Rex Dalton Thriller series Boxset 2

by J C Ryan

  Of course, Digger wasn’t a service dog, but that was the ruse Rex had used ever since inheriting the dog from his friend, Trevor Madigan, a former SAS operative from Australia, who’d been killed in an ambush in Afghanistan. Digger, an Australian military dog, had been his companion since Trevor asked Rex to take care of him with his dying breath. Rex, mortally scared of dogs since he’d been attacked by one as a small child, had agreed. There was no way he was going to deny his friend’s deathbed request.

  The two of them, Rex and Digger, at best had what could be called a strained relationship while Trevor was still alive. That was mainly due to Rex’s fear of dogs, which he never told anyone about, but was obviously sensed by Digger who badgered him about it.

  But since Rex was a man of his word, he and Digger worked through their issues, and as it turned out, Digger had trained him to relax around dogs, had acknowledged him as his alpha in their pack of two, and was incredibly useful in a scrape. He also did a great impersonation of a service dog. Over time they’d become inseparable mates.

  It had been a month since the interruption of his new life as a globe-trotting student of history had ended with Rex acquiring an Indian IT specialist as his personal assistant. He’d then indulged his desire to see more of the historical sites of India, with the knowledge that his former life as a black ops government sanctioned assassin was no longer open to him since the ambush that led to the deaths of his entire team, including Trevor Madigan. Afterward, with Digger’s help, he’d pursued the people responsible for the ambush and discovered who’d betrayed him. He dealt with some of them, but there were some still on his blacklist, to be dealt with at a time of his choosing. He’d escaped Afghanistan with Digger, a bundle of cash, a small fortune in diamonds, and a stack of computer hard drives containing valuable information about the main players involved in the drug trade of Afghanistan, including those in the US ultimately responsible for the betrayal and killing of Rex’s men. He was convinced the latter also contained enough information about the drug lord’s secret bank accounts to allow him to help himself to a major fortune.

  The Taj Mahal was one of the last sites on his list to visit in India. One of the seven wonders of the modern world, meaning "Crown of the Palace", the elegant edifice is an ivory-white marble mausoleum on the south bank of the Yamuna river in the Indian city of Agra. The Mughal emperor Shah Jahan, who reigned from 1628 to 1658, erected it to house the tomb of his favorite wife. Centered in formal gardens, the majesty of the white marble structure was breathtaking. So much so that Rex’s carefully-constructed identity had a near-miss in the next moment.

  All Rex’s appearance at the time needed to simulate being blind was a white stick. He was wearing a big hat against the mid-day sun and sunglasses to protect him from the brightness of the sparkling white marble of the palace. Digger on a leash beside him, with the prominent Service Dog sign, completed the subterfuge, though that hadn’t been on Rex’s mind when he set out that morning.

  Nonetheless, it quickly became very much on his mind when he almost bumped right into someone from his past. Josh Farley. And with him was a woman Rex didn’t know. Not surprising that he didn’t know her, as when he and Josh had been acquainted there were no women in the picture. All this flashed through his mind as he surreptitiously backed off and tried to calm his jangled nerves.

  That could have been a disaster!

  As he let Josh and the woman gain ground while he dropped back, Rex’s mind raced even as he tried to regulate his heart rate and breathing.

  What the hell is Josh doing here? Holiday? Who is the woman with him? Maybe his girlfriend? Wife? Nah can’t be.

  He knew Josh well enough – Josh had been recruited into CRC, a highly secret black ops paramilitary organization for whom Rex had been a top agent, a few years after Rex. Rex had given him some training, and he was good. One tough, lean, mean bastard. CRC agents didn’t have time for a wife, not while they were still young enough to be in the field. Last time he saw Josh he didn’t even have a girlfriend.

  But most important of all, what was he doing here, and who was that woman with him? Rex had the perturbation that it might have something to do with him.

