Counterblow (A Rogan Bricks Thriller Book 2)

by Steve Richer

  Synopsis

  Rogan Bricks, from The President Killed His Wife, is BACK!

  A fishing boat is attacked in the middle of the ocean. Everybody is killed except for one man. That’s when FBI Special Agent Rogan Bricks is brought in to investigate.

  Was it an act of terrorism or a professional hit? Who has the means to send trained killers in the middle of the Bering Sea? Bricks learns there are ominous powers at play when he has to fight for his life while protecting the only witness.

  And that’s only the beginning of this vast conspiracy…

  Counterblow

  By Steve Richer

  Copyright © 2015 Steve Richer

  The cover art for this book makes use of licensed stock photography. All photography is for illustrative purposes only and all persons depicted are models.

  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 book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Also by Steve Richer

  The President Killed His Wife

  The Kennedy Secret

  The Gilded Treachery

  Never Bloodless

  The Atomic Eagle

  Sigma Division

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  Chapter 1

  “Are you crazy, Rusty? Get your hand out of there!”

  Before he could do so, McGowan grabbed him by the lapel of his thick slicker and pulled him away from the crane. Right then, the cable snapped into place as the winch creaked noisily.

  Half a second longer and Rusty would’ve had his hand cut off.

  “You’re goddamn stupid, boy! Hiring you was the dumbest move the skipper ever made.”

  “Hey, I didn’t know!” Rusty said, unsteady on his feet as he walked to the center of the fishing deck.

  “Exactly, you don’t know. You got no business operating the crane if you don’t know your brain from your asshole.”

  The Crystal Goose rocked as a wave hit it dead on. Rusty had to catch himself on a heavy bin which was halfway filled with golden king crab.

  “Look, I can do this.”

  “No, you can’t.” That was Schabas. He wasn’t older than McGowan but he was definitely calmer and generally wiser. “I gave you a chance on the crane, it’s not working out.”

  “Fucking greenhorn,” McGowan spat under his breath, not even looking at him.

  Rusty felt useless. Coming here to fish for crab in the Bering Sea was the biggest mistake of his life. He was miserable here and no one wanted to give him a break.

  And there was the weather, that god-awful arctic weather. They were only in early October too! A light rain was coming down but it might as well have been ice since it was so cold. It lashed against his face, the unforgiving wind making it impossible for him to get one second to rest.

  The waves kept coming. The boat rolled and yawed as the deep waves smashed against it. The crests were so pronounced that it reminded him of a motocross course with the mounds of dirt making it impossible to see the other side.

  I should’ve stayed home, he thought.

  Fishing wasn’t going well, the crab pots were coming up half empty at best, and as a greenhorn he was getting paid only a fraction of what the others were getting. Such a stupid mistake to come here, he grumbled again.

  “Why don’t you make yourself useful, boy? Go prepare some bait or something.”

  Rusty was about to protest, looking at the four other fishermen, but they were busy working. Hardy threw a hook 30 feet away and it caught the line between two orange buoys. Neeson, the oldest of the bunch at 52, helped to pull on the line, and Schabas spun the rope on the winch once it was hitched.

  In a matter of seconds, a huge metal cage was hauled out of the water. It held no more than half a dozen crabs. No one said anything but the disappointment was palpable.

  “Get outta here, kid!”

  Beginning to feel nauseated, Rusty wandered away and stopped at the bait station. He was about to get some of the frozen chum when he realized he would just be wasting it. They were pulling pots right now, there was no need to bait anything.

  Pressing his hands against the bulkhead to keep his balance, he went up the companionway, deciding against going straight down to the crew quarters. It was incredible how comfortable it was to be out of the rain and cold. Just being shielded from the wind was a huge improvement. He entered the pilothouse.

  “Skipper?”

  “The hell do you want?” the captain said after glancing over his shoulder.

  Samuel Poehler was in his 50s but it was difficult to identify his age because of his bushy salt-and-pepper beard. He was wearing a thick wool sweater and his eyes were straight on the ocean and the darkening sky.

  Rusty was actually impressed by the way the skipper made it look so easy to maneuver the boat. He had a hand on the wheel and another on the throttle, deftly boosting power and steering whenever a wave came.

  He stayed a foot behind so he wouldn’t be in his peripheral vision. The last thing he wanted was to be responsible for the boat sinking.

  “It’s not working out down there, skipper?”

  “Not working out? What’s going on? You want me to call your mom so she can pick you up? Jesus Christ…”

  “No, it’s just–”

  “Shut up,” Poehler interrupted. “You knew what you were getting into when you signed on.”

  “They don’t like me.”

  “Of course they don’t like you.” The captain winced and made a hard left to avoid getting hit broadside by a twenty-footer. “You’re a greenhorn, you’re not supposed to be liked.”

  “McGowan told me to prepare some bait but I thought…”

  “He’s just pulling your chain. We’re not baiting right now.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Rusty said with pride at having figured that out by himself.

