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  DEAD SHOT

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  Heisman: The Man Behind the Trophy

  Other titles by R.J. Patterson

  Ed Maddux thriller series

  King of Queens

  To Catch a Spy

  Whispers of Treason

  Brady Hawk 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

  Dead to Rights

  Dead End

  James Flynn Thriller series

  The Warren Omissions

  Imminent Threat

  The Cooper Affair

  Seeds of War

  Brady Hawk series

  First Strike

  Deep Cover

  Point of Impact

  Full Blast

  Target Zero

  Fury

  State of Play

  Siege

  Seek and Destroy

  Into the Shadows

  Hard Target

  No Way Out

  FULL BLAST

  A Brady Hawk Thriller

  R.J. PATTERSON

  For Brian, a good friend with

  integrity and compassion

  CHAPTER 0

  Prague, Czech Republic

  Pachtuv Palace Hotel

  BRADY HAWK WISHED HE WAS sitting on a sunny beach somewhere drinking his favorite Kentucky bourbon. Instead, he lay in a prone position between two hotel beds, his gun trained on a would-be assassin bound to a plush office chair directly in front of him. Hunkered down in the room, Hawk contemplated his next course of action. He needed answers from the man seated a few feet away, answers the man wasn’t ready to give up. But Hawk’s options were limited.

  In the hallway, he heard the security personnel following lockdown protocol, knocking on one door at a time as they neared their room. Yet, Hawk wasn’t convinced they were with the hotel. Based on the speed at which the men were clearing rooms, he guessed they were only two doors away.

  “You need to start talking now,” Hawk said, his gaze darting back and forth between the man and the door.

  The man sighed and shook his head before glaring defiantly. “What difference does it make?” he asked. “I’m dead if I talk; I’m dead if I don’t. So, I’d rather die with some of my principles still intact.”

  “If you were sent here to assassinate Jordanian Prime Minister Yaseen Abbadi, you have no principles.”

  “Sweet irony getting a lecture from you about principles,” the man said. “The man who routinely defies orders and puts others at risk in doing so.”

  Hawk narrowed his eyes. “You think you know who I am?”

  “Everybody knows about the great Brady Hawk . . . and his treasonous acts against the United States government.”

  “Treasonous?” Hawk huffed. “That’s a good one. Be sure to give your script writer a raise.”

  “You think I’m joking?”

  Hawk shook his head, eyeing the man closely. “Think I’m joking?”

  Hawk tightened the silencer on his gun and took aim at the man’s foot. The man let out a loud moan as a bullet ripped through his shoe. Fragments of leather and blood splatters dotted the floor around him.

  “They’re gonna hear us, you know,” the man said.

  Hawk shrugged. “I’m more interested in hearing what you have to say about your mission. Who are you working for? Searchlight? The Chamber? Who? My patience is running thin.”

  The man broke into laughter. “You really don’t have a clue, do you? Sure is surprising given how they act like you’re the gold standard among assassins.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  The men’s voices grew louder yet again. Hawk figured they were only one room away now.

  “Getting a little nervous?” the man asked. “Well, you should be. Your little escapade here is about to come to a screeching halt, one way or another.”

  “If I had a nickel for every time someone told me that, I’d be doing what I’d rather be doing about now—sitting on a beach in a Pacific isle, reading a good book, and drinking bourbon. But instead, I’m stuck in here with a detestable puke who refuses to tell me what I need to know.”

  “I’m more or less stalling because I want to see how you intend to get out of this thing.”

  “Don’t think you’ll be around to see it.”

  In the hallway, doors slammed and heavy footfalls echoed near their room. The handle barely moved before a string of shots down the hallway arrested their attention. It was followed by the sound of at least three men dashing off in the direction of the gunfire.

  Hawk let out a small sigh, pleased that he could focus all his attention on the uncompliant prisoner.

  “They’ll be back,” the man said, grimacing.

  “Start talking,” Hawk said as he remained prone.

  “I can wait you out, you know.”

  Hawk fired another round into the man’s left foot, producing the same results. “My next shot will be your knee.”

  The man howled in pain, twisting and turning in his seat. For a moment,
Hawk thought the man might be trying wriggle free, but Hawk knew there was no way he’d break out.

  “Okay, okay,” the man said. “I’ll tell you what you wanna know.”

