Point of Impact (A Brady Hawk Novel Book 3)

by Jack Patterson

  She rattled off the details.

  He sighed. “I’m where I’m supposed to be; that much I know.”

  “Give it a few more minutes. If you haven’t heard anything by then, call me back, and I’ll get in touch with Johnson and see what’s going on.”

  “Roger that.”

  Hawk hung up and waited a few more minutes, passing the time by studying the various trail runners who whizzed past him. Though Hawk was frustrated over the lack of contact, he was determined to enjoy the cool breeze whipping up the hill from the bay. It made him wish he’d brought a heavier coat.

  However, there was still no contact.

  He pulled out his phone again to call Alex when he heard a familiar voice.

  “Hawk.”

  Hawk whipped his head right toward the other end of the bench. He went slack-jawed as he stared at the man sitting a few short feet away.

  It was Blunt.

  CHAPTER 2

  THE MATSUKAZE MARU CHURNED across the North Pacific Ocean, slicing through the rough waves caused by the latest storm roiling the waters. The sea’s condition was a surfer’s dream but a seafarer’s nightmare. The cargo ship lurched and lunged toward its final destination in San Francisco Bay.

  Laman Kattan paced around the ship’s deck. His weak stomach would result in a mess if he remained below deck for too long. He preferred to patrol the area on top and check on the status of his shipment the Japanese crew had agreed to transport, albeit at gunpoint. He banged on the door with his fist.

  “Is everything all right in there?” he yelled in Arabic.

  He couldn’t make out any intelligible answer amidst the squeamish yelling and screaming.

  Without delay, Laman opened the door and stormed inside. The dozen girls and three men he’d locked inside cowered against the wall of the shipping container—that is, all except one.

  One of the men, Sabit, didn’t move. He ignored Laman and kept the girl in front of him pinned against the wall. Sabit groped at her, drawing Laman’s ire.

  Laman raced toward Sabit and delivered a wicked blow to the side of his head. Sabit staggered backward for a few moments before finding his footing and balance.

  “That’s not what Allah would want—and that’s not why we’re here,” Laman said. “We have a specific purpose, one ordained from on high. Don’t outlive your usefulness by standing in opposition to the cause of Allah.”

  The only two other men stuffed into the container were Habeeb and Mahmod. They glared at Sabit and told Laman they’d already torn into Sabit on a pair of occasions when he crossed the line of appropriateness with the women huddled against the wall. Based on their appearances, if they could edge any farther away from Sabit’s unwanted advances, they would.

  “Come on, Sabit. Be a real man,” Laman barked at him.

  Laman stormed around the container in a circle, surveying the cargo. Fear dominated the women’s eyes. Their attempts to shield themselves from the glare of Laman’s flashlight were rebuffed as he slapped their hands downward.

  “Let me see your eyes,” Laman demanded.

  They seemed weak and afraid, yet they didn’t appear damaged. He smiled as he scanned the container once more.

  “You’ll all do well in America,” he said before he stopped and leered over one of the women. “You especially.”

  The door to the container creaked as Laban yanked it shut and jammed the lock into place.

  He never imagined that his service to Allah would include such inhumane practices. To him, Islam was about peace and love. But at the moment, it seemed more about domination and control. It wasn’t the worst assignment he’d ever received, but it wasn’t pleasant. He despised lording himself over shackled prisoners and using the threat of force to obtain his way.

  In the end, it was all for Allah. Who was he to contest the methods Al Hasib used to accomplish its objectives?

  Laman staggered toward the edge of the ship and grabbed the railing as the water rolled below. He tried to settle his stomach before he couldn’t any longer due to the raucous waves bouncing the ship across.

  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stumbled toward his container again.

  This mission had better succeed.

  CHAPTER 3

  ALEX GLANCED AT HER COMPUTER SCREEN and then down at the pictures next to her keyboard on her desk. Hawk had collected them from two assassins he’d encountered on a recent mission in the Middle East, tasking Alex with figuring out how and why these two men had the photos. She conducted extensive searches through government and criminal databases to unearth any piece of information about either of the men. Yet, she’d learned nothing new. Not even as much as an address or a middle name. The assassins were virtual ghosts, operating under aliases.

  After she grew tired of running into dead ends, Alex decided to search the Peace Corps database. With Frank Culbert serving there in a legitimate capacity, she figured his name had to be there somewhere. Within ten minutes of hacking into their system, she discovered she was right.

  However, Frank Culbert didn’t have much information attached to him other than a few different assignments. There was no family listed, no permanent U.S. address, no references. Whoever he was, it was clear that someone affiliated with the Peace Corps had gone to great lengths to ensure that nobody found out anything about him.

  Mining deeper into the organization’s database, Alex found a Bethany Culbert listed along with nothing more than an address located in Silver Spring, Maryland. The record was from twelve years ago, but Alex decided to see where it would lead.

  Alex navigated the late evening traffic with ease and double-checked the address once she parked against the curb in front of the house.

  This is it.

  She strode up the front steps and rang the doorbell.

  An elderly woman opened the door and greeted Alex.

  “Yes? What can I do for you, ma’am? Do you have a petition for me to sign?”

