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  DEAD SHOT

  “Small town life in southern Idaho might seem quaint and idyllic to some. But when local newspaper reporter Cal Murphy begins to uncover a series of strange deaths that are linked to a sticky spider web of deception, the lid on the peaceful town is blown wide open. Told with all the energy and bravado of an old pro, first-timer Jack Patterson hits one out of the park his first time at bat with Dead Shot. It’s that good.”

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  Heisman: The Man Behind the Trophy

  Other titles by Jack Patterson

  Cal Murphy Thriller series

  Dead Shot

  Dead Line

  Better off Dead

  Dead in the Water

  Dead Man's Curve

  Dead and Gone

  Dead Wrong

  Dead Man's Land

  Dead Drop

  James Flynn Thriller series

  The Warren Omissions

  Imminent Threat

  The Cooper Affair

  Seeds of War

  Brady Hawk series

  First Strike

  Deep Cover

  Point of Impact

  DEEP COVER

  A Brady Hawk Thriller

  JACK PATTERSON

  For my sister, Malinda, who was a great

  soldier and is a fantastic mother

  CHAPTER 0

  Yokodu, Sierra Leone

  BRADY HAWK SWALLOWED HARD and tried to ignore the sharp blade held firmly against his neck. Only moments ago, he was enjoying a drink with Jay Collier, an expatriate who’d relocated to Sierra Leone for a job with a local safari outfit. Hawk welcomed the benign conversation, especially after he’d been hidden in plain sight for almost a week. Yet something Hawk said apparently made Collier jumpy—and now Hawk had to consider the fact that each thought might be his last unless he calmed Collier down.

  “Can we talk about this?” Hawk said.

  “What’s there to talk about, Mister Martin? As if that’s even your real name,” Collier snapped as he shoved Hawk against the side of the building. “Want to tell me again about that duiker you killed?” He threw his head back and laughed. “Am I supposed to be scared?”

  “I was just makin’ small talk, man. Come on. No need to get all worked up about it.”

  “You think it’s sporting to kill a defenseless duiker in the wild?”

  “Seems like we have some cognitive dissonance going on here. I’ve got no weapon, and you’ve got a knife to my throat.”

  “Shut up,” Collier said as he tightened his grip on Hawk’s arms. “I know why you’re here, and I’m going to collect quite a price for you.”

  “I wouldn’t advise that if I were you.”

  “I said shut up!” Collier said, pushing Hawk forward into the dusky night air.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  Collier kneed Hawk viciously in the back of his leg, crippling him before sending him to the ground. “Perhaps I should cut off your ears first, since they seem to be a couple of appendages that don’t work all that well.”

  The sandy soil grinding beneath Hawk’s feet served as an ever-present reminder that he was on foreign ground. As the two men edged farther away from the bar, the darkness grew thicker. A small outhouse a few meters ahead appeared large enough to provide any cover Hawk might need, not to mention solving his dilemma of where to stash a body in a hurry.

  Hawk staggered toward the outhouse and bumped it hard with his elbow. It was empty.

  “Stay with me, Mister Martin,” Collier said.

  Hawk’s captor jerked him back upright. However, the moment they cleared the outhouse, Hawk whirled and delivered a swift roundhouse kick to Collier’s head. The man groaned as he fell forward, clutching his face. A hit to the throat and two more powerful kicks to the ribs—one crackled like a fire fueled by green wood—and Collier was done. Hawk punched his assailant in the face, knocking him out.

  In a way, Hawk felt sorry for the man, saddened over the fact that his path had come to an end. Wrong time, wrong place. But it was an easy call—him or this expat who was about to kill him or worse: out him to a local terrorist. Grabbing the man by the nape of his neck, Hawk positioned himself behind Collier—and twisted until he heard a crack. Hawk picked up Collier’s limp body and moved it into the outhouse. Once he situated Collier on the toilet, Hawk slit Collier’s wrist so he began to bleed out. It’d look like a suicide—and no local law enforcement was going to think twice about looking into the death of an obnoxious American, even if the circumstances seemed odd.

  Hawk was almost through the door when he stopped and turned back to look at Collier. The blood dripped hard and fast from his wrist and onto the dirt floor.

  He wouldn’t be the last person Hawk would kill on this mission. He had a job to do, and there was no margin for error.

