Counter Terror (A Jake Adams International Espionage Thriller Series Book 13)

by Trevor Scott

  Four hours later, Jake had heard the first whining from his daughter. But their babysitter was still on the job. He rolled over in bed and kissed Alexandra on the nape of her neck.

  “Go back to sleep,” she mumbled.

  “I don’t want that.”

  “You always want that.”

  She rolled over and her right breast almost slapped him across the face.

  “It doesn’t help that you sleep in the nude,” he said.

  “I could switch to flannel.”

  “Let’s not go crazy, Alexandra.” His eyes settled on her bare breasts.

  “You’re telling me you don’t want to make sex?”

  “I mean, I would take one for the team. But that’s not why I’m awake.”

  “I feel something hard.”

  “Sorry, that’s my gun.”

  “I know what you call it.”

  “No, I mean, this is my actual gun. My Glock.” He retrieved his gun and showed her. “Sorry. It must have slipped from under the pillow.”

  “Sure.” Alexandra frowned. “All right. Now you’ve got me all worked up. Take me hard and fast and let me shower.” She reached down and found his willing erection. “I knew it.” Without saying another word, she climbed up and took him all at once, riding him like he was a bronco. When she was done, she dismounted perfectly and walked to the en suite bathroom. With a heavy workout of running and martial arts training, she had already lost all of the weight from giving birth six months ago.

  “I’ll make you a cappuccino,” he said.

  She waved her hand at him as she stepped into the shower. He felt so cheap. Satisfied, but cheap.

  He got dressed and wandered out into the kitchen. Their babysitter held their daughter, Emma, feeding her a bottle of formula in a rocker in the adjoining living room.

  Jake waved at Monica, who smiled and nodded back. While he made a cappuccino, he considered their good fortune having Monica watch their baby. She was Alexandra’s second cousin and a retired German Polizei officer. Monica had raised three girls of her own, but they were all out of the house with families of their own. When Alexandra asked her if she wanted to come to sunny Italy for a while to help with Emma, it didn’t take much convincing. She had divorced her husband a decade ago, and finally felt useful again. Some would see her short gray hair and stocky build and immediately think lesbian. But that wasn’t the case. Monica had kept her hair that way since her first year as a Polizei officer, when some dirtbag grabbed her long hair and swung her around like a ragdoll. She would never let that happen again.

  Steaming the milk, Jake completed his cappuccino and started a second one for Alexandra. He knew she would be in the shower for a while, though.

  “You got in late,” Monica said, her English quite good and getting better. They had decided to teach Emma English, German and Italian simultaneously.

  He finished Alexandra’s cappuccino and let it sit on the counter. “Sorry about that. Did we wake you?” Jake rounded the island and stooped down for a better look at his little angel.

  “I had my Walther out before you came through the front gate,” she said. “You have better security than our military in Germany.”

  “That’s where I learned my trade,” he said, and then drank most of his cappuccino.

  “How was Rome?”

  “Boring. You’ve seen one two thousand year old building, why look at another?”

  Alexandra came out of the bedroom and found her cappuccino. She took a sip and then glanced at Jake. “What? No special leaf or clover or something cool?”

  Jake shrugged. “I get less creative with four or five hours of sleep.”

  “You could have slept in,” Monica said. “I’m fine with Emma. She’s a sweetheart.”

  Alexandra came in and kneeled down, kissing her daughter on the forehead. “Yes, she is.” Then she glanced at her cousin. “Did he tell you he almost got us killed last night?”

  Monica looked concerned. “No.”

  “She’s exaggerating,” Jake said.

  “I am not. Three men. Four with the driver. Tried to blow our heads off.”

  “I was more concerned about your driving,” Jake said. “Have her tell you about smashing the car through an intersection.”

  “Not the Alfa,” Monica said.

  Alexandra shook her head. “No. It was a borrowed car. And it was barely scratched.”

  Jake heard his phone buzz, so he finished off his cappuccino and found his phone. Very few people had his number. Other than those in this room, that included just his son Karl, his old CIA friend Kurt Jenkins, and the billionaire Carlos Gomez. He checked the text and saw that it was the latter.

  Glancing back at Alexandra, Jake said, “Carlos heard about our Roman adventure.”

  “Is he still in the Tropea harbor?” Alexandra asked.

  Carlos Gomez spent about ninety percent of his time cruising around the Mediterranean in his massive yacht. Some thought he was afraid to fly, but Jake knew that wasn’t the case. The man just loved the sea. And tax shelters.

  “I’m guessing so,” Jake said, texting back to his friend and benefactor. A few years ago Jake had taken a job with the billionaire to secure the release of his nephew and a number of other medical relief workers taken hostage by a radical Muslim terrorist group in Morocco. Since then Jake had done a few more missions. One in the Baltics had gotten him shot in the gut for his efforts. But the man paid well and seemed to be concerned with righteous causes. So, the risk was worth the benefits. His daughter Emma would have anything she wanted from life.

  A second later and he got a text from Carlos.

  “He’s still here,” Jake said. “Wants us to do lunch on his yacht at noon.”

  “Sounds lovely,” Alexandra said. “Have fun.”

