Next Exit, Three Miles

by CW Browning

  Next Exit, Three Miles

  CW Browning

  Also by CW Browning

  Kai Corbyn Series

  Games of Deceit

  Shadows of War

  The Courier

  The Oslo Affair

  Night Falls on Norway

  The Iron Storm

  Into the Iron Shadows (Coming Soon)

  The Exit Series

  Next Exit, Three Miles

  Next Exit, Pay Toll

  Next Exit, Dead Ahead

  Next Exit, Quarter Mile

  Next Exit, Use Caution

  Next Exit, One Way

  Next Exit, No Outlet

  The Exit Series Box Set #1: Books 1-3

  Watch for more at CW Browning’s site.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Also By CW Browning

  About Next Exit, Three Miles

  “Greater love has no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” | ~ John 15:13

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Note from Author

  Sign up for CW Browning's Mailing List

  Further Reading: Next Exit, Pay Toll

  Also By CW Browning

  About the Author

  About Next Exit, Three Miles

  Alina Maschik was one of the best. She never missed. Yet, two years ago in Cairo, she missed her shot at one of the world’s most wanted terrorists. Now, he’s back. This time, he’s on US soil.

  Given the opportunity to redeem herself, Alina’s objective is simple: find the terrorist and complete her mission. But when the target leads her back to her hometown in New Jersey, the situation is anything but simple. Confronted with old girlfriends, her ex-fiancé and the Jersey mob, Alina must face her past as she races against an invisible clock.

  But as bodies start to pile up, a cunning and invisible assassin threatens to destroy everything she holds close. Accustomed to working alone, Alina must now rely on old loyalties and new partnerships to help her defeat this new threat, and save the lives of thousands of Americans, without failing a second time.

  This book is dedicated to Jenny and Jerry:

  Jenny, I am so grateful for your emotional support and practical, artistic advice. Your constant prayers have supported me and pushed me forward daily when I was tempted to give up. Having the encouragement of such a wonderful artist as yourself is priceless!

  Jerry, you have always been willing to assist with the inevitable technical difficulties arising from technology. At all hours of the day or night, you have dropped what you were doing to repair my computers, educate me on Linux, and assist with formatting up to, and including, publication. Without you, I would still be writing long-hand!

  It is only through your combined support that this dream was possible. Thank you.

  “Greater love has no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.”

  ~ John 15:13

  Prologue

  Alina Maschik looked up at the turquoise sky and breathed deeply. The cool mountain breeze felt good on her hot skin and, throwing her head back, she arched into a stretch, reaching her arms far behind her. Straightening again on an exhale, Alina lowered her eyes to the small community of huts nestled in the mountainside below. From this height, the bamboo roofs on the huts blended with the surrounding canopy of trees, causing the large open center of the compound to look very small and isolated. She sighed and stretched forward, bending from her hips and balancing her weight, keeping her back straight. Exhaling again, Alina wrapped her arms around her knees and, resting her forehead on her shins, felt the calming effect of oxygen flowing out of her.

  This was her morning routine. Run four miles up the mountain, stretch, meditate, and then run back. She had been doing this for two years now. The cool air, coupled with the abundance of mountain creatures and raw beauty, never failed to take her breath away. The amount of peace that she derived from the simple experience of just being had healed old wounds that no doctor could ever see.

  Wounds she hadn’t even known were there.

  Alina lifted her head and glanced down to the compound that had been her home for the past two years. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of Raven, her pet hawk, as he appeared suddenly and swooped once around the open courtyard. When she came to this place, he was a massive, wounded mess in the trees behind her hut. They were never sure what caused his extensive injuries, but no one was able to get close enough to heal him. After two days, he allowed her to take him in and nurse him. She gave him his freedom once he was well, but every night he returned to her. Slowly, Alina began to realize that he had accepted her and made her his. In turn, he was hers as well. He was her protector and her pet.

  And he was never home at this time of day.

  Alina scanned the miles of surrounding mountains, looking for some sign of disturbance, but there was none. Just Raven, perched on a tall post at the corner of the courtyard. Watching.

  Alina sank to the grass and crossed her legs, closing her eyes and dismissing Raven from her mind. She centered her attention on the sounds around her and became very still. After a few moments, her breathing had slowed and she listened to the sounds of the forest resuming around her. A dark lock of hair brushed against her forehead as the breeze sighed around her. She was very still while she listened, first to her own shallow breathing, and then to her own consciousness. A branch popped behind her and she could see the mountain creature moving through the trees behind her. It paid no attention to her in its quest for food, but moved away from her quietly. Above her, a bird crowed in the trees while, slightly below her and to the right, a furry forager busily snuffled into the end of a dead tree trunk. Alina absorbed it all through closed eyes and open mind, her body relaxed and her muscles alert.

