by Tim Tigner
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Half Title
Chapter 1 - FBI Counterterrorism Response Team Headquarters, Quantico, VA
Chapter 2 - Asgard Island, Chesapeake Bay
Chapter 3 - Tafriz, Iran
Chapter 4 - Airborne over the Turkish-Iranian Border
Chapter 5 - Asgard Island, Chesapeake Bay
Chapter 6 - Downtown Alexandria, Virginia
Chapter 7 - Tafriz, Iran
Chapter 8 - The Horus Club, Washington, D.C.
Chapter 9 - Alexandria, Virginia
Chapter 10 - Tafriz, Iran
Chapter 11 - FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C.
Chapter 12 - Alexandria, Virginia
Chapter 13 - Orumiyeh, Iran
Chapter 14 - PoliTalk Studio, Washington, D.C.
Chapter 15 - Alexandria, Virginia
Chapter 16 - Orumiyeh, Iran
Chapter 17 - Alexandria, Virginia
Chapter 18 - Alexandria, Virginia
Chapter 19 - Lake Maroo, Virginia
Chapter 20 - The Mall, Washington, D.C.
Chapter 21 - Alexandria, Virginia
Chapter 22 - Wilmington, Delaware
Chapter 23 - The Horus Club, Washington, D.C.
Chapter 24 - Alexandria, Virginia
Chapter 25 - Chesapeake Beach, Maryland
Chapter 26 - The White House
Chapter 27 - Annapolis, Maryland
Chapter 28 - Velveteen Beach, Florida
Chapter 29 - FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C.
Chapter 30 - Annapolis, Maryland
Chapter 31 - Chesapeake Beach, Maryland
Chapter 32 - The Horus Club, Washington, D.C.
Chapter 33 - Alexandria, Virginia
Chapter 34 - Chesapeake Beach, Maryland
Chapter 35 - Washington, D.C.
Chapter 36 - Annapolis, Maryland
Chapter 37 - Chesapeake Beach, Maryland
Chapter 38 - Washington, D.C.
Chapter 39 - Annapolis, Maryland
Chapter 40 - Baltimore, Maryland
Chapter 41 - Baltimore, Maryland
Chapter 42 - Chesapeake Beach, Maryland
Chapter 43 - Baltimore, Maryland
Chapter 44 - Washington, D.C.
Chapter 45 - Chesapeake Beach, Maryland
Chapter 46 - Baltimore, Maryland
Chapter 47 - The Grand Hyatt, Washington, D.C.
Chapter 48 - Asgard Island, Chesapeake Bay
Chapter 49 - Asgard Island, Chesapeake Bay
Chapter 50 - Asgard Island, Chesapeake Bay
Chapter 51 - Asgard Island, Chesapeake Bay
Chapter 52 - Asgard Island, Chesapeake Bay
Chapter 53 - Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport
Chapter 54 - Asgard Island, Chesapeake Bay
Chapter 55 - Asgard Island, Chesapeake Bay
Chapter 56 - The SS Norse Wind, Chesapeake Bay
Chapter 57 - Asgard Island, Chesapeake Bay
Chapter 58 - Chesapeake Bay
Chapter 59 - Near the New York City Cruise Terminal
Chapter 60 - Asgard Island, Chesapeake Bay
Chapter 61 - Asgard Island, Chesapeake Bay
Chapter 62 - Crisfield, Maryland
Chapter 63 - Asgard Island, Chesapeake Bay
Chapter 64 - The SS Queen Mary 2
Chapter 65 - The SS Queen Mary 2
Chapter 66 - Asgard Island, Chesapeake Bay
Chapter 67 - The SS Queen Mary 2
Chapter 68 - The SS Queen Mary 2
Chapter 69 - Asgard Island, Chesapeake Bay
Chapter 70 - The SS Queen Mary 2
Chapter 71 - The SS Queen Mary 2
Chapter 72 - Asgard Island, Chesapeake Bay
Chapter 73 - The SS Queen Mary 2
Chapter 74 - PoliTalk Studio, Washington, D.C.
