Assassin (Assassin Series Book 1)

by Bryan Murray

  ASSASSIN

  A Jake Harrigan Thriller (Book One)

  By

  Bryan Murray

  Copyright © 2014 Bryan Murray

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

  The characters, events and company names in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to known persons, living or dead or to private companies, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Books in the 'Assassin' Series of Jake Harrigan Political Thrillers

  Book 1 - 'Assassin'

  Book 2 - 'Assassin 2 - Sleeping Dogs'

  Book 3 - 'Assassin 3 - The Wrong Man'

  Book 4 - 'Assassin 4 - First Son'

  AND NOW

  Book 5 - 'Assassin 5 - Sitting Ducks'

  It is suggested that for much more enjoyable reading, each of the separate stories above should be read in sequence.

  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

  Epilogue

  CHAPTER 1

  It was another typically perfect morning over the Emirates, already 100 degrees by 8.00 am, with the prospects of even hotter weather as the day progressed. The giant A380 Emirates jet had started its final approach and down below, Dubai, one of the most modern and beautiful cities on the planet, was bracing for another day of the fast track life in the oil rich sheikdom.

  The wealthy, first-class passengers, many of them in traditional Arab dress, had been fed a healthy, appetizing breakfast, including the man in the rear row corner seat who was probably the lone misfit in such affluent company. Jake Harrigan, a tough-looking, Irish-American, dark-haired guy in his early 30’s, raised the blind and looked down at the impressive landscape below.

  The approaching skyline of Dubai looked exactly like he remembered it, a silver, shimmering jewel in the desert, full of spoiled, rich Arabs, fast cars, good-looking women and incredible buildings. Beneath all the glitz and glamour, however, it was just another large city where the poor were struggling to survive the big gap between the rich and the less fortunate, in one of the last, successful tribal dynasties still operating on the planet.

  Jake had been overawed on his previous visit by the sheer grandeur of the place when he had executed his first kill in the Emirates. Having stood outside the Burj Khalifa, the tallest building in the World, he had been amazed at the immense, inverted icicle-like building, disappearing up into the porcelain blue desert sky. It was twice the height of the Empire State Building and home to the thirty-five thousand people who lived and worked there. It was hard to imagine how such an amazing city of stainless steel and glass could have blossomed out of the scorching, arid desert. The discovery of underground rivers by the astute ruling family, that could transform the landscape, was undoubtedly the secret to the monumental growth of the city. That and of course the fact that the Emirates are still sitting on over one hundred billion barrels of oil!

  Jake looked out of the window, his mind still marvelling at how well his previous job had gone, but then again, Jennings, his boss, had been a stickler for detailed planning and one less al-Qaida General was terrorizing the streets as a result.

  It never ceased to amaze him where the CIA got their intel, particularly when it involved the highly sensitive and secure movements of dangerous terrorists, like the top men in al-Qaida. The list of reliable informants must have been huge to get the kind of information that was usually presented to him. A lot of it provided for many different motives by the strange assortment of informants.

  He wondered idly, just how the agency kept track of all the ‘blood money’ they laid out consistently, just to make sure that when a critical hit was needed, ruthless specialists like himself received precise dates, locations and times to meticulously plan their ‘hit’.

  On that previous mission, he had arrived in Dubai on the early morning flight, cleared customs and met his contact, spending the rest of the day scoping out the scene of the ‘kill’. His informant had read it correctly. He knew that the al-Qaida general had a girl friend who owned an elegant restaurant in Dubai, and he always tried to visit her at least once when he was in town. The informant had put two and two together and actually came up with solid intel. He knew the date the target was arriving in town and correctly guessed that he would be looking to satisfy his carnal desires early that very evening.

  Jennings had told him. “The thoroughness of the kill is paramount, in other words, don’t be rushed, make sure you were not seen and that the body remains undetected until you are well away from the area.”

  Jake had been in total agreement and his timing could not have been more perfect. A quiet drive-by, past his target and two bodyguards in the almost empty, palm-shrouded rear parking lot of the classy restaurant, followed by three silenced head shots and it was done. It had taken just ten seconds and after dumping the gun and dropping off the rental, he was on the night flight home!

  He really didn’t like Jennings, but he had offered Jake a job after his tour of search and destroy missions in Iraq had been terminated, when Jennings had realized that people with Jake’s special skills were not exactly in high demand.

  Iraq had been a stressful time for Jake. When he had first arrived, he had been given intensive training for his role in the daily turmoil of suppressing the insurgents as the Americans were desperately trying to lessen their involvement in the precariously balanced political situation.