  CHAPTER 1

  Two Weeks Earlier

  Lake Anna, Virginia

  HAWK YANKED ON HIS FISHING ROD and started to wrestle with what he initially believed to be a fish. But after a few moments, it was painfully obvious that he’d snagged his line on some debris. It’d been nearly fifty years since Virginia’s power company flooded the area to cool the nearby nuclear power plant—and there was still plenty of garbag
e along the lakebed.

  He whipped his rod back and forth for a few seconds in an effort to free the line before it snapped. Hawk snarled as he reeled in the rest of the twine and then rummaged through his tackle box for another weight and lure. Behind him, a slow clap began. But he didn’t have to turn his head. The cigar smoke gave away his visitor two minutes earlier.

  “Blunt,” Hawk said, his back still turned to the senator. “What are you doing here?” He bit hard on his fishing line, severing it before threading the line through a new weight.

  Maintaining a deliberate stride, Blunt continued toward him with heavy footfalls on the dock echoing off the water.

  Hawk stopped his repair work and looked over his shoulder, glaring at Blunt. “I think I asked you a question.”

  Blunt came to a stop about a meter away from Hawk. “Questions don’t always deserve answers.”

  “Mine do. At least, if you want me to keep working for you, they do.”

  Blunt pulled the cigar out of his mouth and stared out across the lake. Fishing boats and jet skis dotted the glassy water, the hum of the motors barely audible from the dock. On the horizon, the sun was slipping away for the evening.

  “These people have no freakin’ idea how good they’ve got it,” Blunt said before stuffing his cigar back in his mouth. “They’re livin’ a fairy tale thanks to people like me and you.”

  Hawk stood up and stared Blunt in the eyes. “What do you want?”

  Blunt turned his back on Hawk and sauntered down the dock. “Same thing as you, I suppose—world peace, a big bank account.” He paused. “Power.”

  Hawk tightened his fishing line and returned his attention to Blunt. “We don’t share the same ambitions.”

  “That’s a shame, Hawk. That’s a damn shame. I thought you were gonna be my guy for a long time.”

  “Excuse me for not returning your affinity,” Hawk growled. “That’s kind of how I am when people lie to me.”

  “Who’s lying to you, Hawk?”

  “Don’t play games with me. You know good and well that you’ve hidden the truth from me.”

  “Hiding is not the same as lying.”

  “It is when you let me believe a lie—especially since it had to do with who my father really was. The fact that you allowed me to believe that Tom Colton, the U.S. military’s most revered weapons maker, was my father makes you one twisted man. Every kid should know his father—at least know who he is.”

  Blunt slowly raised his eyebrows and nodded. “I figured you’d eventually find out one day.”

  Hawk huffed. “Helluva way to build trust. Just let the sucker discover it on his own.”

  Blunt took the cigar out of his mouth and blew several rings. “However you may feel about what I did, just know that I was protecting you.”

  “Protecting me? From the truth?”

  “If you ever get to be in a position like mine, you’ll quickly learn that achieving success on a mission is far more important than making sure everybody knows everything that’s going on. I stopped caring about people’s feelings a long time ago.”

  Hawk cinched his line and then cast it back into the water. “I’m not asking for a shoulder to cry on—just some straightforward talk.”

  “Fine. What do you want to know about your father?”

  “Everything. Start at the beginning.”

  “I’m afraid most of it is classified.”

  “What can you tell me? Can you at least tell me his name?”

  “Franklin Foster. Your father and I worked together in the CIA.”

  Hawk reeled in his line slowly. “Partners? You’ve gotta be kidding me?”

  Blunt shook his head. “Nope. We worked together regularly, gathering intel on foreign diplomats and foiling assassination plots. Those were some good times.”

  “So, what happened to him?”

  “That is what’s classified.”

  “This is bullshit. It’s not like I’ve got anyone to tell. I just wanna know.”

  “Look, Hawk, I know this isn’t what you want to hear right now, but in due time I’ll tell you everything. In the meantime, I need your help; Firestorm needs your help.”

  Hawk sighed. “You will tell me about my father.”

  “In time, I promise.”

  “Fine. Why don’t you tell me why you’re here? I knew this wasn’t a social call from the moment I smelled your cheap Dominican cigar.”

  Blunt pulled the cigar out of his mouth and inspected it. “I need you to deal with a situation brewing in Sierra Leone. A diamond exporter by the name of Musa Demby. We’ve got intel that he’s working with Al Hasib, bank rolling their operation with black market diamonds now that oil has gone in the tank.”

  “What’s the mission?”

