Brady Hawk Box Set

by R. J. Patterson

  Getting into The Vault required solid tactical planning, an ability to remain a wallflower and unmemorable, impeccable timing, and a dash of luck. Each day, two deposits were made in The Vault—one at 9:30 a.m. and the other at 2:30 p.m. She planned to slip in on the coattails of the unsuspecting curator during the first deposit of the day. That was the easy part. Her most daunting challenge, however, was simply getting access to The Vault floor.

  The Vault was located in the second basement with highly restricted access. During her time at the CIA, she only met one person from the archives department who had a keycard to access the floor from the elevator—even some of the curators weren’t issued cards. Most of them were forced to rely on a guard or their supervisor to grant them access. But the research division, also located in the second basement, was teeming with employees in lab coats, employees who all had access.

  Toting a small stack of files marked “confidential,” Alex slipped into a bathroom and dug out a tightly rolled lab coat from her purse. She donned the coat along with a pair of glasses and waited for an unsuspecting target. Less than five minutes passed before she saw her first opportunity.

  Dr. Samuel Finkle trudged down the hallway, his head too buried in a file for him to pay attention to what was happening in front of him. Glancing at his security badge again to verify she had the right name, Alex tousled her hair and tried to appear flustered standing outside the elevator doors.

  “Dr. Finkle,” she called.

  He stopped and looked up, his brow furrowed. He pointed at himself and mouthed Me?

  “You are Dr. Finkle, aren’t you?”

  He looked around. “Yes,” he said as he approached Alex. “Who are you?”

  She offered her hand. “Sarah Tillman. I’m on loan from the NSA, working on a project for Dr. Coker.”

  He nodded. “Interesting. This is the first I’ve heard of this.” He paused. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

  “Actually, yes, there is. It’s simple but my keycard isn’t working now for some reason, and I need to get back to the lab to finish working on this report for Director Coker.”

  He eyed her closely. “What report are you working on? All of Director Coker’s personal requests go through my office. What did you say your name was again?”

  “Sarah Tillman from NSA. Look, I don’t know why you were left out of the loop on this one, but I will mention it to Dr. Coker. But I really need to get this report finished.”

  “Fine,” Finkle said. Moments later, the elevator door swung open and he swiped his keycard in front of the panel, granting access to the second basement floor.

  The door started to shut, and Alex jammed her foot near the edge to keep it open. “I appreciate it. And I’ll stop by your office this afternoon and get more acquainted.”

  The elevator doors closed, and she began to descend to the second basement floor. With only five minutes until the 9:30 a.m. deposit, she couldn’t afford any more delays.

  When the doors slid open, she hustled down the hall and found an ideal location to wait for the deposit. A small supply closet next to a water fountain was about ten meters away from The Vault entrance. Once the door opened, she estimated she’d have just enough time to hustle down the hallway and sneak into the room before the door closed.

  Checking in every direction for other employees, Alex began to jimmy the lock. In a matter of seconds, it clicked open and she dashed inside upon hearing the clicking of heels coming down the hall. With the door slightly cracked, she peeked through the open slit and waited.

  Only two minutes passed, but it felt more like two hours to her as she waited for the curator to make the morning visit to The Vault. Then, she heard an intermittent squeaking noise along with a low steady roll. She didn’t recognize the man, but his cart stacked high with boxes headed back to The Vault was unmistakable. He fumbled for his keycard, dropping it once before picking it up and waving it in front of the panel. After a second, the door clicked open. He pulled on the door and propped it open with his foot. The instant he turned his back fully to Alex, she dashed out of the closet and walked in his direction.

  However, the part of the operation that she believed was the simplest turned out to be far more difficult, complicated by the unexpected presence of a researcher heading toward her down the hall. Alex had to think fast or risk losing her opportunity.

  She went for broke and faked a trip. As she stumbled, she slid one of her folders toward the door. It was just enough to hold it open.

  “Are you all right?” asked the woman, who rushed over to help up Alex.

  Alex pushed herself up off the floor and shook her head. “I think so. I don’t know what happened back there. I’m such a klutz.”

  The woman gathered a few of Alex’s folders and stacked them together before handing them over.

  “Thank you,” Alex said. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Oh, it’s no trouble. Here, let me help you up.”

  The woman grabbed Alex’s right bicep and forearm and tugged her to her feet.

  “Thank you again for your help,” Alex said again.

  “Oh, looks like I missed one,” the woman said as she stooped down and reached for the folder that was wedged between The Vault door and jamb.

  Alex’s eyes widened as she realized the woman was about to ruin her chances of accessing the room. Quickly, Alex slid her heel against the door, keeping it from slamming shut.

  “There you go,” the woman said as she handed the last folder to Alex. She paused and tilted her head to the side as she studied Alex. “I don’t know if I’ve seen you around here before.” She offered her hand. “Mary Alvarez, head of fiber optics research. And you are?”

  “Sarah Tillman. I’m here on loan from the NSA and working on a few projects for Director Coker.”

  “Sounds interesting. We’ll have to chat some time. What office are you in? I’ll come by and say hello sometime.”

