Balance of Trust

by Charles Geoffrey

  Bender sagged in his chair, relieved.

  The hooded man left him and went to the front passenger seat, sending the medic back, while he began relaying information to someone else via a cell phone.

  Bender thought of Carol and Rachel, suddenly full of optimism inside. He had his life back. His choice to take the mission had been a success, and if he hadn’t gone, Lydia would be dead. He was certain of it. The terrorists would never have left witnesses, and he believed that—given the incomplete intel—no other operatives would have done any better.

  He had made the right choice. But he couldn’t tell Carol that. He slept.

  In an hour—or several, he couldn’t be sure—he was shaken awake by the medic. The medic and hooded man helped him off the airplane. Lydia walked in front of him. It was dark but warm outside. Not far away a police car was waiting. A female officer got out of the passenger side, looking at Lydia.

  Lydia stopped and turned to Bender.

  He painfully knelt in front of her, holding her arms. “You’re a brave girl, and whenever you think of your parents, remember how much they loved you. I’ll never forget that you saved my life, Lydia. I wouldn’t be here without your help.”

  He paused, digging the compass out of his pocket. “I want you to have this, to remember me by.” He pressed it into her hand. Originally he had thought of giving it to Rachel, but Lydia needed it more than his daughter.

  Tears streamed down her face and she grasped him tightly. It brought tears to his eyes. He didn’t know what mattered more to him, stopping the terrorists or saving the life of one little girl.

  The hooded man waited a few yards away.

  Bender suddenly became wary. He stood and took Lydia’s hand, shuffling with her to the female officer near the police car. He wondered what story had been told to the police, and what they would pass on to Lydia’s aunt.

  “Where are you taking her?” he asked quietly.

  The female police officer touched Lydia’s shoulder. “Your aunt has been told everything, and she’s very excited that you’re going to be living with them.”

  “Where’s that?” He still wasn’t convinced this wasn’t some type of charade.

  “We have a long drive to Michigan.” The officer smiled at Lydia. “But we’ll stop for food along the way.” She opened the rear door and went in, motioning Lydia to follow.

  Lydia looked up at him, and he nodded. “Go see your aunt, Lydia. She’ll take care of you. You’re safe now.”

  She wiped her eyes and got in, and Bender shut the door, placing his palm against the window. Lydia did the same. He backed away and the police car drove off. It was hard to see her go. He wished there was some way to keep in touch with her. Blackhood Ops would never allow it.

  “Satisfied?” asked the hooded man.

  “Yeah.”

  The hooded man helped him walk onto a larger plane that would take him to Langley Air Force Base. Bender wondered who the hooded man was—something about him sent off alarms in his head. The man seemed cold and devoid of empathy. It triggered the desire to be held by Carol and Rachel, and to hold them.

  The hooded man disappeared up front.

  On the plane a doctor and nurse were waiting for him. After take-off, they had him lie on a cot where they administered local anesthesia, re-cleaned his wounds, stitched him up, checked his ears, and gave him antibiotics. They also wrapped his ribs. He mentioned the water he had gulped from the stream and they gave him something for that too.

  When they finished, he remained on the cot, finding it comfortable. He closed his eyes and was asleep immediately.

  When they landed at Langley Air Force Base, the nurse woke him. Exhausted, his eyes blurry, he couldn’t sit up. She helped him. He groaned with the pain.

  The nurse and an attendant assisted him off the plane. He never saw the hooded man again.

  They helped him to a waiting black sedan. He was glad. There was no way he could stay awake for the three-hour ride home. He fell into the back seat, and the driver said, “Someone will drive your Jeep to your house tomorrow.”

  “Thanks.” He fell asleep immediately.

  Hours later the driver’s voice woke him up. The man had opened his door and was leaning in to help him. It took him a few moments to gather himself and prepare for the pain movement would cause.

  Slowly he swung his legs out and pushed to his feet with the driver’s help.

  There were lights and dark figures moving around the car. It confused him for a few moments until he realized he was standing in front of his house. For a moment he thought it was a welcome back party.

  It unnerved him to see tripod lights and dozens of flashlights beaming in the dark, some of them held by neighbors. Abruptly his friend Kergan stood before him, wearing a leather coat, his tall frame shadowed by the light, his silver hair gleaming. Kergan was a retired four-star general and had access to the general that ran Blackhood Ops.

  It confused Bender. He swallowed hard as he stared at his trusted friend.

  Kergan gently grasped Bender’s arms. “They wanted me to be the one to tell you, Jerome. Blackhood wouldn’t allow contact before this.”

