T.W. Hance

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Prologue

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The winds blew in across his face on the veranda of his home, the echoes of his morning prayers still singing in his ears, making his heart swell with hope. The light fine grains of sand carried by the wind etched the leathered lines around his eyes as he stared out into the distance, his glorious future a unfulfilled promise. His hands were curled into claws, ridden with arthritis. Yet his heart was strong, and his soul was filled with righteous purpose. 

Allah had blessed him with fabulous wealth, a beautiful familyfamily, and prosperous businesses. And while he loved these things, he knew in his heart that Allah had blessed him to carry out his glorious purpose.

His mighty warriors, led by his own – his own son, the pinnacle of his strength were marching towards their purpose, Allah’s purpose. With his blessing the beautiful strong warriors would strike a crippling blow, one the Great Satan would not soon forget...

 

Rick Hudson considered himself to be lucky. The sheer number of rounds that had been fired at him and not hit anything squishy and vital kind of reinforced the belief. He grunted to himself, he was obviously blessed. For example, take this dipshit, Sami Haik. 

Sami ‘Adli Haik had been planning an attack on the United States Embassy for weeks now, and Hud had been tracking him. This was where his personal gifts came into play. Dark of hair and complexion it was relatively easy to change his disguises and move unseen. Sometimes it was simply a clean shave and a ballcap, other times when the situation called for it the old robe and turban. 

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It wasn’t that he couldn’t have just ended him - that would have been child’s play - Hud really  wanted to see if Haik was a loner or if there was an actual cell. In his experience most of these fanatics operated with four to five others, and where there was one cell, there were usually others.

Still the thought of it was kind of funny. Hud’s life would be so much easier if Haik tried a frontal assault on the Marines – they would be roasting him on a spit over beers while telling jokes about his mom. But what if he tried something sneaky? This was where Hud came in. The one thing he loved about his life was that he was literally paid to be sneaky and catch bad guys.

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His buddy Thad, the CIA’s uber hacker, had been tearing apart Haik’s life for a week now. And it was boring. He didn’t even have a parking ticket. But now it looked like he was ramping up to wage a one-man Jihad, with a two-cell setup.

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Haik’s father was rich, as in stupid oil rich, even with the market on oil down the man was a billionaire ten times over. Which possibly explained how Haik Jr. had gotten his funding. Thad reported that the elder Haik had some pretty polarized views of the West. Which was ironic since most of his fortune he was using in his righteous fight had been purchased with funds from the very country he felt deserving of hatred.

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But now this pudknocker had shot at him from what to his ears sounded like a TEC-9. That was some gangbanger shit for a terrorist. Weird. Where were the good old days when everybody carried an AK? Looking to his right there was cover. Maybe it was time for some Shattnering, like a Captain Kirk hard roll before you shot the Gorn with a homemade cannon type thing. Go for it. Running in a half crouch he waited to pass a streetlamp and dove, rolling hard right, finding cover behind a stout looking mailbox.

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The decades old mailbox had been made of real steel and provided the cover needed, along with the ironic thought that he hadn’t seen an actual mailbox in a while. Hud reached down and touched the button on his watch that started the chronograph function. Decades ago, one of his instructors had drilled into him the need for keeping track of time in a gunfight, it could be your enemy or your friend. And since danger tended to mess with your flight or fight response, it could be hard to really keep track.

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Time was the enemy now, and with adrenaline flowing he couldn’t afford to loiter because he had simply been distracted. Just another trick that sadistic old bastard had taught them all. The cops would be rolling soon and being caught in a foreign country was not a desirable option. Two minutes tops.

In a high stress situation, time has a way of warping. Something as simple as hitting the button on your watch to start the timer becomes crucial when avoiding local authorities is preferable. His mind settled down as he began to sense the ebb and flow of the circumstances.

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