Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Glossary/Acronyms
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
SMOKE AND SHADOWS
By Victoria Paige
Copyright © 2014 Victoria Paige
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9891337-6-0
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, names, places, events, organization either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, places or locale is entire coincidental. The publisher is not responsible for any opinion regarding this work on any third-party website that is not affiliated with the publisher or author.
Cover Design by Robin Ludwig Design Inc., http://www.gobookcoverdesign.com
Edited by: Hot Tree Editing
To Lynn, who continues to read my unedited work and encourages me to find that perfect word . . . love you, girl!
For the awesome ladies over at Dirty Girls: I look forward to our online chats—sharing our love for alpha males, great reads, and every spice of life. Your incomparable support and insight are priceless and show me the true meaning of sisterhood.
To my wonderful editors, Virginia and Becky, for the amazing job you did on my manuscript.
To all the beta readers and advance-copy reviewers who took the time to put annotations in the manuscript to get it as close to perfect as possible for publication.
The collective strength of the reading community helps me grow as an author.
Thank you very much!
The Guardians Glossary
Artemis Guardian Services (AGS) - “The Guardians,” as they are known by most of their clients, specialize in small team surgical incursions: Organized crime takedowns; K and R (kidnap and ransom); DoD covert ops that are too politically high-risk; corporate security enforcement (usually involving questionable and deadly force); and recently (and seemingly with increasing frequency) protective custody detail outsourced by the US Marshals Service. Work frequently with CIA, DoD, NSA, FBI, DEA, ATF and Interpol.
Principal owner: Viktor Baran, ex-Special Forces
Guardians in this book:
Maia Pierce
Nathan Stark
Steve Manning
John Edmunds
Rebecca Olsen
Braden Connelly, ex-Army Ranger
Data Analysts:
Tim Burns
Holly Nolan
McCord Defense Industries (MDI) - company that designs and manufactures advanced small arms weapons that are efficient in urban warfare. Specializes in advanced carbine weapons, explosives, and untraceable tracking devices. Well known for its MD-Bandit drones—a small reconnaissance aircraft capable of firing air-to-surface missiles. Top military contractor for the DoD.
Principal owner: Jack McCord, ex-Navy SEAL (part owner of AGS)
VP of Operations and Design: Derek Lockwood, ex-Special Forces, also a contractor of AGS
Central Intelligence Agency (CIA)
Director of Clandestine Service (black ops): Kyle Yeager
Black ops team lead: Marissa Cole
Analyst: Allison Guthrie
Other Agencies frequently mentioned in this book
FBI - Federal Bureau of Investigation, also known as feds
DHS - Department of Homeland Security
MPD - Metropolitan Police Department, Washington DC police
NSA - National Security Agency
Other Acronyms
RPG - Rocket-propelled grenade
NOC - Non-Official Cover. The undercover aliases of agents on the field. Agents frequently on NOC assignments are disavowed by the people or agencies hiring them if they are discovered.
HUMINT - Human intelligence. Information gathered from human assets/informants.
SIGINT- Signal intelligence. Information gathered between people like cell phone signals.
OSINT - Open-source intelligence like digital information available on cyberspace, newspapers etc.
NKUF - National Korean Unification Front
CHAPTER ONE
Snow blanketed the mountains of West Virginia. A blizzard had swept through the east coast three days ago and dropped sixteen inches of powder, but the warming trend had turned the once pristine cover into a slushy mess. The whiteness reflected brightly, not only from the ground, but also from the snow-laden limbs of skeletal trees and evergreens. For Viktor Baran, these conditions were not ideal for extraction because the concealment of a night incursion was decreased, but their target, “Black Wolf,” was running out of time.
It was by sheer luck that the human intel (HUMINT) provided by the CIA became their best lead because the Guardians’ digital network turned up shit. Who would have thought that the perpetrators would hole up in an abandoned coal mine? It certainly didn’t look abandoned now with a generator cranking loudly and disrupting the stillness of the January evening.
“We’re in position,” Derek Lockwood’s voice crackled through comms.
Viktor raised his binoculars to do final recon on the entrance of the mine and spied Derek and two other Guardians blending with their surroundings in their white camouflage gear and light-colored assault rifles.
“Go in hot,” Viktor ordered. “In three, two…” He pressed the trigger to disable the generator, causing the equipment to falter and cut off. The mine was plunged into darkness.
Derek threw a stun grenade into the mouth of the tunnel and barrelled in after the explosion. It wasn’t long before an exchange of gunfire broke through their communications channel.
Viktor loped down the hill and slammed against the side of the open mine shaft with his assault rifle at the ready. The barrage of gunfire was intermittent now. He did a quick check before following the other men in. Using his night-vision goggles, he navigated down the ancient cavernous railroad path.
“Talk to me, Lockwood,” Viktor muttered when the shooting stopped.
