Trojan
Killchain 2.0
Brandon Clark
Copyright © 2019 by Brandon Clark
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-7326511-8-0
Print ISBN: 978-1-7326511-9-7
Contents
If you’re looking for more…
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Also by Brandon Clark
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Sara, time to add another to the bookshelf. =)
If you’re looking for more…
If you haven’t already, be sure to check sign up for my mailing list at www.cbrandonclark.com/starter to get Script Kiddies, the Killchain prequel novella, as well as another Killchain short story and a bonus chapter from my historical Fantasy novel, Dragon Fleet Five!
Chapter One
The boat hit another massive wave, jarring Josef’s bones and nearly causing him to lose his grip on the wheel. Dark storm clouds covered the moon, and the wind whipped the ocean spray into his face, obscuring his goggles. His legs ached from the strain of maintaining his balance, but he was determined not to let the strain show to the others.
His father sat on the rubber seat in front, peering through a pair of worn binoculars.
Angel sat behind him, and his voice carried on the wind to Josef at the back of the boat.
“They’re not here,” he yelled. “If they’re already in US waters . . .”
Josef couldn’t hear his father’s reply.
The four other men were balanced on the port and starboard sides, each with one leg braced under the rubber cross-sections in front and the other under the inflated hull. They all wore black rain jackets and pants, with goggles similar to Josef’s protecting their eyes. Their weapons were secured in the foam crate lashed to the deck in front of Josef.
“Are we even in the right place?” Angel said.
Josef glanced down at the GPS duct-taped next to the wheel.
“We’re five minutes from the intercept point,” he yelled back.
Angel put a hand to his ear, and Josef took a hand off the wheel to give him a thumbs up.
Another wave hit the rubber dinghy at that moment, and this time Josef’s right leg gave out. He fell to the side, trying to grab the wheel for support, but only managing to pull the boat sideways.
“Steady!” his father shouted.
Josef grabbed the rubber sidewall and pushed himself back up. In the distance, he saw a faint orange glow under the clouds.
His father was still looking at him, so he risked another one-handed moment to point at the glow.
His father’s head snapped back around, searching for a moment before giving a thumbs up without looking back.
Josef couldn’t stop his chest from puffing out a bit as he pushed the throttle further, and the Zodiac leaped forward. For a few minutes the wind roared in his ears, drowning out any competing sounds. His world shrank to the motion of the boat and the waves in front. He eased the throttle forward and back to avoid the worst waves, but he didn’t dare slow too much.
The orange glow grew as they drew closer, and a small shape appeared beneath it. The shape became a cargo ship that grew larger as the Zodiac approached, and as the assault boat crested the next wave, Josef could make out the individual containers stacked on the deck.
His father looked back and signaled for him to cut the engine, and the boat slowed immediately.
“Where are we?” his father asked.
“A quarter mile from US waters,” Josef said.
Angel cursed.
“They’re far enough,” Tito said from his place behind Angel. “We can be in and out before the Coast Guard gets here.”
“Not worth it,” Angel said. “There will be other shipments.”
“We don’t know that,” Tito said. “This hacker could get caught any minute. And it’ll take ten more hits to make up for missing this one.”
Josef’s father looked at the ship while they argued, his binoculars sweeping across the deck. Josef could practically hear his father running through the calculations in his head, and an odd calm washed over him.
“Load up,” his father said.
The other voices cut off immediately.
“Zeke, take the wheel. Angel, weapons. Josef, you have three minutes.”
Josef moved to let Zeke take his place and crept to where he’d tucked his dry bag behind one of the cross-sections. He knelt and unzipped the bag, then ran his hands over the grappling gun, ascenders, and climbing rope, making sure they were all perfectly dry. Satisfied, he unzipped his rain pants, revealing the climbing harness and black fatigues.
The Zodiac zipped across the water toward the cargo ship as he got ready. By the time they pulled into the massive ship’s wake, he had his gloves on, the rope was coiled safely on the deck, and the grappling gun was cocked with a padded hook sticking out of the end.
The sound of their motor was lost in the deep rumbling of the ship’s engines, and Zeke pulled into the shadow cast from the lights above the pilot’s tower.
The other men pulled on black ski masks, still wearing their goggles, and Josef followed suit.
Josef looked to his father, who had joined him near the rear of the Zodiac.
