Brady Hawk Box Set
Page 29
Hawk pounded the steering wheel with his fist. He knew he didn’t imagine them being there.
“Looking for these?” came a voice from behind Hawk.
Hawk spun around to see the driver holding up the sack of diamonds.
“I’ll take that now,” Hawk said.
“Over my dead body,” the man said as he staggered toward Hawk.
Without waiting another second, the man shoved the diamonds into his pocket and rushed Hawk.
Hawk needed only two hits to incapacitate the man, hitting him once in the neck before delivering a punishing blow to the face. Hawk jostled behind The Butcher and quickly snapped his neck.
The Butcher collapsed onto the ground. Hawk yanked the diamonds out of the man’s pocket and stared at the limp body beneath him.
“Words have meanings, mate,” Hawk said, mocking the fresh corpse. “Next time try not to be so literal, okay?”
Hawk rushed back to the truck and drove back toward the camp, crashing through the camouflaged fence and storming into the staging area of the compound. In need of a high-powered weapon, he slammed on the brakes and skidded the truck to a stop in front of the munitions. The truck served as a cover for him to arm himself and as a bunker to fight from.
Beneath a hail of bullets, Hawk scrambled to find the right weapon and get it operational. It took twenty seconds—twenty agonizingly long seconds—to get armed and start fighting.
Using one of the AK-47s in the crates, Hawk started methodically picking off Soto and Perryman along with the half dozen remaining guards. However, Hawk realized he hadn’t killed all of them: Visser and Demby remained.
On the other side of the camp, the missile transport truck fired up with Visser occupying the driver’s seat and Demby assembling a rocket launcher in the cab next to him.
Oh, hell, no. I’m not getting on another moving vehicle today.
Hawk ran toward them and peppered the cab with his machine gun.
Visser seemed unfazed and drove ahead.
Careful not to destroy the missiles, Hawk raced back toward the weapons cache and opened a grenade launcher. All he needed to do was disable the truck, confident he could handle Visser and Demby on the ground.
Working quickly to assemble the launcher, Hawk kept one eye on the truck, which was on the cusp of exiting the camp when he saw it surprisingly come to a stop.
It must be Christmas.
Hawk raced in the direction of the truck, staying low in the vegetation surrounding the camp. If they hadn’t seen him, he’d have the element of surprise on his side as well as plenty of trees to take cover in if they came after him.
Demby jumped out of the cab, his feet hitting the ground with a solid thud.
“Come on out, Mr. Martin,” Demby said, toting a rocket launcher. “I have a surprise for you.”
Hawk bit his lip, unwilling to give up his location over a childish taunt. Maneuvering through the bushes to get a plain view of the front of the truck, Hawk steadied his launcher and fired. The grenade hit the right front portion of the cab, setting off an explosion that started a small fire. Demby suffered an indirect blow and lay motionless five meters away from the initial point of impact.
While scanning the area for Visser, Hawk heard a motorcycle kick start before he saw it rumbling along the road toward the exit. Still out of sight, Hawk waited for the right moment and then heaved a large stone at the front tire of Visser’s bike. Upon contact with the rock, the bike wobbled. Visser overcompensated and lay the bike down.
Hawk didn’t want to take any chances with Visser, putting two bullets in Visser’s chest and another one in his head before returning focus to Demby.
By the time Hawk reached Demby, the fire at the front of the truck was raging. Crawling toward the trees for a safe haven, Demby struggled. And Hawk had no interest in extending the monster any mercy.
He used his foot to roll Demby onto his back. Bruised and bleeding, Demby was in no shape to fight. But Hawk made sure Demby heard a final lecture before putting him out of his misery.
Demby looked up at Hawk but said nothing.
Hawk pulled out the sack of diamonds and dangled them in the air.
“I know these may just look like regular diamonds to you, but I’ll tell you what these diamonds really do,” Hawk said. “They murder and maim innocent children. They lead to the death and destruction of families and livelihoods and nations—and all so you can get your cut. You disgust me.”