“We’re clear,” Lockwood replied. “Hostiles are down. No twenty on Black Wolf.”
Viktor reached the intersection of three tunnels. At the junction was an open space where boxes of supplies were stacked against a craggy wall. An inverted wooden crate served as a table where electric shock instruments were laid out.
His mouth tightened.
A broken bottle of whiskey was on the floor along with two men bearing kill shots to the head. Blood was fast pooling around them. Viktor glanced to his right in time to see Manning nudge another body to its back and check for signs of life. The Guardian looked at Viktor and shook his head.
Damn, Lockwood went on a rampage.
“I think I found him.” Derek’s tone held a grim excitement. “I’m breaking the locks.”
“Where are you?”
“East tunnel, about thirty yards in.”
Viktor jogged down the right tunnel, leaving Manning and Nathan Stark to stand guard as well as pack up any information they could gather from the scene. He heard Derek snap a round to get into the cell where the hostiles had kept
their man for three weeks.
An unusual dread gripped his consciousness with what they might find.
As he rounded the bend into the small makeshift prison, the stench hit his nostrils, and Viktor’s gut clenched, hoping that they were not too late, and if their man were alive, he was not beyond saving—physically or mentally.
Derek lit an LED lamp and set it on the ground, illuminating the lone occupant of the cell who was sitting stoically on the hard stone floor. Viktor lifted his night-vision goggles and exhaled heavily. The person they were rescuing was almost unrecognizable because he had lost close to fifteen pounds if Viktor were to guess.
His trousers were torn and filthy, and he was barefoot. Viktor suspected that the ridiculously stretched-out knit sweater their man was wearing hid evidence of torture. With his grimy, dark hair, and full beard, the man looked like a typical vagrant, but his slate blue eyes, though vacant at the moment, unmistakably belonged to one person.
Jack McCord.
“Are they all dead?” Jack’s raspy voice was so chillingly calm that Viktor raised a brow.
“I think we got them all, buddy,” Derek replied quietly as he helped his friend stand up.
“You’re not sure?”
“Jack—”
“Because I want to fucking gut every last one of them involved in killing my wife.”
*****
Three weeks earlier
Viktor paced his office, phone to his ear, as he waited for Maia to answer her phone. Tension stiffened his spine. Something about this mission had spooked him, and that was a rare occurrence. Besides, it was just bodyguard detail for Christ’s sake, not an assault on a terrorist camp.
“Pierce.”
“Why weren’t you answering your phone?” Viktor asked.
“Jeez, Viktor,” Maia Pierce McCord chided him. “I was on the phone with Jack. My man misses me and wouldn’t let me hang up.”
Viktor grunted.
“So what’s up?” Maia continued when he didn’t answer.
“Just checking up on you. Are you guys ready to leave for the airport?”
“Just about. Stark’s escorting Ibrahim Nasir to the limo now.”
“Summit went okay?”
“I think an agreement has been reached regarding the chemical weapons,” Maia replied. “Hey—gotta go, Manning’s signaling me that the convoy’s heading out.”
Viktor struggled to tell her to be careful. “Katerina—”
But Maia already hung up.
Cursing himself for his moment of sentimentality, Viktor strode out of his office and headed to the datacenter where Tim Burns was busy setting up the feeds for the convoy’s route. His lead analyst didn’t look happy and was relieved when Viktor showed up.
“Thank Christ,” Tim said. “Viktor, would you please call someone at DCRI and tell them we need access to their street surveillance? They’ve been stonewalling us.”
“Fucking French Intelligence,” Viktor muttered, whipping out his phone to call his contact. “It’s Baran. What the fuck is going on? Your people are denying us access to your security feeds . . . well, fix the screw up.”
“Try it again after a few minutes,” Viktor told Tim. “Same code.” Switching his attention to Tim’s assistant, Holly Nolan, he said, “Are you keeping communications open with the team?”
“Yes, they’re heading out from the 8th arrondissement,” the twenty-two-year-old analyst replied. Holly was as nerdy as they came, sporting a pixie-style haircut and wearing horn-rimmed glasses. She was too easily frazzled to work at the datacenter during high-risk missions, but Viktor believed, after another year with AGS, he could instill some nerves of steel in her. “They’re turning right on Rue de Courcelles.”
“Put them up on speaker,” Viktor instructed. “Tim, what the hell is taking so long?”
Tim shot him an annoyed look. “Feeds are coming up now.”
A limousine was shown between two black SUVs. There were two motorcycle escorts guiding the convoy of Ibrahim Nasir—the whistleblower of Syria’s use of chemical weapons against civilians, and a possible contender to unite the opposition that could challenge the ruling Ba’ath Party in Syria. Nathan Stark and Rebecca Olsen were the Guardians in the lead car. Maia was with Nasir and his wife in the limo while Steve Manning and John Edmunds brought up the rear. Five Guardians were protecting the man that could bring peace to Syria.
