War Hawks Rollins. Hawks of War

The science fiction novel Warhawks by James Rollins is a breeze to read and is part of the Tucker Wayne series. The faithful dog Kane helps the main character investigate crimes, without whom the story would not be so exciting, because this dog is not quite ordinary. It is very interesting to observe the relationship between a person and a dog, which has become the best friend and helper. The plot of the book, as always, is on point, the author will make readers worry.

A life full of dangers and worries is very tiring. Intelligence officer and veteran of the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, Tucker Wayne decided to just relax. But the plans were not destined to come true. Tucker was found by his former colleague and begged for help. The woman talked about her work in a group of people on some very secret project. Unexpectedly, this military project was closed, but after that all those who were related to it began to die one after another. The woman is afraid that the same fate will soon befall her. What to do, Tucker begins his investigation. He manages to find out that this project was opened to create powerful modern robotic weapons. And since all participants in the project are exterminated so as not to reveal important information, this weapon will soon be launched. And the whole world will turn into chaos. Of course, Tucker, together with his faithful friend, will do everything to save the world from a bloody future.

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Book description: Former military intelligence officer Tucker Wayne, along with his attack dog, is retired. A former colleague at work turned to him for help. The woman said that she was dealing with a secret project, but when the project was canceled, everyone who worked on it began to die mysteriously. Now she, too, is in mortal danger and asks Tucker for protection. To understand everything, Wayne goes on reconnaissance and finds out what the top-secret project was. As it turned out, it was aimed at developing a new weapon, and if it was closed and the participants were removed, then these weapons could be used everywhere. Only Tucker and his dog can save the world from chaos.

In these times of active fight against piracy, most of the books in our library have only short fragments for review, including the book Hawks of War. Thanks to this, you can understand whether you like this book and whether you should purchase it in the future. Thus, you support the work of the writer James Rollins, Grant Blackwood by legally purchasing the book if you liked its summary.

James Rollins, Grant Blackwood

Hawks of War

James Rollins and Grant Blackwood

WAR HAWK

* * *

To all the four-legged warriors in the world... And to those who serve with them. Thank you for your dedication and service.

Acknowledgments

To the many people who joined Grant and me on this journey with Tucker and his devoted companion Kane. I am grateful to all of you for your help, criticism and encouragement.

First of all, I must thank the group of my critics who have been with me over these many, many years: Sally Ann Barnes, Chris Crow, Lee Garrett, Jane O'Riva, Denny Grayson, Leonard Little, Judy Pray, Caroline Williams, Christian Riley, Todd Todd , Chris Smith and Amy Rogers.

And as always, special thanks to Steve Pray for the wonderful maps...and to David Sylvian for always having my back!

To everyone at HarperCollins who helps me shine: Michael Morrison, Liat Stehlik, Danielle Bartlett, Caitlin Kennedy, Josh Marvell, Lynne Grady, Richard Aquan, Tom Egner, Sean Nicholls and Ana Maria Allessi.

Finally, of course, special thanks to my editor for her talent (and endless patience), Lissa Coisch, and her colleague Rebecca Lukash, as well as my agents Russ Galen and Danny Baror (including his extraordinary daughter Heather Baror). And, as always, I must emphasize that any errors of fact or detail in this book rest solely on my own shoulders. I hope there aren't too many of them.

Spring 1940

Buckinghamshire, England

Very few representatives of the Abwehr - the military intelligence of the Third Reich - knew his real name or even his intentions here on British soil. The spy acted under the code name Geist - Geist, which means “ghost” in German, and failure was unthinkable for him.

He lay on his stomach in a dirty ditch, and frost-covered cattails pricked his face. Not paying attention to the midnight frost, to the icy gusts of wind, to the pain in his numb limbs, he focused entirely on the picture, which he observed through the eyepieces of the binoculars pressed to his eyes.

He and the team assigned to him lay along the shores of a small lake. A hundred yards away, on the opposite bank, majestic rural mansions rose in dark silhouettes, only here and there colored with rare stripes of silvery and yellowish light breaking through the thick blackout curtains. Yet he could make out spirals of barbed wire along the top of the garden fence of one particular estate.