Hawk shook his head and glanced around the compound to make sure no one else was moving. They weren’t.
“Now, I’m going to do what you should’ve done to me when you had the chance—kill me quickly.” Hawk trained his gun on Demby, who cowered behind both of his hands.
Hawk pulled the trigger, emptying three shots into Demby.
“By the way, my name’s not Martin—it’s Hawk.”
CHAPTER 40
BLUNT’S FEET RHYTHMICALLY POUNDED the treadmill in his downstairs gym. Locked away in his fortress in a posh enclave in McLean, he considered his home a safe haven, untouchable by anyone in the outside world, cordial or nefarious. Home was the only place he wanted to be while he sorted out what was going on. His position within The Chamber seemed tenuous at best as he was unsure whom in the group he could trust. Perhaps Lord Williams acted alone or he was acting on orders from the group wielding the most power. Blunt needed answers; he needed a plan.
The sun had crested the towering pines that covered the back of his hilly lot, which stretched to the edge of Bullneck Run Creek. Blunt finished his workout and put on a pot of coffee while he pondered a path that didn’t result in his death. When he decided to first engage with The Chamber and become their inside guy in D.C., he knew this was a possible eventual outcome, though he never wanted to admit it. The money proved to be a helpful perk, but the power intoxicated him. He’d been around D.C. long enough to know that whoever sat in the Oval Office was nothing more than a puppet. Democrat, Republican—it didn’t matter. Those leaders immortalized in the history books did the bidding of special interest groups. Blunt learned it was all an illusion. The real power rested with those who operated outside the bounds of archaic documents and tired unified organizations like the U.S. Constitution and the U.N. Security Council. And Blunt enjoyed exercising such power.
He broke out of his trance when his phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. Blunt poured a cup of coffee and took a sip before answering.
If I could just stay here and drink the world’s finest coffee every day . . .
“This is Blunt,” he said as he answered his phone.
It was Hawk, who proceeded to give the run down on everything that had just happened, including seizing the weapons and taking control of the diamonds.
“Great. Bury the diamonds and then send me the location. Also include the coordinates for the missiles. I’ll arrange to have someone pick them all up.”
“You sure you want to leave that to chance?” Hawk asked. “I just left a high body count here. Who’s to say that more men aren’t on their way?”
“This isn’t a discussion.”
“I know I can sneak the diamonds back. You’ll have no way of verifying if you’ve been stiffed or not.”
“Just follow my orders, Hawk. You’ve done all that I’ve asked you to do and more. It’s time to get you back home.”
Blunt hung up and proceeded to dial General Patrick.
“The package is almost ready,” Blunt said. “I’m sending you the coordinates for the pickup in just a few minutes.”
“You’re going to owe me big time,” Patrick said.
“How about we call it even after this is all over with? Besides, you’re going to be a hero for seizing back those stolen missiles right from underneath the terrorist’s noses.”
“It’ll be a lie.”
“Some lies are worth being told and repeated. Your career will thank you for it.”
“Quite frankly, I’m just hoping I don’t regret it.”
“Why would I ever ask you a question in the first place? I never get straight answers.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“We’ll await your instructions.”
Blunt pumped his fist. “Excellent. I’ll be in touch.”
He hung up the phone and, for the first time in several years, started to dream about the future. He had hope that not only could he resolve his issues with The Chamber, but that he could thrive within their structure—or maybe shed them altogether.
Blunt sent out an email to request a meeting with one of The Chamber’s agents. The request was readily accepted. Blunt had plenty of questions that needed to be answered, including who was the hacker named Bare Bones and was he or she affiliated with anyone in The Chamber. If he could get all his questions answered, he might be able to make sense of what was happening and forge a path forward.
The fog of fear and uncertainty started to lift as he grew confident he’d find out what he needed to know.
