What the hell?
He crouched next to the body and felt for a pulse. Then he scanned the area before hustling back inside and going up to Blunt’s office.
“You might want to beef up security,” Hawk said.
Blunt scowled. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s a dead body just outside the front door.”
“You recognize who it is?”
Hawk shook his head. “A young woman, early twenties. But she doesn’t look familiar.”
A woman from the FBI standing outside Blunt’s office heard Hawk.
“There’s a dead body out front?” she asked loudly.
He nodded and looked back at Blunt. “Call the cops so they can handle this.”
“I will,” Blunt said. “But you need to get going.”
In a matter of seconds, some of the consultants working with Alex spilled out into the hallway, seeking confirmation of the fast-spreading rumor.
Hawk turned around to handle the commotion. "Yes, there's a dead body out front. Please, everyone, remain calm. This facility has countermeasures in place in the event of an attack."
“Someone’s attacking us here?” one woman asked.
“No,” Hawk said flatly. “I think someone is trying to send a message and dumped a body here. We’ll let you know more once we learn something. Until then, please stay calm and carry on.”
Alex winked at him. “Did you come up with that last line all by yourself?”
Hawk smiled, a moment of levity in the otherwise stressful day. “It just came to me.”
“Show me the woman,” she said.
They hustled down the stairwell and outside to the body.
Alex felt for a pulse. “She feels like she has been for a while.”
“You recognize her?” Hawk asked.
She shook her head but then pulled out her phone and attached a small device to the end of it.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Fingerprint app. Watch this.”
Alex depressed the dead woman’s thumb to a small box connected to her phone. After a beep, hundreds of fingerprints flashed up as the app crawled across the FBI’s database.
“How long does that thing take?”
She glanced at her cell, images still blinking off and on as the program searched for a match. “Not sure, but I’ll call you when I get a hit. And Hawk?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful.”
He sighed and eyed her closely. “Can you do me a favor?”
“What?”
“Send Mia out the back. I need her.”
“Of course. But why the secrecy?”
Hawk shook his head. “Blunt doesn’t want me taking anyone, but I think it’s short-sighted not to have someone with her skills present for the prisoner exchange. I’d bring you along if you weren’t leading this team.”
“No problem. I’ll cover for you and send her down in a few minutes.”
Hawk let out a long breath and looked skyward. The lights of a jet winked as it flew overhead. The muggy July air felt oppressive, especially given all that was happening.
Evana Bahar was a worthy opponent, and he knew that Olivia Young would end up dead—not to mention thousands of others—if he didn’t think two steps ahead.
CHAPTER 25
Guantanamo Bay, Cuba
FARZAAD SHIRAZI SLID his food tray beneath the bars of the prison and then walked back to his cot. He sat down, burying his head in his hands. While he had heard nightmare stories about Gitmo from fellow fighters who’d been released, he considered the accommodations to be a welcome change.
At least I’m sleeping on a soft bed instead of rocks in a cave.
In the prisoners’ limited time outside each day, he often heard men pining away for home. And although he would’ve preferred to be in a more familiar environment, the famed American military prison proved to be far less frightening than the tales spun about it. And based on his crimes, he never expected to leave so soon—or abruptly.
The sound of the keys clattering against the bars startled him. He looked up to find an armed guard directing him to get up. Shirazi held his hands out so his wrists could be cuffed.
“Today’s your lucky day,” one of the guards said. “You’re getting outta here.”
Shirazi cocked his head to one side. “You’re letting me go?”
The man nodded. “Apparently, you have some friends in high places.”
“Who made this happen?”
The guard shrugged. “Beats me. I’m just following orders.”
Shirazi shuffled outside to a car, which whisked him off to the airport. He boarded a small plane and shook his head as he watched Cuba shrink in the window. After a few minutes, he eyed the two guards clad in suits.
“Either one of you want to tell me what’s really going on out here?” Shirazi asked.
Both men remained tight-lipped, wearing blank expressions.
“If I’m about to be a free man, the least you can do is tell me how and why,” Shirazi said. “Something, anything.”
Neither man responded.
A few hours later, the plane touched down at a small airstrip in the darkness. He had no idea where he was, though he figured it couldn’t have been all that far since the ride was a relatively short one. About the only conclusion Shirazi could make was that he wasn’t home in Afghanistan.
"You guys aren't really going to let me go, are you?" he asked as the guards ushered him off the plane and nudged him toward a waiting black SUV. "Is this how you execute prisoners? You tell them you're taking them somewhere to release them, but what you're really doing is taking them to a field somewhere in America and shooting them in the back of the head. That's right, isn't it?"
One of the guards in the vehicle leaned forward, locking his eyes with Shirazi. “If you don’t shut your mouth, I’m going to shut it for you permanently.”
Shirazi glared at the man. “And you wonder why the world hates Americans.”
The guard lunged at Shirazi but was held back by a fellow agent. “He’s not worth it.”
“I swear I’ll go psycho if you don’t tell me why I’m here,” Shirazi said, ignoring the agent’s warnings.
When Shirazi turned his head to ask
