Target Zero (A Brady Hawk Novel Book 5)

by Jack Patterson

  “Watch those two ships,” Katari said as he handed the binoculars to Dalip.

  After a minute, nothing happened other than the boats speeding farther away. Dalip put the binoculars down.

  “What’s the point of this?” Dalip asked.

  “To show you that I am a man of my word. I warned that captain. Now he will pay.”

  Dalip resumed watching the pair of pirate ships on the horizon. As he was peering across the sea, he spotted a fiery explosion and then another.

  “What the hell?” Dalip asked, slack jawed.

  “We work for very powerful men,” Katari said. “No one will get away with boarding us again.”

  “Certainly not those men.”

  “Indeed,” Katari said with a slight chuckle. “But no one better cause us trouble on our return trip, especially any pirates.”

  “What are we supposed to pick up at port?” Dalip asked.

  “Something very dangerous—something very dangerous to us all.”

  CHAPTER 25

  RASHID QURESHI MENTALLY RAN THROUGH his checklist while he finished his dinner. Everything was going according to the plan Fazil had laid out for him, everything except the issue of Brady Hawk. Qureshi relished the opportunity to take down the thorn in Al Hasib’s side for the past year. Before Hawk entered the scene, Al Hasbi had operated unfettered throughout the Middle East. But that was no longer the case, costing Al Hasib money, resources, and well-trained operatives. Fazil’s response to this aggressive stance wasn’t to hide in caves like Osama Bin Laden had done. No, Fazil wanted to take the fight to the infidels on their turn, though it hadn’t transpired as he hoped. That was a fact that Qureshi knew as painfully as anyone.

  While Hawk had eliminated key Al Hasib personnel and disrupted weapon and resource streams, the attacks felt personal to Qureshi. When Hawk killed Al Hasib’s chief bombmaker Nasim Ghazi during a mission in Afghanistan, Qureshi was devasted. Ghazi was Qureshi’s half-brother, and Qureshi vowed to avenge his death. If Qureshi brooded too long over the situation, he could become unhinged.

  Qureshi’s phone rang, rescuing him from spiraling out of control. He took a deep breath and answered the call. It was Fazil.

  “Are you ready to complete the transaction tomorrow?” Fazil asked.

  “Everything is in order,” Qureshi said. “Garaar is jumpy, so I’m looking forward to wrapping this up and getting back.”

  “Keep Garaar focused, and don’t let him do anything stupid. It should be an easy deal once we secure the product.”

  Qureshi stirred his after dinner tea. “Do you want me to deal with him as we previously discussed?”

  “Nothing has changed,” Fazil said, pausing briefly. “What about our other little issue?”

  “Hawk?”

  “Yes, how do you plan to apprehend him?”

  “I have a plan, so no need to worry.”

  “You better bring him back alive.”

  “I will do my best,” Qureshi said.

  Qureshi hung up the phone and set it down on the table. He hated lying to Fazil, but Qureshi figured he could ask for forgiveness later.

  There was no way he was going to let Brady Hawk walk out of Somalia alive.

  CHAPTER 26

  Saturday

  Tangier, Morocco

  J.D. BLUNT SAT AT THE BAR and wrote out a list of places he thought he could hide. The number of countries that did not contain an extradition treaty with the U.S. wasn’t exactly comprised of the world’s hottest tourist destinations. Not that Blunt wanted to go on vacation, but he did have an acute desire to blend in to a culture where everyone was used to everyone else being strangers. If he went to virtually any of the nations on the list, he’d be sure to stand out. The only one that seemed palatable to him was the Marshall Islands. However, even that location was a tenuous choice since it had a treaty with the U.S. for protection, not to mention many dire predictions about how climate change was going to drown every inhabitant.

  Blunt sighed and stared out at the Mediterranean Sea, hoping that maybe a genius idea would fall out of the sky. It was a foolish thought, but he was desperate. He didn’t want to face his new reality, one that meant the rest of his life would be spent on the lam.

