“Do it,” Logan said to John.
Jonathan Sommers felt a small pinch in the side of his neck, and his world went black.
Logan looked down at the president’s national security advisor.
“Let’s get this piece of shit out of here. You two and Amira get him back to the office.”
Amira was positioned in an SUV around the corner of the brownstone, waiting for their call. They’d take him out the back of the house into the alleyway, where the SUV would meet them. The camera system that covered the alleyway for the residents had been temporarily disabled.
“I’m going to take a walk around the block to ensure no one saw or heard anything. Once I’m certain we’re in the clear, I’ll get the other SUV and meet you there.” Logan’s SUV, a new black Ford Explorer registered to a fake corporation that was untraceable, was parked several blocks away on Wisconsin Avenue.
“It’s going to be a long few days,” Logan said. “Let’s get the show on the road.”
John and Cole reached down and grabbed the unconscious man as Logan sent Amira a text. They were on the clock. Their workday had begun.
CHAPTER 59
Logan punched in the alarm code, looked around one last time, and walked out the back door. All three of them had swept the lower level of the brownstone to make sure everything was back to the way they’d found it.
They’d entered the place two hours earlier and searched the entire residence, looking for any evidence of Sommers’s treachery. They’d taken his laptop and the contents of a safe he’d had installed in his library. The work had been done by the same security company that had installed his alarm system, which made it that much easier to crack.
A new perk of Ares was that the FBI had ways of requesting information, such as alarm and safe codes, so that the subject never discovered the request. Terrorism and espionage were still nice buzzwords that went a long way in certain sectors associated with the government.
The door clicked shut. He locked it and walked down the alleyway. Nothing stirred. He faintly heard traffic several blocks away on Wisconsin Avenue, but all was quiet in this suburban oasis in the heart of Georgetown.
He walked for thirty minutes, varying his routes up and down the neighborhood’s sidewalks, and stopped to listen for the sound of footsteps just in case someone had followed him.
Confident he was alone, he worked his way up to P Street and cut across the intersection of P and Thirty-First. As he headed toward his SUV, he inserted a pair of earbuds under the black wool hat pulled down to his eyes. He took out his cell phone, found what he was looking for, and hit play.
His ears were assaulted by the loud rushing of wind. He heard two distinct coughs, followed by Mike Benson’s voice from beyond the grave.
“Brother, I don’t have much time. I know you’ll get all the details later. So it doesn’t matter how it happened. I’m dying, and I know it.”
Logan squeezed his eyes shut. The acceptance in Mike’s voice hit him hard each time he listened to his friend’s final message. The courage he had to accept his fate in his last moments and the fact that he chose to call him of all people with the little time he had left—it was almost too much for him to bear.
“You and I have known each other for a long time. We’re family, and I love you.”
Mike had paused briefly, the raw emotion affecting him at the end of his life. Another wave of loss pummeled Logan.
“When you’re back—and I know you’ll make it back; I think you’re impossible to kill—you need to talk to my uncle. He’ll tell you everything we know. More importantly, he’s going to need you. In fact, this country is going to need you, just like it did two years ago. You and John are the most formidable men I’ve had the honor of knowing, and you need to find out who’s behind all of this because I believe it’s only going to get worse. I have faith in you, brother.”
Each word slashed another wound deep in Logan’s soul. The pure fury he felt that one of his closest friends, his brother, had been taken so soon was unthinkable. He braced himself for the last part of the message.
“Before I leave this mortal coil, Logan, I need you to promise me something when this thing’s over—don’t lose yourself in the hatred and the violence.”
Mike’s voice paused, and Logan smiled, not at the words but at the fact that Mike had known him so well and had understood who he was.
“You do what you have to do. God help those who stand in your way. The anger you’re feeling, the physical thirst for vengeance you seek, use it. You find this threat to our way of life and eliminate it with extreme prejudice.”
There was not one iota of doubt in Logan’s being that he’d do exactly that—eliminate the threat. That was one promise to Mike he intended to keep at all costs.
“But here’s the thing, brother. When it’s done, when it’s truly done, you need to go back to Sarah and make some kind of life for yourself.” Mike laughed oddly. “Not some normal life. I know that’s not possible for you. You weren’t meant for that. But some kind of life that you can share with Sarah. You need her, and she loves you. She can help keep the darkness at bay. Don’t let the evil and the monsters in this world turn you into something you’re not. You’re a good man, Logan West. Don’t ever forget it,” Mike said forcefully, and then coughed. “You owe it to yourself.”
There wasn’t much more, and it was as painful this time as it’d been the last twenty.
“I think I’m short on time, brother. I’ve said what I needed to say. Give my love to John and Sarah. I think I’m going to just sit here awhile. You should see this place. I’ve got a magnificent view.” There was a long pause, and Logan heard Mike take a deep breath. “I love you, Logan. I’ll see you on the other side.”
