by David Perry
Acclaim for David Perry’s Thrillers
The Cyclops Conspiracy
“… a pharmacist’s death turns into an adventure of international proportions in this fast-paced thriller…Perry builds—and deftly sustains—a momentum that will have readers engrossed in this page-turner.” —ForeWord Clarion Reviews
“I am an aficionado of a good conspiracy… I found one here in The Cyclops Conspiracy. David Perry has written a fast-moving, engrossing book… Action is fast and riveting…” —Paul Lane, Net Galley
“… a top-notch thriller that you won’t want to put down!”
—David Compton, best-selling author of Executive Sanction
“The Cyclops Conspiracy… ramps up the pace revealing a new twist and a new turn by the page. I will be adding him to my must read list.”
—Alan Williams, Book Reviewer
“… Perry … gives an extra zing to an already interesting story … there are so many lovely twists and turns … kept thinking of Robert Ludlum novels … I couldn’t put it down at night until I starting seeing double. If you like political conspiracy thrillers, then check this one out!” —Popcorn Reads
“A prescription for excitement.” —Virginia Gazette
Second Chance
“There are not many books that keep me up reading all night but this one I could not put down. It had my interest from the very first page. This is the best I have read so far this year. Looking forward to the next book from Mr. Perry. Shame I could not give it more stars than five.”
—Julie’s Reviews, GoodReads
“… a wonderful read if you are not checking into a hospital anytime soon.” —Rosemary Smith, NetGalley
“… fast-paced and kept me awake all night long.”
—Theresa Nelson, NetGalley
THE CYCLOPS
REVENGE
Also by David Perry
The Cyclops Conspiracy
Second Chance
THE CYCLOPS
REVENGE
DAVID PERRY
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © by Pettigrew Enterprises, LLC 2017
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission form the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
Published in the United States by Pettigrew Enterprises, LLC
Cataloging-in-Publication date is on file with the Library of Congress
Library of Congress Control Number: 2017946086
ISBN: 9780983637592 (hardcover)
ISBN: 9780998853208(softcover)
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
For Walter and Betty…
A son couldn’t have asked for a better pair to guide me into adulthood. I chose my parents well…
For Uncle Billy…
To the ultimate ham-and-egger, you live on in our hearts and the memories of your wonderful anecdotes and tall tales. You taught us that no one gets to heaven except through Chicopee Falls.
“…if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?”
The Merchant of Venice
William Shakespeare
“If we open a quarrel between the past and the present, we shall find that we have lost the future.”
Winston Churchill
Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Part Two
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Part Three
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Part Four
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
The Cyclops Reprisal
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Acknowledgments
This work would not have been possible without the selfless assistance of many individuals:
Deborah Gonzalez: thank you for your insight into the world of prisons and corrections;
Pastor Charles Bang: for allowing the use of his name, for his faithful stewardship of Gloria Dei Lutheran Church and School;
To the federal agents (who wish to remain unnamed): for their observations and input about protocols and procedures;
Doug Atkins: for his communications and signal tracking expertise;
Scott Perry: for always being available to explain the complexities and intricacies of technology in a way that this writer’s simple mind can comprehend;
Ed Levy: for his editorial advice and counsel;
Donna Robinson: a wonderful sister who donates her time to the business of my writing;
To Anne: my devoted wife who offers her unending support and insightful critiques, delivered with directness yet cradled in love;
To Alex, Katlyn, Brandon, Sarah and Landon: a man could not ask to have better young people in his family. You are our future, the world is in great hands.
Prologue
Friday, October 13th
One Week after the Christening of the Jacob R. Hope
“You are still distressed, Miss Lily?”
The words were delivered as a question. But they hit her with the force of a statement speaking the bold truth.
Delilah Hussein lay on the beach lounge chair with a tall, exotic libation sitting on the glass table beside her, untouched. The warm tropical breeze was strong this late afternoon, whipping the silk sari. The wind on the secluded, well-secured, mountaintop villa was a constant.
Hussein looked up at Oliver with a distant gaze. Despite her distraction, she could see true concern etched on her manservant’s face. They had been through a lot together. And he had stood by her without a hint of trepidation.
“Would you like a cool wet towel?” he asked.
Hussein did not speak. She simply looked up at him with unfocused eyes. The trauma of the events of a week ago was still too painful to bear.
