Final Strike (A Brady Hawk Novel Book 21)

by R. J. Patterson

  “Maybe she has some friends who might be able to help.”

  “Good idea,” Alex said. “She showed me how to find some hackers on the dark web.”

  Big Earv gestured toward her laptop sitting on the end of the counter. “What are you waiting for?”

  Alex scooped up her coffee mug and shuffled over to the computer. She opened the top and took another swig of her drink while the machine whirred to life. Once the screen lit up, she started typing. She didn’t waste any time, heading straight for a dark web. But before she followed Mia’s instructions, Alex stopped and searched a popular chatroom she used with other hackers who’d infiltrated the site and used it to pass messages back and forth.

  When she went into the chatroom, she logged into her account and found a message waiting. She gasped, covering her mouth with both hands.

  “What is it?” Black asked as he stumbled into the kitchen.

  Big Earv handed Black a mug and nodded toward the coffee maker. “It’s piping hot, and all ready for you.”

  Black looked over Alex’s shoulder. “Not Hacker Haunt. Oh, geez.”

  “Shut up,” Alex said. “Sometimes I get good tips in here.”

  “That’s what Shields says. It’s nothing more than a hacker gossip site.”

  “I wouldn’t entirely disagree with that statement. But I do find some things on here from time to time.”

  “When was the last time you got anything of value out of that site?” he asked as he poured the coffee into his mug.

  “How about now?” Alex said, turning to flash a smug smile at Black.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “A note from one of my friends at the CIA.”

  Alex ignored Black as he continued talking. Her lips moved as she muttered the words to herself. Mallory Kauffman rarely communicated through this forum, so Alex found it odd. However, she figured Mallory had to be in tune with what was going on and didn’t want to jeopardize her friend’s safety.

  Smart girl, Mallory.

  The note told Alex to call Mallory on a special line for some important news.

  Wonder what that’s all about.

  Alex found their satellite phone and dialed Mallory’s number.

  “Oh, I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear your voice,” Mallory said. “I was hoping you’d find my message sooner than later.”

  “I appreciate the discretion,” Alex said. “I take it you know what’s going on with us.”

  “It’s big talk in the intelligence community. Some people are pissed to learn the truth about the Phoenix Foundation. Others think you are the scourge of the earth for what you allegedly did.”

  “I can assure you that it’s all bullshit. Someone hacked the CIA database and replaced Tahir Nazari’s picture with Omar Ebadi’s. I’m a hundred percent certain we were set up.”

  “And it’s about to get much worse."

  “What are you talking about?”

  Mallory took a deep breath. “Yesterday I got a call from a relatively new analyst working over at the NSA. She intercepted a call from Falcon Sinclair to—”

  “Wait a minute,” Alex interrupted. “Who did you say?”

  “Falcon Sinclair.”

  “When did she say he made that call?”

  “Sometime around one o’clock in the morning their time.”

  “That can’t be.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “One of our agents told us that she watched Falcon Sinclair die.”

  “Well, I’m just passing along the message. And I haven’t even gotten to the most terrifying part yet.”

  Alex shook her head. “There’s more?”

  “Yeah, the whole point of the call. Sinclair called Tahir Nazari. They’re plotting an attack in New York City. And Sinclair told Nazari that he’d be able to get his men into the country without any problems.”

  “Did Sinclair say when this was going to happen?”

  “No, but my analyst friend said they would be taking urgent action.”

  “This is turning into a nightmare,” Alex said.

  “I’m right there with you,” Mallory said. “I would’ve taken this to some people here, but I don’t know who to trust anymore.”

  “That makes two of us. Thanks for the heads up, and we’ll look into it. Keep me posted if anything changes by calling me back on this sat phone.”

  “Got it. Good luck.”

  Alex hung up and stared down at her keyboard, almost too frozen to type.

  “What is it?” Big Earv asked.

  “We’ve got a big problem, starting with the fact that Falcon Sinclair isn’t dead yet.”

  “Maybe you better get up, Hawk,” Black said.

  “Get me up for what?” Hawk asked as he walked into the kitchen.

  Alex recounted her conversation with Mallory before turning her attention back to her laptop. Hawk peered over her shoulder.

  “You’re trying to find legitimate conspiracies at Hacker Haunt? Oh, goodness, Alex.”

  She pursed her lips and glared at him. “I’ve found things in here before.”

  Hawk chuckled. “Better hurry up because we’ve got to figure out a way to stop Tahir Nazari from getting into the country … and do it without getting spotted.”

  Alex clapped her hands triumphantly and then smacked the counter. “I knew it. You two make fun of me, but I’ve got a good one right here.”

  “What is it?” Hawk asked.

  “It’s a guy who worked for Zeus Chemical,” Alex said. “Said he was fired and his social media accounts scrubbed when he mentioned that the night of the gas leak the workers were all ordered to go home early and were replaced by a temporary team. Nobody knew who they were.”

  “That sounds sketchy,” Hawk admitted.

  “There’s a lot here that we need to investigate,” she said, “but first we’ve got to get to New York City.”

  “I hear the Stones are playing there in a few days,” Black said, raising his mug as if offering a toast.

