Caught Fire
A John Seal Novel
Michael D. Wright
Sweetwater Creek Publishing
Copyright © 2017 by Sweetwater Creek Publishing
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to persons or their actions are contrived by the author’s imagination and not met to be representations of real people or real situations.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
About the Author
Chapter One
After hearing the initial resounding boom, John bolted upright in bed. His shoulders relaxed a bit when it was followed by a pop and sizzle. Fireworks, he reminded himself. After seeing combat in Syria, he had been conditioned that loud noises were a cause for alarm.
John glanced down at the head of blond hair that lay on the pillow beside him. He never understood how most men were able to fall asleep immediately after sex. He was usually wired, not ready for another round right away by any means, but filled with energy and the need to be productive.
After particularly great sex, John was often ready for a jog or a swim—anything to get the excess energy out of his system.
That was the way he felt now.
The last hour or so spent there in his hotel room could be defined as the acting out of an adolescent boy’s dream. And if the truth were told, that of many a grown man. The woman he had spent the last half a day with was asleep. Her name was Maria. They had met at a wine bar twenty-four hours before on his second night in Barcelona. Her face was turned away from him as she dozed lightly. John had been with many women over the years, but Maria was one of the most beautiful and fascinating.
John was sticky and covered with sweat. He needed a shower. Since the last two years he had spent in the Syrian desert, he often needed to bathe. Coupled with the heat of a Barcelona summer, the fires of the Saint Joan Festival raging outside, and the two spectacular romps in bed with Maria, John had no doubt he needed a cool shower.
He grinned lazily, realizing the festival taking place outside in the street was a metaphor for the sex he’d just had. Hot. Loud. A little rough. The only difference was that the fires of the Saint Joan Festival were meant as a symbolic gesture of cleansing. And while John certainly felt incredibly free from his inhibitions, his anxiety was ticking up since he was told to come to Barcelona and wait to be notified of his first mission.
As John peered out the hotel window at the swelling crowd gathering the street below, he heard the ‘boom’ of another firework. Surprised he could hear it at all, John remembered reaching for the air conditioner somewhere between losing his pants and removing Maria’s bra and twisting the knob to its highest setting. So it was struggling with a loud ‘hum’ to cool the air.
His attention was drawn to the television tuned to an American news station. He wasn’t sure how it had been switched on. One of them must have bumped into it during foreplay or laid down on the remote when things really got physical. He shifted on the side of the bed to catch a better view of the screen. In doing so, he caught a whiff of his post-sex self.
Yeah, I’d better get going and take that shower, he thought. Maybe she will agree to go out and enjoy the festival before dinner. The least I can do is smell good…
When he began to stand, he was stopped by Maria’s soft yet demanding hand on his thigh.
“Where’re you going?” she whispered.
“To shower.”
“Want some company?”
“Are you the company?” he asked grinning.
She nodded and threw the thin bed sheet off of her. Seeing her completely nude, John thought maybe he could go for a Round Three. He needed to do something with all of that energy.
Maria sat up and kissed him deeply, wrapping her arms around him. Another firework went off outside, and she smiled through the kiss. “Fireworks,” she said as she pressed her nude body against his. “Seems appropriate.”
Her hands started to wander, but got no farther than his well-chiseled abs when they were interrupted by the sound of his phone. It was the telltale ding of an incoming text. Her hands started to head south again as she placed her lips on his bare shoulder. With willpower beyond comprehension, John forced himself to step away.
“Sorry, babe,” he said. “I have to check it.”
Maria nodded and then fell back onto the bed, closed her eyes and turned away. She wasn’t pouting. Apparently, she wasn’t quite as awake as she had seemed.
John walked over to his phone, making no effort to hide his nudity. He didn’t care if Maria saw him and that the blinds were open. No need to be modest. As he walked to his phone, he caught his reflection in the mirror and was happy at what he saw—not out of vanity but because he believed every body was a reflection of the life it had lived.
John was brief yet well defined. He was thirty-three but had the build of an ambitious twenty-four-year-old. His nearly perfect frame told the tale of the time he had spent in the military. It was not the sort of body most would expect of a guy that spent the last few years of his career in cybersecurity and covert communications. It spoke of manual labor, of weights lifted and miles ran, during the handful of years he had spent in training and elsewhere as an Air Force Combat Controller.
But despite the confidence his presence seemed to exude, John swallowed hard when he picked up his phone. His years in cybersecurity had led him here, to his first mission as a spy for the CIA. Looking back to the nude woman in his bed, he supposed it couldn’t have come at a worse time. But he’d made it this far. So to put off his duty for something as simple as sex. Great sex, but still...
John read the text carefully, wanting to absorb every word and get it right. It was easy since the message was simple and to the point.
It read: Granja M. Viader coffee shop. Order a double cortato with 5 cubes of sugar and wait for further instructions. Be there in 30 minutes.
