“You mind telling me what you were doing up in the rafters?” the guard asked.
Hawk shrugged. “No need to get crazy, mister. I was just working on a project.”
The guard pursed his lips. “A project, huh? What kind of project?”
“Oh, you know, just the usual maintenance and repair type stuff.”
“What’s in the bag?” the guard asked, gesturing toward it with his other hand.
“Just some tools and supplies.”
“Mind if I take a look?”
Hawk knew he was busted. His options boiled down to either running, which would still result in the deaths of hundreds of people later that day—and possibly becoming a prime suspect in the bombing, or bluffing his way past the guard and keeping alive his chances to remove all the explosive devices.
He chose the latter.
“I was doing an inspection up there,” Hawk said, pointing upward.
The guard peeked in the bag and looked up abruptly.
“Get outta there, Hawk,” said Alex, her voice obviously tense as it came through over Hawk’s com link.
The guard snatched his walkie-talkie off his belt and radioed back the security office. “I need some help in the main course along the right field line. Did we have any electrician scheduled to do work in the rafters today?”
“That’s a negative,” a man answered.
“In that case, I need two more guards to help me apprehend a suspect I caught. I think he’s got explosives.”
Hawk sighed. “They’re not explosives,” he said, continuing his bluff. “That’s how I test the structural integrity of a facility.”
“This looks a lot like explosives,” the guard said as he grabbed Hawk by the arm. “Let’s go.”
Hawk heard Alex squawking in his ear. He wanted to do what she said and run; he wanted to save himself. But he couldn’t; there were too many lives at stake to draw out law enforcement on a protracted chase around Washington. Not to mention, the moment someone figured out who he was, his picture would be plastered everywhere. and he’d be unable to move about the country or anywhere else. He’d be branded a terrorist.
No, Hawk realized he had to ride out this storm and think fast on his feet.
Hawk stumbled forward as the guard yanked a zip-tie around his wrists.
“I said move,” the guard ordered.
“Come on, Hawk,” Alex said. “Do something.”
“I am,” Hawk said. “Just be patient.”
“Don’t get cute with me,” the guard fired back. “Now, move it.”
Hawk considered his next course of action—and no idea he had seemed sufficient. He began to wonder if he might have blown this assignment.
CHAPTER 31
MUDIN WATCHED SEVERAL YANKEES PLAYERS hit home runs in batting practice, the ball sailing into the outfield seats where fans clambered for the souvenirs. He tugged his baseball cap down tight, shading most of his face. He came up with a workable solution, but he needed to keep a low profile.
His master plan? Oversee the demolition of the stadium as ordered. However, instead of getting close enough to the target and detonating the vest, he would remove it and set it off remotely. The components he needed to make the required adjustments didn’t set off any alarms while security wanded him upon entry to the park. And even if it had, the guards would’ve waved him inside. Nothing about Mudin struck fear in the heart of anyone. An unassuming appearance was a trait consistent with all of Fazil’s candidates for his judgment operatives.
After watching batting practice for a few minutes, Mudin walked casually up the steps and to the concourse. He picked the lock of a service room and grabbed the suicide vest he’d stashed beneath one of the shelving units when he planted the explosive devices and went to work. He disconnected several wires and refastened them on the vest, networking the wires to a new detonator point. He had to be careful not to override the remote detonator circuit, which would signal to Fazil that he’d tinkered with the vest. If Fazil grew suspicious, Mudin was certain his leader would order the execution of Mudin’s family.
Once Mudin finished, he put the vest on, satisfied that his tweaks would help him achieve the end result he wanted. Once the stadium was destroyed in the bombing, nobody would be looking for him. He’d leave his wallet somewhere with his identification, and Al Hasib would never look for him again.
Mudin prepared to exit the closet when his phone rang with a call from Fazil.
“Is everything in place?” Fazil asked.
“I’m ready.”
“Excellent,” Fazil said. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you? It’s imperative that you carry out your part of the mission, which might be the most important portion.”
“I’m ready to give my life for the cause and meet Allah.”
“Good, good. In case you get cold feet, don’t worry. We can remotely detonate the bomb.”
“I’ll be proud to do it myself,” Mudin said.
“We’ll be watching.”
Fazil hung up, and Mudin stared down at his vest.
We’ll be watching?
Mudin examined his vest and noticed a small camera that was fasted to the zipper. The camera was hardly noticeable, but once he saw it, it might as well have flashed at him every time he looked at it. His plan was thwarted before he even had a chance to enact it.
Mudin swallowed hard and stepped out into the concourse. His time was limited, and the clock was ticking.
CHAPTER 32
HAWK WANTED TO SILENCE Alex’s voice in his ear. Instead of giving him helpful suggestions, she panicked, which only made him more nervous.
“Will you please stop?” Hawk said.
“Excuse me?” the guard said. “Do you have to go to the little boy’s room?”
Hawk knew he was being mocked. “I do. Is that okay?”
The guard shrugged. “I guess so.”
He led Hawk into the restroom and cut his tie.
“I’m watching you,” the guard said as he took up a post in the corner.
