Force Recruit
Page 6
“I’m a novice in these areas, Chief,” Mark responded without looking at Hudson. “She might have some though.”
“Who?” Hudson asked.
“Hello, Hudson,” Karen spoke from behind him. Her Glock was pointed at his back. “I know a place you would be interested in.”
Hudson saw Karen’s face in the rear-view mirror and flinched, trying to turn back.
“Don’t.” She pressed the Glock's barrel against his neck.
“Karen, do you know what you’re doing?”
“We’ll soon know.” She said and then looked at Mark. “Stop the car.”
Mark slowed the pace and stopped it at the side of the road.
“Get out,” Karen ordered Hudson.
“What do you want?” Hudson asked, without panicking. He was confident that Karen didn’t have it in her to do what she was doing.
“Get out.” Karen kept a lid on her nerves. She had to appear composed in front of her old boss. Hudson obeyed without asking another question.
Karen opened her side of the door at the same time. The Glock was now pointing at Hudson’s face.
“Strip.” She ordered.
“What?” Hudson could not hide his shock. He didn’t notice when Mark came up behind him and snatched his Attaché. Things suddenly started to look dangerously real for Hudson.
“Karen, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did to you, said to you. I promise it won’t ever happen again.” Hudson shifted gears quickly.
“I don’t give a two-cent shit about your apology. Strip now.” Karen kept a tight lid on her anger.
Hudson felt something pressing at his back. Mark had taken out his gun now.
“Don’t do anything rash. I’ll do what you want.” Hudson said, while unbuttoning his overcoat.
Five minutes later, he was in his undergarments and shoes, shivering.
“Those as well.”
“I can’t.”
Mark shot a bullet near his right foot, making Hudson jump.
“What the…”
“The next one will be in your leg.” Karen said.
Hudson had no other option than to follow her orders.
“Put your hands behind your back.” Karen fired another order. Hudson obeyed, and Mark quickly handcuffed him. The cold steel rubbed against his loose skin.
“Move.” Mark pushed him from behind. Hudson stumbled forward.
Karen opened the boot. She grabbed Hudson’s neck and pushed him inside. Her Glock was still pointed at Hudson’s face. Mark swiftly tied his legs, and put a duct tape over his mouth, gagging him. Karen looked at him one last time and then shut the boot on his face.
“Now what?” Mark asked.
“We need to burn his belongings,” Karen said.
“Okay,” Mark said. Karen walked towards Hudson’s clothes, lying on the road. Suddenly, something pierced her neck’s tender skin. Before she could do anything, she was in Mark’s arms and he was putting her in the back seat. She wanted to retaliate, but couldn’t.
Mark tied her hands and legs. Once sure that she could not move, he grabbed Hudson’s belongings and threw them in the front seat.
CHAPTER 15
A white light blinded Karen, and she covered her face. Sluggishly, she started to see things around her. It was a small room with a high ceiling. A nurse was checking her vitals and making notes, oblivious that her patient was awake. The bed creaked as Karen tried to move, alerting the nurse. She pressed a small blue button on the wall. Karen tried to get up. The nurse saw her struggle and moved forward to help her.
“Hello, Karen.” The voice echoed in the room.
“What is this place? Where is Hudson?”
“You can leave.” The voice ordered. The nurse looked at Karen and then left the room. It was now only Karen and the voice.
“This is our medical facility. You have just gone through a medical checkup. Hudson is at a safe location.”
“Why is he still alive? You and Mark betrayed me. You went back on your promise.” Karen was yelling.
“Karen, I’ll say this only once so listen carefully. When we helped you, we put Mark, one of our best assets, on the field for your personal mission. His face has now been seen by Hudson, along with yours. If you think we’ll allow you to kill him, then you’re wrong. Think what will that do to you and this team? We fight for this country, not with our own citizens. We helped you nab Hudson, but we cannot allow you to kill him. That was never part of the deal. If you still want to believe that anyone here has betrayed you, then it’s your view. Also, by signing that document, you became a part of this organization and we don’t let our people become their own enemy. So, if you are done with your personal problems, then tell me. We have a lot of ground to cover before we start your training.”
