Two Minutes to Midnight

by R. J. Patterson

  John Wilkes Booth will be forever trumped by Youssef Nawabi and Al Hasib.

  The thought delighted Fazil, who grew more giddy as time passed. After years of trying to claim a victory on U.S. soil, Nawabi was going to deliver. Fazil clucked his tongue, summoning Jafar. The bird flitted over to his master and sat on his shoulder.

  With a pair of hostages in his possession, Fazil’s confidence in Hawk soared. The glorious moment that Fazil longed for was about to happen.

  “Time to break out the good whiskey. What do you say, Jafar?”

  Fazil poured himself a glass and danced around his office. He turned on his television and settled into his chair so he could laugh at the Americans.

  One station led with the latest social media darling who was pregnant with her boyfriend of the month.

  “These vapid people,” Fazil said. “Someone must rescue them from this existence.” He turned the channel.

  The next station aired a story about a town torn apart by a racial epithet spray painted on the car of a high school teacher.

  “They can’t even get along with each other,” Fazil said as he stroked Jafar. “How will they ever bond together to defeat their greatest enemy?”

  Fazil threw his head back and laughed.

  The next few channels weren’t any better, depicting an athlete whining about how the league’s owners were colluding to pay him less—He makes twenty-five million dollars a year! What is his problem?”—and a school teacher complaining about an administrator making too much.

  It’s all about the almighty American dollar. Tomorrow should wake them up a bit.

  Bored of the subsequent shouting matches between new commentators, Fazil turned off his television, snatched his whiskey bottle from his desk, and staggered down the hall toward Alex and Blunt. Fazil wanted to gloat.

  “I believe the two prisoners you inquired about are asleep,” one of the guards said as he studied the security cameras.

  “Good,” Fazil roared. “All the more reason to wake them up.”

  Fazil trudged down the hallway leading to Alex and Blunt’s cell. Fumbling for the right key, Fazil finally identified it and inserted it into the lock. The click granting him access echoed down the hallway.

  As Fazil entered the room, he stomped in the puddle and announced his presence.

  “It is time, my little infidels,” Fazil began. “Time to watch your empire crumble. If only there was a television in here for you to see your president assassinated on national television, blown out of the sky. By the end of the day, the Air Force One explosion might surpass the space shuttle Challenger as the most infamous U.S. air tragedy. But unlike the NASA tragedy, I can promise you there will be people celebrating in the streets. A blow to the oppressive American regime will be dealt decisively.”

  Still facing the wall, Blunt grunted. “It’s not going to happen.”

  “Excuse me,” Fazil said as he strode over to Blunt. “What did you say?”

  “It won’t happen. Forget about it.”

  Fazil laughed. “Oh, but it will, old man. You see, your top agent is working hard to make sure that President Young and his plane goes up in a blaze of glory.”

  “I always believed you were an intelligent man, Mr. Fazil,” Blunt began. “But now I know differently. You’re arrogant and cocksure, but you aren’t intelligent.”

  “I’m not intelligent?” Fazil asked as he placed his hand on his chest.

  “Naïve or stupid,” Blunt said. “You pick, mostly because nobody knows you better than you do. Now, which is it?”

  Fazil balled his fist and recoiled before delivering a vicious body blow to Blunt. The old man coughed and struggled to get a deep breath.

  “That is for being an antagonistic asshole,” Fazil said. “Yes, I know enough of the English language to know what to call you.”

  “I’ve been called worse,” Blunt said. “In fact, that doesn’t even make my all-time top ten worst names I’ve been labeled by my enemies.”

  “If you’re not careful, that will be the last name any of your enemies—or friends—calls you.”

  Blunt forced a laugh. “Look at you. Karif Fazil—a man born again and emboldened by coercing his foe to do his bidding, tasks you couldn’t do yourself. Sounds like you have a promising future as long as Brady Hawk is working for you.”

  “That must sound familiar to you, too,” Fazil said. “Without Hawk, you would have had nothing.”