Confidence and excitement waged war within him as he looked around the room, preparing to get ready. There was no time to take a shower, so he walked into the bathroom and only washed the crucial parts, being very liberal with his deodorant when he was done. After walking back out into the room, he dug a new change of clothes out of his bag opting for a plain blue button-down shirt and a pair of nice jeans; careful that his selection wasn’t too flashy. He needed to blend in with the crowd.
The back holster was quite comfortable. Reaching into his other, smaller bag, he slid the Sig Sauer P320 out of hiding—a basic 9mm military issue. It wasn’t his first choice of a firearm, but it’s what he had been asked to carry for the mission. He assumed he’d get more of a say once he proved himself.
Lastly, he retrieved his knife from the bag. It was a simple little pocket knife, one that he had carried with him ever since basic training. Feeling it slip easily into the pocket of his jeans calmed his nerves a bit. And just like that, he was ready to go.
Before he left, he strode over to the bed to tell Maria goodbye, but she was already back asleep. He took one last look, hoping she might still be there when he returned. He committed the sight to memory: shoulder length blonde hair, bare back, svelte waist barely peeking through the sheets, the side of her perfectly sculpted left breast. And he remembered those sparkling green eyes…
A
lways nice to have something to motivate you to get things done, he thought as he headed for the door.
Just as he placed his hand on the knob, the woman being interviewed on the television caught his eye. Her face was familiar, but he wasn’t sure who she was. Moments later, she was gone when the camera switched back to the news anchor. He walked back to the TV and watched for a few seconds, wanting to see if he was right or if his mind was just playing tricks on him in its current excited state.
The anchor was talking about a recent re-opening of the Uranium One Deal. That wasn’t news to him, as he’d known about it for weeks now. But after a few more seconds, the shot cut away from the reporter and to recent footage of Senate hearings and interviews. That’s when John realized that he had seen a familiar face.
On the screen, Senator Nancy Daniels, the Chairwoman of the Senate Judiciary Committee was being interviewed. She was saying nothing new about the deal, so it didn’t interest him enough to risk being late for his first mission. He pondered for a moment how he had evolved from an Air Force cadet to cybersecurity expert, and now he would have to get to know the lay of the land in Washington and beyond.
With a final look back to Maria’s sleeping form, John took a deep and steadying breath before slipping out of the room and stepping towards his first mission.
Chapter Two
He’d forgotten just how miserably hot it was outside, even as the sun slipped below the horizon. It wasn’t just the temperature or the cleansing fires people had lit at seemingly random spots in the streets that were going to slow his progress. It was the packs and packs of people.
Since he wasn’t familiar with Barcelona, he had no idea where the hell a coffee shop named Granja M. Viader was located. He typed the name into the map on his iPhone and was dismayed to find that it was a half a mile away.
John sighed and ran his palm through his hair. He was typically a patient man, but he felt his tolerance wearing and began elbowing his way through the crowd. Some people were moving along at a reasonable pace, but many were just standing, chatting with friends and it didn’t help that more than a few were drunk and oblivious to their surroundings. Not the best way to start his career as a spy. Sorry I didn’t make it on time, sir. Traffic was a bitch, and I didn’t know where I was…
He stopped and pressed himself against the wall of a building and looked for a shortcut, maybe an alleyway — anything. But alternate routes on foot were not easy to find, so he was just going to have to stick it out. He melded back in with the crowd, trudging forward. When he saw a partially clear space in the street, he hurried to it—so fast that he nearly collided with a woman on a bicycle. She veered to avoid him, nearly falling from her bike. She yelled out to him as she pedaled on. John was an expert linguist and spoke excellent Spanish, so he knew that nothing she was saying to him was complimentary.
When John found a small group of American tourists, he stayed close to them. It was clear they had no idea where they were going either but they had managed to find one thin lane of free-flowing foot traffic. So John walked in their wake, ignoring the joyful melee all around him.
He continued to glance down at the map on his iPhone. He started sweating quickly, not just from the heat but out of fear that he wasn’t going to make it to the coffee shop on time.
To hell with it, he thought. I’m just going to have to be rude.
He passed by the tourists and began to jog, determined that nothing would stop him. Not the two drunk men that had broken out into a fist fight ahead of him. Not by the drunk man leaping over a tall fire, his sneakers letting off little puffs of smoke. Not the three topless women selling beaded necklaces, not the chorus of people singing some song he didn’t know. He forged ahead, an immovable force until the red icon on the map was right on top of Granja M. Viader.
When he slipped inside the blissfully cool shop, he had about four minutes to spare. The place was packed, and it seemed that more people were inside the shop for the air conditioning and the breeze from the rotating ceiling fans rather than the coffee and pastries. John pushed himself up to the counter. He was pretty sure he ended up breaking in line, but he really didn’t care.
