Pushed to the Edge (SEAL Team 14)

by Mathis, Loren

  Much to his dismay and disbelief, he was now a man on the brink of losing everything important to him. He’d made one miserable choice after another, one wrong turn after another, all in the name of advancing his financial footprint and maintaining his legacy. Richard had failed to scrutinize his business dealings and associates at the outset. And now he was paying for it.

  Fatigued, his shoulders slumped over the paperwork as he sat at his office desk and reviewed his company’s agreements with Nava Drug Corp, Inc. for the hundredth time. The management of the Henning Cooper Company had signed the cursed contract two years ago.

  At the time of its signing, the contract had been one of the most profitable for his company. Even though Richard was technically retired from the management of the company, he still owned a very significant portion of the shares. The new CEO Roger Cohen didn’t make so much as a move to buy more toilet paper for the offices without Richard knowing about it.

  Since 2010, Nava Drug Corp had shipped close to 100 tons of medical products from Russia. It had all seemed good at first. They had been reaping the benefits of a ten million dollar contract—so he and the other primary investors (former business partners) hadn’t asked too many questions. Clearly, they should have.

  A few months prior to his kidnapping, one of the dock workers at his Galveston, TX port had noticed that the items listed on the shipment intake list for Nava Drug Corp did not match up with what was actually in the containers.

  The dockworker had gone immediately to Richard, bypassing other management. Richard had paid the dockworker well in advance to adhere to this “bypass method.” Richard had wanted to know everything that went on with his ships—even if he wasn’t in an official management position with the company anymore.

  Now he was wishing that he’d never looked into the matter further. It was a mess, this whole situation. And he wasn’t sure how to get out of it. He wasn’t even sure if getting out of “it” was even an option at this point.

  Shortly after his return to the United States, he’d called an urgent meeting with his business partner, Walker Cooper. He’d known Cooper for decades, having met back in college. They were both fraternity brothers in Alpha Tau Omega. Cooper had indicated that he’d spoken to his legal team and was already preparing to “extricate” himself from the company. Yes, he’d actually used the word extricate.

  As if it things were that fucking simple. As they say, some bells just couldn’t be un-rung. Cooper knew just as well as he did what was in those cargo ships coming from Russia. The whole situation may have turned out differently if they had gone to the police immediately with their discovery. At the time though, inaction had seemed to be the best course of action.

  After all, Richard was a former United States Congressman for God’s sake. Even the slightest whiff of a scandal could ruin any attempt to make a return bid for office again. Therefore, at the time it had seemed prudent to not alert the authorities and try to cancel the contract with Nava Drug Corp.

  Riiiiiiinnnnnnnggg.

  He glanced at his Caller ID. It was Cooper. Again.

  “Henning here,” he answered.

  “I got a call today,” Cooper replied. Richard could tell by the unevenness in Cooper’s voice that his business partner was stressed.

  “Who was it?”

  “Who the hell do you think it was? Someone shot Robert Ramirez dead in his rundown apartment in Galveston last weekend. The authorities are thinking that it was an attempted robbery turned murder. This shit is spinning completely out of control, Richard! I want out,” Cooper raged.

  Robert Ramirez was the dockworker who had alerted Richard to the discrepancies in the shipping packages from Nava Drug Corp. And now he was dead. Yeah, that was too much of a coincidence.

  Richard laughed at Cooper’s last remark. “Join the fucking club. You don’t think that I want out too? What do you suggest we do? Do you suggest that we go to the cops and tell them that ‘Hey, by the way, a year ago we found something we weren’t supposed to find in one of the cargo containers sent to the U.S. by one of our foreign customers. We decided not go to the authorities then. Of course, we took an additional fee in the process to keep their secret. But now we are compelled to fess up because we’re being threatened and need your help, pretty please.’”

  Cooper was silent for a moment, taking in Richard’s sarcasm.

