After another tense minute, Hawk and Carson watched as the door opened on the screen and Littleton trudged through with Orlovsky’s associate. The man sat down at the desk and fired up his computer. Hawk watched intently as Littleton went through the protocol of exchanging passwords and routing numbers in order to hand over the information.
“He could type in utter gibberish and that file would still open,” Alex said over the coms.
“Excellent work,” Hawk said, acknowledging her assistance in putting together the files used to create the flash drive with all the fake information.
The man dialed a number on his cell phone and put it on speaker.
“Mr. Orlovsky, we have the package,” the man said.
“Excellent. Can you verify its authenticity?” Orlovsky’s voice boomed over the speaker.
“Just give me a minute,” the man said. “I’m almost there.”
Hawk and Carson didn’t move, their eyes fixated on the screen as they watched the unfolding scene.
“Got it,” the man said. “Checking now, but it looks fine to me.”
“Wire him the funds and thank him,” Orlovsky said.
“Of course,” the man said.
Carson sighed and looked at Hawk. “They’re going to kill Littleton.”
“We need to get him out of there right now,” Hawk said.
“Got any ideas?” Carson asked.
“Everybody got what they wanted,” Hawk said. “I suggest we use a time-tested method.”
Without hesitating, he raced into the hallway and yanked the fire alarm. While in the U.S., such a stunt would draw little more than a raised eyebrow, but in Dubai, the sound sent all the foreign guests into a frenzy. In a matter of a seconds, people spilled into the hallways and scrambled toward the stairwells to exit the building.
Hawk shrugged as he returned to the room. “Are they still there?”
“For now,” Carson said, “but it looks like they’re about to leave.”
“They’re on the sixth floor, right?” Hawk asked.
Carson nodded.
“Then you better get up there in a hurry,” Hawk said. “Orlovsky’s man would make me, and that would blow the whole op.”
Carson ripped off his janitor overalls and raced out the door.
Hawk followed his colleague but headed in the opposite direction.
“What’s going on now?” Alex asked.
“I’m leaving,” Hawk said. “Carson can handle this on his own.”
“Maybe you should stick around,” she said.
“I’m having . . . time . . . you,” Hawk said, feigning a bad connection.
“You’re breaking up on me, Hawk. Say that again.”
“Craziness . . . hotel . . . go.”
“Say that again.”
Hawk turned off his coms and headed downstairs. He didn’t want Alex to know what he was about to do.
CHAPTER 2
Hong Kong
TITUS BLACK STOOD STILL amidst the tsunami of people speed walking along the sidewalk. He couldn’t imagine living in a metropolis where every day was a fight just to navigate through the bustling crowds. If he was going to fight, he preferred the hand-to-hand combat variety. He didn’t mind using weapons either. But today, his weapon was a small cardboard box.
After a deep breath, he plunged into the stream of workers scurrying to their place of employment. According to the address given to him, General Fortner was holed up in a low-frills condo approximately three blocks away. Black had studied pictures from the building’s website, which tried to woo ex-pats with its reasonable prices and pristine views. He needed to be familiar with the layout in case Fortner decide to run. Not that the old Navy commander stood a chance in a footrace against Black.
Sporting a hat, sunglasses, and brown UPS jacket, Black reached the lobby in five minutes and stopped to survey the fifty-seven-story structure soaring over him. He waited until a gentleman toting a briefcase punched in his access code to open the door. Slipping casually behind him, Black headed toward the stairwell, opting to stay away from any security cameras and avoiding any potential residents who might be able to identify him if the situation went south. Fortner had proven to be a worthy adversary, always prepared and seemingly one step ahead of Black’s best-laid plans.
When Black reached the nineteenth floor, he entered the long corridor and strode toward Fortner’s condo located in the far corner. Black pulled out his weapon and knocked on the door, hiding his gun beneath the box. After a couple more knocks, Black didn’t hear any stirring inside and wondered if he was standing at the right door. He confirmed that he was and decided to knock one last time.
After he pounded again, the door next to Fortner’s condo swung open, and an elderly gentleman shuffled out with a cane. He spoke in a crisp American accent, immediately indicating that the man was also an ex-pat.
“All that racket isn’t necessary, you know,” the man said. “If he wanted to open the door, he would. Just leave the package downstairs like you’re supposed to.”
Black shrugged. “I need for the recipient to sign for this.”
“We have a protocol for this so we don’t have delivery men combing the halls of our condo every minute of the day. You must be new.”
“What gave it away?” Black asked.
“Well, for starters you don’t look like the guy I saw in the lobby last week.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“But that’s not all.”
“What else makes me look like a rookie?” Black asked.
The old man raised his cane and pointed it at the box. “This has nothing to do with you being a rookie, but you’re hiding something under there.”
“Under where?”
“Under that box,” the man said. “And I suspect it isn’t a clipboard holding papers for the general to sign.”
“You know the man who lives here?” Black asked, ignoring the man’s accusation.
“Who are you with? CIA? Navy SEALs? Army Rangers?”
Black eyed the man closely. “Who are you?”
The old man hobbled near Black and offered his hand. “James McCutcheon, retired FBI.”
Black shifted the gun from his right hand to his left, keeping the weapon out of sight, before shaking but not revealing his identity.
“I’m the one who reported that an Army general was living here—and up to no good,” McCutcheon said. “They didn’t tell you
