Two Minutes to Midnight

by R. J. Patterson

  Hawk glanced down at Fowler’s desk, desperately trying to steer the conversation in a way that could entice Fowler to surrender the footage. But Hawk drew a blank.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.”

  Hawk stood slowly. “For what it’s worth, I know what it’s like to be in your situation, growing up without a father and wondering if he ever thinks about you. It’s not easy.”

  “You know what else isn’t easy apparently? Telling the truth about why President Daniels died. And just like growing up without a father in your life, you still have to manage your situation, and not in a way that’s always the most convenient for you. You do the best you can and let the chips fall where they may. President Young has less than twenty-four hours now to tell the truth and let the chips fall where they may with this election. Otherwise, his cover up is all anyone will be talking about for the days leading up to the election. And I can promise you that he’s only going to lose votes.”

  “Thank you for your time,” Hawk said. “I wish you’d reconsider. In the end, this is going to cost you dearly, including some prison time.”

  Fowler huffed a laugh through his nose. “You think anyone is gonna care about prosecuting me for exposing the truth about this? You’re crazier than you look. Now, get out of my office before I have security come down here and throw your ass out.”

  Hawk turned toward the door and continued down the hallway, seething as he went. His trump card to get Fowler to give up the footage was summarily swept off the table and dismissed. Fowler didn’t consider the offer, much less give it a second thought. The fact that he was Guy Hirschbeck’s bastard son seemed more like a disgraceful detail in Fowler’s past than a source of pride.

  Hawk had misjudged Fowler’s motives on every front. With time running out, Hawk needed a new approach—and he needed it quickly.

  CHAPTER 25

  AS HAWK PULLED OUT of the Stroman and Associates parking garage and back into Washington’s deadlocked traffic, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen where the message of unknown number flashed at him. While his curiosity raged, Hawk hesitated before answering. If his past experience was any indication, the person on the other end of the line was someone he wished he’d never spoken to.

  The phone vibrated and the screen blinked at him, both begging him to answer the call.

  After a few more seconds, Hawk caved.

  “Yeah,” he said as he answered.

  “Mr. Hawk? Is that you?” the man on the other end asked.

  “Yes. Is this—”

  “Kejal. Yes, it’s me.”

  Hawk was taken aback by the revelation. Kejal’s family harbored so much animosity toward Hawk, he couldn’t believe they even mentioned that he’d called.

  “Did your mother tell you I called?” Hawk asked.

  “No one told me anything.”

  “Then how did you know to—”

  “Your friends are in trouble,” Kejal said, speaking rapidly. “Fazil is going to kill them no matter what happens.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down, Kejal. Where are you?”

  “I am in Iraq.”

  “Where exactly?”

  “In the Zagros Mountains, northeast of Duhok near the Turkish border. I will text you the coordinates.”

  “And how are my friends being treated?”

  “They are still alive. That is about the best I can say for them.”

  “Is Fazil the one torturing them?”

  “Most likely, but I have not witnessed anything. Everything I have heard was second hand.”

  “And you’re confident Fazil is going to kill them?”

  “I heard from one of the guards that Fazil bragged that after the president is dead, the bodies of your friends will be dumped at your feet right before Fazil puts a bullet in your head.”

  “I will deal with this,” Hawk said. “You stay safe and avoid getting caught.”

  “Good luck, Mr. Hawk.”

  The line went dead. Seconds later, a text from Kejal popped up on Hawk’s phone with the exact location of the hideout.

  “The end is near, Karif Fazil,” Hawk said aloud.

  * * *

  HAWK SPED TO ANDREWS AIR FORCE BASE, arriving just before 10:00 a.m. While Young’s trip back to Texas had been scheduled weeks in advance, the activity level at the base seemed rather calm and usual, definitely not what Hawk expected to see so close to an Air Force One flight.

  Hawk flashed his security badge to the guard and rolled through without a second glance. The lax security gave Hawk reason to be nervous, especially in the off chance that Fazil was using Hawk in more ways than one.

  He parked and hustled toward the hangar that he’d suggested as the ideal location for taking a shot at the jet as it went airborne. When he arrived at the main entrance, the door was locked. Pressing his face against the window to see if anyone was inside, Hawk noticed all the lights were still out.

  Hawk looked around for any other potential witnesses before jimmying open the lock and stealing inside. He scanned the area and tried to determine the best location for hiding a weapon the size of a missile launcher. Behind boxes on the ground floor wouldn’t make sense as Youssef would have enough sense to know there might be base mechanics and supervisors inside who would make grabbing his weapon next to impossible.

  To Hawk, there was only one place that made sense, the same place he would’ve hidden his weapon if this were his mission: the roof.

  Hawk hustled up the ladder and broke through the hatch leading to the top of the hangar. Within a few minutes, Hawk noticed a large tarp bunched up and weighted down on the other side of the HVAC unit. He knelt next to it and uncovered the object.

  Money!

  Hawk held the weapon in his hands and peered through the scope. He turned on the tracking system and tinkered with the controls. Opening one of the screens, he recalibrated the missile-guided system software, rendering it virtually useless. To correct the problem, Youssef would either have to quickly recognize the error and know how to reprogram it or do a complete reinstall of the software. Based on what Hawk knew, he doubted Youssef possessed the technical skills necessary or that he would have the software and a way to re-upload it with him.

