Tracie closed her eyes and saw Shane sailing over the edge of the roof, his head twisting in what she wanted desperately to believe was one last look back at her. She saw the same scene whenever she closed her eyes and knew she would for a very long time. “Everyone wins,” she repeated, her stomach in knots. Then, “Are we finished here?”
Stallings stared at her without speaking. She opened her eyes and met his gaze straight on. “Everything I’ve just told you is classified,” he said. “If one word of it leaks out, I will make it my mission in life to see that you rot in prison, I don’t care if that old fool Reagan is protecting you. I don’t care if God himself is protecting you. Is that clear?”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Tracie said. She rose and walked to the door.
“We’ll expect you back on active duty as soon as the medical people give the go-ahead,” Stallings said to her back, his voice rising, rushing to get the words out before she left his office.
“I’ll let you know what I decide,” Tracie answered without turning. She bent and opened the door awkwardly, turning the knob with her right arm inside the sling, and continued through without another word.
53
June 8, 1987
11:00 a.m.
Shady Oaks Cemetery, Bangor, Maine
The day was bright and hot, a brisk wind helping to make the temperature almost bearable. Tracie stood on a shallow hillside dressed in a conservative business suit not unlike the one she had worn days ago atop the Minuteman Insurance Building in Washington, D.C. She tried to fan herself and failed miserably, her hands still mostly immobilized inside the slings. Smoked-black sunglasses covered her eyes.
Far across a field, a crowd of mourners had gathered to bury Shane Rowley. He had been part of a small family, just himself and his mother. He had never spoken to Tracie of his father, and the one time she asked about him, Shane had said bitterly that the man wasn’t worth wasting his breath on. Aside from Shane’s mother, who was easy to pick out, bent and broken by grief, there were probably a couple of dozen other people. Co-workers, neighbors, friends from high school.
The world had begun to move on following the initial firestorm of media fascination with Shane Rowley, the news cycles continuing their relentless, grinding pace even after just a few days. A small phalanx of television trucks and print reporters crowded the street just outside the gates of Shady Oaks Cemetery, and local police kept the media representatives a respectful distance from the proceedings. Shane’s mother had requested privacy and Tracie thought Shane would have appreciated that fact.
Tracie stood alone among small patches of overgrown grass in need of mowing, removed from the rest of the mourners despite having been invited to the service by Shane’s mother. Tracie had met with the grieving woman twice. The first time had been while still in the hospital following the surgery on her shoulders. All the media had been told was that Tracie was involved with the president’s protective detail, but Shane’s mother had insisted on seeing her.
The second time was earlier this morning.
Her name was Katherine, and she had been shattered by the events on the roof of the seven-story office building in Washington. Katherine Rowley was kind during both meetings, respectful of Tracie’s silence on the subject of Tracie’s relationship with her dead son, but nevertheless Tracie could feel a kind of desperate desire for answers radiating off her, none of which Tracie was at liberty to provide. So, when it came time for the service, she made the decision not to add any more grief to a woman already overwhelmed by it.
She rotated her shoulders, shrugging in a mostly unsuccessful attempt to remove the stiffness brought on by the beginning of the healing process. Her range of motion would return to one hundred percent, according to the agency doctors, and Tracie had no reason to doubt them. She was young and healthy and already beginning to feel stronger.
At least physically.
The doctors would clear her to return to work eventually, and when that happened, she had already decided she would go. She knew nothing else, and the prospect of walking away from the CIA and service to her country, returning to an unimportant job and a life filled with emptiness, held no appeal.
But she would never forget Shane Rowley. She uttered the words aloud, despite the fact they would be heard only by the birds in the trees. Speaking them instead of just thinking them served to make them real for her, to give them permanence. Shane had willingly given his life to save hers and even though she knew nothing she could ever accomplish would make that sacrifice worthwhile, she vowed she would honor it—and Shane—by giving everything she had every day for the rest of her life in support of freedom.
It was all she had to offer.
Down the hillside and across the field, the figures dressed in black clustered around the lone coffin. Tracie watched, thankful for the dark sunglasses covering her eyes, even though no one could see her; no one even knew she was there. The service ended and a couple of mourners began to help Katherine Rowley to a vehicle.
Tracie watched a moment longer, then turned toward the wrought iron gates of the cemetery and walked away, shivering even in the heat.
Acknowledgments
When it comes to inspiration, I need look no further than across the room to decide where to begin. From the moment I first decided I wanted to make stuff up and write it down, I’ve had no bigger or more enthusiastic supporter of me in this foolish endeavor than my wife, Sue. Her relentless optimism forms the perfect counterpoint to my outlook, which is typically, shall we say, less so. My bride has stuck with me for nearly thirty years, a source of constant amazement on my part and proof positive of the old adage, “There’s no accounting for taste.”
