Dead Shift (The Rho Agenda Inception Book 3)

by Richard Phillips

  “I’m on it.”

  “Spin up the War Room. I want our cyber-warfare team to locate Jamal and whoever took him.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Levi rose from the chair, feeling his boss’s determination hanging heavy in the air. As he turned toward the door, the admiral’s voice made him pause.

  “And Levi, I want you to activate our ghost team. Wherever they are, get them back here ASAP.”

  “Including Janet Price?”

  “Yes. And I want Jack Gregory on this one too. The second we think we know where Jamal is, I want them moving.”

  Levi felt his throat tighten. Over the last two years, based on a loose interpretation of a post-9/11 presidential finding, Admiral Riles had assembled a small team of “fixers” that only Riles, Levi, and two others at the NSA knew existed. The ex-CIA assassin known as Jack “The Ripper” Gregory wasn’t officially part of that team, but twice in the last eight months Riles had managed to coerce Jack’s assistance, both on missions involving Janet Price. The man was deadly, but he was also a loose cannon, and that worried Levi.

  But Riles wanted Gregory in on this and Levi wasn’t about to argue with the admiral’s judgment. He took a slow breath and looked into Riles’s gray eyes.

  “I’ll make it happen.”

  CHAPTER 5

  The meeting didn’t happen at the NSA headquarters. Janet Price hadn’t expected it to. If there was one key differentiator about the secret team of specialists that Admiral Riles had spent the last couple of years recruiting, it was that knowledge of the team’s membership was limited to Riles and two or three others in the NSA that maintained his complete trust. None of the specialists were even listed on the NSA’s official payroll.

  The farmhouse rested deep in the countryside twenty miles north of Frederick, Maryland, a short distance from the Pennsylvania state line. It sat at the end of a half-mile-long dirt lane, hidden from Highway 15 by thick woods. The smaller of two barns served as a garage where all the meeting attendants had parked their vehicles.

  Janet, wearing a maroon pullover, black jeans, and boots, walked from the barn to the two-story farmhouse feeling the warm May sunshine on her face. Levi Elias opened the door as she moved onto the front steps. A broad smile warmed his hawkish looks as he extended his hand.

  “Hi, Janet. How was the flight from Berlin?”

  Janet returned the smile as she took his hand. At five foot ten, she was a full two inches taller than the NSA analyst, even though he claimed to be five nine. It was the only hint of inferiority she’d ever seen the man exhibit.

  “A bit bumpy, but not enough to keep me from sleeping.”

  She stepped past Levi and into the living room. A half dozen leather chairs and a couch had been arranged in an arc focused toward a sixty-inch television, which was currently turned off. Judging by the open soda cans and bags of chips, the rest of the team had been waiting for her arrival for a couple of hours.

  None of the others rose to greet her, although their eyes followed her closely as Janet moved to take an empty chair. Besides Levi and herself, there were five men arranged around the arc. To Janet’s left sat Mike “Spider” Sanchez, his neatly trimmed beard and dark hair framing a no-nonsense face that befitted the team leader.

  To her immediate right, Raymond Bronson leaned back on the couch, feet propped on the corner of a coffee table, his hands clasped behind his head. At six foot four, he bore a marked resemblance to the movie version of Thor, although Bronson claimed it was the other way around. Calling him Raymond or Ray was a quick way to piss him off.

  Next to Bronson, the lanky Bobby Daniels leaned forward to snag a handful of pretzels from a large bowl, his shaved head reflecting the overhead light as he popped pretzels in his mouth. Beyond Bobby sat Paul Monroe, shoulder-length dirty-blond hair curling out from beneath a tan fedora. Seeing her studying him, Paul grinned, his mustache and goatee perfectly accenting the devilish gleam in the explosive expert’s blue eyes. He’d been her first partner after Admiral Riles recruited her from the CIA. The laughter in those eyes never died.