Bletchley Park.

This establishment also had a code designation: Station X.

This seemingly unassuming farmhouse was hiding a British intelligence operation jointly launched by MI6 and the Government Code School. In a series of wooden shacks erected on these idyllic acres, the Allied forces gathered some of the greatest mathematicians and cryptographers from across the planet, including one man, Alan Turing, who was decades ahead of his colleagues. Station X's goal was to break the German military Enigma machine code using tools created by the geniuses gathered there. This group had already succeeded in producing an electromechanical decoder called the Bomb, and there were persistent rumors that a new project to build the Colossus, the first programmable electrical computer, was already in full swing.

But tonight the destruction of these devices was not part of their plans.

In this territory lay hidden a trophy that surpassed the wildest fantasies of its leadership - a revolutionary breakthrough that promised to transform the fate of the entire world.

And I will take it - or die trying.

Geist felt his heart beat faster.

To the left, his second-in-command, Lieutenant Hoffman, pulled the collar of his jacket tighter around his neck to protect himself from the freezing rain falling from the sky. " Gott verlassenen Land",” he fidgeted and swore under his breath.

He understood that he could only keep the team entrusted to him under control with a strong hand. Its members were carefully selected by the Abwehr not only for their excellent martial arts skills, but also for their impeccable English. What the British lacked in military presence in rural areas was more than made up for by the vigilance of the civilian population.

- Truck! – Hoffman wheezed.

Geist glanced over his shoulder at the road cutting through the forest behind him. A flatbed truck with headlights shining dimly through blackout slits rolled along it.

- Not breathe! – Geist hissed.

Their presence must not attract the attention of a passing driver. The entire crew lay with their faces buried in the ground until the rumble of the truck's engine died away in the distance.

- Clean! Hoffman said.

Looking at his watch, Geist again began to survey the surroundings through binoculars.

Why are they fussing so much?

Everything depended on perfect timing. He and his crew landed from a submarine on an abandoned beach five days ago. After this, dividing into groups of two or three, they made their way through the countryside, holding at the ready documents identifying them as day laborers and farm laborers. Having reached their destination, the saboteurs gathered in a hunting hut nearby, where a cache of weapons was prepared for them, left by the infiltration agents who were paving the way for Geist’s team.

There's only one last detail left.

It was this signal that Geist was waiting for.

“It’s time to move out,” he raised himself on his elbow.

Hoffman's team took weapons - assault rifles and pistols with silencers - at the ready. The largest saboteur - a real bull in human form named Kraus - raised a heavy machine gun "MG-42", capable of firing one thousand two hundred bullets per minute.

Geist looked around at the faces smeared with black makeup. They trained for three months on a life-size model of Bletchley Park and were now able to move around the area blindfolded. The only unknown factor was the level of defense of the facility. The research town was guarded by both soldiers and plainclothes guards.

Finally, Geist went through the plan again:

– As soon as we find ourselves in the estate, everyone sets fire to the building assigned to him. Create as much panic and confusion as possible. In this chaos, Hoffman and I will try to take possession of the package. If shooting starts, shoot everything that moves. Clear?

Everyone nodded.

As soon as everyone was ready - including to die, if necessary - the group set off, skirting the contour of the lake through a forest shrouded in fog. Geist led them around the neighboring estates. Most of these old dwellings sat boarded up, awaiting the summer months. Servants and servants will soon begin to arrive to prepare country houses for the holiday season, but that is still a couple of weeks away.

“The entrance to the bunker should be right in front of us,” Geist whispered to Hoffman, who was walking behind him. - Prepare people.

Realizing that Adolf Hitler would soon launch an air war against the island nation, the British government began building underground bunkers for its most important institutions, including Bletchley Park. The bunker at Station X was only half completed, providing a short gap in the security perimeter around the estate.

He led his team to the farmhouse next door to Bletchley Park, a red brick Tudor with yellow shutters. Creeping up to the stone fence around the estate, Geist motioned for the team to press against the wall.

- Where are we going? – Hoffman inquired in a whisper. – I thought we would make our way through some kind of bunker...

- This is true. “This last bit of intelligence was known only to Geist.

