Bozeman was lost in thought as he inched his way through Washington’s morning rush hour traffic. Had he not known two operatives who got pushed in front of subway trains, he would’ve never driven in the city again. But as painful as the commute downtown was each day, Bozeman prioritized his safety more.
He was halfway paying attention to the road as he listened to a radio news report about a dispute between labor union workers and a half dozen manufacturing plants in the Midwest when a horn jolted him. Bozeman widened his eyes and glanced at the driver in the adjacent lane who’d nosed his car slightly in front. In a conciliatory gesture, Bozeman raised his hand but was greeted with another honk and a middle finger salute. Angered at the man’s response, Bozeman responded in kind.
No wonder nobody in this town can get along.
He turned on his blinker and wormed his way into the lane on his left, crawling along until he had an opportunity to cut off the same driver. Bozeman smiled as he watched the driver beat wildly on his steering wheel before flashing some more obscene gestures.
Bozeman prepared to flip the driver a pair of birds when his phone rang with a call from an unknown number.
“This is Bozeman,” he said as he answered.
“Do you have any updates yet? You told me yesterday phase one of the operation was about to go down.”
Bozeman was shocked to receive a call from Michaels. “What are you doing calling me like this?”
“Don’t worry. It’s a secure line, untraceable. I’ve got a right to be able to handle my indiscretions without anyone knowing, okay?”
Bozeman sighed. “Fine. I just want you to know that my phone is secure, but probably not as secure as it needs to be, given the details of this discussion.”
“Save the lecture for another time. Just answer my question.”
“What are you so jumpy about? I’m usually the one who’s on edge, not you.”
“I’ve got a meeting I’m late for, so make it quick.”
“I haven’t heard anything other than what I told you yesterday. When I hear something else, I’ll let you know.”
Michaels hung up.
Bozeman started to wonder if he should be more concerned and that perhaps his sense of security had been a false one. His impending meeting with a congresswoman at East Potomac Park seemed of little importance given the obvious state of panic Michaels was in.
Something’s going on.
Bozeman turned onto I-395 and headed west toward the park. He relished the opportunity to step on the gas and accelerate above twenty miles per hour. Though still disturbed about Michaels’s call, Bozeman decided to ignore it, chalking up the president’s behavior to a high level of stress.
With traffic starting to move at a normal pace, Bozeman adjusted his rearview mirror, only to notice the driver behind him acting suspiciously. Moments later, the driver pulled into the lane left of Bozeman and accelerated. The driver appeared to be reaching for something as he stared at Bozeman. Noticing the sudden movement, Bozeman reacted quickly, ducking down as he jammed on the brakes. Two bullets struck his car—the first shattering the driver’s side window, the second striking his door.
Bozeman eased back onto the gas and peeked his head just above the steering wheel only to be greeted by another bullet that shattered his front windshield. He scrambled down below the dash, while trying to keep his car from careening off the road. Using his mirrors, he put on his blinker and whipped the steering wheel to the right in an effort to get off the highway. He took the next exit and pulled into a parking spot on the back side of a gas station.
Bozeman lay down and put his hand on his heart. It was pounding as he tried to catch his breath. After he’d calmed down, he was just about to get up when he heard tires screech to a halt behind him. Bozeman reached into his console and grabbed his gun. He scooted up just enough to see the vehicle that had been pursuing him in his side mirror. The driver got out and walked slowly toward Bozeman’s car.
Bozeman took a deep breath and sat up in his seat, whirling as he did. He put four bullets in the attacker’s center mass before the man could react. With the man on the ground, Bozeman cautiously climbed out of his car, hustled to the man, and kicked the gun away from him.
Digging his phone out of his pocket, Bozeman dialed Michaels back on the burner phone he’d called from earlier.
“What are you doing calling me on this phone?” Michaels asked.
“It’s an emergency. I need your help.”
“What happened?”
Bozeman recounted the events over the previous fifteen minutes, concluding with how he’d just shot and killed the man.
