“What’s going on?” Hawk asked one of the paramedics. “Is he going to be all right?”
“I don’t know, sir,” the paramedic replied, gently pushing Hawk backward. “Please step away and let us do our job.”
Hawk hovered over the medical professionals while they tested and prodded Blunt. Within thirty seconds, they were preparing to push the senator toward their ambulance.
Hawk rushed over and got down close to Blunt’s ear, whispering as they rushed toward the vehicle. “Damn it, Senator, don’t die on me. I need you to make it. I need answers about who I am.”
Hawk tried to climb aboard.
One of the paramedics held out his hand. “Sorry, sir. Family only.”
“I’m the only family he’s got,” Hawk protested.
The paramedic ignored Hawk and closed the door. The driver then roared away, turning on the sirens that echoed through the D.C. morning air. The wailing ambulance sounded the same to most people—another emergency vehicle trying to save someone. To Hawk, the siren sounded more ominous. Most importantly, Blunt’s life hung in the balance. But so did Hawk’s answer.
Don’t die on me yet.
CHAPTER 42
HANDS CLASPED TOGETHER in front of him, Hawk watched the casket of Senator J.D. Blunt lowered into the ground. He didn’t move with the rest of the mourners, who started to head back to their vehicles. A chorus of sorrowful cries from Blunt’s ex-wives and former girlfriends provided a sad soundtrack carried by the wind whipping through Arlington Cemetery. It faded softly until Hawk was left alone with his thoughts.
He simultaneously liked and loathed Blunt, though Hawk felt more of the latter in recent days. Blunt’s refusal to tell Hawk the truth about his father created a tidal wave of bitterness, one that crashed around Hawk as he looked at the mound of dirt waiting to be shoveled on top of the senator’s casket. It was a simple request, yet Blunt refused to honor it. At least, Blunt refused to honor it in a reasonable amount of time. And time had run out.
The longer Hawk stared at the overturned earth, the angrier he got.
“He’s not coming back, if that’s what you’re thinking,” came a familiar voice behind him.
Hawk spun around to see Tom Colton.
“What do you want?”
“Just came to offer my condolences. I know what Senator Blunt meant to you, son,” Colton answered.
Hawk felt his face get flushed, not out of embarrassment but out of rage.
“Cut the shenanigans, Tom. You’re not my father.”
Colton cocked his head to one side. “Now, Son, I know you’re angry, but is that any way to treat your old man.”
“What? The old man who was never there for me? The old man who isn’t even my old man? The old man who is so stupid that he’ll believe anything he’s told or do anything he’s told just to hold onto his precious government contracts.”
Colton scowled. “I don’t know what you’ve been told, but I sure as hell won’t sit around and listen to you talk to me like that. It’s obvious that you’re letting your emotions get the best of you. I’m going to walk away now and let you cool off.”
“Please walk away and never come back,” Hawk said.
Hawk returned his gaze to Blunt’s plot and continued to sulk. The man in the grave may have given Hawk a job that filled him with purpose, but that was only after Blunt nearly stripped every chance Hawk had of discovering who his father really was. Hawk didn’t have “daddy issues;" he had Blunt issues. And Hawk had to resign himself right then that they’d never be resolved.
After a few more minutes of standing over the grave, Hawk felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see General Johnson.
“I know it goes against protocol for us to meet out in public,” Johnson said.
“It’s what I was doing with Blunt when he suffered his stroke. Some rules are meant to be broken.”
“And some teams are never meant to be broken up,” Johnson said as he handed Hawk a piece of paper.
“What’s this?” Hawk said.
“It’s your next assignment.”
“Assignment?”
Johnson smiled and nodded. “Firestorm isn’t going anywhere. Just because Blunt is dead doesn’t mean there aren’t terrorists that need to be stopped out there. Hawk, your government needs you—even if it barely knows you exist.”
“And Alex?”
“She’s in too. All the details are there, but you’ll be briefed more fully once you arrive.”
“Where am I headed this time?”
“San Francisco. Talk to you soon.”
Johnson tipped his cap and left Hawk alone again.
Blunt may have been gone, but Hawk remained determined to find the answers to all his questions. They were out there. That much he was sure of. He just needed to figure out where to look.
THE END
Keep reading to get the first two chapters of POINT OF IMPACT, Book 3 in the Brady Hawk series ...
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am grateful to so many people who have helped with the creation of this project and the entire Brady Hawk series. While I like to venture into locations I have yet to travel for scenes in my books, Sierra Leone was one where I had to rely on stories from others who had been there and other countries surrounding it. However, I did get some great insight into the big game culture from Craig Boddington, big game hunting consultant and one of the world's preeminent experts in the field. He was more than gracious in answering questions about hunting in the region.
Krystal Wade has been a fantastic help in handling the editing of this book, and Dwight Kuhlman has produced another great audio version for your listening pleasure.
