BLOODY TRUTH
A Granger Spy Novel
John J. Davis
SIMON & WINTER, INC.
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Copyright © 2015 by John J. Davis
Interior design by Pronoun
Distribution by Pronoun
ISBN: 9780990314424
TABLE OF CONTENTS
From the Award-Winning Author of Blood Line…
Dedicated To
Special thanks to:
Books by John J. Davis:
BLOODY TRUTH
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
About the Author
Find and Follow:
FROM THE AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR OF BLOOD LINE…
“BLOODY TRUTH IS SMART, deadly, and lightning-fast. It reveals the back stage intrigues, double-crosses and unscrupulous corruption of global politics today.” -Alan Rinzler, Contributing Editor
“Bloody Truth is intrigue, thriller, espionage and counterintelligence at its best, bound up by family interactions and relationships unusual for a genre that typically features only a lone wolf or two at the helm of disaster. Multiagency forces, uncertain cease fires, computer hackers, and agents dropped in the middle of nowhere make for a tense, gripping story line that excels in unexpected twists and turns, political intrigue, and vivid action.” -D. Donovan, Midwest Book Reviews
“Bloody Truth: A Granger Spy Novel by John J. Davis is a spellbinding, beautifully written book... Readers will most certainly fall in love with the compelling characters, the exciting drama, and the surprises that are never lacking in the well-crafted plot. The dialogue flows naturally and readers can easily get the feeling that they are part of it, but the real fun happens in those nail-biting moments of roller-coaster action and the insanity that creates our fictional heroes.” –Janelle Alex Ph.D. for Readers’ Favorite
“John J. Davis has written a series that is not only fresh and riveting, but in many ways it is also a throwback to the golden era of mysteries—the type many of us cut our teeth on when we were young—think James Bond and Nancy Drew blended and stirred.
What makes John J. Davis’s Granger Spy series so good is that is a suspense thriller that defies genre. It is espionage, political, and a touch of YA just to name a few.
In Bloody Truth, Davis has done what few authors have accomplished in many years; he has written a suspense thriller that can be read and enjoyed by the entire family, and for that, he is to be applauded.” –J.M. LeDuc, Author of “Sin”, for Suspense Magazine
For more information or to book an event or interview, contact Simon & Winter, Inc. [email protected]
www.simonandwinter.com
Copyright © 2015 by John J. Davis
Library of Congress
Control Number: 2015909688
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2015
ISBN 978-0-9903144-2-4
www.johnjdavis.com
DEDICATED TO
My wife and my inspiration, Rebekah.
My daughter and my toughest critic, Leecy.
And for their unwavering support, my dad and Cindy.
SPECIAL THANKS TO:
Alan Rinzler
Chris Coleman
James von Scholz
Jimmy “T”
Jesse & Dedo
Be sure to visit www.johnjdavis.com for insider information, character bios and author updates. Subscribe to The Granger Report for exclusive news and events.
BOOKS BY JOHN J. DAVIS:
Granger Spy Novel Series
BLOOD LINE
BLOODY TRUTH
BLOODY TRUTH
A GRANGER SPY NOVEL
CHAPTER ONE
THE BLACK SEA
THE EXPLOSION SHREDDED THE walls and roof of the Quonset hut, ripping through the vintage World War II-era Russian building and catapulting me across the gravel road, slamming me into the chain link fence encircling the naval base. The twelve-foot high security fence buckled and stretched out grotesquely under the force of my weight, but didn’t break. The fence snapped back into its original shape and pitched me down into the ground with a force that knocked me nearly unconscious. Landing hard on my back, I struggled to breathe. Burning debris was raining down around me like hundreds of flaming arrows stabbing into the ground. Shielding my face and rolling to my right, I tried pushing up on my knees.
Engulfed in a cloud of black smoke, I gagged on the taste of blood, the smell of burnt hair and flesh, and the noxious fumes coming from the remnants of the burning building. Throwing up, I wiped my mouth on my sleeve and tried to stand, but my legs buckled and I fell to my knees. Two hands appeared in the smoke like apparitions—grabbing, lifting, and dragging me to my feet.
It was Hodges and Valerie. Given my condition, I was glad to see them both. They were upright and obviously in better shape than me, and he was big enough to lean against if I needed to.
Coughing, trying to clear my lungs and head and steady myself on legs that felt numb, I faltered, stumbling forward a few steps before regaining my balance. With my pulse rate slowing, I began my self-assessment. Starting at my feet, I tried flexing and extending every muscle and every joint of my six-foot, 200-pound frame, while checking my surroundings. Feeling only minor pain and discomfort in my lower extremities, I looked behind me, seeing the shell of the burning metal building. The jagged edges of twisted metal, backlit by fire, stood as stark reminders of what might have happened to me.
I was lucky to be in one piece. I was lucky to be alive.
I touched my ribcage, wincing. Closing my eyes to the pain radiating from my left side, I knew one or more ribs were cracked, maybe broken.