  “As a former U.S. Congressman, any future political career that I may have had will be over,” Richard continued his barrage. “And make no mistake about this Cooper—both of us will lose the fortunes that we spent lifetimes to build up. Our families will be destroyed. Our reputations will be ruined. Not to mention that we’re facing real prison time here. I’m not talking about receiving a bullshit slap on the wrist like some Martha Stewart sentence of a few years plus probation. I’m talking about real hard time, at least two decades behind bars. And in a federal prison, mind you. And those will be the best outcomes that we could hope for. We could still very easily wind up with bullets through our brains.”

  “Maybe we can secure a plea deal for ourselves. Maybe if we cooperate with federal prosecutors then we might just get off with probation. We have never been in trouble with the law before,” Cooper said, a slight shrill to his voice.

  “You cannot possibly be serious. By ‘cooperate’ do you mean to testify against Nava Drug Corp and their associates? You must really have a death wish Cooper. And besides, the current United States Attorney General, Derrick Ford, would love to make an example out of us to show that he’s tough on crime, no matter who is involved.”

  Cooper blew out a frustrated breath. “Well, we have to do something. I’ve lost twenty pounds over the past few months. I can’t sleep. My wife thinks I’m having an affair.”

  “Look, if you are actually serious about testifying in open court, your insomnia and wife problems will be the very least of your worries. These men are very dangerous, and they aren’t messing around. Look, probably our best bet is just to wait things out. The shipping contract and bill of lading between our company and Nava Drug Corp finishes at the end of the year. Given the difficulties that we’ve had, they won’t try to renew it. Even if this eventually comes out in the press in a few years, we will be in a much better position to argue that we didn’t know the unsavory characters that we were dealing with. Or their motives.”

  “But what about the phone calls?”

  “Use your head Cooper. There’s only one other person that knows about the contract. That’s Mickelson. It’s probably just him fucking around with us, for cutting him out of the business. We can probably just throw a few dollars his way for him to keep his mouth zipped.”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like something Walt would do,” Cooper replied.

  “Listen, just grow a pair, and keep your damn mouth shut. Let me handle things,” Richard snarled, slamming down the phone. If anyone were going to go to the police, it would be him. Richard had no qualms at all about throwing his old friend and business partner under the bus if he could save his own skin. He just had to make sure that if he did go to the FBI that all his bases were covered first. He didn’t want to be thrown under the bus with Cooper when their unholy partnership saw the light of day.

  Chapter Seven

  T

  eam Fourteen Commander Mark Dewitt parked his navy blue Ford F-150 in the driveway of his home. His truck was his “baby.” His truck had been one of the only pieces of personal property that he had obtained during his illfated marriage that had escaped unscathed. He had taken a huge financial hit in his divorce from his first wife, Deborah, but he’d been able to save up enough money for a down payment on this home.

  He had lucked out after the housing crisis and had purchased his home at a foreclosure sale. The four-bedroom, Mediterranean-styled house was almost fifteen years old. The house had a classic white stucco exterior topped with dark red, terra cotta roof tiles.

  His home sat on a one-acre lot and covered two floors. At 2500 squ
are feet, it was quite a bit larger than the former house that he shared with his ex-wife. It was located at the end of a cul de sac in a residential community within Coronado. Due to Mark’s busy schedule and recent deployments, he hadn’t yet gotten around to completely furnishing all of the rooms. Only the living room, kitchen, and master bedroom were fully completed.

  Given that Mark was an alpha male to the core, he had chosen black leather chairs in the living room, a 60-inch flat screen television, and a billiards table. He also had put a weight machine and treadmill in his garage. Other than a few intermittent paintings throughout, the rest of his home was a blank slate.

  Mark got out of the truck and walked up the steps to his home. The front porch light to his house was on, which wasn’t surprising given that he had set the electronic timer himself. He had scheduled the timer to switch the front porch lights on after nine p.m., but to leave the interior lights off, unless he was inside the home.

