by JT Sawyer
“The election…the election is too…too critical…”
Landis nodded, his eyes starting to roll back as his face became ashen. “Please help me.”
“What election? Here?”
Shepard grabbed the man’s hair, shaking his head. “What fucking election?”
The pool of blood beneath Landis’ body had doubled in size, and he knew the man would probably bleed out before the medics arrived. Landis’ head went limp as he began slumping into unconsciousness.
Shepard stood up, scanning the room before settling on a desk in the corner. He walked over, grabbing the flash drives next to the laptop then pausing to stare at a photo that showed Landis in between two men, one of whom Shepard was sure was Roth. He shoved the photo in his cargo pocket then turned, pausing before Landis, who was moaning and reaching his hand up towards Shepard.
“Help me.”
“I promised something for the pain.” Shepard leaned forward, resting the end of the suppressor on his forehead then squeezing the trigger. He stepped towards the vanity, setting his pack down and removing the four bricks of cellophane-wrapped cocaine, neatly stacking them on the counter.
He retraced his steps out of the bedroom, moving towards the dead henchman lying near the top of the steps. He removed the weathered Tokarev pistol from the man’s bear-like hands, replacing it with the suppressed Glock, then Shepard retreated down the steps to the back entrance.
He opened the basement door, heading below and locating the security system master board. Shepard pried open the panel, removing the memory cards for the interior of the house, then exited the way he came.
Just to be safe.
Crouching beside the first thug he’d killed, Shepard inserted the man’s Beretta into his curled fingers.
He bounded along the south end of the property, climbing over the fence and trotting across the street to the nature preserve. Moving up the hill through the oak scrub, he squatted down, removing his iPhone and recalling the drone to his location.
He saw the flutter of red and blue lights along the winding road that led up to the cluster of homes on the hill. Shepard crouch-walked back to the dirt trail that led to his stolen Honda a mile to the west.
As he jogged back in the dark, he ran through the mental checklist of the growing number of names on his list. Some of them were already scratched out, while another figure had just been added.
There was still work to be done.
Men to hunt down.
Their reckoning was coming.
And before it was over, he knew there would be blood spilled far beyond the borders of this state.
1
Langley, Virginia, Four Weeks Earlier
Cal always marveled at the view from the seventh floor at CIA headquarters, feeling like the serene cobalt sky outside was in such stark contrast to what his employer represented. He was grateful that a seasoned former operator like Neil Patterson was holding the reins as Director of Clandestine Affairs from this lofty perch, and that the man was still grounded in the realities of what agents like Cal went through in the field.
Shepard looked around the spacious office then over at his boss, who had just sat down at his desk. “I’m going to miss these weekly meetings. They remind me of old times when you were my team leader.”
Patterson chuckled, waving a hand at his room. “Except I’ve come to prefer this setting over a musty cave in Helmand Province or the sub-Saharan.”
“You’ve gone soft on me.”
“Too much time doing briefings in DC will do that.”
“That just creates a different edge, is all. Still, it must be a challenge sitting before a committee of policy police all the time, knowing you can’t just twist off someone’s head when they disagree with you.”
“With civility comes great responsibility and self-control, my friend,” said the older man with a hint of sarcasm.
“I seem to recall when you recruited me sixteen years ago out of ASU, you talked about righting the wrongs of the world…saying that the work we were going to do would require civility to be stripped away at times.”
“Well, those were different times for sure, and the administration back then provided more operational freedom on our early missions in Afghanistan and the Middle East.” Patterson winced slightly as he stood up.
“That old injury acting up today?”
Patterson frowned, thrusting his thumb at different joints. “Which one, the knee replacements or the fused cervical vertebrae?”
“Well, looks like Langley won’t be using you in any of their recruitment brochures.”
He pulled his broad shoulders back, arching his head up and stretching. “You on the other hand…you’re almost like a refurbished car that’s gotten a factory tune-up with eight months back here working as a civilian contractor. I bet you’re not chewin’ on Ibuprofen every morning like you used to.”
With the physical and mental trauma that took its toll on field operators, Patterson knew the troublesome terrain that his star agent was headed for if he didn’t take a break, which was why he had assigned Shepard to work for a Virginia-based defense contractor for the past eight months.
After Cal received a traumatic shoulder wound from a firefight during a mission in Algeria last winter, the man was flown home to recuperate and undergo physical therapy. Patterson thought the timing fortuitous, since Cal could still provide consulting services for a new threat-detection software called Perseus that was being developed by computer engineer Stephen Burke.
Shepard would be the perfect fit with his years of field experience and trigger-time battling some of the world’s most notorious terrorists and assassins, and would provide the vital human intelligence component that would keep the ever-cerebral Burke grounded in reality.
Known only to a handful of people at Langley, Shepard was one of a small group of operators from the Special Activities Division who comprised an elite search-and-destroy (SD) unit with the sole focus of hunting down other assassins.