Focusing on the job meant pushing the discomfort aside. I opened my eyes to see my daughter, Leecy, standing in front of me. She was saying something, asking me a question, but I couldn’t hear her because of the ringing in my ears. I tried reading her lips, but narrowing my focus made things worse. A shockwave of pain rolled over me, bending me down at the waist. I tried to fight it. We needed to move. I needed to move.
Straightening and gritting my teeth against the pain, I placed my hands on top of my head, and closed my eyes as I took in a deep breath, filling my lungs with fresh sea air. I came rushing back into the moment.
“Can you hear me, Ron?” Hearing my wife’s voice, I opened my eyes and thought I was seeing double, but I wasn’t. Valerie was standing next to Leecy, and the only discernible difference between the two olive-skinned, dark-haired, black-eyed beauties was Leecy’s height. She was one inch taller than her mother’s five-foot, seven inches. Val took a step toward me and reinserted my earpiece before gently slapping my cheek. “Ron Granger, can you hear me?”
I blinked my eyes a few times before responding. “Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” I answered, feeling my feet firmly under me but reaching out
placing a hand on her shoulder anyway. “I’m just a little dizzy.”
“Anything broken?” Leecy asked.
“No,” I answered, shaking my head.
“Liar,” Val said. “I saw you wince when you touched your ribs.”
Smiling a half smile, I said, “Yeah, well Leecy asked if anything was broken, and I think the ribs are just bruised.”
“You mean cracked?”
Eyeing my wife warily I started to respond, but Hodges cut me off.
“Look guys, we can do a full workup on his injuries when we get back to the plane, but right now we need to get out of here. I’m pretty sure that’s a siren I hear, and it’s heading in our direction.”
“Maybe so,” I said, “but it’s only one siren. No reason to panic yet.”
“I don’t care if it’s one or a dozen sirens,” Hodges said. “It means military police are coming. We need to move right now.”
“He’s right, Ron,” Val said. “Think you’re up for a run?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said, lying again. “Lead the way.”
I fell in line behind Hodges as Valerie and Leecy led the way. Staying close to the buildings and away from the illuminated fence line, we sprinted between the shadows, covering the first six hundred yards in less than five minutes. I thought we were making good time.
“Ron, you okay?” I heard Val’s voice ask me through my earpiece.
“Hanging in there.”
“Catch your breath,” she said, her back to the building we were hiding behind. “We’ve got to hold here for the truck to pass. Then we move.”
“Roger that,” I said, hearing the blare of an approaching siren, thinking it odd how long the response to the explosion was taking.
“Here it comes,” Val said.
“Troop transport vehicle?” I asked.
“Coming into view now and, no, it’s not a transport truck; just an MP vehicle carrying two passengers. Let’s move. You okay with picking up the pace, Ron?”
“Do your worst,” I answered, pushing off the wall and giving chase.
“Okay, but remember, you asked for it. No more pausing between shadows. Full sprint the rest of the way.”
I was lagging behind the otherwise tight formation as we covered the remaining six hundred yards to the exfiltration point, but I’d decided after seeing the meager response to the explosion our covert tactics were overkill. I didn’t think anyone cared if that building blew up or if we were on the Naval Base at all. But I ran anyway.
The freezing November night air was fighting with the hot smoke I’d inhaled and just when I started to think I couldn’t run any longer I reached the blind spot at the apex of the curve in the fence line.
Ryan and Franks stood on the other side of the fence.
“How’d you two get here so fast?” I asked between deep breaths.
“Just following orders,” Ryan answered.
“Is that right?” Val asked, climbing over the fence with Leecy.
“You said, and I quote,” Ryan responded, “‘rendezvous at the exfiltration point,’ and that’s what I did.”
“Hodges,” I said, ignoring Ryan, “you’re going to have to give me a little boost.”
“That’s right, Hodges,” Val said, dropping to the ground on the other side of the fence. “Help the man with the broken ribs.”
I was about to comment when suddenly Val slammed Ryan to the ground with a leg sweep and stood over him with a boot on his throat.
“You’ll answer for what you did one way or another.”
Ryan rolled away and struggled to stand up.
“And you’ll answer for striking a fellow agent. I have witnesses.”
Landing in a crouch position next to Leecy after Hodges helped me over the fence, I stood slowly to face a now-standing Ryan and said, “No, that’s not what striking a fellow agent looks like. This is what striking a fellow agent looks like,” and dropped him with a weak left jab. “You can call it even now. Unless, of course, you want more.”
Laughing and nodding his head, he leaned on his elbow then stood, wiping his bloody lip on the back of his hand.
“Don’t like your lady fighting your battles for you so you sucker punch me?”
“If you think that…”
“That’s enough,” Val interrupted. Addressing Ryan again, she said, “You know what you did, and you’ll own it.”
“Or what?” Ryan asked.
“Or nothing, but trust me; you’ll own it. Now let’s move out.”
“I did nothing wrong,” he said to the back of Valerie’s head.
