by G. K. Parks
Betrayal
A Julian Mercer novel
G.K. Parks
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and other concepts are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, establishments, events, and locations is entirely coincidental.
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 express written permission from the author.
Copyright © 2016 G.K. Parks
A Modus Operandi imprint
All rights reserved.
Print ISBN: 1942710046
Print ISBN-13: 978-1-942710-04-2
Full-length Novels in the Alexis Parker Series:
Likely Suspects
The Warhol Incident
Mimicry of Banshees
Suspicion of Murder
Racing Through Darkness
Camels and Corpses
Lack of Jurisdiction
Dying for a Fix
Intended Target
Prequel Alexis Parker Novellas:
Outcomes and Perspective: The Complete Prequel Series
Assignment Zero (Prequel series, #1)
Agent Prerogative (Prequel series, #2)
The Final Chapter (Prequel series, #3)
Julian Mercer Novels
Condemned
Betrayal
Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
Thirty-seven
Thirty-eight
Thirty-nine
Forty
Forty-one
Forty-two
Forty-three
Forty-four
Forty-five
Note from the Author
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
One
“Julian Mercer for Logan Porter,” Julian said, resting his hip against the front desk while he surveyed the area.
His eyes scanned the lobby of the high-rise. A dozen men in dark suits accessorized with earpieces and semi-automatic weapons were scattered throughout the room. The clacking of high heels echoed against the tile floors as women hurried past, carrying folders and documents. Despite the numerous business professionals bustling about, typical corporate offices didn’t require that level of firepower. Mercer didn’t turn, but he knew his second-in-command was taking in their surroundings too. Regardless of what they’d been told, it was obvious this elegant building was a front for something.
The receptionist glanced up, realizing the man before her was speaking. “Mr. Porter is busy. You’ll have to reschedule your appointment.” She tapped the screen a few times. “May I have your name, sir?”
“Mercer. Julian,” the former Special Air Service commander growled. He drew himself to his full height, practically standing at attention. “Your boss is expecting us, and I do not believe he would appreciate our meeting being rescheduled.”
The receptionist fixed Julian with an icy glare. “Excuse me?”
From behind, Bastian Clarke sighed dramatically. “You’ll have to excuse Jules. He’s been hit in the head far too many times for his own good. Occasionally, he believes he’s a spy for MI-6.” Bastian rolled his eyes, handing the woman a business card. “We’re the kidnapping and ransom specialists that Mr. Porter hired. Would you be so kind as to let him know we’re here, love? I believe we’re the reason he’s asked you to cancel his appointments for this afternoon.”
She smiled at Bastian. “One moment please, Mr. Clarke.”
Moving to the end of the long desk, she picked up a handheld radio and held it to her mouth, speaking quietly. Seconds later, two men in dark suits flanked the former SAS members. Mercer shifted his gaze but remained motionless while the men swiftly disarmed him and Bastian.
“Your firearms will be returned after your meeting is concluded,” one of the men said. “If you’ll follow me, Mr. Porter is expecting you.”
The guard turned, not waiting for a response, and headed down the corridor. Julian and Bastian exchanged a look and followed the man while the second guard brought up the rear. At the end of the hallway stood an oversized door with a palm scanner. The door opened, and the two K & R specialists entered alone.
“Mr. Mercer, I’m glad you could make it,” Logan Porter said, standing and extending his hand. “You were on the shortlist for personal security experts, but I didn’t expect you to arrive until tomorrow. Did you catch the red-eye from London?”
“We’re not based in London,” Bastian said, making small talk while Mercer studied the extravagant office. “Even though our team is comprised of former Special Air Service members, we no longer call the United Kingdom home. We spend far too much time away, handling sensitive issues,” he narrowed his eyes, “but you already know this. You also know that time is of the essence, so shall we cut through the pleasantries and job interview and get to it?”
“A man of action is precisely what I need. Has the agency informed you what’s happened?” Porter asked.
“We’d like to hear it from you,” Mercer said, sizing up Logan. The corporate bigwig was half a foot shorter, balding, and soft underneath the expensive suit, practically the exact opposite of Julian Mercer, who was also in his early forties but comprised of nothing but hard planes and rough edges. “Start with when she was taken.”
“She has a name,” Logan snapped. “It’s Sarina.” He sighed, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “I apologize. It’s just…I don’t know what to do.”
“That’s why you called us,” Bastian said. “Why don’t you take a seat and tell us when Sarina was taken. We’ll need to know where she was, who was with her, and who was aware of her itinerary.”
“Sarina was at home. Alone. She had a meeting scheduled later that afternoon. At three o’clock, I think, but she didn’t show up. It’s my understanding that someone phoned Sarina’s assistant to see why she missed the meeting. When I got home that night, she wasn’t there.” He tilted his neck from side to side as if working out a kink. “Our home security footage caught the kidnappers on tape. They left a note stating that I was not to involve the police. That was three days ago.”
