ALL ACTION THRILLER BOXSET: THREE MURRAY MCDONALD STANDALONE THRILLERS

by Murray Mcdonald

  Although it had been three years since their conversation, Charles had not forgotten even the slightest detail. If Sam said jump, despite being the older and more stately brother, Charles would have asked how high. Sam never did anything without reason.

  As the taxi driver unashamedly asked for $94 dollars, Clark climbed out and surveyed the area. All was clear and Baker grudgingly settled up with a small tip, another of Sam’s points, don’t not tip and don’t over tip, people remember both. $100 dollars lighter, he exited the cab and walked into the terminal. One concern remained. The woman sworn to defend his life was not featured in Sam’s plan. Charles took an executive decision. She stayed.

  “Okay, we need to get a couple of tickets to NYC. Probably best if you buy them,” suggested Baker, handing over a pile of twenties.

  Clark walked towards the ticket counter. “Oh, and better get coach!” he added with a smile. It had been a very long time since Senator Charles Baker had travelled coach.

  Chapter 17

  As Johnson exited the room, he hit the speed dial button on his cell and connected to his ops center.

  “Where are we?” he barked as the call was answered.

  Recognizing the boss’s voice, the senior operator wasted no time on pleasantries.

  “The satellites have picked up six dead bodies...”

  “I know all that, thanks to Preston. Where are we on finding the target?” he interrupted brusquely. Preston’s telling the VP the information that his team had been responsible for had really pissed him off.

  “The call to the Secret Service was made over two hours ago. We’ve had three satellite sweeps on North Haven in that time and it seems the target has probably taken our operatives’ car, since it’s not been found on the island. Which means two things. One, we can track him. And two, more importantly, he had to use the ferry. That takes over ninety minutes, and the one he’s on is due to land shortly.”

  “What assets do we have locally?”

  “Nothing, I’m afraid. Our closest assets are in Boston, just under 200 miles away. However, I have managed to acquire a General Atomics Avenger unmanned combat air vehicle. It’s still in development, but I am told it has performed exceptionally in testing, and our guys are extremely excited to utilize it in a live environment.

  “What have you told them?” Johnson was well aware of the Avenger’s capabilities. It was one tool he couldn’t wait to get into the field. The jet powered stealthy reconnaissance vehicle could fly faster, higher, further and carry far more ordinance than her predecessors, the Predator and the Reaper.

  “That we are tracking an Al Qaeda cell which we believe is targeting Seabrook Nuclear reactor in New Hampshire, and/or Pilgrim Nuclear reactor in Massachusetts. Both reactors are within forty miles of Boston and as such, they were happy to assist. The Avenger was operating out of the 174th air wing at Syracuse, New York. They were trialing it alongside the Reaper. The Avenger is armed with hellfire missiles and will be on station when Baker’s ferry docks.”

  “Excellent, and the Senator?”

  “Sorry, Sir, dropped off the radar. We have nothing on him nor the Secret Service Agent. We have them on camera, running from the Hart building shortly after the shots were fired. We lose them as they run into the road. We’re grabbing all CCTV images from the vicinity. As soon as we’ve got something, I’ll let you know.”

  Johnson knew that Sam would ultimately lead them to the Senator, but to let him go when they had an opportunity to take him out relatively easily, made his decision. The Senator was an amateur and would slip up. Sam wasn’t and wouldn’t. They had the drop on him and that was exactly what they would do, drop the hellfire missiles on him asap.

  “Keep looking for the Senator, but take Sam out as soon as you get a clear shot and by clear, I mean minimize civilian casualties. We’ve had enough collateral damage for one day. I’m heading to you now, so should be with you in about forty-five minutes. First chance you get, take him out.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Johnson began to relax. Dealing with the loose end that was Sam Baker had been a long overdue issue. Of course, they could have disposed of the Senator without touching Sam. It had been a calculated risk to throw Sam into the mire, but Sam knew things about Johnson that nobody should know. Johnson had seen his opportunity, and he had taken it. It was just a shame that the idiots he had selected, hadn’t. Mind you, he thought, they certainly paid for that in spades, quite literally. Johnson knew Sam Baker was a risk, almost certainly because there were only two people who knew he was alive. One was his brother and the other was him. Johnson, therefore, would be top of Sam’s hit list, not a place anyone would want to be, but with 20,000 employees in the CIA, Sam would have to go some, just to get near him, never mind the six hellfire missiles 10,000 feet above Sam, with his name on them.

