Point of Impact (A Brady Hawk Novel Book 3) Page 8

  I can’t just leave him.

  But Hawk had no choice. He needed to regroup and figure out what was going on. It was the only way he was ever going to catch Al Hasib’s cell before they did the far greater harm he knew they intended to do.

  CHAPTER 20

  COLTON BLINKED HARD as he regained consciousness. He opened his eyes, struggling to adjust to the dim fluorescent lights casting a pale yellow hue on the concrete walls and emitting a constant low hum. Struggling to break free from the bindings holding his arms behind his back and his feet tethered to his chair, Colton let out a growl. If he was in a meeting and something this frustrating happened to him, he’d be slinging papers against the wall or kicking chairs while letting out a string of expletives. But all he wanted to do right now was unleash a primordial scream.

  So he did.

  After a few seconds of silence and no movement from the door located at the far end of the room, he screamed again.

  Nothing.

  For a man who prided himself on always being in control, his current situation tried his patience. It also made him question his own path in life. Years ago, he concluded that being equipped with a proper weapon was far more valuable than being trained to engage in hand-to-hand combat. Strapped to a chair, he had neither, kept company only by an inner voice that was as harsh to himself as his actual voice was to others.

  You helpless and worthless fool. If only you could break free and kill yourself.

  Losing hope so quickly wasn’t his style, but he’d lost it the moment he opened his eyes. No one would find him; that much he was sure of. He didn’t even know where he was, much less what day it was. For all he knew a day or two had passed since he’d shuffled across the road toward the armed terrorists waiting to escort him away. Or maybe that was only a half hour ago. In the end, it didn’t matter. No one was going to find him.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the drip-drip-drip keeping time behind him. Colton craned his neck and looked back to see a small pool of water in the corner and a steady supply of drops from the concrete beam overhead.

  Where am I?

  Ultimately, it didn’t matter because it was obvious to Colton that whoever had brought him here didn’t want him to leave.

  Colton closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep, hoping it was all just a bad dream. He’d just wake up in his bed and this nightmare would be over.

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  The constant rhythm helped him doze off and hope for the best.

  ***

  COLTON TRIED TO OPEN HIS EYES when the sensation of ice cold water coating his face awoke him from his slumber. The water flowed off his chin and splashed onto his crotch, making him jump and flinch before he realized yet again that he was secured to a chair.

  Colton closed his eyes and squeezed them shut in an attempt to flush away the water. He squinted at the man hovering over him.

  “Who are you, and what do you want?” Colton asked, the cold liquid still dripping from his chin.

  “Sorry, Mr. Colton, but I’m the one who’ll be asking the questions from here on out, not you,” the man responded. “If you must know, I’m—how do you Americans say it—I’m your worst nightmare. And I’m here to get something I believe will be very valuable for my cause.”

  “That doesn’t answer my questions,” Colton snapped.

  The man didn’t hesitate, delivering a jarring blow to Colton’s chin. Colton’s head snapped back, and the front legs of his chair lifted slightly off the ground. Colton fell forward, his chin slapping hard against his sternum.

  He struggled to break free, drawing what he concluded were likely calls of scorn from the voices of other men who’d recently entered the room. He didn’t understand a single word as they chattered back and forth in a foreign language.

  The man put his hands on his knees and leaned forward.

  “Now I see why you make weapons, Mr. Colton,” the man said mockingly. “It’s clear that the only thing you could ever do with your hands was to pull a trigger.”

  Colton let out an exasperated breath as he stopped moving.

  “Just tell me what you want,” Colton said. “Anything. Just get me out of here.”

  A single pair of hands slow clapping from across the room echoed off the walls. The man in front of Colton gave way to a much more imposing figure who didn’t stop clapping until he stood directly in front of Colton.

  Colton withdrew and closed his eyes, bracing for more abuse.

  Instead, the man chuckled. “Heck of a way to start your Monday morning, isn’t it?”

  Colton opened his eyes and glared at the man.

  At least I know what day it is.

  With arms folded across his chest, the man laughed heartily at Colton.

  “What is it you think I’m going to do to you, Mr. Colton?” the man said. “If I wanted to hurt you, I would’ve already done it by now. I need you alive, not beaten and battered.”

  Colton shifted in his chair and sat upright.

  “Oh, I get it now,” Colton said. “Bad cop, good cop. I don’t know what it is that you want, but can you please tell me so you can let me go.”

  “Mr. Colton, I am a man of simple demands—though when I make them, I expect them to be met. Do you understand me?”

  Colton nodded.

  “Good. I’m glad we could settle that upfront.”

  Colton took a deep breath and tried to survey the surrounding audience. Every man in the room—he estimated at least a half dozen—were all of Middle Eastern descent. Each one held a weapon, except for the man standing in front of him. He did not carry a weapon, though Colton doubted the man needed to.

  “Mr. Colton, before we continue, I believe it would be rather disrespectful of me if I didn’t properly introduce myself,” the man said. “My name is Talib Al-Asadi.”

  He thrust his right hand toward Colton as a gesture indicating they should shake.

