While Hawk had eliminated key Al Hasib personnel and disrupted weapon and resource streams, the attacks felt personal to Qureshi. When Hawk killed Al Hasib’s chief bombmaker Nasim Ghazi during a mission in Afghanistan, Qureshi was devasted. Ghazi was Qureshi’s half-brother, and Qureshi vowed to avenge his death. If Qureshi brooded too long over the situation, he could become unhinged.
Qureshi’s phone rang, rescuing him from spiraling out of control. He took a deep breath and answered the call. It was Fazil.
“Are you ready to complete the transaction tomorrow?” Fazil asked.
“Everything is in order,” Qureshi said. “Garaar is jumpy, so I’m looking forward to wrapping this up and getting back.”
“Keep Garaar focused, and don’t let him do anything stupid. It should be an easy deal once we secure the product.”
Qureshi stirred his after dinner tea. “Do you want me to deal with him as we previously discussed?”
“Nothing has changed,” Fazil said, pausing briefly. “What about our other little issue?”
“Hawk?”
“Yes, how do you plan to apprehend him?”
“I have a plan, so no need to worry.”
“You better bring him back alive.”
“I will do my best,” Qureshi said.
Qureshi hung up the phone and set it down on the table. He hated lying to Fazil, but Qureshi figured he could ask for forgiveness later.
There was no way he was going to let Brady Hawk walk out of Somalia alive.
CHAPTER 26
Saturday
Tangier, Morocco
J.D. BLUNT SAT AT THE BAR and wrote out a list of places he thought he could hide. The number of countries that did not contain an extradition treaty with the U.S. wasn’t exactly comprised of the world’s hottest tourist destinations. Not that Blunt wanted to go on vacation, but he did have an acute desire to blend in to a culture where everyone was used to everyone else being strangers. If he went to virtually any of the nations on the list, he’d be sure to stand out. The only one that seemed palatable to him was the Marshall Islands. However, even that location was a tenuous choice since it had a treaty with the U.S. for protection, not to mention many dire predictions about how climate change was going to drown every inhabitant.
Blunt sighed and stared out at the Mediterranean Sea, hoping that maybe a genius idea would fall out of the sky. It was a foolish thought, but he was desperate. He didn’t want to face his new reality, one that meant the rest of his life would be spent on the lam.
His phone buzzed, jarring him back to reality. Christopher Roland’s name appeared on the screen.
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to be calling me?” Blunt asked.
“This will be my last call,” Roland said, choosing his words carefully. “I simply wanted to make sure that your team was in place and that they were ready to begin the operation.”
“As far as I know, it’s a green light.”
“Excellent. I will be in touch after they’ve completed their assignment.”
Blunt hung up. He’d known Roland for a long time, but such friendship didn’t equate to trust. If backed into a corner by the U.S. authorities or an international crime syndicate, Roland would give up Blunt. It wouldn’t matter to Roland who was the consummate politician. No alliance was so sacred to Roland that it demanded his undying devotion.
Blunt signaled to the bartender to bring another glass of scotch. Fiddling with his phone, Blunt opened up the app he’d installed to check on his room. His paranoia had reached new heights. He realized his distrust of Roland was likely unwarranted given the long history of their friendship, but he’d been ambushed enough times that he quit giving anyone the benefit of the doubt many years ago. Blunt glanced at the screen and let out a low guttural sound.
He downed his drink then slammed the glass on the counter along. He slapped a twenty-dollar bill next to it and lumbered back toward his room. He looked at his phone again just to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. He wasn’t.
On Blunt’s phone screen, the image of a man rummaging through his room was real. And it wasn’t the hotel staff either. Blunt stomped upstairs and waited outside the door, which was slightly cracked. He could identify where the man was by peering into the room and looking at a mirror. The man’s reflection was difficult to make out with any detail, but Blunt had no doubt the man wasn’t supposed to be in there.
Blunt waited until the man walked behind the door. Then Blunt put his shoulder into the door, ramming it into the man’s head and sending him sprawling. Blunt proceeded to deliver two quick punches followed by a stiff uppercut that knocked out the man. He searched for something to tie up the man with but found nothing. He hustled into the hallway and found an unattended cleaning cart. Checking to make sure no one could see, Blunt lifted several sets of sheets from the cart and carried them back to his room where he used the sheets to tie up the assailant.
Blunt then sat down at the small table in the kitchenette area and opened up the complimentary paper that had been shoved under his door earlier that morning. There was enough in English for him to read that would pre-occupy his