Karen said nothing. This was not the closure she had wanted and hoped for.
“What next?” She asked, after a lot of deliberation. She didn’t have an option other than to survive here. If they kicked her out because of her personal vendetta, then her next stop would probably be a prison cell.
“The next thing is to kill Karen.” This grabbed Karen’s attention.
“On the table, you will find a computer. An email from your account is sent, to the people who knew you or are related to you, stating your disappointment in the judicial system and the department. Owing to the pressure, you decided to kill yourself.”
“What? I didn’t send any such email.”
“We did.”
“But why?”
“We needed to give you an out from the system so that no one comes looking for you when you disappear.”
Karen said nothing. What had she gotten herself into?
“Last night, when you were with Mark, a fire erupted in your house. Police are still looking for the reason, but they will find that you used a blowtorch to start the fire.”
“What about the body?”
“They will find a body. Similar to you, but badly burnt. Unrecognizable.”
“What about the DNA?”
“That’s taken care of.”
“Dental records?”
“You don’t need to worry about that.” The voice said, “All you need to worry about is your new identity—Jessica Foster.”
“Jessica?”
“The packet on the table has your passport, social security number, and a brief bio on Jessica’s back story.”
Karen got up from the bed and walked to the table. From the packet, she took out her passport and opened it. The name was Jessica Foster, but the photo was not hers. It was someone else who looked oddly familiar.
“This is not my photo.”
“It is you, after a small plastic surgery.”
“Plastic surgery?”
“Yes, it will be done only if you succeed in the training. You will get these documents then. Just take the brief file on your new backstory. You’ll only respond to Jessica from now. Understood?”
Karen nodded.
“You can leave the package here. Outside, you will find the nurse who was here when you woke up. She will take you to your next stop. Questions?”
“Who are you?”
“All the best, Jessica.” Karen looked at the camera and gave it a blank stare.
Was she doing the right thing? Where would all this take her?
The thing that bothered her most was that her control over her life had now diminished to zero. But the time to think about it was long over. She had no option but to wait and watch how this would unfold.
The End
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About DEADLY FORCE
Sam Wick's new mission was simple - Infiltrate Iran, extract a religious figurehead from the center of the country and bring him back to the USA for interrogation. Nothing could have gone wrong, except everything that could go wrong, went wrong.
Sam Wick's most explosive thriller yet.
Sam Wick. Task Force 77's best. Master Extractor. Perfect Assassin. Task Force-77 (TF-77) is a black ops team of NSA and the US Military. This is the team, the U.S. government calls when it needs to get people out of the most dangerous places on earth.
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DEADLY FORCE - CHAPTER 1
Sam Wick glanced at the sleepy street dog while he completed his customary five-mile run in just before the dawn. This was his third consecutive day in Tehran, the capital city of Iran, but he had been in the country in the past. He had known the place by heart, having spent a year or so during his three missions out of many. Apart from his usual run, he preferred to stay in the safe house the entire day, thinking, planning and sharpening the nut and bolts of the plan. He needed to jog to take the edge of due to the extra coffee he consumed during the day.
He checked his satellite phone - his communication line routed directly to the office of William Helms at Maryland, USA–NSA Director and Task Force-77’s Joint Custodian.
The voice-secure sat phone was Wick’s only direct link to Helms. No one else in the administration knew he was in Iran, and no one could. If the target was captured successfully, the administration would want complete deniability, and if anything went awry, they would want it even more.
The safehouse was Task Force-77’s property. Task Force-77 or TF-77 was a black ops team jointly overseen by the NSA and the US Army - an off-the-books team that came into play when the diplomatic solutions failed. Powered with US military might across the globe and NSA’s intel, the team was well equipped to handle anything and that made it the one to go for the toughest missions on the most dangerous locations using means that any government would never authorize yet expect it to get done. Its multiple assets were spread in sensitive locations like Iran, and Wick was one of them. The only variance was that Wick was the best asset the TF-77 had ever produced, and it had seen the best lot coming out of its training regimes. And he was invariably chosen to undertake the riskiest of the exfiltration missions especially in countries where the US could not intervene directly.
