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  DEAD SHOT

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  NFL writer for CBSSports.com

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  DEAD IN THE WATER

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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

  Full Blast (October 2016)

  Target Zero (November 2016)

  Fury (December 2016)

  POINT OF IMPACT

  A Brady Hawk Thriller

  JACK PATTERSON

  For my grandparents, Ray & Audrey, who

  have always been so supportive of my work

  CHAPTER 0

  Tiburon, California

  IN THE HALF DOZEN TIMES Brady Hawk had visited the towering Spanish mission style home overlooking Belvedere Strait, he’d never made this type of entrance. He’d always been greeted at the guardhouse by Randall, the portly and amicable keeper of the gate. After Randall opened the gate, Hawk drove his car into a tight spot a few steps from the porch. He would ring the doorbell and be greeted by a friendly face, a warm hug, and a pair of highly active Bichon Frise puppies, Mitzi and Maria.

  But not this time.

  Hawk clutched the straps on his parachute as he descended from the sky, the wind racing past him at a deafening decibel level. He counted down and glanced at his watch. Three . . . two . . . one. He yanked the cord hard, slowing his progress as the wind caught his parachute overhead. His free fall transformed into a gentle descent in an instant.

  As he was drifting downward, Hawk took advantage of his position to assess the situation. The target was being held inside, and, according to his eyes and ears on the scene, five guards patrolled the area and protected the hostage. Hawk’s mission was simple, if not difficult: disable all guards and free the hostage. According to the directives he received, how Hawk interpreted the word disable was entirely up to him. Given the hostage, Hawk preferred an interpretation that leaned toward permanent disability.

  Hawk’s feet hit the ground hard a mere fifty meters from the intended destination and sent shockwaves up his shins. He figured the hostage takers would never expect him to approach through the air—or on foot. Maybe a smash and grab approach was more likely for a typical American spy. But Hawk had long since surrendered such stereotypes. He focused on completing the mission by any means necessary, refusing to yield to such standard procedures. His unconventional approach was what kept him at the top of his field.

  Hawk gathered his parachute and shoved it behind the rock wall of the neighbor’s home. Quietly hustling down the street toward his target, Hawk peered through his binoculars at the familiar setting. It was just as he’d remembered it several years ago when he last visited the house.

  Two guards patrolled the gated home, one on the east side and another on the west. Like automatons, they marched around the area, turning their heads in a mechanical fashion. If Hawk didn’t know any better, he would’ve guessed the men were robots of some sort. But as he studied them through his infrared binoculars, he saw the truth: They were scared and frightened men who tried hard not to show it.

  This ought to be easy enough.

  Hawk crept up on the property and surveyed the area. He had two exit routes in case things went sideways. With the house sitting on a point, he could leave either on the east or west side, which both connected to a winding Alcatraz Avenue. The rooftops of surrounding houses located below provided quick access to other roadways or an opportunity to dive into the harbor and disappear, though he wasn’t sure the hostage would be willing to take a plunge. Either way, the property wasn’t lacking in escape routes, making it a nightmare to secure.

  But exit means were only minor concerns for Hawk since he didn’t intend to utilize any of them—at least, not with anyone in pursuit. His primary objective was to secure the hostage, and he had no intention of failing, especially considering who she was.

  He pulled out his binoculars and scanned the property once more before engaging the guards.

  “Are you sure there are only five guards?” Hawk whispered into his comlink.

  “Roger that.”

  “Okay. I’m going dark.”

  Hawk turned off his comlink and yanked it out of his ear. He didn’t need any distractions, just intense focus. He took a deep breath and then hustled down the hill toward the house.

  Hawk stopped about ten meters from the ed
ge of the gate on the east side, waiting for the guard to clear. After he spun around to head south toward the water, Hawk hopped the fence, creeping up behind the guard.

  Hawk first boxed the man’s ears, catching him by surprise. Then Hawk hit the guard in the throat, resulting in him gasping while staggering to the ground. Hawk leapt on the the man’s back and twisted his neck until a slight snap echoed off the house. Hawk froze and let down the guard’s limp body, allowing it settle quietly onto the small patch of grass.