Beyond their training in covert ops, the SD members all received an additional sixteen weeks of combatives and close-quarters training followed by nearly two months of advanced survival and evasion skills in order to operate unsupported behind enemy lines for extended periods. Patterson and the other co-founder of the unit, Ryan Foley, placed a heavy emphasis on fieldcraft and advanced urban sniping and concealment to create the ultimate self-reliant hunter of men. In its first year in operations abroad, Shepard’s SD unit racked up more confirmed kills than all of the other clandestine units combined within that same region.
Once Burke’s security clearance was approved by Patterson and the National Director of Intelligence who oversaw all of the U.S. intelligence agencies, Burke was given full access to Shepard’s wealth of knowledge on target acquisition, staging methods, weapon selection, human-asset recruitment, and evasion methods.
The two men seemed to feed off of each other, with Burke providing insights into the technological side of things that Shepard had been relying on for years overseas while the weathered field agent gave a glimpse into the methodologies of a master assassin-hunter. By the end of their third month of working together, it was evident to Patterson that Burke and Shepard had become good friends.
“So, are you looking forward to returning to fieldwork again?”
“All except the part about me being apart from Cassie for months at a time. I got kinda spoiled being home for so long.”
“Well, once your contract ends with Perseus, you’ll have ten days to regroup, then you’ll join your team…this time in Nigeria, unless things drastically change between now and then.”
“‘Regroup’…something I should know about?”
“That’s code, bonehead, for a short vacation with your expectant wife. You’ve earned it, and Cassie probably won’t argue the point either. God knows when you’ll be back stateside for an extended period, so just enjoy the time.”
“Aye, aye.” He gave a two-fingered sa
lute. “I do appreciate it. I really do.”
“So, Burke is nearly done with Perseus. Hard to believe it was almost two years ago that I met with him about the project.” He leaned back, settling his gaze on Shepard. “I hope it wasn’t too grueling working for a civilian outfit.”
“His staff are top-notch and highly motivated—some of the finest tech people I’ve ever been around. And Burke is, well, just Burke. Pretty sure he was a distant relative of Einstein’s.
“I remember the days when we performed everything in-house. Now, civilian contracting firms like Burke’s make up more than half of the outsourcing we do for training and resource development. Hell, even our new operators were just run through an evasive driving course with a former NASCAR driver, and I just signed off on a handful of our teams to go through a desert survival course with a former SAS guy who runs his own school in South Africa.”
“Yeah, but it’s also good to get an outsider’s take on things. When all the training is handled internally, it becomes too myopic.”
“There you go, makin’ up words again.”
Shepard laughed. “If only you read something besides intel and budget reports, you’d find there’s a whole other world of the English language to discover.”
Patterson stood, walking to the large window that overlooked the bustling streets below. “Are you pleased with what Burke has done with Perseus? I haven’t had much information from him on his progress during this past month other than your reports here. There’s a lot riding on this.”
“It’s pretty astounding. It’s going to be a shot in the arm for our analysts. The speed that Perseus harvests data will increase our pre-emptive abilities like nothing we’ve ever seen.”
“I’m not sure if Burke mentioned this or not, but he had a hand in the early development of our threat matrix that used facial recognition software to collate and identify connections to terrorists, jihadists, and even cartel-related ties. It’s primitive compared to what Perseus will be capable of, but it helped the agency during the early days, tracking down Al Qaeda so our drones and our ground teams could do their jobs.”
Patterson looked out the window again, his gaze distant. “Think of the operators who might still be here today if we’d had Perseus during all those years of running missions. That was one of the other reasons, a huge one, why I was so eager to sign off on Burke developing the program.”
“Won’t be long before the agency will be training operators just as heavily in cyber-skills as in the hard physical skills of shooting and tradecraft.”
The older man nodded. “That will be for another director to worry about. As you know, the completion of this contract with Burke also marks the end of my days here. I’ll be retiring to Florida…and never having to deal with the cold again.”
“And taking up whittling or chess because you’re so fucking bored.”
“Nah, I’ve played enough chess of sorts in my lifetime, though I do relish a good game of poker.”
“Well, this place won’t be the same without you. Not many guys have sat in this office who came up from field ops. Frankly, I can’t tell you what a relief it was hearing your voice on the other end of the line when I’d call from some shithole four thousand miles from here, needing an evac or resupply, and knowing me and my team were in good hands…and with someone who knew what the hell we were going through.”
Patterson pursed his lips. “Maybe you’ll be in this office some day?”
Shepard smirked. “I’m not the statesman you are, sir, nor do I have any desire to sit across from a panel of cake-eaters at the Capitol on a daily basis.”
“Fair enough.” He glanced over at Shepard then returned to his desk, opening the bottom drawer and removing a bottle of bourbon and two glasses. “Though Perseus may put guys like you out of a job one day.”
“I hope not. I don’t want to turn into one of those closet drunks you hear about, bending at the elbow behind their desk all day long.”
Patterson muffled a laugh. “Piss off, you little shit, or I’ll put this $300 bottle away that I brought just for this occasion.”
