First Strike (A Brady Hawk Novel Book 1)

by Jack Patterson

  “The Kardashians? Why do you watch that crap?” Hawk asked.

  One of the students raised his hand. “What does ‘crap’ mean? Is that like ‘shit’?”

  The classroom filled with nervous giggles and cackles.

  Hawk sighed and shook his head. “I am here trying to teach you the essence of the English language, but you are only interested in the curse words.”

  “If we didn’t know the curse words, we couldn’t understand what the Kardashians were trying to say,” one girl blurted out.

  “Why do American television shows have—how do you say it—beeps in the middle of someone talking?” another student asked. I find it extremely annoying.”

  Hawk smiled. “That’s for the really bad curse words, the kind you wouldn’t want your mother to hear you say.”

  The teenaged boy nodded and smiled. “I understand.”

  Hawk held up his hands. “Now, while I’d love to continue this fascinating discussion about the Kardashians and taboo words in English, we do have a lesson we need to begin. Are you ready?”

  The class seemed more enthusiastic than usual with one notable exception: Raja Tawhid was nowhere to be found.

  CHAPTER 40

  RAJA SQUINTED TO KEEP the dust out of his eyes as he held the throttle open on his motorcycle. Goggles would’ve been preferable in such conditions, but he sweated more than most, which fogged up his view in less than a minute after putting them on. And that day was warmer than most. The bike didn’t perform as well on pavement, but it didn’t matter much with all the sand that constantly swept across the paved highway between Zaranj and Delaram. Raja’s cousin, Tarik, would have to endure a three-hour journey sitting behind Raja, but he doubted either would care. Just getting Tarik to do Ghazi’s bidding was what mattered most given the new ultimatum handed down.

  Once Raja arrived in Delaram, he zipped along a series of narrow alleyways until he reached Tarik’s house.

  Raja knocked on the door. As soon as it swung open, he looked at his cousin. “Are you ready?”

  Tarik took a deep breath and put his hands up. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  Raja stepped inside, pushing his way past Tarik. “You don’t know if you can do this? You don’t know if you can do this? Are you crazy? You have no choice.”

  Tarik held his index finger to his lips. He gestured for Raja to move into another room away from the rest of Tarik’s family who were engaged in watching a television show. “I’ve been thinking—I don’t wish to do this any more. I’m done helping Nasim.”

  “You can’t just quit working for Nasim. Do you know what’s going to happen when I tell him that you won’t come with me? There will be a dozen members of Al Hasib over here by sundown, and they’ll kill you and your family.”

  “No, they won’t,” Tarik said, pointing at the luggage stacked near the door.

  “You’re leaving?”

  “As soon as you leave, we’re getting out of here.”

  “What about your job? And the rest of your family?”

  Tarik slumped onto a small couch and buried his head in his hands. He sighed before he looked back up at Raja. “What kind of life is this, wondering when I’ll get caught running contraband across the border into Iran? I can’t live the rest of my life in fear. That’s not living.”

  Raja eyed Tarik’s export license lying on the table. The opportunity presented him with a dilemma. On one hand, it gave him an opportunity to fulfill Nasim's demands in case Tarik remained stubborn. On the other, Tarik was likely counting on the license to help him sneak his family out of the country and vanish for good. Taking it could save his own life, but at the expense of Tarik’s.

  “What do you think is going to happen to the rest of your family? What do you think they’re going to do to me?” Raja pleaded

  Tarik stood and walked up to Raja and embraced him. “I love you, Raja, and I know you believe in what Al Hasib is doing. But it’s not the life for me.”

  Raja smoothly snatched the licensed without Tarik noticing and sneered at him in disgust as Raja turned toward the door. “What kind of Muslim are you? This is jihad, and we must do what we can.”

  Tarik grabbed Raja by his arm, his fingers uncomfortably digging in. “This is not jihad. This is murder.”

  “It’s no different than what the American soldiers have done to us.”

  “Then be better than them. Don’t lower yourself to their level.”