  His phone buzzed, jarring him back to reality. Christopher Roland’s name appeared on the screen.

  “Are you sure it’s a good idea to be calling me?” Blunt asked.

  “This will be my last call,” Roland said, choosing his words carefully. “I simply wanted to make sure that your team was in place and that they were ready to begin the operation.”

  “As far as I know, it’s a green light.”

  “Excellent. I will be in touch after they’ve completed their assignment.”

  Blunt hung up. He’d known Roland for a long time, but such friendship didn’t equate to trust. If backed into a corner by the U.S. authorities or an international crime syndicate, Roland would give up Blunt. It wouldn’t matter to Roland who was the consummate politician. No alliance was so sacred to Roland that it demanded his undying devotion.

  Blunt signaled to the bartender to bring another glass of scotch. Fiddling with his phone, Blunt opened up the app he’d installed to check on his room. His paranoia had reached new heights. He realized his distrust of Roland was likely unwarranted given the long history of their friendship, but he’d been ambushed enough times that he quit giving anyone the benefit of the doubt many years ago. Blunt glanced at the screen and let out a low guttural sound.

  He downed his drink then slammed the glass on the counter along. He slapped a twenty-dollar bill next to it and lumbered back toward his room. He looked at his phone again just to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. He wasn’t.

  On Blunt’s phone screen, the image of a man rummaging through his room was real. And it wasn’t the hotel staff either. Blunt stomped upstairs and waited outside the door, which was slightly cracked. He could identify where the man was by peering into the room and looking at a mirror. The man’s reflection was difficult to make out with any detail, but Blunt had no doubt the man wasn’t supposed to be in there.

  Blunt waited until the man walked behind the door. Then Blunt put his shoulder into the door, ramming it into the man’s head and sending him sprawling. Blunt proceeded to deliver two quick punches followed by a stiff uppercut that knocked out the man. He searched for something to tie up the man with but found nothing. He hustled into the hallway and found an unattended cleaning cart. Checking to make sure no one could see, Blunt lifted several sets of sheets from the cart and carried them back to his room where he used the sheets to tie up the assailant.

  Blunt then sat down at the small table in the kitchenette area and opened up the complimentary paper that had been shoved under his door earlier that morning. There was enough in English for him to read that would pre-occupy his time until the man regained consciousness.

  While Blunt had plenty of questions, all Blunt could do was sit and wait.

  CHAPTER 27

  Berbera, Somalia

  HAWK CLOSED ONE EYE and stared down the barrel with the other. It looked clear, but he brought it close to his mouth and blew a forceful breath through the barrel just to be sure. He pulled it away from his mouth, eyeing it once more.

  “All clear,” he announced, setting the gun on the table. He repeated the process several times with all the weapons he planned to strap to his body.

  “A jam in the middle of a gunfight is a bitch,” McGinn said. “Guys, I gotta tell you that I’ve got a good feeling about tonight.”

  Hawk set another gun on the table and glanced at McGinn before cutting his gaze over at Alex, who was looking at him. They both returned to their assignments, Hawk with the guns and Alex with the computers.

  “That’s good to hear,” Alex said. “I’d hate for you to have a bad feeling before we entered battle together.”

  “I always have a good feeling,” he said.

  “As long as you have my back, we’ll be okay,” Hawk
said, glancing up at McGinn.

  “Of course I do,” McGinn said. “Everything is going to run smoothly.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it,” she said.

  McGinn sighed and shook his head. “Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Alex. To date, every mission I’ve ever been on, I’ve emerged without dying.”

  “There’s always a first time,” she said.

  Hawk cracked a faint smile. If there was one thing he loved about Alex, it was that she was relentless. Even though they hadn’t had much of an opportunity to fully discuss the fact that perhaps they were working with a man who’d been co-opted by the enemy, Hawk knew she understood the situation. They’d been working together long enough that words weren’t always necessary. A look could sometimes say it all.

