SIGN UP for R.J. Patterson's newsletter to get the first book free in the Cal Murphy thriller series along with other insider information:
Click here to sign up
What Others Are Saying
About R.J. Patterson
“R.J.'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
“R.J. 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 R.J. 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 R.J. 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. R.J. 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, R.J. 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 R.J. Patterson
Brady Hawk series
First Strike
Deep Cover
Point of Impact
Full Blast
Target Zero
Fury
State of Play
Seige
Seek and Destroy
Into the Shadows
Hard Target
No Way Out
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
Dead to Rights
Dead End
James Flynn Thriller series
The Warren Omissions
Imminent Threat
The Cooper Affair
Seeds of War
HARD TARGET
A Brady Hawk Thriller
R.J. PATTERSON
For Stella, who kept
me sane in an insane newsroom
CHAPTER 1
Port Said, Egypt
BRADY HAWK SCANNED THE DOCKS in search of Hamamat Alsalam, an aging fishing boat that housed his target. A flock of seagulls circled overhead and squawked, ruining an otherwise peaceful evening. As the last few moments of daylight flickered across the rippling water, Hawk checked his watch and then continued to look for any activity in the harbor. The picture in his pocket showed several distinct features of the Hamamat Alsalam, but the vessels moored below his location all looked like they had seen better days with fading paint jobs and rusting hulls commonplace. With the boats packed in tightly, Hawk struggled to identify the one he planned to board.
After a half hour of searching, Hawk grew tired of the rote chore and had almost decided to ditch his binoculars and venture closer when he spotted movement on one of the ship’s decks. An armed guard roamed around the ship, pausing every few feet to stoop over the railing and look at the docks. The appearance of any type of patrol was unusual on its own, but a man with a weapon was a dead giveaway.
Amateurs.
Hawk studied the ship closely for a few more seconds in an attempt to read the name painted on the back. In the dim light, he caught the word Hamamat, which was enough to convince him that was his target. He stuffed his gear into his tactical bag, slung it over his shoulder, and headed straight for the Hamamat Alsalam.
“I found her,” Hawk said over his com.
“About time,” Alex Duncan answered from the safety of an apartment in Washington, D.C.
“I’m never good enough for you, am I?”
“I can’t let you get the big head, now can I?”
Hawk chuckled to himself but didn’t say a word as he passed a pair of men strolling along the docks.
“What’s the matter? You don’t have a witty comeback for me this time?”
“Time to go to work, Alex.”
Hawk scanned the deck of the Hamamat Alsalam for any more soldiers milling around. From his position, he couldn’t see anyone. He crept closer to the ship before stealthily climbing the ladder attached to the side. Once Hawk reached the top, he spotted a guard asleep on top of a large crate. Not wanting to take any chances, Hawk pistol whipped the guard in the head, ensuring he remained unconscious while Hawk did his job.
The seagulls dispersed and a cool breeze eased across the deck, carrying the waft of salt water. The only sounds were the lapping of water against boat hulls and the occasional roar of an offshore wave.
Hawk would’ve preferred to be walking hand-in-hand with Alex on a nearby beach instead of heading into a den of terrorists. But the men hidden away in the ship held no regard for Hawk’s wishes—or anyone else’s, for that matter. Their mission consisted of utilizing fear as leverage to get what they wanted, though their end game seemed rather hazy to Hawk. Revenge? Annihilation of America? World domination? To the rational mind, Hawk thought each possible objective was juvenile or overly idealistic. But these weren’t rational men—and Hawk knew that fact all too well. They couldn’t be appeased or negotiated with. No cost was too high to achieve whatever it was they held as their goal. Far too often, Hawk concluded that Al Hasib was only interested in the act of terrorizing, devoid of any true purpose. And Hawk was going to snuff them out as long as he could until they either submitted or were rendered toothless.
“How many heat signatures do you see?” Hawk asked Alex.
“I can see three, including the man you just knocked out. Should be easy enough now with just two guards below, but then again, this is Brady Hawk we’re talking about.”
“Are you saying I make things difficult on purpose?”
“I do recall you acting again
st my advice, oh, I don’t know—several dozen times.”
“But I’m still standing.”
“Maybe you could give my ticker a break and just handle this op straightforward for once, okay?”
