The TF-77 Trilogy

by Chase Austin

  Hudson slid inside the SUV and Mark slowly closed the door. He then ran back to the driver’s side and took his position behind the wheel.

  “You said something about someone coming to pick you up. Do you want us to wait for them?” Mark asked politely.

  “No, no… we must rush, I will inform them.” Hudson said, looking at his cell.

  “Sure.” Mark sped up amidst the thin traffic.

  “Yes, I got a ride…. No need to come… I’ll call you once I reach the airport… Thanks.” Hudson spoke briefly on the phone.

  Once they reached the main route, the traffic thinned further. Mark drove in silence. Hudson was looking ahead when his cell chimed.

  “It’s a remarkable time to be in America.” He said, reading a text.

  “I agree.”’

  “The music, nightlife, and great restaurants. You’ve got any suggestions?”

  “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 s
top. 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

  Deadly Force

  Task Force Thriller #2

  ABOUT DEADLY FORCE

  Sam Wick's new mission was simple - Infiltrate Iran, find the target and get out. 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.

  For fans of Vince Flynn and Lee Child, a heart-pumping thriller of action, betrayal, split-second decisions and conspiracy by the Breakthrough Author Chase Austin.

  What Readers are saying about Sam Wick's Adventures;

  ★★★★★ "One heck of an entertaining and intense ride... Fast, entertaining, suspenseful and action-packed… you will find yourself flying through and it will be hard to let it go!" - Amazon Review

  ★★★★★ "Fast paced read with a Kick-Ass hero you can’t help rooting for." - Amazon Review

  ★★★★★ "Full of awesome action. I can't wait to read the next book" - Amazon Review

  ★★★★★ " I did not put this book down for any reason other than to eat." - Amazon Review

  ★★★★★ "Fast paced, lots of thrills. Highly entertaining." - Amazon Review

  ★★★★★ "I'm ready for Sam’s next assignment." - Amazon Review

  CHAPTER 1

  Tehran, Iran

  Dawn was just breaking, and sleepy street dogs were beginning to stir when Sam Wick completed his customary five-mile morning run. This was his third consecutive day in Tehran, the capital city of Iran, but he had been in the country in the past. He knew the place well, having spent a year or so here over the course of three previous missions. Apart from his usual run, he preferred to stay in the safe house the entire day, thinking, planning and honing the nuts and bolts of the plan. He needed the jog to take the edge off all the coffee he consumed during the day.

  He checked his satellite phone—his communication line routed directly to the office of William Helms, Director of the NSA and Joint Custodian of Task Force-77, in Maryland, USA. The voice-secure sat phone was Wick’s only direct link to Helms. No one else knew he was in Iran, and no one could. The administration would want complete deniability when the target was captured, even more so if anything went awry.

  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 diplomatic solutions failed. Powered with US military might across the globe and NSA’s intel, the team was sent on the toughest missions in the most dangerous locations that required the use of means that no government could ever authorize officially. Its multiple assets were spread in sensitive locations across the globe, and Wick was one of the best assets TF-77 had ever produced. He was invariably chosen to undertake the riskiest exfiltration missions, especially in countries where the US could not intervene directly. Countries like Iran.

  5’11”. Weather-beaten face. Black hair. Pointed nose. Medium build. 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 to stem from pain, yet he rarely gave vent to the anger that pain usually provoked.

  Back in the safe house, he waited for the on-ground support team to arrive. To support field operatives during their missions the TF-77 deployed small on-the-ground teams—typically three to four members, depending on mission specifics. Although Wick had mentioned that he didn’t need one for this mission, his bosses insisted that he take one as backup.

  Wick had received a message on the TF-77 application on his cell phone. Olivia, Logan and Elijah—his support team—were on their way from Isfahan, a city in central Iran. Based on their travel plans, Wick expected them to reach the safe house in the next few hours.

  This was Wick’s first mission with this team. He had read their files, and they appeared competent. That’s all he needed. 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. He had to get the items on his list and be back in the safe house before the support team arrived.

  CHAPTER 2

  On that sunny morning, the air was heavy. The azan echoed from the loudspeakers perched at the top of the watchtower at the market square of one of the city's busiest markets.

  Amid all this, Wick moved with purpose. An oversized long kurta, blue rugged jeans, black unkempt hair, and rectangular blue reading glasses gave him the look of a university student. He didn’t need a false wig or eyebrows or beard to blend in with the locals. His blue eyes were the only thing that made him stand out in a place like this, and he was wearing brown contacts to hide them. Wick was aware that his physical characteristics were part of the reason that time and again he was chosen for such missions, but the more important factor was his ability to hit his targets fast and hard. Spending too long planning meant delays, and delays killed momentum. He hated that. His bosses hated that.

  In the field, he had the final say. But he knew this power came with a lot of responsibility. One wrong decision could easily jeopardize America’s image and future actions. His strategy was to minimize the factors of coincidence and luck in his missions, and the best way to do that was to do away with unnecessary antics. Keep things simple and uncomplicated. That was easier said than done in high-voltage missions like this which involved so many moving pieces. It had been a long road for him, with lots of ups and downs, to get to this stage where he now had the temperament to focus on just one thing and find the best way to get it without complications. His consistency had earned him the nickname ‘the machine’ from other TF-77 agents. Not that he knew or cared about such things. He was a loner and rarely spoke with anyone within the agency. There was no one in the world he could truly call his own. It was a tough way to live, but the only way he knew.

  Wick walked through the throngs, his eyes carefully soaking in every small detail of his vicinity. His walk was assured yet unpretentious.

  He stopped at a nondescript phone booth shop with a signboard that quite unnecessarily announced: “Phone calls”. In the age of cell phones, time seemed to have stood still for paid phone booths like this. People walked past, ignoring the run-down structure and its middle-aged owner. For them, neither existed in this modern world.

  Wick was probably the only customer the shop owner had seen in days, maybe even months. Wick asked if he could make a call. The man looked at him and demanded, “You have the money?”

  Wick produced a torn piece of a one toman note. The owner glanced at the note, then back at Wick. Then, he reached into his desk drawer, drew out another torn note and laid it down beside the one Wick had produced. The two pieces fit together perf
ectly. It was an old-school way to determine authenticity in this trade and even in the age of hi-tech gizmos, it still worked like a charm. The shop owner looked at Wick and inclined his head slightly, gesturing for him to go inside.

  Wick walked past the man and entered the cramped corridor behind a ragged curtain. A zero-watt bulb dangled before a door at the end of the corridor, dimly illuminating the corridor. Wick paused at the door. It was unlatched. He pushed it open and light spilled out from within. The room was separated into two sections with a long table in the middle. A young man stood on the other side holding a cell phone in his left hand. The shop owner from outside had evidently already informed him about the visitor. As soon as he saw Wick, he pulled a large black canvas bag from the floor and set it down on the table. Wick looked at the boy for a fleeting second and then, without a word, unzipped the bag and made a cursory inspection of its contents. Satisfied, he zipped the bag and lifted it. The weight seemed right too. He drew an envelope from his back pocket and slid it towards the boy. The boy counted the notes within, smiling when he saw the amount was more than that asked. Wick didn’t return the smile. He backed out, without breaking eye contact with the boy. Stepping out of the room, he closed the door and crossed the corridor. In less than thirty seconds, he had left the shop and disappeared into the crowd.