  Before he could utter another word, a bullet ripped through the window, shattering it. Then two more rounds promptly followed.

  Hawk watched the man go limp and then lifeless. Two shots to the chest, one to the head. It was over before Hawk could get a single answer.

  Crawling on his stomach, he moved forward a few feet and reached the man’s gun he’d kicked aside during their initial confrontation. As he stared at the familiar weapon, he immediately knew the man’s employer: CIA.

  Hawk took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Based on the man’s comments, apparently Hawk had been deemed a traitor by the U.S. government. Fighting terrorists was one thing, but his own government? Hawk shuddered at where his journey had led him. He never wanted this. But he’d ventured into territory that made no allowances for backtracking. This was his path, a new one he would have to navigate cautiously. And his first step began with surviving the sniper perched somewhere outside his room.

  Hawk needed to get out of there as soon as possible. Someone had been watching and listening to their entire exchange before killing the CIA agent. And Hawk didn’t doubt for a second that he was next.

  CHAPTER 1

  Five days earlier

  San Francisco, California

  AT&T Park

  HAWK GLANCED AT HIS TICKET STUB as the attendant handed it back to him. The last time he’d watched a game at AT&T Park was during a trip to see his grandmother during his senior year of high school. Before his time with the Navy Seals, he’d never been much of a baseball fan, attending games only at the request of his family. But during his training in San Diego, the baseball bug bit him hard and Hawk adopted not only the Padres as his team but baseball as his sport.

  After begrudgingly going to games years ago, Hawk couldn’t wait to grab his seat and watch an exciting matchup between two of the sport’s best pitchers in Madison Bumgarner and Clayton Kershaw. He settled into his seat on the next-to-last row in the upper deck facing the first base foul line. With a deep breath, he inhaled the smell of grilled food wafting along the light bay breeze. He closed his eyes for a few seconds as well to take in the sounds of the stadium—the vendor calling out “ice cold beeeeer,” the pop of the baseball against a catcher’s mitt, and the background track of ambient organ music over the loudspeaker. With such a perfect late spring evening, Hawk wondered why he hadn’t attended a game on his own volition much sooner.

  But he wasn’t even at this game at his own choosing. J.B. Blunt, his boss at Firestorm, had made it clear in no uncertain terms that attendance wasn’t optional. Not that Hawk minded.

  He bought a beer and a bag of peanuts, which he worked his way through slowly. Bumgarner and Kershaw, however, moved quickly through their opponents’ lineups in what was shaping up to be an exciting finish. By the middle of the seventh inning, Hawk had almost forgotten he was there to meet with Blunt, a fact he recalled only when he felt a firm tap on his shoulder.

  “Don’t turn around,” Blunt said.

  Hawk obeyed and kept his eyes on the field. He leaned back to make sure Blunt could hear him when he spoke.

  “I didn’t think you were going to make it,” Hawk said. “Not that I minded. This has been one heckuva ball game.”

  “I’ve got a new assignment for you.”

  “And I’ve got some questions for you.”

  Blunt sighed. “I’m not sure I can answer them.”

  “Will you at least try?”

  “I’ll give it a shot. Go ahead.”

  Hawk rubbed the back of his head with his hand, remaining pensive before speaking. “What are we doing here?” A pause. “I mean, what is the end game of Firestorm?”

  “I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”

  “You mean you don’t have a plan?”

  Blunt chuckled. “No, no. That’s not what I mean at all. We have a plan, but it’s changed severely in the past few weeks. People I thought were my friends I’ve learned are now my enemies. The world’s not as black and white as it used to be.”

  “The world’s never been black or white, just various shades of gray.”

  “Which brings me to my next assignment for you.”

  Hawk shifted in his seat and kept his eyes trained on the field. “I’m not sure I can comply if I don’t know where we’re headed.”

  “We’re all headed for disaster if we don’t stop one of our biggest allies in the fight against terrorism from getting assassinated.”

  “I’ve heard this song before, one that’s followed up with another leader singing the same tune, until he decides to rebel.”

  Blunt laughed before his chuckling devolved into a cough. “Your cynicism in this job suits you well, Hawk. But grave danger awaits us all if we allow the best men in this world to die at the hands of those who have a vested interest in perpetrating war.”

  “So, what’s the assignment?”

