Tears of God (The Blackwell Files Book 7)
Page 31
Mastana gathered her thoughts before answering. “This mission showed me how easy it is for evil to flourish. For every evil person, there should be a good one trying to stop them. The world will not be safer if we stand by and do nothing.”
Vega seemed satisfied with the answer. “I’ll be staying in touch with you, young lady.”
Mastana cracked a smile. “You had better talk to my mother first. She is not happy about all of the danger I was in.”
“Amen to that,” said David. “I’m already in the doghouse as it is.”
“I’ll do that,” said Vega with a chuckle. He turned to Alton. “I’ll need your written report by Monday.”
“Ug, really?” said Alton. “As if I don’t have enough Kruptos work to catch up on.”
“Your country calls,” said Vega. “It wants you to fill out more paperwork.”
Mallory laughed, nearly squirting her sip of coffee out the corners of her mouth.
“Okay,” said Alton, grinning despite himself. “Monday it is. But it’ll be an executive summary, not a novel.”
The meeting broke up, and the participants began to file out of the room.
Alton held open the door so Silva could pass through on her crutches. “Well, Silva, you take care.”
“You, too,” she replied. After passing through the door, she looked back, the corners of her mouth tugging upwards. “I hope we get a chance to work together again sometime.”
CHAPTER 90
That evening, the Blackwells prepared to celebrate the conclusion of their case with a candlelight dinner at Gadsby’s Tavern, one of their favorite Washingtonian eateries.
Mallory used a slower, more deliberate approach when changing into a dress for the occasion. Her flak jacket had stopped the EG’s slug but had left her tender.
“You still sore?” asked Alton.
“Yeah.” She turned to show mottled green and purple bruising on her ribcage. “I don’t think I’ll be jogging for a few more days.”
“I’m glad it wasn’t worse,” said Alton, shuddering at the thought of how events might have played out. “Now let’s go eat.”
At dinner, the couple sat adjacent to a floor-to-ceiling window adorned with white trim. A patchwork of constellations twinkled in the night sky. Alton could scarcely believe he and Mallory had gazed upon the five bright stars forming the famous Southern Cross a mere three days ago. Already, the experience had taken on a dreamlike quality.
“Are you surprised about Vega’s interest in Mastana?” asked Mallory.
“Not really. Part of his job is recruiting, like he did with us. If I saw someone of Mastana’s potential, I’d take an interest in bringing her into my organization, too.”
“I’m not sure Fahima will go for that.”
“True,” said Alton, “but at some point, that decision will be out of her hands.”
“Speaking of Mastana, did you know she and Kevin have taken to talking on Facetime?”
“Really? No, I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, every night, from what I understand.” Mallory cracked a knowing smile.
“What’s Kevin doing now, anyway?” asked Alton. “Did DTI keep him as a guard at their Alice Springs facility?”
“According to Mastana, they offered, but Kevin wasn’t interested. He was just accepted as a Northern Territory police recruit.”
“Maybe the excitement of our mission juiced him up for something more interesting than being a guard, huh?”
“Could be,” said Mallory. “Mastana seems pretty happy about it. And if anyone would understand her interest in joining the NSA, Kevin would. It kind of makes you wonder where that relationship will end up.”
“I’m no good at those kinds of predictions,” said Alton. “But I do know where our evening will end up.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have a little surprise planned. I’ll take you there as soon as we finish dinner.”
Alton turned his Explorer into an older neighborhood, where quiet lanes crisscrossed rolling hills. He pulled to a stop in front of a white, colonial house. A thick lawn, now browning in the October chill, bordered a tidy row of burgundy euonymus shrubs fronting large, glass windows. A single electric light, fashioned in the manner of a gas lamp, cast its glow onto the driveway and sidewalk.
“It doesn’t look like anyone’s home,” said Mallory, squinting at the dark windows. “Should we come back?”
“We’re already here. Let’s just double-check.”
They walked up a paver-stone path to the front door. Mallory rang the bell and waited. No one came, even after a round of knocking.
“See, I told you,” said Mallory.
“Wait,” said Alton with a grin. “What’s this I have in my pocket? Is it…? I think it is…a key.” He inserted the key into the deadbolt lock and held the door open for his incredulous wife.