But she wasn’t listening. She was running, issuing orders. “We still have a thousand yards to cover. Let’s move. Double time it.”
I ran past Ryan and said, “Keep telling yourself that.”
*
A thousand yards later, we were all stripping off our makeshift Russian Military Police insignias and replacing them with proper NATO designations. With Franks behind the wheel of the NATO marked sedan, driving toward the Sevastopol International Airport, we were almost home.
“Wakefield, are you receiving me yet?” Val said, cupping her hand over her ear. “Come in, Wakefield.”
Everyone heard Wakefield’s voice coming in loud and clear over our earpieces.
“Roger that. Status?”
“Inbound,” Val responded. “All present and accounted for.”
“Roger. ETA?”
“Less than ten.”
“I take it you saw that explosion?” Wakefield asked.
“Affirmative.”
“Tell me that wasn’t us.”
“We suffered minor injuries.”
“That’s not good. You didn’t answer my question.”
“ETA now eight minutes,” Val said, turning off her earpiece.
“Damn it,” I heard Wakefield saying just before turning off my own.
We rode in silence for the next three miles. Something was eating at me. I was missing something. Not seeing something obvious.
Ryan broke the silence.
“Why didn’t you tell her what happened?”
“Are you talking to me?” Val asked.
“Yeah, I’m talking to you. Why didn’t you tell Wakefield what happened?”
“Unlike you, Ryan,” Val answered, “I respect the team.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means it’s not my place to tell on you. You’ll have to own what you did or not, but I won’t relieve you of that burden.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“Good, then we understand each other.”
The lights of the airport were coming into view. Checking my watch, I saw that Franks had made the return trip in less than twenty minutes. He parked the sedan next to the CIA Gulfstream with his customary aplomb and the doors flew open.
Seeing me struggle getting out of the rear of the sedan, Wakefield said, “Damn it, Valerie, you greatly understated the severity of the situation. Minor injuries, my ass. He looks like hell.”
“Yeah, I know,” Valerie said, helping me up the stairs of the plane.
“Zach,” Wakefield called inside the plane, “what’s the status of the real NATO plane?”
“They’re on the ground in Kiev and not scheduled to depart for eight hours. We’re good to go, and our pilots have us cleared for takeoff.”
“Get those tail numbers changed once we’re airborne.”
“I’m doing it now.”
“Everyone prepare for takeoff,” Wakefield instructed, closing the door to the Gulfstream. “We’ll debrief once we’re clear of Russian-controlled airspace.”
As the plane lifted off, I caught sight of the blue lights of a Russian patrol vehicle arriving at the airport. I wanted to laugh, but held it in as Val, who’d signaled it was time to take a look at my wounds, began helping me strip off my sweater and carefully remove my undershirt.
“Lean over, I want to look at your back first.”
“How bad is it?”
“Minor burns, but that’s not what’s causing your back pain.”
“Really?”
“Nope, you’ve got about fifty small fragments, some metal some wood, embedded in your skin.”
“Well get them out.”
“Keep your pants on, big boy, I will,” she said. “Bring me the field medic kit, Leecy.” She turned back to me. “Sit up and let me check your rib cage.” Palpating the already-bruising lower left quadrant of my torso, she said, “Good news, you’re just deeply bruised. No cracks, but I’d need an x-ray to be one hundred percent.”
“Thanks, Doc,” I said.
“I’m going to dose you with a painkiller, give you a tetanus shot, and wrap your ribs, and you should be ready to go.”
We’d been in the air about thirty minutes when Wakefield asked, “Val, you about done playing doctor?”
“Yes, all done. Debrief?”
“Not yet. First, we need to watch the news. I’ve just received an email alert. There’s a breaking news story coming out Moscow. Putin is going to be holding a press conference.”
“So it’s made the news already?” Val asked.
“If by ‘it’ you mean the explosion, then you’re correct. Zach!” Wakefield called over her shoulder.
“Yes?” Zach asked.
“Get the TV tuned to a news station.” Wakefield stood, addressing the team. “Everyone eyes front and pay attention.”
Sitting upright, I took a couple of deep breaths to loosen the bandage wrapped around my ribs before settling back into my chair in time to see the flat screen TV mounted on the bulkhead wall come to life.
A dark-haired, English-speaking MSNBC reporter faced the camera.
“Two months of ceasefire may be coming to an end tonight,” she said. “A large explosion at the Russian-occupied Black Sea Military base in Sevastopol destroyed what high-ranking Russian military officials are reporting was a warehouse containing humanitarian aid packages destined for Eastern Ukraine. These same officials are laying the blame for this unprovoked attack squarely at the feet of pro-nationalist Ukrainian forces. However, the newly elected Ukrainian President denies these claims, saying they are false and unsubstantiated. President Vladimir Putin is said to be weighing in on this horrific turn of events live from Moscow.” Placing a finger on her ear and nodding, she added, “We’re going live to Moscow and President Putin now.”
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