  Alex held her hands up. “Oh, no, ma’am. I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I’m not here for anything like that. However, I would like to ask you a few questions?”

  “What is this regarding? If it’s about my son, I’ve already told—”

  “No, ma’am. I’m not here to talk about your son. I’m here to talk about Bethany Culbert. Are you Mrs. Culbert?”

  The woman chuckled. “No, I’m not. Oh, Lord, I’m sorry. I just get so tired of people coming around here and asking about my son. I just thought—”

  “No need to apologize. I understand.”

  The woman forced another smile. “Good. Now, I do happen to know where Bethany Culbert lives.”

  “So you know her?”

  “I don’t know her very well at all, to be honest. Just as friendly acquaintances. We met her when my husband and I bought this house from Bethany quite a few years ago. Every once in a while people will come by and ask where she is. Fortunately, I’ve been able to keep track of her address wherever she’s gone. She moves quite a bit, you know.”

  “If you could give that to me, I’d be most grateful. I have an urgent matter to discuss with her.”

  “I hope everything’s all right.”

  Alex smiled in an effort to put the woman at ease. “Oh, it’s all fine. She’s just come into a great sum of money, and I’m obligated to let her know about it.”

  The woman held up her finger. “Wait right here. I’ll go get a piece of paper and write down her address for you.”

  A few moments later, the woman returned with a piece of paper folded up.

  “You didn’t tell me what your name was, sweetie,” the woman said.

  “Sally,” Alex said. “Sally Jenkins.”

  “Well, Ms. Jenkins, good luck finding her, and I hope you have a pleasant evening.”

  Alex hustled back to her car and drove to the address the woman had written down for her. It was only a few miles away in Kemp Mill, another nearby community.

  When Alex approached this house
, the porch light was out as were all the lights in the house. She hesitated to knock for fear that she might awaken Bethany. Aside from the soundtrack of crickets chirping and a small dog barking, the street remained quiet.

  Alex knocked hard and waited. Nothing.

  She then knocked harder and longer.

  This time, she heard some rumblings and heavy footsteps scattering throughout the house. Yet no one came to the door.

  Alex knocked again, this time loudly while asking if Bethany was home.

  “Bethany Culbert? Are you here? I have an urgent matter to speak with you about.”

  Across the street, a porch light blinked on. Alex looked over her shoulder to see a robed man step out onto the stoop and stare at her.

  She knocked again. “Bethany, I really need to—”

  Deadbolts began clicking. Metal chains slid. Finally, the door, still fastened with a metal chain-link lock, opened just wide enough for Alex to see one of the woman’s eyes.

  “Are you Bethany Culbert?” Alex asked.

  “Nobody’s called me that in years. What do you want?”

  “My name is Sally Jenkins, and I have a few questions for you regarding Frank Culbert.”

  Bethany unlocked the remaining link and opened the door.

  “Come in,” Bethany said, sticking her head outside to scan the area before ushering Alex inside with a wave.

  Alex waited for Bethany to re-lock the door and turn on a light.

  Bethany gestured for Alex to have a seat and directed her to a sitting area just off the entryway.

  “What’s this all about?” Bethany asked as she sat down. “Who sent you? Is the Peace Corps finally going to pay up?”

  Alex was taken aback by Bethany’s questions. “No, I’m here as a favor for a friend, who’s trying to learn more about who Frank Culbert is.”

  “Is?” Bethany eyed Alex closely. “Don’t you mean was?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “Frank’s been dead for about ten years now.”

  CHAPTER 4

  HAWK BLINKED HARD and strained to see into the darkness that had settled upon the city. He knew the man sitting down the bench from him looked like Blunt but struggled to grasp the reality of it all.

  “I watched you die,” Hawk said, his voice rising just above a whisper. “I buried you.”

  Blunt smiled and looked around. He held up his hand, motioning for Hawk to lower his voice. “That’s exactly what you were supposed to do. If anyone was watching me, they would believe I was dead. Either that or you need to land a job in Hollywood because that was one helluva performance you put on.”

  Hawk wasn’t amused. “I almost quit the program.”

  “And General Johnson wasn’t going to let that happen.”

  “He knew?”

  “I had him notified before the funeral, mailed him a letter the day before it all went down.”

  “Who else was in on this?”

  “No one, not even the paramedics.”

  “They even seemed convinced you were dying. So, how did you—?”

  Blunt wagged his finger at Hawk. “A good magician never tells his secrets.”

  “It’s hardly a secret now.”

  “It better stay that way. The only people who know about this are you and General Johnson?”

  “What about Alex?”

  “She’ll know soon enough.”

  Hawk sighed. “But I still don’t understand. Why?”

  “There are some evil men who are after me, Hawk. And they weren’t going to stop until I was dead and buried.”

  “What if they dig you up?”

  Blunt chuckled. “They’ll need something just short of permission from Congress to exhume my body from the grave at Arlington. That cemetery is guarded and under surveillance. The lengths they would have to go to just to confirm my death are over the top, even for them.”

  “So, you’re never coming back?”

  Blunt shook his head.

  “That’s quite a sacrifice.”

  “I’m not done making sacrifices.”