  It was the sudden gust of wind that carried the faintest whisper of Raven’s call. Alina opened her eyes and cut her gaze to the compound. Raven was still on the post, but even at this distance, she could see that his head was turned toward her. In her semi-aware state, Alina saw her pet clearly, looking straight at her with his piercing hawk eyes.

  In one fluid motion, she was up and running back to the compound. Raven was calling her home for a reason.

  Chapter One

  Candlelight glinted off the cut glass, making the amber liquid inside sparkle mysteriously. Momentarily forgotten, the tumbler sat on a plain, mission-style coffee table, basking in the warmth of several candles while shadows engulfed the room beyond the table. The single occupant was absorbed in another world, his eyes closed, seated unmoving in lotus pose on the floor beside the table. His long legs were folded up neatly and his hands rested on his knees, palms up. His breathing was slow and steady, his body settled into the meditation comfortably. Images began to flicker through his mind behind his eyelids, almost like slides from an old projector. First they were fuzzy, as if there was interference with a faint signal. Then, slowly, they became sharper and more concise. His breathing slowed even more as the he studied the first images carefully.

  The meditator saw the man walking towards him
slowly, his dark hair cut short to his head and the gold chain hanging heavily around his neck. It was the man from the file. Angelo. In his mind’s eye, his hand reached out and grabbed the chain, twisting it sharply to bring Angelo close to him. His hands grasped his head on either side and twisted sharply, the snap of the neck clear in his ears. However, just as quickly as the motion ended, that image was discarded.

  The next image emerged. Angelo again. This time he was standing on a pier, waiting.

  No.

  The image changed again. Angelo was kneeling now, kneeling in front of him, facing forward. The Sig Sauer, with a silencer attached, appeared behind his head. The river flowed beneath them.

  Yes.

  That was acceptable. It was clean and had no possibility of any stray DNA inadvertently relocating somewhere that could be inconvenient.

  That image was discarded and the next image emerged. This time it was another man, another face. He was getting into an older model Cadillac, some suitcases loaded into the trunk. The image paused there, the meditator considering it carefully for a moment before continuing. The Cadillac began to drive. The streets in the image changed rapidly until there was a train crossing. The image paused again and was studied. Residential houses were on one side of the tracks and businesses on the other. There was no other crossing for about a mile.

  After another moment, the image was complete.

  Cold, emotionless eyes opened slowly and the man on the floor exhaled softly. He stared at the candlelight thoughtfully, his mind still miles away at a train crossing.

  Yes.

  The word whispered through his mind and he reached out his long arm to the glass of amber liquid waiting on the table. He sipped the smooth bourbon in satisfaction.

  Yes, that would do nicely.

  New Jersey is the armpit of America. Not only is that its geographical claim to fame, but it is also a very good description of the quality of life in New Jersey. It is an over-crowded, smelly and notoriously famous pocket of land that alternates from smog-laden industrial areas to suburban niches to pine barren wasteland to rolling farmland. While it does produce the best blueberries and tomatoes in the country, it also produces the most toxic water known to man. And in exchange for very convenient proximities to cities, mountains, and shores, New Jersey also has the highest cost of living in the Union. Given this state of give and take, it's no wonder that most New Jersey residents live their life prosaically and with the same philosophy: Go ahead and throw it at 'em. They will take it standing up, and eat their pork roll sandwich too. This is because Jersey inhabitants are a special breed. They are survivors who have undergone carcinogen poisoning, high blood pressure, heart attacks, scrapple, and the mob. They can go just about anywhere and survive. But no matter where they end up, displaced Jersians never really get away from their roots. Jersey is like yellow mustard. Once it gets under your nails, it won’t come out. Not until it's good and ready.

  This realization was foremost in her mind as Alina drove over the Ben Franklin Bridge, crossing from Philadelphia into Camden, one of three major entry ports to South Jersey. She hadn’t been back home for over ten years. The bridge was the same. Rutgers was still there, below her on the right, on the water front in Camden. In fact, even the toll booths were the same, right down to the dingy kinda-blue-but-not-really-seafoam-green worn paint. The distinct smell of the Delaware River blew through the open windows and Alina wrinkled her nose. After living in the mountains for two years, she didn’t think the stench of pollution would ever go unnoticed again. It was, however, strangely familiar.

  The cell phone chirped from the seat next to her, pulling Alina’s attention away from her first sight of home ground.

  “Yes?”

  “I just left the house. The keys are under the flower pot on the left side of the garage,” the male voice said. “Everything is ready for you, just the way you requested. As I said before, take your time and let me know. I’m willing to make you a fair offer.”

  “Thank you.” Alina switched lanes to the left and headed onto the boulevard. “I’ll let you know what I decide.”

  “I’ll be in touch to let you know how to reach me once I’m settled.”

  “No need. I’ll find you.”

