Hawk glanced down at the folder. “And I’m assuming that explanation is in here.”
Young nodded. “The initial workup I had developed on Fowler was quick, a down and dirty look at the man. But I sent another agent back to do a more thorough job. I had plenty of unanswered questions, as did you. I needed to know who we were really dealing with and what was motivating him to do this right now.”
“I’m assuming you uncovered something,” Hawk said.
“Look for yourself,” Young said.
Hawk gasped when he read the first line of the report. The name jumped off the page at him.
“I don’t know if I even believe this,” Hawk said. “His father is—
“Yes, believe it,” Young said. “We now know the missing link as it pertains to Fowler’s motivation. The next question is what do we do with this information?”
Hawk smiled. “Leave it to me. I know exactly what needs to be done. I need to pay Fowler another visit.”
CHAPTER 22
Washington, D.C.
YOUSSEF NAWABI SURVEYED the weapons cache sprawled across his hotel room desk. With his primary weapon already stowed on the base, he reviewed the rest with a careful eye. He wanted to make sure that when he fired a shot, it would stay true to the target. No jams. No excuses.
He cleaned all three guns four times and was about to move ahead with a fifth before he stopped. His mind was consumed with every motion he would take the next day. He visualized each step, each trigger pull. Escaping alive would be the real trick, though he didn’t care if this was the end. He’d be with his brother Abdul in eternity. Advancing the cause of Al Hasib was an honorable final act, Nawabi concluded, and he would be rewarded accordingly.
Nawabi packed all his weapons and decided that he needed to relax and enjoy himself on his last night on Earth. He took a shower and put on a pair of dress slacks and a button-down shirt before heading down the street in search of a nightclub.
The choices weren’t plentiful, but he decided on a place named The Kabin Lounge. He eased inside and took a seat at the bar. After ordering a drink, he spun around in his chair to take in the club scene. Throngs of nubile women flooded the dance floor, pulsating in rhythm with the music. Guys jockeyed for position, snaking their way through the crowd in search of a willing partner. Nawabi treated the experience just like he would an assignment for Al Hasib—stake out the setting, make a choice that will give the best chance at success, and execute the mission.
While Nawabi pounded back several shots, he sought for the perfect target. He wanted to dance and let out some of his nervous angst. After several minutes—and two more drinks—he identified a woman of Middle Eastern descent. He wondered what she was doing here, especially without a head covering in public. But he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt before passing any judgment and chose to speak with her.
Nawabi wriggled and jostled his way through the dense pack of people attempting to dance. He had at least one drink spilled on the sleeve of his shirt, though he just dismissed the accident as a result of the packed confines. When another splash of alcohol collided with his chest, Nawabi grew mildly annoyed. However, he didn’t go over the edge until the third incident, which had nothing to do with spilled drinks.
After a long journey, Nawabi connected with the woman he’d been eyeing for several minutes. She smiled coyly at him, more than accepting of his advances. She readily accepted his invitation to dance and began engaging with him as Zedd and Alessia Cara’s “Stay” pumped over the sound system. Halfway through the song, however, another guy tapped Nawabi on the shoulder.
Nawabi ignored him. The second time the man tapped, Nawabi glanced over his shoulder.
“Can I help you?” Nawabi shouted.
“Yeah, you’re dancing with my girl.”
“What?” Nawabi said, arching his eyebrows and leaning closer as if he didn’t hear.
“I said that you’re dancing with my girl.”
Nawabi turned back to look at the woman, who shrugged and winked at him. She then reached up and put her hands around Nawabi’s neck.
“Are you sure?” Nawabi asked. “She’s into me, not you.”
“Listen, pal, you’ve got to the count of three to step away before I deck you right here and now.”
Nawabi ignored the man, confident that he was bluffing. There was also the fact that the woman Nawabi had selected seemed fond of him. He tested his hunch by backing away from her, but she grabbed him tightly and pulled him toward her.
Nawabi didn’t hear the first two counts, only the number three—a split second before a fist crashed into his face. Staggering backward, Nawabi tried to maintain his balance, but the combination of a surprise blow, alcoholic drinks, and flashing lights was too much to overcome. He crashed to the ground, toppling over a couple other dancers.
Before Nawabi could stand, a searing pain coursed through his midsection, compliments of the jealous man’s right foot. Nawabi stumbled back down onto the floor and absorbed another blow followed by another.
Above him, the crowd roared. Everything was a blur to Nawabi, but he could hear some people pleading with the man to stop, while others egged him on and hoped for a fight. Nawabi noticed some of the dancers had pulled out their cell phones and were recording the encounter.
Deep breath, Youssef. It’s not worth it.
Nawabi kept his head down and had decided to walk away—until the self-proclaimed boyfriend delivered a vicious hit to Nawabi’s ribs. That was the act that changed his mind.
Staggering to his feet, Nawabi charged at the man and bowled him over. The crowd scattered as Nawabi refused to resist the rage that