  Alex was stumped again. Every floor had their unique numbering systems and she knew if the next words out of her mouth weren’t right—or at least convincing—she’d draw some more suspicion.

  “Oh, I’m mostly working upstairs with an office Director Coker set me up with.”

  “I see. Well, I’ll see you around.”

  Alex sighed quietly as she watched Alvarez turn and continue down the hall until she disappeared around the corner. Forcing the door open with her heel, Alex eased inside The Vault and gently shut the door behind her.

  The Vault was divided into three sections: surveillance, operations, and personnel. She then removed her shoes and started to search for the personnel files. With one eye in the direction of the curator who was noisily milling around on the other side of the cavernous room, she identified her target.

  Foster, Foster, Foster. Where are you?

  She ran her fingers along the cabinets in search of the F’s until she finally found them.

  Ah-ha. There you are.

  She pulled the bulky drawer open and fingered the files until she found the one for Franklin Foster. She grabbed it, and it didn’t feel right.

  Too light. What is this?

  When she opened the folder, it was empty.

  You gotta be kidding me!

  She replaced the file and closed the drawer. Darting down one of the aisles and sinking to the floor, she tried to think about any other possible ways for her to learn about Franklin Foster. Nothing readily came to mind.

  After realizing her mission was a bust, Alex’s curiosity conflicted with her sense of good judgment—and her curiosity won. She shuffled toward the next row of file cabinets and knelt to open the bottom drawer marked “Ha-He.” Opening the drawer, her eyes widened as she found the folder she was searching for, one she’d hoped to find but was still surprised to lay her hands on it. “Hawk, Brady.” She opened it up quickly and started to scan the pages, her mouth agape at what she read.

  Oh my god.

  Rattled, she replaced the file, stood up,
and snuck toward the door in an effort to escape before the curator got there. She waited for a moment to open the door, listening to hear where he was in relation to her. He continued to rattle around far across the room.

  She opened the door and was shocked to find Dr. Finkle and a pair of guards standing there in front of the door, waiting for her.

  “Unlucky for you, Sarah Tillman, I was on my way to a meeting with Director Coker after I ran into you,” Dr. Finkle said. “Looks like you’ve got some explaining to do—whoever you are.”

  CHAPTER 5

  SENATOR BLUNT AMBLED up the steps of the Library of Congress. His reputation as a regular visitor to the library made it a smart choice for a place to begin receiving secret messages from his consortium. If any other government agency had surveillance on him, his weekly trips there would be dismissed.

  Blunt remained one step ahead of everyone, even if he wasn’t sure exactly how many people were behind him. It’s how he got to the top—that and his stubborn refusal to back down to anyone.

  While he did enjoy spending two hours at a time reading ancient books or little known historical accounts, he created a randomizing system to determine which books the messages would be placed in. If found, the notes appeared like gibberish to the average researcher and likely would have been thrown away. But to Blunt, the messages were a way to communicate without leaving a trail.

  This morning’s message happened to come in a book about Prussian History, a subject that always fascinated Blunt. He enjoyed studying how empires crumbled, a pastime that melded together pleasure and research. To realize his ambitious plans, he understood the importance of identifying all one’s strengths and weaknesses.

  He pulled out the note and deciphered it with an encrypted code using a special app on his phone. One by one, he wrote the letters down beneath the original message until it was complete, avoiding entering anything on any digital device. Keystrokes and screen grabs were the death of many plots.

  Everything is almost in place. Wait until you hear from us again to give the green light on the operation. Agent Green will brief you tomorrow.

  Blunt rolled up his translated note and stuffed it into his shirt pocket. He closed the book with a loud thud and stood up. A faint smile eased across his face.

  As he steadily moved down the hall, he wondered if he should feel guilty for what he was about to do. After all, everything was coming together almost effortlessly.

  CHAPTER 6

  A LIMO PICKED UP Hawk at Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport and whisked him north on the interstate toward Big Canoe. The exclusive enclave in the North Georgia mountains nestled in the foothills outside the Chattahoochee National Forest provided the privacy Tom Colton craved when he wanted to relax—or escape.

  For Hawk, Colton’s estate at Big Canoe was familiar, a place he’d visited Colton a handful of times as a child and as a teenager. But knowing what Hawk knew now, it seemed different. Relating how he felt to others would be a challenge since the majority of people in the world grow up having at least a vague idea of who their father is even if he’s not present. Though his name wouldn’t be mentioned often, an absent father would at least have a name. Hawk would’ve been fine with that. But in some ways, this was worse—a lie, a betrayal, a fraud. Yet for the mission’s sake, he’d have to maintain the charade.

  For the mission.

  Hawk swallowed hard and rang the doorbell. Moments later, Tom Colton appeared at the entrance with outstretched arms.

  “Come here and give your old man a hug,” Colton said as he moved closer to Hawk. “You’re never too big to give me a hug.”

  Hawk forced a smile and dropped his bags as he gave Colton a half-hearted hug.

  Colton slapped Hawk on the back as he collected his bags again. “Here, Son, let me help you with that.”

  After a short back-and-forth tussle, Hawk relented and let Colton carry one of his laptop bags.