  “Now you’re talking,” Hawk said. “Mixing work and pleasure is the only way to go.”

  * * *

  BLUNT HEARD the conversation through the door to his room. He knew that Sinclair was evil, but bringing in Nazari was diabolical. The Aussie wanted to inflict maximum pain on innocent citizens of the United States to achieve his end game. And Blunt wasn’t about to let that happen.

  He pulled out the burner phone Alex had given him and dialed his cell number. When the message came on, he entered his code to listen to his messages.

  The first one was a recording offering him the opportunity to get an extended warranty for his car. The second one made him shudder.

  “Uncle J.D., this is Morgan. I don’t know what’s going on, but I heard you are in a little bit of trouble to say the least. So, I don’t know if you can do anything about this now, but I’m in some trouble of my own. I think somebody’s following me and has been since late last night. Do you think someone found out about me? Please call … and hurry.”

  Blunt hung up and buried his head in his hands.

  Putting Morgan at risk is something I’ll never forgive Noah Young for.

  He got up and got dressed before entering the kitchen. “Black, I’ve got a special assignment for you.”

  CHAPTER 40

  New York City

  TWO DAYS LATER, Tahir Nazari paced around the former ballroom before stopping near the window to look at the street below. He turned his attention to the paint chipping off the walls. While the wooden floor squeaked as he shuffled across it, he tried to imagine the former splendor of the facility.

  “I bet this place was a jewel fifty years ago, Pendar,” Nazari said to his top lieutenant.

  Pendar nodded. “It would’ve been a beautiful venue to have a wedding.”

  “Perhaps after we’re done here, you can marry your second wife here.”

  Pendar shook his head and laughed. “One wife is all I can handle.”

  “Haadiya is
a feisty one, no?”

  “I love her like no other, but she knows how to try a man.”

  Nazari leaned in close and spoke in a whisper. “I’ll give you a tip, Pendar. All women are like that.”

  “Such curious wisdom from a man who’s yet to marry.”

  “Or perhaps you might say I have unbridled wisdom, because I can assure you that it’s not for lack of prospects,” Nazari said, patting Pendar on the back. “No, I’m married to our cause. And once I’ve achieved what Allah has destined for me, I will settle down with a woman and raise a family. But not until then.”

  “Perhaps tomorrow then you’ll be released to indulge yourself.”

  Nazari winked. “Who says I’m not already?”

  Another man descended from the balcony stairs that wrapped around the wall and spilled out near one side of the room.

  “Sir,” the man called, “the men are ready for you.”

  “Thank you,” Nazari said. “Tell them I’ll join them in a moment.”

  The man darted back up the stairs.

  Nazari looked at Pendar. “What we’re about to do tomorrow is a dream that my brother, Karif, had years ago. He came close to raining down destruction on this city, but he failed. Tomorrow, we will see his vision fulfilled. And I will remember the sacrifice that he made and honor his death as we celebrate our ultimate victory over the evil west.”

  “May it be so,” Pendar said, gesturing toward the stairs. “Your men await.”

  Nazari smiled as he plodded up the steps toward the meeting hall. He’d read the news reports of what happened to his step-brother’s failed attempt to destroy New York City with a dirty atomic bomb. The way the articles depicted his brother angered Nazari. He took issue with the way reporters called Karif a terrorist.

  Karif was no terrorist. He was leading a revolution against the people who have oppressed our part of the world for nearly a half-century. Tomorrow, they will receive justice for what they’ve done to my good brother’s name.

  Nazari strode through the doors, and a raucous applause broke out among the men. They started chanting his name as they raised their fists in the air. After a few moments, he raised his hands to silence them.

  “Gentlemen, this is a historic moment for us,” Nazari began. “We’re not here to simply to unleash a powerful force of destruction on this city. We’re here to right wrongs. We’re here to transform minds. We’re here to assert ourselves and let these evil westerners know the full force of our fury. No longer will we be subject to the whims of this country. From now on, we will dictate the terms. We will demand a place at the table. We will use fear to carve out a new path for our people, a path of prosperity and peace, a path that no longer is trodden by the boots of western soldiers.”

  The men erupted into more applause before chanting Nazari’s name again.

  Nazari smiled as he watched the unfolding scene. He glanced at his watch to note the time.

  In less than twenty-four hours, victory will be mine.

  CHAPTER 41

  Bethesda, Maryland

  J.D. BLUNT EASED across the parking lot at the Congressional Country Club and found one of his favorite groundskeepers. Harry Copperfield was bent over, inflating a tire on one of the golf carts, his crack on full display. While Blunt found it mildly amusing, he resisted making a joke.

  “Harry,” Blunt called.

  The man paused what he was doing and glanced over his shoulder through his black-rimmed spectacles. “As I live and breathe. It’s Senator Blunt.”

  Blunt knew he was taking a chance by showing his face in a public place, but he figured Harry wouldn’t be attuned to the news that Blunt was a wanted man.

  “It’s good to see you, Harry,” Blunt said, offering his hand.

  The two men shook vigorously. “I haven’t seen you in forever. What brings you over here to the repair shop?”

  “I was wondering if you might be able to hook me up with a cart.”

