Steel Assassin
Page 1
BOOKS BY GEOFFREY SAIGN
Jack Steel Thrillers
Steel Trust
(free on website)
Steel Force
Steel Assassin
Alex Sight Thrillers
Kill Sight
For Stan…
Copyright © 2019 by Geoffrey Saign
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
eBook design by Lazar Kackarovski
For email updates from Geoffrey Saign and your FREE copy of Steel Trust
go to www.geoffreysaign.net/jack-steel/
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Books by Geoffrey Saign
PART 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
PART 2
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
PART 3
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
PART 4
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
PART 5
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
PART 6
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
PART 7
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Excerpt from Kill Sight
Acknowledgments
About the Author
“An eye for an eye will only make the whole world blind.”
~ Mahatma Gandhi ~
(1869-1948)
PART 1
OP: AFIA AMEEN
CHAPTER 1
Jack Steel stood at the back of the stage, watching for any movement in the crowd. The lighting over the audience was subdued. However his view was unobstructed.
He wore black jeans and a black collared shirt, invisible to anyone in the auditorium because the floor lights in front of him were aimed forward at the speaker—Afia Ameen.
A petite woman with black hair and delicate features, Afia was dressed in western clothing; a long colorful dress and long-sleeved blouse.
Steel admired her. She was courageous to give public talks. A cleric of the Muslim Brotherhood had issued a fatwa calling for her execution after she had begun talking about how Islamic extremists use Sharia law to brutalize Muslim women and limit their rights.
Afia’s own story was one of rape and torture—she had survived acid thrown in her face—and she eventually fled a forced marriage in Iraq. She was a symbol for women oppressed everywhere and had gained a large following.
Since she started speaking publicly there had been several attempts on her life. Tonight her usual security agency had a commitment elsewhere. They had asked Steel months ago to cover today’s event with his own protection agency, Greensave.
Afia had been in hiding for a year but decided to risk coming out for this interview. It had been well-publicized. The Muslim cleric that had issued the fatwa said Afia was going to die tonight if she spoke publicly again.
Steel took the threat seriously. He felt proud that his agency was protecting someone like Afia from violent men. Protecting the innocent had always been a cornerstone of his previous military career.
The interviewer was a local female news anchor. She was asking Afia about her views on Islam, and if she believed Sharia law ever honored women as equals.
Steel half-listened as he scanned the crowd.
They had searched the auditorium earlier. And attendees had been forced to pass through metal detectors as they entered. Yet someone could have hidden a weapon inside beforehand with a plan to charge the stage.
The Macky Auditorium at the University of Colorado in Boulder seated two thousand and every seat was filled. Several hundred people were standing. The Thursday night interview was also being broadcast live to millions.
In the middle of Afia’s response, a young man in the audience stood up and began shouting, “You are a disgrace to Muslim women and a traitor to Islam! You deserve the fatwa made against you!”
The man kept shouting, amid boos from the crowd.
Steel ignored the gangly-looking student. He worried the young man was a decoy to occupy his security people, while the real attack would come from elsewhere.
Two of his security detail rose from their seats in front of the stage and hurried to the man. They dragged him into the aisle and forced him toward the doors. The man kept shouting. More people in the crowd booed the student on his way out.
Steel whispered into his throat mike, “Stay alert, everyone. A few angry people in here. Harry, check the immediate area.”
“Roger that,” said Harry.
“On it,” said Christie.
Christie and her brother, Harry, were outside with the exit vehicle. It was Christie’s first field assignment with Greensave, but Steel was confident of her skill set. And Harry was an ex-Marine and thus capable of handling tough situations.
Steel had personally trained them both to ensure their expertise, using his state-of-the-art military virtual reality program to refine their techniques to the nth degree.
“That was horrible,” said the news anchor. “No one deserves such threats for speaking out. Are you alright, Afia?”
Afia spoke calmly. “I have heard this many times before. It is an example of how radical Islam is converting people to their cause. They wish to spread their version of Sharia law everywhere, as they have done in the UK, Germany, France, Sweden, and Austria. The men threaten violence if anyone criticizes them.
“And their women are not free as they are in U.S. Not free to get jobs on their own. And not free to divorce men as easily as men can divorce them. Women face the ongoing threat of violence for disobedience. Beatings, forced marital sex, and child abuse is common.”
Stepping to his right, Steel thought he saw move
ment in the far aisle. He moved closer to the lights for a better vantage point.