“Looks clear,” he said. “But something feels off. They’re going too fast.”
He bent and pulled a Glock in a nylon holster from the foam crate, holding it out to Josef.
Josef couldn’t take his eyes off the weapon. He swallowed. “You think I’ll need it?”
His father put his hand on his shoulder. “Hope not,” he said. “Try to stay out of sight, but don’t be afraid to shoot first. Just like I showed you.”
Josef nodded and clipped the gun to his belt, sliding the walkie-talkie to make room. He felt off-balance with the extra weight, and he shifted from foot to foot several times to see how it would change his center of gravity.
“Be fast,” his father said, squeezing his shoulder one more time. Josef couldn’t see his face under the ski mask, but he knew his father was smiling.
“Always am,” Josef said, trying to sound confident.
His father nodded again, and Josef raised the gun to his shoulder. There was a puff of compressed air, and the grappling hook sailed over the ca
rgo ship’s gunwale. Even though it was padded, Josef always wondered how the crew never heard it hit the deck.
He quickly clipped the ascenders to the rope and slipped his feet in the webbed loops. His father pulled the bottom of the line tight, and he scrambled up the rope as quickly as he could.
Josef grabbed the top of the gunwale and peeked over the edge.
None of the crew was in sight.
He pulled himself over, landing in a crouch.
He pressed the mic hanging near his chin.
“I’m up. There’s a ladder ten yards ahead. Pull up, and I’ll drop it.”
He hesitated for a moment, then pulled the Glock from his belt. He crept forward, sweeping the gun side to side.
He reached the ladder and threw it over the side, wincing as the metal rungs clanged against the ship’s side.
“Angel’s heading up,” his father said through the earpiece.
Josef moved away from the ladder, keeping the gun out and an eye on the door to the lower decks.
Angel came up first, followed by Tito and Raul, and finally Josef’s father. All four men had removed their rain jackets, revealing tactical vests with extra magazines for the AKs slung over their shoulders, and carried empty dry bags on their backs.
His father clapped him on the shoulder, then he gave the rest of the team a thumbs up.
Angel and Raul headed for the pilot’s tower, while Josef’s father, Tito, and Josef started weaving their way through the maze of cargo containers.
“Which one?” his father asked.
“QVCU563871,” Tito whispered back. “Should be near the bow.”
They roamed through the boxy metal forest, watching the letters on the containers go up as they passed.
“Crew is secured,” Angel said over the radio. “All fifteen accounted for.”
Finally, they reached row Q. Tito pulled out a flashlight, and they found the one they were looking for perched at the top of the stack.
“Josef, get up there,” his father said.
Grabbing one of the metal rods used to lock the containers, Josef hoisted himself up. His muscles burned from the earlier climb, and the rocking of the ship seemed to get worse the higher he went, but it wasn’t the first time he’d had to go to the top of a stack, and at least this one was only three containers high.
Holding onto the bottom of the padlock with one hand, Josef pulled his snap guns from the pouch at his belt and felt for the keyholes.
The lock popped open, and he swung the door out.
The inside of the container was stacked with crates strapped down with shipping nets. Josef cut the first one free and yanked off the lid.
“Found it,” he said.
He picked up one of the plastic wrapped bags of white powder, then walked to the side and tossed it down to his father, who caught it like a football punt.
“It was in the first box you opened?” his father asked.
“Yeah,” Josef said. “The whole container must be full of it.”
“Get down here,” his father said. Then he lifted a hand and keyed the mic. “Angel, abort. Get back to the boat.”
“What?”
“Abort. Now.”
There was a pause in the response, but Angel finally acknowledged the order.
“Do you want me to grab anything?” Josef said.
“I want you down here,” his father snapped.
“You think it’s a trap?” Tito asked as Josef started to descend.
“No one leaves their goods right next to the door.”
Josef jumped the last ten feet and landed with a thud on the deck.
“Just crossed into US waters,” Zeke said over the comm.
“Double time,” Josef’s father said.
His father took point, checking the corners more carefully as they retraced their route.
Josef breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the ladder.
“Angel, where are you?” his father said.
The line was silent.
“Josef, get to the boat,” he said.
Josef had a leg over the railing when the door from the pilothouse popped open and Angel, his wrists cuffed behind his back, stumbled out.
