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About R.J. Patterson “R.J. Patterson does a fantastic job at keeping you engaged and interested. I look forward to more from this talented author.”
- Aaron Patterson, bestselling author of SWEET DREAMS
“Patterson has a mean streak about a mile wide and puts his two main characters through quite a horrible ride, which makes for good reading.”
- Richard D., reader “Like a John Grisham novel, from the very start I was pulled right into the story and couldn’t put the book down. It was as if I personally knew and cared about what happened to each of the main characters. Every chapter ended with so much excitement and suspense I had to continue to read until I learned how it ended, even though it kept me up until 3:00 A.M.
- Ray F., reader DEAD SHOT
“Small town life in southern Idaho might seem quaint and idyllic to some. But when local newspaper reporter Cal Murphy begins to uncover a series of strange deaths that are linked to a sticky spider web of deception, the lid on the peaceful town is blown wide open. Told with all the energy and bravado of an old pro, first-timer R.J. Patterson hits one out of the park his first time at bat with Dead Shot. It’s that good.”
-Vincent Zandri, bestselling author of THE REMAINS
“You can tell R.J. knows what it’s like to live in the newspaper world, but with Dead Shot, he’s proven that he also can write one heck of a murder mystery.”
- Josh Katzowitz,
NFL writer for CBSSports.com & author of Sid Gillman: Father of the Passing Game DEAD LINE
“This book kept me on the edge of my seat the whole time. I didn’t really want to put it down. R.J. Patterson has hooked me. I’ll be back for more.”
- Bob Behler
3-time Idaho broadcaster of the year
and play-by-play voice for Boise State football DEAD IN THE WATER
“In Dead in the Water, R.J. Patterson accurately captures the action-packed saga of a what could be a real-life college football scandal. The sordid details will leave readers flipping through the pages as fast as a hurry-up offense.”
- Mark Schlabach,
ESPN college sports columnist and co-author of Called to Coach Heisman: The Man Behind the Trophy
Other titles by R.J. Patterson
Brady Hawk series
First Strike
Deep Cover
Point of Impact
Full Blast
Target Zero
Fury
State of Play
Seige
Seek and Destroy
Into the Shadows
Hard Target
No Way Out
Two Minutes to Midnight
Against All Odds
Any Means Necessary
Vengeance
Code Red
A Deadly Force
Divide and Conquer
Cal Murphy Thriller series
Dead Shot
Dead Line
Better off Dead
Dead in the Water
Dead Man's Curve
Dead and Gone
Dead Wrong
Dead Man's Land
Dead Drop
Dead to Rights
Dead End
James Flynn Thriller series
The Warren Omissions
Imminent Threat
The Cooper Affair
Seeds of War
BEHIND ENEMY LINES
A Titus Black Thriller
R.J. PATTERSON
For Scott Rigsby, for his friendship
and inspiring thousands to do more
than they ever dreamed possible
CHAPTER 1
August 6
USS Illinois
Seak of Okhotsk, off coast
of Kamchatka Peninsula
TITUS BLACK CHECKED all his scuba gear one final time as the lockout trunk filled up with water. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves. Missions that involved time in the ocean ranked last in his list of favorite assignments.
“How are you doing in there?” asked Christina Shields, Black’s handler at the secret black ops program Firestorm, in her sultry voice.
“It’s a day at the beach,” Black said.
“For most people, that’d be a good thing,” she said. “But I know you’re not like most people.”
“Give me a mountain with five hostiles on the ridge any day.”
“That’ll be waiting for you once you get out of the water.”
Black tightened his mask again. “It’s the only thing that’s saving this operation for me.”
“Well, save my afternoon by making this quick because I’ve got plans later today.”
“So is it a hot date, or are you heading to the shooting range again?”
“It’s a day that ends in the letter y, isn’t it?”
Black chuckled. “Maybe someday I’ll go with you and show you how to hit the bullseye.”
“You former spooks are all alike,” she said. “You think that because during training you spent a few hours emptying magazines at a target that you can outshoot me.”
“So, it’s a date?”
“You wish,” she said with a sneer. “Isn’t that trunk filled up yet?”
The water had reached Black’s shoulders, and it was almost time to launch out of the sub and into the water.
“I’m going dark, but stay tuned in case I need you.” He took a deep breath and put the regulator in his mouth.
A minute later, the hatch opened, allowing Black to swim up to the tower and open the Special Forces box. He removed all the supplies he needed, including the propulsion device that would help him slice through Okhotsk’s swift currents. He tapped on the side of the sub before pushing off with his legs and heading in the direction of shore.
Without any moonlight to assist him, Black relied on his headlamp as he navigated through the dark waters. He hummed along, keeping an eye out for anything approaching. After a few minutes, he happened upon a school of fish that encircled him and matched his speed until they all made a sharp turn right, clearing the way for him.
