Brady Hawk 08 - Siege

by R. J. Patterson

  “This assignment wasn’t ridiculous. You just weren’t the journalist who was capable of pulling it off. You acted like it was some voyeuristic adventure instead of a serious professional assignment. It’s why you got caught—and it’s why you’ve returned to try and manufacture some story out of thin air.”

  “I’m telling you right now that you’re wrong,” Hendridge said. “These people who saved me are the best of what’s right in this world right now, people who fight for justice with integrity and compassion.”

  “My God, you sound like an Army advertisement. That’s not even close to anything I want to print, much less anything our readers would be interested in. Those people are criminals, probably helping you out to assuage their guilty consciences.”

  Hendridge turned toward the door and stopped as he grabbed the handle, looking back over his shoulder at Carlisle. “You’re going to regret this. Everyone will want to know how The Times missed the greatest story of the month when it was right under their noses.”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head slowly. “Just know when I fire you, no one will touch you or your story.”

  Hendridge seethed as he exited the office.

  I’m going to prove her wrong, even if it’s the last story I write.

  CHAPTER 23

  Paris, France

  KATARINA PETROV GREETED Nestor Morozov with a traditional kiss to the side of each cheek and welcomed him into her penthouse suite high atop the city. It would’ve been considered rude not to treat the Russian ambassador in such a manner, and she was never so impolite. As they walked toward the balcony, the lights winked across the cityscape, giving off the kind of energy Petrov thrived upon. Something was happening, and it was well overdue. She’d spent nearly two decades laboring to guide The Chamber to this point where the organization could become the leading entity among a new consortium of nations. But Petrov never forgot where her true alliances rested—mother Russia.

  She picked up a drink off the table and offered one to Morozov. He accepted it and thanked her.

  “How does it feel to stand on the cusp of greatness?” he asked her.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “How about you tell me?”

  Morozov took a long pull on his glass of wine and then set it down on the ledge. “What you’ve done is truly amazing. Every little detail considered and planned for. You are the master architect behind all of this, and the only genius I consider greater at the moment is the one who put you in charge.”

  She sighed. “Too bad he won’t be around to see his dream realized.”

  “I’m sure your father is still proud of you, looking down upon all your accomplishments.”

  Petrov wagged her finger at him. “Don’t celebrate just yet. There’s still plenty of work to be done.”

  “Yes, but I see it all coming together—the narrative about the failing wheat crops—”

  “While Russia’s remains strong.”

  “And how oil production is falling as uncertainty builds among OPEC nations.”

  “But production is surging to all-time highs off the Siberian coast.”

  In a show of admiration, Mozorov shook his head and looked off in the distance before turning his gaze back toward Petrov. “Your patience is something to wonder at. All these years doing what you did—you have embodied the long con.”

  “It’s not difficult when you believe in the cause.”

  Mozorov chuckled. “So much so that you even married an American.”

  She shrugged. “He was ruggedly handsome, which made it palatable.”

  “Yes, well, he also got you pregnant.”

  “That was my mistake, perhaps the only one.”

  “But you’re still planning on redeeming that mistake, aren’t you?”

  Petrov nodded. “Eventually.”

  “Has your daughter seen the light?”

  She scanned the horizon, remaining pensive for a moment before responding. “She’ll come around eventually. Patience, remember?”

  CHAPTER 24

  Washington, D.C.

  CONRAD MICHAELS WELCOMED several members of the national security council into his temporary office and gestured for them to sit at a table in the corner. He shoved a newspaper under his seat. The headline was embarrassing enough, and he didn’t want to dwell on the past. The meeting he’d called was all about the future.

  “I want to know about the situation with Verge,” Michaels said. “Where are we at with that?”

  General Isaac Kauffman, the man Michaels had appointed to lead the council, pulled several documents out of his attaché and spread them out on the table. “The details are still trickling in, but it doesn’t look like it’s as bad as some members of the press previously reported.”

  Michaels clasped his hands together and shifted nervously in his seat. “I’d heard oil production might be down for weeks and that millions of barrels of oil would be lost.”

  “Those are lies, probably issued by OPEC officials to give them a legitimate sounding excuse to boost the price of their product,” Kauffman said. “From what I understand, Verge should be back up to full production by the end of today.”

  “It only took them two days to repair a pipeline blast?”

  “Al Hasib didn’t sink their teeth in the way they’d hoped.”

  “How come?”

  Kauffman slid a folder across the table to Michaels and remained quiet. Michaels sifted through the pages and slammed his fist down on the table.

  “I swear I will take down Brady Hawk myself if I have to,” Michaels said.

  “Based on your current situation, Mr. President, I’d advise against making that comment again . . . to anyone.”

  “He’s always mucking up my plans and making my life more difficult.”

  “Perhaps if you hadn’t said what you said . . .”

  Michaels glared at Kauffman. “Did I hire you to give me your commentary on everything happening within this office? I’ll answer that for you since you seem a bit confused right now. The answer is no. I hired you to keep me apprised of national security matters and nothing else.”

  Kauffman nodded sharply. “Understood, sir. I’m just trying to help you see that this situation could’ve been avoided.”

