Fazil lay motionless on the ground for a half minute.
“Did you kill him?” Blunt asked, his face still turned toward the wall.
“I couldn’t get enough torque to break his neck while dangling here like this,” she said. “He’s a big guy.”
“Yeah and when he wakes up, he’s going to be angry, big time.”
“Do you think I care at this point?” Alex said. “Either Hawk rescues us or we die. It’s really very simple.”
“You never know, Alex. There could be another way.”
“And what scenario would you dream up? A drone bomb killing everyone in this hideout except for us? One of Fazil’s secret lovers sneaking in here and unlocking the door to help us escape? A giant meteor falling from the sky and killing everyone in this place except for us—oh, and this meteor has a pair of keys that help us unlock our chains?”
“Don’t be so quick to shirk an idea you haven’t thought of yet. Something could happen.”
“And I could sprout wings, but that’s not likely. We have to face the reality that we’re probably going to die in here.”
“Speak for yourself,” Blunt said. “As much as I might have been ready to die after that last beating, I have a strong desire to live, if anything to make Fazil regret treating us the way he did.”
“You’re driven by revenge—so am I,” Alex said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that we have no foreseeable way out of here, nor do we have any allies within the ranks of Al Hasib.”
“We might have one,” Blunt said.
“One?”
“Never count Brady Hawk out.”
Fazil moaned as he pushed himself up off the floor and staggered to his feet.
“You heard the man, didn’t you?” Alex asked. “He’s willing to betray his country to save us. I think we both know deep down that we’re not going to make it, no matter what Hawk finally decides to do in the end. If he comes here, he’ll be sealing his own fate.”
“You think that, yet you’ve worked with Hawk on how many missions again?” Blunt asked.
Fazil squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temples before speaking. “Silence! We don’t have time for this endless bickering. I will keep my word and not kill you or Hawk, though I’m not sure if I’ll actually return you. If this works out the way I plan on it going, you might just survive. But until then—”
Fazil turned and drove his fist into Blunt’s back. The old man wailed in pain.
“Tomorrow, it’ll all be over with,” Fazil said before marching across the room to Alex.
“Have a nice nap?” she asked.
Fazil grinned. “Oh, I have something very special planned for you after this whole thing is over. It involves about a dozen of my men. I think you may regret what you just did.”
“Next time I will break your neck,” she said.
Fazil stroked Alex’s face. “See you soon, my dear.”
He stomped in the puddle, splashing water on both of them, before slamming the door shut. After locking the deadbolt, he sauntered down the hall and whistled Bruce Springsteen’s Born in the U.S.A.
“Are you whistling what I think you’re whistling?” the guard posted outside the holding area asked.
Fazil smiled. “It is. I must admit it is my guilty pleasure. The Boss is the best, even if he did come from the infidels homeland.”
“But that song, it’s so—”
“So American. It reminds me of why we’re fighting them. They invade and attack for no reason. Tomorrow their entire nation will weep and mourn, paying a steep price for their intrusion into our world.”
The guard flashed a wide grin at Fazil and gave a thumbs-up signal.
“The day we have been waiting for is almost here,” Fazil said as he continued down the hall. “It is almost here.”
Fazil fished his cell phone out of his pocket and responded with a text to Youssef Nawabi.
You will only get one shot tomorrow. Make it count.
CHAPTER 24
Washington, D.C.
THE DAWNING RED GLOW over the eastern skyline chilled Hawk as he walked to his car. The west was still shrouded in darkness, still unstirred by morning’s first light. The nip in the air forced Hawk to don his pair of gloves earlier than he’d anticipated, but he didn’t mind. Keeping his fingerprints out of the FBI’s database was always a preferred outcome.
Hawk climbed into his car and turned the ignition. The car purred as he pulled onto the street and headed toward Jared Fowler’s office. Stroman and Associates had a better reputation in the city among real estate developers than most, but that wasn’t saying much. The residents seemed torn between wanting more options inside the beltway and also wanting to keep the charm that made the capital what it was. Modernization was welcomed but only in moderation. And over the years, developers earned a bad name for their overzealous building efforts.
From the revised workup Hawk received, Fowler was more or less a lackey at Stroman and Associates. Undoubtedly, his degree and collegial connections played a part in him landing an opportunity at one of the city’s more successful firms. But there was another factor that Hawk couldn’t discount, at least not after he learned the true identity of Jared Fowler.
Traffic ground to a halt, the result of a remodeling job on an apartment complex. One lane had been shut down, now occupied by long dumpsters collecting the archaic innards of a dilapidated building. With the sudden bottleneck, drivers honked and formed fists, shaking them at anyone affiliated with the project.
Typical Washington.
Ten minutes later, Hawk moved through the jam and continued on to Fowler’s workplace. Fowler didn’t appreciate the ambush at his home, so Hawk decided to approach the president’s blackmailer in a more public setting. Hawk wasn’t sure if this decision was the best, but he was pressed for time given that the afternoon required his full attention.
Hawk pulled into the parking garage and made his
