didn’t want to bother you with this because of everything you’re focused on right now, but I can’t wait any longer. There are some things already set into motion, and I need you to be prepared for what’s going to happen.”

  “And what exactly is going to happen?”

  “You’re going to survive an assassination attempt.”

  “I don’t like where this is going.”

  “Trust me, I don’t either. But it might work out to your benefit. We might be able to kill two birds with one stone if we manage this situation properly.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing, Hawk. I’m not happy about a plan like this. But if anyone has earned the benefit of the doubt in a situation like this, you have.”

  “Don’t worry, sir. I’m going to find a way out of this mess and keep you alive in the process. I just thought you should know.”

  “Thanks for the heads up,” Young said with a tinge of sarcasm.

  Hawk ended the meeting by wishing Young good luck and promising to resolve the issue of the blackmailer.

  Young watched the door to his office close as he spiraled back into thoughts about the blackmailer who was trying to derail Young’s presidential aspirations. If only he wasn’t in the video, which made him look more guilty. If he’d just waited until Daniels was dead, the evidence against Young wouldn’t appear to be so damning.

  Wrong place, wrong time.

  CHAPTER 18

  Springfield, Virginia

  HAWK PARKED ALONG THE CURB in front of the one-story brick ranch and turned off his car along with the headlights. After grabbing the folder from the front passenger seat and switching on the dome light, he sifted through the Secret Service dossier prepared on Jared Fowler, the identity of Young’s blackmailer.

  At first glance, nothing set off alarm bells for Hawk regarding Fowler. The twenty-seven-year-old majored in business at Georgetown and graduated with honors five years ago. Since then, he started working at a real estate development firm and was responsible for several deals that resulted in the revitalization of a handful of Washington metro area neighborhoods. Fowler didn’t have any parking tickets to his name, much less a criminal record.

  The most curious thing was that Fowler had no known connections to the White House or Secret Service. However, this concerned Hawk. Video footage like the kind Fowler had doesn’t just tumble into someone’s hands on accident—not unless he happened to be there. And since Fowler was a virtual Boy Scout, Hawk questioned just how in-depth the report was. Hawk was convinced something was missing.

  “Where’s the connection?” Hawk asked aloud. He pondered this question for a few more minutes but came up with nothing. He tucked the file away and climbed out of the car.

  Hawk donned a fedora and put on a pair of fake glasses as he strode up the steps to Fowler’s home and rapped hard on the screen door frame.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” a man said.

  When the door swung open, Hawk didn’t waste any time addressing the man.

  “Jared Fowler?” Hawk asked.

  “Yeah. Who are you?”

  “I stopped by to speak with you on behalf of the president.”

  Fowler glanced down at his dinner plate and set it on a table in the entryway. He brushed the crumbs off his hands by clapping them together and ran his tongue around mouth before opening the door.

  “I guess if you’re here on behalf of the president, I ought to listen,” Fowler said.

  “Thanks,” Hawk said as he ducked inside.

  “Right this way,” Fowler said, gesturing toward the adjacent sitting room. “And I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Max Summerton,” Hawk said, giving an alias without skipping a beat. “I’m an advisor to the president, and he asked me to stop by and speak with you.”

  “I would ask how you found me, but that would be a stupid question.”

  Hawk sat down across from Fowler and chuckled. “There’s not a lot the president can’t find out about anyone, even those who come to him anonymously.”

  “Look, I don’t want any trouble, and I’m not here to throw a fly in the political ointment just before the election. I just want the American people to know the truth out of respect for the office. And it’s with that same respect that I wanted to give Vice-Pres—I mean, President Young—the opportunity to tell the truth about what happened to President Daniels.”

  “Help me understand why this is so important to you.”

  “Do you like to be lied to?”

  Hawk shrugged. “I don’t prefer it, but I realize it happens all the time. For instance, you could be lying to me right now.”

  “I could, but I’m also recording this encounter in case something happens to me.”

  Hawk cocked his head to one side. “If you don’t turn off your recording device, this meeting is over. I might say some things that aren’t for the general public but for your benefit.”

  “Fine,” Fowler said as he stood and grabbed the phone in the corner of the room. “It’s off now. See?” He showed the phone to Hawk so he could that it was no longer recording. After placing the phone face down on the dining room table, Fowler returned to the couch across from Hawk.

  “Thanks,” Hawk said. “You sure are paranoid.”

  “And I have good reason to be,” Fowler fired back. “I never revealed my identity to anyone, yet here you are sitting in my house. And quite frankly, it’s a little intimidating.”

  “What do you think I came here to do, Mr. Fowler?”

  “I don’t know. Kill me? Anchor my body somewhere in the Potomac? Help me have an accidental drug overdose? I’m sure you have plenty of methods in your repertoire.”

  “First off, President Young has never asked me to do anything like that. I’m simply here to meet with you on his behalf and see if we can come to some sort of resolution.”

  “Any resolution that doesn’t include the American people learning the truth is a failed one.”