  Were they looking for him, or were they on some other mission? Or were they on holiday? From what he’d observed in the short time since recognizing Josh, there was nothing in their behavior that gave Rex any indication they weren’t simply tourists, just like the thousands of others there. But then, posing as a couple was a typical cover story for agents working together.

  And since when did CRC have female agents, if indeed that’s who that woman is?

  He didn’t have a good feeling about it. He dropped further behind. Nobody with something to hide likes coincidence. Cops, spooks, soldiers, military analysts, and many others don’t believe in it, and neither did Rex. No wonder one of his favorite quotes about it immediately came to mind.

  Coincidence is the word we use when we can't see the levers and pulleys- Emma Bull

  Rex knew intellectually that coincidence did happen—on occasion. Even so, the last thing he wanted was to be coincidentally or deliberately or in any other manner recognized by anyone he knew before his ‘death’.

  In the aftermath of the explosion that killed his team, wracked with grief and rage over the senseless deaths of Trevor and the rest of the team, Rex had gone on a vengeful spree, killing those he discovered were immediately responsible. He’d left a swath of death and destruction that would have pointed straight to him, if he hadn’t decided to disappear and be ‘dead’ in order to stay alive.

  Another consideration was that although he knew who the US kingpin was, he still wasn’t sure if John Brandt, known as the ‘Old Man’, the CEO of CRC was one of those responsible. But his order to raid the house where the tragedy occurred had come from Brandt. Rex couldn’t discount the possibility. Knowing he needed time and space to get his head back on straight, he’d decided that, since he was no doubt assumed dead, he’d just stay that way, use the resources he’d gained in punishing the local perpetrators, and for the foreseeable future follow the interests he’d had as a kid and later in college.

  Accordingly, he’d sneaked over Afghanistan’s border into Pakistan, over Pakistan’s into India, and begun to use those financial resources to build a cover and a new life. The threat to that new life represented by Josh Farley and whoever the woman was could throw a monkey wrench in the works, which he would not allow to happen.

  Overcoming the initial adrenaline rush, Rex sped up to within a couple yards of Josh and his friend to observe them more closely. He now felt there was no worry that they’d detect his presence for a couple of reasons. The first was that there were thousands of tourists around them. Seeing someone more than once was almost guaranteed by the press of the crowds, since it would be difficult to go against the flow.

  The other was that Digger was with him. Josh would have no reason to look for Rex in the company of a dog. Even though he’d never shared his fear of dogs with anyone, no one from CRC had ever seen him in the company of one. Digger’s presence was the perfect cover, despite standing out as a rarity in the complex.

  Rex and Digger followed the two for an hour or so, wending their way slowly up to the entrance of the tomb with the rest of the crowd, who were staying more or less in the same order as when they’d entered the grounds. Despite his official service dog status, Digger wouldn’t be allowed inside, and Rex would not leave him on his own outside. He needed to try to figure out what Josh and the woman were doing here before they reached the entrance.

  Within half an hour, he’d decided they weren’t a couple, well, at least not a new one. They didn’t hold hands, steal a kiss, or appear keen for each other like new couples would. And this woman was eye-candy. Josh would have every reason to not keep his hands off her if they were a couple. No, from his perspective, they looked and interacted more like partners.

  So, then they must be on a mission. What else could it be? They did obvious
ly know each other, as they spoke back and forth. To Rex the most logical and safest conclusion was that they were looking for him, though he couldn’t imagine how they’d determined he’d be in India.

  Am I just being paranoid?

  No sooner had he asked himself the question when the mental retort came. Better to be paranoid and alive than not paranoid and dead.

  The only reason for CRC to send agents to find him would be to apprehend or kill him.

  Probably the latter, since it had already been tried once.

  And if he was right that they were looking for him, then it meant that ‘they’, in the person of John Brandt, knew he was alive and even where he’d gone.

  How could he have found out?