  He was also totally unprepared at first for the difference in the Muslim’s approach to life and death, compared to the westerners, particularly when it came to the suicide bombers. To deliberately blow oneself up for a fanatical cause, clearly involved a massive amount of brainwashing, a technique that the terrorist leaders seemed to have down to a fine art. On any given day, the number of people killed in suicide bombing attacks in Baghdad alone, would easily reach 50 plus, a total that would cause untold mourning in the US, even if this kind of death toll came from a naturally occurring catastrophe like a tornado or a hurricane. In Iraq, this kind of body count was viewed as casual and part of the norm.

  The actual sea
rch and destroy missions, that Jake and his unit undertook, were also very much dependent upon the contribution of informants, each having his or her own motives for selling out the intended targets. Each night, Jake would be given a list of targets, usually key militants and occasionally senior terrorist leaders and their supporting hierarchy, with the simple instructions to ‘find them, kill them and get away unseen’! It was a constant, nail-biting, ‘maybe the next bullet could be for me?’ scenario, in case he had been set up and he was extremely relieved when each mission came to an end.

  On his return from Iraq, Jake had worked undercover for a while with the CIA anti-drug forces in Colombia, where the contrast after Iraq, had been quite stark. Compared to the arid desert of Iraq, the lush, green tropics and their deadly source of hard core drugs had been quite a change.

  He remembered quite clearly, that fateful day when he and a group of Navy Seals, moved in on a large shipment of cocaine that was about to be flown out of a deserted inlet along the Colombian coast. Intel had advised that the local cartel were being assisted by a hard-nosed bunch of Irish mercenaries and as the raid developed, Jake realized that the information had been absolutely correct. In the firefight that followed, the Irish had fought like demons, before the Americans ultimately destroyed the shipment and curtailed the efforts of the enemy, most of whom were assumed killed.

  As Jake and his team were making their getaway in a C27 Zodiac assault boat, a stray shot from a wounded Irish survivor, had hit his colleague and best friend Dave, severing his carotid artery. Dave had died in Jake’s arms as they headed out to sea. He had been devastated at the loss of his friend and for a while he had totally lost his taste for the violent life.

  Jake had been far from forgotten by the CIA, however, which was when Jennings contacted him and offered him a job, one for which he was aptly qualified. At first consideration, being a controlled assassin for the CIA, seemed exciting, certainly something he could easily handle with his experience.

  Recently, however, he had become increasingly uncomfortable with his designated role. It was one thing to be hunting down terrorist generals with al-Qaida, or gun-toting militants in Iraq, but to be targeting private citizens of countries that the US was not even at war with, despite assurances from Jennings, was not as easy to comprehend. Thus far, he had been lucky.

  Lucky in two ways, the first being that his wife Nancy, whom he adored, still had no idea what he did for a living and the second was that he had carried out every mission swiftly, skilfully and with precision, which was why Jennings’s parting words before he left DC, still echoed in his mind.

  “Remember,” Jennings had said. “In spite of the best laid plans, somewhere, somehow, sometime, things will inevitably go wrong and how you react when this happens will affect your whole career and could save your life.”

  Jake had been unimpressed with Jennings. “No shit, so that’s why you gave me all this exit training, right?”

  Jennings clearly wasn’t overly fond of Jake. “Of course it is, you moron,” he replied. “Dubai is dripping with security and armed bodyguards as well as the fastest cops in the world!”

  Jake looked curious. “Fastest?”

  “Yeah, those bastards drive Ferraris and Lambos, so don’t even think of trying to outrun them, okay?”

  Jake shrugged. “If you say so!”

  * * *

  He was interrupted from his reverie by the pilot announcing their descent into Dubai International Airport, a glittering edifice down below. Inside the terminal, which looked like it was built totally from polished stainless steel, Jake quickly cleared customs and immigration, telling the eagle-eyed immigration officer that he was there for a few days on vacation, which in view of the massive tourist influx into the city on a daily basis, was met without challenge.

  To combat the already rising thermometer, Jake was wearing light, summer casual wear, dragging a light wheel-along case, looking the typical tourist. He entered the terminal, clicked on his cell phone and dialled a number. A voice answered. “Yes?”

  Jake spoke quietly. “I’m in.”

  Jennings, a well-built, blonde guy in his 40’s, had stepped outside a meeting back in DC to take the call from Jake. “I’m texting you the coordinates. Now, remember...” he began.

  Jake was already ahead of him. “I know, make it look like an accident!”

  Jennings sounded irritated. “Exactly, stick to the escape route. If anything goes wrong, go to ground.”

  Jake had heard it all before. “Yeah, yeah.” he clicked his phone off.

  Jennings looked at the phone in his hand. “Yeah, screw you too, asshole!”

  One of the reasons that Jake didn’t like Jennings, was that he loved to use ‘buzz’ words when dealing with lower rank operatives like himself. “If anything goes wrong, go to ground!” he had glibly told Jake, who was shaking his head in disdain.

