“I’ve seen Karif Fazil at the parade site today. I think he’s planning something.”
“Are you serious? You invited that scumbag here, and now he’s going to kill us?”
William cringed and hunched over, appearing to brace for a blow from his father.
“Stop with that,” Peterson said. “I’m not going to hit you now. But I just might beat you senseless later on.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Watch your mouth, Son. You only have yourself to blame for such a ridiculous action.” Peterson peered at the road ahead. “Driver, I think we’re done here. Can you take the next road to the left and return us back to the staging area?”
“No can do,” the driver said. “I’m being paid to drive a route. And if you’re in my car, you’re going with me.”
“Like hell I am,” Peterson said. “We’re all going to die if we stay the course.”
“I’m sorry there isn’t a bigger crowd here, sir, but a job’s a job,” the driver said. “And my job is to drive you along the parade route.”
“Well, I know this is above your security clearance, but there is an active terror threat along this parade route.”
“According to who? I know you’re just embarrassed, sir. And I can’t really blame you. But until I hear otherwise from my superiors, I’m going to do what I was asked to do.”
Peterson hunched down and spoke sternly in the ear of the man seated behind the steering wheel. “Turn this car around right now and get me back to the staging area or else I’m going to beat your ass right here.”
The driver turned around and glared at Peterson. “I’d like to see you try.”
Peterson stood in the back seat before raising his leg and kicking at the back of the driver’s head. The driver grabbed for Peterson’s leg and missed as the car began to weave back and forth across the road. Undaunted by his first failed attempt to stop the driver, Peterson made a second attempt, this time connecting with a solid kick. Dazed by the hit, the driver swayed back and forth before collapsing across the seat. His head rested in the passenger’s seat.
Peterson yanked the driver’s body over to the passenger seat and slipped down behind the wheel. He jerked it to the right and looped back toward the staging area.
In the back, William gasped several times. After the fifth time, Peterson said something. “What’s wrong with you back there?”
William’s voice trembled as he spoke. “Karif Fazil—he’s, he’s, he’s everywhere.”
“What do you mean everywhere?”
“I mean, I’ve seen him five times already.”
“Is this Karif Fazil guy also an Olympic sprinter? I’m not going that slow, but not fast enough that he could circle the block five times since I took the wheel.”
“No, it’s just that—I’ve seen five men that look like him. He’s up to something.”
Peterson glanced over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes.
“I swear, if you weren’t related to me, I just might drive this car over the Brooklyn Bridge and pray that you don’t make it out alive.”
“I’m sorry, Dad,” William said. “I was just trying to help.”
“Maybe the only way you can help is by staying out of the way.”
“That’s what I’ll do then,” William said. “I’ll vanish. I’ll disappear. You won’t see me until after you’ve already been elected President.”
“I think it’s too late now,” Peterson said. “The damage is done. I just hope we can survive the night.”
Peterson jammed his foot onto the accelerator and gripped the steering wheel tightly. But it didn’t matter. He could already feel the presidency slipping out of his grasp—all thanks to his treasonous son.
Peterson knew it wasn’t right for a father to feel like he did, but he secretly hoped that William would get caught and spend the rest of his life in jail.
It’d be better than trying to make excuses for him for the rest of my life.
But Peterson couldn’t dwell on that fact for long. As long as he was on the ballot, he still had a chance to win. That also meant he still had a candidate to destroy.
CHAPTER 30
KARIF FAZIL WORE A SMUG GRIN on his face as he strode through the streets of New York. The intersecting routes he created and assigned to each of his lookalikes produced the type of chaos he’d hoped for. Using another piece of technology he’d stolen from Katarina Petrov before her death, he had masks produced for each of the three hundred men who’d agreed to be part of the plot. And as they all strode through the city, no one could tell them apart.
Right before all the men dispersed from the warehouse, Fazil delivered a stirring speech. He encouraged all of them to carry out their duty with pride, warning them of the possibility of arrest if law enforcement uncovered their plot.
“But that won’t stop us,” Fazil said. “It won’t stop our jihad!”
The men had roared with approval, their cheers still echoing in Fazil’s ears as he walked. If he was honest with himself, he knew he could’ve guaranteed success by simply dropping off the bomb in the middle of a city park and detonating it. But Fazil wanted credit. He wanted the world to know Al Hasib was behind the attack. And he wanted U.S. officials to know that he’d only just begun to avenge his brother’s death.
Fazil squeezed through a congested area as a crowd began to form along the street in preparation for the parade. He reveled in the fact that he could pull off this attack in broad daylight while surrounded by hundreds of police officers. With their eyes scanning the crowd constantly for any potential threats to the floats, bands, and people in the street, the cops didn’t have time to inspect every suspicious person.
As Fazil rounded a corner, he felt a strong hand grab his shoulder.
“You’re going to need to come with me,” the man said.
Fazil stopped and turned around, coming face to face with a man holding up his FBI badge.
With wide eyes, Fazil stepped back. “What did I do? I’m just walking the streets, minding my own business. This is profiling.”
The agent ignored Fazil’s accusation. “I need to inspect the contents of your briefcase.”
