Brady Hawk 08 - Siege

by R. J. Patterson

Hawk steered the vehicle straight toward the gate and ripped right through it. Lights flashed and sirens sounded, but not a single security guard came out to investigate.

  “They’re already here,” Hawk said as he scanned the area.

  With guns trained forward, Hawk and Samuels got out and surveyed the surroundings.

  “Let’s check the security station,” Hawk said.

  They crouched low as they sprinted across the grounds toward the office building where they’d previously met Dorman. Hawk opened the door slowly and peeked inside. Once he deemed the area clear, he motioned for Samuels to follow. Inside, they found Dorman slumped dead in his chair, two bullets to the chest, one to the head.

  “We’ve got to hurry,” Hawk said.

  They rushed back outside and scanned the facility for any movement.

  “Up there,” Hawk said, pointing toward one of the distillation towers.

  Samuels squeezed off a couple shots before fire was returned. The two operatives hustled behind one of the parked security vehicles to regroup.

  “I saw another hostile opposite the one you spotted,” Samuels said.

  “So, there are at least two of them.”

  “I’m guessing more than that.”

  Hawk peered around the corner of the front fender, only to be greeted by two more shots that peppered the ground.

  “I’m going up after the one on the left,” Hawk said. “You take the guy on the right.”

  “But we don’t have any cover,” Samuels argued. “We’re going to be sitting ducks.”

  “And this place is going to be awash in oil if we don’t make an attempt to take action.”

  Hawk didn’t wait for a reply. He stole across the grounds, ducking behind vehicles and holding tanks as he moved toward the tower. He stealthily climbed the ladder, stopping at a platform to see if the Al Hasib operative above had taken notice. If he had seen Hawk, the man wasn’t acting like it.

  Hawk glanced across at the other tower, where Samuels started to climb. Above Samuels, the hostile was busy staring at the explosive device in his hand and had his back turned to Hawk. Seizing the opportunity, Hawk fired off a shot, hitting the man in the back. He plummeted to the ground.

  The man above Hawk moved frantically over him, shooting down at Hawk. Samuels fired two shots and took the man out. Hawk watched as the man toppled over the railing and hit the ground with a thud.

  “Nice shot, Samuels,” Hawk said over the coms.

  “I don’t think we’re out of the woods yet,” Samuels said. “Look over there on the holding tanks. There’s at least a dozen flashing devices from what I can see.”

  “Alex, are you seeing all this through the security camera feeds?” Hawk asked.

  “It’s hard to see since these cameras don’t have much definition,” she said.

  Hawk raced back down the steps and studied the explosive device lying next to one of the dead Al Hasib agents. “These devices look like they’re radio controlled—and there’s way too many of them around the facility for us to take down at this point.”

  “Can you open one up for me?” she asked.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Hawk and Samuels rushed back to the security building and found a toolbox in the maintenance closet. Hawk dismantled the casing and turned on his body camera to show Alex the device.

  “Perfect,” she said after a few minutes. “I can jam the signal, piggybacking off a cell tower located less than a kilometer from where you are.”

  “I don’t need an explanation,” Hawk said. “Just do it quickly. We have no idea how much time we have left.” He turned toward Samuels. “We’ve still got some work to do out here. Follow me.”

  The two men went to the front of the security building and crept out into the open. As they dashed toward cover, a loud flash and explosion went off near their feet.

  Hawk flew up in the air and then landed hard on his back.

  He was still unconscious when the pair of Al Hasib operatives dragged him toward their truck and threw him next to Samuels.

  CHAPTER 15

  Washington, D.C.

  PRESIDENT CONRAD MICHAELS tried to remain composed as he stood at the podium. Staring out across the Washington press corps, he struggled to see as flash bulbs popped and what seemed like a thousand reporters all tried to ask him questions at once. His wife squeezed his hand. He forced a faint smile as he glanced at her putting on a brave face. It wasn’t the first time she’d been there for him. He certainly hoped it wasn’t the last.

