by Brian Drake
Lady Death
A Sam Raven Thriller
Brian Drake
Lady Death: A Sam Raven Thriller
Kindle Edition
Copyright © 2021 Brian Drake
Wolfpack Publishing
5130 S. Fort Apache Rd. 215-380
Las Vegas, NV 89148
www.wolfpackpublishing.com
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, other than brief quotes for reviews.
eBook ISBN: 978-1-64734-555-6
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-64734-568-6
Get your FREE copy of The Target H
Join the Wolfpack Publishing mailing list for information on new releases, updates, discount offers and your FREE eBook copy of The Target H.
Contents
Prologue
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Part II
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Part III
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
If You Liked This, You Might Like: Skills to Kill
Get your FREE copy of The Target H
About the Author
Lady Death
Prologue
Number one goal: don’t drown.
Sam Raven swam slowly, taking his time with each stroke. He had a bomb on his back. The weight slowed his movement a little, but he didn’t want to rush. There would be time to hurry later. Multiple enemies waited on the shore. If he took his time, he might be able to reduce the number before the really heavy fighting began.
He lifted his head above the calm water. Another 100 yards, maybe. The chill of Markermeer Lake in the Netherlands bit through his wetsuit and was hard to ignore. It reached deep inside him.
Stay focused.
The target yacht was still anchored at the jetty. He swam a little harder to increase speed, creating more ripples in his wake.
He needed to plant the bomb first, then slip onto land for his secondary target. The house, 50 yards from the jetty contained five people who needed to die. Five people taking a rest from a killing spree, who had thus far evaded authorities. Raven didn’t intend to let them get away. Tonight, they’d learn the meaning of the word payback.
He reached the rear of the yacht and treaded water long enough to slide the backpack off his shoulders. Unzipping the pack in the water, he removed the bomb, two blocks of C4 and a timer enclosed in a thick plastic bag to keep the water out. He didn’t have the option of a magnet to hold the bomb to the yacht’s fiberglass hull, so he’d rigged a loop of nylon rope to the bag. He’d hang the bomb on one of the rear propellers.
Taking a deep breath, he dropped below the water’s surface. The mini light on his goggles shined a small circle on the belly of the yacht. He was closer to the left prop, so he slipped the nylon loop around a blade, tied a knot to make sure it held, and pressed the timer. The display’s greenish glow filled the dark water.
Five minutes.
He figured the five terrorists also had a vehicle at the house. He planned to remove the option from their escape plans as well. The house was in the middle of nowhere and they’d have nowhere to run except into his bullets. The city of Hoorn was miles away, but the bright lights of the city were visible in the distance.
For Raven, it was another night in his war without end, and he was a man made for war. Once he’d worn the uniform of the 82nd Airborne and 5th Special Forces Group. Later he’d traded his officer patch for the anonymity of the CIA Ground Branch. Now he was freelance. No uniform. No home.
It wasn’t the life he’d wanted. Raven had seen the worst the world had to offer and escaped for a quiet civilian life. Then fate dealt a cruel blow with sudden tragedy, and vengeance became his new mission. The only link to his past was the sterling silver locket around his neck. He never talked about what was inside, but it motivated his crusade. He pursued the world’s predators, those who created victims and heartache, to deliver justice one bullet at a time.
Like tonight.
Raven reached shore and stripped off his flippers and wetsuit. Beneath, he wore a skintight black combat outfit. Shedding his goggles, he reached into his pack for web gear and weapons. He shrugged on the assault vest and buckled it at his waist. A Nighthawk Custom Talon .45 autoloader went into the holster on his right hip. Spare magazines and grenades stuffed the pockets of the vest. His main weapon was a Colt M4 Commando in 5.56mm. The M4 Commando’s 11.5-inch barrel gave him a weapon the size of a compact submachine gun size with rifle-caliber punch. A suppressor extended from the barrel to make it a silent killing tool.
Lastly, he removed from the pack a pair of combat boots and laced them tight.
He studied the one-story house. To the right as he faced it, a line of trees created a dividing line between the house and the adjacent empty plot. The nearest neighbor was two miles away. To the left, empty space, cleared of trees and debris, until it met a section of tall grass.
Raven ran for the grassy lot, dropping prone within the tall strands. He began a slow crawl until his body was parallel to the house.