  Sneaking around the front of the house, Hawk waited to make a move until the guard on the west side turned his back and walked north. In a matter of seconds, Hawk slipped up behind the guard and snapped his neck in one smooth motion. The guard crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

  Hawk took a moment to admire his work before dragging the man behind the trio of rose bushes up against the side of the house.

  Two down, three to go.

  Hawk pulled out his binoculars again and surveyed the scene. From where he was standing only a few feet outside of the window that looked into the house’s dining room, he could see one guard. Without the location of the other two guards, he could only imagine what he was walking into. In a best case scenario for him, it’d be two against one. They weren’t the best odds, but he’d been up against worse before.

  Keeping his back flush against the wall, Hawk slinked his way to the back porch, where he could peer inside through the French doors. He knelt down on the same patio where he’d enjoyed many delicious meals in the past. If he stopped and took a deep breath, he could almost smell the seasoned steak wafting from the grill across the porch. The mere thought made Hawk hungry.

  Focus, Hawk, focus.

  He glanced inside the doors again and saw the other two guards.

  You bastards—this is gonna cost you more than you imagined.

  He snuck up to the door and turned the handle slowly. He was about to engage in the most personal mission he’d ever been a part of. He said a quick prayer, asking for forgiveness.

  Hawk knew he shouldn't take pleasure in killing, but he was going to enjoy every second of this assignment.

  CHAPTER 1

  One Week Earlier

  Washington, D.C.

  BRADY HAWK STARED at the Beltway traffic, blinded by brake lights from the vehicles of early morning commuters. The last thing he wanted to do was inch his way along the highway and think. His purpose as a Firestorm operative felt different without Senator Blunt issuing directives. Although Hawk remained certain he wanted to spend his life hunting down terrorists, he wasn’t sure he wanted to do it for Firestorm with General Johnson leading the way. For reasons Hawk couldn’t pinpoint, he just didn’t trust Johnson. But Hawk decided to try a few missions with Johnson at the helm and see how it went.

  Hawk turned on the radio, hoping to get a traffic report so he could come up with an alternate route to the airport. If there was a wreck up ahead, he could exit at the next opportunity and navigate along surface streets. If a foreign dignitary visit was responsible for the logjam, there was no outfoxing the snarled traffic. He scanned for WTOP on the FM dial that delivered traffic reports every ten minutes. Once he found it, he caught the tailend of Dave Dildine’s report as he signed off.

  Just missed it.

  Hawk guessed that at the rate he was moving, he might move two hundred meters in the next eight minutes. He settled in and decided to listen to the anchor dish out another mouthful of gloomy news. Politicians bickered over worthless bills that bettered the lives of no one, except the contractors who’d line their pockets with the government’s money. Suicide bombers attacked a church in Pakistan. A huge storm brewing in the Caribbean threatened to come ashore and ravage poverty-stricken Haiti. A new U.N. education report revealed that American students were now scoring lower than some second world nations. Finally, a financial analyst warned that the stock market was headed for a deep dive in the coming months.

  Another day in paradise.

  Hawk had heard it all before and many times, too. He’d almost grown immune and hardened to the dissemination of bad news. However, the final snippet grabbed his attention.

  A pair of Colton Industry scientists have gone missing at sea over the weekend. Dr. James Davis and Dr. Brian Young left Saturday morning for a day trip in Young’s boat, but they failed to return well after dark. After repeated attempts by family members to reach the pair failed, authorities were notified. The Coast Guard conducted a search Sunday afternoon but cut it short due to stormy waters and high winds. According to spokesperson Sheila Waters, the Coast Guard plans to resume the search on Monday, weather permitting, but didn’t sound optimistic.

  “The Coast Guard issued a wind advisory on Saturday morning and urged boaters to refrain from venturing out into the rough seas. We continue to encourage the public to heed these warnings to avoid such situations in the future. While we will continue our search in less than ideal conditions on Monday, we have yet to find any signs of Dr. Young’s boat.”