“Who is he?” Michaels asked.
“I have no idea. I’ve never seen him before. But right now, that’s not important. I need you to send some guys over here to clean up this mess before we create a problem.”
“I’ll handle it.”
While waiting for Michaels’s men, Bozeman pulled the man’s car into the adjacent parking slot. Then Bozeman dragged the man’s body into the driver’s side seat. Just as Bozeman was about to shut the door, he noticed something on the man’s neck and bent over to inspect it more closely. It was a tattoo of a diamond-shaped object with three dots inside that formed a triangle.
Eventually, four secret service agents showed up and helped Bozeman shove the body into a bag and threw it into the dead man’s trunk. One of the agents took pictures and fingerprints before closing it.
“We’ll handle it from here,” one of the agents told Bozeman.
“What are you going to do?” Bozeman asked.
“The less you know, the better. Plausible deniability and all that good stuff.”
“But I killed him. I’d like to know what you’re planning to do with the body.”
“Someone will get in touch with you later. In the meantime, I’d suggest you not breathe a word of this to anybody.”
Bozeman nodded and watched as one of the agents climbed behind the wheel of the dead man’s car and headed back toward the main road with the agents’ black SUV trailing right behind him.
Bozeman sat down in his car and rubbed his face with both hands. The agent was right—the less Bozeman knew, the better. Though he really didn’t care about what they were doing with the body. What he really wanted to know was who the man was and whom he worked for.
CHAPTER 18
Jabad Salwa, Saudi Arabia
ALEX WATCHED BREATHLESSLY as the forks started to raise the rickety stack of pallets. She glanced around for an exit strategy, but there wasn’t one that wouldn’t compromise her. Just as she was about to make a run for it anyway, the pallets slammed back down to the ground, and the lift emitted a shrill series of beeps. Alex thought she was clear, but then the forklift moved forward again toward the pallets.
“Don’t waste your time with that pile,” one of the workers shouted from across the room. “We’ve got more pressing matters over here.”
Alex exhaled and relaxed as she watched the fork lift back up again, spin around, and head in the other direction.
She worked furiously for the next few minutes until she was able to hack into the surveillance system. Scanning the different camera angles, she finally found one and forced out a slow breath through a pair of puffed cheeks: Hawk was alive. She quickly notified Blunt that she was in and had access to almost everything in the facility.
Alex pulled out her comlink from her bag and put it into her ear.
“If you can hear me, Hawk, nod,” she said softly.
She enlarged the image of Hawk posing as Dr. Ngozi speaking with another man and assumed it was Malik Bashir. The video feed and the sound coming through the comlink weren’t synched, but the two weren’t more than a second apart.
Hawk proceeded to nod almost imperceptibly, giving Alex the confirmation she required.
Alex listened as the man she presumed to be Bashir grilled Hawk on a number of questions related to the Severus Scroll. He handled them like a pro.
&
nbsp; “I’m anxious to see it,” Bashir said. “I’ve heard so much about some of the discrepancies between the accepted version of the Torah and the Severus Scroll.”
Hawk smiled. “I look forward to showing it to you.”
“Before we begin, I’d like to see the letters of verification from the different scholars you referenced in your email.”
Hawk furrowed his brow. “I don’t believe I promised to bring anything like that.”
“Your letter said that your colleagues believed it to be the Severus Scroll. I’m sure you weren’t referring to those fellow archaeologists who were assisting you on the dig, were you? Who else has verified that this is the Severus Scroll?”
Hawk grunted and narrowed his eyes. “If you think this isn’t what I say it is, I’ll be leaving now. Have your men return me to whatever little village it is you brought me from. I’ll find my way back to the airport from there.”
Bashir shrugged. “Now, you and I have a good relationship so I was more willing to be lenient by entertaining you and inspecting your findings. But I didn’t build my vast collection by accepting without proof every wild claim from all the archaeologists who have contacted me over the years.”