He peeked through the grass. Lights highlighted the exterior. They didn’t turn off, so they weren’t activated by motion. More lights burned inside. The kill team was up late. Planning their next hit? It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Whatever they were doing, their time on earth was nearing its end.
Raven flicked off the safety on the M4 Commando as he examined the Jeep parked in front of the house.
No lights in the driveway. The front of the Jeep faced the road. If there were motion lights, they’d catch him before he reached the vehicle. If alarms were attached to the motion lights, the kill team would respond before he had a chance to disable the car.
Easy problem to fix. He grinned.
Three minutes till the bomb detonated.
All he had to do was wait.
Former officers of Iran’s Quds Force made up the kill team. The Quds Force was one of five branches of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps. Quds were responsible for military intelligence gathering and special ops, and their officers were well-trained, but some felt unappreciated. Colonel Farzim Radan was one such officer who decided to earn more money as a terrorist-for-hire.
And the team had kept busy.
In recent weeks, they’d assassinated two off-duty US sailors in Madrid and set off several bombs throughout Israel. US intelligence had dubbed them the “Radan Unit” and put them at the top of the presidential kill list.
Western intelligence was racing to eliminate the unit and end their killing spree. Raven lucked out. He found them first. He had sources who wouldn’t talk to the CIA or Mossad, the proverbial friends in low places.
Now he was at their back door.
And he had no intention of letting them escape.
A door opened and closed. Raven scanned the area. His pulse quickened. Had he tripped a censor in the grass? He tried to pick out movement in his peripheral vision but saw no one. Nothing indicated a response team heading his way. Whoever exited the house remained in shadow too.
Terrific.
Two minutes.
Raven tucked the M4 Commando to his shoulder. He fired once. The Jeep’s rear tire popped loudly. He fired a second round. Another tire gone.
Flicking the Colt’s selector switch to full-auto, Raven broke through the grass. His boots crunched on dirt. The hair on the back of his neck prickled.
Raven dropped and rolled forward. A loud burst of automatic fire crackled, zipping overhead and smacking into the dirt. Raven rolled onto his side, lifting the suppressed M4 and returning fire in two quick bursts of his own. The gunner, bathed in the outer light, stood in the open. He sprinted for the trees on the side of the house. Raven fired another burst and missed again.
Raven scrambled to his feet and ran to the Jeep. No motion lights snapped on. He grabbed a grenade from his vest and dropped it at the garage door. Taking cover at the front of the Jeep, he waited for the explosion. The grenade detonated and sent pieces of wood flying. Raven plucked another grenade from his belt and tossed it into the garage. The blast filled the empty space and blew open the door into the house.
Another blast shook the ground and lit the night sky with a bright orange flash. Bye-bye yacht. Raven grinned as he slapped a fresh magazine into the M4.
He left the Jeep. A gunman met him mid step. Another gunner filled the garage doorway. They both zeroed their weapons on Raven’s face.
The past few days had been full of activity for Colonel Farzim Radan and his team. They’d taken refuge at the Hoorn house thinking a few days rest would serve them well before resuming work.
Radan shifted on the bed to let Pari Mehrnia sit up and slide off the bed. Naked, she went to the dresser for her cigarettes and lit one. Radan lay on the bed and admired her trim body in the glowing night light near the door.
“I don’t like being here,” she said. Cigarette dangling from her lips, she climbed onto the bed and sat against the headboard. She blew a stream of smoke at the ceiling.
Radan remained on his back. He put his hands behind his head.
“Another day won’t hurt.”
“They’re going to find us.”
“You worry too much.”
“You don’t worry enough. One of us has to keep this group alive.” She took another drag.
Somebody knocked urgently on the door.
Radan and Pari exchanged quick looks. She pulled the sheet over her as Radan rolled off the bed and pulled on a pair of shorts. He opened the door. “What?”
Heydar Abbasi, former captain in the Quds Force, stood in the hall. He held his Krinkov automatic carbine at the ready. “Somebody’s coming.”
“Which direction?”
“The grass.”
“Send somebody to look.”
Abbasi nodded and ran down the hall.
Radan flipped on the light. He ignored Pari’s “I told you so” look. “Get dressed.”
She took a last drag on the cigarette, stubbed it out on the nightstand ash tray, and left the bed. Radan was already pulling on his pants.
Gunfire outside. Radan and Pari exchanged urgent looks and dressed faster.
A loud explosion rattled the window. Radan parted the curtains and cursed.