  “He specifically said he’d like to meet you. Something about meeting the crazy German who drives like a maniac.”

  “He did not.” She grabbed for Jake’s phone.

  Jake shrugged. “It was implied.” He smiled and added, “Any way I can get you to clean my gun from last night while I take a run?”

  “I’ll do that,” Monica chimed in. “So Alexandra can spend some time with Emma.”

  They all agreed nonverbally. Jake wasn’t a huge runner, but since his last bullet injury he felt the need to get in better shape. He was normally inclined to spend most of his exercise time in the weight room or perfecting his martial arts, beating the crap out of various bags. He had also helped Alexandra get back into fighting shape following her pregnancy. She was always a great fighter, but in the past six months her training seemed to take on a new vigor.

  Once Jake ran over 5K down the shore, and then worked out in the gym, he showered and was ready for his meeting with Carlos Gomez. Despite having worked for the man for a number of years, Carlos had never met Alexandra. Of course, usually their meetings had been in far off locations, and Alexandra had been preoccupied with her pregnancy.

  The two of them drove their old Fiat into Tropea, parking in a downtown open lot that was seemingly controlled by a fat Italian with food stains on his strained sports T-shirt. This was a free city parking lot, but there was always some low-life douche bag who wanted to make a buck off of tourists in Calabria. Although they were now considered locals, Jake guessed the guy saw Alexandra and guessed German tourist. She told the guy to fuck off in perfect Italian, but he was still reluctant to go away.

  Jake moved in close and whispered something into the fat man’s ear. The guy raised his brows and slowly backed away to a plastic chair he had set up under a tree.

  Jake and Alexandra walked down the cobblestone street toward a restaurant overlooking the beaches down the high cliff.

  “What did you say to the fat man?” Alexandra asked.

  “I simply said we were here to do lunch with Sergio Russo.”

  “Wow,” Alexandra said. “That man must have some pull around here. Then why did we have to meet him in Rome?”

  “Russo i
s the capo for all of Vibo. And I don’t know why we had to meet in Rome. You can ask him at lunch.”

  “He’ll be here?”

  “Apparently.”

  They got to the restaurant and pizzeria on the precipice of the cliff exactly at noon. Initially, they were stopped at the door until the Spaniard’s men recognized Jake. Then they tried on a smile and let them pass. Carlos Gomez sat at the best seat in the restaurant. To his left was the Malavita Captain, Sergio Russo. Both men respectfully rose to greet Alexandra with a kiss on both cheeks. Russo couldn’t keep his eyes off of her substantial breasts, which had not been in display the night before in Rome.

  All four of them took their seats.

  Jake said, “It looks like we have the place to ourselves.”

  Carlos smiled. He was an unassuming billionaire with a distinguished look, but who wore unpretentious clothing, blending in to nearly any setting. Today the man simply wore blue jeans and a black sweater. The only indicator of opulence was his expensive deck shoes and his Swiss watch. “This is one of my properties. We will not be disturbed. My chef will cook you anything, but I must say that there is fresh tuna from this morning.”

  Jake and Alexandra agreed to that. One could only eat so much pizza.

  They had Peroni beers all around while they waited for their meals.

  Carlos got right into it. “Rome was almost a disaster. But the two of you saved the day.”

  Jake looked at Russo and said, “Did you come up with how those people found us?”

  “There are always those below us who would like our job,” Russo said casually. Somehow the man’s English had improved overnight.

  “So, one of your men sold you out,” Jake surmised.

  Russo glanced at Carlos Gomez for a second and then back to Jake. “We suspected for a while. It was a test. And that’s why we met in Rome.”

  “I guess you’ve taken care of the man.”

  “Not exactly,” Russo said. “We can still use him for now.”

  Now Jake understood. This Malavita capo was as seasoned as an Agency officer. The guy obviously had street smarts, but also a strategic vision. “Where is he today?”

  “Vibo Marina. A large boat with nearly five hundred dirtbags aboard is coming ashore. They passed through the Straights of Messina last night. The Italian government wants to settle these people in Calabria. My man is making sure that doesn’t happen.”

  “How?” Alexandra asked.

  Russo smiled. “Since you are German, you might not understand.”

  “I have nothing to do with the German government,” Alexandra assured him.

  “I understand. But the German government doesn’t seem to get it. Until they do, and realize these people will simply become a burden to their society, then we will facilitate their transportation north. Italy cannot take all of these people. We don’t even have jobs for Italians. Especially here in Calabria.”

  Carlos broke in. “This is a major problem that needs a solution. And we will not solve it here over lunch.”

  Alexandra swore under her breath in German.

  “I understand German,” Carlos said. “I have a lot of businesses there. And I feel for you and your people. But until the German government gets a clue, this is a logical solution.”

  “Is this why you have asked for my help again?” Jake asked.

  Carlos shook his head. “No, no. This is an eventual threat, but there is a more imminent problem.”

  Before they could discuss that problem, their meals came—a tuna steak with fries. They ate in silence. Once they were done, Jake was the first to break in.

  “I’m a little confused, Carlos,” Jake said. “What exactly can I do to help you?”