“How dare you,” Fazil said indignantly. “I am a law-abiding citizen of this country. You can’t just order me somewhere because you think I’m a criminal. I have rights—and I know them.”
“Save it for the lawsuit,” the agent said. “We still need to look through your briefcase.”
“This is an outrage,” Fazil said. “You better believe I’ll be contacting my lawyer when this is all over with and suing you for every penny you’ve got.”
The agent laughed and shook his head as he opened the briefcase. “And when you’ve spent every last dime on lawyers, maybe you’ll get a free ticket out of here.”
The briefcase fell open, and folders and papers spilled onto the ground. Kneeling to collect all the documents, the agent let out a string of expletives.
“What did you expect to find?” Fazil said, chiding the man. “Did you think I was carrying a weapon around in there? You’re pathetic—and I’m going to sue you. What’s your name?”
“Joe Friday,” the agent replied.
“A federal agent and a funny one at that.”
The agent shut the briefcase and shoved it into Fazil’s chest. “Have a nice day.”
Fazil smiled as the agent spun on his heels and walked away.
“Oh, I will,” Fazil said. “Don’t you worry.”
He opened his jacket and peeked at the gas mask he’d partially stashed in an inner pocket.
“Just you wait.”
CHAPTER 31
HAWK SIPPED A CUP OF COFFEE and watched the chaos swirling around the FBI offices as the Veteran’s Day parade began in earnest. A bank of screens displayed various camera images from closed circuit televisions located along the route. With handfuls of folders, agents hustled back and forth across the room, rushing to examine the latest facial recognition photo
of Karif Fazil.
Hawk turned to Alex. “Does this make you appreciate our small team or what?”
Alex laughed. “You’d think these people have never dealt with terrorists before.”
“Maybe they haven’t,” Hawk said.
“Well, why don’t you go show them how it’s done, okay?”
Hawk approached Richard Paxton, who gulped a large cup of coffee from Starbucks and wore a permanent scowl across his forehead.
“Can I be of any assistance to you, sir?” Hawk asked.
“We sure could use your help in finding Fazil,” Paxton said. “We’ve already received nearly 200 hits on facial recognition, though I’m not sure any of the men are him.”
“This is just what he was doing yesterday in the trial run.”
“Yes, and we still haven’t figured out a way to adjust the algorithms to identify precisely which one is him.”
“Pulling his face out of a sea of lookalikes won’t be easy.”
“Well, if there’s anything you can do to help in that matter—anything—I’d be most grateful.”
Hawk walked up to the bank of monitors and eyed each one carefully.
“If you’re going to figure this out, you better work fast,” said a woman who hammered on a keyboard, sending each matched image to a separate screen and posting what percentage the program believed each particular face captured on camera was a match for Fazil.
“How many have you gone through?” Hawk asked.
“Thoroughly, we’ve checked about fifty so far,” she said. “We’re marking each one that we’ve already seen to avoid turning this project into a wasted exercise.”
“It’s hardly something I would consider a project.”
“Until Fazil actually does something on American soil, I consider him little more than a pest.”
“Don’t underestimate him,” Hawk said. “He’s sly.”
“And you’re the great Brady Hawk who’s supposedly interacted personally with him on his turf?” she said in a mocking manner. “Obviously, you’re still alive, so he can’t be that elusive.”
“I’m very fortunate to be standing here,” Hawk said.
“Right now, all you’re doing is standing here depleting my oxygen while you yammer on about past exploits.”
Hawk eyed her closely. “Have you had any coffee yet this morning? Perhaps I could get you a cup.”
“Just find the damn terrorist so Paxton will stop crawling all over us, okay?”
Hawk nodded and stepped back from the bank of screens, scanning them as cameras zoomed in on men wearing the same suit and carrying the same briefcase by all the Fazil clones. He noticed a dark flash of something across one of the images as the camera swept across the street.
Hawk rushed up to the screen and pointed at it. “This one right here,” he said. “Can someone zoom out with this camera and tell me where this is?”
“It’s the corner of 28 th and Broadway,” one of the agents said.
Hawk waited for the camera to pull back and show a broader view of the surrounding area. Once he could see the whole street, he looked in the upper part of the picture and waited.
“What exactly are you looking for?” the woman asked.
Hawk waved her off.
“Maybe I can help,” she persisted.
“I think I know,” Alex said as she stepped next to Hawk. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Hawk nodded. “Fazil brought his damn bird with him. He won’t go anywhere without it.”
After a few seconds, Hawk watched Jafar soar above the street. Hawk pointed to the picture.
“Find the man on that street,” he said. “That’s where Fazil is.”
“There’s nobody that matches his suit anywhere on either sidewalk,” one of the agents said.
“Alex, keep an eye out on that street for me,” Hawk said as he walked hurriedly toward the door before stopping and tossing an earpiece at her.
“What are you doing?” Alex asked, glancing down at the device she’d caught.
“I’m going to go down there and find him myself,” he said. “Get in my ear, and keep me informed about what’s going on.”