Editor Jodie Renner deserves much of the credit for anything you may have liked about this book, and none of the blame for what you didn’t. She is to thrillers what Vivaldi was to violins, and not a day goes by I don’t thank my lucky stars for finding her. Jodie’s hard work, keen insight, and refusal to settle for anything less than the best possible product sets her—and her work—apart from the crowd, at least in my book, which this is.
A couple of my air-traffic controller cohorts are always available to me to answer my often ignorant and sometimes downright silly questions. Dan Gravelle is a long-time coworker and licensed EMT and the first person I turn to when I need a medical point clarified. Joe Serafino, another long-time coworker, is my personal weapons expert and has, for years now, helped keep me from looking overly ignorant about a subject in which my knowledge is somewhat—some would say woefully—inadequate.
One of my oldest and closest air-traffic controller friends is a guy named Steve Henrich. We attended the initial FAA employee screen together in Oklahoma City way back in 1982, and thank goodness he didn’t cover his test answers too well, or I might never have managed the air-traffic control career I’ve had since I was twenty-two years old. Anyway, I was having some trouble coming up with a compelling name for this book and Steve saved my ass, suggesting the title you see splashed across the cover.
Speaking of covers, thanks to Scott Carpenter for taking the amorphous concept I gave him to work with and rendering visually stunning cover art that just screams “Exciting Thriller!” at the top of its lungs. I only hope the words behind the cover did justice to the art at the front of the book.
Plenty of other people have helped in plenty of other ways, including some who have provided inspiration, whether they know it or not. They include Ian Graham, Robert Bidinotto, CJ West, Vincent Zandri, Robert Gregory Browne and J. Carson Black, outstanding writers all, as well as Jeff Zarella, Joe Leonard, Tony Serino and many others. Thanks to you all.
Last, but definitely not least, I want to thank you, the reader, for plunking down your hard-earned cash on my work. Whether you’ve read all of my stuff and have been waiting anxiously for something new, or you never heard of me (much more likely) and decided to take a chance on an author you didn’t know, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you giving
me the opportunity to entertain you for just a little while. I hope I succeeded. If not, I can tell you it wasn’t for lack of trying. I can honestly say, and in all sincerity, you’re never far from my thoughts when I’m writing.
***
Allan Leverone is a 2012 Derringer Award winner and the author of five novels, including the Amazon bestselling thriller, The Lonely Mile. He lives in Londonderry, New Hampshire with his wife of nearly thirty years, three children, one beautiful granddaughter and a cat who has used up eight lives. Learn more at www.allanleverone.com, on Facebook or Twitter, @AllanLeverone.
Other thrillers from Allan Leverone:
Final Vector (2011, Medallion Press)
The Lonely Mile (2011, StoneHouse Ink)
Horror/supernatural suspense novels in the Paskagankee series:
Paskagankee (2012, StoneHouse Ink)
Revenant (2012, Rock Bottom Books)
Wellspring (2013, Rock Bottom Books)
Standalone horror from Allan Leverone:
Mr. Midnight (2013, DarkFuse)
Horror novellas from Allan Leverone:
Darkness Falls (2011, DarkFuse)
Heartless (2012, DarkFuse)
The Becoming (2012, Rock Bottom Books)
Collections:
Postcards from the Apocalypse (2010, Rock Bottom Books)
Uncle Brick and the Four Novelettes (2012, Rock Bottom Books)
Go back to Features Index
BLACK FLAGGED
A Novel by Steven Konkoly
Book One in the Black Flagged Series
Copyright Information
Copyright 2011 by Steven Konkoly. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author, except where permitted by law, or in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, contact [email protected].
About the author
Steven Konkoly graduated from the United States Naval Academy and served for eight years in various roles within the Navy and Marine Corps. He currently lives with his family in southern Maine, where he works for a major pharmaceutical company.
He published his first novel, The Jakarta Pandemic, in 2010. An excerpt from this apocalyptic thriller can be found at the end of this book, along with an excerpt from the next book in his Black Flagged series, Black Flagged Redux.
Excerpt from The Jakarta Pandemic
Excerpt from Black Flagged Redux
Please visit Steven's blog for updates and information regarding all of his works.
www.stevenkonkoly.com
Acknowledgments
I now see that the acknowledgments will grow with each novel, which is a good thing. First, let me start out with the all of the readers that voiced support for my first novel, The Jakarta Pandemic. Your encouragement and interaction has been genuinely appreciated over the past year, and I encourage readers of Black Flagged to reach out with the same enthusiasm.
So, here we go…
To my wife, the first reader, who devoured the novel without taking a break. I figured this was a good sign, especially since this is not her typical genre. She actually beat me to the end and demanded that I finish the last few chapters. If you don't like the ending, you can blame her for rushing me.
