“Your machine is mistaken. There isn’t one.”
Unsatisfied with the man’s answer, Hawk hustled back to the corner of the room and searched the box again. Determined the prove either Alex or the Al Hasib guard right, he ripped through the straw until he heard what sounded like some object bouncing on the floor and sliding.
What was that?
Hawk spun around and scanned the floor for the culprit. That’s when he noticed a small electronic device with a flashing red light.
“Alex,” Hawk said. “I think I found it, but you’re not gonna believe this.”
“Try me.”
“Fazil or one of his thugs figured out a way to remove the tracking system and keep it active,” he said.
“I thought it wasn’t supposed to work if the device was tampered with.”
“Apparently there’s a workaround—and someone figured it out.”
“So, now what?”
“Fortunately, I have a prisoner, so perhaps I can persuade him to tell me where it’s at,” Hawk said. “I’m going to hang up now because you won’t want to hear this.”
He switched his com off despite Alex’s pleas to reconsider.
“I told you the weapon wasn’t here,” the guard said in English.
“Oh, so you speak English? That should make it easier for me to communicate. My Arabic is limited to phrases like, ‘I’m going to shoot you in the head’ or ‘How do you like walking?’”
“There’s nothing more to say,” the guard said, struggling with his ropes. “There is no weapon on this ship.”
Hawk eyed the guard cautiously. “But there was, wasn’t there?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I was told to have you call someone if I ever got into this situation.”
“And who would that be?”
“Karif Fazil.”
Hawk smiled. “I’d love the opportunity to speak with him. Let me get you the phone.”
Hawk reached into the man’s pocket and fished out his phone.
“Why don’t you go ahead and give me that number now?” Hawk asked.
“I can’t,” the man said. “It doesn’t work like that. I need to call him first.”
“Why? To save face?”
“Please, just let me dial the number myself.”
Hawk shook his head. “Not going to happen. Now, you give me the number or I’m going to make you forget about your left knee because I’m going to curb stomp your right knee.”
“Okay, okay. He won’t like it, but here it is,” the man said before proceeding to reel off a string of numbers.
Hawk dialed Fazil and waited as the phone rang. After the third ring, a voice Hawk knew all too well answered the phone.
“Is it finished?” Fazil asked in Arabic.
“Depends on what you thought the job was,” Hawk answered.
“Ah, Mr. Hawk,” Fazil said. “I see you’ve managed to locate one of my transport boats.”
“That’s not what I was looking for,” Hawk said.
Fazil laughed. “Always one step behind, aren’t you?”
“I’ve got a pile of your dead men here that would disagree with that assessment.”
“Those men are expendable, Mr. Hawk—just like the boat you’re on.”
A scream from the prisoner arrested Hawk’s attention. He glanced over to see the man staring wide-eyed at something in front of him. A digital display on a box attached to a weight-bearing pole flashed numbers on the screen: 13, 12, 11 . . .
“So much for being one step ahead,” Fazil said.
Hawk darted toward the stairwell, taking two or three steps at a time. Once he reached the main deck, he leapt as far as he could over the railing and into the water. He was barely submerged when he felt the vibrations from the blast. Swimming deeper into the murky water of Port Said, Hawk remained beneath the surface for over a minute.
When he finally came up for air, Hawk watched as flames engulfed the ship and dock personnel worked to put out the fire in an effort to keep it from spreading to one of the other nearby ships. He shook his head at the situation. His mission had failed to recover the weapons system. It was never onboard in the first place.
As Hawk hoisted himself onto the dock, he mulled over the state of affairs. He couldn’t deny that Fazil was one step and knew turning the table on the Al Hasib leader wouldn’t be easy.
But getting played for a fool—and nearly dying in the process—only made Hawk that more resolute. Whatever Fazil was planning, Hawk decided he would do anything necessary to stop it.
Anything.
CHAPTER 2
Washington, D.C.
J.D. BLUNT HELD THE FISHING LINE between his teeth and bit down hard before yanking at the string. With the choppy waters of the Eastern Bay tossing the boat back and forth, he clamped down harder. After several tugs, the twine severed, leaving Blunt with a tight knot on his lure and a satisfied smile on his face. He studied the bait before casting it at least thirty meters off the side of the boat.
“Another fine toss, J.D.,” Thomas Colton said. The CEO of Colton Industries, the country’s premier weapons manufacturer, cracked open a beer and leaned back in his seat.
“That’s not the only bait he likes to set,” General Van Fortner quipped.
Fortner, who’d just been reassigned to the Pentagon by acting President Noah Young, flung his line out onto the water as well, outdistancing Blunt by several meters.
“Now you’re just showing off,” Blunt said.
“You two are both impressive when it comes to slinging line into the water, but neither of you have been able to catch anything,” Colton said.
“It’s because of all this damn noise on the boat,” Blunt said with a growl. “If you’d sit your ass down for a minute instead of stomping all over and yelling at us like we’re trying to have a conversation at a rock concert, maybe the fish would hang around for a few minutes and nibble on these spinners.”
“Someone didn’t take his laxative this morning,” Colton said.
“I swear, I’m gonna drive this boat offshore and feed