  McGinn let out a long breath through his teeth He rolled his eyes at Alex’s comment and continued prepping the explosives on the table.

  “Are you always so optimistic, Alex?” McGinn asked.

  She nodded. “It’s what keeps me alive.”

  “Load up in five minutes,” McGinn said, refusing to engage in any more witty banter.

  Hawk collected every weapon he’d collected from his trip to McGinn’s compound and headed for the SUV. Alex did likewise with all her computer equipment.

  “Got any last-minute questions?” McGinn asked Alex as they walked out to the car.

  Hawk turned around and watched Alex shake her head. It was obvious that his partner knew what she was doing and wasn’t interested in giving McGinn any more inside information that might be detrimental to their ultimate objective: take possession of the Sarin gas.

  “You need to be on your A game tonight,” McGinn said. “One wrong move could cost all of us.”

  Alex scowled. “You think I don’t already know that?”

  “Just a reminder,” he said.

  Hawk stopped in front of the SUV and attempted to referee the argument taking place behind him.

  “We need to get on the same page,” Hawk said. “We’re not going up against a fly-by-night operation here. Al Hasib and Al-Shabaab are two terrorists groups that know how to put everyone on edge. Please don’t lose your edge by fighting amongst yourselves. We all need to be committed to working with and for one another. If you can’t do that, then please sit this operation out.”

  Both Alex and McGinn looked somewhat sheepishly at Hawk.

  “Thousands of people could die if we don’t get our act together,” Hawk said. “Now, let’s get it together. Are you with me?”

  Alex and McGinn both nodded and returned to their duties as they loaded up the SUV for surveillance.

  McGinn tossed his last weapon into the trunk before slamming it shut.

  “He isn’t joking, you know?” McGinn said to Alex.

  Alex watched Hawk walk back toward the building where there were plenty of other supplies, enough to make a two-day stand if necessary. To Hawk, every piece was important if they were going to survive the impending onslaught.

  “If you have anything else, grab it now,” McGinn said. “It’s time to ride.”

  He turned the ignition and revved the gas, firing up the engine. “This won’t be easy,” he said with a smile.

  Alex waved him off. “Nothing is ever easy.”

  Several minutes later, Hawk returned and climbed into the passenger side front seat next to McGinn.

  McGinn slapped the steering wheel and let out a yell of delight. “Hot damn,” he said. “We’re gonna kill us some terrorists tonight.”

  CHAPTER 28

  GARAAR GLANCED AT HIS WATCH and continued to pace in the warehouse. He only stopped every minute or so when he drew near to the bank of closed-circuit security monitors on his desk. He hunched over and studied the image of each camera closely before moving on to the next one. The only activity he noticed was that of the Al-Shabaab guards patrolling the perimeter. Despite the fact that everything appeared quiet, Garaar remained worried.

  At 10:50 p.m., Garaar decided to sit down after more than three hours of pacing and worrying. He opened up his Internet browser to see if he could find the latest message from Cindy. The message at the top of his inbox was a new one, denoted in a bold font. The combination of the email title along with the paper clip icon intrigued Garaar even more than usual when it came to Cindy’s messages. The title read: Tasteful Party Boat Attire? Garaar clicked on the email with delight, knowing there wouldn’t be anything tasteful about it. A grin slowly spread across Garaar’s face as he stared at the buxom blonde.

  Cindy’s attire barely qualified as clothing and, Garaar deduced, would not likely withstand the mild rigors of a fifty-meter lap swim.

  But perhaps that is the point.

  Garaar gawked at the picture of Cindy for a couple minutes before he crafted a response to her picture, which didn’t include any message.

  That is most tasteful, Cindy. I hope you plan on wearing that when you come visit me at my yacht next week. Can’t wait.

  When Garaar pressed the send button, he glanced up at the time in the corner of the screen. He had less than three minutes before the buyer was scheduled to arrive. Checking the monitors once again, he noticed someone had arrived. He enlarged the camera to fill the entire screen, studying the faces of the men in the picture slowly. The exchange was supposed to be between him and two men representing Al Hasib. But there were six men at the door with one of his guards.