  “I understand your concern, but this situation is complicated.”

  “What’s complicated about the truth? Daniels committed suicide. I saw it on the footage. Young can’t get in trouble for this.”

  “You’re a bright guy,” Hawk said. “I think you can understand why now wouldn’t be the best time to reveal the truth, even if it was something that the American people needed to know.”

  “This is exactly the time the American people need to know who President Young really is. They need to know the kind of man they’re electing to the highest office in the land.”

  Hawk leaned forward. “Now, wait a minute. You said earlier that you weren’t doing this for political reasons or that Young couldn’t get in trouble for this. But what you just said sounds like your motivation is completely political. So, which is it?”

  “Perhaps my motives are multi-pronged. I want people to know the truth, and I want voters to know who they’re electing when it comes to Young.”

  “I’ll be the first one to answer that for you—they’d be electing a damn fine man,” Hawk said. “In fact, I don’t know that there’s a better man in Washington. But if you move forward with your threats to make this public before the election, before he’s had a legitimate chance to address this issue in the totality that it deserves, you’ll be ruining our country’s chances at getting one of the best men who’s ever darkened the doors at 1600 Penn
sylvania Avenue.”

  Fowler sighed and shook his head. “I wish I could believe you.”

  “Your belief in what I’m saying is irrelevant when it comes to the truth.”

  “But that’s all I want: the truth. And for some reason, neither you nor Vice Presi—President Young want to give it to me or the public. I happen to find that extremely disconcerting on so many levels.”

  Hawk sighed. “I’ll tell you the truth about President Daniels. He was once a good man, but he became a victim of his own lust for power and control. At some point, he lost sight of who he was and why he wanted to serve this great country. As a result, he ventured down some ill-advised paths, made some bad decisions, and then made even worse decisions trying to atone for or cover up his previous bad decisions. When you combined each move that he made, it added up to a potentially disastrous result if someone didn’t confront him and stop him. Yet he couldn’t see that in the end and chose a coward’s way out rather than face the consequences for his actions. And that is the truth.”

  Fowler cocked his head to one side. “Wait a minute. You were there, weren’t you, Max?”

  Hawk furrowed his brow and stared at Fowler. “I was where?”

  “You were there with Young and Daniels when he died. I knew you looked familiar. The glasses and fedora made it difficult, but I recognize you now.”

  “I’m afraid you’re mistaken.”

  “No, I know I’m right. You were right there with him.”

  “I wasn’t, but even if I was, it doesn’t make any difference.”

  Fowler chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, no, I bet it makes a hell of a difference whether you were there or not. When this story comes out, those people who witnessed it but kept their mouths shut are all going to be crucified in the press—and rightfully so. You’ll probably never work again in Washington, if you don’t end up in prison somehow for helping perpetrate this lie.”

  “Never getting hired again in Washington wouldn’t be the worst thing that could ever happen to me.”

  “I hope you didn’t come by to quibble with me or convince me that keeping my mouth shut is for the good of the country because it won’t work. I don’t care why everything happened the way it did. I hate to keep beating this dead horse, but I just want the truth to come out.”

  “You don’t care why everything happened the way that it did perhaps because you don’t understand what I’m trying to tell you. Noah Young was the sole person who kept Conrad Daniels from turning the Oval Office into a throne room. If it wasn’t for him—”

  Fowler stood hastily. “I think it’s you who doesn’t understand. I’ve been more than patient with Vice Presi—President Young. Tell him if the truth surrounding President Daniels’s death isn’t revealed within the next forty-eight hours, the footage will go public. And I think we both know that damage control will be far more difficult then. Now, if you’ll please show yourself out.”

  Hawk shook his head as he stood. “You’re making a mistake, Mr. Fowler.”

  Fowler narrowed his eyes. “Is that a threat?”

  “No, it’s a fact. And I pray you come to your senses before it’s too late. Quit being so unreasonable and accept the reality that sometimes the truth is complicated and messy.”

  “I don’t care how messy or complicated it is,” Fowler said. “The truth is important simply because it’s the truth.”

  “Sometimes good men go astray, and exposing the depravity of their souls isn’t always the best thing to do, even if it is the truth. Despite all his faults and flaws, President Daniels was still a person, a person who was loved and cared for by friends and family. Your quest to expose the truth about what happened surrounding Daniels’s death will also require that the entire truth about his life be told as well. And I can assure you that such disclosure right now will not be good for the American people.”

  “And who made you the arbiter of what’s best for America?”

  Hawk strode toward the door before he stopped and turned to answer. “We live in a gray world, Mr. Fowler. When you realize that, you’ll be much better off. The truth is still important, but it’s not always a hill to die on.”

  Hawk touched the bill of his fedora and nodded at Fowler before exiting the house.

  Fowler followed him outside but stopped at the doorstep. “Forty-eight hours, Mr. Summerton. Tell him he’s got forty-eight hours.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Andrews Air Force Base

  Washington, D.C.