  Colton stared at Talib’s hand and sneered.

  Talib shrugged. “Very well then. If you aren’t interested in polite overtures, I suggest we get down to business.”

  “Yes,” Colton said. “Let’s get down to business. What is it that you want with me?”

  Talib stood upright and shook his head. “You Americans are clueless when it comes to deal making. It’s amazing to me that you didn’t bankrupt your nation centuries ago.”

  “Enough,” Colton growled. “Enough with your self-righteous ramblings. Just tell me what you want.”

  Talib smiled and paced around the room for a moment before turning toward Colton. Smiling, Talib edged closer and announced his request. “I want the schematics for the PUB-47.”

  CHAPTER 21

  ALEX GUZZLED A RED BULL and rubbed her eyes. She’d stayed up most of the night going over all the closed-circuit feeds she could hack into in order to figure out what happened to Colton and his captors. She blew up every frame between the time of the attack and the moment Hawk arrived and didn’t see the faintest movement on foot. A biker here. A homeless man pushing a grocery cart there. But nothing that accounted for a missing Colton and a white Suburban loaded with Al Hasib terrorists.

  Convinced that she’d been thorough, she shifted tactics and assumed that perhaps there was a tunnel they’d found and vanished beneath the city. She searched San Francisco planning records in the area, looking for a possible tunnel or canal that could lead to a safe location.

  Nothing.

  Alex felt as if the terrorists were taunting her, mocking her and every other government analyst poring over the records in an effort to locate them. If anything, she had to give Al Hasib credit for doing not only their homework online but also for committing to the legwork on the ground. Somehow they’d managed to find something that nobody else knew about, not in city planning records or in available engineering documents. It seemed like they’d discovered a Rabbit Hole and fallen in without leaving a trace.

  Throughout the night, she’d listened off and on to the local San Francisco
PD scanner, trying to pick up something she might have missed. But they seemed just as lost as she was.

  Finally, she picked up her cell phone and dialed the number of a friend from college who worked as a detective in San Francisco.

  “Hi, Craig. It’s Alex. Alex Duncant.”

  “Alex Duncan?” said the man sounding as if he was almost in disbelief. “As I live and breathe. To what do I owe this dubious honor of you giving me a call?”

  “I need your help.”

  The man laughed. “Let me write that down. I believe it’s a first.”

  Alex forced a laugh. The truth is that she would’ve never called Craig Gorman without good reason. He once remarked off-handedly while they were in college that her thighs were a smidge too large for his liking. That was the last thing he said before she delivered a swift kick to his groin region.

  Doubled over in pain, Craig apologized.

  Alex grabbed his arm and bent it awkwardly before he confessed that he had the hots for her and wanted to ask her out.

  “Too bad,” she’d said before releasing his arm.

  That episode occurred several years ago. Alex wondered if it was as fresh on his mind as it was on hers.

  “I’m not above asking for help,” Alex said, “especially in a situation like this.”

  “A situation like this? What are you talking about?”

  “The kidnapping yesterday of Tom Colton.”

  Craig huffed a laugh through his nose. “Do we need to be concerned about finding that greedy weapons manufacturer? I think the world would be better off if the terrorists just took him back to their own country and did as they pleased with him.”

  “Still the bleeding heart liberal, I see,” Alex quipped. “Pardon me if I care about another human being aside from their political stance.”

  “Political stance? That’s what you call it? I’d say it’s more like a policy of death and destruction.”

  “Tome-ay-toe, tome-ah-toh,” Alex quipped. “I try to put away my political differences with people when they are in dire circumstances. People are worth saving, no matter what they believe.”

  “In every instance?”

  “More often than not. And I’ll say that Colton is someone we shouldn’t ignore, especially with all the access he has to weapons of mass destruction.”

  “Well, I wish I could help you more, Alex, but we’ve got nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Nada. Zilch. Our detectives here have been going over every shred of footage we’ve been able to get our hands on, and we can’t find a thing—except for a former Navy Seal who visited the scene moments after everything went down.” He paused. “He popped up on our facial recognition software, but everything about him was redacted and required top-level security clearance. That’s why we decided to leave it alone. I’m assuming he’s on your side since you deal in black ops.”

  Alex bit her lip and remained quiet.

  “Your silence speaks volumes, Alex,” Craig said. “No need to say anything. I get it.”

  “So, what you’re saying is that you’ve got nothing for me?”

  “We’ve got less than nothing. How’s that?”

  “That sucks. The clock is ticking, and we’ve got no idea what those terrorists are after.”

  “Well, whatever it is, it isn’t good. That much we do know.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Don’t be a stranger, Alex Duncan,” he said. “I’d love to hear from you more often.”

  “I bet you would,” Alex snapped before she hung up.

  She muttered a few choice words under her breath and slammed her first on the table. She’d been stumped before, but this was driving her mad. Ultimately, sleep would cure her clouded mind, but she didn’t know how she could go to sleep—not with the bright California sun streaming into her room along with her mind running a million miles an hour. She figured she would have better luck cracking the code for Pi than for falling asleep, given the current circumstances. Instead, she figured a brisk walk in the cool morning air might boost her problem-solving skills.

