The base commander, Evan Patrick, cleared his throat as he gestured for his guests to continue.
“If this eye sore wasn’t here, you’d have several more of these thugs to track down all across the desert. Besides, the Caribbean is full of better places to vacation.”
Hawk nodded. “Can’t argue with that.”
“But we’re not here to discuss that, now are we? You two have some business to conduct—or so I hear,” Patrick said.
“Never been on a more important mission,” Hawk said.
“Well, hopefully one of these numb nuts here can be of assistance to you,” Patrick said, gesturing toward a nearby checkpoint. “After you.”
Hawk and Alex walked side by side across the dusty safe zone. Hawk watched the prisoners on the other side of the series of barbed wire fences shuffle around. He decided that calling Camp Delta a prison was a misnomer, at least in the sense of any detention facility he’d ever seen in the U.S. The entire encampment seemed designed to create discomfort on every level. Sentries loomed over the compound, guns trained on the captives, ready to squeeze off several rounds should any mischief occur. The scant recreation area was completely fenced in, including the sky above. But that might have been five-star accommodations compared to their destination inside—Camp Five Echo, the facility’s disciplinary block.
Accompanied by three guards, Patrick ushered Hawk and Alex through several posts inside until they reached the holding zone for non-compliant detainees.
“I’ve heard about this block,” Alex whispered. “Human rights groups are always trying to shut it down.”
“They’re always trying to shut down everything,” Hawk said. “They wouldn’t be happy if these punks were put up in luxury hotels overlooking the ocean and being fed meals by world class chefs.”
“Well, at least there’s somewhat of an ocean view here.”
They continued down a dim corridor until they reached cell B102. Patrick tugged on a small door, revealing an opening just large enough for him to see inside the room.
“You have some visitors, Tabari,” Patrick said.
They waited about a minute for Tabari Sharaf to come to the door. The guards checked his shackles and then restrained his hands behind his back with a pair of handcuffs.
Sharaf remained solemn, refusing to look any of his captors in the eye as he trudged down the hall to a small conference room. He stopped on the other side of the table and slumped into his chair. Hawk and Alex settled into their seats across from Sharaf.
Patrick introduced them as lawyers with a human rights group. Sharaf, who’d been imprisoned for more than five years, seemed to believe Patrick yet remained guarded until everyone but Hawk and Alex vacated the room.
Hawk conducted the conversation in Arabic, while Alex captured every word of it on her computer.
“For the record, it would be helpful if you repeated back our questions for documentation,” Hawk began. “We want this conversation to be in your words.”
Sharaf nodded.
“Let’s begin with this one. Did you give up or were you captured against your will?”
“Did I give up or was I captured against my will? I was seized by those monsters out there. I was doing nothing but farming my land when they drove up on their armed vehicles and took me hostage. They dragged me away from my family. I’ve never even been a part of Al Hasib—and I never will. Al Hasib soldiers once stormed my house and took advantage of my wife and daughter right in front of me. You think I would ever have anything to do with them? Please believe me when I say this.”
Hawk smiled slightly. “I’m here to gather as much information as possible. You feel free to tell me everything that might help your case.” He glanced down at his notes. “Do you know the location of Karif Fazil’s hideout?”
“Do I know the location of Karif Fazil’s hideout? Now, I have a question for you. Who is Karif Fazil?”
“He is the leader of Al Hasib.”
“Then how would I know who he is?”
Hawk scribbled down a note and glanced at Alex. “This is standard protocol. We need to be able to have all these questions answered in order to make your case. Now, the next one. What would you do if you were free?”
“What would I do if you were to set me free? I would return home to my family and try to rebuild our lives. Who knows what has happened to my wife and children since I’ve been gone. They could all be dead for all I know. Or they could be slaves of Al Hasib soldiers.”
“Where did you live when you were captured?”
“Where did I live when I was captured? I lived in Iraq, near Basrah.”
Hawk looked at Alex. She nodded at him. He returned his gaze to Sharaf.
“I think we have everything we need,” Hawk said.
Sharaf scowled. “That’s all? But I have so much more to tell you.”
“This was all we needed to make our determination if we were going to take your case.” Hawk turned toward the door. “Guards.”
The door unlocked, and the trio of guards entered the room.
Sharaf stood but didn’t move. “I can tell you more, so much more.”
“This is enough,” Hawk said again.
“When will you tell me if you will take my case?” Sharaf asked, his eyes pleading.
“We will pass the word back through the commanding officer of this facility,” Hawk said. “Thank you for your time.”
“But—but I’m not through,” Sharaf said.
Alex waited until Sharaf left the room before she began splicing the conversation.
“Will you be able to make this work?” Hawk asked.
“I’ll do my part, but this really isn’t up to me,” she answered, refusing to look up. “Labiib Nasri is the one who is going to determine if this is a successful operation or not.”
Sharaf was just the means to an end. The real target was Nasri, who Hawk was counting on to pass a message on to Karif Fazil in order to flush him out into the open.
Patrick returned to the room and requested an update. “Did you get everything you needed?”