  ***

  Sam had been out of the game for three years, not something he was overly concerned about. His training regime was as tough, if not tougher, than it had ever been. He was as fit now, as he had been twenty years earlier. He did, however, have one nagging doubt about the previous three years – how far had technology travelled and how far behind had he fallen? Three years earlier, he’d known every conceivable way to track a human being, but things had moved on. He looked again at the sat nav system in the car. Three years ago, he would have been confident that it wasn’t an issue, but could it be tracked now? The system was pulling information from somewhere and if it was getting it, it was also giving it. He had to dump the car quickly.

  They already knew where his starting point was, Rockland Maine. There was no need to give them anymore of a head-start than that. The local airport was out. Once in the air, he would be a sitting target and trackable. The train would be no better Slow and few or no escape routes would favor only his hunters. That left sticking with the roads, and with over 400 miles to travel, speed was of the essence. As he pulled off the ferry, he could feel the roar of the Chrysler’s engine. It certainly had the power he needed. T, the 6.1l hemi engine produced 425 bhp and could propel the car to almost 180mph. Rockland was a cul-de-sac. He had no choice but to go for it.

  The Virginia plates gave Sam some comfort; whoever had sent the men to kill him did not have local help. He knew they’d be onto him, but Virginia was 800 miles away and it would take at least a few hours for them to regroup and get assets on scene, and in that car, he could be in Newark in three hours, traffic allowing.

  Chapter 18

  Five miles south of Gaza City

  The sun’s dying embers slipped below the horizon as darkness fell. Candles in the deserted beach shack threw a wavering dimness on the proceedings. Mohammed Deif entered the shack and instantly killed off the conversation. His three lieutenants were already in attendance. All four had spent the best part of the day, ensuring that no tails had tracked them to their remote venue.

  It had been a terrible few years for Al Qassam. The retribution by Israel on all groups for the attack on her children had been devastating. Over eighty-percent of the brigade had been captured, tortured, and killed. However, the majority of those had been in the previous year. It was no secret that Israel was aware of the nuclear devices that the Sheikh had offered Al Qassam. The Sheikh’s spies had uncovered that truth, shortly after their meeting a year earlier. Somehow, the Israelis had listened in to the whole meeting and knew the plan; the force with which they had responded was overwhelming. The retribution for her children paled into insignificance, compared to what the Israelis had unleashed. All non-Jews had been expelled instantly from Israel. Even Jerusalem, the holy city, had been cleansed of all non-Jews. The uproar and protest at the Israeli action around the globe was muted by the evidence of the Palestinians’ nuclear ambitions. Her twelve foot walls, erected almost four years earlier, had created the world’s first truly closed state.

  Mohammed and his commanders had managed to evade the Israelis through the most primitive actions. Like Osama Bin Laden, they had turned their backs on al
l electrical and electronic equipment. Cell phones, telephones, computers, anything that required an electrical pulse had been ditched and replaced by pen and paper. The meeting that was about to take place, had been months in preparation, and would see the culmination of Al Qassam’s planning. The Sheikh would hand over the codes that would turn the nuclear warheads from dull pieces of metal into the most lethal devices ever created by man.

  Mohammed smiled as he considered the Israelis’ actions. The building of the walls, the expulsion of all non-Jews. None of it had done anything for the safety of her people. The five warheads lay within the Jewish state. It had taken months to infiltrate the Israeli defenses and secure safe passage for the five weapons, but it had been done. The five warheads were being slowly positioned, ready to unleash their awesome force, and tip the scales towards a Palestinian victory. Palestine would be reborn.

