War Hawk by Rollins James & Blackwood Grant

Author:Rollins, James & Blackwood, Grant [Rollins, James & Blackwood, Grant]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Conspiracies, Action & Adventure, Thrillers, Spies & Politics, Thriller & Suspense, thriller, Mystery, Contemporary Fiction, Adventure, Thrillers & Suspense, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, United States, Military, Suspense, Literature & Fiction, War & Military
ISBN: 9780062135308
Amazon: B00LSR05WC
Goodreads: 22723165
Publisher: William Morrow
Published: 2016-04-19T07:00:00+00:00

8:09 P.M.

Ninety minutes later, Tucker slowed the Honda Pilot as he neared the dirt road that led to the trailer belonging to Sirocco Power. He doused his headlights, made the turn, and coasted to a stop. A hundred yards down the darkened road, yellow rectangles of light marked the trailer’s position, a lonely outpost here in the desert.

He and Frank got out, while Jane took the wheel with Kane in the passenger seat. The two of them donned ski masks and took off low through the scrub brush, while Jane turned on the headlights and continued slowly down the bumpy road toward the trailer.

As she did so, Tucker angled wide with Frank, circling toward the far side of the trailer from the approaching Honda Pilot. The plan was simple: to blitz the two engineers before they were any the wiser.

As Jane pulled up to the trailer’s steps and rolled down her window, the door opened and a tall man took a step out.

Jane called over to him. “I’m sorry to bother you. I saw your lights on. I think I’m lost.”

As Tucker approached the trailer from the shadows, he recognized the sweet charm in her voice, imagining her sheepish smile as she played her role.

“Where you trying to get?” the man asked, tugging a company cap more firmly on his head as he headed over to her. He carried a beer bottle in his hand.

A glance through the nearest window showed another man lounging on a sofa inside the trailer, dressed in blue jeans and a T-shirt, watching a football game on a big LCD television.

Sorry to interrupt game night, boys.

On Tucker’s signal, Frank ran out of the dark and blindsided the man, hitting him from behind and crashing his target headlong into the side of the SUV. At the same time, Tucker dashed through the door in a single bound. The fellow on the sofa only had time to swing his legs to the floor when Tucker pointed his JPX handgun at his face.

“You really don’t want me to fire.”

Outside, Kane growled as Jane let the shepherd loose.

“And you definitely don’t want me to call my dog in here.”

In a matter of five minutes, they had both men secured inside with flexi-cuffs around their wrists and ankles.

After gagging and blindfolding the pair, Tucker pulled off his ski mask. “Okay, listen up,” he growled thickly. “We don’t want no trouble, and we don’t wanna hurt nobody. Where’s your money, your stuff?”

The goal was to make this look like a robbery.

Frank frisked both men and came up with their wallets. He took the cash. “What about these credit cards?” he asked, thickening his southern accent.

“They track plastic, dummy,” Tucker warned. “Leave ’em. Grab those cell phones on the table, though. And those walkie-talkies. Let’s see what else they got.”

Frank searched the double-wide trailer, discovering a locker with blue coveralls with the Sirocco Power logo on their pockets. Identification badges were pinned to the uniforms. He tossed them to Jane, who set to work, altering the badges using an X-ACTO knife and small photos of herself and Tucker.

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