by Chase Austin
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BOOK 1: Wicked Deceit
What do you do when your own President wants you dead? You call Sam Wick.
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?
BOOK 2: Wicked Hunter
The Taliban have abducted a CIA agent. No one knows where he is being kept. Time is running out. Can he be saved?
His mission: Extract Josh Fletcher, a CIA operative, from the Taliban Backyard
Deadline: Less than twelve hours.
Can Wick outrun death?
BOOK 3: Wicked Blood
America is under attack and the world’s most powerful nation isn’t the least bit ready for it.
Can Sam Wick save his motherland?
BOOK 4: Wicked Storm
A girl’s life at stake. A cage match. Only one chance to save her.
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WICKED DECEIT - 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 meeting 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?
One of the officers standing alert near the grand door lifted his right hand to his earpiece and then glanced at Henrique. It was time.
As Henrique fell in step with his escort, he coughed twice, attempting to relax the lump in his throat. It didn’t work. He took his hands out of his trouser pockets to reduce the sweating; that didn’t work either. Then the big gates opened before him and it was too late to do anything. He took a deep breath and hoped for the best.
The President was standing at the royal desk, his fingers resting on a folded publication. Henrique walked in and stopped at a respectful distance, carefully observing the President’s face to gauge his mood. The man was not just upset; he was seething with anger.
He glanced at the publication in the President’s hand and recognized the font. It was a copy of the New York Times. He said nothing. The President’s laser-focused stare was unsettling, making him unsure of his next steps.
“Venezuela is a mess, a bloody mess.” His boss read out the front-page headline, looking straight at him. He jerked his hand, and the newspaper slid across the table to Henrique who stopped it, with a swift gesture, quickly glancing at the columnist’s name—Carlos Cruz-Díez. “You know why he can so boldly accuse us of these baseless charges?”
Henrique appeared alarmed by the anger but maintained a stoic silence. It was a rhetorical question.
“I should have killed him. I should have killed him and hanged him for others to see and learn, instead of letting him leave the country.”
“We can still do it.” Henrique finally had something to offer.
“How?”
“He visited our consulate in Vienna a few days ago.”
“Why did no one tell me that?”
“It was in the PDB,” Henrique said, referring to the President’s daily brief sent by his office.
The President considered it for a moment.
“How soon?”
“He is going to visit again. We can take care of him then if you want.”
“How?”
“It’s better if you remain unaware of the modalities.”
The President weighed this momentarily-Plausible deniability-before a slow smile appeared on his lips. Henrique smiled too. This was his birthday present to the President.
WICKED DECEIT - CHAPTER 2
Task Force-77 SAFE HOUSE, LUXEMBOURG
Team Vesuvius was already in the briefing room when Sam Wick arrived. The three Vesuvius members - Jessica, Stan, and Mac - looked up as he entered. Their tense postures relaxed slightly at the sight of a familiar face. Wick scanned the space. It was a boardroom kind of setting with a long wide conference table at its center, surrounded by twelve mid-back mesh desk chairs. The wall opposite to the door doubled up as a projector screen. He instinctively walked towards the chair that had clear visibility of both the projector screen and the exit. Sitting down, he observed the others in the room.
Team Vesuvius was one of Task Force 77’s (TF-77) support teams. TF-77 was a black ops team jointly created by the NSA and the US Army - an off-the-books team that comes 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. During these deadly missions the TF-77’s assets, like Sam Wick, were supported by small on-the-ground teams like Vesuvius. These teams typically comprise three to four members—made available to field operatives depending on their mission.
Jessica led the Vesuvius. She was the logistics liaison and an expert in close combat. Stan was a former marine and an Olympic-level shooter. Mac was the go-to guy for anything remotely associated with technology. Together these three represented one of TF-77’s ace support teams.
Wick knew of the Vesuvius team and each one of its members. Though nothing in his expression showed it, he was glad he would be going into this mission with them.
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DEDICATION
To My Readers
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
Special thanks to my advance readers group who are nothing but supportive of my writing and extremely helpful in rectifying mistakes that could have ruined the experience of reading this story.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
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Copyright © 2019 by Chase Austin
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