He lit a cigar and jammed it into his mouth. The last loose end he needed to tie up was the affair with Liam Jepsen. Blunt still hadn’t heard back from Thor, though he didn’t have to in order to know that Jepsen was still alive. Without a peep uttered about it on the news, it was clear nothing had happened. Blunt would have to chase down his operative and find out what was causing the delay tomorrow.
But for now, Blunt was back.
CHAPTER 41
TWO DAYS AFTER RETURNING from Sierra Leone, Hawk settled into a booth in the back of the cafe at The National Archives facility in College Park. He was anxious to hear what Alex refused to tell him over the phone. If he was honest with himself, he’d grown quite fond of her since they started working together. The feeling of being attracted to a woman seemed foreign to him after he bitterly swore off romance following Emily’s death. But the feeling in his chest seemed strangely familiar the moment Alex walked around the corner.
Hawk stood up and greeted her with a hug, the first time he’d made such a bold move.
“Don’t you look nice,” Hawk said, gesturing for her to have a seat. “I got you a coffee. Are you hungry?”
“No, thanks. I’m going out to eat tonight with a friend.”
Hawk cocked his head to one side. “A friend? What kind of friend?”
“Just a guy friend who helped me out with some work-related projects. No big deal.”
“So, you’ve got a date?”
“Heaven help us if K-Squared thinks it’s an actual date.”
“Wait—the guy’s name is K-Squared?”
“He’s a hacker and—”
Hawk held up his hand. “You don’t need to say anything else. Hackers inhabit their own ethos that I don’t care to enter into.”
“Me either, but sometimes you have to take one for the team.”
“Well, that’s a shame because I was going to see if you want to watch Mughal-E-Azam with me tonight? It’s one of my favorites and playing at the Georgetown Theater for Bollywood Week.”
“One of my favorites, too. Now I’m wondering if I can avoid taking one for the team.”
Hawk chuckled and leaned forward. “So, what’s this big secret that you couldn’t tell me on the phone?”
Alex glanced around the room. She and Hawk were the only two people in the cafe, but she still leaned in close, speaking in a hushed voice.
“When I broke into The Vault at CIA headquarters, your father’s file was empty.”
“Figures,” Hawk said. “They’ve been trying to hide everything from me. Is that what you wanted to tell me?”
“Oh, no. There’s more. Being the snoopy person that I am, I ventured over to your last name and looked up your file.”
“And?”
“It was packed, and I didn’t get to read it all but—”
“Out with it, Alex. You’re killing me.”
She smiled. “But I read several pages about the CIA’s attempted recruitment of you.”
Hawk looked at her incredulously. “The CIA never tried to recruit me. And as far as I know, the CIA doesn’t even know about Firestorm.”
“Well, you’re wrong. They tried on several occasions, but you rebuffed them.”
“I don’t ever recall being approached by anyone.”
“There were several records of interactions different agents had with you after Emily’s death.”
Hawk leaned back in his seat and furrowed his brow. “They used Emily’s death as a tool to recruit me?”
Alex shrugged. “Not sure. What I thought was interesting is that the report never referred to her death but instead as The Thornton incident.”
“What do you think that means?”
“I have no idea, but I thought it was curious for sure.”
Hawk sighed. “Just another thing I need to ask Blunt about.” He paused. “By the way, thanks again for your help on the mission in Sierra Leone.”
“So, it was a rousing success?”
“An Al Hasib funding pipeline was eliminated along with other underworld characters.”
“That’s always a good thing.”
“And I got to help some people.”
“When you rescued them from a mine?”
Hawk smiled. “Yes, but that wasn’t the only thing. I deeded the mine to Amad, one of the workers I pulled out from beneath the rubble. He was a single dad who helped me out.”
“How’d you pull that off?”
“I killed Demby, the Sefadu Holdings owner, and went back and found the deed to the land and business—and I transferred it over into Amad’s name.”