  “Again, that’s not . . . your . . . job.”

  “In the meantime, Young seems to be covertly using them.”

  “That’s illegal. How is he getting away with that?”

  Kauffman shrugged. “Not sure, but he’s making an end around somewhere.”

  “I never thought that bumbling dolt had it in him to do anything worthwhile. It’s why I asked him to be my running mate in the first place.”

  “So, he’s your insurance policy?”

  “On so many different levels. It’s why the senate hearings aren’t going to result in any charges against me. No impeachment hearings. No censures. Everyone on Capitol Hill knows we’d be screwed if he permanently sat in the Oval Office. He’s a joke.”

  “At the moment, what he’s doing is nothing to laugh at. In fact, while his methods may be suspect—”

  “Illegal,” Michaels interjected.

  “All right, illegal it is, but somehow he’s still maneuvering the pieces around the board to hold Al Hasib at bay and thwart one of their biggest attacks in weeks.”

  “And he’s going to pay for his actions. I’ll see to that.”

  Kauffman cleared his throat and pulled back the file he’d given Michaels. “You might want to consider a different approach once you retake command as it relates to national security. Brady Hawk certainly seems to be on your side. I wouldn’t view him as an adversary if I were you.”

  “You’re overstepping again, General.” Michaels pointed toward the door. “You can show yourself out.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Paris, France

  SAMUELS ADJUSTED HIS BOW TIE and then checked his blazer for any remaining strands of lint. He picked off a couple before determining he was clean. Taking a deep brea
th, he placed his hands on the cart and pushed it down the hall.

  “Just stay calm,” Hawk said. “Alex and I will be here if you need us. You know what to do.”

  The operation was simple by any standard, but the importance of what Samuels was doing weighed heavily upon him. To remove the entire leadership of The Chamber in one fell swoop would be a big step in eliminating the clandestine group. While Blunt and the Firestorm team had yet to ascertain the full extent of The Chamber’s end game, they knew it was nefarious and detrimental to the U.S. and her allies.

  Just breathe, Samuels. You can do this.

  The last few weeks had been a blur. Blunt had plucked Samuels out of a job he enjoyed, enticing him by playing to his patriotism. The intrigue of meeting his sister also helped. But Samuels had yet to get to know Alex like he wanted. They might have been related, but it was apparent they came from two different worlds. He considered that maybe that’s what it was like for most siblings. It was just an entirely new experience for him. Samuels realized there wasn’t much opportunity for conflict in his house as an only child.

  He knocked on the door and was met by a pudgy Russian man.

  “I have a cart for Ms. Katarina Petrov,” Samuels said, reading a card though he didn’t need one.

  “What is it?”

  “A bottle of Krug, Vintage 2002.”

  The Russian man’s eyes widened. “That is her favorite. Who is this from?”

  “It’s from a gentleman who just checked in downstairs. Would you like me to take it into the room?”

  The man shook his head. “I’ll take it from here. Thank you.” He handed Samuels a note for ten Euros and pulled the cart farther into the room.

  “Have a good day, sir,” Samuels said before turning and walking away.

  He waited until he heard the door click behind him before glancing over his shoulder. Samuels didn’t say a word until he was on the elevator.

  “Success,” he said over his comlink. “Now we wait.”

  “Good work, Bro,” Alex said.

  “Bro? You’re ready to move our relationship to that level now, Sis?”

  Alex laughed. “I always wanted a brother, and now I’ve got one. I must say I’m still a little surprised I got what I wanted after all these years.”

  “Be careful what you wish for,” Samuels said. “You may not like me making fun of you.”

  “You may not like me kicking your ass if you try,” Alex shot back.

  “I’ll take that into consideration, Sis.”

  * * *

  AN HOUR LATER, ten floors below Petrov, Hawk listened in on the transmission coming from the bug that Alex had hidden beneath the cart. Petrov was discussing plans with the little Russian man who served as her assistant and confidante, Anatoly.

  Hawk never could determine if Anatoly and Petrov’s relationship went anything beyond the professional realm. Petrov was an attractive woman, especially for her age. But Anatoly was pug faced and balding, even at ten years Petrov’s junior. While Hawk hoped to verify the intel they’d received about the plane, he secretly wanted to find out the nagging question of whether there was something more to Petrov and Anatoly.

  “Well, Anatoly, it looks like the time has finally arrived,” Petrov said.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.

  She was silent for a moment. “Let me ask you a question. If you had the opportunity to seize the throne without any repercussions, would you do it?”

  “Depends on what needed to be done to seize it.”

  “Murder, Anatoly. Cold-blooded murder.”

  “In that case, I don’t think I could.”

  “Come now. We all have murder in our hearts. There isn’t anyone you dream about sliding a knife into their heart and twisting it? There must be someone.”

  He laughed. “Why would I need to do that when I could simply have you do it for me? Besides, I have much more enjoyable fantasies.”

  “Such as?”

  “You’re going to make me blush.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time,” Petrov said. “Now, do tell. I want to hear about your fantasy.”