  “Are you about to play a round?” Harry asked.

  “Not today, but there’s someone I need to see.”

  Harry leaned in close, speaking in a hushed tone. “You know I can’t do that, Senator Blunt. I might very well lose my job over such a stunt.”

  “If you leave the keys in the ignition, I won’t tell anyone.”

  Harry peered over the top of his glasses at Blunt. “That wouldn’t be very responsible.”

  “Look, I wouldn’t ask you to do something like this if it wasn’t important,” Blunt said, pleading with his eyes. “I have some urgent business with Senator Wharton. And if I’m not able to talk with him soon, innocent people might lose their lives.”

  Harry shook his head. “Every time you ask me for a favor, it’s like the world is teetering on the brink.”

  “Have you ever stopped to consider that I’m the one who keeps it all together?”

  “I guess not,” Harry said before digging a set of keys out of his back pocket and tossing them to Blunt. “Number thirty-four. It’s my cart,”

  “Interesting number.”

  “Yeah, the same number that the greatest college football running back of all time wore while playing at the University of Georgia.”

  “Ricky Williams?” Blunt said with a wink.

  “I’m not sure I’ll even dignify that with a response,” Harry said.

  “That’s the best number thirty-four I’ve ever seen run the ball.”

  Harry huffed. “But not even the best to come out of Texas. How quickly you’ve forgotten Earl Campbell.”

  “But he wore number twenty,” Blunt said.

  “I’m beginning to think you want me to take those keys back.”

  Blunt smiled and rattled the keys. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

  He lumbered toward the cart and then sat down. Inserting the key into the ignition, he turned it and stepped on the gas. Within seconds, Blunt was zipping through the parking lot and headed toward the back nine. By the time he reached the fourteenth hole, he spotted Wharton in his iconic red-and-black plaid pants, red long-sleeve shirt, and grey sleeveless cardigan. He was nearly impossible to miss.

  Unless there was a vote on whether or not to send the country to war, Wharton always found time to play a round of golf on Thursday afternoon. If the economy was falling apart, he didn’t care. Playing eighteen holes trumped even his constituents. And if Wharton’s standing tee time wasn’t proof enough of how important golf was to him, his office wall was decorated with candid photos of him with some of the game’s best players over the last four decades.

  Blunt slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop along the cart path. Wharton looked up as he had just pushed his tee into the ground and situated a ball on top. He scowled as he studied the sudden interruption to his tee shot.

  “J.D. Blunt,” he said with a scowl, “is that you?”

  “In the flesh,” Blunt said.

  “What on Earth are you doing here?” Wharton asked in his thick Brooklyn accent.

  “I’m here to save you from not using enough club,” Blunt said. “You really need to drive that thing and not be afraid of the narrowing fairway.”

  Wharton rolled his eyes. “I think somebody needs a cigar to chew on, if anything to keep his big mouth shut.”

  Blunt shrugged. “That’s my advice. Take it or leave it.”

  Wharton hiked his pants up and excused himself from the rest of his foursome. “What the hell are you doing here? I heard the president’s press conference. He’s supposedly hunting you like a rabid dog, itching at the chance to put you down.”

  “I can fill you in on that later. But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to talk about you.”

  “Me? Why would you want to do that?”

  “America, or more specifically, New York, is about to be brought to her knees,” Blunt said. “And I’m hoping you can help me stop that from happening.”

  “Look, J.D., I can do a lot of things, but I’m not a superhero.”

  “I’m not
asking you to be a superhero. I’m asking you to help me out.”

  “You think I’m going to help a fugitive? Get outta here.”

  Blunt narrowed his eyes. “You’re going to help me right now, or I’m going to let the press know that the bulk of your major campaign donations came from China.”

  “So, are you just making stuff up now? Is that how you’re playing this?”

  “I’ve got one of the best hackers in the world under my employ, and she’s uncovered enough illegal activity from you to put you away for years,” Blunt said. “But at the moment, I’m not interested in that.”

  “Then what are you interested in?”

  “Your cooperation in a situation we have brewing at the New York harbor.”

  Wharton’s eyebrows shot upward. “What kind of situation?”

  “The kind that Falcon Sinclair would call you about.”

  Wharton looked down, staring at his feet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I got a call from one of my friends at the NSA, and they have you talking to Falcon Sinclair.”

  “Is that a crime?”

  “It is if he asks you to do what he asked you to do for him.”

  “Look, Sinclair’s a friend. He asked for a favor, much like you’re doing right now.”

  Blunt nodded. “So, he blackmailed you?”

  “I guess that’s what you’d call it technically.”

  “Dammit, Wharton. Are you doing something you’d normally do for someone else, or is this a special favor?”

  “Well …” Wharton paused, clearly calculating how to answer.

  “I don’t have all day, Senator. Just spit it out.”

  “I may have helped him get some people into the country through the port.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Yeah. I secured some passes for a number of men he requested to gain access through the port.”

  “And where are these men?”

  “How should I know? I just called the port authority and asked them to help.”

  “To do what? Look the other way?”

  Wharton put his hand on Blunt’s chest. “Like I’m the first one to do a favor for someone. Come on, man.”