  Mark had had a long day, and he was in desperate need of a hot shower followed by about twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep. Though his first wish was doable, the second didn’t have a chance in hell of coming to fruition—it was close to ten o’clock p.m. and he had to be up by five o’clock the next morning.

  His goal for tomorrow was to try to run down some more leads on the Haqqai group. He had called in a few favors from deep inside the intelligence world, but he hadn’t yet heard any responses back to his inquiries.

  Someone was in his house. Mark Dewitt could sense a presence in his living room upon entering, even before turning on the living room lights. He didn’t call out or ask who was there because no one was supposed to be there. His ex-wife had long left his ass, so they no longer shared a home together. He didn’t have a maid. He didn’t have any children. He didn’t even have a dog. Whoever was in his house had entered the hard way—by breaking in.

  He walked a few more paces into the room and stopped almost in the center of the living space. The other person didn’t make a sound in the pitch-black darkness of the room. The air was so quiet and still that Mark nearly thought he was imagining things. However, by the way that the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end, his instincts told him that someone was definitely in the room with him.

  And then his ears registered the faintest of movements coming off his right side, it was almost imperceptible. Almost. Mark shot out a strong, muscular arm to the right, and he hit pay dirt.

  His hand grabbed hold of a shockingly thin arm. Mark wasn’t deceived, though. He’d personally known plenty of men whose height and weight misleadingly hid how lethal they were. The other man’s hand shot out in an attempt to grab Mark by the throat. The fight was on.

  His opponent’s fists pushed out in a flurry. Jab. Jab. Left hook. Jab. Jab. Mark took two solid hits to his face, and then blocked another lightning fast secession of punches.

  Relying on the considerable skills that he had learned as a lifelong student of muay thai and jiu jitsu, Mark returned a brutal sequence of punches. The other man deftly blocked, expertly moved to avoid some of the blows, and followed up with a side kick to Mark’s right shoulder and another jab to his face. Mark shifted his lower body just in time to avoid what would have been a punishing knee to his groin.

  That’s it. Mark was pissed. He was finished playing around with this asshole. Mark took his attacker to the ground with a front-punch armbar and then, while holding the attacker down with his muscular legs, brought up his preferred weapon, a Smith & Wesson M&P 40, aiming it right at the motherfucker’s temple.

  “If you want to continue breathing past the next few seconds, you better not fucking move,” Mark growled. For a few tense moments, the only sounds in the room were the harsh sounds of ragged, gasping breaths. His attacker was panting just as heavily as he was, and had likewise pulled a pistol up that was aimed directly at Mark’s head.

  If this guy moved an inch, Mark would not hesitate to pull the trigger. Forcing himself to calm down, Mark looked down at the other man’s face. And to his surprise, he wasn’t holding down a male attacker at all.

  The sliver of moonlight shining in from an open side window fell onto the two people struggling on the floor. A distinctly feminine face was staring back at him.

  “Well if this doesn’t bring back old memories. With you on top and all. It’s good to see that you are keeping yourself in such excellent physical condition, Mark.”

  Son of a bitch. If it wasn’t Ericka Vega. Well, at least that is what she was calling herself when he last saw her. He wasn’t sure what name she was going by these days. Her hair was longer now than when he had last seen her, but it was definitely her.

  Mark’s ability accurately read the temperaments and to recognize the different personality types of other people were a crucial part of his job. In many cases, his life and the lives of the men that he led depended on it. But he couldn’t figure this woman out. She remained a fucking enigma to him. Even after all these years, he still didn’t know her real given name. Hell, after all the time she’d spent deep undercover it would surprise him if she even remembered her given name.

  “Christ! What the fuck is wrong with you?” he yelled. “Why the hell are you in my house? Are you completely out of your mind? I could have killed you!”

  Mark was beyond agitated, but he tried to rein in his temper. He hesitated for a moment and then he got up off her. He stood up and turned on the nearest light switch, which suddenly illuminated the living room and foyer.

