“Does he look all right to you?” Alex asked.
Hawk shook his head. “I know this business of fighting Al Hasib has taken a toll on everyone, but he seems to be taking it the hardest.”
“But he looks like someone who’s endured more than just a stressful period of life,” she said. “He looks like he’s suffering.”
“Perhaps, but he always seems to labor beneath the burden of responsibility.”
“But don’t we all?”
“Yes, but not as much as Blunt does.”
Hawk and Alex walked forward to meet Blunt, exchanging handshakes and congenial hugs. They led him over to Gayle, who went straight for a long embrace.
“Please get him back for me,” Gayle said, refusing to let go.
Blunt waited for a moment before withdrawing. “We’ll do our best to bring him home.”
She shook her head. “And I’ll be right there with you.”
“But I don’t think—”
“I’m coming too, J.D., whether you like it or not. This is my Tommy we’re talking about.”
Blunt took a deep breath and shrugged. “Feel free to tag along, but just know that we can’t guarantee your safety. Everyone here has a part in this mission and can’t be bogged down by having to guard you.”
“I understand and accept full responsibility for myself.”
“In that case, let’s go get your husband,” Blunt said, gesturing toward the plane.
They all grabbed their luggage, piled into Blunt’s jet, and then hurried to prepare for takeoff.
Once they were in the air, Blunt sat next to Hawk and Alex to discuss how they would handle the ransom and exchange.
“Do you have the money?” Blunt asked.
Hawk shot a glance toward the back of the plane where Gayle sat with four large suitcases. “She said she would pay any amount she could to get her husband back. And I think she really meant that.”
“Well, that’s one part of the equation,” Blunt said. “But we need to be able to track that money. The fact that Al Hasib already wrested twenty million from the Coltons is a travesty in and of itself, but now they’re going to double that? We’re going to have to be perpetually on high alert until we’re able to shut down that account.”
“We’ve got some people working on tracing the money,” Alex said. “We’ll figure out a way to refuse them access to it.”
“That’s why twenty million in cases creates a different kind of issue.”
“We got a list of the serial numbers from a random sampling of the money,” Alex said. “They won’t be able to deposit that without red flags being raised.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Blunt said. “What if they decide to deal in cash now? We’re really shooting ourselves in the foot with this approach, just like I told the folks at the Pentagon.”
“I think we’re all in agreement on that,” Hawk said, “but there’s not a lot we can do about it now. This is the hand we’ve been dealt, so we just have to figure out a way to win without any aces up our sleeves.”
“It’s hard to win when you don’t know what game you’re playing,” Blunt said.
“At its core, this is a mind game,” Alex said. “Karif Fazil knew Gayle would pay and had the connections to get Hawk to deliver the money.”
“But why Hawk?” Blunt asked. “Unless of course, it’s a set up.”
“Fazil wouldn’t do that,” Hawk said. “He’s got too much pride. If he wanted to kill me, he had plenty of chances in the past. I think he’s more focused on wanting me to see him triumph than he is on simply killing me. In my conversations with him and based on what we know from intel reports, Fazil’s ire is directed at the U.S. government and our military for what happened to his family. He’s not some idealistic jihadist as he wants the world to believe—he’s simply out for revenge.”
“You’re right, Hawk,” Blunt said. “I doubt he’s doing this so he can put you in his sights and shake you. This might not be the kind of set up to kill you; however, he’s definitely setting you up for something. And whatever it is, it won’t be good.”
“I’ll figure out something,” Hawk said.
“Your life depends on it this time—as does Colton’s.”
Hawk nodded as he closed his eyes.
What are you up to, Karif Fazil?
Hawk fell asleep, contemplating the question that would surely haunt him in his dreams.
* * *
HAWK AWOKE WITH A NUDGE from Alex. He rubbed his eyes and shielded them from the sunshine streaming through the window.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Welcome back, sunshine,” Alex said. “I wasn’t sure if you were ever going to emerge from your beauty sleep. For a while I thought we were gonna have to find a princess to kiss you.”
“I was sleeping that hard?”
“We went through multiple time zones along with three rough patches of turbulence, one of which rattled loose a cupboard door in the kitchen and resulted in a pile of dishes sliding across the cabin floor.”
“And I didn’t wake up?” Hawk asked.
“You didn’t even stir,” Alex said. “I was quite impressed.”
“Guess I was due for a long sleep.”
“You’re still not as sound of a sleeper as Gayle over there,” Blunt said, pointing with his eyes. “She fell asleep before you did—and she’s still out.”
“Are you sure you weren’t pumping some aerosol version of Ambien through the ventilation system?”” Hawk asked.
Blunt smiled and patted Hawk on his shoulder. “Wake up quickly because it’s time to get to work.”
“Where are we?”
“In Moroccan air space,” Alex said. “Time to make the call.”
She handed Hawk the phone as he sat up straight. He rubbed his eyes once more and took a swig from the bottled water situated in his seat’s cup holder.
“Here it goes,” he said.
He pushed the send button and waited for a response. After three rings, a man answered the call.
“Is this Mr. Hawk?” the man asked.
“It is.”
“Take down the following coordinates.”
The man proceeded to list a string of numbers, which Hawk scratched down onto a scrap
