Vaccaro stared at the crowd as all eyes focused on her, and she knew the entire country would also be watching, given her hero status and the controversial nature of this race.
This was her moment—a moment no one had given to her. She had earned it through hard work, through sacrifice, through countless hours stuffed inside a Warthog cockpit, protecting the backs of soldiers. She had unleashed hell on America’s enemies during her multiple tours, beating the odds, refusing to capitulate, and never—ever—backing down from a fight worth fighting.
Never stop fighting, Red One One. Never.
She inhaled deeply, recalling the rugged face of her Kidon, his cheesy lines, and his ultimate sacrifice—the very unexpected way Aaron Peretz had forever changed her on that remote cliff in that godforsaken land.
And every time she thought of Afghanistan, she inexorably thought of John Wright, still on his rotation and still respecting their decision to keep it friendly until they were both stateside. No sense in making plans for the future until they were both completely out of harm’s way.
But that may be awhile, she thought, as the crowd quieted down and she stared into the whirling automatic lenses of a half dozen cameras.
Wright had received an official notification from Duggan that the Marine Corps was stop-lossing him, extending his tour due to a shortage of experienced officers. It certainly wasn’t fair to either of them, but the nation needed him to continue fighting the war on terror—and the very same nation now waited for her response.
Smiling at the cameras, she shrugged and replied, “What are my plans, you ask? Well, today I’m skiing.”
The crowd burst into laughter, as did the reporters.
The ESPN woman reacted first, asking, “And tomorrow, Captain? What about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow…” Vaccaro said, pursing her lips while looking at the snowy mountains.
Never stop fighting, Red One One. Never.
And make your life matter.
Returning her gaze to the cameras, she said, “Tomorrow I’ll do whatever it takes to serve the great people of the State of Colorado … whatever it fucking takes.”
KANDAHAR AIRFIELD. SOUTHERN AFGHANISTAN.
His gold oak leaves arrived on the same day as his stop-loss papers, and although Duggan would never admit it, John Wright was certain that the battlefield promotion to major was the colonel’s way of softening the blow.
Plus, that also meant no more field excursions. For the remainder of his extended tour, Wright would serve his country from within the relatively safer confines of the airfield.
But his contributions were nonetheless significant, spending his days reviewing intelligence reports with Harwich and Monica, coordinating with the U.S. Air Force, the U.S. Army, the Canadians, and even the Afghan Army on troop deployments, and providing the daily briefings to Duggan. His ability to work successfully in such a multinational setting—a skill he never knew he possessed—had also earned him the privilege of representing the Corps at Major General Lévesque’s staff meetings.
Privilege, my ass, he thought, wondering if perhaps that had been the real reason why Duggan had promoted him. It was no secret that the colonel wasn’t a NATO fan, while Wright seemed to thrive in such a highly political environment, earning everyone’s respect—even Lévesque’s—while gaining more and more responsibility.
But sometimes, late at night, after the meetings and the dinners, after visiting the wounded, awarding Purple Hearts, and writing letters home, Wright would sit alone at the edge of the tarmac under a blanket of stars and watch the planes and helicopters come and go.
And think of her.
At first their communications had been frequent, almost daily. But as weeks turned into months, and as the world of politics exerted its life-sucking force on the senatorial candidate, the phone calls stopped and the emails became irregular, shorter, less personal.
She was busy on the other side of the planet, moving forward, making new friends, new connections, getting catapulted onto the national scene, while he was forced to remain behind, fighting this noblest of fights.
Wright had another nine months to go, and by then, if one could believe the polls, Senator Vaccaro could very well be on her way to Washington to represent the good people of Colorado.
But there was already talk of a Pentagon assignment for him after KAF. Duggan had mentioned it twice. So perhaps there was still a chance for them, at least geographically.
But, either way, John Wright would never, ever forget the precious time they’d spent together, including that perfect weekend in Qatar.
Three A-10s taxied toward the runway, red and green navigation lights glowing, their tail beacons blinking. They took off a moment later in formation, afterburners igniting the air as they accelerated toward the distant Sulaimans.
John Wright watched them as they disappeared in the darkness.
LAS VEGAS, NEVADA.
Stark had not wanted to come—and still could not believe he was actually here.
But Ryan, Martin, and the chief had convinced him, while Hagen had just looked on, smoking his damn Russian cigarettes as his buddies made their case.
C’mon, Colonel. What better place to spend our downtime—and our bonuses—in between contracts than Sin City?
