Payback

by J. Robert Kennedy

  Payback

  A Delta Force Unleashed Thriller

  by

  J. Robert Kennedy

  From the Back Cover

  FROM USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR J. ROBERT KENNEDY

  THE VICE PRESIDENT’S DAUGHTER HAS BEEN KIDNAPPED IN EBOLA RAVAGED SIERRA LEONE AND DELTA HAS BEEN UNLEASHED ON THOSE RESPONSIBLE!

  Doctor Sarah Henderson, daughter of the Vice President, is kidnapped from an Ebola clinic, triggering an all-out effort to retrieve her by America’s elite Delta Force just hours after a senior government official from Sierra Leone is assassinated in a horrific terrorist attack while visiting the United States. As Sarah battles impossible odds and struggles to prove her worth to her captors who have promised she will die, she’s forced to make unthinkable decisions to not only try to save her own life, but those dying from one of the most vicious diseases known to mankind, all in the hopes an unleashed Delta Force can save her before her captors enact their horrific plan on an unsuspecting United States.

  Payback, the first installment of the new Delta Force Unleashed series based on the internationally bestselling James Acton Thrillers series, propels the Delta Force’s Bravo Team into its most challenging mission yet where they face an enemy with an unknown agenda and an invisible virus that threatens to kill not only them, but the ones they hold dearest.

  About J. Robert Kennedy

  USA Today bestselling author J. Robert Kennedy has been ranked by Amazon as the #1 Bestselling Action Adventure novelist based upon combined sales. He is the author of over twenty-five international bestsellers including the smash hit James Acton Thrillers series of which the first installment, The Protocol, has been on the bestseller lists since its release, including occupying the number one spot for three months. He lives with his wife and daughter and writes full-time.

  "If you want fast and furious, if you can cope with a high body count, most of all if you like to be hugely entertained, then you can't do much better than J Robert Kennedy."

  Amazon Vine Voice Reviewer

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  Find out more at www.jrobertkennedy.com.

  Books by J. Robert Kennedy

  The James Acton Thrillers

  The Protocol

  Brass Monkey

  Broken Dove

  The Templar's Relic

  Flags of Sin

  The Arab Fall

  The Circle of Eight

  The Venice Code

  Pompeii's Ghosts

  Amazon Burning

  The Riddle

  Blood Relics

  Sins of the Titanic

  Saint Peter's Soldiers

  The Special Agent Dylan Kane Thrillers

  Rogue Operator

  Containment Failure

  Cold Warriors

  Death to America

  Black Widow

  The Delta Force Unleashed Thrillers

  Payback

  Infidels

  The Lazarus Moment

  The Detective Shakespeare Mysteries

  Depraved Difference

  Tick Tock

  The Redeemer

  Zander Varga, Vampire Detective Series

  The Turned

  Table of Contents

  The Novel

  Acknowledgements

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  About the Author

  Also by the Author

  For the nearly 500 healthcare workers who have died fighting Ebola.

  “People are still dying horrible deaths in an outbreak that has already killed thousands. We can't let our guard down and allow this to become double failure, a response that was slow to begin with and is ill-adapted in the end. It is extremely disappointing that states with biological-disaster response capacities have chosen not to utilize them. How is it that the international community has left the response to Ebola—now a transnational threat—to doctors, nurses and charity workers?”

  Dr. Joanne Liu, Médecins Sans Frontières

  January 13th, 2015

  Preface

  Joeblow, Liberia is a town so small it doesn’t even appear on most maps. Yet if you were to Google it today, you would find hundreds of hits, for it is now a town that should never be forgotten.

  A town where just recently, the last mother died.

  Since the Ebola outbreak began in late 2013, early 2014, every single mother in the small town has died, it tradition that the women of the village take care of the sick, and without the proper knowledge or equipment, these caregivers inevitably contracted the virus themselves, again being cared for by the surviving women.

  I wonder who took care of the last mother.

  This book deals with difficult topics, with much of the imagery taken from actual accounts, photos and reports of the outbreak. It was difficult at times to write, and I am sure will be difficult at times to read.

  But this virus cannot be ignored.

  And discussing it must not be avoided simply because it makes us uncomfortable.

  Howard University Hospital, Washington, D.C.

  “I’m afraid it’s bad news.”

  Command Sergeant Major Burt “Big Dog” Dawson felt his chest tighten at the words. To say he was surprised would be a lie. He had known all along what the answer would be, but until it was confirmed, they had all been in a holding pattern, waiting, wondering, helpless. He could hear the feet shuffling in the room, no one sitting, no one talking, everyone waiting, hoping for the best, fully expecting the worst.

  And now that their worst fears were confirmed, it made no difference.

  They were still helpless.

  Their friend was still dying.

  Dawson had known him for years—many years—and had never seen fear on his face until today. And he thought nothing less of him, none of them did. If he were to die today from what had happened, he would die a hero. History would decide whether or not their overall mission had been a success, but history could never question that this man had done the right thing, had put the life of others before his own, despite the fact he had a family, a son.