Just someone leaving.
As the interview continued Steel looked at his watch. And smiled. He did that often. Random smiling. Christie said it was because he loved her and had everything anyone could want. She was right. He loved his life, loved her, and loved his daughter, Rachel.
When Carol had asked him for a divorce, he didn’t think he would ever find someone to love again. But he and Christie had been together for over a year now. She gave his life more meaning, depth, and beauty. They were a better fit than he and Carol had ever been and he couldn’t imagine his life without her.
The last year had erased a year of hell before it, as if it had never existed. Sometimes a few faces from the past still haunted his dreams, but he could live with them for now.
He was also hungry. Christie’s other two brothers, Dale and Clay, had flown in from Montana to eat dinner with them tonight. Friday and Saturday they all planned to do some hiking together.
As small as Boulder was, Steel couldn’t wait to get out of the city and into the mountains. It made him realize how lucky he and Christie were to have a home surrounded by forest. Though Virginia was his home, his heritage was from Louisiana and Cajun creole—Spanish, French, Native American, and Caribbean—which gave him a light olive color skin.
On Sunday Christie’s three brothers were leaving. Then he and Christie were taking their first road trip together. Hikes, lounging, sightseeing. He smiled again.
The interview ended and the audience stood, cheering and applauding.
He talked quietly. “Interview is over.”
“Exit area secure,” said Harry.
“The car’s running,” said Christie.
Steel scanned the crowd again. “Be ready. Here she comes.”
Afia crossed the stage toward the side door to the left.
Walking behind the lights, Steel quickly crossed the back of the stage. Afia didn’t want to give anyone the image of her being guarded or scared, and thus didn’t want Steel or his crew visible. He understood.
Afia exited the door ahead of him.
Seeing movement, he paused, remaining at the rear of the stage.
A bearded man in his mid-twenties was climbing onto the stage to the right. The man was swift and solid looking , matching Steel's six-two height and one-ninety weight. Security tried to grab his leg and he lashed out. The security man went down.
Steel stiffened when he saw something black in the man’s hand. A knife. Maybe a graphite utility knife or hard plastic.
Running across the stage, the man slashed at the news anchor. Crying out, the woman stepped back, her forearm bleeding.
The attacker continued toward the door Afia had exited. The crowd erupted with shouts and yells.
Steel strode past the lights, his Glock 19 up and aimed.
The man didn’t notice Steel until he was reaching for the door knob, and then whirled with his knife up.
Steel shot him in the head and the man collapsed.
Swinging open the door, Steel glimpsed another man climbing the stage closer to him. He couldn’t take a shot with the crowd as a backdrop. “Two attackers in here, one down,” he said.
“Ready here,” said Harry.
Intuiting that the main attack would be outside, Steel ran down the hallway. In seconds he burst through the exit door. The warm mid-September air hit his face as he scanned the immediate area.
Their exit SUV was parked twenty feet to his right, parallel to the sidewalk in the curved lot reserved for performers and speakers. Afia was hurrying down the wheelchair ramp alongside the building. The sun was going down. Shadows filled the area past the SUV.
Harry stood beside the open SUV rear door, Glock in hand. Wearing jeans, boots, and a western shirt, he was built like a thirty-year-old linebacker. Six-three, broad-shouldered, and lean.
Steel stopped on the stoop. Footsteps. He whirled.
The second man. Running down the hallway toward him. Black knife again. No gun. Steel raised the Glock but glanced once more at Afia and Harry.
Beyond Harry, a man slipped from the cover of one of the large pine trees on a small section of ground five feet higher than the sidewalk that bordered the lot. Steel tensed as the man ran toward Afia, arm extended, a gun visible in his hand. Harry and a few trees blocked Steel’s shot.
“Harry!” yelled Steel. “Get down, Afia!”
Afia gasped and crouched on the ramp. Bullets bit the wall above her head.
Whirling, Harry shot the shooter in the chest and head.
The attacker stumbled forward and fell off the raised ground, landing hard on the pavement bordering the lot. He didn’t move.
“Afia!” Harry waved her to the SUV.
Running bent over, Afia ducked into the back seat of the SUV.
Steel slammed the door into the attacker who was almost upon him. Half-dazed, the man still managed to push open the door and step out, swinging his knife backward at Steel.
Sliding behind the door, Steel shot the man in the side of the head, sending him to the pavement.