  “If you think Brady Hawk is the only elite assassin available out there, you’re sorely mistaken. There are others.”

  “But not that are Hawk’s equal, are there?”

  Blunt chuckled before responding. “Hawk might be the best, but there are others out there. Who knows? There might be one of those men sitting outside your cave here.”

  “If they are, they are sitting there with a bullet in their head. This place is one of the most secure locations in the world, with apologies to your NORAD base in Colorado, of course.”

  “I’ve been there—and this place doesn’t begin to compare to NORAD.”

  “Perhaps not, but it definitely could be your grave.”

  Fazil turned toward Alex and meandered to her side of the room.

  “I’ve never been to NORAD, but I know this place could use some chairs,” she quipped.

  “Ah, a woman with a sense of humor,” Fazil said. “I like that in my women, among other things.”

  “Don’t test me,” she said. “I will break your neck, even as I’m shackled.”

  Fazil ran the back of his hand along the contours of Alex’s body. “I’m sure you could.”

  “If it wouldn’t get me killed and I had a way out, you’d already be dead.”

  With a wide grin on his face, Fazil nuzzled up next to Alex. “You sure are confident, especially for a woman.”

  In a lightning-fast move, Alex slid her left leg around Fazil’s midsection and wrapped her right leg around him as well. As he struggled to escape her clutches, he slid down until his head rested between her calves. In another deft move, she squeezed around his neck until he passed out.

  Fazil lay motionless on the ground for a half minute.

  “Did you kill him?” Blunt asked, his face still turned toward the wall.

  “I couldn’t get enough torque to break his neck while dangling here like this,” she said. “He’s a big guy.”

  “Yeah and when he wakes up, he’s going to be angry, big time.”

  “Do you think I care at this point?” Alex said. “Either Hawk rescues us or we die. It’s really very simple.”

  “You never know, Alex. There could be another way.”

  “And what scenario would you dream up? A drone bomb killing everyone in this hideout except for us? One of Fazil’s secret lovers sneaking in here and unlocking the door to help us escape? A giant meteor falling from the sky and killing everyone in this place except for us—oh, and this meteor has a pair of keys that help us unlock our chains?”

  “Don’t be so quick to shirk an idea you haven’t thought of yet. Something could happen.”

  “And I could sprout wings, but that’s not likely. We have to face the reality that we’re probably going to die in here.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Blunt said. “As much as I might have been ready to die after that last beating, I have a strong desire to live, if anything to make Fazil regret treating us the way he did.”

  “You’re driven by revenge—so am I,” Alex said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that we have no foreseeable way out of here, nor do we have any allies within the ranks of Al Hasib.”

  “We might have one,” Blunt said.

  “One?”

  “Never count Brady Hawk out.”

  Fazil moaned as he pushed himself up off the floor and staggered to his feet.

  “You heard the man, didn’t you?” Alex asked. “He’s willing to betray his country to save us. I think we both know deep down that we’re not going to make it, no matter what Hawk finally de
cides to do in the end. If he comes here, he’ll be sealing his own fate.”

  “You think that, yet you’ve worked with Hawk on how many missions again?” Blunt asked.

  Fazil squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temples before speaking. “Silence! We don’t have time for this endless bickering. I will keep my word and not kill you or Hawk, though I’m not sure if I’ll actually return you. If this works out the way I plan on it going, you might just survive. But until then—”

  Fazil turned and drove his fist into Blunt’s back. The old man wailed in pain.

  “Tomorrow, it’ll all be over with,” Fazil said before marching across the room to Alex.

  “Have a nice nap?” she asked.

  Fazil grinned. “Oh, I have something very special planned for you after this whole thing is over. It involves about a dozen of my men. I think you may regret what you just did.”

  “Next time I will break your neck,” she said.

  Fazil stroked Alex’s face. “See you soon, my dear.”