  “What you’re gonna do is practice putting on your Gumby suit.”

  “What? That wasn’t part of the deal.”

  Annoyed, Poehler glanced at him again. “You barely passed the Coast Guard inspection when we left Dutch Harbor. I want you to get your time to under 45 seconds.”

  Rusty was flabbergasted. He knew damn well that it took him almost two minutes to put on the survival suit.

  “But…”

  “Are you gonna sass me?”

  “No.”

  He started to turn back and walk away when the captain spoke again.

  “And I want you to do that on the foredeck.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “There’s no use trying down in the mess. You need to learn how to react in an emergency, with the elements too.”

  Rusty was about to protest but then kept quiet. He didn’t need yet another person giving him crap today. He could have made a fuss about it but he knew the arrangement. Out here on the water the captain was in charge. In charge of everything.

  “All right.”

  Utterly dejected, Rusty went to his berth, grabbed his bundled yellow immersion survival suit, and went out again. He rounded the pilothouse and marched to the foredeck. It wasn’t spacious and water kept splashing him, but at least the other guys weren’t around to make fun of him.

  He unfurled the suit and went to work donning it. The whole thing was bulky, designed to fit anyone while still wearing their work clothes. You didn’t even have to re
move your boots as it had built-in booties and gloves.

  All right, let’s do this…

  The boat swerved to avoid a particularly large wave and Rusty lost his balance. He fell on his ass, hard. He looked up and saw the skipper smile through the window of the wheelhouse. He wondered if he had done this on purpose.

  He shoved that out of his mind and struggled to put on the suit again. He kept his slicker on because of how cold it was. He had no idea how long it took him but it sure felt longer than two minutes.

  He was about to remove the flap around his neck in order to start all over again when something caught his eye in the distance. There was a boat cutting through the waves at high speed.

  It was coming straight for them.

  The boat was sleek and small, about half the size of their trap setter. It wasn’t another fishing vessel, that much was sure. Rusty was new to this but he’d seen enough fishing boats at the docks to know the difference.

  Since it was coming from behind, he knew that the captain couldn’t see it except for the radar. Even then, it was coming so fast that the old man would probably think it was some sort of anomaly.

  Rusty pointed aft but the skipper didn’t notice him – or he deliberately ignored him. He questioned whether this was normal. Should he go tell somebody? Surely, the other crewmen would see the boat if they hadn’t already.

  The way it looked, it made him think of a military boat. Maybe this was the Coast Guard doing a surprise inspection? But there were no markings that he could see. This was odd.

  And that’s when the gunfire erupted!

  It was the lingering high-pitched noise of a gatling gun, the rotary cannon spinning faster than lightning. The rounds hit the water first but quickly punctured the hull of the Crystal Goose.

  “Oh fuck!”

  Rusty was at once struck by panic and interest. He crouched and waddled to the starboard side, leaning against the gunwale to look toward the fishing deck.

  More rounds were fired and Neeson was shot directly in the chest and head. His body exploded in a mass of blood and flesh, red mist showering the other fishermen.

  “No!”

  They scampered to go inside and the sleek black boat turned its gun toward the engine room. The man in black operating the weapon let go a long burst until the fishing vessel lost power. They were dead in the water.

  Terrified, Rusty was frozen in place. He didn’t know what to do. Should he go around the pilothouse to find the others? He was stuck here with nowhere to go. The others would know what to do, yes?

  But then more people appeared on the black boat. They were also wearing black and they had ski masks. They produced grappling hooks as the boat approached and in a well-rehearsed maneuver they flung them toward the Crystal Goose. Within seconds, they pulled themselves alongside.

  Eight black-clad figures scaled the hull and spilled onto the fishing deck. They were in full tactical gear, each holding a submachine gun. One of them shot toward the baiting station which led below deck.

  “Hold a sec, bru!” one of them said.

  The gunfire stopped and the men got themselves in formation.

  “Right, go!”

  A second later, Rusty saw them coming inside. Within moments the shooting started again. It was promptly followed by someone screaming, it sounded like Hardy.

  They were killing everyone!

  In spite of the cold weather, Rusty was hot and sweating. This couldn’t be happening! Terrorists in the middle of the fucking ocean? That was impossible.

  One thing was certain though, they wouldn’t miss him. Once they had killed the rest of the crew they would go after him. Not to mention the bright yellow suit which made him stand out like a virgin at an orgy.

  His options were shrinking fast but he knew what had to be done.

  He pushed himself back from the gunwale and took some deep breaths. He looked down at himself and made sure his survival suit was properly fastened and waterproof. The foam in the lining would make him float. The emergency radio locator beacon was on his shoulder.

  He was all set.

  “You’re fucking crazy,” he whispered to himself.

  Crazy, but he didn’t have a choice. Without thinking about this any further, he threw himself overboard.

  Chapter 2

  “Push, push, push!” Rogan practically shouted.

  Shiloh’s brow was covered with sweat and she grunted as she indeed pushed hard. Just a little more.

