Fazil strode around the room, inspecting the fish tank built into the rocky wall. Though he wasn’t sure exactly where he was, Fazil had a pretty good idea.
He tried to activate the GPS signal in his shoe, but he couldn’t get it to work. After he’d spent plenty of time studying the fish, Fazil decided to sit down. He looked around the stark room, searching for any sign of normalcy, the kind of thing that would put him at ease and make him feel more comfortable. But there was nothing.
Fazil exhaled and checked his watch. He’d waited more than fifteen minutes, and still no sign of the Missile Man.
Growing uneasy by the moment, Fazil scanned the room for anything he might be able to use as a weapon. It was a precautionary measure, yet that’s the kind of thinking that helped him avoid being on the wrong side of a bullet several times in the past.
He glanced at his watch again. Twenty minutes had passed, and he remained alone. As Fazil sat on the couch, he heard footsteps coming down the hall. He craned his neck to see who was headed toward him. It was an armed guard, and he appeared to be in a hurry.
CHAPTER 21
HAWK CROUCHED DOWN and inspected the body of the man he’d just killed. While the Army Rangers had been helpful in securing Malik Bashir’s palatial hideout, they hadn’t performed up to the standards necessary to consider the operation a success. A thorough sweep would’ve revealed potential hiding places as well as rooted out any soldiers loyal to Bashir. But the man whose throat Hawk had just slit had gone undetected.
Hawk hardly noticed the blood pooling around the man’s head while examining the tattoo on his limp wrist. The foreign markings meant something, but he wasn’t sure what. While needing to get outside and tend to Fazil, Hawk decided something about his attacker warranted a closer look—and a picture. Hawk snapped a few photos from different angles that he intended to send to Blunt. The designs inked on the dead man’s arm intrigued Hawk and he believed Blunt would know the origins of the markings. If not, Hawk knew he could also rely on Alex to hunt down the images online.
Hawk stood and checked his gun. He preferred not to waste any more bullets on Fazil than necessary. Hawk took a deep breath and prepared to exit the room. While the attempt on his life shook him, Hawk focused in on what he was going to say next and how he was going to deliver the news to Fazil that they’d hijacked his arms deal—all just before Hawk put a bullet in the infamous leader of the Al Hasib terrorist organization.
The moment weighed heavily on Hawk as he recounted all the people Fazil had been responsible for killing. While most of those who died at Fazil’s hands lived abroad, Hawk couldn’t help but remember that Fazil had been relentless in his drive to bring terror to American soil. Fazil’s obsession had grown so much that it was about to become the reason for his downfall.
Hawk had a strong disdain for gratuitous murder. If he felt a person was never going to pose another threat, Hawk would let them live. He resisted the urge to go on indiscriminate killing sprees even in the heat of battle. However, he rarely felt comfortable about giving anyone a second chance that was trying to kill him. Hawk’s mercy, while more plentiful than most in his profession, existed only within distinct boundaries.
Hawk clenched his fist and prepared to open the door. He was almost disappointed in himself that he looked forward to the literal sitting target, the unarmed man lounging on a couch just beyond the room and excited about purchasing weapons that would kill hundreds of thousands of Americans. But Hawk tried not to think about the unfairness of it all and concentrated on the justice he would exact. After all, if anyone deserved to die, Karif Fazil did.
Hawk slowly turned the knob but stopped when Alex spoke to him over the comlink.
“Hawk! Are you there?” Alex said.
He stepped back from the door and made his way toward the couch, striding over the dead body.
“What is it? Talk to me.”
“They’re on their way. You’ve gotta get out of there.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down. What are you talking about, Alex?”
“There is a convoy of CIA vehicles climbing the mountain road toward us right now.”
“I thought those bastards didn’t want to engage in a gunfight like this on Saudi soil. Liars, every one of them.”
“I’m working with one of the Rangers’ tech guys, and he found their frequency once I spotted them on the security feed. Apparently, you’re just as much of a target as Fazil.”
“Are you serious?”
“This is a set up, Hawk. They’re gunning for you. They’re going to be here in a few minutes and will take you out. I’m not sure how these soldiers are going to treat the Rangers, but I know what they plan to do with you. Get out now.”
“Roger that.”
A door at the back of the room opened, and one of the Army Rangers entered.
“Mr. Hawk, I’m Sergeant First Class Tyler Thomas, and we need to get you out of here.”
Hawk eyed the man cautiously. “I’ve got some unfinished business first.”
“I don’t think you understand. There are armored vehicles headed right toward us.”
“I do understand. I just spoke with Alex, and she told me what’s happening. But perhaps you don’t understand that the leader of one of the most dangerous terrorist organizations in the world is sitting unarmed out in the parlor, and he’s waiting for me.”
Before Thomas could respond, two shots rang out in the parlor where Fazil was supposedly waiting for Hawk.
“Doesn’t sound like he’s unarmed any more,” Thomas said.
Hawk didn’t bother with a reply, instead racing toward the
