What people are saying about Dark Hearted
"D.I. Telbat does it again in Dark Hearted. The continued story about COIL from Dark Liaison DELIVERS. I could not put it down. The story line is riveting and dynamic and keeps you on the edge. This is a MUST read." ~Phyllis Olley. TN
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"The author keeps us on the edge of our seat with twist and turns. His character portrayal of Christians is a breath of fresh air, showing that Christians aren't perfect, but are forgiven. I thoroughly enjoyed this continuation of the COIL story and anxiously await the next book in the series." ~Jill Doone
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DARK HEARTED
Book Two in the COIL Series
by D.I. Telbat
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There is no redemption without sacrifice
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Copyright © 2012 Telbat's Tablet
All Rights Reserved
http://ditelbat.com
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Cover Deisgn by Streetlight Graphics
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Get a
FREE PDFMap below:
Click link to download Dark Hearted Castle Map to follow the mission!
(Or go to http://ditelbat.com/dark-hearted-castle-map/)
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This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
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Acknowledgments
To my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ,
whose Life in me I cannot help but share;
To my readers, who are more than I imagined,
and have grown close to this adventure with me;
To Dee, my endearing and enduring editor/assistant/manager;
To Lester and Evert,who read and gave feedback
from scribbled copies of this manuscript;
To Sean, whose paintbrush gave my words shape and color;
To Jamie and Allison, who read and edited with care and faithfulness;
And, to the men and women who have suffered, and will suffer,
for the Name of Christ—may they be remembered…
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Dedication
To my brother who…
Faces the past by building on it...
Faces the present by serving through it...
Faces the future by yearning for it.
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Table of Contents
What people are saying
Free Map
Acknowledgments
Preface
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Appendix
Donating a Portion
FREE Downloads
Other Books
About the Author
Contact
BONUS Chapter One, Dark Rule
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Preface
Dear Reader,
When I first started writing Dark Liaison, Book One of the COIL Series, I had no idea it would lead to another book titled Dark Hearted. In fact, Dark Hearted was the latter half of the original Dark Liaison manuscript! As this book is being released, several other books in the COIL Series have already been penned, and the editing process has begun. I have kept many of the central characters throughout the books, included twists and turns, surprises, joy, and sorrow, and will eventually bring the COIL Series to a grand conclusion, with a total of six or seven books. There are even more plans for a side series with new characters that tie in with the COIL adventure.
Thank you for your loyalty and honesty in your input and encouragement. I am humbled and thankful to be able to share and inspire others. May God be glorified!
Thank you all!
D.I. (David) Telbat
II Timothy 2:4
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Prologue
Slowly gaining consciousness, Quin LuDao's head throbbed, and the sound of birds twittered in his ears. Looking at the thick forest surrounding him, he saw that the birds were not just in his imagination. One flew away as Quin sat upright.
The last thing he remembered was being on the stealth jet to China. Having recently joined a Christian Special Forces team, his first mission involved the rescue of condemned prisoners in central China. A high altitude, low open—or HALO—parachute jump from a stealth jet was always risky, especially over enemy territory.
Unclipping his harness, he took account of his gear. One NL-3 tranquilizer rifle, strapped to his chest; one canteen; and one satellite phone. With a grimace, thirty-year-old Quin tossed the sat-phone aside. His memory wasn't the only thing that had taken a knock during the HALO. The sat-phone screen was cracked and the antenna was broken, but Quin's small pack was still intact.
The other men on the jet had told Quin to pack for the worst. Quin now wished he wouldn't have acted so sure of himself. He had told them a small pack was enough. After all, he was Chinese, and he would be going to the land of his birth.
Rising to his feet, Quin leaned against a nearby tree as his head spun. The mission plans were beginning to seep back into his memory, but whatever had gone wrong during the jump still evaded him.
Checking the sun, he quickly deduced east from west. The city of Chengdu was to be south of his jump site, if he had parachuted into the right sector. But the fact that it was now morning was a problem; the team's jump was to have taken place during the darkness of night. And how had he even landed on the ground without his parachute getting caught in the treetops?
The first order of business was to find the rest of his team.
Quin wasn't one to panic, not with his extensive paramilitary training. The son of a Khingan peasant, Quin had joined the military at a young age—for the Communist Party's supposed benefits. Instead, after several years of brutal service, a covert Christian organization introduced him to a smuggled Bible text. Eventually, Quin became a convert, then fled with his family into the arms of COIL—the Commission of International Laborers—who helped the family resettle in New York City.
