by J. C. Fields
Copyright © 2019 – A Lone Wolf – J. C. Fields
All rights reserved.
~~~~
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, businesses, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
Paperback-Press
an imprint of A & S Publishing
A & S Holmes, Inc.
Acknowledgments
I want to say thank you to all the individuals who lent their talents to the creation of this new novel.
Sharon Kizziah-Holmes, owner of Paperback Press, has enthusiastically reinforced my desire to create a new series. Her support has been unwavering from the beginning and I am indebted to her efforts on my behalf.
Colonel Mark “Buzz” Masters, USAF (ret) a recently retired pilot for Southwest Airlines, provided background and offered hints on how someone could fly across the country without coming under TSA scrutiny. But remember, this is just a work of fiction.
Jeff Vaughn, standup comedian and man of leisure, provided a few of his jokes and his permission for a cameo appearance in Chapter 10. I had the pleasure of listening to his routine several years ago, plus, he has enjoyed reading the Sean Kruger series. At least he says he enjoys them. He’s a comedian.
To my new developmental editor, Holly Atkinson. Thank you for joining the team. I look forward to working with you over the course of more novels.
Alisa Trotter, thank you for your fine tuning of the manuscript. It is amazing what one final read through will find.
Niki Fowler, a graphic artist extraordinaire, continues to create images for my books garnering praise and establishing continuity for the series. This cover produced accolades by everyone who previewed it.
Paul J. McSorley has narrated every installment of the Sean Kruger Series for Audible.com. His talent is such there is no way I would entrust one of my novels to anyone but him. While there is always a bit of sadness when I complete a new book, the excitement returns when Paul starts producing it for audio.
And again, last but not least, my wife Connie. She is and always will be the love of my life and my largest supporter. Not sure where I would be without her.
Authors Note
The itch to write a story without Sean Kruger started right after I finished The Imposter’s Trail in July of 2017. Well, two years and two additional Kruger novels later, here it is. After numerous discarded first drafts I looked back at a short story I penned in 2015, The Ghost in the Mirror Affair. It was the perfect background for the book you hold in your hand.
For those that are interested, I am offering the short story as a free PDF download on my website: www.jcfieldsbooks.com.
Numerous references found in A Lone Wolf, are dealt with in more detail in the short story. However, you can enjoy the novel without reading it.
While there are three characters from the Sean Kruger universe within these pages, (Kruger is not one of them), they are minor players within the story and will not appear in future episodes. As additional tales for this new series are developed, a new supporting cast will be introduced. You will discover several of them within these pages.
For readers who are concerned Sean Kruger will finally retire, fear not. He is a long way from fading away. As long as I continue to enjoy creating stories with his character and can develop fresh new ideas, he will be around for a while.
I hope you enjoy A Lone Wolf. I’ve had an absolute blast writing it.
Peace
J.C. Fields – Summer 2019
Part One
Two Years Ago
Chapter 1
Barcelona, Spain
T he sniper peered through Zeiss Victory HT binoculars as the woman wandered purposely northwest on the historic street in Barcelona. Taking her time, she remained 800 meters from her final destination. Eventually, the woman would arrive at the tapas bar with sidewalk seating on the northeast side of the street called La Rambla. An unoccupied apartment five floors up and two buildings northwest provided the sniper an unobscured view of the tables.
As she stopped at various boutique shops along the street, she pretended to gaze at goods in the windows. The sniper knew the exact purpose of these frequent stops. The woman was not looking at merchandise in the window, she was checking to make sure no one followed her.
He glanced at his wristwatch. She was an hour early. He continued to watch as she strolled along the crowded street.
The woman appeared slender and of average height. He could tell she was beautiful even from his observation point 400 meters away. Her long dark brown hair flowed unbound, allowing the soft breeze to rustle it gently around her neck and shoulders. She wore tight jeans, flat canvas shoes and a white silk blouse. It was open at the collar with the top three buttons undone. The sniper knew the leather bag, carried on a long leather strap over her shoulder, contained a Walther PPK. She was a Mossad agent assigned to meet a contact who supposedly possessed information about a terrorist attack aimed at the Knesset.
When she reached the restaurant, her instructions were to sit at a table near the sidewalk and wait for someone to ask for directions. The sniper’s briefing did not provide too much additional information, except the person asking the question would be a male. Both the woman and the man were his targets.
Now with the woman in position and sipping an espresso at the table, the sniper got behind his suppressed Kalashnikov SVK sniper rifle. He centered the crosshairs just below her breast bone, controlled his breathing and waited.
Nadia Picard sipped her coffee and casually surveyed the pedestrian traffic in the crowded area known to tourists as Las Ramblas. A mild concern tickled the back of her mind, but she remained calm. The concern stemmed from the fact she did not possess a description of her contact. Her instructions were to wait for a man to ask directions to a specific restaurant. She would reply it was closed and the contact would say, “Too bad, I was hoping to take you there.” The conversation would be in French, her native language.