Stark could actually think of a few places, including a remote beach in Costa Rica, a jungle retreat on Hawaii’s Big Island, or even a ski resort in Colorado, where he had gotten word that Vaccaro was ahead in the polls for the race to the United States Senate.
Good for her, he thought, checking his Casio while jogging past the impressive fountains in front of the Bellagio, feeling the cold steel of his 9mm Glock 19 inside a leather holster in the small of his back, pressed against his spine and covered with a black T-shirt.
He paused briefly to watch the water and light show amid a crowd composed primarily of vacationing families, honeymooners, bachelor parties, and college kids.
And lone wolves like me, he thought, continuing down the Strip toward the Mirage, the opulent establishment that had been home for two long days, with five to go. The only good thing, besides having his very own suite, was the food. For the past forty-eight hours he had feasted, slept, and worked out while his team did whatever it was that young guns with cash to burn did to blow off steam.
Stark didn’t ask and he really didn’t want to know. And he certainly didn’t want to be anywhere near them until it was time to head back to the jet. His guys were raunchy enough while in-country; he didn’t want to think what they were doing in a place like Vegas.
He shook his head and picked up his pace after crossing Flamingo Road, running past the massive complex that was Caesars Palace.
The air was cold and dry. For a moment Stark blocked out all sounds while pretending to be on some remote road in Arizona, Hawaii, Montana, or New Mexico—anywhere but here.
But the team had wanted to come, and he could not tell them no—especially given the brutality of the missions they had completed. Following their arrival at Kandahar Airfield, a top secret videoconference had been held between Putin and Bush to decide the fate of the recovered nuke, the United States finally opting to let the Russians keep it.
Brief good-byes had followed as Kira and her team boarded a transport to complete the journey started by her father seventeen years before.
Harwich and Monica had returned to their intelligence duties, along with John Wright, who got stop-lossed while Vaccaro was honorably discharged, because of her multiple injuries, and went home to Colorado. Gorman and Maryam headed back to Pakistan, while Stark and team spent another two weeks at KAF supporting Duggan before boarding their C-21 jet to fulfill new Agency contracts in Baghdad, Colombia, and Nigeria, spending almost a month at each exotic destination.
And now Vegas in April.
He slowed a half mile from the Mirage, located across the Strip from the Venetian, to start his cooldown period, finally fast walking as he reached the parking lot. He went straight for o
ne of the many sets of glass doors leading to the very flashy lobby. But then again, what wasn’t gaudy in this town?
Visitors queued in front of a ridiculously long front desk, backdropped by an equally long and quite impressive saltwater aquarium, to facilitate check-in on a grand scale under an array of soothing lights and music. In the distance, beyond a walkway through one of the world’s most elaborate indoor rainforests, the massive casino floor exploded with activity. Slot machines dominated the scene, their incessant bells and whistles mixing with hundreds of conversations in a dozen languages.
But Stark focused on the one thing that mattered most to him: the elevators to his penthouse suite, which would be followed by a hot bath and then room service, capped by another great night of uninterrupted sleep.
A minute later, tired and hungry, he slid the magnetic key on the pad by the door and stepped into his only semblance of a vacation, a very quiet and very beautiful top-floor suite overlooking the Strip, though he wasn’t sure if it was worth the eight hundred bucks a night being charged to his American Express platinum card.
Still, Stark had to admit the place was something else, with its beautiful furniture, rugs, decorations, a wall of panoramic windows, and—
He sensed a presence behind him, near the bar leading to the bedroom.
Following professional habits, he spun while dropping to a deep crouch and reaching for the Glock.
But he never drew it.
Rather, Stark stood slowly, dumbfounded, shooting hand still behind his back, fingers curled on the pistol’s grip.
Dressed in black, Kira Tupolev sat at the edge of the bar, smiling as she held up two bottles of Stolichnaya.
Forge Books by David Hunt and Christine Hunsinger
Terror Red
Forge Books by David Hunt and R. J. Pineiro
Without Mercy
Without Fear
Books by David Hunt
They Just Don’t Get It
On the Hunt
Books by R. J. Pineiro
Siege of Lightning
Ultimatum
Retribution
Exposure
Breakthrough
01-01-00
Y2K
Shutdown
Conspiracy.com
Firewall
Cyberterror
Havoc
Spyware
The Eagle and the Cross
The Fall
Ashes of Victory*
*with Joe Weber
About the Authors
COLONEL DAVID HUNT (left) has spent almost thirty years fighting our nation’s wars. He is a New York Times bestselling author and has been a commentator on Fox News for more than sixteen years. Hunt lives in Maine with his family. You can sign up for email updates here.