“Regardless, did you contact the authorities?” Mercer asked.
“No.” Porter inhaled and swallowed. “I expected some type of follow-up communication. A letter. Phone call. E-mail. But there’s been nothing but radio silence since the abduction. The day after Sarina was taken, I spoke with the men in charge of our corporate security. My position here provides certain extraordinary protections, including ransom insurance. They felt it was imperative to have negotiators on-site who were prepared to deal with any incoming demands, so the agency hired you.”
“Are you sure someone abducted your wife?” Mercer asked, his voice harsh and accusatory.
“Do you
think they killed her?” Porter asked, his voice rising an octave in surprise.
“It’s possible but unlikely. By now, her body would have been discovered,” Mercer said. “Without proof, it is unreasonable to jump to such conclusions. However, she might have staged this abduction to escape from you.”
“How dare you,” Porter shrieked. He stormed across the room, standing toe-to-toe with Julian. Despite the height difference, Porter didn’t back down. He shoved Mercer which had the same effect as pushing against a brick wall. “That’s my wife. My Sarina. She loves me, and I love her. She would never do something like that.” He shoved Mercer again. “Take it back.”
“Did you push her around too?” Mercer asked, glowering.
“Jules,” Bastian said, interrupting and taking Porter by the arm before the commander decided to push back, “that’s enough. Mr. Porter is distraught. You are not helping matters.” Bastian led Porter to the nearest chair. “We’ll gladly assist, but there are a few ground rules that need to be established. First, you do what we say, when we say it. No questions. No hesitation. Second, we’ll need full access to your home, your personal records, and your security system. We won’t be able to do anything else until we determine this is a kidnapping. Normally, a demand is issued. Without one, it’ll be more difficult to make a recovery.”
“A recovery?” Porter blinked. “You mean getting Sarina back.”
“Yes.” Bastian’s gaze flicked briefly to Mercer.
“If this is not a kidnapping, you’d be better off contacting the authorities,” Mercer declared, moving toward the office door. “We’ll need access to your home now. You’ll have our assessment by the morning.”
Porter handed Bastian a set of keys and a folder from the top of his desk. Inside were the details on his home security system, including access codes and a list of personal employees. The information had been compiled earlier that morning, based upon the timestamp printed on the pages.
“A car will take you to my home. If you find something or encounter any problems, my cell phone number is listed,” Porter said. “Please, you have to save Sarina.”
“We’ll do our best,” Bastian promised. “The sooner we get started, mate, the better off she’ll be.”
Porter nodded and pressed a button, summoning building security to his office to escort the specialists back to the lobby. Taking back his gun, Mercer checked the clip in his Sig, tucked it into his hip holster, and gave the waiting town car an uneasy look. He found something about the situation unsettling, but Bastian simply slid into the back seat without a second thought. Worst case, Julian wasn’t above shooting his way out, but with any luck, this job wouldn’t require expelling lead.
Two
“Bloody hell,” Bastian said when the car stopped in front of a guard stand. The driver spoke to the sentry on duty, prompting the opening of the gate and allowing the vehicle to enter. “We picked the wrong profession.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Mercer retorted. His eyes scanned the grounds. The lawn was manicured. The shrubbery that lined the driveway was perfectly trimmed and even, and the infrared cameras that covered the exterior were placed strategically to minimize blind spots. The car stopped in front of a fountain, and the driver opened the rear door. Mercer stepped out, studying the man. “Do you always service the Porters?”
“No, sir. They pay a monthly fee for the car service. We rotate.”
“Very good,” Bastian said, coming around the car. “Are you our ride back this evening?”
“I’ll be here whenever you’re ready,” the driver replied.
“We shouldn’t be too long,” Bastian said, opening the folder and approaching the front door. He took out a key, read through the security protocols, entered a code, and unlocked the door. “Jules, are you sure we didn’t pick the wrong profession?”
Mercer stepped inside, closing the door and examining the interior. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. The foyer branched out, leading in three directions. A staircase on the side led to the floors above. Everything was pristine, not a single crumb or speck of dust covered any of the gleaming surfaces.
“I’ll begin on the upper level. Find the security footage and start your analysis. I’d like to be gone before Logan returns,” Mercer ordered, heading for the staircase, “and let’s keep it clean and quiet.” He met Bastian’s eyes. Until they had a chance to suss out precisely for whom they were working, he didn’t trust Logan Porter or the mysterious corporation with armed guards installed in the lobby, so leaving prints, DNA, or discussing the potential abduction inside a home that was likely being monitored was to be avoided at all costs.