Hawk tried to casually finger comb his hair with his hand. He looked over his shoulder at the guard before deciding to remove the com link as discreetly as possible.
“Talk to me, Hawk. Talk to—”
Alex’s squawking disappeared, just like her collected coolness had ten minutes before.
Hawk was on his own, but he needed a way to permanently unshackle himself. Every scenario he could think of was too risky or resulted in him either blowing his cover or landing on an international terrorist watch list.
Maybe Blunt can help me get out of this.
It was a fleeting thought. Blunt’s promise to deny all knowledge of his operatives had been burned into Hawk’s consciousness. Placing such a phone call also would jeopardize Blunt’s privacy.
When Hawk finished his business, the guard zip-tied Hawk’s hands again, nudging the prisoner forward.
They continued along the concourse until the guard gave him a hard shove to the left toward the security offices, which were connected to the general administrative offices. If Hawk was going to break free and make a run for it, his opportunity was dwindling by the second.
As they walked past the main area, Hawk looked up and saw Thomas Colton.
“Hey, Dad,” Hawk said.
“Brady? What’s going on here?” Colton said while he walked toward him.
“I’m being apprehended apparently. This guy here doesn’t believe that I was assigned to work for the Nationals, and he’s accusing me of trying to blow up the stadium.”
“Unhand this man at once,” Colton said to the guard.
“I don’t think so,” the guard said.
“This is my son, and he’s done nothing wrong,” Colton said as he leaned down and peered hard at the nameplate attached to the man’s shirt. “Mr. Norman, I’ll have your job by the end of the day if you don’t.”
Norman rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He cut Hawk free and turned around immediately to head b
ack out the door.
“My backpack?” Hawk said.
“Catch,” Norman said just before he tossed the bag at Hawk.
Colton waited until the guard left before he turned to Hawk. “Would you like to tell me what in the hell is going on right now? What was that all about?”
“What are you doing here?” Hawk asked.
“I’m entertaining some of the G-8 leaders. Now will you answer my question?”
“Al Hasib is going to blow up the stadium today. You need to get these leaders out of here.”
“Blow up the stadium? Are you serious?”
Hawk shook his head. “Have you known me to joke about things like this?”
“Not really, but you’d say anything to me to save face, wouldn’t you?”
“I’m not playing games right now. I’ve got to go finish removing the rest of the explosive devices Al Hasib has planted around the stadium quickly so that Barney Fife doesn’t catch me and kill us all.”
Colton cocked his head to one side. “Is it really that bad?”
“I don’t lie about these things, D—Thomas.”
Colton forced a smile. “You can still call me—”
“Just forget I ever said anything,” Hawk said as he turned toward the door and slung his backpack over his shoulder. “And make sure those leaders never set foot in this stadium today.”
“Too late for that,” Colton said. “We’re all eating and drinking upstairs in the VIP Lounge.”
“Get them out of here … unless they all have a death wish.”
“I’ll do my best, but world leaders are a stubborn lot.”
Hawk sighed. “Make them unstubborn, okay?”
Without a second glance, Hawk dashed out the door and started to search out the remaining explosive devices. For a moment, he considered leaving his com link out of his ear. But he knew it’d only aggravate Alex, and she was likely to enter the stadium to try to help. He relented—against his better judgment—and slid the audio device back into his ear.
“I’m out,” Hawk said.
“How’d that happen?” she asked.
“Never mind. I just need you to lead me to where the other explosives are likely to be, according to the schematics.”
For the next half hour, Hawk stealthily worked his way around the stadium, removing the explosives Al Hasib had put in place. Once Hawk finished, he notified Alex.
“I’ve got to get these explosives out of the stadium,” he said.
“Dump them in the Potomac,” she said.
“Good idea.”
“But, Hawk, before you leave the stadium, there’s just one thing that’s really been bugging me.”
“What’s that?”
“There’s a section of the stadium that wouldn’t buckle if the blast pattern fell according to the scenarios I’ve run.”
“And that section is?”
“It’s a portion of the luxury boxes. Do you think this is by design?”
Hawk huffed. “When has Al Hasib ever done something that wasn’t by design? They try to infuse meaning or purpose into everything they do.”
“So, do you think they’re trying to protect someone?”
Hawk was silent for a few seconds, contemplating about what to tell her. “I think they’re trying to kill the G-8 dignitaries.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I saw my fa—Thomas Colton—earlier today. And he told me that he was going to be hobnobbing with the G-8 leaders. Taking out all those leaders would be a feather in the cap of Al Hasib. It’d be great recruiting material, not to mention wildly popular the world over for everyone who hates all these G-8 nations.”
“And how are they going to kill all those leaders if there isn’t a bomb there?” she asked. “Please don’t tell me what I think you’re about to say.”
“They’re not planning on striking in a traditional method. No, this has to be up close and personal.”
“A suicide bomber?” Alex said with a gasp.
“Bingo. This whole assignment just got that much more interesting, didn’t it?”
“And dangerous. Be safe out there, Hawk.”
“Aren’t I always?”