After a few minutes, he checked his depth gauge and noticed he was venturing into shallower water. He slowed down and let his feet touch on the rocky bottom. With his eyes just above the surface, Black saw the faint outline of the craggy shoreline less than twenty meters away. He walked the rest of the way before finding a spot well beyond the approaching tide and began digging. Once he scooped out a hole deep enough to hide his gear, he headed toward the prison where the asset was located.
According to Black’s briefing, Capt. Trevor Watkins went missing when his F-22 malfunctioned and crashed just off the coast of Russia. However, he was rescued by a Russian destroyer, which detained him for further questioning. Six months had elapsed and the Russian military had yet to acknowledge that they had Watkins. But Black didn’t always trust his briefings. The only thing he believed for certain was that an American pilot was being held captive. And Black was tasked with breaking out the captain from a Russian military detention center and taking him home.
J.D. Blunt, who oversaw the Firestorm program, was somber when describing the mission. “It’s damn near impossible,” he had told Black. “You sure you still want to do this? I can always tell the Air Force to handle their own mess.”
Black shook his head. “I can handle it.” The fact that the Air Force Special Forces unit saw this as a suicide mission was all Black needed to know to sign up. His secret death wish wasn’t so secret—and every superior who learned this about Black took advantage of that information. Black liked it that way.
/> After transitioning into more appropriate attire for the mountainous terrain ahead of him, Black turned his coms back on.
“Made it off the beach,” he announced.
“It’s about time,” Shields said. “I was starting to wonder if you’d stopped to build a sandcastle.”
“That’s a sore subject,” Black said. “Can we not mention that again?”
“Aww,” Shields said softly. “Did a big wave sweep away your creation?”
“No,” Black said tersely. “My stepdad stomped on it when part of my wall started to crumble.”
She was silent for a few seconds before responding. “Sorry about that. I didn’t know I was inviting a therapy session with my comment.”
“You’re not inviting anything, because I don’t ever wanna talk about it.”
Black had never spoken about it with anyone. And since it didn’t even rank in the list of the top one thousand things his stepfather did to him, he figured there wouldn’t be much point in it. But Black didn’t talk about any of the thousand things in the list either. It was easier to deal with it that way.
Picking his way up the sloping mountain, he went over how he might handle the volatile and fluid situation he was about to encounter. He’d look for opportunities to eliminate guards and sneak onto the compound without attracting any attention. That was the key to success. If they didn’t see him until he’d already freed Capt. Watkins, they would have the advantage necessary to survive the ensuing onslaught.
The prison was part of a larger military installation and positioned on a clearing near the top of one of Kamchatka’s soaring peaks. According to intel reports, the Russians used the location as a staging area for intelligence ops as well as detaining political prisoners. Devoid of any guard towers, the base relied on its well-trained personnel to handle any potential issues.
With the facility surrounded by boulders and a barbed-wire perimeter fence, Black needed to get over it without touching it. But the degree of difficulty was increased due to the dusting of snow that had fallen in the upper elevations earlier that evening. Black slipped as he tested his footing on one of the rocks, but he didn’t see any other viable options.
Placing his feet on the rock again, he squatted before pushing upward with a powerful leap. He nearly cleared the barbed wire at the top, but the edge of his pants snagged, which jerked him back into the fence. Black’s face slapped hard against the cold metal links before he tumbled to the ground. The noise set off an alarm and sent guards scurrying in his direction.
So much for the element of surprise.
Black scrambled to his feet and raced toward a nearby shed for cover. He peeked around the corner and listened in on the conversation between the three soldiers who had arrived there. One of them shined his flashlight on the fence and noticed a torn piece of fabric, resulting in the trio spreading out and scanning the area.
Black cursed his under his breath, but it was loud enough for Shields to hear it.
“You in some trouble?” she asked.
“It wouldn’t be any fun if I wasn’t,” Black whispered.
“I’m watching this on satellite right now, and I think you might be able to cause a diversion with that tanker sitting just beyond the building opposite of your location.”
“Roger that.”
Black first needed to handle the nearby soldier. As he crept closer, Black affixed a silencer to the nozzle of his gun before firing a headshot. The man crumpled to the ground, and then Black dragged the body behind the shed before anyone could see him.
According to the schematics and intel the military had gathered, the building serving as a prison was right in front of him and Watkins was most likely in the far back, which was closest to Black. But first he had to create a diversion in the front.
When the two guards were out of sight, Black raced toward the building. He leaped up and then latched on to a drainage pipe running down the side of the wall. After shimmying his way to the top, Black wormed across the roof. He identified the tanker and proceeded to hurl two timed explosives underneath the vehicle. Without waiting for them to blow, he returned to the back of the building and waited.
Three . . . two . . . one . . .
The first explosion rocked the compound, sending soldiers scurrying outside toward the truck now engulfed in flames.