  He released her hand and took hold of the podium, just as his speech coach had directed. The coach suggested Michaels needed to exude strength and demonstrate to the American people he was still a powerful leader. It was a familiar position Michaels found himself in again after the latest leak that hit the press, this time the accusation he and his wife had committed tax fraud.

  Michaels held up his hands to silence the anxious reporters all frothing at the mouth to get their questions answered. He waited until the room was quiet with the exception of clicking cameras.

  “When the news broke yesterday that Bethany and I had committed tax fraud, I considered not even responding,” he began. “The unfounded allegations are so outrageous that I told my council I didn’t want to legitimize them by even talking about them. But over the past twenty-four hours, it was clear this wasn’t just a passing item in the news cycle. So, I was encouraged to address the issue directly before anything more could be made of it.”

  Michaels swallowed hard and adjusted the papers in front of him before returning his hands to the side of the podium.

  “The documents that have been widely circulated in the media, likely against the advice of any good lawyer, are fakes. They will be proven to be fraudulent as an independent digital forensics expert has already demonstrated. But that hasn’t stopped the detractors from attempting to take down my presidency. I have full confidence this latest pack of lies will be put to rest in the next few days along with the senate committee’s investigation into any wrongdoing in our attempts to catch one of the world’s most renowned terrorists. I look forward to getting back to serving the American people and helping us move forward as a nation united around the values that make this place the greatest country in the world. Thank you for your time today.”

  Michaels stepped back from the podium as the throng of reporters shouted questions. He waved and flashed a few thumbs up signs before striding off the stage while holding his wife’s hand.

  “A bunch of savages,” Michaels muttered once they stepped behind the curtains.

  Michaels’s speech coach closed his eyes and sighed, shaking his head slowly. Despite being reminded constantly, Michaels had forgotten that his microphone was still hot.

  “Congratulations,” the coach said. “You just created another controversy with that statement.”

  Slack-jawed, Michaels stared at his wife.

  “It’s your bed, honey,” she said. “You made it; you lie in it.”

  Michaels cracked his knuckles then clenched his fists. “I need a drink.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Paris, France

  KATARINA PETROV STOOD at the doorway to her penthouse suite and welcomed the president of the European Central Bank, Henri Dubois. She offered him a drink, which he readily accepted. After making him a martini, she sauntered across the room to speak with Anatoly.

  “I’ll take it from here,” she said.

  “Are you sure? I can stay near the bar in case you need me for anything else,” he said.

  “No, I’ll be fine. You just go find out why nothing has happened in Kuwait yet. Let Fazil know I’ll withhold payment until the job has been completed.”

  Anatoly rocked from side to side, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable doing that. Fazil can be a—”

  “Do it,” she growled. “No more excuses. Do you understand?”

  He nodded and retreated to another suite he’d r
eserved.

  She spun back toward Dubois. “Now, where were we?”

  Dubois flashed a smile. She knew he was used to getting what he wanted and expected nothing less out of their meeting. Petrov mulled how she would break the news to him: Dubois not only wasn’t getting what he wanted, but he was going to give up much more than he ever anticipated.

  “I think we were at the part where you were about to invite me to lead this dream you have of transitioning the world over to a new currency,” he said, raising his eyebrows before taking a long sip of his drink.

  She wagged her finger at him. “Walk with me.” Petrov meandered out onto the terrace and promptly pulled out a cigarette.

  “Smoke?” she said, offering Dubois one.

  He waved her off. “I stopped years ago.”

  “Why?” she asked as the tobacco crackled and came to life. “If I didn’t have these, I don’t know how I’d manage all the stress in my life. I can only imagine your stress level is a thousand times greater than mine.”

  “I prefer alcohol as a way to calm my nerves,” he said, raising his glass.

  She laughed softly. “I don’t like to discriminate. Whatever vice works, I’m all for it.”

  “I hope your lack of discrimination ends at your vices,” he said.