  YOUSSEF NAWABI CRACKED his knuckles as he waited for the military police at the guard station to grant him access. He held up the security pass to Nawabi’s face and compared the two. With an exasperated exhale, the guard trudged back to his post and picked up the phone.

  Sweat beaded up on Nawabi’s hands. As he eyed the guard’s movement, Nawabi reached down next to his seat and grabbed his pistol. If he was going down without ever getting a shot off at President Young, Nawabi was going to take some people down with him.

  After a few more tense seconds, the guard stepped out of his hut, raised the arm, and signaled for Nawabi to proceed. Nawabi slipped his hand off his gun and gripped the wheel. He eased forward, nodding politely to the guard who returned the gesture.

  While Fazil had explained that great planning could always be spoiled by bad luck, he preached the importance of giving the mission the best chance at success. And advanced scouting was one of the pillars of Fazil’s wisdom when it came to dealing a deathblow to the infidels. Nawabi took the instruction to heart, which was why he didn’t question Brady Hawk’s suggestion to visit the base ahead of time to get a better feel for it. However, Nawabi held everything else Hawk said suspect, including the suggestion to bring a weapon a day before and stash it somewhere.

  Nawabi parked his car and got his weapons out of his truck, all disguised in boxes of office supplies. As he wheeled the dolly through the parking lot, he didn’t notice any wary glances, which surprised him. He’d been told that everyone in America viewed anyone of apparent Middle Eastern descent as an enemy. While he hadn’t experienced such blatantly rude acts in the general public, he certain expected to garner them on a U.S. military base. Instead, he was met with friendly nods and waves from several people who passed him.

  Focused on the mission, Nawabi didn’t dwell on the friendly demeanor of the infidels. He had a job to do, not to mention the fact that someone who just flashed a welcoming smile also could’ve been the same person who authorized bombings over his homeland or even pulled the trigger on a jet.

  They’re all infidels, Youssef. They all deserve the same fate for the war they’ve started against Islam.

  As he walked toward the last hangar, he kept his head down, denying even the slightest chance that he might be beguiled by the strangers’ affable approach to him. Once he reached the hangar, he knocked on the door and prepared to give his speech as a deliveryman.

  But no one answered. He waited for a couple minutes before picking the lock and entering the hangar.

  The cavernous space inside was lit only by the sunlight eking through the opaque windows ringing the upper portion of the structure. A lone airplane occupied the hangar, though there was room for more if necessary. Nawabi ogled the technology surrounding the large tanker before snapping out of his trance.

  Do your job, and do it well.

  He hurried back to his stack of office supply boxes and maneuvered it toward a group of offices that rose three stories high. The top story appeared to have an access ladder emerge out of it, butting up against a hatch leading to the roof.

  Removing the boxes from the dolly, Nawabi opened each one carefully and reassembled his RPG along with the missile. He then picked the lock to the office on the ground floor and ascended to the third floor, where he used the ladder to navigate his way to the roof.

  The sunlight momentarily blinded him as he climbed on top of the building. Hunched over to keep a low profile, Nawabi surveyed the area to find the optimum place to hide his weapon
and take a shot. There were several ventilation fans located atop the structure that could serve both purposes. He eased his way over to the mechanism and hid his launcher. He proceeded to imagine what his activity leading up to the firing of his missile might look like.

  As he closed his eyes, Nawami saw Air Force One lurching skyward through the end of his sights on his RPG. He squeezed the trigger and watched as vicious flames engulfed the plane and sent it crashing to the earth.

  Nawabi opened his eyes, satisfied with his accomplishment and looking for a quick way out if possible. There was little doubt that the base’s military police would descend on the hangar, scouring it for any evidence.

  The boxes!

  Satisfied with his dry run, Nawabi scurried back down into the building and collected all the boxes before loading them onto the dolly. Once finished, he prepared to leave when he heard the clanging of keys just outside the door.

  “Hey, Mitch,” a man said. “Are you in there? I forgot my keys.”

  Nawabi didn’t go anywhere. Instead, he crouched down low, waiting for the man to leave.

  “Damn it, Mitch. This isn’t funny. I know you’re in there.”

  Nothing.

  “Fine. I’ve got to get my keys. I grabbed the wrong set. I’ll be right back. And your ass is mine for not opening the door for me.”

  Nawabi exhaled as he heard footsteps sound as if they were leaving the building. He gathered all evidence that he had even been there and crept toward the door. Opening it slowly, he stuck his head out to see if the coast was clear. Instead, he was startled by the appearance of a man right near the entrance.

  “Gotcha!” the man yelled, his expression morphing from giddy excitement to disappointed bewilderment.

  Nawabi jumped back, his eyes widening as he stared at the man.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” the man said. “I thought Mitch was back from lunch, and I thought he was fooling around with me. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Nawabi waved at the man dismissively. “It’s no big deal. I’m fine.”

  “Hey, I don’t think I know you,” the man said. “Who are you again?”