  Bender opened his mouth, unable to speak at first. “What?”

  Kergan grimaced. “They found Rachel’s bicycle outside a steep chute leading to a cave. A piece of cut rope was attached to her bike. I’ve looked at it. Recent rain created a river at the bottom of the shaft. They couldn’t even go down to look for her. They found Spinner alive and lying on the ground by Rachel’s bike.”

  Bender gaped at his friend, his knees wobbly. Kergan held him up. Spinner, their big chocolate lab, loved Rachel. The dog would have never have allowed anyone to take her without a fight.

  Rachel must have climbed the chute. Because he hadn’t trusted her to do easy caves, she had picked a dangerous one to prove herself to him. His fault. He wanted his body in that cave, and Rachel standing in the road.

  “Carol needs you, Jerome.” Kergan gently rested a hand on his shoulder.

  Bender somehow couldn’t comprehend how he could save a little girl from terrorists on a dangerous mission and yet lose his daughter at home. It occurred to him then that Carol had been right, that deep down he thought he could save everyone, and yet he had failed his own daughter.

  Struggling to keep from crying out, he desperately looked for Carol. He spotted her leaving the arms of one of her friends.

  He stumbled up to her, reaching out. “Carol.”

  She grasped him, crying hard. “Oh, Jer.”

  “I’ll look for her,” he said. “I’ll find her.”

  ****

  Weeks later, when he was well enough to investigate the chute, he couldn’t find her body. He began thinking that Rachel would have never done the chute by herself. And some passerby couldn’t have just grabbed her. Rachel routinely practiced fighting situations in virtual reality simulations and she practiced self-defense skills almost daily. Plus there were no sign of a struggle and Spinner had no injuries. Nothing fit.

  He became convinced an enemy had taken her. Someone powerful and highly skilled. The only question was why they hadn’t contacted him yet.

  At his desk he began going through every mission he had ever participated in for the Army, and the few private contracts he had carried out for others. He made a list of potential enemies, their contact information, and possible motives.

  He knew in his heart of hearts Rachel was still alive.

  SIgn up for updates, bargains, and deals on upcoming releases atwww.charlesgeoffrey.com

  Continue reading for an excerpt from

  Charles Geoffrey’s first book in the

  Jerome Bender series

  Force of Bullets

  A Jerome Bender Thriller

  Excerpt from

  FORCE OF BULLETS

  Chapter 1

  Komodo: 2200 hours

  Major Jerome Bender clenched his jaw as the plane splashed down on the quiet waters of the lake. He pulled
the black Lycra hood at the back of his neck over his head so only his eyes and mouth were visible. Even though his black fatigues were vented, he still sweated profusely.

  Stepping out from behind the massive kapok tree, he waited. He would finally get answers. Everyone at the site was to be terminated, but he hadn’t signed on to murder unarmed civilians.

  The twin-engine King Air Beechcraft was almost impossible to see except as a dark shape moving against the far tree line. Painted all black and gutted for weight so it could carry extra fuel, it also had no registration numbers on it.

  The aircraft angled over to the shore, the engine noise overwhelming the rainforest sounds until it was cut. A side cargo door slid open with a rasp and a rope was tossed out.

  Bender caught it, and pulled the aircraft into the shore, securing the line around a tree. Picking up his silenced SIG Sauer MCX Rattler, he gripped it with both hands. The folding stock made the rifle-caliber machine gun easy to conceal and it had little recoil.

  A large hooded figure jumped out of the plane into a few inches of water, also holding a Rattler. Bender recognized the height of the man. Colonel Danker.

  Danker nodded, using Bender’s call sign for this mission; “PR,” which stood for point & recon. The call sign wasn’t very inventive, but Danker had assigned it.

  Heavily muscled with a gravelly voice, at six-five Danker had three inches on Bender.

  “Good to see you, BB.” Bender heaved a silent breath, finally relaxing. Danker was U.S. Army and always did things by the book, thus his call sign of BB. Bender trusted him.

  Everyone else on the Op worked for Blackhood, the private security contractor that signed their checks. But Danker would know all their profiles and made sure they had excellent skill sets for the Op.

  Over a year and a half ago Bender had been asked to resign from the Army to join the secret Blackhood Ops program to target terrorists. The missions had been named Blackhood Ops to further distance the U.S. military and put the private military contractor on the hook for responsibility. Except for Danker, the U.S. government wanted no ties to these missions.

  Four more hooded men exited the plane, one of them its pilot. Bender didn’t know their identities, and they didn’t know his—another precaution to maintain Blackhood mission secrecy.

