Blacksnow Zero

by Lee Gimenez

  BLACKSNOW ZERO

  A Novel

  By

  Lee Gimenez

  River Ridge Press

  BLACKSNOW ZERO

  by

  Lee Gimenez

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  BLACKSNOW ZERO

  Copyright © 2020 by Lee Gimenez. ( www.LeeGimenez.com )

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, or reproducing of any part of this book without written permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. The exception of this is in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews about the book. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Published by

  River Ridge Press

  P.O. Box 501173

  Atlanta, Georgia 31150

  Cover photos: Copyright by Gary718 ( used under license from Shutterstock, Inc. )

  Cover design: Judith Gimenez

  ISBN-13: 978-0-578-69159-6 (Paperback)

  Novels by Lee Gimenez

  Blacksnow Zero

  The Sigma Conspiracy

  Crossfire

  Fireball

  FBI Code Red

  The Media Murders

  Skyflash

  Killing West

  The Washington Ultimatum

  The Nanotech Murders

  Death on Zanath

  Virtual Thoughtstream

  Azul 7

  Terralus 4

  The Tomorrow Solution

  BLACKSNOW ZERO

  Contents

  30 Days to Zero Hour

  29 Days to Zero Hour

  28 Days to Zero Hour

  27 Days to Zero Hour

  26 Days to Zero Hour

  25 Days to Zero Hour

  24 Days to Zero Hour

  23 Days to Zero Hour

  22 Days to Zero Hour

  21 Days to Zero Hour

  20 Days to Zero Hour

  19 Days to Zero Hour

  18 Days to Zero Hour

  17 Days to Zero Hour

  16 Days to Zero Hour

  15 Days to Zero Hour

  14 Days to Zero Hour

  13 Days to Zero Hour

  12 Days to Zero Hour

  11 Days to Zero Hour

  10 Days to Zero Hour

  9 Days to Zero Hour

  8 Days to Zero Hour

  7 Days to Zero Hour

  6 Days to Zero Hour

  5 Days to Zero Hour

  4 Days to Zero Hour

  3 Days to Zero Hour

  2 Days to Zero Hour

  1 Day to Zero Hour

  Zero Hour

  1 Day after Zero Hour

  2 Days after Zero Hour

  3 Days after Zero Hour

  4 Days after Zero Hour

  Two Years Later

  END

  About the author

  Novels by Lee Gimenez

  CROSSFIRE excerpt

  30 Days to Zero Hour

  Fairfax, Virginia

  Bobbie Garcia had killed twenty-four people in his years as a black-ops operative. Tonight would make twenty-five.

  He peered through his night-vision goggles and adjusted the focus. The senator’s home came into clear view, the shadowy green image of the walled estate visible beyond the imposing gate. Garcia lay prone on a wooded hill, across the desolate road in front of the house. The place was situated on six acres, in a secluded area, and he knew its electronic surveillance was first-rate. But he’d been in black-ops a long time and this job wasn’t much different from other wet work he’d done. The target was just higher profile. He’d considered bringing his team on the mission, but decided the less people involved the better.

  Taking off his backpack, he pulled out the portable EMP device and adjusted the settings. Clamping his eyes shut, he activated it. Through his closed eyelids he saw the bright flash and felt a tingle of electrical shock.

  Quickly stuffing the device back in the pack, he glanced at the house. The flood lights that had lit up the grounds were dark now and the hum of the air conditioning units was silent. The electromagnetic pulse had worked.

  Garcia pulled out his Glock and sprinted down the hill. A minute later he was facing the tall, wrought iron gate. He was ruggedly built so the gate presented little challenge. Grabbing the metal bars, he climbed up, vaulted over the top and dropped to the other side with a thud. Scanning the grounds through the goggles, he saw nothing moving.

  Avoiding the long driveway that curved up to the front of the estate, he instead zigzagged around the lush landscaping, reaching the back entrance moments later. Hugging the ornate brick wall of the home, he caught his breath and wiped perspiration from his forehead. It was mid-summer and it was hot outside, even at this time of night.

  Garcia checked his watch – it read 3:12 a.m. Everyone should be asleep.

  He approached a side window by the tall French doors and peered inside the darkened house. The shadowy green image showed a large sitting room, the walls lined with filled bookcases.

  Knowing the alarm system was dead, he pulled a glass cutting tool from his all-black uniform and proceeded to cut part of the window pane. That done, he shoved his hand through the hole and unlocked the window. Sliding it open, Garcia crawled in and crouched by a wingback chair. He listened closely, but only heard the faint ticking of a clock somewhere nearby.

  Making his way out of the room, he found the wide staircase that led to the second story. According to mission specs, the senator’s bedroom was on that floor, off to the right. The man’s children were away traveling, leaving only the senator and his wife at home. All Garcia had to do was gas the couple to make them unconscious. Then kill him and take jewelry and cash on the way out. A robbery gone bad. Simple and straightforward, his handler had said.

  He crept up the staircase, his heart thudding in his chest. He knew kills were never simple.