After walking west, the forest opened before Quin, and he crouched behind bushes as he spied a tiny bamboo village of three huts. Four armed, masked men guarded one of the huts. Masked men? Quin couldn't remember any unit of Chinese military that wore masks on standard guard duty, but he had obviously stumbled upon the target village for the mission. So, where was the rest of his team?
Nathan Isaacson, the team leader, was a tall, broad-shouldered man with an overgrown mustache and angled eyebrows. Then there was a man they called Bruno, who was larger than Nathan, and definitely a comedian. Bruno had already played a couple pranks on Quin as a sort of team initiation.
There was a mouthy Mexican-American named Scooter, who spoke rapid English—too rapid for Quin to catch, sometimes, since he was still learning the language. And Milk, a slender, quiet man, who Quin was still warming up to, was the l
ast of the team members. They were all Christians, which bound Quin to them eternally, and he hadn't hesitated to join the team when a position was offered.
Four guards, and no team to back him up. Was it possible that his team had been captured? Quin shook his head. Here he was alone on his first mission! If he had any sense, he would back away from the village of armed men.
Checking his watch, Quin figured if he left now, he could reach the extraction site by noon, and find a safe route out of China. Or, he could choose to miss that transport, and save the prisoners. To him, there was no choice. Even though he barely knew the team, he was dedicated to them. Such was his grasp of Christian brotherhood, a love he'd certainly never experienced as an officer in the Communist Party. He couldn't run away; he couldn't ignore the need before him, even to save his own life.
Whether his team had been arrested or not, he had arrived at the point of operation—to free the prisoners before they were executed. The four masked guards were guarding someone, and common sense told Quin that someone needed rescuing.
Bowing his head, Quin prayed that God would protect him. He couldn't leave the captives or his team behind. And though he was terribly outnumbered, Quin's Bible boasted of a God whose work was not restrained by numbers.
Raising his head, Quin leveled his NL-3 rifle, and bounded like a frog over the bushes. Five times, he clicked the tranquilizer gun, spitting pellets at the nearest guard. A Chinese SKS assault rifle thundered at Quin, but he advanced stoically toward the central hut. As if an angel of God stood with an invisible shield and stopped every bullet, muzzles that were aimed directly at him didn't tear him to shreds with their deadly rounds, though he was dismayed that his tranquilizer pellets had no effect on the masked men, either.
Even more disconcerting, Quin's NL-3 gun was nearly out of pellets. At a firing rate of six hundred cycles per minute, his five hundred-pellet canister was depleting quickly, especially as he was firing on fully automatic.
The guards clicked on empty, their long, forty-round magazines exhausted, the same instant that Quin's pellets ran out. Quin stared at the guards, and they, behind their masks, seemed to stare back at him. How was the toxin not affecting them? He had hit each of them many times.
Feeling his belt for a second canister of pellets, Quin saw the nearest guard raise a hand to signal his comrades. As if the situation wasn't strange enough, did the enemy now want to talk?
"That's enough, Quin," the nearest guard said in muffled English.
English spoken in the heart of China? And by someone who knew his name?
All four guards took off their masks. Speechless, Quin looked upon
Nathan, Scooter, Bruno, and Milk—his own teammates!
"We had to test you," Scooter said as the men approached a trembling Quin. "We had to know if you'd follow through with the mission, even when disoriented and alone."
"Congrats, Quin," Bruno said, clapping the young Chinaman on the back. "Welcome to our COIL team. Hey, you looked like a toad leaping out of the bushes like that! Might be some kind of handle in that for you."
"Welcome to the team, Quin," Milk said, who was new to the team himself.
"But, the guns," Quin stuttered. "And we're in China!"
"We're firing blanks, and our masks protected us from your pellets," Nathan explained. "As for China—we're in Idaho, and we drugged you for a few hours to complete the façade."
"Don't feel singled out, Toad." Bruno laughed. "We've all been tested."
While the men shared stories of their own initiation exercises, everything was still sinking into Quin's mind.
He had been confirmed and inducted into COIL. Thereafter, the missions would be real, true, life and death operations. Quin "Toad" LuDao felt ready. Now he was one of them—a Christian Special Forces operative.
**~~~**
Chapter One
Corban James Dowler used his binoculars to study Heathrow Airport nearly a mile away. Standing that morning on the roof of a five-story building, England's damp air penetrated his blue blazer, causing him to shiver. For the third time in as many minutes, Corban glanced over his shoulder. Though still alone on the roof, he sensed a presence of danger. His team had not captured the demonic rogue, Abaddon, during their last mission. He hoped that was the only cause of his discomfort.
Answering his satellite phone, he continued holding the binoculars to his brow.
"Corban here."