Hawk nodded. “We think so. But this all hinges on what happens tomorrow. Are you sure Nasri’s lawyer is coming?”
“He hasn’t missed a scheduled appointment yet,” Patrick said. “And we don’t make it easy on them if they cancel so close to the date.”
“And you’re certain he’s passing messages to Fazil using his lawyer?”
“I’m never certain of anything regarding these psychopaths we have locked up here, but I’m confident the message will reach Fazil. What he does with that information is where things get tricky. From what I’ve learned in briefings about Fazil, he can be pretty unpredictable.”
Hawk shrugged. “About some things, but he’s very predictable in others, such as how close he’ll get to the action.”
“That chicken shit has no problems sending out others with suicide vests strapped to them, but he wouldn’t dare slip arms through one if it was the only way he could accomplish his vision.”
“The bastard wants to be alive to see it,” Hawk said. “But he doesn’t understand that I’ll do anything to make sure he never sees even a sliver of his dream realized. And that means if I have to die, so be it.”
“We think these terrorists fight like they have nothing to lose, but the reality is they are never willing to go the distance. They fight like they have far much more to lose than the free world. But despite what it may look like at times, the free world is full of too many good people who aren’t going to lie down against some repressive regime. If history is a good indicator, Fazil and his ilk will fail soon as well.”
“Sooner rather than later if I have any say in the matter.”
“Let’s just hope that Nasri does as we think he will—and Fazil, too.”
Hawk nodded. “It’s not a foregone conclusion, but we need to turn the tables on Fazil and get a leg up on him before it’s too late.”
Alex pounded the keyboard and stood. “W
e’re all done here.”
“Time for phase two,” Hawk said.
“Right this way,” Patrick said, gesturing toward the door.
The trio walked back down the long corridor and entered another building. Patrick gave a signal with his eyes when they were near Nasri’s cell but eased back down the hallway.
“I can’t believe it,” Hawk said. “Sharaf just rolled over so easily.”
“I know,” Alex said. “What happened to jihad over family? He definitely doesn’t have his priorities right.”
“Play it one more time,” Hawk said. “I want to hear his voice utter the words again.”
“I know the location of Karif Fazil’s hideout,” Sharaf’s voice said on the recording. “If you were to set me free, will you let me return home to my family and try to rebuild our lives?”
“Yes,” Hawk’s voice said. “I’ll give you whatever you ask for within reason.”
A few seconds of silence followed by Sharaf meekly saying, “Here it is.”
“Thank you for these coordinates,” Hawk replied.
Hawk was amazed at how Alex had managed to create the ambient background noise so that it sounded like he’d actually had this conversation with Sharaf. The truth was he’d recorded his responses prior to the meeting.
“Play it again,” Hawk said loudly, gesturing for Alex to turn up the volume.
Near the end of the second time listening to the recording, Patrick ran up to them.
“What are you two doing?” he said. “You should wait before you start playing that recording here.”
“What difference does it make? These guys here can’t tell anyone,” Hawk said with a dismissive wave.
“Don’t be so sure of that. Prisoners here have some creative ways of getting messages out of here if they really want to.”
“Fine,” Hawk said, turning off the recording. He trudged along the corridor and entered the commons area, Alex and Patrick in tow.
“Think he took the bait?” Hawk asked.
A guard hustled over to Patrick and whispered something in his ear. Patrick smiled as the message was being conveyed. Once the guard left, Patrick repeated what he’d just heard to Hawk and Alex.
“Security footage showed Nasri staying in the shadows but turning his ear toward the small opening in the door. He was right there, listening to everything.”
“Now, all he has to do is pass the message along,” Alex said. “If Fazil is where we think he is, he won’t be able to move without us knowing it.”
CHAPTER 5
Three days later
Iraq, undisclosed location
KARIF FAZIL STROKED JAFAR’S FEATHERS and paced around his spacious bunker. Long before Fazil began his assault on the western world, he had a half dozen hideouts built throughout the Middle East. Each one was built into the side of a mountain or in an existing cave. The agrarian life nearby provided a great cover for the construction of such structures, transporting everything in and out on hoofed animals. Fazil’s stealthy building campaign and long-term planning insured that he remained off the Americans’ radar, both figuratively and literally. But when Fazil burst onto the scene, he was more than prepared to settle into the trenches for a prolonged fight.
“There, there,” Fazil said, holding his hand out with some seed in it for Jafar. “No need to make such a raucous. You’re safe in here with me.”
This particular bunker was Fazil’s favorite since it was built with Jafar in mind. His pet bird had plenty of room to soar around inside when the enemy was rumored to be sniffing around. But with this fortress’s location in the mountainous desert terrain, Fazil hadn’t even heard the slightest chatter about the Americans identifying his preferred site. He’d grown so confident that satellite imagery hadn’t even picked up a trace of its presence that he sometimes let Jafar out to fly around before returning to the cave.
“Everyone is here, sir,” one of Fazil’s assistants said, interrupting Fazil and his intimate conversation with Jafar.
“Have them come in and sit down,” Fazil said, refusing to turn around as he stared across the rocky landscape stretching out in front of him.
