Target Zero

by Jack Patterson

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  What Others Are Saying

  About Jack Patterson

  “Jack’s storytelling feels as natural as James Patterson’s, and the short-chapter setup is the literary answer to Lay’s potato chips: you just want one more and before you know it, you’ve gone through the whole thing.

  - David Bashore,The Times-News, Twin Falls, ID

  “Jack Patterson does a fantastic job at keeping you engaged and interested. I look forward to more from this talented author.”

  - Aaron Patterson, bestselling author of SWEET DREAMS

  “Patterson has a mean streak about a mile wide and puts his two main characters through quite a horrible ride, which makes for good reading.”

  - Richard D., reader

  “Like a John Grisham novel, from the very start I was pulled right into the story and couldn’t put the book down. It was as if I personally knew and cared about what happened to each of the main characters. Every chapter ended with so much excitement and suspense I had to continue to read until I learned how it ended, even though it kept me up until 3:00 A.M.

  - Ray F., reader

  DEAD SHOT

  “Small town life in southern Idaho might seem quaint and idyllic to some. But when local newspaper reporter Cal Murphy begins to uncover a series of strange deaths that are linked to a sticky spider web of deception, the lid on the peaceful town is blown wide open. Told with all the energy and bravado of an old pro, first-timer Jack Patterson hits one out of the park his first time at bat with Dead Shot. It’s that good.”

  -Vincent Zandri, bestselling author of THE REMAINS

  “You can tell Jack knows what it’s like to live in the newspaper world, but with Dead Shot, he’s proven that he also can write one heck of a murder mystery. With a clever plot and characters you badly want to succeed, he is on his way to becoming a new era James Patterson.”

  - Josh Katzowitz,

  NFL writer for CBSSports.com

  & author of Sid Gillman: Father of the Passing Game

  DEAD LINE

  “This book kept me on the edge of my seat the whole time. I didn’t really want to put it down. Jack Patterson has hooked me. I’ll be back for more.”

  - Bob Behler

  3-time Idaho broadcaster of the year

  and play-by-play voice for Boise State football

  DEAD IN THE WATER

  “In Dead in the Water, Jack Patterson accurately captures the action-packed saga of a what could be a real-life college football scandal. The sordid details will leave readers flipping through the pages as fast as a hurry-up offense.”

  - Mark Schlabach,

  ESPN college sports columnist and

  co-author of Called to Coach

  Heisman: The Man Behind the Trophy

  Other titles by Jack Patterson

  Brady Hawk series

  First Strike

  Deep Cover

  Point of Impact

  Full Blast

  Target Zero

  Fury (coming January 2017)

  Cal Murphy Thriller series

  Dead Shot

  Dead Line

  Better off Dead

  Dead in the Water

  Dead Man's Curve

  Dead and Gone

  Dead Wrong

  Dead Man's Land

  Dead Drop

  James Flynn Thriller series

  The Warren Omissions

  Imminent Threat

  The Cooper Affair

  Seeds of War

  TARGET ZERO

  A Brady Hawk Thriller

  JACK PATTERSON

  For Ed, one of the best

  men I've ever known

  CHAPTER 0

  Berbera, Somalia

  HAWK FIGURED HE HAD five minutes to live, ten if he was lucky. The rope binding his hands behind his back burned as he slowly twisted his wrists in an effort to break free. The scent of sweat and grease wafted from the gag secured around his head. In front of him, an armed man paced back and forth, eventually shedding his shirt to combat the sweltering heat. Hawk couldn’t wait to remove his own shirt, but first things first: he needed to escape.

  Sweat poured down Hawk’s face, stinging his eyes. But the pain wasn’t enough to distract him from the task in front of him. Small but deliberate movements had already started to loosen the rope’s constriction on his hands. Hawk stared at the survival knife dangling from the guard’s belt.

  If I can just get my hands on that knife . . .

  Hawk noticed at least two sets of feet that flashed by periodically beneath the only door leading into the room. A small elevated window was the only other potential exit point. Hawk thought it would be a tight fit but that he’d still be able to squeeze through the opening to the other side. What was beyond that window, however, was merely a guess.

  Hawk had only been conscious for fifteen minutes and awoke in his current position. The armed guard still pacing around the room had ignored all of Hawk’s questions so far. The only time he’d heard the man speak was when another man entered the room and said everything was going to happen in about twenty minutes and to be prepared.

  The overhead fan spun steadily but slowly, failing to create much of a breeze. It creaked as it turned. Hawk eyed it cautiously, not because he was annoyed with the noise but because he surmised it could serve another purpose.

  Hawk initiated his plan, which started with a gargling noise to get the guard’s attention. The guard marched over to Hawk and glared.

  “What do you want?”

  Hawk threw his head back and forced out some sound. It was unintelligible in any language, partly by design, partly due to the gag shoved into his mouth.

  The guard leaned closer to Hawk. “What did you say?”

  Seizing the opportunity, Hawk threw his head back before unleashing a vicious headbutt on the guard, who staggered backward. Hawk rose to his feet, bringing the chair with him. The guard let out a yelp, an obvious effort to attract the other guards’ attention. But the men stationed outside the door never heard him.