  “Come on, it’s almost over. Just one last effort.”

  “Stop giving me orders,” she grunted curtly which still managed to sound dignified because of her British accent.

  “Almost there.”

  She took a deep breath and gave it everything she had. Finally, the old carpet came loose as the glue came apart.

  “Yeah, baby!” Rogan exclaimed in victory. “Didn’t I tell you I could have my own home-improvement show?”

  “I’m not sure we’re really improving anything,” she said, her hands on her knees and catching her breath.

  “I’ll have you know, Ms. Negativity, that I’m a capable, very handy man.”

  “Oh you’re handy, are you?”

  He came closer to her and put his hands on her small waist, feeling her body heat wash over him.

  “I can be very handy. It’s a gift, I’m known for it. In some countries they’re considering dedicating a national holiday to my skills.”

  “My, don’t you have a high opinion of yourself,” she said with a grin.

  “It’s not bragging if it’s true.”

  He tilted her head back and crushed his lips against hers, not stopping until she moaned in his mouth.

  “Enough, we have to finish this.”

  “Yes, I know. We have to finish this thoroughly.”

  She chuckled as he caressed her waist and hips, venturing lower and behind, but she pushed him back gently.

  “The carpet, silly. We have to finish this before it gets dark.”

  “It’s not even noon.”

  She said, “We still have a lot to do.”

  “It’ll be a lot less comfortable without carpet, sweetheart. Not even the satisfaction of rug-burn.”

  He kissed her again and this time she let him. Her lips were delicious, he thought. He cradled her face, caressing her smooth skin with his fingertips, and his hope surged when she pressed herself against him.

  “Rogan…”

  “I love when you say my name. And I love that you’ll be screaming it later.”

  She burst into laughter. “Now that was cheesy.”

  “Hey, that’s how I roll! Cheesy roll, you might even say.”

  She hugged him in return and they were making out again. She was right of course, they had to finish removing the carpet. It got dark in a hurry in Alaska, especially here in the basement.

  Life had changed so much, he mused. Less than a year ago he had been extremely wealthy, worth almost half a billion dollars. After he had been swindled out of $300 million – well, essentially paying the ransom to Shiloh’s kidnappers, even if it had been for nothing – he had decided to turn his life around.

  He had gotten rich in the first place through a bad deed so now that he had her back in his life, he’d been okay with starting with a clean slate. That had involved liquidating the rest of his assets and giving it all away through his foundation. The only thing he had kept was his sizable house in Anchorage.

  But after Shiloh had returned to him following the dismantlement of the faction, that mysterious cabal secretly running the world for decades, Rogan had sold the house. They had moved into a smaller bungalow. No more high-end kitchen, no more luxury. No more ocean views.

  He didn’t miss any of it. With Shiloh by his side again, he could endure anything. Even pulling out smelly carpet in a dark basement.

  “I’ll tell you what,” she began, once again shoving him away. “I’ll give you ten minutes with me to do as you please and then we get back to work.”


  “Ten minutes? You think I’m superhuman or something? I’m only gonna need three.”

  He kissed her as she rolled her eyes. Three minutes was pushing it, he knew. At the rate this was going, 90 seconds was all he was going to need.

  He started to unbutton her red plaid shirt when his phone buzzed. It was with a sigh of resignation that she took a step back.

  “I thought that thing was off until tomorrow, Rogan. You took a day off for this.”

  “What can I say? I’m indispensable. Besides, maybe we won a cruise or something.”

  She extended her tongue at him playfully while she walked away, buttoning up her shirt again. He answered his phone.

  “International House of Pancakes, how may I direct your call?”

  “Special Agent Bricks?”

  “No way, that’s my name too!”

  The woman at the other end of the line was caught off guard and she stammered. “Uh…”

  He knew who she was, a new civilian assistant who doubled as a dispatcher.

  “I love how I always make women speechless.” This made Shiloh snort, half laughing and half mocking. “What’s on your mind, Lesa?”

  “Uh, Mrs. Patton asked me to call you and… Hold on.” The line went to the prerecorded hold message which stressed to the caller the importance of crime prevention.

  “Lesa, are you there?”

  “Bricks, your day off is canceled.”

  Special Agent in Charge Wendy Patton had taken over the call. It infuriated him because it made it more official about his day off being canceled, but it also aroused his curiosity.

  “What’s up, boss?”

  “The Coast Guard fished out a guy from the ocean. He needs to talk to an FBI agent. He’s on Kodiak.”

  Rogan groaned. “Oh God, not another mermaid sighting, I hope.”

  “This is serious, something about pirates at sea. Might be nothing but the Coast Guard called KPD and they figured it was credible enough to call us.”

  “And you called me. How thoughtful.”

  “I have you booked on a flight, leaves in 45 minutes. Be on it.”

  Adrenaline started to course through his veins. As much as Rogan enjoyed life in the slow lane, there was something about the rush of a new case.