He jumped to the ground and placed another device on the back wall, synching it up with the second device by the tanker on the other side. Once that was finished, he raced to the shed to take cover.
And now . . .
The simultaneous explosions turned the Russian military installation into ground zero for chaos. Dressed in his Russian guard attire, he tugged his hat down low and raced back toward the smoldering building. Picking his way through the rubble, he entered the back of the holding cell, which was full of shell-shocked prisoners. One of the men was running toward the freshly opened hole before he came to an immediate stop when his gaze met Black’s. Black nodded toward the hole, a gesture that the man took as permission to escape. He resumed his attempt at freedom and jumped through the opening.
Black scanned the room for Watkins and found him crouched against a sidewall, wide-eyed, as he watched the unfolding scene. The three-inch scar on the right side of his face made him easy to identify.
“Captain Watkins, come with me,” Black said as he strode over to the American.
“What’s happening?” Watkins asked.
“Just come with me, and keep your mouth shut,” Black said before slapping a pair of handcuffs on Watkins.
Black guided Watkins out through the back, and they walked around the side of the building. Soldiers scurried in and out as they tried to put out the fire. More prisoners followed the first fearless man’s attempt and started pouring out of the back and scaling the fence. Black and Watkins were nearly invisible as they meandered calmly through the frenetic activity.
After a brief search, Black located a Jeep with the keys in the ignition. He ordered Watkins inside, keeping up the charade that he was a Russian soldier. The ruse was working so well that Watkins still didn’t seem to know who Black was.
“Where are you taking me?” Watkins asked.
Black flashed a wry smile. “I’m getting you out of here.”
Watkins grabbed Black’s arm. “Who said I want to leave?”
“We don’t really have time for this,” Black said as he turned the key, igniting the engine.
“Sorry you went through all this trouble, but I’d rather stay.”
“You’d rather stay in a remote Russian prison?” Black asked with a furrowed brow. “I believe this might be the worst case of Stockholm syndrome I’ve ever come across.”
“It’s not Stockholm syndrome. I just know who you’re taking me back to—and those people are going to kill me.”
“Not as long as you’re with me.”
Watkins tightened his grip on Black’s arm. “You can’t protect me forever.”
He glanced down at Watkins’s hand. “I suggest you let go of me so we can get out of here.”
Black eased onto the gas and made his way toward the gate.
“I’ll tell the guard who you are,” Watkins said. “I’m not going back.”
Black stopped the vehicle and glared at Watkins. “You’re going to keep your mouth shut or else I’ll shut it for you.”
“Pomogite!” Watkins shouted as he leaned out of the Jeep and tried to get the attention of a nearby soldier.
Black snatched a fistful of Watkins’s collar and yanked him back inside before head butting him. Watkins squawked in pain before Black slammed his asset’s head into the dashboard, knocking him out.
The guard cocked his head to one side as he stared at them.
Black sneered as he looked at the soldier. “Americans!” With a shrug, Black threw the Jeep into gear and motored toward the exit. When he arrived at the gate, an armed guard asked to see Black’s papers.
Black acted as if he was going to hand the ma
n something but instead produced a gun. “Otkryt’ vorota!”
The soldier didn’t need to be told twice as he followed Black’s command and activated the gate. Black hit the man with two shots in the chest before speeding out of the base.
The Jeep bounced along the rugged road, racing toward the base of the mountain.
“I’ve got the asset,” Black said into his coms.
“Nice work,” Shields said. “You only had to set fire to the mountain to do it.”
“Let’s focus on the results here. I have Watkins in my possession.”
“And is he excited to be going home?”
Black huffed a laugh through his nose. “No, this flyboy is messed up. He begged me to stay.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“I wish I was. I had to knock him out to keep him from ruining my escape plan. He was going on and on about how someone was going to kill him and how I couldn’t protect him.”
“Well, you’re going to need to hurry because you’ve got company.”
Black cursed again as he downshifted and swung around a tight corner. He saw the first glint of a headlight in his rearview mirror, confirming what Shields said.
“I’ll take care of him,” Black said. “You just make sure everything is ready to go at the extraction point.”
“Roger that.”
Black accelerated out of the curve and skidded around the next one. Then he put the Jeep in park and jumped out. He ran around to the passenger side to drag Watkins onto the ground and hide him behind a boulder. Next, Black found a large rock and ran back to the Jeep. He climbed inside and shifted into gear before placing the rock on top of the accelerator. Black hustled over to Watkins and waited for the pursuing vehicle to appear. A few seconds later, the Russians came around the corner in time to see the Jeep plummet off the side.
The soldiers got out to inspect the damage. When they did, Black opened fire, taking out both men. He hurled their bodies over the cliff as they landed on top of the burning Jeep. Easing behind their vehicle’s steering wheel, he headed back up the hill to get Watkins.
Behind Enemy Lines Page 1
