“Stay with me, Mister Martin,” Collier said.
Hawk’s captor jerked him back upright. However, the moment they cleared the outhouse, Hawk whirled and delivered a swift roundhouse kick to Collier’s head. The man groaned as he fell forward, clutching his face. A hit to the throat and two more powerful kicks to the ribs—one crackled like a fire fueled by green wood—and Collier was done. Hawk punched his assailant in the face, knocking him out.
In a way, Hawk felt sorry for the man, saddened over the fact that his 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. Grabbing the man by the nape of his neck, Hawk positioned himself behind Collier—and twisted until he heard a crack. Hawk picked up Collier’s limp body and moved it into the outhouse. Once he situated Collier on the toilet, Hawk slit Collier’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.
Hawk was almost through the door when he stopped and turned back to look at Collier. The blood dripped hard and fast from his wrist and onto the dirt floor.
He wouldn’t be the last person Hawk would kill on this mission. He 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 then 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 a deliberate stride, Blunt continued toward him with heavy footfalls on the dock echoing 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 sauntered 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 few 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 four 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? Can’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 t
eam 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 the fish’s mouth and released it back into the water. Standing up, he turned around and looked at Blunt. “Who do you want me to meet?”
“Thomas 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 blackballed 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.”
CHAPTER 3
THE NEXT MORNING, Hawk boarded a flight for Atlanta to meet with Tom Colton. In the past, Hawk would’ve looked forward to the meeting, mostly out of curiosity. He still didn’t know much about the private life of Colton, whose life was lived under the spotlight of not only a relentless media but also one that looked upon Colton’s success with disdain. But Hawk had lost almost all interest now. Colton was just another man profiting from war, the kind of man Hawk had grown to loathe.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” chirped the elderly woman who settled into the seat next to him.
Hawk nodded without saying a word, giving her only a hint of a smile. He buckled his seatbelt and tugged it tight. Outside his window, airline workers scurried around on the tarmac, shoveling luggage onto a conveyor belt that didn’t seem to be moving fast enough for one of the workers. The impatient employee bounced a bag onto the conveyor belt and watched it slide off the edge. Tumbling onto the concrete, it sprang open upon impact; the contents spilled onto the ground. The worker rushed over and shoved the passenger’s clothes into the bag before quickly pushing it back onto the belt. Hawk had become so fixated on the events below that he almost didn’t notice his neighbor craning her neck into his personal space.
The older woman playfully swatted Hawk on the arm with the back of her hand. “That’s why I only use a carry-on,” she announced. “Who wants a strange man tossing your unmentionables onto the runway?”
Hawk cracked a more visible smile and nodded. Glancing at the woman again, he saw a faint resemblance to Emily, his girlfriend from when he was in the Peace Corps. If the woman’s face didn’t remind him of Emily, her good nature did.
He closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat, transporting himself to some of his more fond memories of her. Emily grew up in Los Angeles and bled Dodger blue. Every chance she got, she would tease him for cheering for the San Diego Padres. He insisted that every Navy Seal stationed in Coronado who didn’t already have a rooting interest defaulted to the local team, San Diego. She once bought him a Padres shirt with the number zero on the back. “That’s just to remind you how many World Series titles the Padres have.”
But as ruthless as she was when it came to her teasing of him, she was even more relentless when it came to her deepest passion in life: helping others. Teeming with talent, Emily could just as easily sew a dress from scratch as she could fire a rifle and hit a target dead center from 200 meters. But whenever she met someone in need, nothing could stop her from doing everything in her power to make sure that need was met. If government officials needed a scolding, she’d give it to them. If a shopkeeper wasn’t being fair to a widow, she would dress him down. If a woman needed help affording groceries, she’d dig into her savings. If a child needed a pair of shoes, she’d make sure those little feet didn’t walk another step without them. She toiled in a thankless job and loved every minute of it—until some horrible men stripped the world of such a beautiful soul.
Hawk couldn’t think about Emily without eventually drifting back to that painful image seared into his mind, the one where a group of terrorists dragged her away to commit horrible acts against her. When he was a member of Seal Team 3, the acts he was authorized to commit against a Middle Eastern village made him physically wretch. The killing didn’t bother him so much, but the widowing and orphaning of young children did. Yet anything he witnessed or participated in wasn’t close to what terrorists did to Emily that day. Her death is why he decided to leave the Peace Corps for good and seek out a position that would wage war against such monsters. He was convinced the world would never be a safe place as long as groups like Al Hasib roamed free. When Blunt offered Hawk an opportunity to do what he longed to do—systematically remove such scum from the earth—he couldn’t refuse.
The plane’s jet engines roared as it zoomed down the runway and launched skyward. Hawk leaned back and closed his eyes again, trying to forget but determined to remember. After all he’d experienced, he didn’t want to waste his life away. He wanted to make it count. And if part of that meant meeting with a man who existed in a strange paradox—both warmonger and peacemaker—and believed he was his father, so be it. The world wasn’t so neat and tidy, no matter how much he wished it was.
After the plane leveled off, the old woman tapped him on the shoulder. “What are you going to Atlanta for? Going home?”
Hawk forced a smile. “Going to visit my father.”
It was a lie, though he said it with conviction. Only a few weeks before, the same statem
ent would’ve been true—to him.
“How sweet,” she said. “Cherish those moments. You never know how long you’ll have him.”
“For sure.” He forced another smile and nodded, giving off the impression that he agreed with her. But he didn't share those same sentiments.
Hawk’s meeting with Colton wouldn’t be endearing in the least. It was all about extracting information and doing something that would make the world a safer place. It was all about doing his job. It was all about making sure that the Emilys of the world would get to fight for others instead of being victimized by those animals.
Hawk’s face eased into a smile at the thought of what his impending mission would entail. He couldn’t wait to get going.
CHAPTER 4
ALEX ADJUSTED HER WIG and climbed out of her car. Her counterfeit credentials passed the initial security checkpoint without drawing even a slight hesitation from the guard; her confidence grew by the minute. She’d walked through the doors at Langley hundreds of times, but never like this. This time, she was trespassing, intent on gaining access to one of the CIA’s most secure locations at its headquarters. Cracking firewalls and spoofing IP addresses was one thing, but beating a building full of spies at their own game? Such bravado required a motivation beyond mere curiosity. With each step toward the front entrance, she wondered if maybe she was getting blinded by Hawk’s ripped chest and handsome good looks.
She glanced around as the other employees trudged up the steps and toward the front doors like mindless automatons. It hadn’t been that long ago that she was one of them, doing the government’s bidding without pause. For someone who’d dreamed of being a spy her whole life, working for the CIA exceeded her expectations—until it didn’t. Operations that showed disregard for innocent life gave her reason to pause and consider what it was she was really doing. Concluding that this wasn’t what she signed up for, she decided to blow the whistle on some of Director Coker’s more nefarious missions. And it didn’t take her long to be swept aside. If truth be told, she was lucky they didn’t put a bullet in her head and bury her in a Virginia mountainside after the embarrassment she caused Director Coker. If he caught her this time, a bullet might be a merciful ending.
Brady Hawk Box Set Page 16