  “Please explain yourself.”

  “I just meant that I hope you don’t intend on tossing the European Central Bank members in with the rest of the dregs of your currency experiment,” he said, his chin rising high as he spoke. “We’ve gone to great lengths to ensure the ECB is immune to any major worldwide recessions—well, as much as it can be.”

  Petrov turned and looked out across the city. “I actually wanted to meet with you to discuss what you could do for me.”

  “What I could do for you? You mean aside from getting the entire ECB to ditch the Euro and put our members in a more tenuous position by going with your plan to create a world currency?”

  Petrov remained calm. “You sound as if you’re considering changing your mind, Henri.”

  He furrowed his brow and stared at her. “You sound as if you’re trying to push me into a corner. And do you know what a bull does when it’s pushed into a corner?”

  “You’re no bull,” she said before she sent a plume of smoke into the air.

  “If you think you can have your way with me because of my past, think again,” he said. “That’s old news. Everyone has accepted my mistakes and moved on.”

  She continued to look straight ahead, refusing to look at him. “You’re right, Henri. It is old news. I’m not interested in dredging up your sordid past. But I am interested in getting you to meet some of my demands on this issue. No, let me rephrase that: I am confident you’ll see things my way. Besides, if you don’t, your successor has already expressed that he’s much more open to my ideas than you are.”

  Henri narrowed his eyes. “What are you suggesting?”

  She reached into the pocket of her blazer and then handed him a stack of three photos, all obviously taken secretively. Slowly, she turned to see his expression.

  Mouth agape, Dubois studied the photos one by one. “I can’t . . . How could you . . . ? What is the meaning of all this?”

  “Henri, you’re the one who lectures everyone about the importance of family,” she said as she moved directly in front of him. “Perhaps your wife would like to see just how broadly you define that word.”

  “This is outrageous,” Dubois said as he eyed Petrov, turning his back to the view of the cityscape. “If you think this is how you’re going to get me to acquiesce to your ridiculous requests, think again. No, in fact, forget it. I’m pulling the ECB out of this deal. We’re not going to join you.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes,” he grumbled as he ripped up the photos.

  “You might want to reconsider your position.”

  “The position of the ECB has officially changed, and it’s not changing back,” he said as he glared at her.

  With a sharp move toward Dubois, Petrov managed to catch him off balance as he tried to move out of the way. She gave him a forceful shove, one he wasn’t expecting.

  When the back of his knees hit the railing, they buckled and he folded—only the weight of Dubois’s momentum had already sealed his fate. He fell backward and tumbled over the edge.

  Petrov peered down to catch a glimpse of him flailing and screaming, eyes wide with fear. The last thing she heard him say was, “How could you?” Then a terrible thud against the cobblestone street below.

  “He shouldn’t have been too quick to resist me,” Petrov said as she walked across the veranda and back into her suite.

  CHAPTER 17

  Somewhere in the Persian Gulf

  WHEN HAWK REGAINED consciousness, he kept his eyes closed. It was the only chance he had to get a feel for his surroundings before the guards chatting above noticed he was awake. Hawk expected dismal treatment from the Al Hasib terrorists if he even managed to survive the night.

  Hawk breathed in through his nose. The saltwater aroma was stronger than it had been in Kuwait City. That combined with the swaying motion led him to believe he was on a seafaring vessel. With his hands lying limp beside him, Hawk rubbed the floor, which was made of steel. It certainly confused his senses. If he hadn’t smelled salt water, Hawk would’ve sworn he was lying in the back of a truck. But he couldn’t ignore that or the sound of circling seagulls just outside.

  Cracking his eyes open ever so slightly, he imagined to see a skyline. Instead, all he saw was a sky with a faint smattering of stars nearly muted by the glow of city lights in the distance. Then he heard the splashing of water.

  Definitely in a truck on a boat.

  It was a new experience for Hawk, but he wasn’t surprised. The quickest way out of Kuwait City was by boat. If he were to spring a surprise attack, he’d likely have followed a similar route.