  Hawk cocked his head to one side. “What else are you planning on doing?”

  “I’m undergoing facial reconstruction surgery so I can return to the working world. Firestorm needs my full-time attention now in order to snuff Al Hasib out for good—and other terrorist cells that are cropping up almost daily now.”

  “You better change more than just your face.”

  “Oh, I will. My habits are something else I must address before I resurface.”

  Hawk smiled. “Good. I trust this will end your obsession with cheap cigars.”

  “You’ll be happy to know my new legend is going to smoke Cubans.”

  “And always supplied with an extra one to share with present company, I hope.”

  Blunt scowled. “Don’t press your luck.”

  Hawk stood up. “Let’s take a walk. There are still some things you need to tell me, starting with my father. You were just about to tell me about him when—”

  Blunt rose to his feet. “For the record, I want you to know that wasn’t planned. Just unfortunate timing when the drug took effect.”

  “When I stared at your grave, I thought I would never know what happened to my father.”

  “After I tell you what happened, you may wish you didn’t know. It’s a story of a deep betrayal.”

  Hawk kicked at the ground as they started to walk. “I already know how the story ends. I’m more concerned with how my father got there.”

  “Have you ever heard of the CIA program, MKUltra?”

  Hawk nodded. “Who hasn’t?”

  “The CIA’s infamous mind control project was supposedly ended in the early 1970s—but that was a lie,” Blunt began. “Agent Foster—your dad—he was one hell of an operative. He found out some special ops group had rebooted it and was planning to get the Chinese trade minister, Chai Xu, to ingest some of the MKUltra drug while on a trip to the U.S. Your dad’s partner warned him to be careful. He ignored his partner and confronted one of the operational chiefs. Two days later, Foster was dead.”

  “Who had him killed?”

  “That I don’t know. There were plenty of people who it could’ve been, but I’d just be spitballing if I gave you a name. And let me tell you, that’s a fool’s errand in the world of espionage. As you know, intel is vital to any mission’s success.”

  Hawk clenched his fists and looked skyward. He could feel his blood pressure starting to rise. Even during his killing sprees, he knew to keep calm. But this was one moment where he wanted to unleash all of that rage. One day, when the time was right, he would.

  “How did you find out about all of this?” Hawk asked.

  “Even spies talk.”

  Hawk stopped at the corner of the street and turned toward Blunt. “How long will you be gone?”

  “I’m not sure. Several weeks, maybe more. But don’t worry—you’re in good hands with General Johnson. He’ll take good care of you. You can trust him as you would me.”

  “What about the mission?”

  “Johnson will tell you everything you need to know.”

  Hawk turned and walked in the other direction before Blunt called after him.

  “And, Hawk, be careful.”

  A wry grin spread across Hawk’s face. “You know me.”

  CHAPTER 5

  LAMAN BACKED THE VAN into the garage and parked, waiting for the overhead door to completely close before exiting his vehicle. He slid open the van’s doors and instructed Mahmod and Habeeb to pull out the women. Sabit joined Laman in receiving the women and taking them into the house.

  Without showering for over a week, the ladies reeked. Laman hated this portion of his assignment for various reasons, chiefly because he had to handle distraught, frantic, and pungent women.

  “Get washed up,” Laman snapped as he shoved one of the women into a bathroom.

  The house Laman had operated out of for the past few years was a
four-story home perched halfway up a hilly residential street. Three blocks away from the nearest trolley car, the house was far enough away from any busy thoroughfare to attract attention. He’d met several of the neighbors, who were too busy with their lives to notice the strange comings and goings at his house. They were also too proud of their inclusive community to cast even a second glance, even if they had happened to catch any unusual activity. It was the ideal location to build a sleeper cell, right in the heart of a community that boasted about how they weren’t governed by fear.

  Laman stepped out onto the front porch and waved at Phil Milton, the financial broker who lived across the street. Milton smiled big and waved back before disappearing inside his home.

  Fools. They’ll never even know what hit them.

  Laman entered his house and surveyed the progress of the women. He needed them all to look their best before the buyer stopped by to assess them.

  After all the women had showered and eaten, he situated them on the couch in the living room and told them to be quiet when they were being shown.

  When the doorbell rang, Laman welcomed Theo Brown inside. Brown was a runner for a local drug kingpin who liked Middle Eastern women. According to Brown, his boss preferred ladies from the Middle East because so many of his clients enjoyed exerting power over Muslim women. It was their way to get back at the terrorists for all the things they’d done.

  Laman loathed handing the women over to a man with such debased morals, not to mention that he detested what would become of them. What he was doing wasn’t even permissible according to the Quran. But to Laman, the ends justified the means.

  Brown strolled around the room, poking and prodding the ladies. He stroked some of their faces while running his fingers through the hair of others. Aside from muttering to himself, he didn’t say much, content to keep his observations to himself.

  “I’ll take her, her, her, her, and her,” Brown said as he pointed at each woman. “The rest I can broker for you, albeit at a much lower price.”

  Laman shrugged. “It’s your business.”

  Brown smiled and winked at one of the ladies. He positioned himself near the front door, nodding at his two companions to be ready to receive the women into his van.