  The last member of the team sat directly opposite Janet. Harold “Harry” Stevens had the face of an Irish boxer, his nose showing clear evidence of past breakage from his early club-fighting days. Harry’s tousled dark-brown hair and square jaw would have attracted more attention if not for his sparkling gray eyes. Renowned in the Green Berets for his tracking ability, he was this team’s communications expert.

  In a room full of killers, Janet felt at ease. They had learned from experience that she was, at the very least, their equal and they treated her as such. Since she’d earned a computer science degree from the University of Maryland, the CIA had recruited her as an analyst, but her handlers had soon discovered that the two-time NCAA pentathlon champion was ill-suited to a desk job.

  After two years of fieldwork, Admiral Riles had enticed her away from CIA to become a member of his NSA ghost team, and though it had meant dropping off the face of the planet and adopting ever-changing identities, she had no regrets. This team was made up of the best of the best. And she was their shooter.

  Levi Elias moved in front of the television and turned to face the group.

  “I know you are all wondering why Riles has assembled the whole team here.”

  Janet had been wondering exactly that. Of all the missions she’d been assigned since joining Admiral Riles’s team, this was the first time the whole group had been called together for a single mission. Not a particularly good sign. Nobody said a thing.

  Levi continued. “Two days ago, Jamal Glover, a member of our cyber-warfare group, disappeared. His girlfriend was later found murdered at his house. The FBI believes that the evidence indicates that Jamal killed her in a jealous rage and then fled.”

  “So you want us to find and kill him?” Spider Sanchez asked.

  Levi’s eyes met Spider’s. “Let me paint you a different picture. What I’m about to say is classified top secret.”

  “Sounds like us,” said Spider, a statement that drew chuckles from the assemblage.

  Levi inclined his head in acknowledgement.

  “Jamal Glover is the best of the NSA’s cyber-warriors. A twenty-year-old graduate of MIT, he is an extraordinary talent. We believe he’s been kidnapped by a foreign government.”

  Janet leaned forward. “Which government?”

  “Most likely the Russians or the Chinese.” Levi’s face hardened. “The FBI can pursue their leads, but we’re not chasing that rabbit.”

  “So where is he?” asked Spider.

  Levi shrugged. “We don’t know yet. As soon as we do, we’ll provide you with your new identities and send you in to get him.” Levi paused, his expression darkening. “The fact that we’ve brought you all together on this should tell you just how much of a danger Jamal Glover represents if left in the hands of a foreign intelligence service. Any other questions?”

  Raymond Bronson grinned. “Just one. How’d I get so good-looking?”

  “Probably all that practicing in front of your mirror,” Paul said, sparking a chorus of laughter from the others.

  Janet saw Levi shift his focus to her as he raised both hands in a signal for quiet.

  “There’s one more thing you need to be aware of. We are assigning an additional asset to this mission.”

  Noting the intensity in the look Levi gave her, Janet felt her throat tighten.

  “Does this asset have a name?” she asked, knowing the answer to her question even as she voiced it.

  Instead of answering, Levi set a brown leather briefcase on the coffee table, pushing aside the bags of chips and pretzels to make room. Extracting a stack of manila folders, he passed one to each team member, starting with Spider. When he handed one to Janet, she again caught his knowing look.

  Flipping open the folder, Janet found herself staring at the famil
iar photograph of a body lying naked atop that Calcutta surgical table, the torso crisscrossed by freshly stitched knife wounds. Blood from the many wounds had run off the table to form a scarlet pool on the floor that reflected the camera flash. The picture was captioned:

  Jack Gregory aka The Ripper

  The flood of conflicting emotions that assaulted her almost pulled a gasp from her lips, but she bit it back. It had been two months since she’d last seen Jack, and the memory of their last meeting still held its razor edge.

  The impact of the photo on the front page of Jack Gregory’s dossier was evident from the silence with which the assembled group studied it. Levi’s voice broke that silence.

