Brady Hawk 08 - Siege Read online

  Commander Frank Stone received the message and took his new assignment seriously. He knew all about Karif Fazil and Katarina Petrov and despised both of them. Stone wished he’d been the one present for their meeting, relishing the opportunity to take them out in one fell swoop.

  “Sir,” one of Stone’s aides began, “how do you think we should proceed with this, given the fact we aren’t authorized to take any action on foreign soil until this whole issue with President Michaels gets settled?”

  “Are you sure we can’t find an angle that shows this is a direct threat to us here in America?”

  “Not unless you want to go to prison,” the aide answered. “I already broached the subject with the DOJ with a hypothetical situation. They said no dice.”

  “Very well then. I know someone who might be able to help us.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “It’s an old friend,” Stone said. “And I’m sure he’ll know a way we can handle it.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Washington, D.C.

  HAWK LOOKED OUT HIS WINDOW and watched the U.S. coastline come into view. Despite all of America’s foibles, Hawk couldn’t think of a better place in the world to live. The land of opportunity still thrived with people imagining a better life, even if it was little more than a pipedream. There was something about citizens having collective hope that gave a country energy. And in his world travels, Hawk hadn’t felt anything close to what he experienced in the U.S.

  “Beautiful view, isn’t it?” Alex asked, snapping Hawk out of his trance.

  “Yeah, the shoreline is always a sight to behold from the air.”

  “Are you okay?” she asked as she slipped into the seat adjacent Hawk.

  “Yeah, I guess so. I’m a little disappointed Petrov duped us like she did and I’m responsible for killing innocent people, but other than that—”

  “That wasn’t your fault, Hawk. We did everything by the book. There’s no way we could’ve known.”

  “But we should have. We’re better than that. There were some clues something just wasn’t right—and we glossed right over them. I glossed right over them. I wanted to take Petrov out so bad that I let it cloud my judgment.”

  “We’re not perfect. We make mistakes.”

  “Mistakes are not using a big enough caliber bullet for the job, not killing innocent people.”

  Alex put her hand on Hawk’s knee and grabbed his hand. “Don’t beat yourself up over this. We all played a part in what went down in Stuttgart. You’re not alone here.”

  “That’s not how I operate, Alex. You ought to know that by now. When this team bears responsibility, I have to bear it all. I don’t know any other way.”

  “Well, take your mind off that for a while. You’re not going to solve anything by worrying about it.”

  Hawk shrugged. “Maybe not, but it might make me more vigilant in the future so something like this doesn’t happen again—if we ever get a chance to work again.”

  “We’ll figure a way out of this. We always do.”

  Hawk rubbed his face with both hands and looked wide-eyed at Alex. “Do you have any ideas on how to do that?”

  “No, but I do have an idea on how to get your mind off of this.”

  A grin spread across his face. “With Samuels onboard?”

  Alex hit Hawk playfully. “In your dreams.”

  “So, what is this other less effective way to get my mind off the manhunt being conducted for us?”

  “An ice breaker question.”

  “Really? An ice breaker? Aren’t we past that part in our relationship where we ask each other if the toilet paper rolls off the top or the bottom?”

  She chuckled. “That’s a pointless discussion because everybody knows it rolls off the bottom. It makes it easier to tear off, in my opinion.”

  Hawk glared at her. “I’m not sure we’re compatible.”

  “Okay, never mind I said that. The ice breaker question that I had for you was about Bollywood. I’m curious how you became such a big fan of Bollywood movies.”

  Hawk sighed. “What’s a kid to do while stuck in Bombay during a sweltering Indian summer except stay indoors and watch Bollywood movies on television.”

  “Okay, perfect. This is exactly why I asked this question. I never knew you went to India as a child. How’d that happen?”

  “My mom was a nurse, burned out and depressed from slaving away in an ER. Same old stuff, same repeat patients. Nothing ever changed. So, she got the bright idea that one summer she would apply to work for this medical agency that placed medical professionals around the world for short terms. Three months was the shortest amount of time they offered, and my mom jumped on it. They had a daycare place that was supposed to be all amazing and wonderful, but it was really just a few ladies who barely spoke English making sure that we got fed every few hours and that the television was working. My mom had much more fun than I did.”

  “Did you tell her the daycare wasn’t as promised?”

  “I didn’t have the heart,” Hawk said. “I could see how much joy it brought her, and I didn’t want to squash her spirit. She would’ve bailed on the program in a heartbeat if I’d told her, even though she was contractually bound to stay the full three months.”

  Alex shook her head. “Always gotta be the sacrificial hero, don’t you?”

  “To be honest, it sucked at first, but after a while, I didn’t mind it as much. Besides, I found a channel that played primarily Zeenat Aman movies almost every day. Watching her made it all bearable. I was in love.”

  “How old were you when all this happened?”

  “Thirteen.”

  “Sounds like it turned out to be a fun experience for you.”