  “Chatter, as they say, is very high. The authorities believe a strike is imminent in Rome. But. . .”

  “There’s always a but,” Jake said.

  “The government in Rome seems to think that Russo’s organization is the biggest threat,” Carlos said. “They have tunnel vision.”

  “It is partially our fault,” Russo said. “We have been successful in the past with. . .” He hesitated to find the right word. “Influence.”

  To them, Jake guessed, he meant assassination of political and business figures who got in the way of the Family.

  “I see,” Jake finally said. “And how can I help?”

  “Both of you,” Carlos said. “You both have contacts in the intelligence agencies. See which direction they might be taking. We need to make sure they see the trees in the forest.”

  Jake wasn’t sure if the Spaniard was using the proper idiom, but he got the gist of his reasoning. Carlos needed them to poke and prod their contacts to see where they were looking. The guy had been nothing if not dependably straight with him over their short relationship, so he had no reason to suspect anything else this time. But Jake also had a healthy respect for potential bullshit. Or, in the case of Carlos, it was always possible that the man had a profit motive.

  “What can we do to help?” Jake finally asked.

  Carlos Gomez was scant on details, as usual, but heavy on the goals.

  Then the billionaire said, “Russo will go back to Rome with you. The three of you will meet with a man who might know something about the plot against Italy.”

  “I wish you had told me this last night,” Jake said. “It would have saved me a long drive.”

  “I’m sorry about that, Jake,” Carlos said. “My jet was in Switzerland for routine maintenance. But it waits for you now at Lamezia Terme.”

  Jake had gotten a bit pampered traveling in the Spaniard’s private jet in the past couple of years. The benefits of that mode of travel were significant—including his ability to bring as many weapons as necessary without worrying about airport security.

  “All right,” Jake said. “When’s the meeting?”

  “This evening,” Carlos said.

  Searing his gaze into the Malavita Capo, Jake said, “I would hope that only you know about this meeting from your organization.”

  “This is true,” Russo said.

  “You’ll need to lose your security, then,” Jake said.

  “My security?”

  Jake pointed out four men set up at various locations outside of the restaurant, describing each in detail.

  Alexandra said, “And you’ll need to have one of your people talk to a fat man back at the city parking lot who tried to shake us down.”

  “As soon as we mentioned your name, he backed off,” Jake said.

  “He won’t bother you again,” Russo assured them.

  “No need to kill him or break his legs,” Alexandra said. “Just a talk.”

  “Of course.”

  After agreeing on a time to meet at the airport, Jake got up and shook both of their hands.

  Before they could leave, Carlos said, “There will be extra in your compensation this time. For the little girl.”

  Jake and Alexandra both thanked the billionaire and then drifted out to the street. Although it was sunny out, there was already a chill in the air, as if December was trying to creep in before its time.

  Neither of them said a word for a while, knowing they were being watched. Finally, Jake stopped and pulled Alexandra to him, kissing her quickly on the lips. Then, as he hugged her, he whispered into her ear. “Are you all right going along with this case?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? Have I not changed enough diapers?”

  He smiled and spanked her ass playfully. Then they wandered back to their Fiat.

  3

  Athens, Greece

  Elisa Murici sat at a small café in a western slum of the city, in an area of the capital that most tourists would never see. What had been nearly pure white buildings at some point, had been transformed into a dull charcoal and that canvas was riddled with enough graffiti to make her wonder who owned the spray paint distribution in the city. Whoever it was had to be rich, she guessed. The truth was, though, the graffiti might have been the only thing holding
some of the buildings up. And some of the artwork was stunning.

  She glanced at her cell phone as if checking her status on social media, but she was actually on her camera viewing the scene behind her. Her target lived across the street, but she had been scrutinized by a man who entered the café a few minutes ago. When she realized he was simply there for a quick coffee and could have merely been admiring her as a woman, she checked on her appearance. Although she was Italian, her hair was normally blonde compliments of her Czech mother, she had died it recently to black. But she couldn’t cover up her high cheek bones.

  Her phone suddenly buzzed and she saw the fake picture of her contact. She picked up, making sure not to speak too loudly here in Italian. She went through the standard niceties, as if she were simply talking with a sister or brother. But this was her boss at the Italian External Intelligence and Security Agency. Agenzia informazioni e sicurezza sterna or AISE, was responsible for state security outside of Italy, much like the CIA operated outside of America.

  “Si,” Elisa said into her phone.

  “We need a progress report,” her boss said.

  She checked her watch and realized she was a couple of hours late. “There’s nothing to report.”

  AISE had gotten chatter about a potential bomb maker living in this area of Athens. The man was a naturalized Greek citizen who had come to the city during the major immigration influx following the Iraq War. They suspected he had learned bomb building during that conflict and had become a free agent. Which is why Elisa was sitting on the man.

  “We got word that Zamir has booked passage on the Grimaldi Line ferry tonight at seventeen hundred, from Patras to Brindisi.”

  “How? He hasn’t left his apartment.”

  “He used his current disposable phone.”

  That was strange and out of character for this man, who had been extremely careful with his communications. The man bought a new phone almost daily.

  “That doesn’t seem strange to you?” she asked.