Pushing open the gate, Geist slipped through the gap and led the group across the lawn to the estate's glass-enclosed conservatory. There he found another unlocked door, and along with everyone else, he quickly dived inside and crossed the kitchen. The snow-white furniture literally shone in the moonlight pouring through the windows.

Without wasting any time, Geist headed for the door behind the pantry. Having crossed the threshold, he turned on his flashlight. Its beam illuminated the stairs that led to a basement with a stone floor, whitewashed brick walls and a labyrinth of water pipes running through the ceilings. The basement extends under the entire house.

Following the commander, the group proceeded past stacks of boxes and furniture covered with dusty covers to the eastern wall of the basement. As ordered, Geist pulled back the carpet, revealing a hole recently dug in the floor. Another sample of the works of illegal immigrants from Canaris.

Geist shone a flashlight into the hole, and the water flowing there flashed below.

- What is this? asked Hoffman.

– Old sewer pipe. Connects all the estates around the lake.

“Including Bletchley Park,” Hoffman nodded understandingly.

“And his partially completed bunker,” Geist confirmed. “It will be a bit crowded, but we only need to cover a hundred meters to get to the construction site of this underground bomb shelter, and then we’ll get out.”

According to the latest intelligence, the new bunker foundation was largely unguarded, giving them immediate access to the heart of the estate.

“The Britons won’t even understand what stunned them,” Hoffman remarked with an unkind grin.

Geist moved first again, thrusting his feet into the hole and landing with a splash in ankle-deep icy slush. Sliding one hand along the wall, he moved forward along an old stone pipe with a diameter of only one and a half meters, causing him to hunch over, holding his breath from the stench.

After a few steps, he turned off the flashlight, aiming for a distant glimmer of moonlight. And he moved along the curved pipe more slowly, trying not to squelch his feet, so as not to alert the guards who happened to pass by the bunker construction site. Hoffman's subordinates followed suit.

Finally Geist reached a moonlit hole in the roof of part of the chimney. A freshly dug well providing access to the old sewer system was blocked off with temporary grating. The saboteur felt the barn-lock chain holding the bars in place.

“Unexpected, but not a problem.”

Noticing What he looks at it, Hoffman handed him the bolt cutter. Geist, with the greatest care, bit the lock and unraveled the chain. After exchanging glances with the deputy, he made sure that everyone was ready, and then threw back the bars and pulled himself up.

He found himself squatting on the damp concrete foundation of the future bunker. It was surrounded by skeletal structures of walls, pipelines and cable ducts. Scaffolding and stairs led upstairs to the open area of the estate. Darting to the side, he dived under the scaffolding, disappearing from sight. The remaining eight saboteurs joined him one after another.

Geist took a moment to get his bearings. He must be about forty meters from his target - cottage number 8, one of several buildings covered with green boards. Each of them had their own purpose, but his team's target was the research department headed by mathematician and cryptanalyst Alan Turing.

Geist motioned for everyone to gather together.

“Remember, no shooting unless you are intercepted.” Throw firebombs at cottages four and six. Let the fire work for us. With any luck, this distraction will create enough confusion to conceal our retreat.

Hoffman pointed to two of the team.

“Schwab, lead your group to cottage number four.” Faber, your cottage number six. Kraus, follow us. Be ready to use the machine gun if problems arise.

Nodding in agreement, the saboteurs ran up the stairs and disappeared into the open pit of the bunker. Geist and Hoffman followed close behind, with Kraus bringing up the rear.

Crouching low, Geist moved north until he reached cottage number 8, where he clung to the wooden paneling. The door should be around the corner. He waited a minute, making sure no one sounded the alarm. And he mentally counted until finally shouts were heard from the west and east: “Fire, fire, fire!”

At this signal, Geist rounded the corner, ran up the plank steps of the porch to the door of cottage No. 8 and turned the knob. The night around was illuminated by the flickering flashes of a flaring flame.

As the screams grew louder, he squeezed through the doorway into a small room. The center was occupied by two trestle tables filled with stacks of punched cards. The whitewashed walls were covered with propaganda posters, a reminder of the ever-present eyes and ears of the Nazis.

