by Steve Richer
SUMMARY
Jeff Riley is out on his first mission overseas. It was supposed to be a simple surveillance job. Nobody was supposed to get killed.
Go to Paris, get evidence against the corrupt French politician, that was the plan. But before he gets accustomed to his new intelligence duties, the young CSE officer is kidnapped by terrorists. And thus starts a chain of events that will forever change his life… and the face of the earth.
Jeff is forced to dig into a conspiracy involving South American rebels, a stolen military prototype, and a ruthless Canadian spy. With the help of a beautiful and spunky reporter, Jeff needs to piece the puzzle together before a new weapon system falls into the wrong hands.
Before terrorists take over Venezuela and, possibly, the world.
First Thrill
By Steve Richer
Copyright © 2001-2017 Steve Richer
The cover art for this book makes use of licensed stock photography. All photography is for illustrative purposes only and all persons depicted are models.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Also by Steve Richer
The Pope’s Suicide
The President Killed His Wife (Rogan Bricks 1)
Counterblow (Rogan Bricks 2)
Terror Bounty
I’ll Kill Her for You
The Kennedy Secret
The Gilded Treachery
Never Bloodless
The Atomic Eagle
Sigma Division
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Author’s Note
This isn’t the first novel I ever wrote, but it was the first I was really proud of and wanted people to read. Tragically, the timing was wrong. As I was writing the last chapter – literally the last chapter – 9/11 happened.
This changed everything.
In the summer of 2001, the world was a much quieter place. This was a time before Hugo Chavez radicalized Venezuela, when the concept of national security was mostly geared toward economic espionage. The West was not overly concerned by Third World rebel factions anymore. The Internet was slow and not ubiquitous.
But in the last months of that year and the beginning of 2002, the world was upended. My own worldviews were altered and I began to distance myself from this novel. Moreover, many of the elements in this book became instantly irrelevant, not to mention technology growing by leaps and bounds with each passing minute.
So I ended up shoving this thriller inside a drawer, thinking I had wasted half a year of my life. The amateur sleuths among you might know that I did end up publishing it briefly under a pseudonym, under another title, but my heart wasn’t in it.
But recently I gave it another look and I was quite pleasantly surprised. The novel is a nice glimpse through my younger self where sheer enthusiasm was enough to sustain me. If you can overlook the dated technology of 2001, the cultural changes, the rougher prose, and the buoyant Canadian perspective which at the time (and still) was absent from commercial fiction, I think you just might get a kick out of this fast-paced spy story.
Steve
Montreal, April 2017
Prologue
Investigating multiple homicides in the rain was never fun, Chief Thornton thought. Of course, he understood that such a statement implied that there were occasions when it was indeed fun, which was impossible to acknowledge.
But he didn’t mind. That sappy political correctness was a plague on his country—especially on his small North Carolina town—and he sure as hell didn’t care for it. No, Emmetts Run wasn’t the theatre for many homicides each year and Thornton wasn’t going to make any excuses for his enthusiasm. No cop in his right mind would ever turn down a murder case.
And as a bonus, tonight he had five.
“Chief, what happened?”
“Who’s dead? Who got shot?”
There was the predictable gaggle of bystanders and Thornton knew them by first, middle, and last names. He gave them a tightlipped smile but otherwise ignored them.
In spite of the rain, it smelled like death. At this time of year, it wasn’t unusual for the aroma of natural decay – swamps, bugs, and woodland – to permeate the air. It was ten times worse now.
Emmetts Run was the near seat of Johnston County and Thornton feared the Sheriff Department would soon be on the scene to take over the case. The crimes most committed in the county were by far larceny and breaking and entering, which meant that most of the police work consisted of filing reports.
So when people were murdered in these parts every law enforcement officer in the area began drooling like a hungry stray dog. He knew better than to jump to conclusions, calling this murder, but little was left to guess.
Witnesses claimed it had happened an hour ago. But in a small community getting a major operation under way could take quite a few minutes, especially when it was past ten o’clock.
Thornton however believed that those witnesses hadn’t dialed 911 immediately, which explained why the department had only been on the scene for twenty minutes. The hotel clerk must have been scared out of his wits and waited until the shooting died down to inform the authorities.
Squad cars were parked in the Howard Johnson’s lot with their lights flashing. He knew his younger officers believed it added drama to the event, but it was downright annoying and he’d have to have a word with them about it. At least they had turned the damn sirens off.
Thornton could see the cars slowing down on Interstate 95, trying to get a glimpse of what would certainly be the event of the year in the county. Motorists who were too far behind to see anything would curse at the speed they’d have to descend to. They’d curse at the chronic voyeurism that kept the traffic jammed up. Only those same people would slow down like the rest of them when they got to the scene. Human nature.