  Raja seethed for a moment before striding toward the door and exiting the room.

  “Raja!” Tarik said as he followed him outside.

  Raja climbed onto his bike and kicked down hard as the engine rumbled to life. He held the clutch in while he revved the engine. It whined for a few seconds. Then Raja turned and looked at Tarik.

  “Good luck,” Raja said. “Don’t blame me when they come looking for you. It’s your choice, but you can still change your mind.”

  Tarik reached over and hugged Raja. “I can’t. And while you may not understand my decision now, you will years from now. It will make sense one day.”

  Raja sighed and released the clutch, tossing dirt in Tarik’s direction and speeding away. He dreaded delivering the bad news—both for Tarik and himself.

  CHAPTER 41

  HAWK CLOSED ONE EYE and stared down the barrel of one of his guns. If there was one thing he'd learned about being an assassin, it was that preparation was the key to a clean get away. With everything working properly, a well-executed plan resulted in an easy day at work. And that included his guns firing without a hitch. He'd spent enough time in the Middle East to know that he couldn't clean his gun enough due to the ever-present dust and sand.

  In thirty minutes, the sun would slip beneath the horizon, and it'd be time to do what he came there to do: kill Al Hasib’s master bomb maker—and, if the reports were to be believed, Al Hasib’s real mastermind. Hawk figured he might get lucky and help Raja escape a life of terrorism, one that'd be undoubtedly short.

  Hawk finished cleaning his last gun when a knock startled him. “Coming," he said as he stashed all the guns in his bedroom.

  He hustled toward the door and was about to unlock it when he noticed one of his handguns still lying on the kitchen counter. He shoved it in the front of his pants to avoid any printing that might draw suspicion.

  However, he sighed in relief when he peeked through the window and saw who it was.

  “Frank!” Hawk said as he opened the door and welcome the local Peace Corps coordinator. “It’s been a while. Come on in.”

  Frank Culbert lumbered inside without saying a word.

  Though Hawk hadn’t been sure what to make of his supervisor after his first meeting, he didn't raise any red flags after a cursory vetting. Just a guy who once thought he'd better the world by working with the Peace Corps and discovered more meaning abroad than at home. However, his surprise visit was equally curious and coincidental to Hawk.

  “So, what brings you here tonight?”

  Culbert glanced around the apartment and leaned against the counter. “I just wanted to stop by and see how things were going. Usually, volunteers show up at the weekly support gatherings at my house, especially the new ones. But you haven’t made one yet. I wanted to make sure you were handling everything okay and weren't homesick or depressed.”

  “I can assure you that everything is fine, and I appreciate you checking up on me, I really do.”

  Culbert paced around the kitchen for a moment, clasping his hands together, his head bowed as if in thoughtful meditation. “I have a feeling there’s something else to your reason for being here.”

  “Really? Such as?”

  “I think you’re true intention for being in Zaranj has nothing to do with the Peace Corps.”

  Hawk forced a chuckle and threw his hands in the air in surrender. “Okay, Frank, you got me. My dad runs a weapons manufacturing company back in the states. But I can tell you that I'm not here looking for new buyers for him, if that's what
you're worried about.”

  Culbert’s eyes narrowed. “If I was worried about that, you'd already be dead.”

  Hawk’s pulse quickened. Perhaps he’d misread Culbert. In an instant, he appeared far more menacing that he imagined. “Hey, now, that's not a very comforting thing to hear from your Peace Corps supervisor.”

  “I’m not here to comfort you.”

  Hawk eyed him closely. “Then what are you here for?”

  Without answering, Culbert swung his leg around in a full roundhouse kick that nearly caught Hawk off guard. However, he leaned back and avoided any contact.

  Culbert regained his balance after the missed kick and slid toward Hawk’s knees, knocking him off balance. Hawk teetered for a moment before crashing to the floor. As he attempted to get up, Hawk stopped short when Culbert put his foot on Hawk’s chest and whipped out a handgun.

  “Is this how you treat all your volunteers?” Hawk asked. “Because this is a little strange, if you ask me.”

