“Make it quick,” the French pilot answered. “We need to get out of here as soon as possible.”
Hawk nodded and ran back to his truck where he began unloading the food trays, taking them up the steps, and delivering them to the plane’s galley. He could’ve finished his job in one trip, but he held some back so he could wait for the pilot to climb aboard.
Hawk smiled at the flight attendant who responded by giving him a tongue lashing. He didn’t understand half of what she said, but he didn’t need to because the message was clear: She was upset. He felt a moment of pity for her as she’d soon become a casualty of war. She was innocent, after all, though he could never be too sure.
“Are you getting all this?” Hawk asked.
“Every second of it,” Alex responded over the coms. “Those glasses are amazing. I’m running everyone through facial recognition now as we speak.”
“Hopefully with better results than last time,” Hawk said as he slid the last food trays out of the truck.
“Yes, the resolution is much clearer,” she said.
Alex then chuckled.
“What is it?” Hawk asked.
“You’ll get a kick out of this. That flight attendant who was so mean to you is actually a Mexican assassin.”
“Does she have ties to Petrov?”
“Not according to what I’m reading here,” Alex said.
“Well, that’s bizarre.”
“Yeah, and now you don’t have to feel bad about what you’re going to do.”
Hawk shook his head and sighed. “Who said I felt bad?”
“I’ve known you long enough, Hawk. It’s probably written all over your face.”
He delivered the last food trays and saluted the captain standing at the back. The captain gave Hawk a half-hearted wave that looked more like a shooing motion than a friendly adieu.
Hawk raced down the steps and quickly stuck the two explosive charges to each wing before dashing back to his truck. He jumped into the driver’s seat and roared down the tarmac.
One of the caterers who’d been bound and gagged before Hawk knocked him out stirred in the back of the truck. It was just enough of a distraction that Hawk didn’t see Petrov slip off the plane.
CHAPTER 30
PETROV CHEWED HER FINGERNAILS while she awaited the plane to finish loading. Her mission was a simple one: kill the entire board of The Chamber. It was the only way to take full control and help realize the vision her father had set out for the organization once the Iron Curtain fell. But as she glanced out the window, she saw something that made her even more nervous.
The man who’d delivered the food to the plane reminded her of someone. Maybe it was his muscular build or the way he carried himself, but he seemed out of place as a caterer. She just couldn’t quite place him.
But when she saw him dash beneath the plane, she knew. It was Brady Hawk.
Petrov faked a phone call and claimed it was imperative that she deplane. She promised to meet them all at the private chalet in the Swiss Alps. The board members all appeared worried, not for their own safety, but for her wellbeing.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay behind with you?” Ricardo asked.
“No,” she said as she stepped outside at the top of the platform. “I’ll be fine. Anatoly is coming for me. I’ll just charter another plane and meet you there in the morning. This can’t really wait.”
Ricardo nodded. “I understand. But still, if you want me to stay with you—”
She waved him off. “No, Ricardo. You go and have a good time with the others without me. This is personal, and I don’t want to involve you in my personal affairs.”
“Very well,” he said before kissing her on each side of her cheek.
Petrov forced a smile and then turned her back to walk down the steps. She knew she’d never see him again. However, she wasn’t too distraught over that fact. If Brady Hawk hadn’t intervened, she would’ve done the task herself. But dying herself? That wasn’t part of Petrov’s plan.
She glanced back at the plane once more and quickly spotted the two explosive devices beneath each wing.
That’s how I would’ve done it. She admired Brady Hawk just as much as she wanted to kill him.
She wobbled in her heels as she headed toward the private executive jet lounge set just off the tarmac. Taking a seat at the bar, she ordered a martini and lit another cigarette moments after crushing the butt of her previous one.
A well-dressed man sat next to her and flashed a smile. He ordered a drink and struck up a conversation.
“Where are you headed?” the man asked.
“Far away from here,” she said, trying to resist the urge to engage with him.
“What kind of jet do you have?”
“The best,” she said before a fireball lit up the night sky, interrupting their fledgling conversation.
The man hustled over to the door along with a small throng of people. Petrov watched as they all went slack-jawed, shaking their heads in disbelief. She returned to her drink and played with the toothpick, olive still attached.
“Can you believe that?” the man asked as he sat back down next to her.
Petrov shrugged. “The world isn’t what it used to be.”
“Perhaps, but I’ve never seen anything quite as spectacular as that.”
“A giant fireball in the sky?” she said, casting a sideways glance at him. “You need to get out more.”
“I wholeheartedly agree. Now, where were we—oh, yes, you were telling me about your jet.”
Petrov ignored the line of questioning regarding her plane for a couple reasons. For starters, she couldn’t remember what type it was. And she concluded if she could recall the make and model, it might somehow indict her since that was the same type of plane that just exploded over Paris. Instead, she launched into a story that she fabricated on the spot about her life as a billionaire heiress. For twenty minutes, she regaled him with tales of adventure on her father’s yacht, sky diving over Maldives, surfing near the Great Barrier Reef, and navigating a small barge along the Amazon.