With pistols drawn, he and Hoffman rushed forward, bursting through the opposite door into the next room. There, sitting at a long table, two women were sorting punch cards. The right one, already raising her head, turned around in her chair, stretching out her hand to the red alarm button on the wall. Hoffman shot her twice in the side. The muffled shots sounded no louder than a sharp cough.

Rushing to the first woman, Geist rummaged through her pockets and found a bronze key the length of a finger. He found the second key - this time a steel one - on another corpse. And with these trophies in his hands, he hurried back to the main room.

An alarm siren blared outside.

So far our trick seems to be...

This thought was interrupted by the rattling roar of a machine gun, which was immediately echoed by new shots.

“We’ve been discovered,” Hoffman warned, cursing.

Unwilling to give up, Geist headed towards a waist-high safe against one of the walls. As he expected, it was locked with two keyhole locks, top and bottom, and a combination lock in the center.

“We have to hurry,” Hoffman wheezed next to him. - Judging by the sound, there is a lot of running around outside.

– Kraus, clear the way for us back to the bunker. – Geist pointed to the door.

Nodding, the giant raised his heavy weapon and disappeared behind the door. Geist barely had time to insert both keys when Kraus’ MG-42 opened fire on the street, roaring deafeningly in the night.

Geist concentrated on the immediate task, turning one key, then another, and hearing the mellifluous “click-click” in response. He moved his hand to the combination lock. Now comes the real test of how long the Abwehr's arms are.

He turned the dial: nine... twenty-nine... four.

He took a deep breath, exhaled and pressed the lever.

The safe door swung open.

Praise the Lord!

A quick inspection of the insides revealed only one item - a brown accordion folder held together with red rubber bands. Geist read the title written on the cover.

Project ARES

He knew that Ares was the name of the Greek god of war, which was quite appropriate given the contents of the folder. But this name only hinted at the true nature of the work contained within. The abbreviation ARES meant something incomparably more devastating, powerful enough to change the course of world history. Geist grabbed the folder with trembling hands, knowing what terrifying miracles were hidden in it, and stuck it in his bosom.

Approaching the door of the cottage, his deputy Hoffman opened it slightly and poked through the crack:

He stretched, straightening his stiff back, and looked around at the winding stretch of asphalt concrete below, squeezed on both sides by hillsides and dense thickets of lodgepole pines.

It's bad luck to get a nail in such a wilderness...

It’s simply incredible that a hefty off-road beast could be knocked down by a simple iron rod no longer than a little finger. A fitting reminder of how modern technological progress can grind to a halt because of a single archaic piece of hardware like a roofing nail.

Wayne slammed the rear hatch and let out a high-pitched whistle. His companion on this cross-country journey, who was poking his long, furry nose into a blueberry bush at the edge of the forest, raised his head and looked back at Tucker. His eyes, the color of dark caramel, showed open sadness that this pit stop on the side of the road had come to an end.

- Sorry, buddy, but we still have a long way to go until we get to Yellowstone.

Shaking off his thick black and red fur coat, Kane turned around and swished his thick tail, easily acknowledging this reality. They had been working together for a long time, dating back to Tucker's time as a US Army Ranger, and they had survived many tours together in Afghanistan. Having been demobilized, Tucker took Kane with him - not entirely with the permission of the army, but this is a thing of the past, everything has already been settled.

The two of them became an inseparable team, independently finding new paths. Together.

Tucker opened the front passenger door and Kane hopped in, settling his lean, seventy-pound body comfortably on the seat. Dogs of his breed - Belgian Malinois, medium-sized shepherd dogs - are widely used in the military and law enforcement agencies. Known for its fierce loyalty and keen intelligence, this breed is also respected for its agility and indomitable energy in combat conditions.

But among them there is no equal to Kane.

Tucker slammed the door, but paused slightly to scratch his partner through the open window. His fingers found old scars under his fur that reminded Tucker of his own wounds, both obvious and hidden.

“Let's go,” Wayne whispered, before the ghosts of the past attacked him.

