“Sooner rather than later if I have any say in the matter.”
“Let’s just hope that Nasri does as we think he will—and Fazil, too.”
Hawk nodded. “It’s not a foregone conclusion, but we need to turn the tables on Fazil and get a leg up on him before it’s too late.”
Alex pounded the keyboard and stood. “We’re all done here.”
“Time for phase two,” Hawk said.
“Right this way,” Patrick said, gesturing toward the door.
The trio walked back down the long corridor and entered another building. Patrick gave a signal with his eyes when they were near Nasri’s cell but eased back down the hallway.
“I can’t believe it,” Hawk said. “Sharaf just rolled over so easily.”
“I know,” Alex said. “What happened to jihad over family? He definitely doesn’t have his priorities right.”
“Play it one more time,” Hawk said. “I want to hear his voice utter the words again.”
“I know the location of Karif Fazil’s hideout,” Sharaf’s voice said on the recording. “If you were to set me free, will you let me return home to my family and try to rebuild our lives?”
“Yes,” Hawk’s voice said. “I’ll give you whatever you ask for within reason.”
A few seconds of silence followed by Sharaf meekly saying, “Here it is.”
“Thank you for these coordinates,” Hawk replied.
Hawk was amazed at how Alex had managed to create the ambient background noise so that it sounded like he’d actually had this conversation with Sharaf. The truth was he’d recorded his responses prior to the meeting.
“Play it again,” Hawk said loudly, gesturing for Alex to turn up the volume.
Near the end of the second time listening to the recording, Patrick ran up to them.
“What are you two doing?” he said. “You should wait before you start playing that recording here.”
“What difference does it make? These guys here can’t tell anyone,” Hawk said with a dismissive wave.
“Don’t be so sure of that. Prisoners here have some creative ways of getting messages out of here if they really want to.”
“Fine,” Hawk said, turning off the recording. He trudged along the corridor and entered the commons area, Alex and Patrick in tow.
“Think he took the bait?” Hawk asked.
A guard hustled over to Patrick and whispered something in his ear. Patrick smiled as the message was being conveyed. Once the guard left, Patrick repeated what he’d just heard to Hawk and Alex.
“Security footage showed Nasri staying in the shadows but turning his ear toward the small opening in the door. He was right there, listening to everything.”
“Now, all he has to do is pass the message along,” Alex said. “If Fazil is where we think he is, he won’t be able to move without us knowing it.”
CHAPTER 5
Three days later
Iraq, undisclosed location
KARIF FAZIL STROKED JAFAR’S FEATHERS and paced around his spacious bunker. Long before Fazil began his assault on the western world, he had a half dozen hideouts built throughout the Middle East. Each one was built into the side of a mountain or in an existing cave. The agrarian life nearby provided a great cover for the construction of such structures, transporting everything in and out on hoofed animals. Fazil’s stealthy building campaign and long-term planning insured that he remained off the Americans’ radar, both figuratively and literally. But when Fazil burst onto the scene, he was more than prepared to settle into the trenches for a prolonged fight.
“There, there,” Fazil said, holding his hand out with some seed in it for Jafar. “No need to make such a raucous. You’re safe in here with me.”
This particular bunker was Fazil’s favorite since it was built with Jafar in mind. His pet bird had plenty of room to soar around inside when the enemy was rumored to be sniffing around. But with this fortress’s location in the mountainous desert terrain, Fazil hadn’t even heard the slightest chatter about the Americans identifying his preferred site. He’d grown so confident that satellite imagery hadn’t even picked up a trace of its presence that he sometimes let Jafar out to fly around before returning to the cave.
“Everyone is here, sir,” one of Fazil’s assistants said, interrupting Fazil and his intimate conversation with Jafar.
“Have them come in and sit down,” Fazil said, refusing to turn around as he stared across the rocky landscape stretching out in front of him.
“Yes, sir,” the assistant said before he exited the room.
Fazil waited until the doors closed before resuming his conversation with Jafar.
“Are you ready for this?” Fazil asked, stroking Jafar’s head. “You’re going to have an important role, and I’m really counting on you. Do you think you’re up for it?”
Jafar cawed and swooped around the room in triumphant fashion.
Fazil broke into a hearty laugh. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Jafar then lighted on Fazil’s shoulder and mimicked Fazil’s gaze into the distance.
A handful of Al Hasib’s leaders filed into the room to get their orders from Fazil for their mission, an assignment Fazil called their most important to date. Fazil hesitated to attach such importance to what they were about to do because he considered everything Al Hasib did as vital to their overall operation. Each time he struck a blow against the Americans, he wanted to inflict maximum damage. Sometimes the fear he generated among the public was satisfaction enough that he’d succeeded in accomplishing his goals. But those had all shifted. No longer was Fazil going to be satisfied with leading his band of jihadist on simple ventures of terror. Fazil had become intent on bringing America to its knees in a way the country hadn’t collectively experienced since that fateful day on September 11, 2001.
Fazil turned around and smiled as he noted everyone was already seated.
“Thank you for taking time off from your posts to come here and discuss the intricate details of a plan that is going to elevate the name Al Hasib on the lips of westerners,” Fazil began. “No longer will we be considered a group begging for the attention some of those jihadists before us have