  He led them a dozen yards from the shoreline vegetation into the trees, where they squatted in a tight circle.

  Each man was equipped with a Rattler, Glock 19, fixed blade knife, and a belt pouch that contained a night monocular scope, first aid, and a GPS tracking unit should things go bad. They also all had small wireless radios, earpieces, and throat microphones. The guns all had their identification numbers erased.

  In addition, Bender had a Benchmade 3300BK Infidel auto OTF blade in a small, horizontal belt-sheath built into the inside back of his belt. For his fixed blade he carried a seven-inch Ka-Bar—he liked the leather handle. A small sling bag on his back held rations, a soft-sided canteen, and some first aid supplies.

  He looked at Danker. “There are unarmed civilians at the building.”

  Danker nodded. “Brief us.”

  From his pouch Bender brought out a piece of white folded plastic and an iridescent red marker. He marked off the position of the site and guard positions.

  Glancing around the circle, he said, “Two guards on the roof, two at each of the building’s two entrances, four more in the jungle. We’ll be coming in due east of the objective. The building has two main wings. Our target will be in the south wing.”

  He showed them the position he would lead them to, then made quick suggestions on how to take out the guards and secure the area and building. Finding optimal strategies was one of his specialties and he didn’t expect any objections.

  “All civilians should be inside at this time of night.” He looked up at Danker.

  The colonel said softly, “No warm bodies. No one leaves the site. I’ll take care of the primary target. Radio silent unless you’re in trouble.”

  Bender’s neck stiffened. He stared at Danker, but the colonel was already upright, waiting. Standing, he whispered, “There are at least four noncombatants at the site, including a Franciscan friar.”

  Danker spoke matter-of-factly: “Orders stand.”

  Glancing at the other four sets of eyes, Bender saw only acceptance. “Our drones will record it.”

  Danker shook his head. “No drones tonight. Take point, PR.”

  Fifteen years of following orders compelled Bender to nod and move past the others as he returned the plastic and marker to his pouch.

  Leading them at a brisk pace through the rainforest, he walked up the gently sloped mountain. The heat produced rivulets of sweat over his torso. He clenched his jaw. Civilian casualties were unavoidable in any conflict, but his job was to protect them, not actively target them. That view had inspired his entire military career. It was the cornerstone of his life.

  Current U.S. military command accepted more civilian casualties in certain scenarios, but this wasn’t a bombing run. Here they could control the outcome.

  He had no problem killing armed guards to get to a terrorist, but he trained to avoid civilian casualties. Danker hadn’t even asked how many nonmilitary personnel were on the premises. The colonel didn’t care.

  Danker had more intel than he did about the Op and the terrorist. Still, Bender had enough missions under his belt to recognize the difference between uninvolved civilians and those supporting terrorists. The female cook and maid were pushing fifty and were never armed. Like the driver and friar, they didn’t act, talk, or move like terrorists in hiding worried about an attack.

  His trust in the mission evaporated. Danker was following orders, but Bender questioned the motive of whoever gave them.

  He gripped his gun. No warm bodies. This wasn’t a planned assassination of a known terrorist. It was going to be a massacre.

  For email updates from Charles Geoffrey go to

  www.charlesgeoffrey.com

  Acknowledgments

  I want to thank my friend Stanley Blanchard who used his extensive military background to strengthen the military scenes and give Jerome Bender the nuances he needed to play the part. Any mistakes or omissions in anything military is my fault alone. Thanks to Steve McEllistrem, my cousin and fellow writer gave the book a read for grammar. I also wish to thank my parents for their critiques—they have always had a sharp sense of what makes a great action thriller.

  The character Jerome Bender follows his values above all else. Doing the right thing is something you learn from the adults around you. My parents did a great job of teaching that to me.

  Lastly, I wish to thank all the men and women who act heroically every day to insure our safety. We owe you our thanks, gratitude, and support.

  About the Author

  Charles Geoffrey has spent many years studying kung fu and has sailed all over the South Pacific and Caribbean. He uses that experience and sense of adventure to write action thrillers—the type of books he absorbed as a young reader. An educator, and award-winning author, he also infuses his writing with elements of nature—a passion of his since he was a child.

  Charles Geoffrey holds a biology degree from St. Thomas University and has assisted in field research on hummingbirds and humpback whales. With more than twenty years of experience working in special education, he has taught adults and children everything from sailing to self-awareness and novel writing. He lives in St. Paul, Minnesota.

  For email updates from Charles Geoffrey go to

  www.charlesgeoffrey.com

 

 

 
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