  It occurred to him, not for the first time, that a thorough forensic search of the explosion site would find his DNA lacking. He could only hope that they didn’t know about Digger. Neither Josh nor the woman gave any indication while Rex followed them that they particularly noticed the big, black dog.

  Rex was still ruminating on the probability that Josh and the woman were looking for him when they reached the front of the line and disappeared into the mausoleum. He’d get no further opportunity for observation without the risk of coming face-to-face with them, so he turned back, wading against the flow of foot traffic, toward the exit where he could wait and hope to pick up their trail again later.

  While he waited, partially concealed, he analyzed his situation. Rex was fully aware that his training with CRC would be with him forever. Even though it had been more than a month since he’d been involved in an operation, he certainly hadn’t lost his edge. He still had all the sharpness of a highly intelligent paramilitary operator with field craft prowess second to none, making him worthy of the names his enemies gave him—El Gato, the cat, Alshaytan, The Devil, or the Ghost—though they never knew his real identity.

  He still had his hatred for terrorists and any activity that fueled their agenda, including illicit drug and arms dealers. And he didn’t know whether Josh, or anyone else at CRC, or just John Brandt had been instrumental in the ambush that severed him from his former life. But he intended to find out when he could assure his own survival.

  So, what to do now?

  He had no doubt he could take Josh, the woman, or both and interrogate them. But then what? Whether they were there to find him, or he’d been mistaken, he’d have to kill them to protect his anonymity. But Rex was not a ruthless killer. The people he’d killed before had given ample reason to meet such a fate. Killing one or both Josh and the woman would go against his grain, and it would be a sure way to let Brandt know he was alive—as surely as if he let them live and allowed them to report back. Not only that, it would unleash the wrath of all CRC agents, and who knew how many agents from other security agencies? After all, the woman could be Mossad, or MI6 or another intelligence agency for all he knew. Rex was confident about his abilities, and that meant he knew his own limits.

  Rex had trained Josh himself in hand-to-hand combat and in street craft and knew what he was capable of. He hadn’t worried about Josh or the woman noticing Digger in the queue for entrance to the Taj Mahal, but if either had and then saw him again in a different context, they’d be instantly alerted they were being followed. He’d have to ‘park’ Digger somewhere, and then he’d be at a disadvantage in a fight, with two of them to subdue without killing them before he could question them.

  After thinking it all through, it seemed bugging out was the better part of valor after all.

  “Come on, Digger. This country has become unsafe for the two of us. We need to get out of here and find somewhere we can go to change my appearance.”

  Chapter Three

  Mumbai, India

  REX HAD A few sites left on his list of those to see before he left India, but the encounter with Josh and the unknown woman had brought up something he had been thinking of on and off since walking off the reservation in Afghanistan—cosmetic surgery.

  But he kept on kicking that can down the road and never did the research or got the professional advice he needed for his decision. Now it was clear he’d potentially left that and some other important business unattended for too long.

  One of the considerations arguing against a major transformation was the fact that after he’d had occasion to spread his cash among several bank accounts, he’d had several sets of fake IDs made – one for each bank account. And Digger had papers to identify him as the service dog of each of the identities.

  He’d obtained the first ID, the one that said he was Ruan Daniel, as soon as he’d been able after leaving Afghanistan. It had helped to facilitate traveling to Saudi Arabia and rescuing the daughter of a wonderful old couple, whom he’d met by chance. That daughter, Rehka Gyan, was now his IT chief in a barely-formed idea of an enterprise to help victims of bad guys whom he relieved of their money. The Saudi excursion had been costly, dangerous, and extremely satisfying. It not only saved Rehka and a few of her fellow harem ‘pleasure wives’ from a terrible life but had also satisfied his need for action and provided the means for those women to live financially independent for the rest of their lives.

  The bottom line was he now had several sets of expensive paper that would be rendered useless with a change in appearance that was much different from what was on those papers. Rex had enough money to provide for him and Digger for a very long time and to create new IDs for both of them if he decided to do so. The problem was finding reputable forgers.