  Reaching the landing, he turned right, training his weapon in front of him.

  A creaking noise behind him broke the silence and he whirled around to find a large man wearing plaid pajamas pointing a gun at him.

  Dropping to the floor, Garcia fired two quick shots, the muted sounds of the suppressed gun filling the corridor. The man buckled, his gun clattering on the marble floor. Losing no time, Garcia ran to the prone gunman, whose bleeding body was still. Checking for a pulse, he confirmed the man was dead. But clearly he wasn’t the senator. The dead man was much bigger and bulkier. A bodyguard? The specs hadn’t mentioned that. Had the senator been warned?

  His heart racing, Garcia sprinted down the corridor, knowing he had only seconds before the family woke up.

  A door opened to his left and a middle-aged, balding man wearing a robe came out, yawning and rubbing his eyes. Senator Carpenter.

  Damn it all to hell, Garcia thought. It was too late, it was all turning to shit.

  Garcia fired, putting three rounds in the man’s torso. The senator’s eyes went wide, he grunted and clutched his chest. Then he collapsed, his body convulsing.

  Garcia heard a woman’s scream as he entered the darkened bedroom. A naked, obese woman sat on the edge of the king-size bed staring at him. She yelled again and Garcia put a round in her forehead. A hole appeared there and she slumped to the floor.

  Glancing around, he saw no one else. Taking no chances, he sprinted out of the room, checking each of the other bedrooms. They were empty and his mind raced, trying to figure a way out of the mess. He’d kil
led three people, one of them an armed bodyguard – the ‘robbery gone bad’ cover was now a stretch.

  Finally deciding, he took off his backpack and rummaged through it. Finding the incendiary grenade, he pulled the pin and rolled it down the corridor. In minutes the estate would be in flames.

  He ran down the staircase, his weapon trained in front of him. Moments later, he was on the grounds, racing away from the house.

  Operation BlackSnow had begun.

  ***

  Garcia was in his cramped Washington D.C. apartment the next morning, working on his computer, when his wife Maria came into his small office.

  “What time you get in last night?” she asked, her tired eyes looking sad. Maria was a good-looking woman, with olive skin and shapely figure, but the last couple of years had been difficult for her. Although she was in her mid-thirties, she looked much older.

  Saving the file he was working on, he quickly closed the laptop. “After five,” he replied, giving her a bright smile.

  Maria’s expression went from sad to cold. “I want you around more often.”

  She slouched on the chair across from him, crossed her arms in front of her. “When we moved to D.C.,” she hissed, “you told me things would be different. It’s been two years and nothing’s changed.”

  He raised his hands in front of him. “You know the military…it’s a grind….”

  “The hell with the military! We’ve talked about this before, Bobbie. Put in your papers. You’ve got your twenty in. You’re only forty, still young. With your background in Special Forces, you could get a good job in private security – they pay top dollar.”

  “I know. Soon, I promise. I just have to finish this one project.”

  Her dark eyes glared. “Okay. Tell me about it. Tell me what’s so damn important that you’re gone all the time?”

  “I can’t talk about it, you know that.”

  “Just as I thought.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I want to start a family. I’m not getting any younger. But I want my kids to have a father.”

  Trying to placate her, he said, “I promise, as soon this project is done, I’ll put in for retirement from the Marines.”

  Maria tilted her head, staring into his eyes. Her glare melted a fraction. “You mean it?”

  “Of course. I want to start a family too.”

  She stood up, leaned down and gave him a kiss, then said, “I love you, Bobbie. I just want us to have a normal life.”

  Garcia placed his palm on her face and caressed her cheek, his mind racing through the events of the last year. His handler had promised him a big payout after it was all done. Retirement would be a snap.

  29 Days to Zero Hour

  Rome, Italy

  FBI Agent Erica Blake jogged on the grimy, worn sidewalk, bypassing the pedestrians on their way to work. To her left, the Tiber River meandered and on her right, the avenue was packed with tiny autos and motor scooters. It was morning, but the summer heat was already building – her jogging outfit was drenched with sweat.

  She loved the excitement of the city and had jumped at the opportunity to vacation here – her first real vacation in years. Dodging a shuffling, older man, she sprinted on the cobblestones of the road, then quickly ran back to the sidewalk as a Fiat blared its horn.

  Picking up her pace, she sprinted past a cluster of Japanese tourists, cameras dangling from their necks.

  Up ahead, a street vendor was selling pastries and the sweet aroma wafted by. She almost stopped, but didn’t want to break her five-mile trek – she’d grab breakfast with Steve back at the hotel.

  After jogging in place at the traffic light, she raced across the avenue when the light turned and made her way past the tree-lined park that led to the high-rise hotel. She stopped in front of it, caught her breath and walked in.

  ***

  Erica found Steve in the bedroom, still asleep. The muscular, blond man was tangled in the sheets. Unlike her, he needed eight hours of sleep – she rarely slept more than two. Her curse, she called it, although it came in handy on stake-outs.

