Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Other Books
- Prologue
- 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
Cyrus Cooper Will Return...
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Rogue Faction Part 1
Xander Weaver
Rogue Faction Part 1
Copyright © 2014 by Xander Weaver
ISBN 978-0-9904394-3-1 (eBook)
www.XanderWeaver.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by Lee Roesner, Paradigm Graphic Design
Image sources by alexfiodorov/bigstockphoto.com and dani3315/bigstockphoto.com
Release version: 1.0
—For Mom and Dad—
You’ve given me a lifetime of support and encouragement.
Since saying thank you isn’t enough, I give you this book.
Other books by Xander Weaver:
Dangerous Minds
For more information, please visit:
www.XanderWeaver.com
Prologue
Onyx Gander, GmbH
19 years ago
The underground parking garage was virtually deserted at the late hour. What few cars remained were likely there for the night. The Cadillac CTS sedan was the object of the dark figure’s attention as he watched from the shadows more than fifty feet away. He knew that car wasn’t in for the night. In fact, its owner was due to depart at any moment.
Dressed in a long dark coat, the figure wore a matching fedora tipped low across his brow. He knew there were no security cameras in the immediate vicinity, but protecting his identity was paramount. He had too much riding on this operation, and it was critical that tonight’s events never linked back to him.
He’d taken great care in examining the limited security of the underground parking structure and was certain he could exit without being discovered. Sadly, he felt less confident in the skills of the specialist contracted for the operation. While there was no question the man had a talent when it came to his craft, the dark figure had less trust in the small technician’s ability to enter and exit the garage undetected. The dark figure had escorted him, as a result.
Watching the man work had turned out to be an illuminating experience. What the diminutive specialist lacked in social graces, he more than made up for in raw talent. He’d completed the complex job of wiring the target’s car in record time, exactly matching the intricate specifications provided to him. But for all of his talent and quiet manner, the specialist had an unsettling way about him. As someone who worked with unsavory people as a matter of routine, the dark figure had found the tiny bomb technician unusually off-putting. It had been a relief to guide the man from the building after completing work on the car.
That left the dark figure alone to watch over the target’s vehicle. The operation was only one component in the larger scheme of things, so for the rest to run like clockwork, it was critical that the charges in the car were triggered according to plan. The special charges that were wired around the interior of the vehicle’s passenger compartment were designed with a purpose in mind—to send a message.
The wait was the difficult part. While the man had taken every possible precaution, the longer he waited, the chance someone would discover his presence increased dramatically. Remaining to witness the detonation was an unnecessary indulgence—at least, it would’ve been in any other case. This was a special situation in so many ways.
The man took a deep breath and watched the vapor cloud from his breath hang before his eyes. There was no circulation this deep in the parking structure, and the air tasted stale. Shivering, he turned up the collar of his coat against the cold. The frigid weather of Germany seemed to intensify this far underground. Stuffing his gloved hands into the hip pockets of his trench coat, his hand wrapped around the grip of a snub-nose .357 revolver. There was reassurance in knowing that the weapon was close, though for operations such as this, the suppressed .380 semi-automatic slung from a holster inside his coat was the better choice. Luckily, there wouldn’t be cause to use either weapon tonight.
His left hand moved in his pocket and found the blunt shape of a steel sap. It was a small but powerful device, well suited for rendering someone unconscious or even shattering bone, depending on how it was swung. Again, it wouldn’t be useful tonight, but it was comforting to have.
Flexing his knees and shifting his weight from foot to foot, the dark figure worked to stave off the cold as it attempted to stiffen his joints. He was fighting the urge to check his wristwatch when he heard the unmistakable sounds of footfalls on concrete. Straining to locate the source of the sound, a smile crossed his face. The footfalls were distinctive—delicate and female. The sound of sensible shoes—the type worn by a young mother with two infant daughters waiting at home. The footsteps moved steadily across the pavement, quickly drawing near.
The man stood motionless on the far side of a tall concrete support column. In his mind, he could envision the thin, long-haired woman moving steadily through the deserted garage on her way to the car. She would be bundled up against the cold, and eager to get behind the wheel and activate the heater.
When he heard the sound of a car door opening, the man dared to peer from the darkness. The blonde woman stood in the doorway of the Cadillac, placing a small bag behind the front seat. Turning quickly, she slipped behind the steering column and swiftly pulled the door shut behind her.