  In the days leading up to Rehka’s rescue, Rex had made a friend in Mumbai, who, because he was a policeman, could refer him to slick operators in the seedy underworld of the city. Those that the police knew were dirty but couldn’t pin a crime on or who they only kept a watch on so that they could rather go after the bigger fish—the forger’s clients. In fact, it was this friend, Aarav Patel, who’d referred him to each of the various forgers he’d used, as Rex didn’t ever want to use the same one. Aarav owed Rex his life, and because he’d seen that Rex’s methods, though not legal at all, produced results the police wanted but couldn’t, he conveniently never asked questions whenever Rex came to him with a new request.

  Therefore, Aarav wouldn’t be surprised when Rex asked him for the name of an honest diamond appraiser and those of a few reputable diamond dealers. He wouldn’t bother to ask why—he’d assume Rex had some that he wanted to sell or maybe he wanted to buy some—he wouldn’t ask.

  True to Rex’s assumption, Aarav supplied the names and then went about his own business without asking questions. Rex went straight to the appraiser and had those diamonds he’d taken from Rehka’s former captor valued before he approached the dealers. They were worth about two-hundred thousand US dollars, he found. If he had them cut and polished, they’d be worth more.

  However, Rex had no time for that. He needed to be out of India fast. The fact he’d bumped into someone he knew amid over a billion people told him it was no coincidence, and if they could find him once, they could find him again. Next time, he might not be so lucky as to see them before they saw him.

  By the end of his first day back in Mumbai, he knew the worth of his holdings, but it was too late in the day to have the diamonds converted to cash. He also had another task. Rex returned to his hotel with his diamonds, placed them in the room safe, and turned on his laptop. It was time to research the best place to go for cosmetic surgery.

  Like many Americans, Rex would have preferred any surgery to be done in the US. Unlike most, he didn’t have that option. There was no way he could enter the US in the wake of 9-11 and expect it to remain a secret. For all he knew, his handsome mug was on a watch list—he would’ve been surprised if it wasn’t. Therefore, his requirements, in order of priority, was non-US, considered safe and up to date, and preferably nearby. The last was because he assumed countries in Europe where he could go would be cooperating with US agencies and would also be on the lookout for him.

  That still left quite a few choices in the Mid
dle East and Asia. He had no desire to return to the Middle East. Southeast Asia it was. After doing further research, he decided on Thailand, not only because it enjoyed a reputation as a good destination for medical tourism, but because it was an area rich in history and culture. Besides, he could learn Thai while he was there, bringing his repertoire to seven languages: French, Spanish, German, Italian, Arabic, a working knowledge of Mandarin, and finally fluency in Thai if he stayed a few months.

  “Okay, Digger, we’re going to Thailand,” he announced. Digger lifted his ears at the sound of his name but had no comment about the destination. If his facial expression could be interpreted it would probably have been something along the lines of, “So, when are we going?” or “What are we waiting for?”

  The next morning, Rex made the rounds with one-third of his diamonds, placing the rest in safety deposit boxes among his bank accounts first and collecting some of the cash stashed in them. After visiting five of the diamond dealers, he had $150,000 in cash, which he would re-distribute in the bank accounts a little at a time, little enough to avoid suspicion, to join the approximately $200,000 he had taken from his Afghanistan exploits and had already deposited to his various accounts.

  It would have made a lesser man or any accountant’s head swim, but Rex easily kept track of his assets. Between his near-eidetic memory and the necessity for survival, he’d never forgotten anything essential.

  That night, he booked a flight to Thailand online for the following morning. He had two more errands to do before he left. The first was to visit Rehka and inspect her progress in setting up what they’d discussed – the trust account for her and the other women he’d rescued from Saudi Arabia, and a secure means of communication between the two of them in the future. The second was to dispose of his van, and he knew exactly what he wanted to do with it.