"It's Chloe again, Corban. You know, I just realized what you said about where you are staying and something is bothering me. Why did you say you found the key to the apartment exactly where I said it would be? When did I tell you that?"
Chloe Azmaveth, the forty-five-year-old ex-Mossad agent, was in charge of COIL when Corban was absent. They were all recovering from the operation in Malaysia where Chloe had been needed in the field. She was now back in New York, filling her position as primary attorney and public relations liaison in COIL's main Manhattan office.
"I got your memo yesterday, Chloe, with Rand Jordan's info. You've forgotten already? Maybe you shouldn't have gone down to Asia with us. It may have been overly much for you. You hadn't done fieldwork for years."
"No, it isn't that. Even if things didn't go as planned, at least we caught Branden and Helena and got our boys back. But about Rand Jordan—I was busy relocating your family yesterday, Corban. Maybe someone else sent you Jordan's info to stay at the apartment there?"
"It had your text signature. I remember Jordan from the Brazilian incident two years ago. He's helped us before."
"Yes, I know the name, too. Wait. I'm pulling something up on the screen. Oh, no! This isn't good. Corban! Rand Jordan was found dead on the bank of the Thames eight hours ago!"
Tossing his binoculars, Corban was already moving, sliding his phone into his jacket pocket as he ran. At fifty-seven, and a little soft around the middle, he still moved with surprising speed across the roof. He threw open the access door and lunged down the stairs. On the first landing, he paused. Managing his breathing, he listened for activity below. Even wounded, his men wouldn't go quietly. They had only recently been stolen back from someone code-named Abaddon, and already they were being targeted again!
Stepping quietly down the stairs, Corban considered calling the police, but that might only endanger the peace officers. One more flight to go. He had no weapons with him this time—not even his thick-rimmed glasses with the tranquilizer dart, which he wore with some of his covert disguises. And he was alone. A taxi driver, a mere stranger, had transported him and his three injured operatives to the supposed safe house. And because they were injured, he couldn't count on them if adversaries were to show up.
Reaching the third floor, Corban left the stairwell and gazed down the long corridor. There was another stairway at the other end. He could hear a television blaring and a child crying, but everything else seemed to be still. Corban paced quickly down the hall and stopped in front of their door.
His ears burned with anger. Rand Jordan. Now that he reflected, the setup had been too easy for the enemy—a weary flight from Malaysia; the jet engine malfunction; a text message about a safe location to lay low in England. He must have been so exhausted, he couldn't think clearly. Of course, it had been a trap! But they weren't caught yet.
Unlocking the door carefully, Corban stepped inside. Nathan "Eagle Eyes" Isaacson, with his pale face, thick mustache, and bandaged gunshot wounds, lay on the sofa, unconscious. Quin "Toad" LuDao, the team's Chinese operative, looked up from the dining table, a spoon in his mouth and one arm in a sling. Jesse "Milk" Patters, whiter than his usual milky complexion, was at the kitchen counter, stitches on his cheek.
"We've got to move." Corban closed the door. "This place was a setup. Leave everything. Help me with Nathan."
Nathan groaned as Toad and Milk, in their own battered conditions, gathered the head of the sheet under Nathan. Corban threw an IV drip bag onto Nathan's stomach and grabbed the other end of the sheet. They lifted the hammoc
k with great effort; Nathan was over six feet tall and heavy.
The three hobbled to the door.
"His side has opened up, Boss," Toad warned Corban. "He's bleeding through the sheet."
"He was once a Marine." Corban wrestled the door open. "He's been shot before; he'll make it. Besides, the Lord is on his side."
Moving into the hallway, Corban suddenly planted his feet, stopping their procession.
"They're coming!" He gestured toward the other stairway. "We go up!"
The three hustled with their burden to the right. As they disappeared into the stairwell, Milk looked back.
"They saw us! Four men. Armed!"
"Come on!"
On the fourth floor, Corban shoved Nathan toward the hallway. "I'll continue to lead them up. Find an open apartment door and hide!"
Corban dropped Nathan's feet as Toad and Milk dragged him down the hall, blood trailing. Below, Corban heard boots. Stomping up the stairs to the roof, he then slammed the door loudly to draw the enemy's attention. He dashed to the edge of the roof as the access door behind him opened. Had he bought Toad and Milk enough time?
"Don't move!" a man shouted.
Stopping at the edge, Corban looked down at the street. A reefer truck was parked directly below him. If only he could—
"Turn around!"
The man had an accent. Not British, as Corban had expected. Maybe East European. Corban hit Chloe's speed-dial number with his thumb and turned slowly, both hands in the air. He faced four bald men clothed in black, spread out, and aiming handguns at him. One had a long butcher knife in his belt.
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