“Like I said, be safe.”
CHAPTER 33
SENATOR MARK ADAMS SETTLED into his seat and checked his watch. He was honored to receive such a prestigious assignment, contrived as it may have been. President Michaels handpicked Adams for a task that every politically-minded person in Washington would cut off their right arm for—but hardly any of them would want it if they knew what it entailed. Entertaining the G-8 leaders around Washington and then at Nationals Park sounded like an enviable job, but Adams knew he was marching the men to their deaths.
He convinced himself it was a necessary evil, the kind of evil that could help restore trust in the American government. But that was only after the American people had lost all hope. Riding into a situation fraught with danger and impending doom, the U.S. government wanted to serve as the cavalry. At least, that’s how Adams viewed the situation in his mind. He had to engage in some serious mental gymnastics to arrive at a place where he felt confident he was doing the right thing—and eventually, he did. It wasn’t a foreign practice to him, something he learned within the first week of arriving in Washington as a freshman senator. But it was a necessary practice in order to assuage his guilty conscience.
Adams shook the hand of Julien Girard, the prime minister of France, and entered into frivolous banter. Girard, who’d taken the seat next to Adams, surprised him with extensive knowledge of the game of baseball.
“And here I thought you only understood the nuances of soccer,” Adams said, forcing a smile before he slapped Girard on the back.
Girard wasn’t amused and turned to his left in search of a new conversation partner.
Adams let out an exasperated breath.
“Stuck up, bastard,” Adams muttered as he stood to leave.
Girard grabbed Adams by the arm and forcefully pulled him down into his seat. “If you think you are being funny, you are mistaken,” Girard said. “Don’t insult me like that again.”
Adams wrestled his arm free from Girard and threw both hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. “I promise, I’ll never insult you again—ever.”
Or speak to you either.
Free from Girard’s fierce grip, Adams walked away, firing one last salvo in the form of a sneering expression.
Adams’s mentor tried to convince him that he needed to kiss ass often if he hoped to be effective in Washington. “Firmly planted lips in private will earn you pecks in public that will fuel your career,” he’d once told Adams.
But after more than two decades of playing Washington’s warped game, Adams decided he was done with it. He wanted to actually get something done, and that started with enacting a plan that would help the United States truly secure its borders. Ever since the September 11 bombing, Americans lived in a state of perpetual fear that terrorists would strike again. Yet outside of a few random attempts that never killed more than a dozen or so people at best, the country had never been safer. However, Adams believed a reckoning was coming, at least it was if somebody didn’t do something about it. President Michaels was a man who shared Adams’s perspective on the future and wanted to take action.
Adams’s initially struggled with the unsavory method Michaels proposed. But once Adams convinced himself it was necessary, he embraced it.
Adams checked his watch again. It was time to leave.
CHAPTER 34
WHEN HAWK RETURNED TO NATIONALS PARK, he headed straight for the elevators taking him to the luxury suites. Colton put Hawk’s name on a guest list, allowing him access to the exclusive and highly secure area.
Inside the private suite, Hawk absorbed the scene. Foreign dignitaries, all clutching glasses in their hands, conversed with various Washington celebrities. A few prominent senators, the quarterback of the Washington Redskins, several world-renowned Wall Street bank
CEOs, and a rock star made the suite alive with intriguing conversations. Thomas Colton’s presence also livened up the festivities. The smell of freshly carved roast beef emanating from a table in one corner mixed with the powerful aroma of seasoned shrimp at a station in the other corner. For a moment, Hawk was tempted to get something to eat.
He started to look around the room for any signs of anyone who might be nervous. The first pitch was thrown to the approval of the roaring crowd in the stands. Most of the dignitaries barely noticed.
Hawk kept scanning the room before Alex’s voice returned in his ear, a voice that was much calmer than earlier.
“What do you see, Hawk?” she asked.
“A bunch of rich dudes eating delicious food,” he said. “Should I get a to-go plate for you?”
“Only if it’s served with a side of an Al Hasib operative.”
“What about a senator trying to make a break for it?”
“And who might that be?”
Hawk’s eyes narrowed. “That looks like none other than Senator Mark Adams to me.”
Hawk stepped directly in front of Adams’s path to the exit. When he came to Hawk, the senator tried to side-step him. But Hawk wasn’t having any of it. He slid in front of Adams’s path again and again. After Hawk’s moves created an uncomfortable two-step of sorts, Adams’s resolve intensified. He put his shoulder into Hawk and tried to push his way past.
Hawk put his right hand on Adams’s chest.
“Going somewhere?”
Adams glared at him. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you need to step aside.”
“Not until you answer a few questions for me first.”
“Sorry, pal, but I don’t have time for your games. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Hawk put his hand on Adams’s shoulders, squeezing hard. “Not until you tell me what I need to know.”
Adams shook free of Hawk’s grip and stepped back. “Do you have a problem? Or do I need to call security over here?”
Hawk narrowed his eyes. “Where are you going in such a hurry? The game just started.”
Full Blast (A Brady Hawk novel Book 4) Page 12