“Maia, do you copy?” Viktor asked.
“I’m here, Viktor.”
Viktor turned away from the screen momentarily to fiddle with some communications settings. “Stark, how are the roads from your POV—”
“What . . . Fuck!” Tim shouted.
Viktor’s eyes swung back to the widescreen in time to watch an RPG hit the front of the limo, lifting the vehicle’s front a couple of feet before it slammed back on the ground.
“Under fire! Under fire!” Manning shouted through comms. “Maia, do you copy?”
“Shit, masked hostiles incoming at three o’ clock,” Stark warned.
The lead SUV backed into the limo. Stark and Olsen scrambled out of their vehicle to defend their convoy against the advancing gunmen.
“RPG!”
Stark and Olsen sprinted to the sidewalk and hit the deck as their SUV blew up from a direct hit.
“Take that RPG out!” Viktor shouted. “Maia, do you copy?”
“On it,” Edmunds said. The Guardian took aim from within the remaining SUV and squeezed out several shots. “Got him.” Edmunds was always as cool as a cucumber.
“Stark, are you guys okay? Maia, damn it, report!” Manning yelled again.
Viktor stood back as he watched the mayhem unfold on screen. Tim was busy panning the cameras closer. The exchange of assault rifle fire was deafening and drowned out some of the communication.
“We’re okay.”
Viktor closed his eyes briefly when he heard Maia’s voice come over comms.
“We’re sustaining heavy gunfire,” Maia added. “Don’t know how long the bullet-proof shields will hold. Nasir’s wife is having a breakdown. Could you guys maybe hurry up?”
“We got this,” Stark broke in.
Viktor watched the rest of the Guardians methodically take down the six gunmen who concentrated their efforts on shooting up the limo. Something was not adding up. This was too easy. After a few more minutes, the last of the gunmen went down, but Viktor’s uneasiness only escalated.
Sirens wailed at a distance as the Paris Police were alerted of the attack. Maia stepped out of the limo and signaled for Manning to take Nasir and his wife to the remaining functional vehicle. Stark and Olsen provided a protective circle around the Syrian couple while Maia and Edmunds had their assault rifles shouldered as they scanned the area.
They were sitting ducks.
“Talk to us, HQ,” Maia said. “Who are these people?”
She looked down, nudged one of the bodies, and bent over to pull off the mask, revealing a man with olive skin and dark hair. Just then, a muffled pop sounded audibly on the comm channel as something struck the pavement behind her.
“What the fuck?” Maia muttered, quickly straightening up in alarm. However, another pop echoed ominously and more than a few gasps were heard as everyone watched Maia jerk back and hit the ground.
“Sniper!”
“Shit. Sniper!”
Edmunds quickly pulled Maia behind the limo. Manning pushed Nasir and his wife into the SUV and took position behind it.
“Stay with me, Maia,” Edmunds said urgently.
Viktor was breathing hard. “How bad is it?”
“Gut shot. Armor piercing round. Damn it, Maia, you fucking stay with me!” Edmunds was screaming now.
“Goddamn it!” Viktor cursed. He hustled back to his office to grab his CIA-issued secure phone known as the Sec-phone.
He punched a number on his speed dial. A female voice answered immediately.
“Shit’s going down right now,” Viktor said.
�
��I’m watching it on live feed.”
“You need to mobilize Grave Digger.”
“Already did.”
“I . . . thank you, Marissa.”
Viktor ended the call and ran back to the datacenter.
“What’s happening? Were there more shots fired?” he demanded.
“We’re losing her!” Stark roared over comms. “Damn it, Tim, where’s that ambulance?”
Two police vehicles screeched to a halt just short of the attack site and officers disembarked to initiate crowd control. A few minutes later, an ambulance squeezed between the limo and the line of dead bodies littering the streets.
Two EMTs exited the vehicle, one heading straight for Maia while the other went to the back of the ambulance to retrieve a gurney.
“She’s not breathing. There’s no pulse,” Stark’s ragged voice informed the first responder.
The EMT took out a syringe and injected Maia with an unknown substance.
“What the hell is he doing?” Tim asked.
Viktor kept his arms crossed to remain calm, but his mind was echoing Tim’s words.
“Shouldn’t you be giving her fucking CPR?” Stark demanded.
The EMT started a couple of chest compressions and checked for breathing.
“Fuck!” Stark shoved the EMT. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”
A police officer came by and warned Stark in accented English to stand down, or he’d be removed from the scene.
“Damn it,” Viktor muttered, raking his fingers through his hair.
“This is not happening.” Tim stood up, gripping his head with both hands and staring helplessly at the screen. “Viktor, do something.”
The EMT shook his head at Stark. His face paled in disbelief.
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