I would also like to thank my advance reader team for all their input in improving this book along with all the other readers who have enthusiastically embraced the story of Brady Hawk. I might be looking forward to his story as much as you.
DEEP COVER
© Copyright 2016 R.J. 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: 978-1-938848-83-4
Print ISBN: 978-1-938848-82-7
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
POINT OF IMPACT
A Brady Hawk Thriller
R.J. PATTERSON
For my grandparents, Ray & Audrey, who
have always been so supportive of my work
CHAPTER 0
Tiburon, California
IN THE HALF DOZEN TIMES Brady Hawk had visited the towering Spanish mission style home overlooking Belvedere Strait, he’d never made this type of entrance. He’d always been greeted at the guardhouse by Randall, the portly and amicable keeper of the gate. After Randall opened the gate, Hawk drove his car into a tight spot a few steps from the porch. He would ring the doorbell and be greeted by a friendly face, a warm hug, and a pair of highly active Bichon Frise puppies, Mitzi and Maria.
But not this time.
Hawk clutched the straps on his parachute as he descended from the sky, the wind racing past him at a deafening decibel level. He counted down and glanced at his watch. Three . . . two . . . one. He yanked the cord hard, slowing his progress as the wind caught his parachute overhead. His free fall transformed into a gentle descent in an instant.
As he was drifting downward
, Hawk took advantage of his position to assess the situation. The target was being held inside, and, according to his eyes and ears on the scene, five guards patrolled the area and protected the hostage. Hawk’s mission was simple, if not difficult: disable all guards and free the hostage. According to the directives he received, how Hawk interpreted the word disable was entirely up to him. Given the hostage, Hawk preferred an interpretation that leaned toward permanent disability.
Hawk’s feet hit the ground hard a mere fifty meters from the intended destination and sent shockwaves up his shins. He figured the hostage takers would never expect him to approach through the air—or on foot. Maybe a smash and grab approach was more likely for a typical American spy. But Hawk had long since surrendered such stereotypes. He focused on completing the mission by any means necessary, refusing to yield to such standard procedures. His unconventional approach was what kept him at the top of his field.
Hawk gathered his parachute and shoved it behind the rock wall of the neighbor’s home. Quietly hustling down the street toward his target, Hawk peered through his binoculars at the familiar setting. It was just as he’d remembered it several years ago when he last visited the house.
Two guards patrolled the gated home, one on the east side and another on the west. Like automatons, they marched around the area, turning their heads in a mechanical fashion. If Hawk didn’t know any better, he would’ve guessed the men were robots of some sort. But as he studied them through his infrared binoculars, he saw the truth: They were scared and frightened men who tried hard not to show it.
This ought to be easy enough.
Hawk crept up on the property and surveyed the area. He had two exit routes in case things went sideways. With the house sitting on a point, he could leave either on the east or west side, which both connected to a winding Alcatraz Avenue. The rooftops of surrounding houses located below provided quick access to other roadways or an opportunity to dive into the harbor and disappear, though he wasn’t sure the hostage would be willing to take a plunge. Either way, the property wasn’t lacking in escape routes, making it a nightmare to secure.
But exit means were only minor concerns for Hawk since he didn’t intend to utilize any of them—at least, not with anyone in pursuit. His primary objective was to secure the hostage, and he had no intention of failing, especially considering who she was.
He pulled out his binoculars and scanned the property once more before engaging the guards.
“Are you sure there are only five guards?” Hawk whispered into his comlink.
“Roger that.”
“Okay. I’m going dark.”
Hawk turned off his comlink and yanked it out of his ear. He didn’t need any distractions, just intense focus. He took a deep breath and then hustled down the hill toward the house.
Hawk stopped about ten meters from the edge of the gate on the east side, waiting for the guard to clear. After he spun around to head south toward the water, Hawk hopped the fence, creeping up behind the guard.
Hawk first boxed the man’s ears, catching him by surprise. Then Hawk hit the guard in the throat, resulting in him gasping while staggering to the ground. Hawk leapt on the the man’s back and twisted his neck until a slight snap echoed off the house. Hawk froze and let down the guard’s limp body, allowing it settle quietly onto the small patch of grass.
Sneaking around the front of the house, Hawk waited to make a move until the guard on the west side turned his back and walked north. In a matter of seconds, Hawk slipped up behind the guard and snapped his neck in one smooth motion. The guard crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
Hawk took a moment to admire his work before dragging the man behind the trio of rose bushes up against the side of the house.
Two down, three to go.
Hawk pulled out his binoculars again and surveyed the scene. From where he was standing only a few feet outside of the window that looked into the house’s dining room, he could see one guard. Without the location of the other two guards, he could only imagine what he was walking into. In a best case scenario for him, it’d be two against one. They weren’t the best odds, but he’d been up against worse before.