“Sounds like you’re a modern-day Richard Halliburton,” the man said.
She smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment, though I’ve yet to swim the Panama Canal like he did.”
“You’re still young,” he said before getting up and tossing some cash on the bar. “Hopefully I’ll see you again.”
Petrov exhaled as he left. She was glad he was gone, but she couldn’t deny that she enjoyed the attention. A dashing man in his late 30s flirting with her—there were worse ways to pass the time while awaiting Anatoly to pick her up.
The televisions behind the bars all cut away from a live soccer match to a report about the plane crash. Reporters were already on the scene, describing the “fireball in the sky” that killed a reported seven passengers and three crew members.
Six passengers, thankfully.
Petrov realized her escape had little to do with her intuition and everything to do with a stroke of luck. It took both clairvoyance and fortune to survive in her world. She smiled at the thought of Brady Hawk and his team celebrating her early demise. However, they were unaware that she escaped, giving her an upper hand she hadn’t held in quite some time.
I couldn’t have planned this any better myself.
CHAPTER 31
HAWK WAS DRIVING BACK toward the hotel when the devices detonated. He pulled off to the shoulder and watched as the fiery debris fell to the ground. Some of the pieces sped rapidly downward while others drifted. A dark plume of smoke rose from the spot where the bulk of the hull landed.
He exhaled in relief. He’d done it. After trying for so long to put an end to The Chamber, it was now in shambles, nothing more than a pile of ashes sitting on a tarmac. However, the rest of the Firestorm team didn’t share his enthusiasm.
When Hawk walked into the room, he was greeted by two pensive faces.
“I thought you guys would be more excited,�
�� Hawk said as he locked the door behind him. “This feels more like I just walked in on a funeral.”
Alex shook her head and sighed. “In a way it is. My mother is dead.”
“She was dead to you a long time ago, Alex. Don’t try to—”
“Stop,” she said, holding up her hand. “Just stop. There were still things I wanted to ask her, things I wanted to know about my life growing up—like if she ever really loved me or if I was just part of her assignment. Now, I’ll never know.”
“Hey, look,” Hawk said as he tried to put his arm around her.
She brushed him off. “I just need some time and space, Hawk. It’s nothing personal.”
Hawk turned toward Samuels, who was seated at the kitchen table. “And what’s your reason for the long face?”
Samuels shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve just got a feeling about this.”
“What kind of feeling?”
“The kind that gets a hold of you and won’t let go.”
Hawk sat at the table across from Samuels. “And what is this feeling telling you?”
“I’m not going to celebrate this as a success until I see Petrov’s dead body.”
Hawk laughed nervously. “You think she survived a blast like that? The device was set to blow once the jet reached five hundred feet. Do you honestly think she’d still be alive if she fell from that distance, let alone avoid getting burned up in the explosion?”
“Hey,” Alex said, “do you need to be so graphic?”
Hawk turned back toward Samuels. “If you’re feeling this way, you must have a theory about how she could’ve made it out alive.”
“I can’t explain it right now, but we need to see her body to verify the mission is complete.”
Hawk’s eyes widened. “You do realize that showing up at the scene of the crime crawling with law enforcement would be breaking protocol, right? Not to mention stupid since the last I heard Interpol was still hunting for us.”
“Screw protocol,” Samuels said. “This is different.”
Hawk grinned. “You’re coming around, Samuels. You’re starting to think like a real operative.”
Samuels glared at Hawk. “I didn’t say I wanted to be the one to inspect the bodies.”
Hawk shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Figures. But I’ll do.”
* * *
ALEX FABRICATED CREDENTIALS for Hawk, while Samuels helped Hawk create a disguise. They decided he’d pose as a Gulf Stream executive based out of Paris. He would claim the corporate office made a special request for him to visit the active investigation scene to look for intricacies about the engine that the French police might miss. Hawk knew that in situations like this, timing mattered because the FAA likely already had someone on a plane to Paris. And the presence of any true officials would complicate things.
“Think you can pull this off?” Alex asked as she handed Hawk his employee identification badge along with a small stack of business cards.
“I always think I can pull everything off,” he said.
“And sometimes you don’t.”
“True, but this won’t be one of those times.”
Hawk returned to the airport with Alex and Samuels in tow. The latter pair remained in their vehicle, while Hawk hustled across the tarmac toward the smoldering plane. Working with airport security, French police had already set up a bank of lights to assist with the immediate investigation. A small group of reporters crowded near the tape cordoning off the scene. One officer was stationed there, tasked with ensuring they didn’t get any closer.
Toting a briefcase, Hawk walked briskly toward the tape before lifting it up. He continued closer as if he belonged. The officer flagged him down before Hawk stopped.
“What are you doing?” the French officer asked. “This is an active investigation scene. You are not allowed in there.”
Hawk held up his credentials. “I work for the company who makes these jets, and they asked me to inspect the aircraft to see if I can detect any abnormalities ahead of the FAA’s arrival in the morning.”
The officer shined his flashlight on the identification card. “I’ll need to clear this with my commander.”
