Abby admired his confident smile, the look he got when he was about to impart some wisdom he was especially proud of.
“None of us—not a single one of us—has a bloody clue. When it comes down to it, we know nothing, and truly are nothing. All my money and power, it’s meaningless outside of the relatively miniscule confines of our society. In life, I am a very powerful man. The instant I die, my money, my power, has no meaning. All that truly matters is the legacy we leave behind. We are nothing more than the lives we touch and the memories we leave behind.
“Eric gave you the greatest gift another human being can give another. So whenever you find yourself feeling down or bad for yourself, remember that final act of love. Cry because of its meaning if you must; sob at the thought of how beautiful a thing such an act of love truly is, but don’t weep for his loss. As you live on, and Ava lives on, so he lives on in you.”
Abby remembered that advice now as she sat on the steps and leaned back on her elbows in front of the French doors leading into her cozy villa. She found peace. Ava, in the distance, waved, as did Ben, but they weren’t waving at her.
Abby looked to her right and smiled as Donny walked onto the beach with an armful of firewood for the evening’s fire. Ben’s father, Jay, and the rest of his family would be joining them for dinner later, and they would all sit around the fire enjoying each other’s company until their eyes refused to stay open any longer.
Donny smiled as he sat next to her on the step and placed a hand on her knee. She laced her fingers through his and leaned over to give him a gentle kiss on the lips.
He reached down and caressed her stomach with his free hand. As she laid her hand over his, she watched his heart skip a beat when he felt a faint kick from their little miracle.
His eyes opened wide and he smiled. “That never gets old.”
Abby nodded, beaming, glowing. “Little Erica has been very active today!”
She lay there, soaking in the sun, knowing that they were not only happy, but safe. Her life felt complete. She was right where she belonged.
Abby closed her eyes and smiled, letting out an easy breath as she enjoyed her tropical escape. “So this is what true happiness feels like.”
THE END
NEST
Retribution
A new novel by
David J. Antocci
The Rally for US was meant to be a day of camaraderie and awareness. Instead that crisp October morning turned into the bloodiest terror attack to strike the city of Boston in over a decade.
In the wake of the attack, the New England Special Terrorist division - NEST - turned to their most senior and capable agent; Alivia Morgan. She is unwillingly ripped from her home and family, but doesn’t have a choice. Though she had no idea just how deeply personal the fight would become.
It’s up to her to find the extremists and stop another catastrophic blow that would see the death toll climb even higher. She is captured, alone, and armed only with her years of training and experience in Special Ops and the elite Army Rangers. Alivia quickly realizes that she’s in a race against time as she struggles to escape with her own life, and stop the impending attacks. Can she do both?
Available wherever eBooks are sold!
NEST: Retribution
Prologue
The first golden rays of the early morning sun gleamed off the glass face of Boston’s John Hancock Tower three miles in the distance. At sixty stories, it dwarfed the other buildings along the skyline, many of which weren’t even visible past the multi-colored foliage lining the edges of Southside Park.
Thousands of women, as well as a healthy showing of men, all donning purple clothing, hats, and accessories of every kind, gathered at the park to brave the crisp fall air for the annual Rally for US
What started a few years earlier as a march to show strength and solidarity in the face of what organizers had seen as an anti-female political climate had turned into an annual event to raise money and awareness for issues affecting women at both the local and global level. By the time Sarah Williamson, an increasingly powerful congresswoman and a national leader in women’s rights and civil rights, took the stage in mid-morning, the crowd was well-caffeinated and ready to go.
“Good morning, ladies!”
The crowd erupted in cheers.
“Just a few short years ago, we stood on this very lawn, joined by millions of women and men across the country and across the world to protest archaic ideas about the treatment of women that were being thrust back into the mainstream and the dangerous climate in Washington, D.C. This annual event here in the great city of Boston sends a powerful message to our politicians and to the world: Women’s rights are human rights! We will not be marginalized! We will not be ignored! We will all stand together!”
Stronger cheers erupted from the crowd.
“All of us! Women—”
She paused amid the continued cheers.
“men—”
Again, the crowd interrupted in cheers, although at a slightly lower octave.
“and children—”
Cheers again erupted from the crowd as mothers encouraged their daughters to applaud and fathers brought their young children’s hands together.
“Yes, women, men, and children—we all stand together. We choose freedom over oppression. Education over ignorance. Progress over inaction, or even more dangerous than inaction, regression. Yes, we choose progress over regression and your antiquated policies. And most important of all, we choose love over hate.”
***
The New England Special Terrorist Division, or NEST as it was normally referred to, sat tucked into a nondescript industrial building toward the backside of the UMass Boston campus, a stone’s throw from the JFK Presidential Library. NEST was one of nearly a dozen regional anti-terrorist task forces created years ago in the wake of 9/11 under the umbrella of Homeland Security.