“Now is your chance, Hawk,” Alex whispered. “Make him show you the room.”
Alex typed busily on the computer and kept her ears attuned to the ongoing conversation. The mission’s success hung on Hawk’s next move.
Hawk paced for a few seconds before turning to Bashir. “I understand how you feel, but I never promised to bring any other certificates verifying the authenticity of this scroll. Had I done that, word would have leaked out to my employers, and we would’ve all been subject their wrath, not to mention exorbitant lawsuits. However, I can assure you it is as I claim it to be.” Hawk held up the case containing the document. “This is the Severus Scroll.”
“I have no doubt that you believe that it is,” Bashir said. “But for me to part with twenty million dollars, I need to know unequivocally that is as you say.”
Hawk nodded. “I understand. But in the meantime, would you mind showing me your collection. I’d like to picture the Severus Scroll at such a happy home surrounded by artifacts from a similar age.”
Bashir shrugged. “I guess it can’t hurt. After all, it is my favorite room in my palace—which, by the way, what do you think of it?”
Hawk stared upward at the vaulted ceilings, covered in replication of the Sistine Chapel ceiling. “For a man committed to jihad, you sure do have an inordinate amount of Christian imagery in this place.”
“I am a man with refined tastes,” Bashir said. “I refuse to let art and religion mix, as you should’ve been able to gather from the sheer fact that I continue to collect antiquities from the Judeo-Christian world. Plus, the things I collect of great value are simply objects from religion, not a member of the religion itself.
Hawk clasped his hands behind his back and walked slowly as if absorbing the surroundings. Less than a minute later, he stood in Bashir’s museum. Every item was well lit and displayed beautifully. As Hawk bent over to inspect several items more closely, he glanced upward at the security cameras nearby.
Alex notified Blunt again that Hawk was in position as she prepared to do her part. She typed furiously as she listened to Hawk and Bashir continue their conversation.
“This Phoenician medallion is exquisite,” Hawk said. “How did you acquire it?”
Silence.
Alex swallowed hard and put her task on hold, fearing Hawk had just put himself and the entire mission at risk.
“You . . . you don’t remember?” Bashir asked.
Damn it, Hawk.
“Hawk, you sold it to him,” she said.
“Of course, I remember,” Hawk said as a grin spread across his face. “I sold it to you. Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t being fooled by you.”
Bashir smiled. “You had me concerned there for a moment, Dr. Ngozi.”
“Well, I think I’ve seen all I wanted to see,” Hawk said. “I guess it’s time to be going since we can’t conduct any more business on this matter. It’s such a shame, too.”
Hawk continued to walk toward the exit, but he froze when he heard the click of a gun.
“Stay cool, Hawk,” Alex said. “I’ll get you out of this.”
“Hand me the Severus Scroll,” Bashir snarled. “I think you’re right. It’ll go nicely in my collection.”
Hawk turned around slowly. “Wouldn’t you like to see it first?”
Bashir nodded and directed Hawk over to a table in the corner. “Show it to me here.”
Hawk went to reach inside to pull out the scroll when the alarm sounded. The security doors at both exits of Bashir’s museum rolled down and locked shut. Next, the lights went out, leaving both men to scramble to find a means to illuminate their surroundings.
Alex could no longer see what was happening and instead listened in. In a matter of seconds, she heard a loud thwack to the head and then someone’s body crashing to the floor.
Hawk!
Other than footsteps across the marble floor, the only thing Alex heard was the rustling of clothes as they rubbed against Hawk’s glasses. Another click of the gun.
“Don’t move,” Bashir said.
The sound of a punch was followed by one that was foreign to Alex, but once she realized what it was, she shuddered.
“Who are you really?” Bashir asked.
Hawk rolled over, reclining on his elbows as he looked up at Bashir. Alex could tell from the light Bashir was generating from his phone that he was holding Hawk’s mask in his left hand.