  Anatoly was quiet for a moment. Hawk pressed the headphones tighter against his ears, straining to hear what was being said, if anything.

  “What is it?” Petrov finally asked.

  “It’s a message from Bannister.”

  “Is he still coming?”

  “Yes, he said he’s been delayed but he’ll meet everyone at the airport tomorrow at eight-thirty, just as we’d planned.”

  “Excellent,” she said. “I really liked that man.”

  “Yet you’re still proceeding as planned at the chalet?”

  “Of course, Anatoly. Now about that fantasy of yours . . .”

  A knock at the door interrupted their conversation again, this time by a hotel employee announcing room service. Everything sounded like it was being consolidated onto one cart, the new cart. The cart Alex had wired was pushed out of the room, transmitting only a squeaky wheel as it rolled out of Petrov’s suite and down the hall.

  Hawk sighed and put down the headphones.

  “So, did you get confirmation?” Alex asked.

  Hawk nodded. “Tomorrow night, 8:30.”

  “Then why do you look so down about it?”

  “There was something else they were talking about that I was curious about.”

  “Care to enlighten me?”

  “It was nothing important. Just me being a little voyeuristic, that’s all.”

  Alex eyed him closely. “I never would’ve pegged you for the type.”

  “I work in espionage,” he said. “What else would you have pegged me for?”

  Hawk shifted his weight from one foot to the other, antsy to leave.

  “Look, I’ve got to go out,” Hawk said. “I need to meet someone.”

  “Need me to tag along?” she asked.

  “No, you and Samuels bond over your family heritage while you get ready for tomorrow. I can handle this alone, and it’s safest that way.”

  “Suit yourself. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything.”

  * * *

  HAWK TURNED DOWN THE ALLEYWAY and once again checked the address he’d written down earlier. He was on the right path, though the area felt a little sketchy. Prostitutes had attempted to allure him on every corner, while drug addicts huddled near the doorsteps of back entrances. The smell of urine and sewage almost choked Hawk at times. It was the side of Paris that never appeared on any tourism brochures. It was also a great place for one of the world’s best hackers to hide.

  Hawk rapped on the door, using the prescribed cadence.

  “Name,” said a man through an intercom system.

  “The Pied Piper,” Hawk replied.

  Hawk glanced up at the inconspicuous security camera just above the door and waved.

  The door buzzed. “Enter,” said the man.

  Hawk pulled the door open and entered a dimly lit hallway. Waiting a few seconds for his eyes to adjust, he studied the brick walls. He could only guess how long they’d been standing but assumed at least a century or two. Overhead, wooden beams served as high arches, supporting the white roof.

  What was this place?

  With his vision attuned to the dark environment, Hawk moved forward down the hallway until he reached an open doorway. He stepped inside and found what was likely a banquet hall of some sort. The ceiling soared above as the room sprawled in every direction. Tall windows towered over the hall every few feet but had been covered with a dark material. Hawk studied the chandelier above that used what looked like at least a hundred candles. He was still looking at it when he heard footsteps approaching.

  “When you use as much energy as I do for your computer servers, every little bit of savings helps to avoid detection,” a man said.

  Hawk turned to see a middle-aged man shuffling toward the center of the room. He offered his hand to Hawk.

  “You must be SnyperNet,�
�� Hawk said, shaking the man’s hand.

  “In the flesh, though I prefer to be called Bob when meeting with people in person.”

  “And that happens very often?”

  “It’s only happened once before, but J.D. Blunt is a dear friend of mine.”

  Hawk nodded. “He must’ve done something very significant for you.”

  “He broke my brother out of a Turkish prison, but that’s another story for another time. Come. Let’s talk.”

  Bob led Hawk down a hallway and then into a smaller room teeming with electronic equipment. Monitors covered the far wall, while computers were stacked on top of each other on wheeled shelves. A built-in desk ran the length of one wall and had a pair of chairs tucked beneath it. Bob pulled out one of the chairs and gestured for Hawk to sit before joining him.

  “The senator tells me you’re in a bit of a jam,” Bob said, his English accent becoming more pronounced with each sentence.

  “That’s the understatement of the century,” Hawk said. “We’ll be going to prison for a very long time if anyone catches us.”

  “Perhaps I can keep that from happening.”

  “That’s what we’re hoping for,” Hawk said.

  Bob turned toward the keyboard on the desk in front of him and began typing quickly. “I learned a little bit about your situation from Blunt as well as through news reports, so I started doing a little digging.”

  “And what did you find?”

  Bob tapped out a few more keystrokes before pushing back from the table and staring up at the largest monitor in the room, which was at least eight feet wide and six feet tall. Grainy black-and-white images appeared from a security camera.

  “What are we looking at?” Hawk asked.

  “Mate, this is the video some powerful person doesn’t want anyone to see.”

  Hawk watched as a person forced masks on the faces of all the German bankers present. His jaw dropped as the footage continued to play.

  “It looks like you, doesn’t it?” Bob asked.

  Hawk nodded. “How the hell did they—?”

  “Someone obviously baited you,” Bob said. “You were set up from the very first moment. They decided to get rid of two problems at once—the German bankers and then you.”