“It’s your job to capture him,” Carson said with a snarl.
“My job is to make sure you don’t screw up again. Now, once this transaction is over, I’m going out. And I expect you to snatch Littleton to ensure he doesn’t get away.”
“You’re going to just abandon me here?” Carson asked, his voice sliding up an octave every few words.
“We discussed this earlier,” Hawk said. “I have somewhere to be.”
“Does your wife know about this?” Carson asked. “I can just turn our coms back on.”
Hawk wagged his index finger at Carson. “You might get to call the shots when you’re with the agency, but not here. I suggest you shut your mouth if you know what’s good for you.”
The two men sat in silence for the next fifteen minutes while Carson pounded out a few commands on his keyboard. The monitors came to life, showing an empty hotel room.
“Are you sure they’re going to make the exchange here?” Carson asked.
Hawk nodded. “That’s the intelligence we received.”
“I hope it’s right. Otherwise, we’re screwed.”
“Just keep watching. He’ll be there.”
While posing as a member of the hotel staff, Hawk discovered what room Carson’s contact was staying in, which was the room next door to Orlovsky. After gaining access, Hawk had used some of the CIA’s most advanced surveillance technology to set up undetectable cameras everywhere.
“Let’s bring Alex back in on this and see if she can be of any assistance,” Carson said.
Hawk didn’t mind. In fact, he preferred that someone else be listening to the kind of inane banter emanating from Carson’s mouth.
After another tense minute, Hawk and Carson watched as the door opened on the screen and Littleton trudged through with Orlovsky’s associate. The man sat down at the desk and fired up his computer. Hawk watched intently as Littleton went through the protocol of exchanging passwords and routing numbers in order to hand over the information.
“He could type in utter gibberish and that file would still open,” Alex said over the coms.
“Excellent work,” Hawk said, acknowledging her assistance in putting together the files used to create the flash drive with all the fake information.
The man dialed a number on his cell phone and put it on speaker.
“Mr. Orlovsky, we have the package,” the man said.
“Excellent. Can you verify its authenticity?” Orlovsky’s voice boomed over the speaker.
“Just give me a minute,” the man said. “I’m almost there.”
Hawk and Carson didn’t move, their eyes fixated on the screen as they watched the unfolding scene.
“Got it,” the man said. “Checking now, but it looks fine to me.”
“Wire him the funds and thank him,” Orlovsky said.
“Of course,” the man said.
Carson sighed and looked at Hawk. “They’re going to kill Littleton.”
“We need to get him out of there right now,” Hawk said.
“Got any ideas?” Carson asked.
“Everybody got what they wanted,” Hawk said. “I suggest we use a time-tested method.”
Without hesitating, he raced into the hallway and yanked the fire alarm. While in the U.S., such a stunt would draw little more than a raised eyebrow, but in Dubai, the sound sent all the foreign guests into a frenzy. In a matter of a seconds, people spilled into the hallways and scrambled toward the stairwells to exit the building.
Hawk shrugged as he returned to the room. “Are they still there?”
“For now,” Carson said, “but it looks like they’re about to leave.”
“They’re on the sixth floor, right?” Hawk asked.
Carson nodded.
“Then you better get up there in a hurry,” Hawk said. “Orlovsky’s man would make me, and that would blow the whole op.”
Carson ripped off his janitor overalls and raced out the door.
Hawk followed his colleague but headed in the opposite direction.
“What’s going on now?” Alex asked.
“I’m leaving,” Hawk said. “Carson can handle this on his own.”
“Maybe you should stick around,” she said.
“I’m having . . . time . . . you,” Hawk said, feigning a bad connection.
“You’re breaking up on me, Hawk. Say that again.”
“Craziness . . . hotel . . . go.”
“Say that again.”
Hawk turned off his coms and headed downstairs. He didn’t want Alex to know what he was about to do.
CHAPTER 2
Hong Kong
TITUS BLACK STOOD STILL amidst the tsunami of people speed walking along the sidewalk. He couldn’t imagine living in a metropolis where every day was a fight just to navigate through the bustling crowds. If he was going to fight, he preferred the hand-to-hand combat variety. He didn’t mind using weapons either. But today, his weapon was a small cardboard box.
After a deep breath, he plunged into the stream of workers scurrying to their place of employment. According to the address given to him, General Fortner was holed up in a low-frills condo approximately three blocks away. Black had studied pictures from the building’s website, which tried to woo ex-pats with its reasonable prices and pristine views. He needed to be familiar with the layout in case Fortner decide to run. Not that the old Navy commander stood a chance in a footrace against Black.
Sporting a hat, sunglasses, and brown UPS jacket, Black reached the lobby in five minutes and stopped to survey the fifty-seven-story structure soaring over him. He waited until a gentleman toting a briefcase punched in his access code to open the door. Slipping casually behind him, Black headed toward the stairwell, opting to stay away from any security cameras and avoiding any potential residents who might be able to identify him if the situation went south. Fortner had proven to be a worthy adversary, always prepared and seemingly one step ahead of Black’s best-laid plans.