Director Luis Huerta took a sip from his coffee as his eyes soaked in the vast array of mounted screens broadcasting live coverage of the event just a few miles to the north. No sound came from them, though the room was far from silent. Dozens of technicians and analysts busily processed huge amounts of data pouring in from around the region.
Luis was twice the age of the average analyst in the building, a fact made clear by his graying temples, but he also put in twice the work. He’d been on site for hours already, analyzing the data and preparing for what they all hoped wouldn’t happen. It was the same drill every day, particularly on days of high-profile events like this one.
He shed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves.
As the local congresswoman, Sarah Williamson, took the stage, Luis turned to a technician behind him. “Any new chatter on the event?”
“Nothing, Director. Nothing this morning, nothing period.”
Another technician sitting next to him said, “Sir, I think you can breathe easy. If there were anything, we would have picked it up by now.”
Luis glared at the young technician for a moment. It was that sort of attitude that would get them killed. They needed to be vigilant and never assume they caught everything. Luis turned toward one of his senior analysts.
“Kate, any hits on facial recognition?”
“No, sir. We’ve processed about 25,000 images in the last hour. Nothing yet.”
The main screen broadcast the live feed from the local news. Luis stared at the smaller screen to the side where the facial recognition package ran nonstop. Faces flickered across the screen at an impressive speed, but not fast enough as far as the director was concerned.
Between their agents on the ground—plain-clothed but with small cameras mounted on their jackets—local traffic cameras capturing pedestrians as they streamed into the park, and the feeds from the news station, it was unlikely there was anyone at the event whose image had not been captured. The servers were currently working at capacity to process these images against a federal database of thousands of known terrorists. That wa
s a time-consuming process. Ruling out 25,000 with tens of thousands to go did nothing to ease Luis’ mind.
On the main screen, Congresswoman Williamson was ending her remarks, raising both hands to wave at the crowd. Luis checked his watch and patted another senior analyst on the shoulder. “All right, Ace, we’ve got a good picture of what’s going on at ground level. How do things look in the air?”
***
Fathi adjusted the backpack slung over one shoulder and looked out over the crowd with disdain. He couldn’t decide which disgusted him more: the women—the so-called feminists—or the men who supported their movement.
A group of young women in front of him, decorated in rainbow apparel, whooped and cheered each time the speech called for such a reaction. English was not a strong point for him. In fact, he understood little of what the congresswoman said, but that was no matter.
It’s better that way, he thought as he cheered and clapped when the crowd cheered and clapped. He decided it was best that he did not know what he was cheering for. He knew he was cheering for a singular reason—to not stick out in the crowd.
Fathi moved closer to the stage, fighting against the deafening cheers of the crowd. Such pandering for cheap applause. It sickened his stomach with every step he took. Still, he moved toward her. He hoped to be very close to the politician when the time came.
That will be a truly great victory, indeed, he thought.
A young girl next to him jumped up and down, screaming at whatever the politician was saying. Suddenly, she lost her footing and fell toward him.
She went to grab onto his hand, which he immediately pulled away, though she managed to grab onto his forearm, inadvertently helping her to right herself.
“Thank you!” she said, smiling at him. Then, “Sorry.”
He simply nodded and forced himself to smile, doing his best to hide his disgust for the non-believer who had just touched him. Walking a few steps away, he quickly glanced around. No one else seemed to have noticed the exchange. No one paid him any attention.
Sheep he thought.
Fathi then turned and inched his way closer to the stage, off to the side where the street was more open. A light breeze rustled the orange and red leaves on the trees as he rubbed his chin with his left hand. He was not used to cool air on his face, having worn a beard for many years—until this morning. He had been conflicted about shaving it off, having grown and proudly worn his beard since being able to do so. But while he wore it to distinguish himself from the disbelievers, it was necessary to remove it in order to blend in with them and achieve his ultimate goal.
The congresswoman appeared to be nearing the end of her remarks, and the crowd was worked into a frenzy. He adjusted his backpack again and checked his watch.
Soon.
***
As the congresswoman wrapped up her remarks, Luis concentrated on the people in the crowd and in the background of the shot.
He tossed back the last of his coffee and put down the cup, walking closer to the large screen, barely a foot away now. Whether during his time with the military police, an analyst at the bureau, or his position here at NEST, Luis always took pride in his ability to read people. Who didn’t belong? Whose body language wasn’t right?
Focusing on the lower left-hand corner of the screen, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Without taking his eyes from the screen he asked, “Who’s on the ground this morning, closest to the main stage?”