Logan listened as he heard Mike set the phone down. The rushing wind subsided, followed by a low, rumbling echo. Thirty seconds later, there was the sound of footsteps, and he heard a female voice, but it wasn’t discernible with the background noise. He knew the voice had to belong to Special Agent Marcus. She’d found Mike, and he wanted—no, needed—to talk to her. And then the call went dead.
He stopped walking for a moment to clear the noise in his head. He was on Wisconsin Avenue, only a block from his SUV. The lamplights flickered, his wet eyes creating a halo effect around each one.
He removed the earbuds, and the normal nighttime sounds of Northwest DC assaulted him. The traffic, pedestrians with their own destinations, the cab drivers mingling on the other side of the street, working the night to earn a living—it was a melting pot of humanity engaged in its normal routines.
Logan smiled, the mundane activities encouraging him and hardening his steel resolve. It was his duty, his responsibility, to protect them.
The SUV was parked near a streetlamp that had blown out—with the assistance of a well-aimed rock Logan had thrown the previous day.
What he knew that none of those people did was a simple, fundamental truth—the US was at war. It was a fact, and one that he’d remember every waking moment until it was over. The first blows had landed, and now it was time to respond, swiftly and decisively. A message needed to be sent, one that would be perfectly clear to their enemy.
It’s our turn now, Logan thought, and stepped into the shadows.
EPILOGUE
ASSOCIATED PRESS—The White House was stunned at the sudden death of National Security Advisor Jonathan Sommers yesterday. His body was found in the underbrush along the running trail in the Georgetown Waterfront Park. Investigators revealed that Mr. Sommers had been shot twice at close range, and his body had signs of a struggle, indicating he’d fought his attacker or attackers. Mr. Sommers was a prolific runner, and the trail along the Potomac where he was found had reported several attempted muggings in recent weeks.
DC Police Commissioner Albert Paulson said, “At this time, we believe this was a random crime, a robbery that went horribly wrong. We continue to pursue all avenues of investigation, and we are in constant contact with
the White House. We are all shocked at this violence, and we will work tirelessly to bring the perpetrator or perpetrators to justice.”
———
REUTERS—Citizens in the southern states of Sudan unanimously voted for independence from northern Sudan in the country’s first-ever referendum. With 99 percent of the voters in each state voting for independence, it was a landslide victory for a people who have suffered through decades of war and religious and ethnic strife.
Although many struggles remain and fighting along the border with the north is a constant threat, the discovery of the largest oil reserve in the world will help financially. As of this publication, China still retained solitary rights to the oil reserve, but it remains in negotiations with both the north and the south in order to create an environment of peace and prosperity.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Dear Reader,
Oath of Honor was a different kind of runaway train compared to Overwatch, which served as an origin story for Logan, John, and Mike (RIP). It’s my obligation to be up front with you, since without you, there is no world of Logan West. So here it is—with this novel, my intent was to prep the fictional battlespace for what’s to come. And as with all good story arcs, things will get darker before any type of resolution begins to take shape in the murky global conflict occurring both inside and outside the international walls of power. I have a five-book story initially planned, with each book moving the overall story further but also serving as a self-contained novel. I hope you enjoyed this ride, as it is exactly what I intend to deliver each and every time. I owe it to you, and you should demand it of me. Enough said.
Now on to the other important point—thanking all those without whom this novel would not be what it is. First, to Megan Reid, my excellent editor, who has a discerning eye that keeps the story tight and on point, a huge thank you. Though we may disagree from time to time, your input and ability to withstand my creative onslaughts are critical to the success of the Logan West thrillers.
Second, to Team West at Emily Bestler Books and Atria, which includes my publicist David Brown; Hillary Tisman, associate marketing director; Emily Bestler; and the rest of the folks behind the scenes, thank you for the countless hours of planning, preparation, and coordination that contribute to the entire effort.
Third, to my agent Will Roberts at The Gernert Company, thank you for letting me vent and serving as a sanity check when I go off the tracks. You manage to bring me back from the edge of my own idiocy.
Finally, to my wife, who has a much harder job than I—raising our children while I play in Logan West’s fictitious landscape—thank you for the steadfast support, for putting my eccentricities in check when needed, and for ensuring that the household is fully functional on a daily basis. (The kids thank you, too.) I would not be here without you.
To all, so long for now and until the next time . . .
MATTHEW BETLEY is a former Marine officer of ten years. His experience includes deployments to Djibouti after September 11, and Iraq prior to the surge. A New Jersey native who considers Cincinnati home, he graduated from Miami University in Oxford, Ohio, with a B.A. in psychology and minors in political science and sociology.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Matthew Betley
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ISBN 978-1-4767-9928-5 (ebook)
Oath of Honor Page 35