  Colton took the lead and headed up the stairs, checking over his shoulder to make sure Hawk was behind him. “When I heard you were dropping in, I was ecstatic. I got us an 8:30 a.m. tee time tomorrow at Choctaw Course. I’m dying to try out the new driver I just bought.”

  “I’ve got a flight back to D.C. tomorrow at 10:15, so I won’t be able to stay for golf.”

  Colton reached the top of the stairs and stopped. “Why so short of a stay, son? We’ve got some catching up to do.”

  “Unfortunately, I’ve got some pressing business to attend to.”

  “So, this isn’t a social visit?”

  “Not in the least.”

  Colton sighed. “Well, a dad can hope, can’t he?”

  Hawk forced another smile and put his bag down in his room before quickly exiting.

  Colton dropped Hawk’s bag and followed him out of the room. “Do you at least have time to eat some of the pork barbecue I’ve been smoking for the past two days out back?”

  Hawk nodded, and the first genuine smile since he arrived spread across his face. “I’ve always got time for that.”

  Hawk headed for the back deck, following his nose. The scent of the barbecue almost carried him there. The hickory wood and Colton’s special marinade overwhelmed Hawk as he opened the glass door leading outside.

  “Now this is some serious barbecue,” Hawk said as he reached for the smoker’s handle.

  “Uh-uh,” Colton said. “What have I told you about opening the smoker before it’s time?”

  “I know. I know. If the heat escapes, so does the flavor.”

  “Exactly.” He paused. “Which is why I’m befuddled over your refusal to abide by rule number four of my barbecue manual. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times not to open the smoker until it’s time.”

  Hawk looked down at his feet, feeling reminiscent of his childhood. It seemed ridiculous to experience shame as an adult over a mild scolding from Colton, but he did.

  The fact that Colton wasn’t even his biological father made it seem even more ludicrous than it was.

  How can anyone have this much control over me?

  Hawk tried to brush it off and hide his emotions, but he couldn’t. He’d stared down some of the meanest terrorists the planet had to offer, yet when Colton chastised him, he reverted back to being a little kid. And Colton could see it all over Hawk’s face.

  “I’m sorry, Hawk. You know how I get around my smoker.”

  “It’s okay, Dad,” Hawk said, gritting his teeth as he uttered the last word. “It's not the first time I've received a tongue lashing from you for touching your grill.” Hawk paused for a moment and stared at the Georgia pine trees towering overhead. He decided to blow it off with a light-hearted comment. “But can you blame me? This stuff smells so good.”

  Colton broke into a grin. He flung open the cooler at his feet and grabbed a couple of beers. He handed one to Hawk. “Have a seat. Let’s catch up.”

  Hawk cracked open the can and settled into a chair across from Colton. “What do you want to know?”

  “How are things working out with you and Senator Blunt?”

  Hawk’s eyes narrowed. “How did you know I—?”

  “Son, I know everything about you. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the CEO of the nation’s biggest weapons manufacturing company—and we also happen to make some pretty cool surveillance gadgets as well.”

  “So, you spied on me?”

  Colton laughed. “No, no, no. I’m just joking around with you. Blunt and I go way back. He told me everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “Yeah. I guess. I know you work for an off-book ops division called Firestorm. And I know you’re the lead operative for Blunt’s team.”

  Hawk leaned back in his chair and tossed back half his can of beer. He then locked eyes with Colton. “It’s hard to trust a man who knows everything.”

  Colton nodded slowly. “Look, it’s not like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’m not spying on yo
u.”

  “It sure feels that way. It’d be cool if you asked me some questions about what I was doing instead of using all your back channel connections to find out. You know, like normal dads do.”

  Colton sighed. “Do you remember that summer you came up here to visit me when you were nine years old and didn’t know how to swim?”

  Hawk nodded. “How could I forget?”

  “You wanted to use that rope swing at Pettit Cove so badly you could hardly stand it. But you knew you might drown if you swung out over the lake. So, what did I do?” Colton didn’t wait for an answer. “I jumped in the water and swam out there to catch you. And do you remember what happened next?”

  “I swung out on the rope and dropped into the water.”

  “And who scooped you up?”

  Hawk closed his eyes, reliving the scene. But he remained silent.

  “Who scooped you up, Son?”

  Hawk sighed. “You did.”

  “Exactly. I did. And I did it because I loved you—and I still do.” Colton stood up and walked around for a moment. “Our relationship might not be a conventional father-son one, but it’s a genuine one. You can trust me no matter what, Son.”

  Inside, Hawk winced at Colton’s last comment. He did every time he heard the word son come out of the man’s mouth. Maybe Colton knew the truth; at the very least, he was doing a great job of continuing the ruse. Each time he spoke the word, it was said with conviction. And Hawk fought hard not to erupt into a tirade.

  For the mission.

  “I know, Dad. I know.”

  Colton took a swig of his beer and carefully eyed Hawk. “So, what is it you want to talk about?”

  Hawk gritted his teeth and prepared to answer. He wanted to get this conversation over with as quickly as possible, survive the night without any major conflict, and get back out in the field. It was nice to relax in such a secluded setting, but he’d never relax around Colton. Not now. Not ever.