Hawk smiled as he stole below. “One simple op coming right up.”
Once Hawk reached the lower deck, he peered around the corner and saw a pair of guards talking softly over a game of cards. The men were arguing over who was scheduled to make the rounds once their companion returned. One of the guards suggested they play for it instead.
How about both of you take the night off?
Hawk fired two shots from across the room, the first one hitting the guard on the right in the head, the second drilling the other soldier in the chest. The first man died instantly, but the second struggled after he fell out of his chair and tried to reach his gun. Hawk used two more bullets to squash the man’s hope.
“Simple enough for you?” Hawk chided.
“Are they all dead?” Alex asked.
“All except for the guy up top, but he’s going to be asleep for a long time.”
“Consider me satisfied then. Now all you need to do is find the weapons system.”
Hawk scanned the room, which was relatively empty save a few wooden crates in the corner. Rushing over to them, he tried to pry off the lids. But they weren’t budging. Hawk looked around the room for something to help give him leverage until he found a long wooden paddle.
“This should do the trick,” Hawk said.
“Do the trick? Are you having problems?” Alex asked.
“Let’s just say things could be going better, but I’m making progress now.”
Jamming the oar in a small gap between the lid and the box, Hawk worked to loosen the top. After a few moments, the wood creaked as the nails broke free. Hawk wasted no time, immediately reaching inside to put his hands on and verify he’d located the device. Without finding anything but packing straw, he plunged his hands deeper inside.
Nothing.
“It’s not here,” Hawk said.
“Forget that,” Alex said. “You’ve got company.”
“What?”
“Two more heat signatures moving along the corridor toward your position.”
Hawk raced over to the doorway and braced for a fight. When the first guard rushed inside the room, Hawk broadsided him, taking the man to the floor before putting two bullets in his chest. When Hawk was finished, he looked up and found exactly what he expected—another guard who was taken aback by the violent nature of Hawk’s attack. Hawk rolled onto his back, pulling the dead body with him to use as a shield.
The guard at the door trained his weapon on Hawk, but he slung a knife at the guard’s arm, forcing him to drop his gun. Hawk shoved the body off and scrambled to his feet. The guard screamed with pain as he stared at the knife.
Hawk grabbed the knife and yanked it out of the man’s arm, resulting in further screams.
“First time in combat?” Hawk asked in Arabic.
The man nodded.
Hawk guessed the man couldn’t have been any older than twenty.
“Now, I’m looking for something on this boat, and I am hoping you can help me find it,” Hawk said, forcing the man across the room. “Have you seen any other large crates?”
The guard shook his head.
“Hawk,” Alex squawked, “it’s in the room.”
“What is?” Hawk asked.
“The tracking signal is coming from the corner of the room where you’re at.”
“Are you sure?”
“GPS coordinates don’t lie,” she said.
“Fine,” Hawk said before he picked up a rope and bound the man’s hands. Hawk tied him to a chair and wrapped twine around the man and the chair, securing them both to a pole in the middle of the room.
“That ought to hold him,” Hawk said. “Now, where exactly are we looking?”
“In the north corner of the room,” Alex said.
Hawk strode toward the stack of boxes where he’d searched earlier to no avail. Sifting through the straw, he felt for the large object that wasn’t to be found.
“There’s nothing here,” Hawk said. “And by that, I mean nothing. No hardware, no weapons, no anything.”
“It’s got to be there,” she said. “The tracker is still transmitting from your location. I know these coordinates can be off by several feet, but based on what I’m seeing, you appear to be standing over it.”
Hawk stormed across the room to the guard and spoke to him in Arabic. “Where is the weapon?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Hawk punched the man in the gut and glared as he regained his composure.
“I’ll ask you again. Where is the weapon?”
“What weapon?”
Hawk recoiled and unleashed a vicious kick with his boot heel on the man’s knee. The guard screamed in pain.
“Where is the weapon?”
“Stop,” the man cried. “I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
Hawk stepped back and waited for a moment.
Looking up at Hawk, the guard winced as he spoke. “There are no weapons on this ship.”
“That’s not what my tracking system says,” Hawk said as he narrowed his eyes and knelt down to get eye level with his prisoner. “It says there’s a weapon right here in this room.”
“Your machine is mistaken. There isn’t one.”