  He watched Ericka push herself up off his hardwood floor. She then secured her SIG Sauer Rosewood P238 in the back holster at the waistband of her jeans. His gaze honed in on Ericka’s face. A bruise already forming underneath her right eye.

  Damnit. There was no telling how many other bruises he’d given her in their struggle.

  Mark felt something wet trickling down his face, and he gingerly touched his hand to his nose. His fingers came away smeared with red. Great. He was bleeding slightly, but at least his nose wasn’t broken. Well, at least he didn’t think it was broken.

  Ericka’s sudden burst of laughter obliterated the silence in the room. “That will be the day, that I let an old sailor get the best of me. Let’s get real Mark. You know that I am extremely good at what I do. Besides you called me, or have you forgotten?”

  As much as Mark hated to admit it, Ericka was correct on both accounts. She was very good at what she did and he had called her. He’d taken the liberty to cash in one of the many favors that she owed him—he had saved her life a couple of times while they were both stationed in Africa. Given the nature of her work, he had figured that if anyone could get quick intel on the Haqqai network, she would be able to.

  Despite Ericka’s considerable skills in the area of covert operations and counterintelligence, Mark had really hated having to contact her. Hell, he’d spent weeks trying to tap into other information sources, just so that he wouldn’t have to contact her.

  But in the end, he’d been between a rock and a hard place. And he had chosen the rock. They were quickly running out of time to get more information on the Haqqai network and to stop the dissemination of a bio-weapon on U.S. soil.

  Mark had always felt more than a little bit off balance whenever Ericka was around. But she did happen to be one of the best data analysts or “code breakers” that the Special Ops world had produced. And as it were, he was in no position to let previous personal relationships cloud his judgment and prevent him from obtaining critical information.

  She had been hard as hell to find. It had taken him weeks to track her down. He’d only lucked out in getting word to her because he had some deep connections in the intelligence community himself.

  Tonight, she was wearing a black top, black jeans, and black knee-high boots. She was a pretty woman. No doubt about it. She had long chestnut brown hair with an undercurrent of red running through it and piercing dark brown eyes. His father had called her type of eyes bedroom eyes. His mother had thoroughly warned him against
women like her.

  The combination of those eyes and her insanely toned body made her a woman that many men no doubt lusted after. Hell, he sure had lusted after her. He figured she had to be in her late twenties or early-thirties by now. Mark had first met her on a mission that he had been assigned to in Mali. That was four years ago, and she had gone by a different name then, of course.

  He’d made the serious mistake of letting his hormones get in the way of his common sense. They’d had a hot and passionate affair—albeit a short-lived one—while he had still been married. He had previously prided himself on adherence to his strict personal moral code. And he had failed miserably.

  The sad truth was that Mark had still been in love with his wife during his affair with Ericka. At the time, he had tried to reconcile his indiscretion as a momentary lapse of judgment brought on by his multiple and extended deployments to Afghanistan and Iraq. But regardless of his motivations, his affair with Ericka had been an extreme personal failing.

  Now he was four years older than when he’d first met Ericka. He was also four years wiser—at least he’d like to think so. He figured that he was a decent looking guy for a forty-six-year-old. He still had a head full of brown hair. Thanks to being in the military, he managed to stay in excellent shape for a man his age. But he wasn’t going to kid himself. He knew that Ericka had not been attracted to him because he was a Tom Cruise look alike.

  He could tell that this woman had a serious fetish for men who were in positions of power. And he had always had a thing for sexy, strong-minded women. Ericka definitely fit that description to the letter. The only truly good thing about Ericka, however, was that she wasn’t one that played for keeps in the romance department.

  In her line of work, Mark surmised that Ericka didn’t have time for any kind of real relationships, let alone romantic entanglements. However, his wife of ten years had figured out that he had cheated, even though she could never figure out with whom. She’d divorced him two years ago.