“Run!” he yelled. “Cops, they’re—”
A man in full tactical gear with blood running down his nose grabbed him from behind and spun him around, slamming him into the metal door.
The surprise gone, similarly clad men burst from containers at the ground level, weapons trained on Josef’s father and Tito.
“US Coast Guard,” one man screamed. “Drop your weapons.”
“Josef, go,” his father whispered in Spanish.
“I’ll help,” he said instead, pulling the Glock from his waistband.
“Gun!” one man yelled and opened fire.
Josef didn’t see his father move, but suddenly he was between Josef and the man shooting.
Something warm sprayed his face, and he knew it was blood even before his father fell in slow motion.
When his body hit the deck, he was dead.
Josef stared at him in disbelief.
Someone was shouting around him, but he couldn’t focus.
He looked at Tito, who was already crouching to put his AK on the deck, his other hand up.
“Put the gun down,” the man was saying.
Josef turned to face the man who’d killed his dad.
Before he could bring his pistol around, something hit him in the chest, knocking him backward, off the ladder.
As he fell, he saw Tito’s face above the railing.
When he hit the water, and all the air exploded out of his lungs. He flailed, trying to get to the surface, but his clothing and gear dragged him down.
Then someone grabbed his hair and yanked.
It wasn’t pleasant, but it beat drowning.
Zeke helped him over the side of the Zodiac. Then looked up.
Tito was struggling with three Coast Guard officers, yelling for them to run the whole time.
Zeke got the message and raced back to the wheel, opening the throttle and blasting off into the night.
Josef couldn’t take his eyes off the figures on the deck. They’d managed to get Tito to the deck, but one was standing by the rail, watching the Zodiac retreat into the night.
One hand still tightly gripped around the Glock, Josef swore an oath against the lone figure.
“Did you get them?” Bonnie asked.
Durdan nodded from across the table.
“Most of them,” he said. He took a pull from the bottle of whiskey that sat between them.
“Most?” she said. “They were on a cargo ship in the middle of the ocean.”
“The driver and a kid got away.”
“They had a kid with them? Was he hurt?”
“The report says he fell off the boat, but the getaway driver pulled him out. So I don’t really know. He didn’t get shot. Near as we can tell.”
Bonnie shook her head.
“Are all the officers, alright?”
Durdan nodded again.
“One broken nose, but otherwise no injuries.”
“Were these Volkags?”
“Former Mexican soldiers,” Durdan said. “Doesn’t look like they have any gang ties, but could have been a contract.”
“Too bad,” Bonnie said. “But I’ll still take the reward.”
Durdan sighed and reached under the table. He dropped several coins on the wood, and Bonnie quickly scooped them into her purse.
“Pleasure doing business with you,” she said, starting to stand.
“One more thing,” Durdan said.
“You’re not just trying to keep me talking to trace me,” Bonnie said with a smile. “We both know that won’t work.”
“They’re moving Vlad to a minimum-security facility.”
Bonnie couldn’t stop her jaw from dropping. She slunk back into the booth.
“You’re joking . . .”
Durdan shook his head and grabbed
the whiskey again.
“He’s a violent offender with more gang ties than Al Capone,” Bonnie continued in disbelief.
“He’s been a model prisoner since he got in,” Durdan said. “And he’s cooperated on a few investigations.”
“This is unreal,” Bonnie said. “He’ll have access to the Internet? Phone calls? He can pretty much run the Volkags while he’s on the government-sponsored vacation you’re sending him on.”
“If you’d come in, we can get you in protective custody.”
“Not if the new district attorney has anything to say about it.”
“He got what he wanted,” Durdan said. “He’s not out for blood.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Come on,” he said. “You’ve got a better chance with us than on your own.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Bonnie stabbed the red log out button before he could say anything else.
Chapter Two
Something crashed behind her, and Haley spun in the rickety wooden chair in time to see Jacob staring down at his upside-down cereal bowl on the floor. Milk seeped away from the bowl like a blood pool, and a spattering of colorful, sugary rings covered the puke-green carpet in front of the TV. He looked up slowly in wide-eyed horror, and Haley fought to keep her face neutral.
“I sorry mommy . . .”
Haley took a deep breath and tried to bring her frayed nerves under control. The room reeked of stale cigarette smoke and day-old Chinese takeout.
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