  Alina disconnected the call and dropped the phone back onto the seat beside her. There was rustle from the back seat and she glanced back at Raven. He was re-adjusting himself on the perch inside a massive metal cage.

  “Almost there, Raven. Just hang on another hour.”

  She turned her attention back to the road and merged onto Route 70, heading east. The landmarks were so familiar, and yet so foreign that she was somewhat discomposed. The drivers were the same though, and Alina switched lanes almost unconsciously, pressing the gas pedal down.

  New Yorkers like to say that they can drive anywhere, but not just anyone can drive in New York. Alina wasn't so sure about New York, but she knew it was true for New Jersey. The speed limit is a suggestion only and the left lane is just another lane, not a passing lane. Having driven in many different countries since leaving Jersey, Alina had to admit now that most were not quite as aggressive as this small state. The reason was simple. People in New Jersey just didn’t have time for manners or road etiquette. They had somewhere to be and that was that.

  Alina tapped the brakes as a Honda Civic cut in front of her and she automatically switched lanes to avoid it. She shook her head almost imperceptibly. Not only had she been dragged back into civilization, but she had been dragged back to Jersey, of all places. The one place in the world that she truly had no desire to ever set foot in again, and yet here she was, speeding down Route 70 on her way to a house buried in the outer pine barrens of Medford.

  It was truly ridiculous.

  When she left ten years ago, it had been with the intention of never returning. She joined the military and departed to start a new life. Her new life began in shadows, and continued in the dark and murky alleys of the military underworld. When she got out of the Navy and started working with the government, Alina had changed. She laughed a lot less and she watched a lot more. Her life before the military had become a distant memory, dreamlike in its quality, and she had all but forgotten Jersey and all the humor and carefree nonsense that life entailed. Now, driving on streets that had once been a part of her, Alina felt a strange and overwhelming sense of déjà vu. Trained to react to her instincts, she found the feeling unsettling. With a sigh, Alina silently reminded herself that it was only temporary and continued on toward Medford.

  Angela Bolan stepped into her dark living room and flipped on the light. She closed the door behind her, dropping her purse and keys on the table inside the door. A bell jingled down the stairs, heralding the arrival of her roommate, and she smiled tiredly as she bent down to stroke the orange tabby cat rubbing around her legs.

  “Hello girlfriend,” she murmured. “How was your day?” The cat purred in response and then stretched. Angela chuckled. “That exciting, huh?”

  She moved through the living room and into the kitchen, flipping on lights as she went. The red message light on her answering machine was blinking when she reached the kitchen, and she punched the button as she turned to the refrigerator. Angela nearly dropped the can of soda she was pulling from the fridge when she heard a voice she hadn’t heard in ten years.

  “Angela, it's Alina. I’m in town for a bit and thought we could catch up. I’ll try again later.”

  The message switched off and Angela rushed to the phone to check the caller id. The number was blocked.

  She stared at the phone in amazement. She had exchanged a handful of emails over the years with Alina, the last one being about a year ago. Alina never mentioned coming back to Jersey, nor had she ever given a clear idea of what she was doing with her life. For all intents and purposes, she dropped off the face of the earth ten years ago.

  Angela listened to the message again, then walked into the living room to drop down onto the couch, completely flabberg
asted. Alina was back? In Jersey?

  She got up and grabbed her cell phone out of her purse. If she was back, she must have contacted Stephanie as well. Before she had a chance to dial, her phone started playing Jimmy Buffet. Stephanie was calling.

  “You will never guess who I just talked to!” Stephanie yelled into her ear.

  “Alina.”

  Angela plopped back onto the couch and sat back as her cat jumped up onto her lap. She absently stroked her hand down the tabby’s back.

  “She called you too?” Stephanie demanded.

  “She left a message on my machine. I just got it,” Angela said.

  “She called me at the office. She caught me just as I was leaving. She’s back in town for a while,” Stephanie told her. “She wants to get together with us for dinner.”

  “What's she doing back?” Angela demanded.

  “She didn’t really say...and I was too shocked to ask!” Stephanie laughed. “Do you have plans tomorrow night?”

  “Tomorrow is fine,” Angela replied. “Even if I had plans, I would break them.”

  “Tell me about it,” Stephanie agreed. “It's not every day your friend reappears from nowhere. I’ll call her back and let her know you're in. I can’t wait to see her!”

  “Me too.”

  Angela hung up and shook her head. She was still stunned.

  None of them ever thought they would see Alina again. Both Angela and Stephanie had received regular emails from her for the first year, then the emails became less and less frequent before tapering off to one every other year or so. Enough to let everyone know that everyone was still alive, but not much else.

  Angela smiled slowly. She always believed Alina would come back. Stephanie laughed at her and told her that their friend had moved on and was long gone. But Angela had known.

  She stood up and turned to go upstairs and get changed.