Epilogue
Author's Note
Free Book Link
About the Author
BETRAYAL
TIM TIGNER
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Tim Tigner
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, please address Vontiv Publishing via vontiv.com
For more information on this novel or Tim Tigner’s other thrillers, please visit timtigner.com
This novel is dedicated to a man who never betrayed anyone, my father, my teacher, my friend, Professor Steven S. Tigner.
BETRAYAL
Also by Tim Tigner
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Chapter 1
FBI Counterterrorism Response Team Headquarters, Quantico, VA
SPECIAL AGENT ODYSSEUS Carr looked up at the graying tiles of his boss’s ceiling and began counting to ten. He almost made it to three. “What do you mean, I can’t brief my men? They’re putting their lives at risk, commander. Big risk. These aren’t stone-throwers you’re asking us to kill. These are the guys who took out the World Trade Center.”
Commander Potchak stood. He was a head shorter than Odi but built like a fireplug, and every bit as tough. “What’s your point?”
Odi leaned forward and rested predatory palms on the edge of Potchak’s metal desk. “My point, sir, is that we’re giving up a crucial advantage if we don’t rehearse. I want to give my men every available advantage. They deserve no less.”
Potchak did not twitch or blink. He just stared back cold and hard for a couple seconds and then said, “If you’re not up to it, Agent Carr, I’ll give Echo Team to Waslager. He’s been itching to go international. You can sit this one out—in isolation of course.”
Odi wanted to leap over the desk, grab his boss by the ears and put a knee through his smug face, but he knew that would not help his team. Instead he bit back his frustration and tried to suck it up like a good soldier. “That won’t be necessary, sir.”
Potchak turned and spat a thick river of tobacco juice into his trashcan, making Odi forget his own frustration for a moment to pity Jose the janitor. “Good,” Potchak said. “Now, if you’ll take your head just a little bit farther out of your ass and break this task down, you’ll see that I’m not ordering you to give anything up. The physics of the assault are the same whether it’s Hogan’s Alley or I-fucking-ran. A building is a building. A grenade is a grenade. Considering that you used to be the Bureau’s top Explosive-Ordnance-Disposal pro, you should know that. All you need to rehearse effectively are models of the buildings and the lie of the land. Both are at your disposal, so I don’t want to hear any more whining.”
Odi felt his stomach quiver with a pluck of doubt. He moderated his tone and reminded himself that Potchak was usually a reasonable man. “May I ask why, sir? Why the unusual level of secrecy? Surely you don’t think anyone on my team has links to al-Qaeda?”
“Oh Jesus, Carr. I’d have thought you’d understand that by now. Have you learned nothing about the way things really work these past two years? Counterterrorism is not a military matter; it’s politics. By limiting foreknowledge to the mission leader and myself, some politician feels that he’s protecting either his source or his ass. Probably both. I don’t know who the source is, or even the politician for that matter, but I’m damn sure that whoever reconned that complex risked his ass to do it. So I’m not without sympathy.”
Fighting back the urge to tell his boss wh
at he thought of that, Odi picked up the satellite map to busy his hands. The complex in question consisted of three old cinderblock buildings in Nowheresville, Iran. It would take each of his two-man teams less than two minutes to run their building’s perimeter, firing modified M441 high-explosive Rocket Propelled Grenades. In the dead of night, it probably would not matter that the complex was in Iran. The commander was right about that. But Potchak was making a big mistake. A bureaucrat’s mistake. The instant things deviated from plan—and things always deviated from plan—being in Iran would make all the difference. As a hardened field operative, Potchak knew that. This discrepancy bothered Odi, but he was not going to risk losing his team-leader slot over it. “What did this secret source say about sentries?”
Potchak spat again and then sat down, signaling a truce.
Odi followed suit.
“There are usually just two men armed with AKs. One guards the entrance to the central building; the other walks a perimeter patrol. You’ll have no problem taking them out with synchronized sniper shots. Use those shots as a starting gun, as your team’s cue to begin the assault runs.”