He climbed behind the wheel and soon they were flying through the hills of the Bitterroot National Forest. Kane stuck his head out the passenger window, his tongue hanging out and his nose sensitive to every scent. Tucker grinned, feeling that the movement, as always, melted the tension concentrated in his shoulders.

Wayne was currently out of work and intended to maintain this position as long as possible. He took on a job that came along in some security service only when his financial situation required it. After his last service, when he was hired by the Sigma Group, a secret branch of the military research department, there was still more than enough money in his bank account.

James Rollins and Grant Blackwood

WAR HAWK

* * *

To all the four-legged warriors in the world... And to those who serve with them. Thank you for your dedication and service.

Acknowledgments

To the many people who joined Grant and me on this journey with Tucker and his devoted companion Kane. I am grateful to all of you for your help, criticism and encouragement.

And as always, special thanks to Steve Pray for the wonderful maps...and to David Sylvian for always having my back!

Prologue

Spring 1940

Buckinghamshire, England

Bletchley Park.

This establishment also had a code designation: Station X.

But tonight the destruction of these devices was not part of their plans.

In this territory lay hidden a trophy that surpassed the wildest fantasies of its leadership - a revolutionary breakthrough that promised to transform the fate of the entire world.

And I will take it - or die trying.

Geist felt his heart beat faster.

- Quiet! - Without taking his binoculars from his eyes, Geist besieged the commander of his reconnaissance and sabotage group. “If anyone hears you speak German, we'll be stuck here until the end of the war.”

- Truck! – Hoffman wheezed.

Geist glanced over his shoulder at the road cutting through the forest behind him. A flatbed truck with headlights shining dimly through blackout slits rolled along it.

- Not breathe! – Geist hissed.

Their presence must not attract the attention of a passing driver. The entire crew lay with their faces buried in the ground until the rumble of the truck's engine died away in the distance.

- Clean! Hoffman said.

Looking at his watch, Geist again began to survey the surroundings through binoculars.

Why are they fussing so much?

There's only one last detail left.

Then his attention was attracted by a flash of light in the vicinity of the Bletchley Park estate. Blinking, the light went out, flashed again, after which darkness reigned completely.

It was this signal that Geist was waiting for.

“It’s time to move out,” he raised himself on his elbow.

Finally, Geist went through the plan again:

Everyone nodded.

This was one of many reasons for choosing a narrow window of opportunity prepared by Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, head of German military intelligence. As well as another element for which time played a critical role.

“The entrance to the bunker should be right in front of us,” Geist whispered to Hoffman, who was walking behind him. - Prepare people.

It was this weakness that Geist intended to take advantage of tonight.

- Where are we going? – Hoffman inquired in a whisper. – I thought we would make our way through some kind of bunker...

- This is true. “This last bit of intelligence was known only to Geist.

Bending down, he ran to the gate, which turned out to be unlocked. The recent flashing signal confirmed that everything was ready here.

Geist shone a flashlight into the hole, and the water flowing there flashed below.

- What is this? asked Hoffman.

– Old sewer pipe. Connects all the estates around the lake.

“Including Bletchley Park,” Hoffman nodded understandingly.

According to the latest intelligence, the new bunker foundation was largely unguarded, giving them immediate access to the heart of the estate.

“The Britons won’t even understand what stunned them,” Hoffman remarked with an unkind grin.

“Unexpected, but not a problem.”

Geist motioned for everyone to gather together.

Hoffman pointed to two of the team.

“Schwab, lead your group to cottage number four.” Faber, your cottage number six. Kraus, follow us. Be ready to use the machine gun if problems arise.

Nodding in agreement, the saboteurs ran up the stairs and disappeared into the open pit of the bunker. Geist and Hoffman followed close behind, with Kraus bringing up the rear.

Geist killed the second woman with one shot in the throat. She fell back with a look of amazement frozen on her face. They must have been members of the Royal Navy Women's Auxiliary who helped with the work here.

An alarm siren blared outside.

So far our trick seems to be...

This thought was interrupted by the rattling roar of a machine gun, which was immediately echoed by new shots.

“We’ve been discovered,” Hoffman warned, cursing.