Her circuitous approach to her current location took most of the morning. Glancing at the clock feature on her cell phone, she saw it was fifteen minutes before the designated rendezvous. As she waited, she watched the crowd meandering on the street filled with tourists from all parts of the globe. The din from Las Ramblas grew louder as she carefully kept an eye out for threats and her contact. She finished one espresso and ordered another.
Before the new coffee arrived, she saw a man moving rapidly toward her location. His stride seemed familiar as did his appearance. She stiffened as he approached and placed one hand inside the purse lying on the table next to her. Her eyes did not divert from the man’s face. She knew every feature of it and every contour of his body. When he stopped next to her table, she looked up with surprise. “What are you doing here?”
The sniper’s dark complexion, average height, slender build, black hair and neatly-trimmed beard allowed him to fit in anywhere in Europe. Political and religious affiliations were of no concern to him. His loyalties were to any person or organization with the most money.
Considering the fee for successfully completing his current task, his concentration was total. Pressure on the rifle’s trigger increased slightly as he observed a change in his target’s demeanor. She had straightened and concentrated on something to her left. He saw her hand slide into her purse, ever so nonchalant.
Keeping his breathing slow and steady, he mentally walked
through his next steps, wait for the woman’s contact to sit and then squeeze the trigger. Before anyone would be able to react, another bullet would be on its way.
Suddenly, the situation changed as the woman looked up and said something. Feeling his chance of completing the assignment slipping away, he applied additional pressure to the trigger.
Michael Wolfe did not answer the question. Instead, he grabbed her arm and jerked her out of the seat, leading her into the mass of people on the street. Almost immediately, he heard the unmistakable sound of a bullet striking the concrete behind where Nadia had sat. The next sound was the cry of a waiter as pieces of the now-shattered projectile embedded in his upper thigh.
Wolfe did not panic as he led Nadia into the throng of tourists. Disappearing from the sniper’s line of sight became his only concern.
Chapter 2
Somewhere in Southern Missouri
J oseph Kincaid navigated down Missouri Highway 90, slowing for the obscure turnoff leading to his final destination. The individual he would be meeting knew him as Charlie Rose. It was the nom de guerre he used when dealing with CIA assets.
Joseph maintained a persona of a mystery inside of an enigma. Few individuals were aware of his real background or what duties he performed for the CIA and the United States government. The man he planned to meet knew the more obscure ones, having worked for him at various times in the past.
Joseph was a tall slender man in his late sixties. His normal attire consisted of a navy blazer, white button-down oxford shirt, khaki cotton pants, shiny loafers and boldly-colored socks. His striking resemblance to the actor Morgan Freeman irritated him occasionally due to the constant requests for autographs. But on occasion, used it to his advantage.
Following the barely-passable road composed of exposed dirt, ruts and the occasional patch of river rock, he guided his Range Rover through a dense area of trees and underbrush until it opened into a clearing. He parked his SUV in front of a grassy earthen berm and surveyed the surroundings. A grove of birch trees dominated the left side, conifers and oaks to the right. The sloping terrain appeared natural, although Joseph knew different.
After exiting the vehicle, he noticed a man of average height and build, arms folded, leaning against a large white oak. A week-old beard, revealing more gray than brown, adorned the oval face. Narrowed green eyes under a knitted brow studied him.
The man standing by the berm was a former employee of the CIA and the owner of the property, Michael Wolfe.
Joseph raised one hand in greeting. The other held a 10-inch Samsung tablet. “Michael, good to see you. What was the emergency?”
Without saying a word, Wolfe motioned with his head for Joseph to follow.
As they approached the south side of the mound, Joseph marveled at how the entrance to the earthen structure seamlessly merged into the landscape. A bedrock gray concrete overhang blended into the limestone sedimentary stonewall surrounding the entrance. A flat, pea-gravel porch led to the interior guarded by a massive ornately-carved oak door reinforced with a layer of Kevlar between two solid sheets of oak planks. Michael opened it and stood aside as Joseph entered.
The space behind the door was open. A comfortable sitting room blended into an oversized gourmet kitchen on the left side. Rough-hewed oak columns and beams supported the weight of the roof. Natural light illuminated the interior from two large bulletproof double-pane windows on either side of the oak door aided by skylights strategically placed within the ceiling. Toward the rear right side of the room, stairs led to an upper chamber. Charlie remembered this part of the house contained Michael’s bedroom, bath and study.
Once inside, Michael turned and seemed to contemplate his guest before speaking. “I apologize for the theatrics used to get you here, but I need to make sure this place is concealed from prying satellites.”
“I understand.” He offered the Samsung, which Wolfe took and activated.