It was obvious the waitress had noted what he had done when she rolled her eyes before stepping forward to take his order. He double checked the text to make sure he had it right. In his everyday life, coffee was coffee, plain and simple. The darker, the better, preferably from a gas station in the middle of nowhere. Some fancy sweet fru-fru coffee was not his thing.
“Double cortato with five sugars,” he muttered.
The woman nodded and said “Have a seat, we’ll bring it to you,” as if it were a line in a bad play.
John found an empty seat, a revolving stool sitting along a small bar in the back. He sat at it and positioned himself so he could survey the action out on the street. John slowly exhaled, using the moment to collect himself. While waiting for his order, he found that he was perfectly fine with the crowd so long as he was inside looking out. He noted the red and yellow hues caused by the fires, accented by the bright colors of the fireworks above, created a surreal atmosphere unique to Barcelona.
It was a strange feeling to be in the midst of a mission yet to not have a team by his side. During his active duty, he’d built up an impressive record and had even amassed a few urban legends throughout the branches he’d worked within. It was that record that had been used as leverage when he had approached the CIA about becoming a potential spy—that record, in tandem with his superior linguistic and combat skills, would make him a prime candidate.
That first interview with the CIA had been three months ago…and now here he was, sitting in a coffee shop in Barcelona, Spain. There was no way John could have predicted this for himself even a year ago — not in his wildest dreams.
After peering out the window for several minutes, he noticed the same waitress that had taken his order was making her way toward him. She was carrying a tray that held his small cup of coffee with sugar and an envelope. She handed both to him without saying a word—without even looking at him—and then turned away and headed back toward the counter.
The envelope was small, the sort that might come with a bouquet of flowers, tucked in among the stems. John opened it and found a card inside. There was a simple message and an address written below. Both had been typed rather than handwritten.
WELCOME TO OPERATION GOTHIC the message read.
The address below that did not give a name, but John found it quickly when he plugged it into the map app on his phone. The destination was that of the Basilica de Santa Maria del Mar, an old Catholic cathedral in Barcelona.
To his delight, the cathedral was just a block and a half away. Tucking the note into his pocket, John looked down at the coffee and left it where it was. After throwing down a few euros, he headed out. The last thing he needed on his frazzled nerves was a caffeine jolt. With his head down, John exited the coffee shop and returned to the suffocating heat outside. He took a moment to orient himself to the direction of the cathedral.
After taking no more than three steps forward, he received a text. The message popped up at the top of the map, from the same number that had directed him to the coffee shop. It was also brief, giving a simple instruction: Enter the first confessional, close the curtain, and wait.
Ahead of him, he heard glass shattering on the pavement. This was met with uproarious laughter. Then suddenly, he heard two pops resound off the walls of the buildings. Someone had set off firecrackers. But now with a clear direction set in his mind, John was able to look past it all and wondered what he would face inside the church. That is…until he realized that some of the raucous commotion was taking place in front of the cathedral. He could see the spires jetting up straight ahead, but his way was blocked by a Spanish troubadour singing from a small stage a few yards in front of him. A massive crowd was gathered around, singing along and shouting their approval.
Shit. John tried to walk around the party goers. He ende
d up having to duck into an alleyway to cut across the final block of his journey. In doing so, he passed a couple making-out against one of the walls, a make-out session that was likely going to end in sex, right there in the alley. John hurried forward working to avoid seeing anything of the sort. Within another few feet, he also found that he had lost his cell service. In the Gothic Quarter of Barcelona, it was easy to get lost. It seems there was not a straight road or walkway anywhere. The map was no longer updating, giving him only what he had always referred to as “the thinking wheel” in the center of the screen.
No matter, he was close enough to the church to be able to get there without the aid of his phone. Sort of lame anyway, he thought. A spy with the CIA using an iPhone to make sure he doesn’t get lost.
The alleyway felt much hotter pressed between the two buildings leaving him with a mounting feeling of claustrophobia — a phobia he had kept secret. To distract himself he glanced back at the lovers and recalled the passionate moments he had shared with Maria.
By the time John exited the alley, his shirt was clinging to his back. After wiping the sweat from his brow, he looked to his right where the cathedral shined like a beacon over the partygoers. With a clear shot to his destination, John did his best to blend in with the others, but the excitement and the uneasy feeling in his gut made him feel exactly the opposite.
With a laser focus, he rushed on, weaving through the masses. The blazing fires produced just enough light that he could spot the red doors of the cathedral, just ahead.
Chapter Three
Breathless, John took the steps to the cathedral two at a time. The brass door handle felt cool in his hand when he pulled the door open and stepped inside. His gaze was lifted by the massive stone arches that continued to the altar. For a split second, he considered how small he felt in comparison to the centuries-old building. And while it wasn’t nearly as cool in there as the coffee house had been, it was a drastic improvement over the heat in the street.
Caught Fire Page 1