  “Find out if this is indeed what Mr. Demby is up to. Secure the diamonds. Lay waste to his operation—you know, the usual. I’ve already got Alex working on a legend for you.”

  “So, no school teacher this time?”

  “Oh, no. You should have more fun this time around. You’re going to be a New Zealand exporter on a big game hunt.”

  “When do I leave?” Hawk asked.

  Blunt took a deep breath and turned westward. The sun gleamed as it flashed its final beam of the day and sank for good.

  “In a few days,” Blunt said before pausing. “Look, this mission is a two-for-one deal. We need you to shut down this mining operation, but there’s something else you can do for us.”

  “A favor?”

  “You could call it that, but one that will potentially save the lives of hundreds, if not thousands, of people.”

  “And what does this entail?”

  “There were four long-range missiles that were recently stolen from a South African military base, and these missiles need to be retrieved.”

  “What’s wrong with the South Africans? Can’t they go after their own weapons?”

  “Their special ops forces—the Recces—could, but we believe it might be held by Demby and his outfit as well. This operation needs to be done discreetly and all at once if we want to shut him down for good.”

  “And you expect me to retrieve long-range missiles on my own?”

  “A tactical team will secure them once you’ve completed your task. But before you go, there’s someone you need to meet who can fill you in on all the details of that side of the mission—and even provide you with some valuable tech to help you succeed.”

  Hawk felt a fish strike his line. He fought the fish for about a minute before reeling in a five-pound bass. He pulled the hook out of the fish’s mouth and released it back into the water. Standing up, he turned around and looked at Blunt. “Who do you want me to meet?”

  “Thomas Colton.”

  CHAPTER 2

  ALEX DUNCAN ENJOYED TOYING with the CIA ever since they kicked her out. Her favorite trick was to hack into the agency’s servers and let the geniuses in cyber security follow her digital trail back to CIA Director Simon Coker’s home computer. No matter how many times she did this, she couldn’t wipe the smile off her face the entire time she was rooting around in their system for information. But tonight was different. Even though she made it look like the hack was coming from Coker, she stopped smiling seconds into her undertaking when she realized she’d never find the files on their servers.

  You’ve gotta be kidding me.

  She slammed her laptop down and let out a long string of expletives. She’d promised Hawk she’d look into the truth about his father and who he really was. And it would’ve been easy with the information given to her. Simply look up the name “Franklin Foster” and sift through his files. But there was only one file on him—and it stated that all files on Foster were archived in The Vault. That was the CIA’s way of saying that either they hadn’t gotten around to digitizing the files yet or they were so sensitive that they’d never be put on a server for fear that someone might hack the information. Based on how dodgy Blunt had been about Hawk’s father, she assumed i
t was the latter.

  Her phone rang, jolting her out of her dazed trance.

  “What’d you find?” Hawk asked once she answered the phone.

  “You’re not gonna believe this.”

  “Try me.”

  She took a deep breath. “All the files on your father are in The Vault.”

  “The Vault?”

  “Yeah, the CIA’s high security archives, that vault.” She paused. “It’ll just make things a little more challenging for me, but I’m up for the task.”

  “You’re not seriously considering breaking in there are you?”

  “Nope. I’m not considering it—I’m doing it.”

  “Alex, I appreciate all you’re doing for me, I really do, but that’s not worth the risk. What if you get caught? It’s not exactly the kind of place they’ll just slap you on the wrist and let you go.”

  “Don’t I know that all too well?”

  “Coker kicked you out and blackballed you. What do you think he’s going to do if he finds out that you tried to infiltrate The Vault?”

  “He doesn’t scare me.”

  “Well, he should.” Hawk took a deep breath. “I just can’t, in good conscience, let you go do something like that for me.”

  “You don’t have to let me do anything because I’m doing it on my own volition. Besides, I’m too interested in this case now just to drop it.”

  “Just rethink this Alex, okay? Blunt will go ballistic if he finds out.”

  “Do you plan on telling him?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Because I don’t plan on getting caught, either.”

  “You got a way in?”

  “Do I ever.”

  CHAPTER 3

  THE NEXT MORNING, Hawk boarded a flight for Atlanta to meet with Tom Colton. In the past, Hawk would’ve looked forward to the meeting, mostly out of curiosity. He still didn’t know much about the private life of Colton, whose life was lived under the spotlight of not only a relentless media but also one that looked upon Colton’s success with disdain. But Hawk had lost almost all interest now. Colton was just another man profiting from war, the kind of man Hawk had grown to loathe.