  Hawk furrowed his brow. He’d met Dr. Young once before and knew him to be a responsible and experienced boater. It seemed out of character for Young based on what Hawk knew. Before he had too much time to consider if anything else sinister was afoot, the traffic report came on. The anchor suggested taking surface streets, and Hawk didn’t hesitate to get off at the next exit and follow the detour his map app advised. He made a mental note to follow up with Dr. Young’s family once he landed in San Francisco, especially since it meant getting to reconnect with a long-lost friend.

  ***

  THE CROSS-COUNTRY FLIGHT was uneventful, particularly by Hawk’s standards. He always appreciated the beauty of what he considered one of the crown jewel cities in the United States. Majestic landscapes rising above the water, exotic plants and trees mixed with familiar vegetation to form a stunning tapestry—all serving as a backdrop to one of the most astounding feats in human engineering from eighty years ago: the Golden Gate Bridge. He never grew tired of admiring the bay area’s scenery.

  Once Hawk deplaned and rented his car, he checked his messages. The only one in his inbox was the only one he expected to receive, a brief note from Alex reminding him to call her once he landed.

  “So you finally made it?” Alex Duncan said as she answered Hawk’s call.

  “Without incident. Even managed to get on a flight that long without a single crying baby.”

  She sighed. “You must be living the good life. I hope I get that lucky on Wednesday when I fly out there, too. I always seem to find the seat directly behind a screamer. Even with my noise-cancelling headphones on, the crying is deafening.”

  “Now, that does sound rough—and totally unfair. Maybe next time you should see if General Johnson will spring for the extra cash to bump you up to first class. It’s the least he can do since he’s got no facility to maintain and you’re operating out of a mobile unit on location with me.”

  “I’m not exactly going to be with you,” she corrected. “However, I will be there for you, just like in the past.”

  “As long as you’re in my ear, I don’t care where you are.”

  “Thanks—I think.”

  “So, what’s the assignment?”

  “Little different protocol this time around in the new era of General Johnson.”

  Hawk was quiet for a moment before asking, “How so?”

  “He wants you to drive somewhere to meet in person to discuss the specifics of the mission.”

  “Seriously? A random location to talk about this in person? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was a set up.”

  “Johnson told me this himself and informed me that my role will be different this time.”

  “What is that gonna look like?”

  She took a deep breath. “Not sure, but I’m hoping it doesn’t involve crawling through tight spaces. I’m a little claustrophobic.”

  “I doubt it’s anything like that.” He paused. “So, you think this is legit? I’m still suspicious
that Blunt’s death was not by natural causes.”

  “Go with your gut, but mine is telling me it’s safe to go.”

  “Your gut and the rest of your body isn’t going to some random destination to meet with a person you only hope is your new boss.”

  She laughed. “You’ve got a point. That’s why I said to go with your gut.”

  “Okay. Give me the address.”

  ***

  HAWK PULLED INTO A PARKING SPACE and turned off his engine. After meandering down a well-worn path, he took a seat at the end of a bench overlooking the bay. The Golden Gate Bridge towered over the park where he sat while the fleeting rays from a sinking sun glistened across the water. Checking his watch, he realized he was early. Within a few minutes, the sun disappeared on the horizon but still managed to create an orange glow that lit a small portion of the evening sky.

  Unsure of who he was to expect on the bench, Hawk remained calm. He passed the time by watching a frisky couple inch uncomfortably close to the edge of the cliff. Hawk couldn’t tell if they were married, but they were unquestionably enamored with one another. Another lady, who trotted her poodle past him, forced a smile as she glanced at him. A few minutes passed before a slew of joggers rushed by.

  But Hawk hardly flinched as he waited for his contact.

  After the sun’s rays registered as little more than a thin band on the horizon, Hawk stared at the water, which was scarcely outlined from the lights of ships exiting and entering the bay. A few more joggers passed by him, this time wearing fluorescent vests adorned with blinking reflectors. He checked his watch and wondered if his contact had been detained in some way—or if they’d ever meet at all.

  Hawk pulled out his phone and called Alex.

  “Can you confirm the meeting details for me again?” he said once she answered.

  “Still not there?”

  “I’m sitting on a bench just waiting.”