  Hawk placed one of the legs on top of the man’s throat and sat down. The man struggled to get free, putting his hands on the chair and hurling it upward. Seconds later, the chair hit the ground, shattering and breaking Hawk loose.

  The guard opened his mouth to alert his fellow guards about what was really happening behind the door. But his cry for help was thwarted again, this time when Hawk punched the man in the face.

  “Where is she?” Hawk demanded.

  The guard furrowed his brow and pulled back. “Where’s who?” he said, coughing as he spoke.

  “Where’s the woman? You know who I’m talking about.”

  “I don’t know. Across the street, perhaps.”

  “I’m not going to ask again.”

  Quivering, the guard relented. “She’s being held across the street.”

  Hawk then delivered a vicious blow to the man’s throat, shattering his trachea. As the man collapsed to the ground, he writhed on the floor in an attempt to breathe. Any suspense that he might regain his breath and alert his fellow guards that he needed their help vanished when Hawk wrapped the remains of his bindings around the man’s neck.

  The man fought hard, putting both hands on the rope and tugging at it. But he couldn’t prevent Hawk from choking the life right out of him. In less than a minute, the man stopped fighting and slumped to the ground, dead.

  Hawk ripped a knife from the man’s belt and positioned the only other chair in the room a few feet away from the overhead fan. He backed up and took a running start, reaching a swift speed before step
ping up onto the chair and leaping for the fan. Hawk grabbed the fan and spun around once. He then grabbed a steel support beam that hung a couple of feet above the fan and shimmied toward the small opening. Swinging his feet back and forth to gain momentum, Hawk lunged once, breaking the window.

  Hawk cleared the glass around the edges of the frame with his foot and slipped through the hole he’d created. He climbed down to the outside, landing in an alleyway between two unfamiliar buildings.

  He was free, but he wasn’t leaving until he got what he’d come for.

  CHAPTER 1

  Six months earlier

  The Ajagar

  Arabian Sea

  ARAV KATARI SURVEYED THE DECK of his ship and smiled with satisfaction. If he had his druthers, he would’ve been standing over the deck of the INS Vikramaditya, India’s premier aircraft carrier. But he was content with his plight in life, even if every family member tried to convince him otherwise. Running a cargo ship between India and various Middle Eastern and East African ports was enough to satiate his childhood dream of spending his days at sea. But this day at sea was different.

  The dark clouds forming to the south didn’t bode well for the remainder of his journey, but that wasn’t what concerned Katari the most. Pacing around the deck, he couldn’t help but take his eyes off the container. Officially, it wasn’t even onboard, purposefully omitted from the ship’s manifesto. If a storm caused the ship to capsize or some other calamity struck, no one would know the contents of container No. 8942. Yet it was exactly how Katari’s supervisor wanted it.

  Katari didn’t want to ask what was inside the container, but he felt duty bound if for anything the safety of his crew. His first request as to the contents was stonewalled, but he persisted.

  “What if something happens and it begins to leak, spread, or waft over the deck?” Katari pleaded. “I need to know how to keep everyone away from danger.”

  “Fine,” his supervisor said. “It’s methylphosphonyl difluoride. Are you happy now?”

  Katari had never heard of the chemical compound; he wasn’t sure he wanted to either. When he finally researched it, he discovered it was used to make sarin gas.

  “You’re putting a chemical weapon on my boat?” Katari said when he confronted his supervisor.

  “Technically, that’s my boat. And it’s not a weapon yet. Just do as you’re told. Your job depends on it.”

  Katari exited his supervisor’s office in a huff. While Katari would’ve preferred to quit his job in that moment, he couldn’t. His wife and three young children wouldn’t have appreciated such a commitment to principles when it came time to buy food at the local market or pay their rent. His aging parents—who lived with him and his family—wouldn’t appreciate it either. And neither would his brother, who still hadn’t found a job.

  When the containers were loaded onto The Ajagar, Katari filled out the manifest as instructed. Container No. 8942 was omitted from any official report. However, Katari was told not to worry about it because it wouldn’t matter. Whatever was inside wouldn’t arrive in port, making Katari’s protests moot.

  “What do you mean?” Katari asked his supervisor.

  “You’ll understand when it happens,” he replied.

  As Katari surveyed the deck of The Ajagar, he still wondered what his supervisor had meant by that comment. They’d been at sea for over seventy-two hours and were nearing the Berbera port in Somalia when he first noticed the pair of ships speeding toward them across the horizon. Once the boats pulled up portside to The Ajagar, Katari knew exactly what his boss meant.

  Several armed men boarded Katari’s ship and began to search different containers. When they came to No. 8942, one of the men pulled out a pair of deadbolt cutters and clipped the lock. The doors swung open to reveal a dozen barrels. The pirates began loading the fifty-five gallon drums onto their boats and managed to be surprisingly efficient. In less than half an hour, they were gone.