Odi nodded. “An eight-man team might make more sense than the standard seven. If you’ll loan me Johnson, he and I could do that synchronized sniping from polar perimeter positions and then provide cover while the teams make their assault runs.”
Potchak cracked a wry smile that warned Odi he would not like what came next. “You’ve got the right strategy, but the wrong man. You’re getting Waslager. He’ll be your second sniper … and your second in command.”
Odi felt resentment run down his spine like boiling oil, but he could not stand up and get in his boss’s face again. He had already played that card. He bit his tongue while taking a moment to analyze the situation. The core problem was that nobody on his team liked Waslager, or worse yet, trusted him. He was a self-serving loner and a politician. Odi knew that was exactly why the brass did like him. The question he should be asking, Odi realized, was: Why did they like Waslager on this mission?
He set that thought aside for later and latched onto a negotiation tactic. Since aggression was out, he would try to back-peddle. “On the other hand, if I wait to shoot until the path of the second guard passes the first, I could take them both out—probably with a single shot if I use high-velocity rounds. Then we would only need—”
“Forget it, Carr,” Potchak interrupted. “You’re getting Waslager.”
Chapter 2
Asgard Island, Chesapeake Bay
FBI DIRECTOR WILEY Proffitt set his wineglass down a little too quickly. A drop of blood red wine sloshed out onto the virgin white tablecloth, spreading with ominous portent. He was more nervous than he realized. He picked the glass back up and took another sip before locking his lover’s gaze. “How would you like to be First Lady?”
“Of the United States?”
“Um hum.” He grinned, feeling better already and enjoying the confused look that danced across Cassi Carr’s amber eyes.
She instantly picked up on his mirth and mirrored it. “Does the Director of the FBI know something about Anna Beth Carver that the rest of us mortals have yet to learn?”
“Actually, it’s Aaron Dish,” he said deadpan.
She leaned toward him conspiratorially. “The First Lady is having an affair with the Vice President?”
Wiley shook his head. For six months he had kept his earthshaking secret, neither hinting at the future that awaited them nor alluding to his secret pact. It felt great to share the big news with Cassi at last. He decided to start with the background, give her excitement time to build. “Dish has a health condition. He won’t be joining Carver on the reelection ticket.”
“I see,” Cassi said, clearly not believing him but apparently willing to play along. Her eyes twinkled. “So how does that make me First Lady?”
“It doesn’t,” he said, shaking his head as she feigned disappointment. “You’re going to have to wait five years for that. In the meantime, it makes you Second Lady—come a year from January anyway.”
Wiley saw a flash of confusion cross Cassi’s brow. She appeared unsure if he was being goofy or serious. “Dish really is sick? Carver really asked you to join him on the ticket?”
“Yes and no,” Wiley said. “Yes, Dish really is sick. And no, President Carver has not asked me to be his running mate—not yet. But he will.”
“Oh, and why is that?” She asked.
Wiley leaned forward so that his lips were an inch from Cassi’s ear. He paused there to inhale her sweet perfume before whispering the prophecy. She was wearing a new scent. “Because terrorism is going to top the American agenda.”
She pulled back, sobered by his words. Her parents, after all, had died on 9/11. “You really are expecting an attack?”
“I am. You know all those homeland-defense speeches I’ve been giving of late …?”
She nodded.
“They weren’t just typical keep-’em-scared politics.”
Cassi took a moment to chew on that one. He watched the gears spinning frantically behind her worried brow. “Maybe at one level they weren’t” she finally said, thinking out loud. “But nonetheless, it is because of those speeches that you think Carver will put you on the ticket. They were what earned you the Antiterrorist Czar epithet.”
Wiley raised his wine glass in a toast. “To your deductive powers.”
Cassi returned the gesture, but he could see that her mind was still focused on working through the implications of his revelation. When she looked up at him wide-eyed, he knew that the other shoe had dropped.
“I’ll be Second Lady?” She asked, her voice a choked whisper.