  “I don’t like this,” Garaar said aloud.

  One of the security guards he’d hired had been standing in the room for several minutes, silent.

  “What don’t you like?” the guard asked.

  Garaar jumped before he spun around to look in the direction of the voice coming from the other side of the room.

  “Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” Garaar said as he shook a finger at the guard.

  “I thought you had seen me,” the guard replied.

  Garaar stood up. “Just go get three other guards and bring them in here. I don’t like being so outnumbered.”

  “There is only one other guard in the building. The rest are patrolling the perimeter and need to remain outside.”

  “I don’t care. Call them off their post,” Garaar said.

  “But I don’t think that’s—”

  “I don’t care what you think. We have other help regarding the security of the facility that you don’t even know about. Go get three other guards, and bring them in here.”

  The guard broke into a slow jog as he left the room.

  Garaar watched him leave and then exhaled a long breath. He then wrung his hands as he struggled to gather his wits.

  “Okay, okay,” he said aloud to himself. “This is simple. I’ve done this before. Just set up the demonstration, and it’ll be fine.”

  He walked over to the sealed room where he performed the tests and made sure the guinea pig was still awake and ready. After that, he rushed back into his office and cued up the video he’d previously sent to Karif Fazil to gauge his interest. But Garaar figured it would make for a more convincing presentation.

  After a few moments, the guard returned with three other men.

  “We’re here, sir,” the guard said.

  “Good,” Garaar said. “They’ll be here any mo—”

  The main door swung open, cutting off Garaar.

  “Sir, are these the men you were expecting?” the lone guard accompanying the visitors said.

  Garaar nodded.

  “If you have nothing else for me, I will return to my post out front,” the guard said.

  “No, you can stay,” Garaar said as he walked over to meet his guests. He swallowed hard as he studied the men and their weapons.

  “Are those really necessary, Rashid?” Garaar asked, gesturing toward the guns.

  Rashid Qureshi smiled. “Not for you, my friend.” He motioned for his men to point their guns down. “Now, let’s get down to business, shall we?”

  Garaar nodded and pointed toward a projection
screen descending slowly from the ceiling.

  “We came here for a product, not a movie,” Qureshi said.

  Garaar shrugged. “I know. I just thought that—”

  “Just give us a demonstration on one of your little animals, and we’ll call it good,” Qureshi said. “I don’t want to stay around here long.”

  Garaar smiled. “You have nothing to worry about. There are men stationed outside who are the best of the best when it comes to security.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Qureshi said as he snapped his fingers. “Let’s get on with it.”

  “Fine,” Garaar said as he wrung his hands again. “Follow me.”

  Garaar led Qureshi and his entourage to the sealed room before opening the case containing the Sarin liquid. Donning a mask and gloves, Garaar carefully placed a few drops of liquid into a vaporizer.

  “Make sure when you handle this that you always wear proper equipment,” Garaar said, glancing at Qureshi to make sure he was paying attention.

  Garaar slipped inside the room and placed the vaporizer into one of the hands of the glove box. He shut the door behind him and pressed a button, sealing the room.

  “Do we need to wear masks?” Qureshi asked as he shifted his weight between his feet. “If anything went wrong …”

  “This is a small amount of gas,” Garaar said. “It would mess you up, but it wouldn’t kill you. This guinea pig, on the other hand, is going to die quickly.”

  Garaar turned around to face the room before he slid his hands into the openings in the box. He proceeded to vaporize the Sarin and took a step back to watch the small little animal twitch and turn until it was dead. The whole process took less than forty-five seconds.

  “Impressive,” Qureshi said. “It is just as you said. I’ll take it.” He held his hand open, palm up to Garaar.

  Garaar held up his index finger. “Not until I get confirmation that you have sent the money to my account.”

  Qureshi rolled his eyes. “You scientists can be so finicky.”