Hawk felt the sandy soil grinding beneath his feet as they edged farther away from the bar, the darkness growing thicker with each step. A small outhouse a few meters ahead seemed large enough to provide any cover he might need, not to mention solving his dilemma of where to stash a body in a hurry.
Hawk staggered toward the outhouse and bumped it hard with his elbow. It was empty.
“Stay with me, Mister Martin,” Jay said.
Hawk’s captor jerked him back upright. However, the moment they cleared the outhouse, Hawk whirled and delivered a swift roundhouse kick to Jay’s head. The man groaned as he fell forward, clutching his face. Two more powerful kicks to the rib—one crackled like a fire fueled by green wood— and Jay was done. Hawk then punched his assailant in the face, knocking him out.
In a way, Hawk felt sorry for him, saddened over the fact that this man’s path had come to an end. Wrong time, wrong place. But it was an easy call—him or this expat who was about to kill him or worse: out him to a local terrorist. Hawk grabbed the man by the nape of his neck and then positioned himself behind Jay—and twisted until he heard a crack. Hawk picked up Jay’s limp body and moved it into the outhouse. Once he situated Jay on the toilet, Hawk slit Jay’s wrist so he began to bleed out. It’d look like a suicide—and no local law enforcement was going to think twice about looking into the death of an obnoxious American, even if the circumstances seemed odd.
He was almost through the door when he stopped and turned back to look at him. The blood dripped hard and fast from his wrist and onto the dirt floor.
He wouldn’t be the last person he’d kill on this mission. Hawk had a job to do and there was no margin for error.
CHAPTER 1
Two Weeks Earlier
Lake Anna, Virginia
HAWK YANKED ON HIS FISHING ROD and started to wrestle with what he initially believed to be a fish. But after a few moments, it was painfully obvious that he’d snagged his line on some debris. It’d been nearly fifty years since Virginia’s power company flooded the area to cool the nearby nuclear power plant—and there was still plenty of garbage along the lakebed.
He whipped his rod back and forth for a few seconds in an effort to free the line before it snapped. Hawk snarled as he reeled in the rest of the twine and rummaged through his tackle box for another weight and lure. Behind him, a slow clap began. But he didn’t have to turn his head. The cigar smoke gave away his visitor two minutes earlier.
“Blunt,” Hawk said, his back still turned to the senator. “What are you doing here?” He bit hard on his fishing line, severing it before threading the line through a new weight.
Maintaining his deliberate stride, Blunt continued toward him as his heavy footfalls on the dock echoed off the water.
Hawk stopped his repair work and looked over his shoulder, glaring at Blunt. “I think I asked you a question.”
Blunt came to a stop about a meter away from Hawk. “Questions don’t always deserve answers.”
“Mine do. At least, if you want me to keep working for you, they do.”
Blunt pulled the cigar out of his mouth and stared out across the lake. Fishing boats and jet skis dotted the glassy water, the hum of the motors barely audible from the dock. On the horizon, the sun was slipping away for the evening.
“These people have no freakin’ idea how good they’ve got it,” Blunt said before stuffing his cigar back in his mouth. “They’re livin’ a fairy tale thanks to people like me and you.”
Hawk stood up and stared Blunt in the eyes. “What do you want?”
Blunt turned his back on Hawk and started to saunter down the dock. “Same thing as you, I suppose—world peace, a big bank account.” He paused. “Power.”
Hawk tightened his fishing line and returned his attention to Blunt. “We don’t share the same ambitions.”
“That’s a shame, Hawk. That’s a damn shame. I thought you were gonna be my guy for a long time.”
“Excuse me for not returning your affinity,” Hawk growled. “That’s kind of how I am when people lie to me.”
“Who’s lying to you, Hawk?”
“Don’t play games with me. You know good and well that you’ve hidden the truth from me.”
“Hiding is not the same as lying.”
“It is when you let me believe a lie—especially since it had to do with who my father really was. The fact that you allowed me to believe that Tom Colton, the U.S. military’s most revered weapons maker, was my father makes you one twisted man. Every kid should know his father—at least know who he is.”
Blunt slowly raised his eyebrows and nodded. “I figured you’d eventually find out one day.”
Hawk huffed. “Helluva way to build trust—just let the sucker discover it on his own.”
Blunt took the cigar out of his mouth and blew several rings. “However you may feel about what I did, just know that I was protecting you.”
“Protecting me? From the truth?”
“If you ever get to be in a position like mine, you’ll quickly learn that achieving success on a mission is far more important than making sure everybody knows everything that’s going on. I stopped caring about people’s feelings a long time ago.”
Hawk cinched his line and then cast it back into the water. “I’m not asking for a shoulder to cry on—just some straightforward talk.”
“Fine. What do you want to know about your father?”
“Everything. Start at the beginning.”
“I’m afraid most of it is classified.”
“What can you tell me? Can you at least tell me his name?”
“Franklin Foster. Your father and I worked together in the CIA.”
Hawk reeled in his line slowly. “Partners? You’ve gotta be kidding me?”
Blunt shook his head. “Nope. We worked together regularly, gathering intel on foreign diplomats and foiling assassination plots. Those were some good times.”
“So, what happened to him?”
“That is what’s classified.”
“This is bullshit. It’s not like I’ve got anyone to tell. I just wanna know.”
“Look, Hawk, I know this isn’t what you want to hear right now, but in due time I’ll tell you everything. In the meantime, I need your help—Firestorm needs your help.”
Hawk sighed. “You will tell me about my father.”
“In time, I promise.”
“Fine. Why don’t you tell me why you’re here. I knew this wasn’t a social call from the moment I smelled your cheap Dominican cigar.”