CHAPTER 19
HAWK LEAPT TO HIS FEET and jabbed with his right foot at Bashir’s knee. Letting out a yelp in pain, Bashir dove to the side and disappeared from Hawk’s sight. Hunched over, Hawk crept around several display cases in search of his tormentor, but he wasn’t easily accessible.
Resisting the urge to call him out, Hawk settled for a surprise strike on Bashir—if only the weapons dealer would reveal his location. But Bashir remained hidden and didn’t make a sound.
Hawk continued his search, careful not to make too much noise and give away his position as he approached Bashir. First, Hawk searched around one case, then another. But no matter what he did, Bashir seemed to be a step ahead.
Then Alex’s voice came through loud and clear over the comlink.
“Break one of the cases,” she said.
Hawk drew back and proceeded to deliver a devastating blow to one of the display cases. He wasn’t sure which one it was, but he didn’t care. In the moment, preserving his life was far more important than preserving history. The glass shattered, the shards tinkling across the marble floor.
Bashir refused to speak, but Hawk swore he heard a grunt of agitation emitted from one corner of the room, leading him to move in that direction.
Hawk crouched behind one of the cases and awaited Bashir’s investigation. It was the perfect spot to lie in wait. He was on the edge of the labyrinth of artifacts and had a perfect view in the dim light of the document that was now exposed to the atmosphere.
While Hawk thought he’d become the aggressor, he was surprised when he felt a swift kick to his ribs. Doubled over in pain, Hawk clutched his side and sought a quick way to regain his advantage. Then another kick. And another.
Hawk rolled on his side and positioned himself behind a case, believing he’d be safe for a few moments and get a chance to regain his bearings. With his eyes adjusted to the darkness, the playing field had evened with the man who’d created the display area.
Straining to listen, Hawk was alert and prepared to pounce the moment he saw Bashir. Less than a minute passed before Hawk saw a shadow making a run at him. Armed with a shard of glass, Hawk took a swipe at Bashir. Caught off guard, Bashir growled and grimaced from the sharp pain before vanishing from Hawk’s view.
Come on out wherever you are.
Hawk stayed low and hustled across the room, taking up anot
her spot behind some other ancient manuscript. He turned to his left in time to see Bashir closing in. Before Bashir could strike, Hawk ducked and rolled to his left. He repositioned himself and looked in the direction Bashir had run. The weapons dealer managed to vanish again.
Resisting the urge to talk with Alex, Hawk contemplated his next move. Any sound would give up his position.
Think, Hawk. Think.
Acting quickly, Hawk rose and put his full force into one of the glass cases, knocking it over. Before the sound of it shattering echoed throughout the room, Hawk sprinted to another spot and waited. He could see the shadow of Bashir rushing toward the breaking glass. Hawk wasted no time in seizing his opportunity to strike. He clutched his glass piece and hustled toward Bashir. As Hawk drew near, Bashir turned and delivered a devastating blow to Hawk’s face. Hawk crumpled to the ground and tried to regain his bearings as he scanned the room for Bashir.
Frantically searching for Bashir, Hawk couldn’t easily locate his foe. Then Hawk looked up. Bashir straddled Hawk, hovering over him.
“How dare you come here uninvited,” Bashir said. “Now you will pay.”
Bashir drew back to punch Hawk but stopped, grasping at his neck and tumbling to the side after Hawk jabbed him in the neck with a piece of glass.
Scrambling to get out from underneath’s Bashir’s body, Hawk watched as Bashir bled onto one of the manuscripts that had fallen to the ground. Bashir yanked the glass shard out of his neck and screamed in agony.
“You’re going to pay for this,” Bashir said. “You’re going to—”
Bashir collapsed to the ground, the shattered piece tinkling next to him.
Hawk knelt over Bashir and felt his pulse. Bashir was gone.
“Do you hear me, Alex?” Hawk asked as he searched Bashir’s body for a weapon.
Brady Hawk 07 - State of Play Page 7
