Alex logged out of the system and trudged to her office at Lloyd’s Bank. She didn’t figure anything would get her mind off the impending doom about to befall Hawk—and she was right. For most of the day, she labored with a sense of dread. She skipped lunch and called Blunt to deliver the news.
“There’s no way you can work some of your magic to tell him what’s going down?” Blunt asked.
“I’ve considered everything, but I can’t get over the challenge of communicating with him when we have no direct access. It’s never been a serious problem until now. And if there had been a safer way for us to stay in touch, I’m sure we would’ve tried it. But there wasn’t. And now there’s no way for me to let him know anything. I even thought about hiring a skywriter for about a minute.”
“You have thought of everything, haven’t you?” he asked with a half-hearted laugh.
“Unfortunately, none of those ideas will get us any message to Hawk. I’m afraid he’s on his own.”
“I’ll send you the security codes you need to log into the NSA’s satellites?”
“Thanks. I appreciate it, though I’m not too fond about the idea of watching him get carted off to prison by a bunch of Army Rangers. He saved some of their lives not that long ago.”
“Nobody in Washington cares about that,” Blunt said. “All the career military personnel at the Pentagon care about is ticking off the box that they accomplished a mission successfully so they can earn the next promotion. With a little bit of luck, they might even catch the president’s eye and land on a powerful committee. Those people are far too removed from the battlefield to remember—or even care—about life in the trenches and how important morale and camaraderie is to soldiers in battle. They just go follow the next directive and don’t ask any questions. It’s easier that way.”
“All that to say that Hawk’s past interactions with the Rangers won’t buy him anything?”
“They might buy him a pillow to lay his head on and some gentler treatment while they transport him home,” Blunt said. “But other than that, not much.”
“So, Hawk is screwed.”
“Pretty much,” Blunt said. “And if Michaels would go to such lengths to make sure that this mission is carried out, you can bet that he’s gunning for us next.”
“This is not how I want to live,” Alex said.
“Me either. But right now we’re not in the position to be making any demands. We’re alive and free for the moment. And that means we have a fighting chance.”
“Wish we could say the same for Hawk.”
“Don’t give up on him yet,” Blunt said. “You know how resourceful he can be. And you too. Maybe you’ll think of something between now and the time he meets with Al Hasib.”
“I don’t know if I can. I’m too depressed to get creative.”
“Well, snap out of it because Hawk needs you. If there was something I could do about it, I would.”
“Okay, I’ll try to focus for Hawk’s sake.”
“Do it for yourself too. Dwelling on the negative will never get you anywhere.”
Alex hung up and returned to her office, counting down the hours until she could leave work and contemplate how she might be able to help Hawk.
* * *
THIRTY MINUTES BEFORE SHE was supposed to leave work, Alex bolted for the door. She called her supervisor and complained about stomach cramps, which was an excuse that men rarely questioned. On her way home from work, she purchased a pair of computer monitors to hook up to her desktop. She planned to utilize all the resources she could to figure out a way to help Hawk in what she considered was a final stand against Michaels.
By the time she arrived at her apartment, she had less than three hours before the deal was supposed to happen. With Oman being three time zones ahead of her in Brighton, she already felt the pressure. Hawk had relayed in his last message that the meeting was scheduled to take place at 11 p.m. local time in Khabas.
Alex configured the monitors with her desktop before firing up her laptop as well. She took fifteen minutes using Blunt’s codes to hack into the NSA’s satellites to zoom in on the coordinates Hawk had given her. At the moment, there didn’t appear to be much activity in the area. The port appeared relatively quiet with only a fishing vessel docked. She took note of the oddly-shaped lifeboat that was secured just off the top deck.
“That looks like a cigarette boat,” she said to herself. “This has to be the ship Al Hasib is going to sail away in with the weapons because that lifeboat is plan B. It’s not going to save anyone but the person driving away in it with some of the goods.”
Dropping a pin on the harbor, she panned back and searched the rest of the area. She was hoping to spot Hawk well in advance and pray that an idea struck her so she could communicate with him. But he wasn’t anywhere to be found.
However, she wasted no time in identifying a three-truck military convoy humming across the desert toward Khabas.
There they are, on their way to arrest one of their own citizens who is truly on their side. Disgraceful.
She made note of the position for the trio of vehicles, which were about a half hour out from the port. Pulling the field of view back again, she searched for Hawk’s transport truck. Still nothing.
Alex still had some work to do with the information she’d recently collected from Oliver Ackerman. Though the possibility that none of what she was about to do would matter in a couple of hours, she had to try. Her fingers flew across the keyboard as her strokes were focused and intentional. She knew what she was doing.
He’s going to hate this, but I don’t