  Hawk sighed and looked down. “It wasn’t all fun and games. In fact, it was really difficult at times. That’s the summer I learned just how cruel of a place the world can be.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “One day when no Zeenat Aman movie was on, I stepped outside with one of my friends to eat a popsicle and saw this kid getting dragged through the street by this man. The boy couldn’t have been any older than ten, and he was completely powerless to stop the man. Despite his pleas to stop, the man just kept on lumbering along until he stopped in the middle of the road just a few meters past the house where we were staying.”

  “What did the boy do?”

  “I don’t know. All I remember was that he was a mean kid, always teasing younger kids. And he was getting a dose of his own medicine.”

  “Sounds like he deserved it.”

  Hawk shrugged. “Maybe, but I don’t think he’d done anything to deserve the kind of abuse he endured. There was a pack of older boys following the man and the kid. Once the man released the kid, he stood up to notice he was surrounded by a sneering mob. The other kids were spitting at him and yelling things at him. I asked my friend what they were saying, and he said they were calling him a rat and a liar. The next thing I know, the kids who’d surrounded the boy picked up nearby rocks and hurled them at him. I can still hear his cries echoing in my ears today.”

  “So you just sat there and watched it all go down?”

  “Absolutely not. I couldn’t stand for it. I handed my popsicle to my friend and rushed toward the boy, despite my friend pleading for me to come back. He didn’t make a very persuasive argument, but he couldn’t have stopped me even if he wanted to. I was going to save that boy.”

  “What happened after that?”

  Using his index finger, Hawk pointed at a scar on the left portion of his forehead. “This is what happened. They started throwing rocks at me, which was exactly what I wanted—along with the last thing I wanted. I was hoping to draw their attention away from the boy so I could get him to safety, but I didn’t realize how quickly I would become a target.”

  Alex shook her head. “Well, what did you expect? You took away the person they decided to villainize. Everybody always needs a good villain.”

  “This
story had more than its fair share of villains. Once I was able to get the boy to the side away from the circle, I felt a strong tug on my collar, pulling me back toward the boys. I craned my neck to turn and see who it was—and it was the man. He just looked at me and scowled before telling me something to the effect that I needed to mind my own business. I wasn’t completely proficient in Hindi at the time, but I understood enough.”

  “What happened to the boy?”

  “They dragged him back into the circle and threw more rocks at him.”

  Samuels, who’d taken the seat in front of Hawk, jumped into the conversation. “Did you try to find a police officer? I would’ve reported him to the authorities.”

  “That’s the thing. The man who was dragging him down the street was a policeman. It was one of the most shameful things I ever witnessed.” Hawk took a deep breath before continuing. “And when they finally stopped throwing stones at the kid, everyone dispersed. A couple of men hustled in and carried the kid away.”

  Alex squeezed Hawk’s hand. “I don’t know how you could stand to watch that.”

  “I couldn’t. It was grotesque. Though I’ve tried many times, I can’t wipe those images from my mind. Those cries, those screams—they stick with you. It might have been just a fun little exercise for those boys chucking rocks at a helpless kid, but it traumatized him. I’m sure a day doesn’t go by where he doesn’t still think about it, if he’s even still alive. I do wish I could’ve done more, but I was just a scared outsider.”

  “At least you tried something,” Alex said. “I don’t know what I would’ve done had I been in that situation, though you hardly ever see anything like that when you grow up virtually alone out in the country.”

  The trio was all so engrossed in the conversation that they barely noticed the tires touching down as the plane landed.

  “Never again though,” Hawk said. “I swore I’d never abandon someone like that again, no matter what.”

  They all stood and collected their gear. Just as they were about to step off the private jet, Blunt called Hawk.

  “What is it?” Hawk asked.

  “There is an all-out manhunt for the three of you,” Blunt said. “You need to lay low.”

  “How the hell are we supposed to get out of the airport? If they’re searching for us as actively as you’re suggesting, this isn’t a good place for us to be. There’s going to be an inspection.”

  “I know. It won’t be easy, but I’m sure you’ll think of something. In the meantime, stay in touch. I might have another assignment for the three of you.”

  “Really? You want us to stay low to avoid detection, but then you want us to be ready to get back out there? I think you need to consider our well-being and future more before whipping us back and forth on your whims.”

  “Now look, Hawk. Don’t question whether I’ve got your best in mind when I’m asking you to do these things. If I thought it would put you in danger—or if it wasn’t absolutely necessary for you to handle a situation—I wouldn’t consider it. The last thing I want is you in custody, believe me.”

  “I believe you, but it’s getting more difficult with these directives that are pushing and pulling us in multiple directions. So, which is it going to be? Because it’d probably be easier for us to refuel and jump back on the plane.”

  “Lay low for now at the new safe house,” Blunt said. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Hawk hung up and let out a string of expletives underneath his breath.

  “I know that face,” Alex said. “What does Blunt want us to do now?”

  “Nothing for now, but he did want to let us know that every law enforcement agency in America is searching for us.”

  “Wonderful,” Alex said.

  “Why don’t we just turn ourselves in and straighten out this whole little misunderstanding?” Samuels chimed in.

  “You,” Hawk said, pointing at Samuels. “Be quiet. Forget your stupid manual, and listen to me. It’s the only way the three of us are going to stay alive and avoid prison. In the meantime, I think I know a way to get us out of here. Stay right here.”