  “Meet Jack Gregory. Almost two years ago, he was the CIA’s top killer, but on a hot Calcutta night he went off mission and was attacked by a gang of men wielding the boomerang-shaped knives known as khukuri. Gregory killed all six of them but was badly injured in the fight.

  “An old nun found him bleeding out in that alley and, with the help of a local doctor, transported him to a clinic. Unfortunately, by the time the doctor closed all his wounds, Jack Gregory’s heart had stopped. He was declared dead at 3:05 A.M. local time. This picture was attached to his death certificate.”

  Janet had received this very briefing last year, but hearing Levi’s voice sent a déjà vu chill up her spine that raised the gooseflesh on the back of her neck.

  After a brief pause, Levi continued. “Most of the world’s intelligence agencies believe that Jack Gregory is dead. But, as Janet can attest, he’s still very much alive. Twice during the last ten months, we’ve enlisted his services on critical missions. Janet was the NSA lead on both those missions.”

  Paul Monroe lifted his feet off the ottoman where they rested and leaned forward. “So Gregory faked his own death?”

  Levi shook his head. “No. The details are in his dossier, but here’s the abridged version. That night in Calcutta, the attending physician declared him legally dead and left the old nun to clean up the tiny clinic. Apparently, as she draped Gregory’s body with a sheet, he revived. The shock of the event was too much for the old girl’s mind. When someone found her the next morning, she was huddled in a corner, mindlessly mumbling the same phrase over and over. Sister Mary Judith has since been cloistered in a monastery in England, lost in delusion and dementia.”

  “What was the phrase?” Paul asked.

  Levi shifted his gaze to Paul. “Dear Lord, the Ripper walks the earth.”

  Everyone except Janet, Spider, and Levi chuckled at this, but Levi continued.

  “Jack Gregory let the CIA believe he had died and started accepting contract work as a ‘fixer’ for hire using The Ripper pseudonym. Although we don’t know his client list, we believe that in the year following his purported death, he earned several million dollars from those contracts.”

  A low whistle escaped Bronson’s lips. “You’re proposing putting a contract killer on our team?”

  “We don’t think he accepted contracts for assassinations.”

  “You don’t think?”

  Unable to remain silent any longer, Janet spoke up. “Based on the two times we worked together, I have to agree with Levi. Jack’s a killer, but he’s no hit man.”

  Janet felt all eyes shift to her as Bronson followed up with a question.

  “So you think he’d be a good fit for this team?”

  Again Janet felt the tightness in her throat. “No, I don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  Janet glanced at Levi, who gave a slight nod and said, “You can answer that, but since none of the others have been read in on those two operations, leave out the mission-specific details.”

  When Janet spoke, she purged all emotion from her voice.

  “This last year I worked closely with Jack Gregory on two separate occasions. The first time, Admiral Riles sent me to recruit Jack, but we ended up getting sucked into a situation of national importance. Although we successfully resolved the matter, my recruiting pitch failed. Right before he walked away, Jack said something that stuck in my head. He said, ‘Believe me. Long term, you don’t want me anywhere around you.’

  “At the time, I thought he was dead wrong, but my last encounter with Jack made me reconsider.”

  Janet felt the memories buffet her. When she’d first met Jack in Germany, he’d displayed an inner fire that had both thrilled and concerned her. It seemed like she’d known Jack for years, but they’d only shared two missions. The first had been a few crazy weeks that had launched them through Germany, Austria, and Kazakhstan, culminating in three weeks of shared passion on the Greek island of Crete. But then had come the insanity in Bolivia.

  Something inside Jack attracted him to danger in ways that, at times, seemed almost supernatural. Janet worried that he was losing himself to that pull. And if Jack Gregory spun out of control in a death spiral, anyone nearby might be dragged down with him.

  She held up the folder Levi had given her.

  “This dossier doesn’t include anything about those two missions, but I can tell you his Ripper nickname is fitting. I’m afraid his presence could put the whole team at risk.”

  Bronson leaned back, locking his hands behind his head. “That’s good enough for me.”