  Hawk had just finished recalibrating the software and was about to stick the weapon back underneath the tarp when he heard creaking noise followed by a loud thud.

  Youssef!

  Hawk threw the tarp haphazardly over the missile launcher and scrambled on his knees toward the edge of the hangar. The HVAC unit provided Hawk a few seconds of cover, which is all he hoped he would need. If Youssef discovered Hawk on the roof, he knew it’d all be over.

  Hawk slid over the edge, grabbing the ledge and hanging tight. Only Hawk’s fingertips were visible, and he said a quick prayer underneath his breath that Youssef wouldn’t notice.

  After five minutes, Hawk’s forearm muscles were burning so much that he briefly considered if he’d be able to escape without a broken leg if he dropped from such a height. He thought better of it and decided to persevere. But he couldn’t simply hang forever.

  Mustering all the strength he had left, Hawk pulled himself up so he was eye level with the hangar roof. He watched as Youssef recovered the missile launcher and stood. He glanced around for a second, which sent Hawk dropping down and out of sight. A few seconds later, a creak followed by a thud signaled that the coast was clear.

  Hawk struggled to pull himself onto the roof and hoped Youssef wouldn’t return, at least not for a while. Kicking at the tarp, Hawk felt to see if the weapon was still there—and it was.

  Satisfied that all systems were still go, Hawk edged toward the hatch and crouched low. He peered over the edge and noticed Youssef toting a duffel bag and looking for a place in the area near the hangar to hide it.

  “That bastard thinks he’s going to be able to make a getaway today,” Hawk muttered to himself as he shook his head. “He’s got another thing coming.”

&n
bsp; CHAPTER 26

  Andrews Air Force Base

  Washington, D.C.

  NOAH YOUNG FORCED a smile as he strode toward Air Force One. The small crowd of supporters wishing him farewell consisted of his support staff and several political allies. The rest of the people present were comprised of journalists assigned to capture Young’s every move on the campaign trail. He took his time getting up the steps to board the jet, wondering if he should’ve put his life in Hawk’s hands like he had.

  The text message Young received earlier informed him that Jared Fowler still intended to proceed with the threat of releasing the footage. Young was disappointed but felt he must handle the situation in a different way, especially with the election so close. He’d placed a call to one of his confidantes and set a new plan into action.

  However, Young found encouraging the news that Hawk had the coordinates for Karif Fazil’s current hideout. That information prompted a short debate about whether or not they should proceed with the ruse of the flight and instead just send an elite black ops team in to rescue Blunt and Alex along with taking out Fazil. Hawk liked the idea but said they didn’t have enough time to plan for a mission like that. He suggested they get some teams in place to capture Fazil in case he considered leaving.

  When Young reached the top step, he turned around and waved. The entire scene felt staged, almost disingenuous. Of the people waving at him, all of them were paid to be there, in a manner of speaking. All campaign employees on the clock, engaged in their dutiful employment. He loathed such staged photo ops but accepted them as part of the political life. Spinning on his heels, Young headed inside the plane, striding toward the back.

  A tanker was parked at an angle in front of the plane, obstructing the view of the terrorist, just enough that he wouldn’t be able to see all the activity happening at the service entrance. The press couldn’t see it either, which Young believed would be problematic once they witnessed a missile being fired at Air Force One. But Young’s communication director prepared a memo that would be passed out almost immediately after the event. Young raised the issue with Hawk about the possibility of the Al Hasib agent shooting into the crowd when the plane was still on the ground, but Hawk assured Young that Al Hasib wanted every single camera available to capture their moment of glory.

  Hidden from view, Young descended the steps at the service entrance and boarded a delivery truck, joining the rest of his team who had taken the same route. Once Young was inside, one of the base personnel secured the doors and then the truck drove off.

  Young watched the rest of the scene from the safety of another hangar with an unobstructed view of the base airport. With a pair of dummy pilots occupying the cockpit, Air Force One rolled down the tarmac, getting in position to take off. Seconds later, the engines roared and the plane sped down the runway, prepared to lurch skyward.

  This better work, Hawk.

  Once Air Force One reached the optimum speed for takeoff, the nose of the jet turned upward as it lifted off the ground.

  * * *

  HAWK PEERED THROUGH his binoculars at Youssef Nawabi, who was using the HVAC unit on roof of the hangar as cover. But Hawk was lying prone on top of the base traffic control tower, high enough above the rest of the structures at the airfield that Nawabi couldn’t actually hide. He was exposed, which was all that mattered.

  “How are things looking up there, Hawk?” asked Will Baker, the Secret Service agent coordinating the day’s security.

  Hawk adjusted his earpiece. “I’ve got the target scoped in.”

  “And you’re sure you’ve messed with the missile guidance system on the weapon enough that it’ll totally miss?”

  “Roger that. Our target couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn from a hundred meters after I messed with the launcher’s programming.”