A male voice spoke up from behind. “Team 3 is on the north side, but local PD has the main stage and the buffer around there.”
Luis considered that for a moment, pointing toward the screen. “This guy,” he said low, almost to himself, but everyone in the room suddenly had their attention on the lower left-hand corner of the giant screen.
Kate spoke up. “I’ve got him, Director. Doing a priority run on facial recognition.”
As the man’s photo moved to the smaller screen off to the side and the system began running algorithms searching for a match, Luis tapped his ear bud. “JJ, this is Director Huerta. What’s your location?”
A military voice snapped over the com. “North side, approximately twenty yards from the stage. The team is fanned out in a perimeter.”
Luis said, “I want you to send two guys to the northwest corner.” He quickly consulted a street grid map on another screen, “Intersection with Old Colony Avenue, to the left of the main stage. Suspect is male, sunglasses, dark shirt, bag over his right shoulder.”
***
“Yes, sir,” JJ said into the com. Then, “Benoit, Evensen, you’re closest. Move northwest toward the stage, intersection with Old Colony Avenue.”
“You got it, boss,” Benoit said.
“I can’t see shit from here. The crowd is too thick,” Evensen said.
JJ consulted the aerial view on his phone and directed his agents via the radio. “Evensen, approach straight on from the front. Benoit, swing left. Come up the street and watch the egress. If he runs, it’ll be down the alley to your left.”
“Got it.”
“Remember,” JJ said. “Male, dark shirt, bag over his right shoulder.”
“I’ve got eyes on him,” Evensen said.
JJ said, “We need to find out what’s in the bag. Quickly.”
“Suggestions on how to go about that?” Evensen chuckled.
“Ask him. You’ll know everything you need to within about half a second.”
“You got it, boss.”
***
Fathi was perfectly placed, happy to see the congresswoman move to the side after her speech as another woman took the microphone to work the crowd. It appeared she was going to stay onstage.
He smiled wickedly to himself, knowing that in this vast crowd, only he knew what was coming.
He glanced at his phone, checking the time. Less than two minutes.
Then it hit him. He was really doing this. He was sacrificing himself for Allah.
His heart raced. The anticipation of what was about to come was overwhelming. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and he forced himself to take several deep breaths.
The years of searching, the months of planning, all came down to today. He was honored to have been chosen to strike the first blow. Very soon his father and brothers back home would hear of his bravery and learn why he had disappeared from home.
His heart swelled with pride and excitement.
As he slid his phone back into his pocket, a man moving through the crowd caught his eye. The man was dressed in cargo pants and a windbreaker, a light purple hat pulled down low on his brow.
It was not his dress that caught Fathi’s attention, though—it was the look in his eye and the bulge under his left arm.
Police.
The man wasn’t dressed like a police officer, but he carried a weapon and moved with military precision. And most concerning, he was headed straight toward Fathi.
Fathi began to sweat despite the chill in the early morning air. His stomach tightened as he reached into his pocket and placed his thumb over the detonator.
Available everywhere eBooks are sold!
Author's note
Thank you for reading my books! I would love to hear from you. You can email me from my website, Antocci.com, or follow me on Facebook and introduce yourself. I personally respond to everyone.
While this book is the end of the ESCAPE trilogy, it is no where even close to the end of my writing. In fact the first book of my next series is available for pre-order NOW! You can read a preview of it just after the acknowledgements page.
I certainly hope you had as much fun reading the ESCAPE books as I had writing them. If you liked what you read, please tell a friend – or better yet tell the world by writing a quick review on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iBooks, or wherever you may have purchased your copy! Even a few short sentences are helpful. As an independently published author, I don't have a marketing department behind me. I have you, the reader. So please, spr
ead the word!
Thanks again for all of your support, and Happy Reading!
All the best - Dave
Acknowledgements
While it’s my name on the cover, I have a great team behind me that I want to thank for donating their time, expertise, and brutally honest opinions of my writing. My beta-readers and proofreaders keep me on my toes and help to whip the story into shape. Lisa Antocci, Nicole Andries, Lindsay Russo, and Cindy Fogarty, THANK YOU for all that you did to help me make this book a fitting ending to the trilogy.
Throughout the ESCAPE series I have had the pleasure of working with an extraordinary editor, John Briggs of Albany Editing. Over the course of working on this project he has taught me a great deal about the craft of writing, and his insights have been indispensible.
Finally, a HUGE thanks to you, the reader! Your encouragement and support throughout the release of the first two novels gave me the confidence to keep moving forward. As a boy I dreamed of being a writer and telling my stories to anyone who would listen. You have made that little boy’s dreams come true, and are more important to me than you can imagine!
Thank you for reading my books and spreading the word to your friends! - Dave
Escape, Dead End Page 22