Oliver extended the white towel toward her. Her eyes moved lower to see it clutched in his dark-skinned hand. The fingers were long, all except the pinky which was nothing more than a stump.
Hussein was responsible for its loss. She had snipped off both pinky fingers on separate occasions. She could never remember which one she’d amputated first, the left or the right. Each
time he’d let her down, failed her in a mission. And on both occasions, Oliver paid for his incompetence with the loss of the smallest digit. The most recent failure was not more than a few weeks ago—though his mistake did not have any effect on the outcome of their calamitous failure.
“Thank you,” she replied in a whisper barely audible over the wind. “You are a good man, Oliver. A true and valuable companion.”
Oliver was a tall, muscular specimen. His silk shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, revealing the sculptured muscles of his chest. Adept in many forms of hand-to-hand combat, he was also deadly at medium distances with many small arms. He had killed countless times for her. And, Hussein knew, he could kill her quickly if he so desired.
Hussein sighed. “I can’t believe we failed. The last three years had been planned to the smallest detail.”
“It was a bold mission, Miss Lily. Very risky.”
“And they’re both gone now.”
“Unfortunately, it does seem that is the case.”
“Are you sure, Oliver?”
“Yes,” Oliver replied. “Hammon sent the message twenty-four hours after the christening. Jasmine was killed. Your son was taken into custody. He does not know where he is being held or if he is even alive.”
Hussein closed her eyes and tilted her head back, shaking it slowly. She pushed out a long breath. “Mon Dieu, I still can’t believe it.”
“It is not good for you to lie around like this. You must move about. It will make you feel better, get the blood flowing.”
Hussein smiled. “Are you worried about me?”
The tall manservant smiled and nodded. “We must get you back into circulation, n’est-ce pas?”
“I suppose so.”
Oliver kneeled beside her chair, looking deeply into her eyes.
“You have been despondent for a week now,” he said. “We must move on. I will help you forget.”
Beginning at her bare foot, he gently ran his hand along the inside of her leg. When he reached her knee and his hand began to disappear under the cloth of her garment, Hussein held up her hand.
Oliver’s hand froze in place. She could see the confusion in his eyes. They were asking a question: Have I gone too far?
Hussein knew Oliver was only trying to help. He would not kill her. He would never raise a hand against her. He owed her too much. She held a marker Oliver could never repay. One she would always hold over him.
She had saved his life from her lover and dictator, Saddam.
His four fingers remained against her soft skin, the pads of each digit connecting with the inside of her thigh, just above the knee. They were four electrodes, pulsing current into her, bringing her flesh back to life. Hussein tilted her head back again and slowly sucked the Caribbean air into her lungs. She held that position for a long time, weighing the events and trying to kill the pain.
Was it too soon?
Hussein felt her nipples become erect and a warm flush swam over her body, back and forth like a violent, storm-laden tide.
“Oliver, help me forget.”
Hussein reached for him, clutching the fabric of his shirt in her clenched fist, pulling him to her. His hand resumed its trek inside her sari, inching higher.
When it reached the confluence of her thighs, Oliver spread his fore- and middle fingers gently as a cue. Hussein responded and separated her legs, elevating her knees. The length of silk along her leg drifted toward her abdomen as the warm breeze caressed her exposed womanhood.
Slowly, with the deftness of a master craftsman, his fingers crept toward their goal. They dipped slightly, touching the skin just beneath the moist haven.
Hussein arched her back and sucked in a loud sharp breath. The electricity of his touch arced with mounting voltage. She reached up with her other hand, desperately clutching another fistful of cloth and pulling his lips to within an inch of hers.
Oliver moved his fingers higher, touching her moist mound with the gentleness of a moth landing on a leaf. Hussein’s body spasmed. His lips made contact with hers as he pushed two fingers inside her.
“Are you feeling better?”
“Oui, mon ami,” Hussein replied. Her head rested on his bare chest as they lay naked in bed. “Much better.”
Hussein ran her hand down his belly under the sheet. His skin, coated with a patina of perspiration, was taut and firm.
“Thank you, Oliver. I needed that.”
“Pleasing you is my only mission.”
With the blood coursing potently through her veins again, Hussein’s mind began to race with more coherent thoughts for the first time in seven days.
As if sensing her impatience, Oliver asked, “You are thinking of something, Miss Lily?”
“Oui, I am.”
“What do you need me to do?”
“Nothing yet,” she answered. “I am still upset. I’ve lost a daughter and my son is gone. And even more, the failure was my fault.”