  “Good because those planes aren’t cheap. I’m sure the taxpayers will appreciate making sure that Air Force One doesn’t get blown out of the sky, even if the president isn’t on it.”

  “Just doing my part,” Hawk said.

  He watched as Air Force One commenced takeoff procedure. The jet sped down the runway before it took flight. Though more than a quarter of a mile of runway before the plane reached the final hangar, it didn’t take long to get there. Hawk watched as Nawabi steadied the weapon on his shoulder and took aim.

  Trailed by a stream of smoke, a missile raced toward the plane before falling harmlessly to the ground. The fiery explosion caused a stir among the press corps capturing the event, a buzz so loud that Hawk could hear them from his position.

  In the aftermath of the shot, Nawabi disappeared.

  “Hawk, do you still have your shot?” Baker asked.

  “I can’t see him.”

  “What do you mean you can’t see him?”

  “I mean, he’s gone.”

  “He couldn’t just vanish.”

  “Well, I had him scoped in just before the shot. And once he fired, he slid back behind the HVAC for cover. I could see the upper half of his body before that. Now, I’ve got zip.”

  * * *

  YOUSSEF NAWABI TOOK a deep breath as he watched Air Force One zoom in his direction. He steadied the missile launcher on his shoulder, checked all the settings, and stole a quick glance around. He didn’t see anyone else nearby who could see him, but he didn’t take any comfort in that. The moment he squeezed the trigger, he was likely dead. He wasn’t sure he’d even live to see everything he’d worked for come to fruition. Another long exhale and he trained his weapon on the end of the runway.

  This is for you, Abdul.

  Air Force One’s nose tilted skyward as it left the ground in a hurry. Nawabi took aim and squeezed the trigger, the jolt from the launcher sending him tumbling backward. The missile rushed toward the target.

  Knocked on his butt, Nawabi sat and watched as his shot petered out and fell harmlessly onto the grassy area between the two landing strips.

  What the—

  Nawabi looked at his gun, studying all the controls. Everything appeared to be in order. There was no reason why he should’ve missed, not from this distance, not with a weapon that had a guidance system. But he had. It didn’t take long for the fact to sink in that he had failed, sacrificing his entire life for nothing.

  If I am going to die, I should at least take some infidels with me.

  Nawabi picked up his missile launcher. Though he would have to shoot without a guidance system, he didn’t think it would matter much since the last one offered him no assistance in nailing his target.

  He turned toward the crowd of staffers and reporters still milling around near where President Young had boarded his jet. Nawabi was confident his training would help him connect.

  One more shot, Abdul. And I promise to make this one count.

  * * *

  “WE’VE GOT A PROBLEM,” Hawk said into his com unit. “I still don’t see the shooter.”

  “Where else could he be than hiding up on the roof?”

  “Earlier when I was sabotaging his weapon, I eased to the ledge and was holding on by my fingertips. If he had a rope attached over there somewhere, he could’ve slinked away and repelled down.”

  “What’s your gut say?”

  Hawk sighed. “I think he’s still there. He knew this was a suicide mission. And unless he got cold feet for some reason, I can’t see him changing his mind.”

  “Let me see if I can get someone else to verify his location. We don’t want this turning into a disaster.”

  Hawk peered through his scope, searching for any type of movement.

  Then he saw something. It was just a flicker of light that came from an object the roof, but he understood that Nawabi was still on top of the hangar and active.

  “I know he’s still there,” Hawk said. “Just saw movement.”

  “Should we send any men up?” Baker asked.

  “Not yet,” Hawk said. “I’d rather take care of this as discreetly as possible. I’m sure everyone on the g
round is already freaking out about a missile missing Air Force One and exploding.”

  “A public execution of sorts might send a strong message,” Baker said. “If you want to wait—”

  “My friends’ lives hang in the balance here,” Hawk said with a growl. “I’m not interested in humiliating the enemy just yet. It’d result in the kind of retaliation that would mean two good people would lose their lives over this.”

  “They’re probably going to lose their lives no matter what, if we’re being honest about it.”

  “You could be right, but it’s a foregone conclusion if we light this asshole up and every television crew in America films it and pumps it around the world. Let me handle this.”

  As Hawk finished talking, he watched Nawabi stand, armed with another missile launcher. Only this time, Nawabi was taking aim at the crowd, which was near the tanker still parked on the tarmac.

  “Oh, shit!” Hawk said. “Have everyone clear the area. The shooter is going after the crowd.”

  Hawk zeroed in on Nawabi and squeezed the trigger.

  When Hawk saw the stream of smoke trailing behind the missile, his heart sank. In the rush to get a shot off, he wasn’t sure if he’d hit his target before Nawabi fired.

  As Hawk watched through the scope, he confirmed a direct hit on Nawabi. A bullet tore through his head, and he collapsed almost immediately.

  Hawk heard an explosion and glanced back toward the area where Nawabi had been aiming. Instead of seeing a roaring blaze of fire and a scene of death and mayhem, Hawk watched another missile burnout harmlessly on the grass, several hundred meters away from the plane.

  Hawk sighed in relief, realizing that his bullet must’ve rocked Nawabi just as he was firing his weapon.