Unwilling to give up, Geist headed towards a waist-high safe against one of the walls. As he expected, it was locked with two keyhole locks, top and bottom, and a combination lock in the center.

“We have to hurry,” Hoffman wheezed next to him. - Judging by the sound, there is a lot of running around outside.

– Kraus, clear the way for us back to the bunker. – Geist pointed to the door.

Nodding, the giant raised his heavy weapon and disappeared behind the door. Geist barely had time to insert both keys when Kraus’ MG-42 opened fire on the street, roaring deafeningly in the night.

He turned the dial: nine... twenty-nine... four.

He took a deep breath, exhaled and pressed the lever.

The safe door swung open.

Praise the Lord!

A quick inspection of the insides revealed only one item - a brown accordion folder held together with red rubber bands. Geist read the title written on the cover.

Project ARES

Approaching the door of the cottage, his deputy Hoffman opened it slightly and poked through the crack:

A dozen people, bristling with weapons, emerged from behind the bushes and barn.

- Nobody move! - ordered the same voice, belonging to a tall American with a Thompson submachine gun in his hands.

Realizing that his team was in a hopeless situation, Geist raised his hands. Hoffman and the last two members of his team followed suit, dropping their weapons and raising their hands.

It was all over.

As the Americans searched Hoffman and the others, a lone man emerged from the dark barn doors and approached Geist, aiming a .45-caliber pistol at his chest.

“Tie him up,” he ordered one of his subordinates.

While Geist's wrists were being deftly tied with a rope, his captor spoke in a drawling southern accent:

– Colonel Ernie Duncan, 101st Airborne. Do you speak English?

– Who do I have the pleasure of talking with?

American soldiers drove the saboteurs into the back of a truck, and Colonel Duncan escorted Geist to the barn. Going inside, he closed the doors and with a sweeping gesture embraced the heaps of hay and piles of manure.

– Sorry for such a miserable situation, Fritz.

Turning to him, Geist broke into a smile:

“I’m damn glad to see you too, Duncan.”

- And I love you, my friend... How did it go? Found what you were looking for?

- It’s in my bosom. Whatever this thing was worth, the Germans fought like hell for it. Bletchley is burning. But in about a week it will recover and start working.

- Glad to hear that. “Duncan used a razor blade to free him from the bonds on his wrists. – How do you plan to play out the situation further?

“I have a small Mauser hidden in my groin holster.” – Standing up, Geist rubbed his wrists, unwound the scarf from his neck and folded it into a thick square. Then he reached into the front of his trousers and pulled out a pistol. -Where is the back door? “He looked over his shoulder.

“Behind those old horse stalls,” Duncan pointed out. - There’s no one behind the barn, so it’s yours the escape will go unnoticed. But you have to present everything convincingly enough, you know. Hit me with all your heart. Remember, we Americans are a tough people.

- Duncan, I don’t like this idea...

- Military necessity, buddy. When we get back to the States, you can buy me a case of Scotch.

Geist shook the colonel's hand.

Throwing down his .45 caliber pistol, Duncan grinned.

- Oh, look, you disarmed me.

– We Germans are a cunning people in this regard.

Then Duncan tore the jacket on his chest so that the buttons literally splashed onto the straw-strewn floor.

- And here comes the fight.

- Okay, Duncan, that's enough. Turn your head. I'll hit your ear. When you wake up, you'll have a lump the size of a baseball and a crazy headache, but you asked for it.

- Right. Take care of yourself there. – The Colonel squeezed Geist’s forearm. – It’s a long way to DC.

As soon as Duncan turned away, a hint of guilt flashed across Geist's face. But he understood that it still needed to be done.

Geist pressed the folded scarf against the barrel of the Mauser and pressed it to Duncan's ear. The colonel tensed up a little.

- Hey, what are you...

Geist pulled the trigger. With the sound of a sharp slap, the bullet pierced his friend's skull, throwing Duncan's head back and his body falling face down to the ground.

“I’m terribly sorry, my friend,” Geist looked down. - As you recently said, military necessity. If that makes you feel better, you've just transformed the world.

Putting the gun in his pocket, he headed to the back door of the barn and disappeared into the foggy night, finally becoming... a real ghost.

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