Hawk eyed him closely. “Are you sure you want to bother him with such a request? This is standard protocol. How many plane crash scenes have you worked?”
The officer shook his head and waved Hawk through. “Fine. Go ahead.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Hawk walked toward the scene where he was met by several French officials.
“Who are you, and who let you in here? This area is restricted,” one of the men said.
“I’m Gabriel Laurent with Gulfstream,” Hawk said, pulling off his best French accent. “I’m here to inspect the crash scene for liability purposes.”
“Do not touch anything.”
“I won’t.”
Hawk walked around the crash site, observing and taking notes. However, all he was really concerned with were the bodies. After walking the perimeter, he saw them lined up on a white sheet off to the side. He strolled over to the area where an officer was tagging each one.
“You recovered the ten bodies already?” Hawk asked.
“Nine,” the officer said.
“I thought the news said ten.”
“I think the manifest with the charter company listed ten, but we’ve only been able to recover nine.”
“Is it a male or female missing?” Hawk asked. “It matters for liability purposes.”
“Female,” the officer answered. “Who are you again?”
“Thank you for your time.”
Hawk had already noticed the only pair of women’s feet sticking out from beneath the sheet. Despite their mangled condition, he could still identify which toes had spent time being pedicured and which ones hadn’t. And the only pair that had been handled with care didn’t have Petrov’s distinct ankle tattoo. The officer only confirmed what he’d already suspected.
“She wasn’t on that plane,” Hawk said over his com as his gait picked up while leaving the scene.
“What?” Alex asked in bewilderment. “When did she—?”
“I don’t know how or when she exited the plane,” Hawk said. “I don’t think she saw me. I was really careful. But maybe she did. Or maybe she set us up again.”
“No,” Samuels said. “No way. Something had to have spooked her, and she decided to get off that plane before takeoff.”
“It was probably me then,” Hawk said.
He was so engrossed in the conversation that he hadn’t heard the men calling after him until now.
“What’s going on?” Samuels said. “Sounds like something’s happening.”
Hawk glanced over his shoulder. “Shit. I think I’ve been made.”
He looked back, this time to notice two officers sprinting toward him.
“Alex, have the car ready. We need to disappear—and fast.”
CHAPTER 32
Kuwait City, Kuwait
KARIF FAZIL LOOKED at his watch and waited. The intel several of his men gathered over the past week documented the exact times at which Verge’s security detail changed shifts. It was the moment when the oil refinery was most vulnerable. It was the time when Fazil would strike.
He squeezed the steering wheel and took a deep breath. He didn’t like getting so involved in operations that he put himself in harm’s way. Preferring to call the shots from afar, he concluded that with his well-trained soldiers, his presence was rarely necessitated. But the number of those loyal to him had dwindled, mostly due to the devastating drone attack a few nights prior. What was supposed to be a celebration turned into a blood bath.
The Americans.
Fazil spit out of the window in disgust. Their plans to bring Verge to its knees had been spoiled by Brady Hawk and his team. Fazil, who’d been monitoring the attack from Morocco, assembled the flight crew for his private jet once he learned his men captured Hawk. But by the time Fazil landed and reached the c
amp, another development had superseded the American agent’s capture. Al Hasib’s camp location on Failaka Island had been given away and quickly became the target of a strike. It decimated Al Hasib’s troops as less than a dozen of the fifty men running the operation managed to survive and escape.
This is for every one of my loyal men.
Fazil glanced at his watch and then back at the gate to Verge. The guards were changing as scheduled.
He smiled and turned the ignition, firing up the truck. Stomping on the gas, the truck lurched forward and sped toward the gate.
“What do they say in America? ‘If you want it done right, you have to do it yourself?’” he said aloud. He followed that with a guttural scream.
The truck ripped through an access arm and rumbled over a spike strip. With the tires wobbling, Fazil held the steering wheel steady as he neared his intended target. Guards scrambling outside fired off bullets that whizzed past the truck and peppered the windshield. Hunching low in the cab, Fazil dragged a cinder block onto the accelerator and prepared to make his escape by scooting to the passenger side.
He counted down as he neared one of the towers.
Three . . . two . . . one . . .
He swung the passenger door open and dove head first onto the ground. Flailing about for twenty meters, he finally came to a stop, just in time to see his truck slam into a tower and set off a fiery explosion that spewed oil into the air.
Fazil clambered to his feet and hustled toward the exit. Security personnel were too busy gawking at the flaming refinery to even notice the terrorist stealthily escaping through the main gate. One of Fazil’s men was waiting for his boss less than a hundred meters from the entrance. Fazil hopped inside.
“Let’s go,” Fazil said.
The vehicle left without a single Verge security SUV following in pursuit.
“Take that, Brady Hawk!” Fazil said before breaking into loud, nervous laughter.
CHAPTER 33
Paris, France
BY THE TIME HAWK SAW the escape vehicle, sirens were already blaring in the distance. He managed to extend the gap between himself from the two officers in pursuit, but that wasn’t going to stop them. If they caught up with Hawk and his team, French officials would quickly learn that they were the same group accused of the Stuttgart Massacre, the moniker coined by the European press.
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