“I guess we can add forgery to your skill set.”
“Got my start in elementary school by writing notes from my mom to cover all the times I played hooky.”
“You were an agent in training all the way back then.”
He laughed. “I’ve still got plenty to learn—including how to research better and pull on those threads until the ball of lies unravels.”
“Keep tugging,” Alex said as she glanced at her watch. “Gotta run. I’ll be in touch.”
Hawk grabbed Alex’s wrist and smiled as he looked up at her. “Have fun writing code tonight.”
She rolled her eyes and left.
***
THE NEXT MORNING, Hawk tugged his hoodie over his head and sat on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial overlooking the reflecting pool. He adjusted his sunglasses, pressing them further up on the bridge of his nose as the water shimmered. It was the perfect spot to contemplate everything happening around him and to him.
He had plenty to smile about in the midst of the chaos. Amad and Solomon would have a chance to make a better life for themselves and the people around them. Blunt had managed to find an anonymous donor to supply Dr. Ackerman with all the resources she’d ever need to continue operating SLAM. And Al Hasib was going to have a more difficult time financing its operation.
But Hawk still felt unsettled. He had a thousand questions for Blunt, starting with Hawk’s father. How did his father die? Or was he really dead yet? What happened that led to his death? Hawk also had questions for Blunt regarding his involvement in everything around Hawk’s recruitment. Was Emily still alive? Was she a plant?
But it was the questions he couldn’t ask Blunt that nagged Hawk the most: Was Blunt dirty?
Hawk hadn’t even sorted them out in his own head when he caught the smell of a cigar wafting on the wind. He didn’t even move before he began speaking.
“Smoking those second-rate cigars is going to not only kill you with cancer but it’s also going to make it impossible for you to sneak up on someone,” Hawk said. “If you were a real spy, you’d know that.”
Blunt sat down next to Hawk on the steps and stared off into the distance. “I only do this so we don’t have to engage in a formal greeting before we begin our conversation.”
>
“For a man of such means, you really have no taste in cigars,” Hawk said.
“I could say the same for your taste in scotch.”
Hawk took a deep breath. “Your smoking is the last thing I have a beef with you about.”
“Go on.”
“For starters, did you know the CIA was actively trying to recruit me after the Peace Corps?”
“I heard rumors, yes.”
“What about before the Peace Corps?”
“Your skill set makes you an attractive recruit. It’s why I sought you out.”
“Was Emily a plant?”
“What did you say?”
Hawk narrowed his eyes. “You heard me. Was Emily a plant? Is she still alive?”
Blunt appeared taken aback by the line of questioning. “Not to my knowledge. If she’s not, someone played a cruel and twisted joke on you.”
“Will you find out for me?”
Blunt put his hands up. “Look, I don’t know all the CIA’s dirty business, and I don’t think I could get certain things out of them either. But I’ll ask around. If I hear something, I’ll let you know.” He paused. “Any other burning questions you have for me?”
“Yeah, the one that burns in my mind almost a dozen times a day—what happened to my father? The real one, not the guy you people have been trotting out as my replacement dad? What happened to him?”
“Your father was a good man, one of the best agents I’ve ever known in this business. But sometimes even the best men have a challenging time standing up to the evil powers that operate above the law.”
“So, what are you trying to say? What did he do?”
“What I mean is that—” Blunt stopped and started to gasp for his breath.
“Senator! Senator!” Hawk put his hands on Blunt and tried to gently shake him out of the trance he appeared to be going into. Each time Hawk called his name, his voice grew louder. “Senator! Talk to me!”
While intensely focused on Blunt, Hawk could hear a small crowd beginning to gather around him. He kept his head down as he pleaded with people to stop filming on their phones and call 9-1-1.
Within five minutes, paramedics rushed onto the scene and hoisted Blunt onto the stretcher. During that period of time, Blunt hadn’t changed. His eyes remained opened and glazed over.