CHAPTER 32
HAWK RACED OUT OF THE DOORS of the FBI offices and headed toward 28 th Street. As he ran, he went through a number of scenarios in his mind about what Fazil’s next move might be. Ruling out a suicide bomb, Hawk knew Fazil was intent on making a splash but—in his arrogance—wanted to receive full credit for Al Hasib. Hawk was determined to prevent any such twisted glory for Fazil.
Hawk touched his finger to his ear, re-securing the device.
“Alex, can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear,” she said. “I’m following you on our cameras here. You’re about a block away.”
“Have you been able to find Fazil yet?”
“Not yet. I’m starting to think he’s fooled us all.”
“Well, if that bird is there, he is too. But perhaps he’s not dressed like everyone else.”
“I’ll bet he’s wearing a different mask, too.”
“Bastard,” Hawk said. “Don’t worry. I’ll be able to spot him once I get there.”
“I just hope it’s not too late,” Alex said, her voice starting to tremble. “You better come back, Hawk.”
“You’re scared aren’t you?”
“And you’re not?”
“I’m always a little frightened when I’m running into something like this,” Hawk said. “But I can’t dwell on it. I’ve got a job to do—and I damn well better succeed. I don’t have time to think about the consequences, and you shouldn’t either. Let’s stay focused. We’ll get through this. This isn’t any different than every other mission we’ve gone on.”
She exhaled slowly. “Okay, I’ll take your word for it. Just something about this seems bigger.”
“It’s New York,” he said. “Everything here seems more dramatic.”
She laughed softly. “How can you be so calm?”
“This is what I do, Alex. And I’m going to come back. I promise.”
Hawk rounded the corner and looked up. After scanning the skyline, he spotted the bird circling overhead. Hawk looked directly beneath the bird and searched for Fazil.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Hawk said.
He spotted a man leaning up against the wall of a building adjacent to a razed lot. A few feet away from him were the steps leading down into the 28 th Street subway station.
That’s gotta be Fazil.
Approaching the man cautiously, Hawk froze when the man looked up. He stared right at Hawk.
“Fancy seeing you here, Mr. Hawk,” the man said.
Hawk reached for his gun and trained it on Karif Fazil.
“I bet you didn’t think we’d meet like this again, did you?”
“Your eye has healed quite nicely,” Fazil said as Jafar landed on his shoulder. “Too bad you’re going to die today.”
Hawk shook his head. “I think you’ve got it all wrong, that is unless you’re prepared to die right now, too.”
“Oh, I am,” Fazil said, nodding. “I’m ready to make the ultimate sacrifice, if necessary. I’m just wondering if you’re prepared to sacrifice all these innocent people here as well.”
“You actually found the courage to blow yourself up for your cause instead of sending your men to do the dirty work for you?” Hawk said. “That’s some bold leadership.”
Fazil bit his lip and swung his briefcase in front of him, clutching it with both hands.
“Do you know what’s inside here, Mr. Hawk?”
“I’ve heard you stole a suitcase nuke from Colton Industries, so I’m going to assume that’s what you’re carrying.”
Fazil held up his briefcase and studied it for a moment. “I think this is more or less a briefcase nuke, but, nevertheless, I see you’ve done your homework.”
“When I put a couple bullets in your chest, it won’t matter because it’s not going to deto
nate here.”
Fazil cocked his head to one side. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. Let me ask you a question. Have you ever heard of a dead man’s switch?”
“You want me to believe that you have one attached to that bomb?”
Fazil shrugged. “I’m not trying to get you to believe anything. I know the truth, and it’s up to you whether or not you believe it, much like all the ridiculous things you Americans believe. But the point is, I do have one, and this bomb will go off if you shoot me.”
Fazil held up a small cylindrical device, his thumb pressed firmly on top of it.
“Now, this detonator operates off a cell signal, and I’ve already activated it,” Fazil continued. “All I have to do is let go and this bomb will explode, exposing everyone in about a mile radius or so to a deadly radiation. Many thousands of people will die. And if you shoot me, I’ll be among them. But you’ll be executing yourself along with all the innocent Americans in this area. Let me go and maybe you’ll figure out a way to defuse it. However, that will be the least of your worries.”
Fazil raised his other hand in the air and signaled by twirling his index finger around several times. He set down his briefcase on the ground and stepped to the side. Seconds later, a legion of Fazil clones started dropping their briefcases on top of his.
Hawk watched in horror as the men filed by and disappeared down the steps into the 28 th Street station.
As the scene unfolded in front of him, Hawk mulled over his options. Fazil may have been bluffing, but Hawk wasn’t interested in the possibility of being wrong. Too much was at stake.
“What’s going on down there?” Alex asked. “The FBI is ready to send in a dozen agents.”
Hawk put his finger to his ear. “Tell them to back off. Fazil has a dead man’s switch, and if he goes down the steps into the subway, we don’t need him mobbed by any FBI personnel or else it’s going to be sure death for everyone in the vicinity.”
Hawk glanced over his shoulder at the parade as it rolled listlessly by. Veterans perched on floats waved to the crowd, all blissfully unaware of the impending danger unfolding just a few meters away.
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