Three muted rifle shots hit the back window of the SUV, putting divots into the bulletproof glass. That sent chills down Steel’s back. Silenced guns. Pros. They had to get out.
“Go, Christie!” he yelled into his mike. “Meet at rendezvous A.”
The SUV roared toward the exit.
Turning, Steel aimed his Glock across the street. Fifty feet away a man holding a rifle stood in the middle of a dozen trees. He was already disappearing into the shadows as Steel fired two shots. What puzzled Steel was that the man could have shot Afia earlier if he wanted to. But maybe the ramp door had blocked his line of sight.
He turned and watched the SUV rocket toward the lot exit. No shooter visible in the street. He glanced back across the street. The man with the rifle was gone.
A jarring crash of metal and glass filled his ears. The SUV had been broadsided in the middle of the road by a small, white pickup truck with a cargo bed cover.
Steel jumped off the stoop and ran across the lot.
Tinted windows hid the pickup driver. The truck had a metal pole on its roof, bent lower by a tie-down attached to the front bumper. The pole had shattered the SUV’s rear passenger window.
Steel swore. “Harry?”
“We’re okay.” Harry’s voice sounded stressed.
More rifle shots came from the shadows across the street, hitting the front driver’s side window of the SUV. Steel’s chest tightened over the possibility of Christie dying here.
“Christie!” Stopping, he aimed his Glock at the trees across the street, not seeing a target. The man with the rifle had to be hiding in the shadows. He hesitated to fire blindly in case there were pedestrians beyond the trees. “Christie!”
“I’m good.” She sounded calm.
“Stay in the vehicle! Get out of here!” Keeping his gun up and watching the trees, Steel stepped sideways toward the SUV, and froze.
The white pickup had backed up five feet. But a short man wearing a black hood was standing next to Harry’s smashed-in window, holding something inside the SUV.
Steel swung around to fire but checked his trigger finger upon hearing the man’s voice on their coms; “I have a bomb. If my finger comes off the trigger, we all die. Coms, phones, and guns on the back seat.”
Harry’s voice burst through Steel’s earpiece. “Don’t shoot, Jack! Don’t come any closer!”
Steel gripped the Glock, glancing back across the street. No shooter. He heard the man with the bomb say, “Get into the back of the pickup, Harry. Now!”
The rear passenger door opened and Harry got out. He walked past the hooded man to the rear of the pickup, where he climbed into the truck’s cargo bed. Someone shut the tailgate. In moments the truck took off
down the street.
The man at Harry’s door had already entered the back seat of the SUV and shut the door.
“Harry!” Panicked that he had been too passive, Steel expected the SUV to take off. He sprinted for the vehicle, while the pickup sped away with Harry.
The white pickup took a right at the far corner, heading north. Expecting the SUV to take off too, Steel was surprised when it didn’t move.
Reaching the rear door, he shoved his Glock inside the corner of the broken window, relieved to see Christie and Afia alive. Christie’s face was pale as she stared at the back seat. Afia sat rigidly. They both eyed the same thing.
On the seat next to Afia sat the short man, wearing jeans, a black hoodie, and a black face mask. The front of the man’s hoodie was unzipped, revealing a vest with two C-4 blocks fitted with detonators. Wires led from the detonators to a hand switch.
The man’s thumb kept the switch depressed.
If the man’s thumb released the switch, the bomb would go off.
CHAPTER 2
A phone rang.
Beside the man a burner phone lay among Harry’s and Christie’s guns, smartphones, earpieces, and throat mikes.
“It’s for you.” The man with the bomb had a Latino accent and sounded young. The mask hid everything except his eyes and mouth.
Steel reached in and picked it up, answering it. “What do you want?”
“Put the phone on speaker and keep it on speaker.”
Steel complied. The caller had a Colombian accent, but he didn’t recognize the voice.
“Drop your gun, personal phone, and coms in the back seat, and get in the front. Tell Christie to drive away. If the police stop you before you leave Boulder, my friend detonates the explosives and we kill Harry. Take highway ninety-three south to six west, into the mountains. We’re all ready to die if you don’t obey.”
The caller hung up. The man’s accent seemed at odds with Muslim radicals trying to kill Afia. Steel guessed the caller was in his fifties. Possibly the man with the rifle he had spotted across the street.
Wary, Steel set his gun, earpiece, throat mike, and phone on the back seat, and got into the front.
Christie quickly drove away. She glanced at Steel, her hair in disarray like her black pant suit and white blouse. Her green eyes were steady though.