When Black reached the nineteenth floor, he entered the long corridor and strode toward Fortner’s condo located in the far corner. Black pulled out his weapon and knocked on the door, hiding his gun beneath the box. After a couple more knocks, Black didn’t hear any stirring inside and wondered if he was standing at the right door. He confirmed that he was and decided to knock one last time.
After he pounded again, the door next to Fortner’s condo swung open, and an elderly gentleman shuffled out with a cane. He spoke in a crisp American accent, immediately indicating that the man was also an ex-pat.
“All that racket isn’t necessary, you know,” the man said. “If he wanted to open the door, he would. Just leave the package downstairs like you’re supposed to.”
Black shrugged. “I need for the recipient to sign for this.”
“We have a protocol for this so we don’t have delivery men combing the halls of our condo every minute of the day. You must be new.”
“What gave it away?” Black asked.
“Well, for starters you don’t look like the guy I saw in the lobby last week.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“But that’s not all.”
“What else makes me look like a rookie?” Black asked.
The old man raised his cane and pointed it at the box. “This has nothing to do with you being a rookie, but you’re hiding something under there.”
“Under where?”
“Under that box,” the man said. “And I suspect it isn’t a clipboard holding papers for the general to sign.”
“You know the man who lives here?” Black asked, ignoring the man’s accusation.
“Who are you with? CIA? Navy SEALs? Army Rangers?”
Black eyed the man closely. “Who are you?”
The old man hobbled near Black and offered his hand. “James McCutcheon, retired FBI.”
Black shifted the gun from his right hand to his left, keeping the weapon out of sight, before shaking but not revealing his identity.
&n
bsp; “I’m the one who reported that an Army general was living here—and up to no good,” McCutcheon said. “They didn’t tell you about me?”
Black shook his head.
“Well, that’s comforting, I guess,” McCutcheon said. “They at least took me serious and sent someone.”
“Since it looks like the general isn’t here, what else can you tell me about him?” Black asked.
“I know he’s involved in some activities he shouldn’t be, the kind that get you killed if you’re not careful.”
“That should be the least of his concerns,” Black said. “He’s on the run for good reason.”
“All I know is that over the past few weeks, I’ve seen guys here from a local gang that’s known for its involvement in fixing soccer matches. Gambling is a big problem in Hong Kong as you might well imagine. A bunch of retired people with loads of expendable income looking for ways to spend it and do so in a way that’s entertaining.”
“Do you know where these shady characters hang out?” Black asked.
“They’re part of a gang known as Long Zi. From what I’ve heard, they have a place down at the docks. It’s how they get their illegal money in and out of the country. If you ask around, someone will point you in the right direction.”
“I appreciate your help and your continued service to your country,” Black said. “Hopefully we’ll be able to find the general soon and bring him to justice.”
“What did he do, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Black eyed the man carefully. “He’s done enough to warrant some agency sending me halfway across the world to look for him and take him back to Washington.”
“Good luck catching your man.”
Black watched McCutcheon return to his condo and shut the door behind him before a series of six clicks echoed in the hallway, presumably from all the deadbolts he used as a safety measure. While Black didn’t want to admit it, he recognized that he saw a possible glimpse into his future in McCutcheon: old, tired, and paranoid, living in a foreign country and wanting to disappear.
Black dismissed the thought as he eased back into the stairwell and headed toward the docks. McCutcheon might have been old, but his instincts were still sharp as a tack. However, Black wondered why McCutcheon was never mentioned in the official report given to the Phoenix Foundation.
The fifteen-minute walk down the docks gave Black time to think about how he might approach his inquiry into Fortner’s whereabouts. It’d have to be handled delicately, especially since no one even knew Black’s itinerary. Blunt’s orders specified that Black not communicate with the team until Fortner was in custody. And Black didn’t argue, given how likely it was that Fortner had someone at the Pentagon and CIA feeding him information on the agency’s approach to apprehending him. Before leaving for Hong Kong, even the mission prep meeting with Blunt was held offsite just to ensure that someone hadn’t planted an undetectable bug in the conference room.
When Black reached the docks, he asked a couple workers where he might be able to find Long Zi. After several scowls without even a word uttered, Black wondered if should continue his search or set up surveillance on Fortner’s condo instead. Black was almost resigned to a stake out when he was approached by a worker.
“I hear you are looking for Long Zi,” the man said.
Black nodded. “That’s right. Do you know how to find them?”
“They’re not the kind of people you want to deal with. Trust me. You’re better off leaving and keeping your mouth shut if you know what’s best for you.”
“Let’s just say that I don’t know what’s best for me,” Black said. “Could you at least point me in the right direction?”
The man sighed. “If you’re that stupid, just don’t say I didn’t warn you when they’re beating you senseless.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
The man chuckled. “If you say so. Now, if you’re that determined to find Long Zi, they’ll be at dock number seventy-eight. But don’t expect to find anyone there before ten o’clock at night. Because of the nature of what they do, the daylight isn’t the best time for them to conduct their business.”