The rain trickled off the brim of his hat but gusts of wind were shuffling the water back in his face. And the bad news was that the major part of the crime scene was outdoors. The evidence was getting washed away and there wasn’t much they could do about it. The county medical examiner had quickly surveyed the corpses, but she had to have them bagged before they lost too many clues to the rain.
“Chief Thornton!” he heard a familiar voice drawl.
He looked back and knew it was Chasey Parfett before he even could see her pretty face. She wore that old cowboy hat he only saw her wearing when it was raining.
To think she could have ended up his daughter-in-law. Well, almost. He remembered his son had asked her to be his date for the senior prom and had been delighted she had agreed. She hadn’t been the looker she was now, but Thornton had noticed the potential just as his son had.
He still grinned as he recalled the phone call he had received later that evening, the kid pleading with his father to lock her up. It seems he hadn’t appreciated the bitch kneeing him in the balls at the motel. Good for her, he thought.
Her hands were buried inside the pockets of her slicker and the chief of police was sure she held a ballpoint in one hand and a pad in the other, ready to pen every quote she could get. But being the best reporter at the Clayton News-Star did not give her the right to cross the yellow tape.
“Behind the line, Chasey,” he said pointing a finger at her.
“Do you think this might be related to the drug arrests the Sheriff Department did last week?”
&
nbsp; He wanted to say yes, he was almost certain it was related, but he could see the headline in next week’s edition.
“It’s a little premature to draw any conclusions right now. And that’s all I’m gonna say.”
He caught the gaze of one of his officers who got the hint and came over to show the reporter away.
“C’mon, Chief!”
She was aware the heavyset man she had known all her life wasn’t out of earshot yet, but she also knew he wouldn’t talk to her again. She scribbled some notes, futilely using the brim of her hat to keep the water off the pad.
Okay, back to work, he sighed as he turned his attention to the crime scene.
Thornton saw that one of the rooms’ windows was broken. Half the glass lay outside the room in shattered bits. He imagined the rest was inside; he’d have to wait until he got in to make sure. What it suggested was that the people inside had had guns and so had those who’d come from the parking lot, most likely the aggressors. A shootout had spread broken glass all over the place.
There were four corpses outside and one inside. Those he could see, being worked over by the medical examiner, seemed similar in shape. These gringos had been in shape, had worked out to look like they did. The drug dealers he had encountered in his time sure as hell didn’t look as good. As big, yes, but not as fit.
The clerk reported seeing five individuals enter the room when it had been rented. But he had also said the outside corpses were strangers to him, not those who were Howard Johnson guests.
Thornton did the math: two gangs had fought it out. What bothered him though was that it was the assaulting team who had suffered the most casualties which was quite anomalous. Assaulters usually have the upper hand.
Did it mean those inside had been tipped off about their visitors? Or were they simply handier with firearms? It sure as hell was a tall order, but it was well worth the climb.
AUGUST 1
THURSDAY
Chapter 1
Jeff felt queasy as he entered his boss’s office.
No one ever enjoyed being called in and Jeff Riley was one of them, especially this early in the morning. More often than not it was to receive bad news. He tried remembering what he might have done wrong lately.
Surely, they couldn’t fire him for having left that half eaten yoghurt in the fridge. He knew it had gotten bad and had stank up the place for a week, but he would have felt bad about throwing it away. He kept telling himself that he would finish it—after all, it had been his New Year’s resolution to eat healthier—but until they found a way to have yoghurt taste like cheeseburgers he knew he would never finish a serving of that white goo.
He wasn’t a model employee, this much he admitted. He wasn’t the first to walk through the tight security of the Communications Security Establishment headquarters, and he had been the last to leave only on a handful of occasions in the fifteen months he had been working there.
The threat risk assessment reports he handed in were always accurate and exhaustive, but he didn’t believe in getting himself a heart attack over something that would be given a glance and then forgotten forever. He did his job but didn’t suck up, that’s how he put it. A promotion was thus out of the question.
But there had to be a reason why Kenneth Easton had ordered him in. He had heard in a movie that layoffs were mostly conducted on Fridays to avoid disgruntled employees coming back the next day armed with a semi-automatic rifle. Maybe Easton knew Jeff didn’t own a gun and was ready to take his chances.
And what about the other man who was sitting on the couch behind him? Jeff had seen him around the building a few times but wasn’t aware of his position with the agency. Head of security perhaps? He was certainly there to escort him out.
The office was miles ahead of Jeff’s cubicle in the luxury department. There was wood paneling, lush carpeting, and a mahogany desk worthy of the highest sphere of the Canadian government. While Easton had people above him in the chain of command, it wasn’t unusual for members of the Privy Council Office to drop by to go over matters of national security. Things had to look just right for them, Jeff mused.
He shifted in his chair, waiting for Easton to begin. Expecting the worst, he started thinking about financial matters. Did he have enough money for next month’s rent? What about the car payments? He flushed those thoughts away as Easton opened his mouth to speak.