“Yes, sir,” the assistant said before he exited the room.
Fazil waited until the doors closed before resuming his conversation with Jafar.
“Are you ready for this?” Fazil asked, stroking Jafar’s head. “You’re going to have an important role, and I’m really counting on you. Do you think you’re up for it?”
Jafar cawed and swooped around the room in triumphant fashion.
Fazil broke into a hearty laugh. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Jafar then lighted on Fazil’s shoulder and mimicked Fazil’s gaze into the distance.
A handful of Al Hasib’s leaders filed into the room to get their orders from Fazil for their mission, an assignment Fazil called their most important to date. Fazil hesitated to attach such importance to what they were about to do because he considered everything Al Hasib did as vital to their overall operation. Each time he struck a blow against the Americans, he wanted to inflict maximum damage. Sometimes the fear he generated among the public was satisfaction enough that he’d succeeded in accomplishing his goals. But those had all shifted. No longer was Fazil going to be satisfied with leading his band of jihadist on simple ventures of terror. Fazil had become intent on bringing America to its knees in a way the country hadn’t collectively experienced since that fateful day on September 11, 2001.
Fazil turned around and smiled as he noted everyone was already seated.
“Thank you for taking time off from your posts to come here and discuss the intricate details of a plan that is going to elevate the name Al Hasib on the lips of westerners,” Fazil began. “No longer will we be considered a group begging for the attention some of those jihadists before us have attained. No, after we complete this operation, we will be both feared and revered. Never again will any country underestimate the ability of Al Hasib. And that in and of itself would be enough to declare a major victory. But I can assure you if we execute everything flawlessly, such accompanying accolades and attention will be secondary compared to the fear our name alone will invoke when spoken aloud.”
Fazil held his hand up and coaxed Jafar to step onto it. The bird hopped onto Fazil’s hand before taking flight and careening around the room.
“We have been suppressed for far too long, held back by our limitations, whether they were operational, personnel, or financial,” Fazil said. “But all of those barriers have been removed. We have one of the most well-trained group of fighters in the world today. We have an ample supply of men to accomplish what we set out to do, thanks in large part to our recruiting efforts. And last but not least, our war chest is brimming with money. We want for nothing—and it is time to gather our forces and strike like we’ve never struck before.
“However, this won’t be an operation that utilizes the power we possess. Instead, it will be an operation that takes full advantage of the power we’ve been able to harness. With one simple weapon, we can bring the world to its knees. Leaders from every nation will bow to us by the time we are finished, that much I can promise you.”
The door across the room creaked open, and a man slipped inside. With his back to the wall, he eased his way around the room amidst the awkward silence. Fazil motioned for the man to come.
The man swallowed hard and took a deep breath before stalking across the floor as every gaze in the place was fixated on him.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Fazil demanded in a soft whisper. “I thought I told you to never interrupt me.”
“I wouldn’t have come in here if it wasn’t important.”
Fazil sighed. “Very well then. Tell me what bit of information you think warrants such an interlude.”
“We just received a message from Nasir’s lawyer,” the man began. “He just visited Nasir at Guantanamo Bay.”
“And?”
“The lawyer said Nasir heard Tabari Sh
araf divulge our location to the Americans.”
“Is he sure of this?”
“Nasir’s lawyer wanted me to convey to you that this is serious. He heard Sharaf tell the Americans with his own ears, according to the message I received. And that’s not all.”
Fazil gestured for his assistant to continue. “Go on.”
“There’s an armed drone that has been circling overhead for the past five minutes. Based on his flight pattern, I think it’s safe to assume he knows we’re here.”
“Thank you,” Fazil said. “You’re dismissed.”
“My friends, we seem to have the enemy crouching at our doorstep,” Fazil said. “It was just reported that there’s an armed U.S. drone soaring over us right now.”
“We need to leave,” one of the men said.
“Yes. Right now,” said another as he stood.
“Sit back down,” Fazil said as he threw his hand in the air. “We’re not going anywhere.”
CHAPTER 6
Washington, D.C.
BLUNT CHEWED ON HIS CIGAR and stared out the window of his new office suite. When Noah Young took over as acting president, he made sure to take care of Blunt so he could continue his work with Firestorm. And Blunt certainly couldn’t argue with the view. The leaves were changing, and the city looked even more picturesque than it did when the cherry blossoms sprang.
But that wasn’t even the best thing about the office to Blunt. Regaining the ability to use secured government phone lines made everything worth it. Nobody would be snooping on his conversations, at least not anyone affiliated with Congress or the military—or any other clandestine organization under the authority of the president. Such luxuries might come to an abrupt end, but Blunt determined to enjoy it while it lasted as well as take full advantage of it.
Digging up dirt on James Peterson proved more difficult than Blunt initially thought. Given enough time, Blunt could use his considerable resources to generate a full-blown controversy, complete with witnesses and signed affidavits. But time was in short supply for Young’s sudden campaign. Blunt needed more than just dirt—he needed mud, the kind the media could roll around in and play with for more than just one twenty-four-hour cycle on the cable news networks.
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