5’11”. Weather-beaten face. Black hair. Pointed nose. Medium built. Unreadable sea-blue eyes and an unassuming walk. Trained in Krav Maga, Kalarippayattu and Muay Thai fighting styles. Expert in disguise. He’d been born in Kansas, but he could speak and write seventeen languages.
For anyone looking at him closely, he appeared a mass of contradictions. There was subsurface violence almost always in control, but very much alive. There was also a pensiveness that seemed painful, yet he rarely gave vent to the anger that pain provoked.
Back in the safe house, he waited for the on-ground support team to arrive. Although he had mentioned that he didn’t need one for this mission, his bosses insisted upon him to still take one as back up.
To support the field operatives during their missions the TF-77 deployed small on-the-ground teams—typically three to four members—depending on mission specifics.
Wick had received a message on the TF-77 application on his cell phone. Olivia, Logan, and Elijah–from the support team - were on their way from Isfahan, a city in central Iran.
Based on their traveling plans, Wick expected them to reach the safe house in the next couple of hours.
This was Wick’s first mission with this team. He had read their files, and they appeared competent. That’s all he needed to start with. Olivia would help him handle the logistics if required. The bonus was that she was an expert in a gunfight. Elijah was a former marine with tight credentials. Logan was a tech guy and a non-combatant. Wick had plans for each of them. If they were here, then he was fine to use them as he deemed fit in the overall mix. He had that authority. He knew that. They understood that.
He looked at his unique shopping list lying on the table. He knew where he would find the items. He had contacts in the city to get the things he needed. He grabbed his Kurta to get ready. Before the support team would reach here, he had to get the items on his list and be back in the safe house.
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ABOUT WICKED DECEIT
What do you do when your own President wants you dead?
You call Sam Wick.
Task Force-77 (TF-77) is a black ops team of NSA and the US Military. This is the team the U.S. government calls when it needs to get people out of the most dangerous places on earth.
Sam Wick. Task Force 77's best. Master Extractor. Perfect Assassin. Where the government cannot and will not go, he will.
His mission: Extract Carlos Cruz-Diez—a New York Times reporter—from the clutches of death.
Location: Venezuela Consulate in Vienna, Austria.
The Obstacle: Venezuela’s National Intelligence Service has sent sixteen of their best to execute this mission.
Timeline: Twenty-four hours. Time is running out. Bullets are flying. Bodies are piling up. Nothing is as it seems.
Will Sam Wick succeed?
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CHAPTER 1
President Chambers, Caracas Venezuela
What could you possibly offer the man who controlled not only your destiny but that of your whole country? The man who ruled with an iron fist. The man who had the Russian President on his speed-dial. The man who had once given the finger to the US President at a diplomatic convention. What could you possibly give the President of your country on his birthday?
But Henrique Arias Cárdenas, the director of the Venezuela Intelligence Service, had more on his mind than a birthday present while he waited in the visitor’s lounge of the Palacio de Miraflores—the President of Venezuela’s office. He glanced at the 19th-century wall clock above the majestic office door behind which the President was about to meet him. It was thirteen past two in the morning and the city was quiet after a long day of travails, but Henrique wasn’t even thinking of sleep. There wasn’t any time. He sat at the edge of the couch with his back straight, his hands sweating even in the temperature-controlled room.
Since his phone rang an hour ago, he was racking his brain to construe a reason for the urgency of this mee
ting but got nothing. Not a pleasant situation to be in, especially for the Director of Venezuela’s premier intelligence agency.
He already had a meeting scheduled with the President at eight in the morning, just before the whole country would start celebrating their leader’s birthday. Festivities had been planned for the next seven days, and over the past few weeks, he and his men had been busy foiling the attempts by radical extremists to devise disruptions in the celebrations. His office had been diligent in sending daily briefs to the President’s office. What then had warranted this late-night summons? What was it that could not wait for six more hours?