The guard opened his mouth to alert his fellow guards about what was really happening behind the door. But his cry for help was thwarted again, this time when Hawk punched the man in the face.
“Where is she?” Hawk demanded.
The guard furrowed his brow and pulled back. “Where’s who?” he said, coughing as he spoke.
“Where’s the woman? You know who I’m talking about.”
“I don’t know. Across the street, perhaps.”
“I’m not going to ask again.”
Quivering, the guard relented. “She’s being held across the street.”
Hawk then delivered a vicious blow to the man’s throat, shattering his trachea. As the man collapsed to the ground, he writhed on the floor in an attempt to breathe. Any suspense that he might regain his breath and alert his fellow guards that he needed their help vanished when Hawk wrapped the remains of his bindings around the man’s neck.
The man fought hard, putting both hands on the rope and tugging at it. But he couldn’t prevent Hawk from choking the life right out of him. In less than a minute, the man stopped fighting and slumped to the ground, dead.
Hawk ripped a knife from the man’s belt and positioned the only other chair in the room a few feet away from the overhead fan. He backed up and took a running start, reaching a swift speed before stepping up onto the chair and leaping for the fan. Hawk grabbed the fan and spun around once. He then grabbed a steel support beam that hung a couple of feet above the fan and shimmied toward the small opening. Swinging his feet back and forth to gain momentum, Hawk lunged once, breaking the window.
Hawk cleared the glass around the edges of the frame with his foot and slipped through the hole he’d created. He climbed down to the outside, landing in an alleyway between two unfamiliar buildings.
He was free, but he wasn’t leaving until he got what he’d come for.
CHAPTER 1
Six months earlier
The Ajagar
Arabian Sea
ARAV KATARI SURVEYED THE DECK of his ship and smiled with satisfaction. If he had his druthers, he would’ve been standing over the deck of the INS Vikramaditya, India’s premier aircraft carrier. But he was content with his plight in life, even if every family member tried to convince him otherwise. Running a cargo ship between India and various Middle Eastern and East African ports was enough to satiate his childhood dream of spending his days at sea. But this day at sea was different.
The dark clouds forming to the south didn’t bode well for the remainder of his journey, but that wasn’t what concerned Katari the most. Pacing around the deck, he couldn’t help but take his eyes off the container. Officially, it wasn’t even onboard, purposefully omitted from the ship’s manifesto. If a storm caused the ship to capsize or some other calamity struck, no one would know the contents of container No. 8942. Yet it was exactly how Katari’s supervisor wanted it.
Katari didn’t want to ask what was inside the container, but he felt duty bound if for anything the safety of his crew. His first request as to the contents was stonewalled, but he persisted.
“What if something happens and it begins to leak, spread, or waft over the deck?” Katari pleaded. “I need to know how to keep everyone away from danger.”
“Fine,” his supervisor said. “It’s methylphosphonyl difluoride. Are you happy now?”
Katari had never heard of the chemical compound; he wasn’t sure he wanted to either. When he finally researched it, he discovered it was used to make sarin gas.
“You’re putting a chemical weapon on my boat?” Katari said when he confronted his supervisor.
“Technically, that’s my boat. And it’s not a weapon yet. Just do as you’re told. Your job depends on it.”
Katari exited his supervisor’s office in a huff. While Katari would’ve preferred to quit his job in that moment, he couldn’t. His wife and three young children wouldn’t have appreciated such a commitment to principles when it came time to buy food at the local market or pay their rent. His aging parents—who lived with him and his family—wouldn’t appreciate it either. And neither would his brother, who still hadn’t found a job.
When the containers were loaded onto The Ajagar, Katari filled out the manifest as instructed. Container No. 8942 was omitted from any official report. However, Katari was told not to worry about it because it wouldn’t matter. Whatever was inside wouldn’t arrive in port, making Katari’s protests moot.
“What do you mean?” Katari asked his supervisor.
“You’ll understand when it happens,” he replied.
As Katari surveyed the deck of The Ajagar, he still wondered what his supervisor had meant by that comment. They’d been at sea for over seventy-two hours and were nearing the Berbera port in Somalia when he first noticed the pair of ships speeding toward them across the horizon. Once the boats pulled up portside to The Ajagar, Katari knew exactly what his boss meant.
Several armed men boarded Katari’s ship and began to search different containers. When they came to No. 8942, one of the men pulled out a pair of deadbolt cutters and clipped the lock. The doors swung open to reveal a dozen barrels. The pirates began loading the fifty-five gallon drums onto their boats and managed to be surprisingly efficient. In less than half an hour, they were gone.
Talman Virk, Katari’s second in command, didn’t even wait until the pirates had disappeared on the horizon before he suggested they fill out an incident report. Katari protested, insisting that it wasn’t necessary. Virk rejected Katari’s protests and proceeded to quote large swaths from the employee guidebook. At first, Katari ignored Virk. But then Katari realized Virk was not only serious, but he felt the need to act immediately.
After the incident, Katari was alone on the bridge when Virk entered with a clipboard in hand.
“Captain, I’m having a difficult time