“The pharmacist?”
“You realized my mistake was allowing the pharmacist to get involved?”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing?”
“It was not my place.”
Hussein rose up and looked into his eyes. “You are right. It is not your place. And the pharmacist was the problem. It was my fault that I allowed him to come so close to our operation. I misjudged him.”
“Again, what should I do?”
“Nothing. I will need your help in the coming months. Our compatriots in Washington are, no doubt, in a state of crisis. Have you been able to contact Hammon?”
“No, Miss Lily. The secure phone number is dead. I have tried each of the last three days.”
“I feared as much. They are going deep underground. Word of the assassination attempts has spread quietly through the American government…”
“I have been monitoring the newspapers and news shows. There has been no mention of anything.”
“Nonetheless, the FBI, Secret Service, and CIA are tracing all clues. And, I fear, they are torturing my beloved Sharif, trying to extract any shred of information from him.”
“I fear you are correct,” Oliver replied, running his fingers across her naked back.
“They will come after us.”
“Yes, they will.”
“I want you to contact Damascus. I will need to meet with them in the coming days. Arrange a meeting for a month from now. They are probably most concerned. I must smooth the waters and make them understand that this was only a temporary setback. We must continue with the mission. We must strike at the Americans again.
“Just as bin Laden did after the first attacks on the World Trade Center, we will strike them once more. They will beef up the security of all government officials. But we will hit them in a different way … in a way they will never expect.”
Hussein pulled herself up to Oliver’s lips and kissed him deeply as she reached for his groin. She massaged him and felt him growing firmer in her hand as her tongue probed his lips. Hussein ripped the bed sheets from his body and straddled him.
Without warning, she slapped him hard across the cheek, whipping his head to the side. She leaned in and hovered over him, her breasts caressing his chest. “Make love to me again once more. Then we have much to do.”
“What?”
“I will fill you in when the time is right. The details must be worked out. But, trust me, the Great Satan will feel our wrath and we will not fail. I want you to track the movements and communications of Jason Rodgers, the pharmacist. I want to know everything he does and everywhere he goes. Every aspect of his life is to be scrutinized. When we strike again, I will avenge my daughter and my son. And Jason Rodgers will know the pain I have felt and will feel for the rest of my days. He will suffer as I am suffering. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Miss Lily.”
“He doesn’t know it yet. He is, no doubt, recovering right now. When the time is right, I want him to know that I am the one who has rained down v
engeance upon him.”
“Yes, Madame.”
Delilah Hussein slapped Oliver once more, on the opposite cheek. With her hand still stinging from the blow, she reached down and grasped his swollen manhood.
“Make love to me, Oliver. I need to ease the pain but not forget the mission.”
She lowered herself onto him as she whispered a verse from the Qur’an to herself. “Help me ease the pain.”
Part One
Chapter 1
Friday, April 10
Two-and-a-half years later
Jason Rodgers was about to implement the mission to finally bury his ghosts.
The carefully laid plans had been in place for weeks. Tonight marked their beginning. The first step to making his life whole again. And in the days to follow, he would put his past behind him —and keep it there.
He leaned back, satisfied, pleased with himself. Everything he planned was going perfectly. Almost perfectly, anyway.
The meal had been fantastic, the service exemplary. Everything went off without a hitch. Except, that is, for Chrissie’s demeanor.
“Are you okay?” he asked Christine Pettigrew. “You seem tired.”
Chrissie sat across from him on the balcony level of the restaurant, looking uninspired and melancholy for most of the evening. Jason had noticed a change in her in the last few weeks and sensed her frustration mounting. She had been working very hard lately. She had achieved a level of success in her career that both Jason and Chrissie were extremely proud of. But tonight she seemed particularly bothered. Jason had a plan to change that, too.
She has no idea, he thought, sipping his coffee. She will be pleased and surprised. That will change her mood! It will change everything.
They completed an exquisite dinner capped off by a mountainous dessert of chocolate cake dripping in thick fudge. The Freemason Abbey in downtown Norfolk, Virginia, had been one of the premier dining establishments for decades. Nearly a century and half old, it began, as the name suggests, as a church, changed hands numerous times throughout its history, and was finally converted into a beacon of fine dining, sating the appetites of Hampton Roads inhabitants ever since. Jason had chosen it because they had never eaten there together. It was a special occasion, and the ambiance was perfect.