  Talman Virk, Katari’s second in command, didn’t even wait until the pirates had disappeared on the horizon before he suggested they fill out an incident report. Katari protested, insisting that it wasn’t necessary. Virk rejected Katari’s protests and proceeded to quote large swaths from the employee guidebook. At first, Katari ignored Virk. But then Katari realized Virk was not only serious, but he felt the need to act immediately.

  After the incident, Katari was alone on the bridge when Virk entered with a clipboard in hand.

  “Captain, I’m having a difficult time finding container No. 8942 on the manifest. Can you help me locate it?” Virk asked.

  Katari sighed and shook his head. “I already told you that you don’t need to fill out an incident report. I’ll handle it.”

  “No, you said we don’t need to fill one out at all,” Virk said. “So, I thought I’d take care of it for you.”

  “And again, I insist that you give it a rest.”

  “Give it a rest? Give it a rest? Captain, those men stormed aboard our vessel and stole some of our cargo. It’s unacceptable. We must report this.”

  “It might be unacceptable and, yes, we’re obligated to report it—but not right now. I’ll take care of it. That’s part of my duties as captain of this ship.”

  Virk furrowed his brow. “Perhaps, but it’s also my duty to assist you when you’re too busy. And you appear to be indisposed right now, so I’m simply offering my services.”

  “And I’m declining them.”

  Virk cast a suspicious eye toward Katari. “Very well. But before I go, will you please explain to me why container No. 8942 was left off the manifest?”

  “It’s not important.”

  “Not important? That’s against the law, not to mention our own shipping company’s protocol.”

  “Drop it,” said Katari as he narrowed his eyes.

  Virk sighed and sat down, insistent upon filling out the incident report.

  “I’m warning you,” Katari said.

  Virk held up his index finger. “Noted. Now, leave me alone so I can finish this report.”

  “You can’t finish the report,” Katari said, brandishing his knife. “It’s time to put down the report and your pen and exit the bridge.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says me.”

  Katari snatched the form from Virk’s hands and ripped it up.

  “How dare you,” Virk snapped.

  “I’m not going to ask you again to leave the bridge.”

  Virk stared at Katari’s knife. “You have no idea what you’ve done. I’m going to report you. You’ll lose your captain’s position. Maybe they’ll even give it to me.”

  Katari didn’t hesitate, lunging at Virk. Virk dodged to the left and then to the right several times before Katari plunged his knife into Virk’s midsection.

  Virk doubled over and slunk to the floor. He looked up at Katari with a face pleading for answers.

  “Why? Why did you do this?”

  “I warned you to drop it, but you wouldn’t listen.”

  Katari grabbed the microphone and made an announcement that was broadcast throughout the ship, requesting that all crew members meet in the galley for an emergency meeting.

  Virk held his stomach, which was bleeding profusely. His hands were now soaked in blood as he tried to stop the flow. Unfortunately for Virk, his efforts were to no avail.

  “It’s time for you to go,” Katari said.

  With a face pleading for answers, Virk looked up at Katari. “How could you?”

  “I could ask you the same question,” Katari said.

  Katari opened the door to the bridge and led Virk down the steps before giving him a forceful nudge over the side and into the water. As he watched Virk splash into the sea, Katari struggled to believe what he’d just done. He watched as Virk flailed, crying out for help. In a matter of seconds, Virk was little more than a meek cry for help.

  Katari leaned on the railing of the deck as he stared out across the water. He despised what he’d become,
but he had no choice. Virk had forced Katari’s hand.

  Katari took a deep breath and exhaled before turning and heading toward the galley. He needed to address the crew about the pirate incident.

  He also needed to tell them about Virk’s suicide.

  CHAPTER 2

  Monday

  Current day

  Tangier, Morocco

  HAWK PULLED BACK A CHAIR from the table and waited for Alex to have a seat. The dinner patio at The Riad la Tangerina was worthy of a postcard, something Hawk had little doubt was already available in the hotel’s gift shop. Yet he had his eye on the woman sitting across the table from him for two reasons: her beauty and her mystery.

  While they waited for J.D. Blunt to arrive, Hawk ordered a bottle of wine and admired the view.

  “Hard to believe that’s all that separates Africa from Europe,” he said, gesturing to the water.

  “The Strait of Gibraltar isn’t much of a barrier these days,” Alex said. “I think you and I both know that firsthand.”

  Hawk nodded. “Yes, but do you realize that my firsthand knowledge about you is very minimal. I mean, you know all about me after digging through my past, but I hardly know your past.”

  “What’s there to know? I blew the whistle on some CIA project and got kicked to the curb. And here I am.”

  Hawk shrugged. “So you say.”

  Alex eyed Hawk and looked pensive for a moment before responding. “Are you being coy right now? I hope so, because the way you’re acting is starting to make me feel like you’re being combative.”

  “All I’m saying is that I’d like to know a little bit more about who you are and your past, that’s all. I don’t play games. You should know that about me by now.”

  The waiter slipped up to the table and uncorked a bottle of wine before filling both their glasses and scurrying away.

  Alex relaxed her shoulders and took a gulp of her wine. When she finished, she turned her gaze toward the water.