  The Sheikh’s small inflatable, its engine hardly registering a decibel, slipped noiselessly ashore. Unlike their previous meeting, he had only one guard. This was not a public meeting and only he, and the Al Qassam commanders, were in attendance.

  As the Sheikh took his seat and the greetings and blessings to Allah were exchanged, the Sheikh quickly brought the meeting to order.

  “Is everything on course? Have you selected the targets?”

  “Yes, Sheikh. All of the warheads are in Israel, and we are in the process of placing them at the targets we’ve selected. We will destroy the Jews once and for all.”

  “Show me!” commanded the Sheikh.

  Mohammed pulled out a map from a bag and spread it across the table. Of course, the map was pre-1947 and was of Palestine. However, the locations of the five weapons were marked in detail. One in Jaffa, the Arab name for Tel Aviv. Two in Haifa, Israel’s major seaport. One in Eilat, her jewel in the Arabian Sea, and one in Rishon leZion, Israel’s fourth largest city.

  “As you will see, all five weapons are to be placed within Israel, as per your stipulation.”

  “But two in Haifa? And none in Jerusalem?” asked the Sheikh looking at the detail on the map.

  Mohammed was well prepared for the question. “Haifa is the seaport and lifeblood of Israel. If we destroy that, not only psychologically but physically, we will break the Zionist back. She needs her seaport more than ever, since the walls went up. As for Jerusalem and as a Muslim, I’m sure I do not need to explain why not.”

  “Of course not,” agreed the Sheikh quickly. “But I would have thought two bombs in Tel Aviv would have had more effect than two in Haifa.”

  “My Sheikh, they are your weapons and only because of you, do we have this opportunity. If you believe we are wrong, please, we will move one from Haifa to Tel Aviv.”

  “Mohammed, my friend, please, this is your struggle. You have lived it your whole life. I should not question your plan. You are right, they are my weapons, but it is your plan, my friend,” the Sheikh reached into his pocket and handed Deif a small piece of paper. “Allahu Akbar, my friend. They are now your weapons. These codes will trigger the devices. I’d advise being at least ten miles from each of them, when they go off. Any idea of when you’ll be ready?”

  “Let’s just say, we are going to give the Jews a Yom Kippur to remember!”

  The Sheikh did not reply, other than to nod his head in approval. Yom Kippur was only two weeks away. After a year in the making, their plan was finally coming to fruition. With a shake of hands, the Sheikh stood and exited the shack. Not until he was out of sight, did Deif feel comfortable beginning the second part of their meeting. The true destination for the fifth weapon. Haifa was home to two weapons and Mohammed had not lied when he had assured the Sheikh that all weapons were in Israel. However, as he had said, Haifa was the largest port in Israel and as such, was home to many ships, one of which was carrying a decidedly more deadly cargo than her manifest suggested.

  Chapter 19

  As the train pulled away from the platform, Senator Charles Baker pushed himself back into his seat and relaxed, for the first time since they had left the Hart building. For Secret Service Agent Amy Clark, the last thing on her mind was relaxation. She was now in a public location with her protectee, who was not only the target of an assassination plot, but was also one of the most recognizable faces in US politics. You couldn’t be considered one of two front runners for the top job and not be. Every other day, the Senator’s face was emblazoned across newsstands and every hour, at least one of the news channels would be doing something that would extol the virtues or pronounce their contempt for him, depending on their loyalties. Clark had insisted that they take the last, rearfacing double seat in the carriageway, the Senator by the window while Clark took the aisle seat, offering a clear view back down the carriage. Clark’s eyes continually scanned for threats in a carriage full of passengers.

  Clark looked at the Senator as the train began to pick up speed. If he hadn’t been a politician, she was in no doubt, he would have been a movie star. He reminded her of Gregory Peck in his later movies. Whatever the case, he was instantly recognizable. From his immaculately styled hair and impeccable dress sense, he turned heads wherever he went. She reached across and much to her surprise, met little resistance when she began to remove his tie and undid his top button. A little more resistance was met when she ran her hand through his hair, and slightly ruffled his coiffure.