  Hawk scanned the truck and noticed the guards weren’t paying him any attention. The two who’d been assigned to watch the captured Americans were staring at cell phones.

  Hawk turned slightly toward Samuels and nudged him. Samuels moved cautiously and barely opened his eyes. Hawk used his eyes to gesture toward the guard above Samuels.

  “On three,” Hawk mouthed. “One, two, three.”

  With their wrists still tied together, Hawk and Samuels sprang to their feet and used their bound hands like battering rams, delivering several wicked punches to the faces of the shocked guards. They never even had a chance to fight back. Once the men were knocked unconscious, Hawk and Samuels helped each other out of their bindings before they exchanged clothes with the guards and returned them to the prisoner position.

  “Where are we?” Samuels whispered.

  Hawk glanced at one of the men’s watches. “We haven’t been out that long. I’m going to guess somewhere off the coast of Kuwait in the Persian Gulf.”

  “And where do you think they’re taking us?”

  “Hopefully back to their compound,” Hawk said with a smile.

  Samuels shook his head. “You’re one sick man, Brady Hawk. I mean, I’m all for getting dropped into the hornet’s nest so we can eradicate these bastards, but do you think we’ll be able to survive something like that? I doubt it. I say we run now.”

  “More like swim. We’ve literally got nowhere to run, so we might as well enjoy the ride and see what happens.”

  “You have a nose for danger. Do you know that?”

  “Know that? I pride myself in that,” Hawk shot back. “It’s the only way I know how to live. It’s what keeps me alive.”

  “There’s something wrong with that statement, but I’m not going to argue with the results. We’re still alive, if only for a few more hours.”

  Hawk playfully punched his partner in the arm. “Don’t look so depressed, Samuels. It’s not fun unless there’s some risk involved. And this might be the riskiest thing I’ve ever done.”

  “Didn’t Alex mention you escaped cap
ture from Al Hasib in the past?”

  “Perhaps,” Hawk said. “It’s become routine.”

  “Then why haven’t they killed you yet?”

  “Good question. Let’s ask Karif Fazil that in person when we find him.”

  Samuels exhaled and shook his head. “You’re certifiable.”

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  Five minutes later, the vessel slowed down. By this point, Hawk had been able to ascertain they were on a private ferry. He’d managed to poke his head out of the back and identify several military-style vehicles.

  “This is Al Hasib, all right,” Hawk said to Samuels. “They’re going to take us straight to Fazil.”

  “Got any idea where we are yet?”

  Hawk strained to read the sign near the dock. “I’m guessing we’re on Failaka Island.”

  “Failaka Island?”

  “Yeah, about a thirty-minute ferry ride off the coast of Kuwait City.”

  “This is where Al Hasib set up operations for this attack?” Samuels asked. “Doesn’t seem like the most efficient location to me.”

  “No, but it’s definitely where you’d want to go if you didn’t want to get caught. They can zip out of here in a hurry while the rest of the poor sots on the mainland would be left as martyrs for the cause.”

  “Why don’t we end their cause?”

  Hawk smiled. “I’m all for that. Just follow my lead.”

  When the boat finally docked, the vehicles filed out onto the mainland, forming a small convoy. Hawk observed six trucks rumbling along with their vehicle being at the end.

  “I can’t believe they wouldn’t put the prisoner transport in the middle,” Hawk said.

  “It’s definitely not by the book,” Samuels said.

  “Maybe Al Hasib doesn’t have a book.”

  “My head would explode.”

  Hawk flashed a grin. “Well, just so you know, everything we’re about to do is against the book. Instead of being quiet and maintaining our story in an interrogation setting, we’re never going there.”

  “Roger that.”

  After a few more minutes, the convoy started to slow until they came to a halt in a makeshift camp along a deserted beach on the western portion of the island. Two boats were anchored just offshore while a pair of wooden transport rafts were anchored on the beach.