  Hawk hustled across the hangar and returned five minutes later carrying a bag stuffed full of clothes.

  “Here,” he said, “put on these uniforms.”

  Samuels held up one of the blue outfits. “This is what United flight attendants have to wear?”

  Hawk nodded. “It’s not a fashion statement. It’s simply a way out of here, understand?”

  The trio quickly put on the attire and caught a ride to the checkpoint on a golf cart. Riding in silence, Hawk contemplated how he would react if the guard at the gate gave them any trouble. He considered slipping behind the man and putting him in a sleep hold, though he wasn’t sure that would sufficiently keep the man out long enough to build a sufficient head start to disappear. With every stretch of road around Washington under surveillance, shaking a tail wouldn’t be a simple exercise. But it would be a necessary one. And Hawk needed all the time he could buy if it came to that.

  Once the golf cart came to a halt, the three dismounted and thanked the driver. He nodded and drove off.

  “Follow my lead,” Hawk said. “Do just what I do.”

  He approached the gate and was met at a kiosk by a security guard.

  “Afternoon, officer,” Hawk said.

  The man eyed Hawk closely. “Just where exactly do you think you’re going?”

  Hawk froze and clenched his fists.

  CHAPTER 8

  Kabul, Afghanistan

  KARIF FAZIL ENJOYED the feeling of being born again. The burden of being the target of every western country’s terrorist hunt had weighed on him. But the time away to reinvent himself had been necessary, not only to tweak his appearance in an effort to avoid facial recognition software, but also to regain his sanity. Wreaking havoc on the free world wasn’t for the fainthearted, but even the most battle-tested rebel needed to rest and regroup.

  If he was honest, he planned on remaining hidden far longer. The more time and distance between his death and becoming active again, the better. Eventually, he’d be forgotten. And when intelligence agencies spotted him, they’d be scrambling to figure out who he was and how he’d ascended into power without anyone knowing about him. At least, that was Fazil’s assumption.

  They’ll never see me coming.

  To assume that suddenly the agencies fighting terrorism abroad would be able to track down any of his six hideouts, much less one of them, seemed absurd at best. Fazil moved around randomly, relying on the roll of a dice to determine when and where he’d go next. It was the one way he’d managed to keep his movements disguised as even he never knew where he’d migrate to next until his fate was revealed on a dotted cube.

  Petrov’s offer had been enough to lure him—and the rest of Al Hasib—out of dormancy. Funding had always been a problem and had become even more so since certain banks started joining in the battle against terrorism. Freezing assets became a quick way to neuter several groups, a tactic Fazil equally admired and despised. Eliminating funds was resourceful and cowardly. Instead of fighting like men, the western forces cowered behind their gods of dollars and euros. To Fazil, it seemed fitting enough since that was what westerners worshipped anyway. He’d observed how they didn’t have the sense of community found in the Middle East, the kind necessary to wage war against an enemy more powerful than yourself. Fazil always understood that winning according to his terms was highly unlikely, yet he knew it was a fight that no one he knew would walk away from. Al Hasib was a tight operation, one that possessed the camaraderie among its men to move forward even when the outcome appeared dark.

  Fazil felt new life being breathed into Al Hasib. He knelt on his sajjāda and recited the Asr prayer. He preferred to worship in a mosque but had grown accustomed to more private prayers while trying to remain hidden from groups who desired to claim his head as a bounty. When he was finished, he stood and took a deep breath.

  Allah, please sh
ow me the way.

  Fazil didn’t sit and wait for an answer. He trusted the next steps would be revealed as he pondered the assignment given to him.

  Petrov’s request had been simple: destroy Verge Oil Corporation’s facility just outside Kuwait City. The pipeline there served much of the region and generated the lion’s share of the country’s wealth. More than that, it was a source of pride for most Kuwaitis. They boasted about the fact that their dinar was the strongest against the U.S. dollar of any currency in the world. But it had little to do with their ingenuity or special skills; rather, it had everything to do with location. Like a farmer who strikes it rich when he sells hundreds of acres of his land after a burgeoning city surrounds and encroaches upon him, Kuwait and its people’s wealth was little more than the product of good fortune and good timing. But to hear Kuwaitis discuss it, one would’ve thought they were responsible for creating a recipe for making oil. All of these sentiments helped Fazil channel his focus into taking down Kuwait’s wealth in the slyest of ways. He’d never forgiven them for the way they leaned on the U.S. to assist when Saddam Hussein aggressively attacked their oil fields and sought to claim them as his own.

  Cowards, every last one of them.

  Fazil determined this attack would be a memorable one. If he was going to return Al Hasib to the front pages of the world’s newspapers and websites, he’d do it by making a big splash. And he knew exactly how he’d do it.

  The only thing Fazil hadn’t figured out yet was if he was willing to re-enter the fray, or if he’d wait and direct the operation in safe territory. He didn’t consider the thought cowardly. To him, it was calculated, an approach he viewed as a pre-requisite to any serious planning.

  Regardless of what he decided he would do, he was convinced of one thing: The Americans are going to rue the day they came after me.