To my writing group, who warmly welcomed me into their world and endured Black Flagged's opening chapter violence way better than I expected. After reading several other submissions within the group, I thought I might need to tone down my material for our gatherings. I couldn't have been more mistaken. I've gained valuable insight about my own book and have been exposed to the talents of new writers in a wide spectrum of genres. Joe, thank you for introducing me to this group…and for your continuous critiques and suggestions throughout the process of writing both books.
To my pre-readers…most of whom volunteered, some of whom I didn't know before writing The Jakarta Pandemic. Bill, for the valuable guidance regarding the structure of the entire series, and for some spot on advice about Daniel Petrovich, Black Flagged's main character; Trent, for once again going above and beyond the call of duty. I couldn't ask for more…a marked up manuscript and plot pacing suggestions for the book's big twist. As a D.C. resident, he also helped me to structure some of the local scenes. Joe H., who probably made my editor's life easier. Based on his straightforward critique of my last novel, and his frequent interaction among reviewers of The Jakarta Pandemic, I didn't hesitate to take him up on his offer to pre-read Black Flagged. His "right between the eyes" style of critique has been essential to the fine tuning of several aspects, and his ability to take in the bigger picture…while still catching typos and grammar errors is enviable. Finally, Bruce, for catching some really elusive typos and keeping the Portland references accurate.
To Felicia A. Sullivan, editor extraordinaire. I'll just thank you in advance for the professionalism you put into expertly editing Black Flagged, and the enthusiasm you'll bring to promoting it. I still can't thank you enough for the extra mile you walked for The Jakarta Pandemic. At some point, we'll collaborate within your favorite genre to create the ultimate post-apocalyptic novel. It'll rock the genre, I guarantee.
Finally, to Jeroen ten Berge, for knocking it out of the park with his cover design. He really captured the essence of Black Flagged with his bold vision.
Dedication
To my wife and children, who are my constant motivation, and graciously put up with the time and energy that I devote to writing.
Cast of Characters
Serbian Paramilitary
Srecko Hadzic - Leader of the "Panthers," a quasi-organized crime network and Serbian ultra-nationalist paramilitary group serving Slobodan Milosevic's regime
Pavle Hadzic - Hadzic's handicapped brother
Radovan Grahovac - Hadzic's "right-hand" man and chief-of-security
Marko Resja (aka Daniel Petrovich) - Midlevel soldier and undercover U.S. operative
Mirko Jovic - Leader of "White Eagles," a rival paramilitary group
Goran Lujic - "White Eagles" enforcer
FBI
Director - Benjamin Shelby
Executive Assistant Director Fred Carroll - National Security Branch
Associate Director Sandra Delgado - National Security Branch
Special Agent-in-Charge Ryan Sharpe - Task Force HYRDA's investigative leader
Special Agent Frank Mendoza - Sharpe's second in command
Special Agent Heather Olson - Primary investigator, HYDRA murders
Special Agent Dana O'Reilly - Lead data analyst, HYDRA
Special Agent Justin Edwards - Lead investigator for Mohammed Ghani murder scene
Special Agent Keith Weber - Communications section-head, HYDRA
Special Agent Gregory Carlisle - Lead Interrogator, HYDRA murders
CIA
Audra Bauer - Director, Counterterrorism Center, National Clandestine Service
Karl Berg - Assistant director, Counterterrorism Center, National Clandestine Service
Randy Keller - CIA liaison to Task Force HYDRA
Black Flag Operatives
Daniel Petrovich - Former Black Flag operative
General Terrence Sanderson - Created original Black Flag program
James Parker - Sanderson's "right-hand" man
Colonel Richard Farrington - Compartmentalized Information Section (CIS), Pentagon
Jeffrey Munoz - Suspect in the shooting of Umar Salah
Others
Jessica Petrovich - Daniel Petrovich's wife
Julio Mendez - Janitorial custodian, Pentagon
Darryl Jackson - Executive, Brown River Security Corporation
Jeremy Cummings - Team leader, Brown River Security Corporation
Derren McKie - National Security Agency employee and former Black Flag operative
BLAC
K FLAGGED – "Classification given to an agent or intelligence officer who is to be interrogated and summarily killed if apprehended."
BLACK OUT
April 8, 1999
2:35 p.m.
A few miles outside of Vizic, Serbia
Marko Resja peered cautiously over the top of the jagged stone wall, scanning the lodge's distant front porch with powerful binoculars. Through the driving downpour, he counted four men, which was a good thing. With the entire external security team in one place, he should have no trouble approaching unseen.
He lowered himself to the spongy, pine-needle-covered ground and leaned back against a sharp granite chunk that formed part of the estate's perimeter wall. Created by haphazardly dumping large uneven rocks around the lodge on all sides, the utilitarian border marked the divide between hastily cleared land and the impenetrable Fruska Gora National Forest.
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