Wiley tried to smile but his lips would not move. He tried to nod but couldn’t. Panic gripped him like a cold iron glove. He could not move his head.
As he struggled, Cassi continued, blissfully unaware. “Are you asking me to marry you?”
Wiley realized that a cold hand was clamped over his mouth. He endured a second of complete disorientation and then he understood. His conversation with Cassi had been a dream. The intruder in their bed, and the icy palm clamped over his mouth, were real.
Wiley’s eyes bulged in horror as the dark shadow over him shifted in silence. A prickly lump filled his throat as a muscled arm drew back. Fully awake now, Wiley strained to pierce the darkness, searching for the glint of the knife that would complete the picture and end his life. All he saw were fuzzy shadows. Part of his mind latched onto the fact that Cassi was sleeping beside him. The need to warn and protect her surged within his chest, but the heavy quilt, the vise across his face, and the fear in his heart pinned him like Christ to the cross.
As he prepared to buck and lunge, the bedside lamp clicked on and Wiley recognized the intruder’s face. His tension drained. He should have guessed.
Wiley looked over at Cassi the instant the palm backed off of his mouth. She was sound asleep. At least she appeared to be …
“Halothane,” his visitor supplied, reading Wiley’s thoughts. “Like chloroform only safer.”
“And more aromatic,” Wiley mumbled to himself, recalling the perfume in his dream. Slowly, he returned his gaze to the midnight caller and voiced the obvious question with his eyes.
Stuart’s answer was matter-of-fact. “We need to talk.”
Stuart Slider was the invisible man. Compact, sinewy, and average of face. Every time they met he struck Wiley as unexpectedly small. He also enjoyed the annoying ability to appear and disappear at will. Or so it often seemed. Wiley was beginning to detest that trait.
“What the devil are you doing here in the middle of the night?” Wiley asked. “Do you need another hole in your head?”
Wiley had been secretly working with Stuart for six months now, but this was the first time that Stuart had set foot on his Chesapeake island home. Or, Wiley reflected, at least it was the first time that he knew about.
“We need to talk,” Stuart repeated. “Unseen, uninterru
pted, and alone.” He stood, canted his head toward the door, and said “Let’s go to your study. No sense giving Sleeping Beauty here bad dreams.” Without waiting for a reply, Stuart reached out and extinguished the bedside lamp.
Wiley followed obediently, more out of curiosity than any feeling of subservience. They walked down the plushly carpeted hall to the room at the end. The massive oak door to his soundproofed study was ajar. An eerie glow leaked out into the hall from the three-hundred-gallon aquarium within. The ghoulish atmosphere seemed to suit a halothane-assisted secret midnight rendezvous, so Wiley did not turn on the lights when they entered.
Sleepless fish cast darting shadows about the room as pale moonlight trickled in from the east. Wiley sought his favorite armchair, a black-leather recliner. As he sat he discovered a steaming Starbucks cup waiting on the end table beside his right arm. Unbelievable, he thought. Stuart had never been to his island home before, and yet there the cup was—a low-fat latte no doubt—just what he wanted, right where he wanted it.
Setting the creepiness factor aside, the latte was both a thoughtful and insightful gesture. Yet its primary effect was to fan Wiley’s flame. The invisible, unflappable Stuart Slider did not drink coffee or tea or cola. He did not smoke. He did not drink. Wiley was not entirely certain that he even slept. Yet he was always awake, alert, and controlled. What a bastard.
Wiley picked up the familiar cup, more irritated at himself for being weak than pleased to have his fix. It was still hot despite the trip from the mainland. Stuart must have planned even that detail in advance and packed a thermos. Meticulous and a bastard. Wiley took a sip, nodded a perfunctory thanks, and gave his guest a get-on-with-it look.
“Is it true what I’ve heard about this room?” Stuart asked.
Despite the latte, Wiley wanted to go back to bed. He wanted Stuart to get to the point and then get out. But he knew from experience that playing along would get him there faster than resisting. “What have you heard?”