Ducking back behind the pillar, the dark figure took in a deep breath. In his mind, he could see the young lady inserting her key in the car’s ignition. A moment later he heard the car stereo blast to life. It was an ear splitting eruption that would send the poor woman’s heart into her throat as she fought to find the power button and make sense of the disparity. She hadn’t left the radio on when she’d parked the car earlier that morning.
The moment the stereo went silent, the dark figure cringed. Her action would trigger the first set of small dispersal charges. On cue, he heard four muffled ‘pops’ sound in rapid succession. The noise was followed instantly by an earsplitting shriek that seemed t
o go on without end. It tore at even the dark figure’s heart. He counted the seconds in his head, knowing the woman inside the car would be experiencing pain that was unlike anything dreamt of by any sane mind. The figure placed his gloved fingers in his ears and pushed his back against the concrete pillar for support. But when his count reached seven and the second stage explosive hadn’t triggered, he knew there was a problem. The primary explosive was supposed to trigger five seconds after the initial dispersal charges.
Though the dark figure had since ceased his internal count, the moment the ten-second mark was reached, a deafening explosion tore through the automobile. The car frame twisted with a white-hot burst of flames as every window was blown out at once. The man had just begun to ease his fingers from his ears and contemplate a contingency plan when the explosion caught him off guard. The air was knocked from his lungs, sending him to his knees while still trying to shove numbed fingers back into his ears.
The shell-shocked man pulled himself to his feet and peered around the support column. The car was a fiery ruin. Wreckage was scattered for fifty feet and flames were licking the low ceiling of the garage. The fire suppression sprinklers sat still and dry. Disabling them had been a simple matter.
Turning, the man walked quickly through the shadows at the back of the structure. He had the escape route down cold. Blinking against the acrid smoke that was already filling every cubic foot of the level, he was also fighting a dizzying ring in his ears.
Five seconds, he thought. The plan had been for the primary charge to detonate five seconds after the dispersal charge. The main detonation had been far too long in triggering. Had it been a mistake? No—a vision of the creepy little bomb technician crossed his mind and he knew the delay had been no accident. The savage little bastard had wanted the target to suffer far longer than had been necessary.
Distracted by his irritation, when the dark figure turned the corner he collided with a body rushing in the opposite direction. The woman bounced off him and crashed unceremoniously to her backside.
She looked up at him through wild eyes. “What happened! What was that sound? Is everyone alright?”
The woman was speaking German. It wasn’t the dark figure’s native tongue, but he spoke it fluently. Gnashing his teeth, he looked at the woman on the pavement before him. Reaching down, he took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Fine, fine,” he said in a calming voice as he looked into her eyes. “Everything is fine.”
In a single blur of motion, the dark figure grabbed the woman’s head. Placing one gloved hand under her jaw and the other on the back of her skull, he made a single violent twist. Her neck snapped as easily as if it was made of fragile balsa wood, and her body went limp between his hands. He laid her out on the concrete floor.
Pulling the sap from his coat pocket, the man leaned over the woman’s collapsed form. He gave her a quick jolt across the crown of her skull with the blunt device, and eased her body into a position near the edge of the wall where they had collided. Placing the crown of her skull closest to the poured concrete wall, he made sure that the angle of impact looked appropriate before pocketing the sap once more.
Retrieving a shoe she’d lost in the tumble, he broke the two-inch heel from it before placing it beside her foot. None of this would hold up against an inspection from a talented investigator, but it would be enough to fool most authorities. As far as the dark figure’s experience went, no one ever looked that closely. In any case, he wasn’t worried. He’d left no evidence, and the assassination couldn’t be traced back to him. The one person who could identify him now lay broken at his feet.
Without wasting another second, the figure stepped past the body and entered the stairwell. He walked calmly up three flights before exiting onto a nearly deserted city street. A dark, four-door BMW sat at the curb waiting for him. He slipped through the passenger side door and the driver pulled away without delay. Blending into the late night traffic, the car disappeared into the darkness.
Chapter 1
Kingston Waterfront
10:50 pm
The mosquitoes were eating Greg Boone alive as he lay concealed in his position at the tree line. While he’d experienced worse, the nasty little bloodsuckers only added to an already growing tension. Eyeing his wristwatch once more, he felt the muscles in his jaw tighten further. Sensing the stare of the man beside him, he resisted the urge to glare at the young field agent. “Having you eyeball me isn’t helping matters,” Boone chastised.
“Sorry, sir,” the man whispered his reply in the darkness.
They’d been embedded in the same location concealed position for over three hours. Boone knew that the agent beside him was up to the challenges of the assignment, but they were behind schedule, and that knowledge was a dangerous test of his resolve.