  Culbert forced an awkward grin. “To answer your question, I came here to kill you.”

  CHAPTER 42

  RAJA TAWHID SKIDDED to a stop outside Ghazi’s workshop. He climbed off his motorcycle and stared at the semi-truck parked outside. After a deep breath, he walked toward the door and knocked on it several times. A guard opened the door and ushered him in after Ghazi yelled his approval from the back of the building.

  “Where’s your cousin?” Ghazi asked as he marched toward Raja.

  “He couldn't make it.”

  “Couldn’t make it? Do you understand that’s not an option?”

  Raja nodded. “He got called into work at the last minute for a trip north.”

  Ghazi began raging around the room, yelling and screaming a string of expletives in both English and Pashto. He stormed toward Raja. “Do you know what this means? It means we're screwed. No more mission. No more revenge on those nasty Americans. No more justice.” He paused as he continued to pace for a moment. “Call your cousin and ask him to reconsider.”

  “I would, but he left the moment I did.”

  “Call him again.”

  “There might be another way,” Raja pleaded.

  Ghazi cocked his handgun and pointed it at Raja. “I’m not interested in another way. Call him now, and put the call on speakerphone.”

  Raja could feel his throat tighten and his forehead begin to bead up with sweat. He prayed underneath his breath that Tarik wouldn’t answer.

  “I’m not going to reconsider,” Tarik said after he answered.

  “Say, ‘Reconsider what?’” Ghazi whispered into Raja’s ear.

  “Reconsider what?” Raja asked.

  “You know what I’m talking about. But if I need to tell you more plainly—I’m not going to help Nasim Ghazi any more.”

  Outraged, Ghazi ripped the phone out of Raja’s hands and ended the call. “Clever. Covering for your lazy cousin—your spineless, gutless cousin who is afraid to do whatever it takes to advance the mission of Islam.” He looked at one of the guards in the warehouse. “Call Fazil and ask him if he can get a team of men to pay Tarik a visit.”

  The man nodded and retreated to the back of the room and began dialing on his cell phone.

  “I have another idea,” Raja said. “Please don't do that. Listen to me.”

  Ghazi waved him off. “There's no room for compromise when it comes to the cause—only commitment. What your cousin did was inexcusable.”

  “I stole his export license before I left his house,” Raja said as he dug it out of his pocket and held it up.

  “The border patrol agents will know it’s not him. He travels there every week.”

  “I’ll make up an excuse, tell them I'm filling in for him in a pinch because his daughter is sick and he needs to be with her but didn't want to lose his job.”

  Ghazi took a deep breath. “Interesting.”

  “It’s our only option.”

  “It’s our only option because you screwed up the mission,” Ghazi said, the rage returning. "You were supposed to bring back Tarik. And you failed. You failed Al Hasib.”

  Raja raised his hands in surrender and knelt behind one of the nearby tables covered with C-4 explosives. “We don't have to abort the mission. We can still come up with a way to get the explosives across the border and into Chabahar. If you'll just trust me.”

  “Trust is something I'm running very short on these days.”

  CHAPTER 43

  WHILE HAWK WAS ACCUSTOMED to being the hunter as opposed to the prey, he wasn’t completely unprepared. Frank Culbert never once gave off the vibe that he was militarily trained. An NGO supervisor? Yes. But an operative for the government? Hawk never picked up on it.

  But he had no time to waste wondering how he could've failed to properly vet the man now standing over him with a foot on his chest and a gun trained on him. It was time to turn the tables.

  Instead of responding to Culbert’s ominous statement, Hawk rolled left and drove his fist into the side of Culbert's knee. As Culbert started to buckle due to the pain, Hawk delivered a nasty blow to Culbert’s crotch.

  It didn't stop Culbert from firing his first shot at Hawk, which whizzed right past his head as he was knocked off balance. The second shot hit Hawk in the bicep—a sign that his attacker was aiming for center mass. It was shoot to kill all the way.