  He stomped in the puddle, splashing water on both of them, before slamming the door shut. After locking the deadbolt, he sauntered down the hall and whistled Bruce Springsteen’s Born in the U.S.A.

  “Are you whistling what I think you’re whistling?” the guard posted outside the holding area asked.

  Fazil smiled. “It is. I must admit it is my guilty pleasure. The Boss is the best, even if he did come from the infidels homeland.”

  “But that song, it’s so—”

  “So American. It reminds me of why we’re fighting them. They invade and attack for no reason. Tomorrow their entire nation will weep and mourn, paying a steep price for their intrusion into our world.”

  The guard flashed a wide grin at Fazil and gave a thumbs-up signal.

  “The day we have been waiting for is almost here,” Fazil said as he continued down the hall. “It is almost here.”

  Fazil fished his cell phone out of his pocket and responded with a text to Youssef Nawabi.

  You will only get one shot tomorrow. Make it count.

  CHAPTER 24

  Washington, D.C.

  THE DAWNING RED GLOW over the eastern skyline chilled Hawk as he walked to his car. The west was still shrouded in darkness, still unstirred by morning’s first light. The nip in the air forced Hawk to don his pair of gloves earlier than he’d anticipated, but he didn’t mind. Keeping his fingerprints out of the FBI’s database was always a preferred outcome.

  Hawk climbed into his car and turned the ignition. The car purred as he pulled onto the street and headed toward Jared Fowler’s office. Stroman and Associates had a better reputation in the city among real estate developers than most, but that wasn’t saying much. The residents seemed torn between wanting more options inside the beltway and also wanting to keep the charm that made the capital what it was. Modernization was welcomed but only in moderation. And over the years, developers earned a bad name for their overzealous building efforts.

  From the revised workup Hawk received, Fowler was more or less a lackey at Stroman and Associates. Undoubtedly, his degree and collegial connections played a part in him landing an opportunity at one of the city’s more successful firms. But there was another factor that Hawk couldn’t discount, at least not after he learned the true identity of Jared Fowler.

  Traffic ground to a halt, the result of a remodeling job on an apartment complex. One lane had been shut down, now occupied by long dumpsters collecting the archaic innards of a dilapidated building. With the sudden bottleneck, drivers honked and formed fists, shaking them at anyone affiliated with the project.

  Typical Washington.

  Ten minutes later, Hawk moved through the jam and continued on to Fowler’s workplace. Fowler didn’t appreciate the ambush at his home, so Hawk decided to approach the president’s blackmailer in a more public setting. Hawk wasn’t sure if this decision was the best, but he was pressed for time given that the afternoon required his full attention.

  Hawk pulled into the parking garage and made his way to the lobby. A young, attractive woman greeted him with a smile from behind the welcome counter.

  “May I help you?” she asked.

  “I’m here to see Jared Fowler.”

  “Can I get your name?”

  Hawk shook his head. “I’d rather not.” He winked at her. “It’s a surprise. We’re old college buddies.”

  A wide grin spread across her face as she nodded knowingly. “Just give me a second.”

  Hawk leaned on the counter, listening in on the conversation. However, he watched carefully the button the woman pressed on her phone receiver. The name “Fowler” was accompanied by the number 314, telling Hawk what he really needed to know.

  She hung up the phone and made a pouty face. “Mr. Fowler said he wasn’t expecting anyone and he has some tight deadlines today. He wanted to know if there was anyone else you could speak with.”

  Hawk shook his head. “Now, I didn’t go to college with anyone else but him, did I?”

  She shrugged. “I suppose not. Maybe you can come back tomorrow?”

  “Unfortunately, I’m leaving town tonight,” he said. “I’m flying back to New York, and I don’t really get here all that often. I’m sure he won’t mind if I just pop in for a few minutes.”

  Hawk didn’t wait for a response, following a man who was getting on the elevator a short way down the hall behind the receptionist.

  “But, sir,” she said. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I—”

  The doors slammed shut, effectively ending her protest. Hawk pushed the button for the third floor and nodded politely at the other passenger, who selected a higher floor.