“Thank you for your help, sir.”
“You may thank me now, but I doubt you’ll thank me later,” the man said before he spun on his heels and walked away.
Black smiled. He couldn’t wait to find Fortner.
* * *
JUST AFTER 10:30 P.M., Black approached Long Zi’s office located at dock number twenty-seven. He gnawed on a toothpick, turning it around in his mouth before knocking on the door. After half a minute, a towering burly man sporting a tank top to show off a variety of tattoos on his rippling biceps answered.
“We’re not available,” the man said as he tried to slam the door.
Black had planted his foot inside.
“You’ll move your foot if you know what’s good for you,” the man said with a snarl.
“Not until you tell me where General Fortner is,” Black said.
“Who?”
“The American general,” Black said. “You know who I’m talking about.”
“No, I don’t. And I’m not going to ask you again to move.”
Black peered behind the man and noticed several tables with stacks of money being counted by various workers. Not a single one of them even looked in Black’s direction, intently focused on their task.
With a swift move, the man punched Black in the stock. However, Black was able to get his hands in a defensive position to soften the blow. Then he unleashed several hits on the man, first up high and then down low. Saving the throat for the final flurry of punches, Black drew back and regretted that he didn’t deliver the hit sooner. The man kicked Black in his knees, sending him staggering backward onto the docks. Black stumbled over a pile of ropes and nearly lost his balance.
Once he regained his footing, Black rocked back and forth before exploding into a sprint toward the man. However, Black never made it as he was blindsided by another one of Long Zi’s gang members.
Black fell to the ground, his face pressed against the wooden planks by the tattooed giant. Meanwhile, Black was forced to endure a relentless barrage of kicks from the gangsters who had swarmed around him. He counted at least a half dozen different people before he could no longer keep his eyes open.
Mercifully, the beating finally stopped less than a minute later, though Black would’ve sworn it went on for fifteen.
“Maybe next time you’ll listen when someone tells you to leave,” the giant said as he yanked Black to his feet. “Now if I ever see you around here again, I won’t make the boys stop until you’re dead. Do you understand me?”
Black nodded and moaned before getting shoved backward. He couldn’t maintain his balance and tumbled to the ground. As Black tried to sit up, he heard uproarious laughter followed by the door slamming. He remained still for a few minutes before contemplating standing.
I should’ve listened to McCutcheon.
Black finally staggered to his feet and left the docks. He kept his head down, certain that he would scare any small children—or anyone else—who happened to be out at this hour of night. Struggling to walk in a straight line, Black stopped, fearful that he might draw the attention of any Hong Kong police officers patrolling the streets as being publicly intoxicated. After resting on a bench for a spell, he decided he was strong enough to make the short walk back to his hotel. But before he could get going, a woman rushed over to him.
“Sir, are you okay?” she asked, kneeling next to Black.
Black held up his hand. “I’m fine, I’m fine. No need to worry.”
“You’re not fine,” she said, her eyes scanning his beaten body. “Who did this to you? Was it someone in Long Zi?”
“Look, I appreciate your concern, but I don’t need your help,” Black said. “I was just taking a short break, and I’ll be able to address these wounds when I get back to my place.”
“I doubt that,” she sai
d as she stood and remained there, hovering over him. “You need professional medical help.”
“Your concern is certainly kind, but I’m not going to a hospital,” Black said.
“Who said anything about going to a hospital?” she asked. “I’m a nurse, and a damn good one. Come with me, and I’ll get you fixed up.”
Black groaned as he eased upright. He grabbed his back and shuffled with the woman down the sidewalk.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Black said.
“Nonsense,” she said. “You need some medical care, and if you’re being foolish enough not to visit an emergency room, I’ll help you. My apartment is just up ahead.”
When they reached her apartment, she assisted Black inside and helped him over to the couch. “Just lie down there. I’ll be right back.”
She returned with a first aid kit along with a couple ice packs and a cup.
“Drink this,” she said, handing Black a glass of water. “And then put your head back so I can start dressing these wounds.”
Black complied and then unbuttoned his shirt with the woman’s help. “I have a hard fast rule that I don’t let women take my shirt off without knowing their name first.”
“Some rules are made to be broken,” she said with a wry smile.
“My name is Titus,” he said.
“I’m Liling. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Titus, though I would’ve preferred different circumstances.”
“Me and you both,” he said as he removed his shirt. “Do you always go around helping random strangers on the street and inviting them into your apartment to give them medical attention?”
“Only when the situation calls for it. Most of the time, people call me instead.”
“You make in-home visits?”
She nodded. “Many of the ex-pats here are afraid of visiting our hospitals unless they absolutely have to. So, I go and determine if what they’re feeling demands further care or if they just need to suck it up and pop a couple aspirin.”
“And you only deal with ex-pats?”
She nodded. “They pay far more than my fellow countrymen, and I get to practice my English.”
Brady Hawk 18 - A Deadly Force Page 2