  Hawk used the kitchen table as a momentary shield before he dove toward the living room and crouched behind the couch.

  By that time, Culbert regained his balance and was muttering to himself. Then to Hawk, “The charade is over. I know you’re a plant and not a real Peace Corps member.”

  Hawk kept his mouth shut and fished his gun out of the front of his pants. He wormed his way across the floor to the other side of the couch and took aim at Culbert, who still seemed stunned by the fact that he hadn't killed Hawk.

  Two shots, center mass. It was all over.

  Culbert hit the floor with a thud as blood spilled out around him. Gasping for air, he tried to say something as Hawk looked down at the man. But Hawk didn't have time to stoop down and listen to the dying man's last words. Instead, he pumped two more shots into his head, ending his suffering.

  Hawk entered the bathroom and began to shave. The hair drifted downward, half of it landing in the sink while the other half landed softly on the floor. It was a symbolic gesture but also one that gave him time to think about how he was going to complete his mission. He was done with his charade as a teacher, and there was only one thing left to do.

  On his way out of the house, he stepped over Culbert’s body and was clear when he noticed something sticking out of his shirt pocket. He bent down and pulled it out. It was the same picture he’d lifted off the man who’d try to kill him on the rooftop in Kirkuk. He shoved the picture back into his pocket and exited the apartment.

  The sun had just disappeared. There was no time to waste if he intended to stop Nasim Ghazi.

  CHAPTER 44

  HAWK NEVER STOPPED MOVING the moment he stepped outside into the evening streets of Zaranj. He’d equipped himself with enough weapons and artillery to withstand a prolonged gunfight with Ghazi and other Al Hasib operatives. He just hoped it would be enough.

  Once he reached a perimeter of about a hundred meters outside Ghazi's workshop, Hawk slowed to a brisk walk and pulled his keffiyeh tight around his face. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself and attract gunfire before he reached the front door of the facility.

  He noted two armed guards milling around the main entrance. Using the barrel of their guns, they pointed at Raja’s parked bike while they glanced around in a nonchalant manner. His Navy Seal training told him to isolate the men from one another to avoid creating a scene—and he found it to be a useful rule of thumb.

  Hawk hurled a rock south of where the men were standing, gaining their attention. One guard went to check it out, leaving the other guard alone near the main entrance. Hawk slipped up behind the guard at the door and s
napped his neck in one smooth motion.

  Moments later, when the other guard returned from his fruitless investigation, he saw his partner crumpled on the ground. He rushed over to him and knelt down to check for a pulse. When he didn't immediately find one, he looked up in an obvious effort to identify where his attacker was positioned.

  He never saw Hawk, who broke the man’s neck within a second of grabbing him from behind.

  Hawk dragged their bodies behind a nearby truck and crept near a window emitting light from Ghazi's workshop. Inside, he saw Ghazi raging about something while pointing his gun at Raja and also counted three other guards.

  It wasn't great odds, but he'd take them, considering that instead of four-to-one odds, it was six-to-one odds a mere two minutes ago.

  You got this.

  With only two entrances to access the workshop, Hawk knew which one to choose—the one that would bring the most surprise. They wouldn't suspect for a minute that Hawk would walk in the front door, especially after there wasn't a single sound to alert them that danger lurked in the shadows.

  He flung the doors open and opened fire immediately. Raja was to his left, and Hawk shoved the boy to the ground and pushed him with his foot in the direction of a table that would provide him with some cover during the gunfight.

  Ghazi dove to the right, while his guards laid down cover for him.

  “Mr. Wells? What are you doing here? You’re screwing everything up,” Raja said.

  “Too late now, kid,” Hawk said, pausing to fire back. “It looked like he was about to shoot you.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “It didn't look like you were doing such a great job to me.”

  Hawk popped up from behind the table and fired off several rounds, dropping one of the guards in the back. He glanced back at Raja. “You don’t look too surprised to see me.” He rolled to his right and put a bullet between the eyes of another guard and then another. Only Ghazi remained.