Blunt pulled the cigar out of his mouth and inspected it. “I need you to deal with a situation brewing in Sierra Leone. A diamond exporter by the name of Musa Demby. We’ve got intel that he’s working with Al Hasib, bank rolling their operation with black market diamonds now that oil has gone in the tank.”
“What’s the mission?”
“Find out if this is indeed what Mr. Demby is up to. Secure the diamonds. Lay waste to his operation—you know, the usual. I’ve already got Alex working on a legend for you.”
“So, no school teacher this time?”
“Oh, no. You should have more fun this time around. You’re going to be a New Zealand exporter on a big game hunt.”
“When do I leave?” Hawk asked.
Blunt took a deep breath and turned westward. The sun gleamed as it flashed its final beam of the day and sank for good.
“In a couple days,” Blunt said before pausing. “Look, this mission is a two-for-one deal. We need you to shut down this mining operation, but there’s something else you can do for us.”
“A favor?”
“You could call it that, but one that will potentially save the lives of hundreds if not thousands of people.”
“And what does this entail?”
“There were a couple of long range missiles that were recently stolen from a South African military base—and these missiles need to be retrieved.”
“What’s wrong with the South Africans? C
an’t they go after their own weapons?”
“Their special ops forces—the Recces—could, but we believe it might be held by Demby and his outfit as well. This operation needs to be done discreetly and all at once if we want to shut him down for good.”
“And you expect me to retrieve long-range missiles on my own?”
“A tactical team will secure them once you’ve completed your task. But before you go, there’s someone you need to meet who can fill you in on all the details of that side of the mission—and even provide you with some valuable tech to help you succeed.”
Hawk felt a fish strike his line. He fought the fish for about a minute before reeling in a five-pound bass. He pulled the hook out of its mouth and released it back into the water. Standing up, he turned around and looked at Blunt. “Who do you want me to meet?”
“Tom Colton.”
CHAPTER 2
ALEX DUNCAN ENJOYED TOYING with the CIA ever since they kicked her out. Her favorite trick was to hack into the agency’s servers and let the geniuses in cyber security follow her digital trail back to CIA Director Simon Coker’s home computer. No matter how many times she did this, she couldn’t wipe the smile off her face the entire time she was rooting around in their system for information. But tonight was different. Even though she made it look like the hack was coming from Coker, she stopped smiling seconds into her undertaking when she realized she’d never find the files on their servers.
You’ve gotta be kidding me.
She slammed her laptop down and let out a long string of expletives. She’d promised Hawk she’d look into the truth about his father and who he really was. And it would’ve been easy with the information given to her. Simply look up the name “Franklin Foster” and sift through his files. But there was only one file on him—and it stated that all files on Foster were archived in The Vault. That was the CIA’s way of saying that either they hadn’t gotten around to digitizing the files yet or they were so sensitive that they’d never be put on a server for fear that someone might hack the information. Based on how dodgy Blunt had been about Hawk’s father, she assumed it was the latter.
Her phone rang, jolting her out of her dazed trance.
“What’d you find?” Hawk asked once she answered the phone.
“You’re not gonna believe this.”
“Try me.”
She took a deep breath. “All the files on your father are in The Vault.”
“The Vault?”
“Yeah, the CIA’s high security archives, that vault.” She paused. “It’ll just make things a little more challenging for me, but I’m up for the task.”
“You’re not seriously considering breaking in there are you?”
“Nope. I’m not considering it—I’m doing it.”
“Alex, I appreciate all you’re doing for me, I really do. But that’s not worth the risk. What if you get caught? It’s not exactly the kind of place they’ll just slap you on the wrist and let you go.”
“Don’t I know that all too well?”
“Coker kicked you out and black balled you. What do you think he’s going to do if he finds out that you tried to infiltrate The Vault?”
“He doesn’t scare me.”
“Well, he should.” Hawk took a deep breath. “I just can’t in good conscience let you go do something like that for me.”
“You don’t have to let me do anything because I’m doing it on my own volition. Besides, I’m too interested in this case now just to drop it.”
“Just rethink this Alex, okay? Blunt will go ballistic if he finds out.”
“Do you plan on telling him?”
“No.”
“Good because I don’t plan on getting caught either.”
“You got a way in?”
“Do I ever.”
To keep reading, order DEEP COVER here.
NEWSLETTER SIGNUP
If you would like to stay up to date on Jack Patterson's latest writing projects with his periodic newsletter, sign up here.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JACK PATTERSON is an award-winning writer living in southeastern Idaho. He first began his illustrious writing career as a sports journalist, recording his exploits on the soccer fields in England as a young boy. Then when his father told him that people would pay him to watch sports if he would write about what he saw, he went all in. He landed his first writing job at age 15 as a sports writer for a daily newspaper in Orangeburg, S.C. He later attended earned a degree in newspaper journalism from the University of Georgia, where he took a job covering high school sports for the award-winning Athens Banner-Herald and Daily News.
He later became the sports editor of The Valdosta Daily Times before working in the magazine world as an editor and freelance journalist. He has won numerous writing awards, including a national award for his investigative reporting on a sordid tale surrounding an NCAA investigation over the University of Georgia football program.
Jack enjoys the great outdoors of the Northwest while living there with his wife and three children. He still follows sports closely.
He also loves connecting with readers and would love to hear from you. To stay updated about future projects, connect with him over Facebook or on the interwebs at www.IamJackPatterson.com and sign up here for his newsletter to get deals and updates.
FIRST STRIKE
© Copyright 2016 Jack Patterson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
eBook ISBN: 978-1-938848-81-0
First eBook Edition 2016
Cover Design by Books Covered
Published in the United States of America
Green E-Books
PO Box 140654
Boise, ID 83714
First Strike (A Brady Hawk Novel Book 1) Page 16