  She grabbed her jacket and reached for the doorknob when her phone buzzed.

  Kade Parker.

  She sighed and let go of the door, letting it drift shut.

  “Hi, Kade,” she answered. “I was just thinking I needed to call you.”

  “You didn’t have much time left. I hope you have good news for Searchlight.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t.” She held her breath and waited for his response.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Are you sure, Alex? I know you’re busy right now and under a lot of stress. Do you want to take a few extra hours to think about it?”

  “You’d extend the deadline for me?”

  “Only if it’d make a difference.”

  She paced around the room, stopping in front of the full body mirror. She studied the bags sagging beneath her eyes and wondered if maybe she’d change her mind under different circumstances. It took her two seconds—bags or no bags—to realize that the only thing that would make her change her mind was if Brady Hawk decided to stop working for Firestorm. She enjoyed their chemistry and the way they could talk about this unique lifestyle they shared, something they couldn’t do with anyone else.

  “I’m sorry, Kade, but it won’t change a thing.”

  “Suit yourself,” he said. “I was afraid you might say that.”

  “Afraid? Why afraid?”

  “I’m going to have to report your decision, Alex. There are certain people who will be—how can I say this delicately—very displeased.”

  “I’m sure they’ll understand.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but these people aren’t all that understanding. Goodbye, Alex.”

  The line went dead.

  She pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at the screen, partially in disbelief that he’d been so curt with her.

  Goodbye, Alex?

  It didn’t feel like a casual indication that most people make when they are ready to conclude a conversation over the phone. To Alex, Kade’s comment contained finality to it.

  She reached into her purse and checked for her handgun. If Searchlight would truly take such an offense over her snub, she needed to make sure she was prepared, at least for the next few days. She fingered the cold metal trigger and wrapped her hand around the gun. If they had any plans for her, they better be prepared because she wasn’t planning on going down without a fight.

  Alex took another deep breath and yanked hard on her hotel room door, flinging it open. She walked confidently into the hallway and waited until the door shut. Once she made sure it was secure by giving it a tug, she spun and walked down the hallway toward a set of elevators.

  Her gaze darted back and forth as she felt paranoia not just creeping in but overtaking her mind. Every light fixture made her jump; every door handle caused her to wonder if someone was about to open the door and either shoot her and snatch her up.

  I’ve got to stop pulling these all-nighters. It’s making me crazy.

  She stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the lobby.

  Just as the door started to close, a gangly bellhop shoved a luggage cart into the elevator. The doors clanked against the young man’s elbow, forcing them open again. He glanced at Alex as he maneuvered the cart into place.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said. “I didn’t see you here. I was just trying to make sure I didn’t get stuck here waiting for elevator.”

  Alex forced a smile and nodded, remaining silent.

  She shuffled to the right of the cart as it bumped up against her shoulder, slinking away into the corner.

  “I’m sorry again,” the bellhop said. “I didn’t mean to hit you with my cart. I-I’m just having a lousy day, and I can’t seem to get my act together.”

  For the first time in the past minute, she could relate with the bellhop. Bad days were as universal as sun that determined every 24-hour period since the dawn of t
ime.

  “I know what you mean,” Alex said. She looked down and let a genuine laugh escape before she felt a sharp prick in her neck.

  “Hey!” she exclaimed. She tried to turn quickly toward the bellhop, but any empathetic emotion he had demonstrated just seconds before had vanished. Instead, it was replaced with a maniacal grin.

  “How’s that feel?” he asked dryly.

  She tried to answer, driven more by a desire to deliver a cutting one-liner. But words escaped her.

  The last thing she remembered was collapsing onto the cart before everything went black.

  CHAPTER 22

  LAMAN WATCHED TALIB AL-ASADI stride toward him, almost in awe of Al Hasib’s top assassin. Everything about Talib exuded confidence and demanded respect. His mere presence in a room changed the environment. Laman undoubtedly had the respect of his men, just not to the level that Talib received it everywhere he went, no matter who comprised the audience. Even if Laman was six-foot-two and two hundred twenty-five pounds with bulging biceps and a calm demeanor, he still wasn’t sure he could be like Talib. There was just something else about him—something that scared the hell out of Laman.

  At least he’s on my side.

  “Your men seem prepared,” Talib said as he neared Laman.

  “Prepared is one thing. Ready?”

  “Ready is a state of mind, and it’s far easier to get your men ready than prepare them. Preparation takes time, and from the looks of it, you’ve taken the time necessary to get these men ready for the sacrifice they’re all going to need to make for this mission to be successful.”

  Laman walked toward a corner of the room, far from the straining ears of the other guards as well as Colton, who remained fastened to a chair. Motioning for Talib to follow, Laman finally stopped, turning his back toward everyone else.

  “I don’t like lying to my men,” Laman said.

  Talib nodded. “I understand the tension you feel. It’s not surprising that a man such as yourself would experience conflicting emotions.”