It hadn’t been long since the last COMM check, but Boone decided that even fruitless action was better than no action at all. So far, he and Agent Stubbs had been watching the parked Land Rover since its arrival more than thirty minutes earlier. The SUV was positioned in what might generously be called a parking turnout at the edge of a small sandbar that fronted the costal inlet. The edge of the parking area stopped just short of the crest in a small ridge. Beyond that ridge lay the waterline.
They could hear the sounds of heavy machinery in the distance. Light spilled through the tree line separating their scenic overlook from Kingston Wharf less than a mile up the road. The wharf was still fairly active, even at the late hour, as recently arrived freighters transferred cargo as part of the 24-hour operation.
“Overwatch, report?” Boone said quietly into his wireless bone conducting earbud.
The reply came quickly. “No new contact in the bay,” Overwatch responded. “No unusual movement from the target.”
By ‘target’, the voice was referring to the three figures in the Land Rover. At least one part of the operation was on track, Boone knew. When the four-wheel drive entered the lot, Boone had been able to identify one of the occupants using his night vision glasses. Kang Woo-jin was clearly visible in the backseat as the vehicle had passed Boone’s position. Kang was at the waterfront to take delivery of a powerful new explosive that was in the process of being smuggled into the country. But while Boone’s people knew that the explosive device was scheduled to arrive by ship, as well as the approximate time of delivery, they had no idea which ship carried the device. Since Kingston Wharf was a busy port, all Boone could do was wait for the package to change hands. Once it was in the open, his team would move to intercept.
Boone’s stress was due to the fact that this operation was only the first stage in a larger and more complicated mission. He needed to acquire the explosive and deliver it to an undercover agent who had arranged to sell the device before the night was through. Unfortunate timing was causing increased concern because the delay in Kang’s delivery was now behind schedule, and it meant that Boone’s window of opportunity to meet his undercover man was rapidly drawing to a close.
“Polecat, do you copy?”
Boone rolled his eyes. His designation for this operation was yet another irritation. He sensed Cyrus’s handiwork at play. The kid had been undercover and radio silent for six months, but somehow still managed to have Boone shackled with the most unfortunate of code names. “Polecat here, go ahead,” he grumbled.
“I may have information regarding the delay, sir,” the technician back at base reported. “We just monitored a radio transmission. It seems that one of the freighters was searched shortly after arriving in port tonight. According to the report, the search has only just now concluded.”
“Sir,” Stubbs said from beside Boone. “Do you think it’s the freighter Kang is waiting on?”
Dumb question.
Boone offered a slight nod in the darkness. It would explain the delay, he reasoned. “Roger that, Control. I take it the search didn’t turn up anything?”
“It seems that way, sir.”
Adjusting the position of
his night vision glasses, Boone studied the silhouettes inside Kang’s SUV. Even from his remote position almost seventy-five yards off, Boone could see increased movement inside the truck.
“This is Overwatch, we have movement in the bay. I have two RIBs closing on your position.”
A pair of Rigid-hulled inflatable boats…that stood to reason. With precious cargo, whoever was responsible for delivering the device would want a second boat for support, and the RIBs could launch fast and maneuver quickly in the bay. They were also a formidable weapons platform.
“Don’t tell me,” Boone whispered. “50’s?”
“Affirmative, sir,” Overwatch responded. “Each craft is equipped with a .50 caliber stationary gun on the bow. I count three tangos aboard each craft.”
“Roger,” Boone confirmed. “Teams one, two and three, prepare to take your assigned actions. We move when Overwatch gives the word.”
————
Stoffer Airfield
10:56 pm
Standing in the middle of a spacious aircraft hangar, Cyrus Cooper watched a dozen mercenaries load cargo onto the hastily converted Airbus A319. A hundred of the commercial aircraft’s 124 seats had been summarily torn out and thrown in a pile at the back of the hangar, allowing room for an improvised cargo hold. As soon as the plane was loaded, Cyrus knew that his time would be at an end.
“It seems that your friend is late,” Aubin Sutter said, as he walked up behind Cyrus. “That doesn’t bode well for you. It’s a shame…I had such high hopes for your future.”
Cyrus turned to look at Sutter. He was a solid looking man with short dark hair and several days’ worth of stubble on his jaw. Standing a couple inches over six feet, he likely weighed a little over two hundred. There was a grizzled brashness to him. He was a tough, dangerous man who knew how to handle himself. Cyrus had seen him fight more than once in the six months he’d been a part of Sutter’s crew; there was a reason he was calling the shots.
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