R.J. Patterson
THE SHADOW HUNTER
For Jesse Meyer, for his friendship and mad guitar skills
CHAPTER 1
Belvedere Island, California
BRADY HAWK TOSSED a grappling hook onto the balcony overhanging the second floor. He eased the rope toward him until he felt it catch. With a gentle tug, he pulled the line taut before testing it with his whole weight. Satisfied that the rope was secure, he scrambled up it before flinging himself onto the third-floor balcony.
“I’m on the third floor,” Hawk whispered into his coms.
“Roger that,” said Alex, his wife who was monitoring the operation from the comfort of her office in the mountains of Montana. “From the schematics, you’re about twenty meters to the left of a laser security system guarding the entrance. You’re going to need to be very careful.”
“Any guards?” he asked.
“None that I can see.”
Hawk drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. It’d been five years since his last mission with the Phoenix Foundation, a black ops organization that worked hand in hand with the CIA whenever it was best that there was no trace of American government involvement. Since that time, he’d settled down in Montana with Alex and had enjoyed creating a new life, a slower-paced life, a private life. Hawk and Alex both decided they hated it.
While they both enjoyed bringing up their son John Daniel in a stable environment, they craved the thrill of secret missions and the satisfaction of knowing that they were keeping people safe. It was what led Hawk and Alex to put their skills to use again, which was why Hawk was atop the mansion of Silicon Valley magnate Warren Frost. Inside Frost’s third-floor office, his computer held records of hundreds of proprietary software codes and patents. All Hawk had to do was retrieve the files without anyone knowing he’d been there.
The stillness from being perched high above the house overlooking Belvedere Cove was almost enough to lull Hawk to sleep. Aside from the faint sound of the water lapping against the rocks below or the breeze rustling the leaves of a nearby snakebark maple tree, the only other sound Hawk could hear was his own breathing. He steadied it before proceeding toward the labyrinth of laser beams.
Using a pair of special glasses, Hawk could see the gauntlet he needed to get through in order to open the door. The fatal flaw Alex had identified in the security system was easily exploited if someone was agile enough to enter the laser field from the edge of the balcony. And Hawk was more than capable.
With great care, he took his time maneuvering through the beams, ducking beneath some, leaping over others. At one point, he came within an inch of tripping the system before he froze on one leg and recollected himself. After a deep breath, he continued and succeeded in reaching the door. Using a print he’d lifted off one of Mr. Frost’s wine glasses the previous night at dinner, Hawk accessed the door.
“I’m in,” he whispered.
Hawk went to work, attaching a device to the computer that allowed Alex to hack into the system. In a matter of minutes, she had identified the folder, copied all the data, and erased her digital footprint.
“Nice to see you’ve still got it,” Hawk said in a hushed tone over the coms as he crept toward the door.
“You, too,” she said. “The last thing I want is to be widowed right now. If I have to read that book to John Daniel every night without relief in sight, I swear I might take a flying leap off the mountain.”
Hawk suppressed a chuckle, permitting only a faint smile. He knew exactly the book Alex was referring to, the one about Corduroy, the stuffed bear who wanders around a department store in search of a button before getting taken home. Like most kids’ books he’d read to John Daniel, it was cute the first fifty times Hawk read the story. Then, it just got old. And John Daniel had decided that he couldn’t go to sleep ever again without hearing the tale of Corduroy. Hawk had tried an array of other books, all collecting dust on John Daniel’s bookshelf. But none of them would satisfy him, except for Corduroy.
Hawk put his hand on the doorknob, whisking him away from the familiar bedtime routine of John Daniel. Still on Mr. Frost’s property, Hawk required full concentration to finish the mission. In ten minutes when he was speeding away from the scene, he could think about how much he still loved Alex and how much John Daniel’s stubborn book choice reminded Hawk of himself—and his wife. But Hawk wasn’t there yet.
After he turned the doorknob, he eased back outside and proceeded to work his way back through the laser beams.
“How am I looking?” Hawk asked over the coms.
“So far, the area is still clear,” Alex said. “There aren’t any guards patrolling the verandas on any level.”
“Roger that.”
Hawk secured the grappling hook once more before preparing to rappel to the ground. But just as he was about to push off from the side of the balcony, he heard the click of a gun.
“If you move another muscle, I’ll fill you full of lead,” a man said.
Hawk froze. “Alex,” he whispered, “are you seeing this man next to me?”
“Negative,” she said. “You’re the only heat signature on the balcony.”
“Well, unless Mr. Frost’s guards are ghosts, the infrared feature on the satellite must be broken.”
“I still see you on there,” she said.
“Well, I’ve been made,” Hawk said.
“Just wait. Use the time to come up with an exit strategy. After all, that’s what you do best.”
Hawk agreed, but the problem persisted: There was a huge amount of risk involved no matter what move he made, even the kind where he stayed still. Following a brief pause, Hawk responded to the guard.
“I’d show you my hands, but they’re clutching this rope,” Hawk said. “I’m going to walk slowly up to you.”
“Okay,” the man said, moonlight glinting off the barrel of the gun trained on Hawk.
Hawk took two steps up the side of the balcony before pushing off and sliding toward the ground. When his feet hit the ground, he felt a pair of hands on his shoulders and a gun jammed into his head. The pale light danced on the faces of two men as patchy clouds swept past the moon.
“Don’t shoot,” Hawk said. “I know Mr. Frost wouldn’t want to have a mess to clean up.”
One of the guards grunted. “Based on what we’ve seen, this would be nothing to clean up.”
Hawk raised both hands in the air.
The other guard held out his hand. “Give me the flash drive.”
Hawk eased into his pocket and pulled out the device. He kept one hand in the air as he dropped the device into the guard’s open palm.
Before the man even had a chance to inspect it, Hawk stomped on one guard’s foot and punched the other one in the throat. Hawk followed up with a roundhouse kick to the first guard’s head, sending him flailing until he hit the ground.
Hawk sprinted toward the wall. Designed to keep people out, Hawk wished it wasn’t as good at keeping people in as it was. He took a flying leap and tried to get enough traction to propel him upward, but his first pass failed. Backing up, Hawk tried again, this time his hands latching hold of the iron bars protruding out of the top. He’d nearly scrambled halfway over when he heard the click of a gun.
“If you so much as flinch, you’re dead,” another man said.
“I’m done,” Hawk said over his coms.
“No, there’s got to be a way out,” Alex said. “You’re almost there. Think.”
Hawk was done thinking. He unceremoniously rolled toward the outside of the wall. He’d almost cleared it when he felt a searing pain in his right shoulder.
“I’m hit,” Hawk said over his coms, followed by a flurry of cursing from Alex, “but I’m over.”