“What is it?” Pari said.
“The yacht blew up.”
“Here!”
Radan turned, bringing up his hands, catching the AKM Pari tossed him. He yanked back the bolt handle to chamber a round. Now all he needed was a target.
Raven’s trigger finger twitched before conscious thought commanded him to fire.
The M4 Commando spat a nearly-silent burst. The first gunman pitched back. He screamed as the 5.56mm slugs ripped through his chest and neck. Raven completed his right-to-left sweep, firing into the garage. He let a full-auto burst go, blasting the doorway gunner from belly to chest. The gunner dropped in the entryway. Raven changed mags on the run, grabbing a third grenade and pitching it through the door. He dodged to the side, back against the wall, as the deadly thump-and-boom filled the house.
Raven ran into the house, stepping over the dead body before him, the M4 Commando tight to his shoulder. A burst smashed into the wall beside him. He dropped, leaning around the corner, and fired back. A gunner hiding behind a couch decorated the wall behind him with red splatter as he fell.
Three down.
Two more.
Raven advanced, skirting around a dining table. He cut through a small kitchen to a dark hallway running left to right. Somebody fired two shots in his direction. Whoever fired couldn’t see him. The rounds were probing shots. Somebody was in the master bedroom. Maybe two people were in the master bedroom.
Raven leaned out and fired back. A small light lit the master bedroom, and he watched the silhouette of a man duck out of sight. He fired again and stepped into the kitchen. One last grenade. He pulled the pin and pitched it down the hall. The grenade bounced off the door frame and entered the bedroom at an angle. A woman screamed.
The grenade flew back through the doorway to bounce off the hallway wall and fly into the living room at the other end.
Raven dropped behind the kitchen counter. The wall took most of the blast, and it left his ears ringing more than before. Raven jumped up and started toward the bedroom with the M4 Commando ahead when Colonel Radan, minus his shirt, ran out with an AKM at his hip.
Radan tried to jam the muzzle in Raven’s gut. Raven swung the stock of the M4 and clipped Radan on the chin, but the blow didn’t stop the colonel. He collided with Raven’s midsection and the pair tumbled into the wrecked living room. Raven lost his grip on the M4 Commando and the sling tangled around his left arm.
Radan aimed at Raven’s face. The barrel was too long, and Raven batted it away. The M4 was pinned beneath him and his right arm still caught in the sling. He couldn’t punch with his right. He wedged a knee between him and Radan and pushed hard, throwing the terrorist colonel off him. Rolling left, Raven shed the Colt and snatched the Nighthawk .45 from his hip.
Radan completed his roll on the other side of the dining table. He came up on one knee and raised the AKM. Raven fired once. The terrorist colonel’s head snapped back, and he dropped like a puppet with cut strings.
Raven pivoted right. He fired twice through the doorway as the woman emerged to take advantage of his distraction, and the .45 ACP slugs caught her in the chest and neck. She landed in the hallway face first, a pistol tumbling from her dead fingers.
Raven rose and holstered his pistol. Taking a Canon PowerShot from a pocket, he snapped pictures of their faces. A present for the CIA and Mossad.
Time to go.
Two minutes till extraction.
Raven grabbed the M4 Commando and left the house. He ran hard for the water. He’d arranged his own pickup, a mercenary he knew, who had a boat. He reached the shore and found a place to hide among a cluster of rocks and trees. The boat arrived. Its old engine chugged. The mercenary, an American named Hawthorne, flashed a light twice. Raven returned the flash with a light of his own. The boat approached the shore, and Raven ran out into t
he water to climb aboard.
As the boat’s engine chugged, Raven sat up and watched the shore grew smaller with distance.
“All right?” Hawthorne said.
“Scratch five,” Raven said.
“Good work.”
Raven watched the departing shoreline with a grim set to his jaw.
Radan and his unit had spilled too much blood for Raven to feel true satisfaction. Sure. Good work. Deaths had been avenged. More had been prevented. Other threats now needed his attention, and he turned his mind to the future. His war without end wasn’t finished. He feared it never would be. There were far too many Farzim Radans in the world. Worse, he couldn’t stop them all.
But he’d die trying.
Part I
1
It started with a phone call.
Sam Raven answered his cell midway through the second blast of his ringtone. He undid his tie with his right hand as he said hello. Crisp air and the sound of trickling water filtered through the open windows.