R. J. PINEIRO (right) is a thirty-year veteran of the computer industry as well as the author of many internationally acclaimed novels, including Shutdown, Cyberterror, Firewall, 01-01-00, and The Fall. Pineiro makes his home in Central Texas with his wife, Lory. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Epigraph
Prologue
1. Bastards
2. Divine Sign
3. Al-Amir
4. Tradecraft
5. Alternate Plan
6. Thumb Drive
7. Rules of Three
8. Red One One
9. Battlefield Promotion
10. Hunch
11. DFAC
12. Simply Irresistible
13. Janki Mishka
14. WASP
15. Reversal of Fortune
16. Tribal Warfare
17. The Enemy of My Enemy
18. No Honor Among Thieves
19. The Tip of the Spear
20. The Ba’i
21. Piss and Vinegar
22. Operators
23. A Pound of Flesh
24. RN-40
25. Second Fiddle
26. Spooks, Feds, and Grunts
27. Light My Fire
28. A Pinch of Luck
29. Sharia Law
30. Military Intelligence
31. Need-to-Know
32. Straight From The Horse’s Mouth
33. Let Them Come
34. Six Six Zulu
35. Rules of Engagement
36. Bounding Overwatch
37. Into the Fray
38. Fire and Movement
39. A Fair Fight
40. Jarhead Justice
41. Sweet Point
42. Come Back to Me
43. Ghosts
44. Doer of Deeds
45. Narrowing Choices
46. Lady Luck
47. Trading Value
48. Flash of Destruction
49. Delivery Service
50. Every Last One of Them
51. Muy Caliente
52. Portrait of a Bully
53. Family History
54. Baaligh
55. Bait
56. Knife to a Gunfight
57. Role 3
58. New Mission
59. LALO
60. Heart of a Smuggler
61. One Good Point
62. New Faces
63. Hunky-Dory
64. Revelations
65. HALO
66. A Bloody Mess
67. Fire at Will
68. The Loo
69. Good to Go
70. Tunnel
71. Close Encounters
72. Tackle
73. Rescue
74. Pillars
75. Dirty Business
76. Not This Time
77. A Means to an End
78. Circus
79. Coping Mechanism
80. Compromising Position
81. Bloody Winch
82. Bloody Fool
83. Following Orders
84. Visions
85. Miss Cruz
86. Edge
87. The Throne of Solomon
88. The Color of Islam
89. Instincts
90. Final Fight
91. Hasty Retreat
92. Sacrifice
93. Ooh-Rah!
94. So Be It
95. Lock and Load
96. Bad Omen
97. Hold Your Breath
98. Grand Scale
99. Ladies First
100. Legends
101. Mushroom
102. Whatever It Takes
103. Motion
104. Bird in Hand
105. Zombies
106. Mexican Standoff
107. Speedy Delivery
108. Pissing Contest
109. Deception
110. Déjà Vu
111. Painting
112. Eye in the Sky
113. Thermobaric Reaction
114. The Hot Gates
115. Back Door
116. You’re It
117. Smoke
118. Night of Nights
119. Every Last One of Them
120. Torch
121. Into the Fire
122. Back in Business
123. Picks and Shovels
124. Flanks
125. The Stars
126. Elvis
127. Angels
128. FLIR
129. Night Moves
130. Enclaves
131. No Entry
132. Decoy
133. Gunslinger
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134. Running on Empty
135. Around the World
136. Religious Beliefs
137. The Plane
138. Hand Grenade
139. Short Field
140. Firing Blindly
141. Fighter Jock
142. Lonesome Dove
143. At Gunpoint
144. Knock Knock
145. Judgment Day
146. Elevator to Hell
147. The Favor
148. The Gift
Epilogue
Forge Books by David Hunt and Christine Hunsinger
About the Authors
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously.
WITHOUT FEAR
Copyright © 2018 by David Hunt and R. J. Pineiro
All rights reserved.
Cover art by Kris Keller
A Forge Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates
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New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Forge® is a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC.
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-0-7653-9400-2 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-0-7653-9401-9 (ebook)
eISBN 9780765394019
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First Edition: August 2018
Without Fear Page 52