Shepard stood, reaching for a glass as Patterson began pouring them drinks. “Then here’s to an early retirement courtesy of Perseus, I guess.”
They clanked glasses then drank the amber elixir. Shepard eagerly swigged it down, slamming the glass on the desk in victory.
“Did you even taste it or were you just driven by your usual competitive impulse to finish first?” said Patterson, still relishing the remnants of the bourbon in his glass.
“Yes to both, but next time, I’ll give you a head start.”
“Shut up and get your ass out of here already. Go irritate Burke for a while.”
Shepard grinned, heading to the door. “Thanks again for having me on this assignment and for the upcoming time off. As always, I owe you one.”
Patterson held up his glass. “I think it’s more than that, but who’s counting.”
Shepard chuckled on his way out. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you win a few hands of poker when I come visit in Florida.”
2
Burke Corporation
An hour later, Cal parked his Jeep at the rear of the eight-story building in Arlington, Virginia then trotted to the double doors that led to the security checkpoint.
He scanned his badge at the entrance, pausing to nod at Reggie Sinclair, the burly head of security, who was seated at a desk just inside the lobby.
“You still getting in all the sleep you can before the big day? Once your little one arrives, it’s all triple espressos,” said Reggie.
“My wife and I still have six months, so I think we’ll be OK. Besides, I don’t plan on having twelve bambinos like you.”
“It’s four, actually, and I made sure of that a few months back,” said Reggie, mimicking a scissors motion with his fingers.
“Oh, sorry, man. Is that why your voice is higher-pitched now?” Shepard chuckled, scooting through the security line as the young woman behind him muffled a giggle.
Shepard enjoyed the banter between him and Reggie, who was the only guy in the building not in a suit and tie. Reggie was a former MP who had spent eight years in the army before transitioning to the world of private security and executive protection. He also served as Burke’s bodyguard when the CEO ventured into the public eye.
Bypassing the growing crowd at the elevator, he headed to the stairwell entrance at the end of the hallway, opting for some exercise enroute to the eighth floor. He had missed out on his usual three-mile run around the neighborhood in lieu of having breakfast with his wife Cassie at home, going over colors and decorations for the baby’s nursery in the back bedroom of their house. Deciding on whether to go with ballerina pink, coral pink or birthday candle pink seemed tedious, but he had no complaints sitting beside his wife, who always appeared more radiant than the day before.
Only two weeks left working for Burke, then his eight-month-long contract as an advisor to the CEO would be coming to an end. It was the longest he had ever stayed in one place during his sixteen years with the CIA, the bulk of which had been with the Special Activities Division in various hotspots around the world.
For the first time in his career, he was torn between being eager to return to his former work in clandestine ops overseas and wanting to remain stateside with Cassie and the baby girl he was about to become a father to.
If he hadn’t met his wife at a DOD interagency meeting four years earlier, he doubted he would have ever formed a long-lasting relationship with anyone in the civilian world. Now, they were expecting their first child, and he was about to be reactivated to join his old unit, pulling him back into the world of clandestine ops.
Initially, Shepard had figured his work on the Perseus project would be a deskbound position analyzing data related to past terrorist events, but he had taken a liking to the soft-spoken CEO and gained new insights into the technological end behind the scenes related to mission logistics, satellite intel an
d drone data that he had been utilizing as an operator for years.
Burke had first made his name in the world of geospatial and satellite imagery software, attracting the attention of the DOD and NSA, whom he worked for periodically as a civilian consultant before forming his own corporation ten years ago in Arlington. Two years ago, he was approached by Neil Patterson, who proposed a contract to formulate software that would enable a government agency to target politically driven assassinations connected with forthcoming coups.
After being given the green light by the Director of National Intelligence, Jason Begley, who oversaw the fiscal expenditures by the CIA and other U.S. intel-gathering agencies, Perseus was on the fast track for development.
Patterson signed off on Burke receiving the highest level of top-secret clearance that a civilian could possess, which enabled him to obtain intel from NSA feeds involving phone calls, surveillance cameras, and emails along with patterns in social media, geopolitical issues, and online news events. To further refine the system, Patterson eventually included databases from TSA, Customs, and Interpol.
But the shortcoming that became evident to Burke after sixteen months of grueling research was that Perseus was too technology-driven and was lacking the critical human element involved in threat analysis and counterterrorism—someone versed in direct action using covert methods of eliminating high-value political targets so Perseus could learn and assimilate the patterns used in both rogue and sanctioned assassinations throughout the world.
Shepard could serve as a consultant, providing the real-world, gritty feedback that was sorely lacking in Perseus’ early formatting.
Terrance “Cal” Shepard was the missing component that Burke needed and allowed Perseus’ far-reaching capabilities in anticipatory threat neutralization to be fully realized.
At first, their meetings strictly revolved around understanding the surveillance methods and human intelligence gathering involved in the acquisition of a terrorist target, but Shepard’s considerable input eventually led to Burke realizing that there were cultural, geographic, and even ethnic factors that played into an operator’s field assessment and ultimately how the target would be eliminated.