  She headed into the bathroom, her thoughts turning to her odd, on-again, off-again relationship with her ex-husband, Steve McCord. A CIA agent, Steve had made a lousy spouse, but he was a great lover and they shared a passion for Rome. When she began planning this trip, she immediately thought of him.

  Stripping out of her wet clothes, she turned on the light and studied herself. Not bad for a thirty-five year old – her curves and lean tone the same as in college. The gym and jogging saw to that. She pushed her long, black hair away from her pretty, sculpted face and noticed the wrinkles at the edge of her pale blue eyes. Nothing stays the same, she thought. She traced the slight scar on her cheek, the result of being grazed by a bullet years ago. She smiled and shook her head. Looks are fleeting, her mother had told her. Get an education, she had said, and make your own way in life. Advice Erica had taken to heart. But sometimes, Erica knew, she was too independent for her own good, a trademark that pissed off her bosses at the Bureau.

  She pushed those thoughts aside and jumped in the shower, turning the tap to ice cold.

  ***

  Wrapped in a white robe, she returned to the bedroom. Steve was still dozing and she rectified that by slapping his bare ass.

  The man jumped up from the bed. “What the hell?” he mumbled.

  “Time to get up, sleepyhead. It’s nine already.”

  He rubbed his eyes, slid back into bed and pulled the sheet over his head. “Too early….”

  She slapped his leg, leaving a red mark on it. “Get up. Time to have breakfast and screw.”

  Steve peeked from under the covers. “Didn’t you get enough last night? I’m still sore.”

  Erica laughed. “I never get enough. You should know that by now.”

  He pulled the sheet completely off. “One of many things I love about you.”

  She let her robe fall open. “Probably the only thing.”

  “No it’s not.” His face got serious. “You’re the one who wanted out of the marriage.”

  She nodded and went quiet.

  His face brightened. “Tell you what, I’ll order us some food from room-service.”

  Just then her cell phone buzzed. It was on the nightstand and she reached over, took the call and held the phone to her ear. She listened for a minute, said okay and hung up.

  “Shit,” she growled.

  “Who was it?” he asked.

  “Work. My boss. There’s been a suspicious fire. Senator Carpenter, his wife and his bodyguard are dead.”

  “And?”

  “They’re giving me the case.”

  “You’re on vacation, Erica. Why can’t another agent handle it?”

  She slumped on the bed. “Because I’m on vacation, that’s why. I’ve mouthed off at my boss one too many times. This is payback.”

  “Asshole.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Steve reached into her robe, began to caress her breast. “When do you have to go?”

  “Now.”

  His hand wandered down her body and he touched her gently.

  She lay back on the bed and pulled her robe completely open. “Maybe not now. But soon.”

  28 Days to Zero Hour

  The Vice President’s office

  West Wing of the White House

  Washington, D.C.

  Vice President Taylor loosened his tie and leaned back in his chair. Things were going so well he decided to pour himself another drink. Reaching into his ornate wooden desk, he pulled out the bottle of Dewar’s scotch and poured himself two fingers.

  He held up the cut-glass tumbler, admiring the amber liquid, then sipped slowly, relishing the smooth burn of the liquor.

  Putting the bottle and glass back in the drawer, he pressed the intercom on his desk. “Alice, show the General in,” he said.

  General Corvan stepped in the sound-proofed room and closed the door behind him. Taylor stood and the men s
hook hands.

  “Have a seat, Corvan.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The general was a Marine four-star from the Pentagon and one of Taylor’s most trusted allies. A tall, broad man with a regulation crew-cut, Corvan didn’t look that bright, but Taylor knew the man was highly intelligent and always got things done.

  The two men sat and the vice president leaned back in his wide executive chair, which had been custom-made to accommodate his overweight frame. Taylor smiled and said, “I called Garcia, after you gave me the news. He did a good job on the senator.”

  “I was hoping the operation could have been cleaner….” Corvan replied.

  Taylor raised his palms. “Me too – but sometimes things get complicated.”

  “Yes, sir, they do.”

  “With Carpenter out of the way, we won’t have a problem with the Senate Armed Services committee. They won’t be sniffing around anymore. The rest of those guys are in my pocket.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Taylor ran a hand over his bald pate. “Okay, then. How’s the rest of BlackSnow proceeding?”

  Corvan leaned forward in his seat. “Everything is on track, Mr. Vice President. The other generals are on board, as is one of the two admirals we need.”

  “So – Admiral Stanton still not in agreement?”

  Corvan rubbed his jaw. “Not yet. I’m working on it.”

  Taylor’s face turned red. “Damn, it. Get it done. We need those submarines.”

  The general pushed back in his seat and a frown crossed his face. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. We still have time, but we need to lock down all the players.”

  Corvan nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Taylor glanced at the family photo on his desk – his wife and two sons. I’m doing this for you, he thought. For your future.

  “Sir,” the general asked, “what about the President?”

  Taylor turned away from the photo and stared at the other man. “That jerk? He doesn’t wipe his ass without checking with the Chinese first. Don’t worry. President Wilson is clueless as to what we’re planning.” He rubbed his hands together. “I love my plan.”