  He tore his eyes away from his friend, a friend who felt a million miles away on the other side of the isolation chamber’s glass walls as he felt the tiny hand in his squeeze harder. He looked down at the little boy whose father lay so close yet so far away.

  And the grip on his chest ratcheted another notch tighter as he saw the fear on his Godson’s face. He looked at his friend’s wife, Shirley, a woman he had also known for years, a woman he respected immensely, who had never questioned her husband’s career choice, his constantly being called away at the last minute, the nature of the job not only preventing him from telling her to where, but making it necessary for them both to lie to their family and friends.

  For no one could know they were Delta Force. Officially 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta, they were America’s elite Special Forces, created in 1977 by Colonel Charles Beckwith as an answer to the growing threat of terrorism around the world. After an ignominious beginning in the deserts of Iran during the Iran Hostage Crisis—known as Operation Eagle Claw—they had served with honor and distinction, successfully carrying out hundreds of missions over the ensuing decades.

  Their failures were few.

  And despite his friend now lying in a hospital bed, dying, there was no way he was going to let anyone think his friend had failed, even if he himself had. Dawson blamed himself for what had happened. He had been too slow, their enemy far better prepared, far better connected than they had anticipated.

  They had been betrayed.

  And he should have anticipated it.

  He exchanged glances with the rest of
the team, all their faces impassive, their concern revealed only by their eyes and their silence. Shirley tried to speak but the words got caught in her throat. She turned to Dawson, her eyes beseeching him to take over.

  “What’s the word, Doc?”

  The doctor’s face was grim with a hint of fear, this the man who had taken care of his friend since the moment he had arrived.

  And he, along with several others on Bravo Team, had all been exposed.

  “The testing confirms Mr. Belme has Ebola.”

  Shirley gasped out a cry and nearly collapsed, two of his men catching her and helping her into a chair. Bryson began to cry, more because his mother was crying rather than an understanding of what was really going on. He hugged Dawson’s leg, hard. Dawson patted him on the head as he battled to control his own emotions.

  “What’s the prognosis? I’ve heard the fatality rate is up to ninety-percent.”

  “With the massive dose he received, and the method in which it was delivered—I hesitate to guess.”

  Dawson looked at his friend through the glass. He was asleep and hadn’t heard the verdict. He’d at least have a few more minutes of peace before the horror of his new reality would set in.

  And Dawson swore he’d kill the man responsible.

  The man responsible for infecting the best friend he had ever had.

  Master Sergeant Mike “Red” Belme.

  Across from the Norfolk Waterside Marriott Convention Center

  Norfolk, Virginia

  Four days earlier

  “Let me take the shot, BD.”

  Command Sergeant Major Burt “Big Dog” Dawson shook his head, peering through his binoculars at the scene across the street. He was prone on a rooftop across from the Norfolk Waterside Marriott Convention Center with three of his men and a sniper team from his unit. Sergeant Carl “Niner” Sung, the best sniper he had ever known, had made the request. A request Dawson so desperately wanted to approve.

  “Negative. Kill him, the rest of the hostages die.”

  “But I’d feel so good putting an extra hole in this bastard’s head.”

  “You’ll get your chance before the day’s out.”

  They had been training at The Unit just a few hours ago when word had come down the pipe that the Secretary of Defense had been taken hostage along with another twenty-two guests at a conference. Security had been tight but light, relying more on the small size of the conference, its rather contained location, and the fact no one knew he was going to be there.

  But somebody had known.

  And leaked it.

  Their best guess was eight hostiles, the security team forced to stand down the moment a waiter serving drinks placed a weapon against the Secretary’s head.

  It was a no win situation. If the detail of eight were made up of his own men, he would have taken the shot knowing full well that his team would eliminate anyone else that popped up.

  But that was what they trained for, day in and day out, and on far too many occasions actually put into practice. They were all Delta Force operators, part of Bravo Team, led by him, though command structure in Delta was quite loose. They were all Non-Commissioned Officers, NCO’s, sergeants, the grunts of the trade. Officers might run the wars, but a soldier in the trench didn’t run to his Lieutenant for advice when his ass was under fire, he ran to his sergeant. Sergeants were the true leaders of men on the battlefield, experienced, well trained, and used to the trenches where the men they led suffered, not the command tents the officers usually found themselves in.

  His men were Delta Force, the most highly trained group of soldiers in the world, and the only military unit in the entire US Armed Forces that could legally operate on American soil, the President having the sole authority to suspend Posse Comitatus if he saw fit.

  Which was why they were legally present here today beyond just an advisory capacity. Local SWAT had been pulled back, and were none too pleased at first, but Dawson had assuaged their commander’s ruffled feathers fairly easily.

  “If this turns into a Charlie-Foxtrot and the Secretary of Defense gets killed, do you want us to take the blame, or you?”

  The man hadn’t replied, but Dawson could tell he was processing the words.

  “If we screw up, we take the blame. If we succeed, we were never here, you take the credit. Either way, it’s win-win for you.”

  The man pursed his lips then sighed. “You’re Delta, aren’t you?”