Unsatisfied with the man’s answer, Hawk hustled back to the corner of the room and searched the box again. Determined the prove either Alex or the Al Hasib guard right, he ripped through the straw until he heard what sounded like some object bouncing on the floor and sliding.
What was that?
Hawk spun around and scanned the floor for the culprit. That’s when he noticed a small electronic device with a flashing red light.
“Alex,” Hawk said. “I think I found it, but you’re not gonna believe this.”
“Try me.”
“Fazil or one of his thugs figured out a way to remove the tracking system and keep it active,” he said.
“I thought it wasn’t supposed to work if the device was tampered with.”
“Apparently there’s a workaround—and someone figured it out.”
“So, now what?”
“Fortunately, I have a prisoner, so perhaps I can persuade him to tell me where it’s at,” Hawk said. “I’m going to hang up now because you won’t want to hear this.”
He switched his com off despite Alex’s pleas to reconsider.
“I told you the weapon wasn’t here,” the guard said in English.
“Oh, so you speak English? That should make it easier for me to communicate. My Arabic is limited to phrases like, ‘I’m going to shoot you in the head’ or ‘How do you like walking?’”
“There’s nothing more to say,” the guard said, struggling with his ropes. “There is no weapon on this ship.”
Hawk eyed the guard cautiously. “But there was, wasn’t there?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I was told to have you call someone if I ever got into this situation.”
“And who would that be?”
“Karif Fazil.”
Hawk smiled. “I’d love the opportunity to speak with him. Let me get you the phone.”
Hawk reached into the man’s pocket and fished out his phone.
“Why don’t you go ahead and give me that number now?” Hawk asked.
“I can’t,” the man said. “It doesn’t work like that. I need to call him first.”
“Why? To save face?”
“Please, just let me dial the number myself.”
Hawk shook his head. “Not going to happen. Now, you give me the number or I’m going to make you forget about your left knee because I’m going to curb stomp your right knee.”
“Okay, okay. He won’t like it, but here it is,” the man said before proceeding to reel off a string of numbers.
Hawk dialed Fazi
l and waited as the phone rang. After the third ring, a voice Hawk knew all too well answered the phone.
“Is it finished?” Fazil asked in Arabic.
“Depends on what you thought the job was,” Hawk answered.
“Ah, Mr. Hawk,” Fazil said. “I see you’ve managed to locate one of my transport boats.”
“That’s not what I was looking for,” Hawk said.
Fazil laughed. “Always one step behind, aren’t you?”
“I’ve got a pile of your dead men here that would disagree with that assessment.”
“Those men are expendable, Mr. Hawk—just like the boat you’re on.”
A scream from the prisoner arrested Hawk’s attention. He glanced over to see the man staring wide-eyed at something in front of him. A digital display on a box attached to a weight-bearing pole flashed numbers on the screen: 13, 12, 11 . . .
“So much for being one step ahead,” Fazil said.
Hawk darted toward the stairwell, taking two or three steps at a time. Once he reached the main deck, he leapt as far as he could over the railing and into the water. He was barely submerged when he felt the vibrations from the blast. Swimming deeper into the murky water of Port Said, Hawk remained beneath the surface for over a minute.
When he finally came up for air, Hawk watched as flames engulfed the ship and dock personnel worked to put out the fire in an effort to keep it from spreading to one of the other nearby ships. He shook his head at the situation. His mission had failed to recover the weapons system. It was never onboard in the first place.
As Hawk hoisted himself onto the dock, he mulled over the state of affairs. He couldn’t deny that Fazil was one step and knew turning the table on the Al Hasib leader wouldn’t be easy.
But getting played for a fool—and nearly dying in the process—only made Hawk that more resolute. Whatever Fazil was planning, Hawk decided he would do anything necessary to stop it.
Anything.
CHAPTER 2
Washington, D.C.
J.D. BLUNT HELD THE FISHING LINE between his teeth and bit down hard before yanking at the string. With the choppy waters of the Eastern Bay tossing the boat back and forth, he clamped down harder. After several tugs, the twine severed, leaving Blunt with a tight knot on his lure and a satisfied smile on his face. He studied the bait before casting it at least thirty meters off the side of the boat.
Brady Hawk 11 - Hard Target Page 1