Joseph watched as the other man swiped the screen to study the images displayed.
Four minutes elapsed before Wolfe looked up, offered the device back and gave him a slight smile. “I like the way the wind turbine looks like a tree and the solar panels resemble a pile of rocks. Thank you, Charlie.”
Nodding, he accepted the tablet back. “My friend is very good at what he does. I’ve asked him to continue to monitor images on Google Earth and any taken by the National Reconnaissance Office.”
“I appreciate it.”
“Now, do you mind if I ask…”
The appearance of a woman walking down the stairs lent Joseph pause. He knew the woman, having worked with her in a far-away land on the opposite side of the world. Nadia Picard was out of place in this rural, rustic setting. She wore a white cotton robe covering a tall athletic body. Her dark brown hair, damp from a recent shower, streamed around an oval face highlighted by an upturned nose and emerald green eyes. As she ran a comb through her hair, she stepped over to Wolfe’s side.
Joseph smiled. “Hello, Nadia. Nice to see you again.”
She smiled but only nodded.
“We were set up, Charlie.” Wolfe’s words conveyed a genuine concern.
“Set up? What do you mean?”
Wolfe’s jaw tightened as he placed his arm around Nadia’s waist. “Trapped, compromised, ensnarled, ambushed, cornered—you name it. We barely escaped.”
“Whoa, slow down. When? Where? Give me details.”
Wolfe’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t know. Do you?”
“No, I don’t. What happened?”
Wolfe took a deep breath and glanced at the woman. Returning his attention back to Joseph, he said, “We both thought the CIA was behind it. I’ve known you a long time, Charlie. You don’t startle easily. Apparently, our theory was wrong.” He paused, his expression softening, and gave his ex-boss a smile. “Would you like coffee?”
“Yes.”
“Last I knew, you two parted ways several years ago.” Joseph accepted the mug handed to him.
Wolfe poured a cup for Nadia and one for himself. “We did. Uh—circumstances presented a necessity to work together again.”
Joseph chose not to respond. He sipped his coffee, grimaced, set it down and added a little sugar.
Nadia responded, “Retreating to this place seemed the prudent thing to do.”
Smiling, Joseph took another sip. “You’re both dancing around something. What happened?”
After studying his coffee mug for a moment, Wolfe looked up. “I was offered a job.”
“Where?”
“Barcelona.”
“Okay, for what?”
“Eliminating an opposition leader of the Catalonian Coalition.”
Joseph tilted his head. “Who hired you?”
“As usual, I was not told. Initial contact was made the normal way. Funds were transferred from a bank in Madrid to one of my accounts in Zurich. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, so I didn’t question the source.”
“SOP. Go on.”
“I was told the target was female and would be at a specific place, at a specific time.”
“That seems unlike you, Michael, considering your normal security protocols.”
Wolfe blushed and his mouth twitched. “It was mistake number one.”
“Okay, go on.”
“Mistake number two was continuing the job without being given any background information or a photograph.”
Joseph offered another frown, but remained quiet.
Wolfe took a deep breath. “At the time, I didn’t think it was a big deal. Guess I’m getting old.”
“I’m not buying that. Why did you accept the job?”
Wolfe ran his fingers through his hair. “A lot of money and I got cocky, okay?” He crossed his arms and stared hard at Joseph.
“Cocky will get you killed.”
“I know.” Closing his eyes, he shook his head. “Maybe a little lazy, too.”
“For someone in your line of work, those are two lethal attributes.�
��
“Once I realized who the target was, I knew it was a set up.”
More silence met the comment.
Nadia spoke with her Parisian-accented English. “Michael got us safely out. It took four days, but we managed to arrive here without anyone knowing—until you arrived.”
“Good. What do you need from me?”
“I need to know who set us up and why.”
Joseph nodded. “I, too, would like to know who set you up.” He turned to Nadia. “Why were you there?”
“I was supposed to meet someone for an information exchange.”
Raising an eyebrow, Joseph cocked his head to the side. “Information exchange? What kind of information?”
She sipped her coffee and gave him a half-smile.
“Okay, forget I asked.”
Nadia nodded slightly.
“Who assigned you?”
“My controller.”
Joseph crossed his arms and turned his attention to the windows next to the front door. The view was of a flat pasture south of the home. “He or she?”
“She.”
“How long has she been your controller?”
“She made contact with me a month ago and knew all the right contact procedures.”
“Have you tried to get in touch with her since the incident?”
She responded with a nod.
“And?”
“She has not returned my query.”
Joseph turned back to Wolfe. “Michael, how many people know about this location?”
“You, me, now Nadia and my contractor.”
“Who’s that?”
“Someone I trust.”
Rose narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?”
Wolfe gave him a parental nod. “Yes, Charlie, I’m sure.”