  Dawson shook his head with a slight smile. “Never heard of them. Some kind of airline or something?”

  The man had laughed, the ice broken. “I’m a former Ranger. So are some of my men. If Delta—or whoever—wants to take over, we’d be honored to back them up.”

  With the majority of the Delta Force being made up of former US Army Rangers, support had been quickly garnered and local SWAT was now securing the perimeter, keeping the cameras out of sight. With today’s 24/7 live news coverage, one of the last things they needed were the terrorists inside watching a live feed of his assault on their building.

  Which was why Control back at Fort Bragg was monitoring every news feed whether over the air, satellite, cable or Internet, for any possible leaks. Cutting cable and power meant nothing nowadays. With cellphones and satphones there was pretty much no way you could guarantee your hostiles’ communications had been terminated.

  So the press was kept back.

  The shot rang out, a crack that echoed between the buildings, and yet another hostage crumpled to the ground, the terrorist saying nothing, merely turning on his heel and walking back inside, his back to the police, a final insult to law and order in this great country, knowing they wouldn’t dare touch him.

  “Bravo Zero-One, Bravo Zero-Two. We’re in position, ready to breach, over.”

  It’s about damned time.

  He didn’t blame his second-in-command, Master Sergeant Mike “Red” Belme. Maps of the sewage system had been late to arrive, but as soon as they had, it had only taken fifteen minutes for Red’s team to get into position. Red was his best friend. Dawson had been best man at his wedding and was Godfather to Red’s young son, Bryson. He trusted Red with his life, as he did every single man on his team. They had been through hell and back over the years, and he’d die for any one of them.

  But let’s try to avoid that today.

  “Acknowledged. Control, Bravo Zero-One. We’re ready to execute. Advise of any flags on the play, over.”

  “Bravo Zero-One, Control, you’re cleared for entry, over.”

  “Roger that, Control. Bravo Team, Bravo Zero-One. Eliminating rooftop targets in three, two, one, execute!”

  Two muffled but still loud shots could be heard, Niner’s M24A2 Sniper Weapon System firing a shot at incredible velocity across the street to the target rooftop. Before the report even registered the target was down, a moment later the second target dropped, taken out by another sniper team on the opposite side of the building.

  “Control, Bravo Zero-One. Any sign of activity, over?”

  “Negative, Bravo Zero-One, you’re still clear, over.”

  Two down, six to go. Or more.

  He rose, the sun low in the horizon behind them, at just the perfect angle to blind anyone who might be looking out the window of their target building. But according to Control they were clear. Sergeant’s Will “Spock” Lightman, Trip “Mickey” McDonald and Eugene “Jagger” Thomas stepped up beside him. “Ready?” he asked, already knowing the answer. These guys were the definition of born ready.

  Spock cocked an eyebrow. “Aren’t we always?”

  “Then let’s do it.”

  He raised his grappling gun, took aim at the roof below them and fired, the hook sailing through the air dragging a coil of rope sitting at his feet. Three more fired beside him, the lines arcing gracefully and silently through the air, embedding with a thud into the concrete below, small puffs of pulverized concrete dust indicating the impact points.

  They quickly tightened off
all four lines and Dawson hooked his harness to the rope and stepped to the edge, the others doing the same. “Bravo Team, Bravo Zero-One, proceeding to target rooftop, over.”

  He stepped off, leaning back in the harness and slid down the steep incline. This was always the exciting moment for him, his heart skipping a few beats as he eyeballed the hook at the other end, wondering if it would pull out. If it came loose before he was too far, he could brake then swing backward, hard into the building he had just come from, and depending upon physics, he would probably survive with a few broken bones, perhaps just some bruises.

  But once past the point where the rope was longer than the drop to the ground, he was hitting pavement no matter what he did.

  And those broken bones might never mend properly.

  Which would mean he’d be out of The Unit.

  I’d rather be dead.

  He wasn’t sure if he actually meant it. There were enough men in Delta that had been injured seriously enough to never be able to return to duty, at least not Operator status. Some were able to go back into combat in the regular forces or command a desk, but Delta needed all of its personnel at 100%.

  99% didn’t cut it.

  He passed the point of no return, not that there was any possibility of return, gaining speed as he did so. He had his hand ready to pull his Glock 22 from its holster on his hip just in case he had to cut loose and shoot out a window in the hopes of sailing through it rather than being yanked back and onto the pavement.

  He cleared the edge of the roof, a slight sigh of relief escaping as he braked, rapidly killing his speed as his feet hit the roof, running to a stop. He unhooked himself and quickly checked the two bodies confirming the kills as the others regained their footing.

  “Bravo Team, Bravo Zero-One. We’re on the rooftop. Bravo Zero-Two, execute breach, over.”

  “Bravo Zero-One, Bravo Zero-Two. Proceeding with breach, over.”

  Dawson motioned for Spock and Jagger to secure the door leading to the stairwell when a cellphone began to ring. Dawson spun toward the hostile Niner had taken out and saw a cellphone flashing in the man’s hand.