Keeping his back flush against the wall, Hawk slinked his way to the back porch, where he could peer inside through the French doors. He knelt down on the same patio where he’d enjoyed many delicious meals in the past. If he stopped and took a deep breath, he could almost smell the seasoned steak wafting from the grill across the porch. The mere thought made Hawk hungry.
Focus, Hawk, focus.
He glanced inside the doors again and saw the other two guards.
You bastards—this is gonna cost you more than you imagined.
He snuck up to the door and turned the handle slowly. He was about to engage in the most personal mission he’d ever been a part of. He said a quick prayer, asking for forgiveness.
Hawk knew he shouldn't take pleasure in killing, but he was going to enjoy every second of this assignment.
CHAPTER 1
One Week Earlier
Washington, D.C.
BRADY HAWK STARED at the Beltway traffic, blinded by brake lights from the vehicles of early morning commuters. The last thing he wanted to do was inch his way along the highway and think. His purpose as a Firestorm operative felt different without Senator Blunt issuing directives. Although Hawk remained certain he wanted to spend his life hunting down terrorists, he wasn’t sure he wanted to do it for Firestorm with General Johnson leading the way. For reasons Hawk couldn’t pinpoint, he just didn’t trust Johnson. But Hawk decided to try a few missions with Johnson at the helm and see how it went.
Hawk turned on the radio, hoping to get a traffic report so he could come up with an alternate route to the airport. If there was a wreck up ahead, he could exit at the next opportunity and navigate along surface streets. If a foreign dignitary visit was responsible for the logjam, there was no outfoxing the snarled traffic. He scanned for WTOP on the FM dial that delivered traffic reports every ten minutes. Once he found it, he caught the tailend of Dave Dildine’s report as he signed off.
Just missed it.
Hawk guessed that at the rate he was moving, he might move two hundred meters in the next eight minutes. He settled in and decided to listen to the anchor dish out another mouthful of gloomy news. Politicians bickered over worthless bills that bettered the lives of no one, except the contractors who’d line their pockets with the government’s money. Suicide bombers attacked a church in Pakistan. A huge storm brewing in the Caribbean threatened to come ashore and ravage poverty-stricken Haiti. A new U.N. education report revealed that American students were now scoring lower than some second world nations. Finally, a financial analyst warned that the stock market was headed for a deep dive in the coming months.
Another day in paradise.
Hawk had heard it all before and many times, too. He’d almost grown immune and hardened to the dissemination of bad news. However, the final snippet grabbed his attention.
A pair of Colton Industry scientists have gone missing at sea over the weekend. Dr. James Davis and Dr. Brian Young left Saturday morning for a day trip in Young’s boat, but they failed to return well after dark. After repeated attempts by family members to reach the pair failed, authorities were notified. The Coast Guard conducted a search Sunday afternoon but cut it short due to stormy waters and high winds. According to spokesperson Sheila Waters, the Coast Guard plans to resume the search on Monday, weather permitting, but didn’t sound optimistic.
“The Coast Guard issued a wind advisory on Saturday morning and urged boaters to refrain from venturing out into the rough seas. We continue to encourage the public to heed these warnings to avoid such situations in the future. While we will continue our search in less than ideal conditions on Monday, we have yet to find any signs of Dr. Young’s boat.”
Hawk furrowed his brow. He’d met Dr. Young once before and knew him to be a responsible and experienced boater. It seemed out of character for
Young based on what Hawk knew. Before he had too much time to consider if anything else sinister was afoot, the traffic report came on. The anchor suggested taking surface streets, and Hawk didn’t hesitate to get off at the next exit and follow the detour his map app advised. He made a mental note to follow up with Dr. Young’s family once he landed in San Francisco, especially since it meant getting to reconnect with a long-lost friend.
***
THE CROSS-COUNTRY FLIGHT was uneventful, particularly by Hawk’s standards. He always appreciated the beauty of what he considered one of the crown jewel cities in the United States. Majestic landscapes rising above the water, exotic plants and trees mixed with familiar vegetation to form a stunning tapestry—all serving as a backdrop to one of the most astounding feats in human engineering from eighty years ago: the Golden Gate Bridge. He never grew tired of admiring the bay area’s scenery.
Once Hawk deplaned and rented his car, he checked his messages. The only one in his inbox was the only one he expected to receive, a brief note from Alex reminding him to call her once he landed.
“So you finally made it?” Alex Duncan said as she answered Hawk’s call.
“Without incident. Even managed to get on a flight that long without a single crying baby.”
She sighed. “You must be living the good life. I hope I get that lucky on Wednesday when I fly out there, too. I always seem to find the seat directly behind a screamer. Even with my noise-cancelling headphones on, the crying is deafening.”
“Now, that does sound rough—and totally unfair. Maybe next time you should see if General Johnson will spring for the extra cash to bump you up to first class. It’s the least he can do since he’s got no facility to maintain and you’re operating out of a mobile unit on location with me.”
Brady Hawk Box Set Page 30