  “But not for me,” said Spider Sanchez.

  Janet turned to look at the team leader who, until now, had maintained his silence. The ex–Delta Force commando rose to stand beside Levi Elias, his black eyes fixed on Janet. He tossed his folder on the coffee table in front of her.

  “I don’t need to read this to know Jack Gregory. Four years ago, he was the CIA liaison assigned to my Delta unit, operating in the western Pakistani province of Waziristan. If not for Jack, none of us would have made it out of there alive. Jack was captured during that operation and then tortured for three weeks before we could locate him and mount a rescue operation. I’d trust that man at my back anywhere, anytime.”

  Janet accepted the challenge in that look. “I think you’ll find he’s changed.”

  Sanchez’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe it.”

  Levi held up a hand. “Hold on. I wanted to let you all air your feelings. But it doesn’t really matter what any of us think. Admiral Riles has personally assigned Jack Gregory to this operation. I’m just informing you of his decision before I notify Jack of the assignment.”

  Levi closed his briefcase and picked it up, facing the group one last time as he prepared to depart.

  “The Ripper is coming. I suggest you get used to the idea.”

  As Janet watched Levi walk across the room and out the door, a vortex of anticipation and dread filled her.

  CHAPTER 6

  They say that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Unfortunately, Calcutta couldn’t make that claim.

  Jack Gregory had always craved danger’s adrenaline rush. But in the two years since his Calcutta deathbed experience and his subsequent rebirth atop the old nun’s surgery table, that craving wrapped him like an anaconda, hard enough to make him question the nature of his near-death encounter. Whether or not the mind parasite that had accompanied him back across the life-death threshold was a hallucination, it had changed the way he experienced this world. And if Jack didn’t get control of it, that amped-up craving was going to render him every bit as dead as most of the world thought he already was.

  Opening his eyes, Jack set the phone down on the nightstand and shifted his gaze to the naked twenty-three-year-old Polynesian woman who lay sprawled facedown on the opposite side of the bed. The right half of her body lay uncovered, revealing a very shapely hip and thigh. The curve of her right breast where it pressed into the mattress was almost enough to make him climb back into bed to reawaken the fire within that lovely body.

  But the phone call he’d just received made it clear that his Kauai vacation had come to an end. The bedside clock read 7
:15 A.M., so it was 1:15 P.M. in Maryland. Levi Elias had taken the initiative to book Jack a ticket on the first available flight back. That meant an interisland hop to Honolulu, followed by the red-eye to Los Angeles. Another five-hour flight after that and he should arrive at Baltimore/Washington International sometime tomorrow afternoon.

  After a quick shower, Jack slipped on a pair of Dockers, his sandals, and a wildly floral Hawaiian shirt before stuffing the rest of his things into a small canvas duffel. He wiped down his Glock and set it topmost in the bag, then zipped it shut. Because he would be flying commercial, he’d have to chuck the gun into a Dumpster before he headed to the airport. Although it didn’t fit his hand quite as nicely as his favored Heckler & Koch, here on the island, the Glock had been easier to come by. Oh well. Easy come, easy go.

  With one lingering glance back at the sleeping woman, Jack opened the door and stepped out onto the walkway that ran along the beach, his bag slung over his left shoulder. He paused, feeling the ocean breeze ruffle his brown hair. The waves breaking on the beach fifty yards from where he stood produced the wonderful rushing sound that sucked the cares right out of his soul. Jack took a long, deep breath and savored the salt taste on his tongue. He was going to miss this.

  Walking down the path, Jack spotted a Dumpster and, after a quick glance to ensure he was alone, dropped the gun inside. Fifty yards farther, he reached the parking lot, climbed into his rented white Camry, and turned onto Poipu Road. As he began the thirty-minute drive to Lihue Airport, Jack marveled at his readiness to sign on for this NSA operation. Even though he’d previously agreed to make himself available to the NSA as a private contractor, he had the right to accept or decline such contracts as he saw fit.