“I’m sure you are aware, Jeff, that CSE really values the work you’ve done around here.”
It sounded like an off-the-shelf firing speech, the kind of standard issue template middle management was given to face difficult situations. This one had to be followed with a but, and it was there that Jeff’s fate rested. He was screwed, he knew it.
“But,” Easton continued, “we’re really eager to see what else you can do.”
Might as well come right out and say it, Jeff thought. “Am I getting fired?”
Easton frowned and offered a chuckled. “What?”
“Why do you ask such a question? Have you done something you think should get you fired?”
The voice came from the man behind Jeff. It was hoarse but still melodious, as if the man knew what he sounded like and compensated with harmony. It seemed to make his age – late fifties? –less threatening.
Jeff had painted himself in a corner and he knew it. Why the hell hadn’t he kept his big mouth shut? It had always been his greatest fault but never had it brought him as much worry.
“I, uh, no, absolutely not,” he said as he turned to face the intimidating man. “It’s just that it’s not often that I’m called into the boss’s office when I haven’t been working on a priority case.”
Would this take the heat off his earlier comment? He hoped so.
“Sorry to have spooked you, Jeff. The reason we called you in is that we think you’re ready for a promotion.”
Okay, Jeff thought, these guys obviously pulled out the wrong file. “Really, is that what we think?”
Easton smiled again and pointed to the mystery man on the couch. “I’d like you to meet John Bellamy, he’s our G Group Deputy Director, Collection Management.”
Bellamy nodded from his seat. “My primary task as Deputy Director of G Group is to coordinate CSE covert operations. I want you to join my team, Jeff.”
Officially, the Communications Security Establishment was an IT security solutions provider for the Canadian government. What that meant was that they developed encryption algorithms, consulted with the different departments, evaluated the security of equipment, and offered support in threat risk assessments, which every government institution was required to do. And they really did all that.
However, the main focus of CSE was signals intelligence, or SIGINT. Being the Canadian counterpart of the British Government Communication Headquarters and the American National Security Agency, CSE monitored foreign communications to suit the intelligence community’s need in safeguarding national security. It wasn’t exactly secret although the government didn’t really go out of its way to advertise it either.
CSE was the only Canadian intelligence agency that had a foreign mandate and they made the best of it. While Canada had always been known as a pacific country, it still needed to know where crises were brewing, it still needed to stay in the loop. There was no relying on allies to expect intelligence handouts; in matters of intelligence there were no allies.
Although the CSE Commissioner’s role was to oversee the agency to make sure it operated within the confines of the law and the Constitution, he had little power over what he did not know. Whereas people accepted as fact that the CIA was always conducting covert operations, most Canadians outside the Sir Leonard Tilley Building—including Members of Parliament—had no idea their government functioned the same way.
Jeff had known all along. Employed mostly as a translator, he had often had access to raw data and at the same time to the methods used in its gathering. He was aware of the possibility of him one day being sent on a field tr
ip. He had taken the different courses involving equipment, methods, and security, and he had read the manuals. But he never thought they would actually send him anywhere. This one he couldn’t mess up.
“As an intelligence officer,” Jeff liked the ring of that, “your first assignment is to go to France.”
“Excuse me,” interrupted Easton. “I didn’t hear Jeff take the position.”
Bellamy nodded. “He’s taking it, aren’t you Jeff?”
Jeff knew psychology, he’d read those how-to-make-people-kiss-your-feet books. He knew Bellamy was throwing down a challenge in the hopes he’d rise up to it. But it wasn’t for fear of passing for a coward that Jeff said “Yes”. He wanted to try something new.
He wanted that free trip to Paris.
“The French government has called upon us to listen in on a conversation that they know will take place between one of their ministers and some other minister’s assistant. The meeting is set for tomorrow, after lunchtime. I’m sure you’re aware of the procedures, your file said you were.”
“Yessir,” Jeff acknowledged.
“Good, from now on you report to me. Everything you need to know is on this,” he said as he handed Jeff a CD labeled Tetris. “Your employee PIN will open the hidden files. You have a 9:30 direct flight to Charles-de-Gaulle. I suggest you hurry and go pack your bags.”
Jeff rose from his seat, an inkling of nervousness ruffling his stomach. He had a million questions to ask but he didn’t dare raise them as he had already said he was up to speed on it all. He was sure in due course he would remember. There was definitely no screwing up this one, even if it was as simple as he thought it would be.
Chapter 2
It was just past 10:30 in the evening when Jeff managed to exit Charles-de-Gaulle. His biological clock was still in Eastern Daylight-Saving Time – after all, for him it was 4:30 – but the flight had worn him out. The pressure, the vibrations, the crappy food, it all contributed to the exhaustion from which every frequent flier suffered. Now he was down on God’s good earth and very glad for it.