  “Yaseen Abbadi, the Jordanian prime minister, requires protection at a summit in Prague this week at the Pachtuv Palace Hotel. He’s scheduled to speak late Thursday afternoon at which time I hear there will be an attempt on his life.”

  “And what’s his sin?” Hawk asked.

  “Trying to bring together different interests in the Middle East for the sake of peace and stability. Abbadi has been working to convince several leaders that a new partnership would benefit all nations involved, not to mention give them a bigger voice on the international stage.”

  “Why not take out or threaten the potential partners?”

  “Nothing makes a statement quite like a public assassination.”

  Hawk drank a big swig of his beer. “Who wants him out of the way?”

  “Whodoesn’t is the better question.”

  Hawk watched Kershaw strike out Buster Posey for the final out of the seventh inning before resuming their covert conversation. “Al Hasib? Searchlight? The Chamber?”

  “Try all of the above.”

  Hawk shook his head.

  “I’m not sure I’ll be able to do this on my own. Alex isn’t exactly on board with Firestorm at the moment. Searchlight’s attempts to woo her have been incredibly strong, not to mention one of their agents, Kade Parker, saved her life.”

  “If anybody can convince her to reaffirm her commitment to Firestorm, it’s you, Hawk. Just invite her over for a Bollywood marathon. She’ll be like putty in your hands.”

  Hawk smiled. “You make it sound so simple.”

  “That’s what my ex-wife used to tell me.”

  Blunt stood up and stepped into the aisle, walking down to the same row as Hawk before stopping. “So, can I count on you, Hawk?”

  Hawk nodded. “Where are you gonna be?”

  “Hopefully, where no one can find me.”’

  CHAPTER 2

  Monday

  National Archives, Downtown

  Washington, D.C.

  HAWK CHECKED HIS WATCH and hustled up the steps of the National Archive Building in downtown Washington. Aside from his aversion to being late, he always liked to get an idea of all entry and exit points in a building just in case something happened. It could be a debilitating practice, yet he refused to resist the urge whenever he entered an unfamiliar location.

  With the desire to watch his steps, Hawk decided to change up his usual meeting venue with Alex. Their normal spot at the National Archive building in College Park was too open. They needed a place with more privacy, and the downtown building provided just that.

  Hawk flashed his archives ID badge and made his way to the second floor. He passed the time waiting for Alex’s arrival by scrolling through the news on his phone. An article about political gridlock. More racial unrest after police shot an unarmed man. Hollywood power couple getting divorced.

  It’s as if we’re on some cosmic hamster wheel.

  Then there
was an article that caught Hawk’s eye. G-8 Leaders to Meet in Washington blared the headline. Hawk read about how diplomats from Canada, France, Germany, Italy, Japan, Russia, the United Kingdom, and the United States were scheduled to gather in the nation’s capital to discuss new cooperative security measures to make it more difficult for terrorist groups to move between countries as well as transfer funds.

  Senator Mark Adams, head of the U.S. Senate Committee on Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs, was excited about the potential outcomes of the gathering, according to the article. “I believe that this type of cooperative endeavor will only strengthen the safety of the free world and make life more difficult on those who seek to destroy the freedoms we’ve all worked so diligently to have,” Adams was quoted as saying.

  Hawk laughed softly to himself as he read the words. Germany, Italy, Japan, Russia, and even the United Kingdom all stood as enemies of the United States at one time or another. Yet, here they were, banding together for the good of the free world. And while Adams’s talking points sounded great in theory, Hawk wasn’t sure any one country or group needed to possess such power. He believed that kind of power always seemed to lead to some type of unnecessary conflict.

  “What’s so funny?” Alex asked as she walked up to Hawk.

  He didn’t even realize a wry grin still remained on his face.

  “Oh, nothing, really,” he said, putting his phone into his pocket. “I’m glad you could make it.”

  Alex sat down. “I figured I owed it to you to hear you out one more time, even if I know what you’re going to say.”

  Hawk interlocked his fingers and then placed his hands on the table in front of him. “So, what you’re saying is that I’ll be wasting my time.”

  She nodded. “Pretty much.”

  Hawk’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t know what I need to say to convince you to change your mind, but I need the words right now because I need you with me. We’re a team, Alex.”

  “Were a team,” she corrected, wagging her right index finger at him.