  When the door opened, Hawk exited confidently and began scanning the area for clues to where office number 314 was. Locating the group of offices in that section, he identified Fowler’s and headed straight for it.

  Fowler stared intently at spreadsheets stacked neatly on his desk before he stopped and looked up to see who was knocking on his open office door. His eyes narrowed when he noticed Hawk.

  “What are you doing here?” Fowler asked. “Coming to my house was one thing, but now my workplace?”

  Hawk stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and settled into the chair reserved for clients and guests alongside Fowler.

  “I think you know what I’m doing here,” Hawk said.

  “I swear to God, I’ll just release that footage right now. All it takes is one phone call.”

  “But then you wouldn’t be a man of your word. Blackmailing the president is one thing, but then lying to him? I can’t begin to—”

  “I’m not blackmailing the president; I’m simply incentivizing him to tell the truth.”

  Hawk leaned back in his chair. “Whatever you need to tell yourself to live with yourself.”

  “I haven’t asked for one red cent.”

  “You might want to look up the legal definition of blackmail because money doesn’t have to be involved. Besides, we know that your self-proclaimed altruistic motives are bogus.”

  “Americans need to know the truth.”

  “I know, I know. I’ve heard your spiel, and it’s tiring. And I’ve already explained to you why it would be detrimental to the public. You just need to let it go.”

  “My deadline still stands.”

  Hawk nodded subtly. “I figured as much, which is why I’m here to offer you a deal.”

  “A deal?”

  “Yes, a deal. I know who you really are.”

  Fowler furrowed his brow. “Who I really am? What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Don’t play coy with me. You know what I’m talking about—I know who your father is.”

  “My father? You think that’s going to persuade me to change my mind?”

  Hawk leaned forward in his chair. “You know, I kept wondering what was your motivation for doing such a thing, much less how did you have the connections to get this footage. I know damn well you weren’t there. But wh
o has those kinds of ties and would be driven to compel the president to reveal the awful last minutes of Daniels’s life? Why, none other than the son of Guy Hirschbeck.”

  Fowler glared at Hawk. “So you finally had a competent detective look into my past—congratulations. If you think you suddenly know me now because you know who my father is, you’re sorely mistaken.”

  “Look, I get it. I believed I was the bastard son of a high-profile man at one time, too. I didn’t want his last name either. But there was still a part of me who wanted to know more, certainly wanted to know more about his life and what made him tick. I always thought it would help me understand more about who I was.”

  “It didn’t, did it?”

  Hawk shook his head. “In the end, my case was different. He wasn’t really my father, even though I believed him to be for years.”

  “Yet, here you are trying to act like we’re the same, all for the purposes of what? So you can coerce me not to follow through with my promise?”

  “Blackmail,” Hawk corrected. “And, yes, I’m trying to make an appeal to you, though it’s not what you think.”

  “Please do tell. This ought to be good.”

  “I know the truth about your father’s death, about what really happened that night.”

  “Are you suggesting that it wasn’t an accident? That maybe someone deliberately ran him off the road?”

  “There’s always more to the story. And I’ll be more than willing to share it with you once you turn over that footage and drop your threats.”

  Fowler laughed. “You think I care enough about what that dirt bag of a man did to deserve an early exit from planet Earth? He’d already taken an early exit from my life—why would I even care?”

  “Because you’re human and you care about knowing the truth.”

  “I care about the truth being known regarding things that affect millions of people. My father? I couldn’t care less.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Oh, do you? Well, Guy Hirschbeck was an absent father, a master manipulator, an oppressive authoritarian, and petty politician. Do I need to continue to demonstrate just how little I care about how he died or why? To be quite blunt, I’m glad he’s gone. Whoever did this, did us a favor. My mother’s never been happier. So, pardon me if I don’t show the appropriate amount of interest in why my father is dead. I’m simply glad he is.”