Chapter 1 - The Silver Hawk
The diner smelled of stale coffee and impending violence.
The old man remained perfectly still as the shattered glass settled on the linoleum floor.
Rex spun the stolen wooden cane in his massive tattooed hand.
He waited for the old man to beg or to show even a flicker of fear.
Instead the old man’s piercing blue eyes locked onto Rex’s leather collar.
Tucked beneath the frayed edge was a tarnished silver hawk patch.
The air in Booth Seven suddenly felt ten degrees colder.
"What is that?" Rex sneered when he noticed the old man's unbroken stare.
The old man calmly reached into his tailored tweed jacket.
He withdrew a small matte-black key fob.
A quiet click echoed beneath the booming laughter of the biker gang.
"Calling life support, Grandpa?" Rex taunted as he leaned his heavy frame over the table.
The old man raised the device to his ear.
"It’s me," he whispered into the encrypted receiver.
A heavy silence stretched across the diner.
"Bring him here," the old man commanded before sliding the fob back into his pocket.
Rex let out a barking laugh but it died in his throat.
The deafening screech of heavy tires shredded the afternoon quiet outside.
Four massive armored SUVs with government plates swarmed the parking lot and boxed in the motorcycles.
Heavy doors slammed open in unison.
Men in sharp dark suits flooded the diner with their hands hovering near their waistbands.
They bypassed the terrified waitresses and the panicked bikers.
Every single agent marched straight toward Booth Seven and stopped dead in their tracks.
The lead agent snapped a crisp and trembling salute.
The entire room held its breath as the old man stood up without needing his cane.
He stepped uncomfortably close to the biker boss.
"Where did you get that patch?" the old man asked in a deadly quiet voice.
Rex swallowed hard and suddenly felt very small.
"It belonged to my father," the biker stammered.
The old man’s eyes turned cold as ice.
"No, it belonged to your grandfather," the old man replied.
Rex stepped back as his tough facade began to crumble.
"Because forty years ago I buried my son wearing it," the old man said.
Before Rex could process the impossible truth the lead agent drew his weapon.
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But the gun wasn't pointed at Rex.
The agent pressed the cold steel barrel directly against the old man's temple.