“Alton, what’s going on?”
“Just come with me.” He flipped a switch. Bright lights from a cheerful chandelier illuminated a front passage of oak boards. Nearby, a wrought-iron railing bordered matching wooden stairs.
Alton traveled down the oak hallway and switched on recessed lighting in the kitchen and den. The latter room contained an enormous, stack-stone fireplace with a sprawling mantle.
Trailing behind her husband, Mallory entered the great room and looked around in silence.
“What do you think?” asked Alton.
“What do you mean, what do I think?”
“Do you like the fireplace?”
“Of course. It’s gorgeous.”
“Let me show you the rest of the place.”
They wandered through cozy bedrooms and a study with cherrywood bookshelves build into the wall. A pleasing view of a fenced backyard could be discerned from the faint glow of starlight. After passing through a first-floor dining room, they returned to the kitchen.
“I still don’t get what this is all about,” said Mallory. “Are we looking after this place for a friend?”
“Hold out your hand,” said Alton.
She did, and Alton dropped the key into it. “I’ve put a down payment on it, but we can get it back if you don’t like it.”
“You’ve…are you kidding? No, it’s perfect. It’s everything I’ve always wanted in our own place.”
“I know. We’ve talked about it for so long, I thought I should be able to get it right.”
“I think you may have just topped the surprise honeymoon,” said Mallory, her mouth agape.
She moved to the fireplace and ran a hand across the mantle. “We can put our wedding photo right here, in the middle. And over to the left is a perfect spot for a picture of my parents. And on the right we can put one of your mom and sisters.” Her face lit up with excitement.
And for the first time, the house no longer seemed a mere construct of walls and floors and windows. It felt like home.
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WHEN THE KILLING STARTS
CHAPTER 1
“This plan is never going to work,” said the aide.
Commander Yun Ki-Woo chuckled. “You say that because you lack experience.”
A look of annoyance passed over the younger man’s face. “No, I say that because I have common sense. How will our forces—?”
The older colleague held up a placating hand. “Kam, trust me. In this agency, you have to think big. I’ve seen operations more complicated than this succeed.”
“And how many operations—of any complexity—have failed?”
Yun sighed. He lowered himself onto the edge of a desk covered with electronic gear. “I won’t lie to you. Many have failed, largely because the Americans and their South Korean puppets anticipated our actions.”
“And this time?”
�
�Even for our friends to the south, the Olympic Games is too large an event for anyone to guard completely. For those two weeks, we’ll have a window of opportunity unlike any other.” He grinned at his colleague. “And that’s an opening I plan to exploit.”
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Book 1: Nefarious
Book 2: Ruthless
Book 3: T Wave
Book 4: Havoc
Book 5: The Devil’s Due
Book 6: The Evolution of Evil
Book 7: Tears of God
Book 8: When the Killing Starts (Coming in late 2016. See below for notification when available.)
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Blood Passage
Maintenance supervisor Brian Francisco goes to sleep for the night in his Midwest apartment and awakes to find himself a prisoner aboard an oil tanker at sea.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Author Steve Freeman is a former member of the US Army's Signal Corps, a twenty-eight year employee of a large American technology company, and an avid traveler who has visited every continent but Antarctica. The novels of The Blackwell Files draw from his firsthand knowledge of military service, the tech industry, and the diverse cultures of our world.
He currently lives near Atlanta, Georgia with his wife, daughter, and three dogs.
Visit www.SteveFreemanWriter.com for a complete list of his titles.
Table of Contents
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
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
CHAPTER 61
CHAPTER 62
CHAPTER 63
CHAPTER 64
CHAPTER 65
CHAPTER 66
CHAPTER 67
CHAPTER 68
CHAPTER 69
CHAPTER 70
CHAPTER 71
CHAPTER 72
CHAPTER 73
CHAPTER 74
CHAPTER 75
CHAPTER 76
CHAPTER 77
CHAPTER 78
CHAPTER 79
CHAPTER 80
CHAPTER 81
CHAPTER 82
CHAPTER 83
CHAPTER 84
CHAPTER 85
CHAPTER 86
CHAPTER 87
CHAPTER 88
CHAPTER 89
CHAPTER 90