  Jake was convinced that Jennings had never been out in the field, in a strange country, where he didn’t know the language and where westerners stood out like a sore thumb! If anything did go wrong, first of all it would probably mean that there was a dead or wounded local lying around and that somehow, somebody had linked it to the likes of Jake and the hunt would already be on. In such fast-moving scenarios, ‘go to ground’ was rarely an option, it was much more like ‘keep running to save your ass, stay on the move and remain as inconspicuous as possible’!

  To keep a relatively low profile as a tourist, Jake had booked into the Ramada Hotel in Dubai, much more luxurious than its US counterparts, but considerably cheaper than the high end, seven-star Burj Al Arab Hotel, the tallest and possibly the most expensive in the Emirates. It had been built by the local sultan in the shape of a majestic, tall sailing ship and had been extremely lucrative and successful. Along with the Burj Khalifa, it was already an international landmark.

  Jake climbed out of the taxi outside the Ramada, where he was besieged by long robed attendants, waiting to grab his bag and usher him inside, but he insisted on hanging on to his bag even though a slight tug-of-war took place with one over-zealous attendant.

  Even though his hotel was somewhat less expensive than some of the higher end accommodations, his room was still extremely elegant, on the 26th floor with fresh fruit and flowers everywhere as well as a spectacular view from the balcony. After tipping the attendant, who looked at his palm like it was totally empty, Jake closed and locked the door and true to his training, he quickly checked the room for bugs. He looked behind pictures, lamps, ornaments, knowing full well it was probably more than the hotel’s reputation was worth, but, given his thorough attention to standard operating procedures, protocol had to be followed.

  He picked up his phone and called his wife. She answered on the first ring. “Hello, this is Nancy?”

  In his stressful role as an operative with the CIA, his wife Nancy was the cornerstone of his life. A focal point to keep life in perspective, every time he returned home from one of his missions. Life with her was soft, slow-paced, and totally harmonious, a sharp contrast to the scenario that he was now contemplating.

  He had left the house early, kissed Nancy goodbye as she still slept and slipped away to the airport, on what she assumed was just another of his regular trips to clients, ensuring that their relationships with the US remained intact.

  She hadn’t a clue what Jake did on these ‘trips’ abroad that he took from time to time and it was a constant worry to Jake, that if things ever went wrong on an assignment, he may have to return home wearing the tell-tale scars of battle. He smiled when he heard her voice. “Hi, darlin’ I just checked in.”

  She sounded relieved. “You made good time, did you have a good trip?”

  He relaxed, lay back on the bed. “Yeah, no problem.”

  “When will you be back?”

  “Oh, two, maybe three days, depends on the client, I guess. Everything okay at home?”

  She sounded pleased to be chatting. “Yeah, but in case I forget, Dave across t
he hall asked if we would keep an eye on his dog Bruno, while he’s on vacation.”

  Jake was surprised. “Didn’t know he had a dog?”

  “Just got it.”

  Jake was curious. “What are we supposed to do?”

  “You know, feed it once a day and take it out at night for a poop. I have to go see Mom before you get back, it’s her birthday in a couple of days, so if I’m not back by the time you get home, can you check on the dog?”

  Jake looked at his watch. “Sure, no problem, I’ve got to go, baby, I love you.”

  “I love you too, sweetie, bye.”

  “Bye.” Jake put down the phone and started to unpack his bag. He removed his shirts and undershorts as well as his shaving toiletry pouch, taking it into the bathroom and carrying it a little more gently than one would expect. He closed the bathroom door behind him and carefully opened the pouch, taking out his toothpaste, toothbrush, razor and shaving cream. He carefully pulled back the Velcro strip holding the lining in place and removed a small vial of clear liquid that he placed carefully on the sink top. He took out his glass case, opened it and removed a small medical syringe.

  With extreme care, he filled the syringe from the contents of the vial and placed the empty vial in a plastic bag, stomping on it to crush it into pieces and then he flushed the contents of the bag down the toilet. He carefully replaced the syringe in his glass case, closed it and returned to the bedroom, where he ordered room service.

  His cell phone beeped and Jake quickly checked the text message from Jennings. It was brief and to the point, stating, ‘International Convention and Exhibit Center - 5.30 pm’. He deleted the message and picked up the local tourist guide, thumbing through the pages. “Convention center? You gotta be shittin’ me!” he fumed.

  He traced the route with his finger on the street map in the guide. He then tore the sheet out and it was then that another item in the tourist guide caught his eye. It was a promotional advert indicating the opening that very day of the huge International Oil Show - ‘OILEX 2012’, which was also being held at the Convention Center! He then put the travel guide sheet containing the map in his pocket.