  “I’m sorry, Sir, but let’s not try to give them the exact image you portray day in day out and at least, try to look a little less like a presidential candidate,” she offered as an excuse for her actions.

  “Sorry, of course,” he agreed, embarrassed for not thinking it himself, and ruffled his hair significantly more than Clark had dared. “Is that better?” he asked proudly, showing Clark the results of his efforts.

  “Uncanny, Sir. A complete transformation,” she lied. His coiffure was not for moving. Years of perfection were not going to be overcome with a quick rub. However, it was amazing how just removing the tie and undoing the top button had helped.

  “Thank you,” said the Senator as he relaxed back into his seat. With twenty years under his belt in politics, Senator Baker had no illusions that Clark was simply humoring him, in an attempt to ensure that he remained calm. “So, come on. We’ve got two and a half hours to kill until Newark. Tell me about yourself, why the Secret Service?”

  Clark watched the other passengers as she answered. “Nothing really to tell. For as long as I can remember, I wanted to be a Secret Service Agent,” she said, attempting to kill the discussion.

  “That’s it? No family connections, you know, my dad was in the service, my uncle...”

  “Nope. What about yourself, why President?”

  Baker laughed as Clark asked the question half-heartedly. Her mind was almost entirely focused on the rest of the carriage and ensuring that her protectee stayed alive.

  “Agent Clark, please relax. Nobody knows we’re on this train. Look around us, none of the other passengers even know we’re here.” Baker lifted his hand as Clark attempted to interrupt. “In just over two hours, we will need to be alert but for now, please relax. We’re in no danger just now, but if I know my brother, there is going to be plenty around soon enough to keep you amply amused.”

  Baker noticed a slight, almost negligible flinch as Clark appeared to relax. “So, come on, why the Service?” he tried again.

  “Seriously, it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do, no great story. I remember the assassination attempt on President Reagan and watching the agents protecting him. That was it. From then on, nothing else would suffice.”

  Baker looked more closely at Agent Clark. “You must have been a baby when that happened.”

  “Eight,” replied Clark.

  Ever the mathematical genius, Baker quickly calculated Clark’s age to be at least five years over his outside guess. She was a stunning specimen of a woman. In her late thirties, her face showed no signs of her advancing years. She had flawless skin, wrinkle-free and only wore light make-up. Her
blond hair was tied tightly back and flowed down her perfectly cut Armani suit, which did nothing but emphasize the lithe and firm body underneath.

  “Married?” he asked

  “Are you flirting with me, Senator?” asked Clark as she appraised Baker’s lingering stare.

  “Sorry, no, not at all,” he blushed. “Admiring, yes, flirting, no. I’m not ashamed to act my age nor behave my age. I’m old enough to be your father, well just,” he added quickly.

  “So what about you, Senator. Why politics, and why President?” asked Clark, changing the subject to avoid any further embarrassment.

  Senator Baker paused as he considered the question, a question she had heard him answer numerous times before on countless news interviews.

  “Politics because I felt I could make a difference. The Presidency because I have no choice, I have to make a difference,” he answered from the heart.

  “I’ve not heard you say it like that before?”

  “That’s because you’ve only ever heard me in public before. The Vice President was almost guaranteed the Presidency at the next election, and I just couldn’t allow them to continue with what they’ve been doing to our country for the last eight years. They’re systematically tearing our democracy apart. Another eight years under Russell would effectively kill the United States as a democratic nation.”

  “You make him sound like some sort of dictator. I’ve met him once, he was charming.”

  “You, my dear, are a very attractive and unthreatening young woman. I am not in the least surprised, that you found him to be anything but charming. But let me assure you, once the doors are closed, and the private Andrew Russell comes out, there’s no colder soul than that ruthless little shit.”