“And Bashir is up to no good?”
“Military intelligence intercepted a call between him and Karif Fazil.”
“That’s definitely a dangerous combination.”
“It’s worse than you can imagine, too. On the call, Bashir and Fazil reached a tentative deal. Bashir has agreed to sell two dozen short-range subsonic cruise missiles and several guidance systems to Fazil.”
“What the hell is he going to do with all those missiles?”
“Your guess is as good as mine at this point, which underscores why we need to stop this exchange before it happens in about three weeks.”
Blunt drained the last of his drink and slammed the glass on his desk. “Where are the Saudis on this?”
“Given the present situation of our relations with them, top brass thinks it’s best that we leave them out of the loop on this one.”
Blunt rolled up his sleeves and thought for a moment. “This won’t go over too well with them if we don’t loop them in.”
“Do you honestly think Bashir doesn’t have one of his guys on the inside with the Saudi military? It’d be like setting a death trap for our team. Besides, if the Saudis have to admit that The Missile Man is being harbored in their country, they could face tremendous backlash from the international intelligence community. They’d refuse to help on principle alone.”
“You make some good points. So, what do you want us to do?”
“It’s more about who we want rather than what, which must be obvious by this point—we want Hawk.”
CHAPTER 5
Central Brāhui Range, Pakistan
KARIF FAZIL SAT ON THE GROUND, his legs crossed and arms extended. The cave portion of his Pakistani hideout was left to add to the mystique of his terrorist persona. He used the space primarily for photo propaganda, disseminating pictures taken there with his key assistants. Keeping up appearances of a ragtag organization that was severely underfunded was a must if he intended to attract more recruits to the cause of Al Hasib. If people believed Al Hasib could challenge—and sometimes deliver fatal blows—the Americans while living in dire conditions, anything was possible with more soldiers and more resources.
Fazil slowly took in deep breaths, exhaling at the same rate. He needed to re-focus and get back to the central mission of Al Hasib. Too much time had been wasted with personal vendettas, all of which appeared to have failed. There was a war to be won, and it wasn’t with Brady Hawk; it was with the hearts and minds of the world. The sooner he achieved this objective, the sooner he could begin to seize the real power he sought.
When he finished with his meditation, he ventured to the mouth of the cave and stared down into the valley below, a meandering river surrounded by vibrant vegetation. The scene was a metaphor for what he truly aspired to, both for himself and for all like-minded devoted followers of Islam. But it wasn’t a vision shared by others. Yet if he was going to accomplish what he wanted, blood needed to be spilled. And he wasn’t counting on it being his own.
He closed his eyes and pictured the water below as blood red then smiled.
The blood of my enemies. I will make it so.
He opened his eyes and ducked back inside the cave, walking deeper until he reached a door barely visible from the entrance. Upon entering, he punched in a security code and watched as the opening to the cave closed automatically and a series of beeps signaled the facility was once again armed.
Inside, Fazil’s mountain hideout stood in stark contrast to the primitive conditions of the cave. The exquisitely designed rooms looked as if they’d been crafted by Marmol Radziner, and certainly not anything one would expect to see in Pakistan, much less in a terrorist hideout built into the side of a mountain. However, it cost every bit as much as it appeared to as Fazil nearly exceeded his budget twice over in order to keep quiet the locals who assisted with the construction. Yet despite any potential leaks, Fazil felt confident that his bunker could sustain a relentless attack from anything any military could lob at him.
“Let Washington come and get me,” he said with clenched jaw as he looked around at his surroundings.
A man entered the room and then almost immediately apologized. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t realize you were with someone.”
Gesturing for the man to enter, Fazil shook his head and refused to acknowledge an audible conversation had even taken place with himself.
“What is it?” Fazil asked.
“Several of the men asked that I come and find you,” he explained. “They wanted to make sure that you were watching the address from the U.S. President.”
“That’ll be all,” Fazil said, pointing toward the door.
Fazil snatched the remote off the coffee table and turned on the nearest television. When the image came to life on the screen, Fazil sat down and watched President Michaels seated comfortably behind his desk in the Oval Office.
My fellow American citizens, I come to you today with a message, not of fear, but of hope. The men who desire to make our lives more difficult by lobbing bombs at us both here and abroad will be defeated. We will not let them break our spirits. And we will send them a message, one that resonates with all Americans—and comes across loud and clear for those purveyors of evil who seek destruction upon the greatest nation in the world today.
In recent days, our threat level has risen to orange. Our intelligence experts believe an attack on American soil is imminent due to chatter. And I want you to know we are endeavoring to ensure that such attacks never materialize. In the end, all their talk will be little more than bluster and bravado as the brave men and women who fight to keep this country safe prevail in keeping their evil plans at bay.
Al Hasib is not long for