The top level of the three story mansion contained the master suite. Deciding that was the best place to begin, Mercer began in the bathroom, searching for signs of a struggle. The mirror wasn’t broken, and the smallest crevices didn’t contain any blood residue. If Sarina fought against her kidnappers, it hadn’t been inside this room or the bastards were meticulous in the cleanup.
Next, Mercer searched the bedroom. Inside the first closet, he found clothing and accessories of the female persuasion. The second closet held Logan’s clothes. Two dressers stood on either side of the room. Disassembling Sarina’s, Mercer searched through each of the drawers and checked the surfaces for a hint as to who might be responsible. Aside from lingerie and a few other items that would indicate Sarina had a kinky streak or Logan was failing to satisfactorily perform his husbandly duties, Mercer didn’t find anything of use.
Repeating the process with Logan’s belongings, the only questionable item he uncovered was a thumb drive. Pocketing the USB, he gave the room a final once-over, checking for blemishes on the pristine paint, a random shard of broken glass, or something that would indicate Sarina was forced to leave her home. On the nightstand was a framed wedding photo.
Sarina appeared to be at least a decade younger than Logan. She had dark blonde hair, an airbrushed tan, and the body one would get from hours spent with a personal trainer. Frankly, she was out of Logan Porter’s league. Perhaps she was a gold digger or legally blind. Then again, maybe her attributes ended with her looks. A photo didn’t exactly depict personality or level of intelligence.
Continuing the exploration, Julian went through the rest of the rooms of the house, finding very few personal effects and no indication that foul play was involved in Sarina Porter’s disappearance. Perhaps Sarina staged the abduction and simply left. Surely, she had means available to her. She could have emptied out a bank account and ran off to live on a sunny beach with her personal trainer. At least, that was the best case scenario. On the other end of the spectrum, she was taken somewhere and killed. Unfortunately, there were plenty of possibilities that existed in between those two extremes.
“Bas,” Mercer called, descending the staircase, “how much progress have we made?”
“Leaps and bounds.” It was a sarcastic remark.
“Bugger,” Mercer growled, continuing his perusal of the home. He entered the kitchen, searching through the cabinets and refrigerator before studying the cooking implements that had a permanent position on the counter. A single knife was missing from the block. Opening the dishwasher, Mercer didn’t find the missing utensil. It wasn’t in the sink either. Frankly, the kitchen was as immaculate as the rest of the house. No one lived that neatly. “Fuck,” he marched into the office where Bastian was transferring the security logs and footage onto his laptop, “that wanker had the place cleaned after Sarina went missing.”
“That’s not all he did.” Bastian shook his head in disdain.
“Is it an abduction?”
“Too soon to say.” Bastian drummed his fingers against the desk. “It’s a bleeding mess.” He hit play and pointed to the screen. “We have a glitch.”
“Bollocks.” Mercer sighed. “I’ll check the grounds. Will you be ready in twenty minutes?”
“I’ll meet you outside.”
Julian exited through the rear door,
hearing the security system beep, but since the alarm was deactivated, no fanfare or sirens were triggered. Circling the exterior, he examined the windows of the first floor, checked the surrounding foliage and adornments for footprints or other disturbances, and stumbled upon the cobblestone driveway. Everything looked perfect. Too perfect. There wasn’t a single oil stain or tire mark on the driveway. Kneeling down, Mercer studied the tan and brown stones, finding only the vaguest sign of use in between the large slabs.
“They power scrub,” the driver said from his position next to the vehicle. “Mr. Porter is one anal son of a bitch. He’s phoned the car service several times in the last three months to complain about air conditioning fluid being left on the path. Eventually, he ordered the groundskeeper to power scrub the driveway twice a day to keep things neat and tidy.”
“Is Mrs. Porter just as finicky?”
“Nah, she’s cool. I don’t see why she puts up with him,” the driver glanced at the house, “but I could take a guess.”
“When’s the last time you saw Mrs. Porter?” Mercer asked, catching a glimpse of Bastian exiting the house and reengaging the security system.
“It’s been two or three weeks. I’ve been on vacation. I just got back a few days ago, and today’s the first time I’ve been assigned to the Porters. Why?” He narrowed his eyes. “Did something happen to her? You’re investigators or consultants or something, right?”
“That’s none of your concern,” Mercer replied, slipping into the back seat. “What’s your name?”
“Stan Appleman.”
“Nice to meet you,” Bastian responded, joining Julian in the car.
For the duration of the ride, Bastian made pleasant small talk with the driver, believing that a friendly exchange would provide answers and insight. Once the waters were smoothed, Bastian jotted down the man’s name and the car service. Then he and Mercer exited in front of a block of hotels.
From there, the two ex-SAS members entered the adjacent parking structure, located their rental, and drove to the flat they were using as one of their safe houses for the duration of this assignment. Despite the fact that the insurance company was picking up the tab for accommodations, hotels were far from secure, and their last assignment had been compromised by valet parking and easily accessible suites.