SIGN UP for R.J. Patterson's newsletter and stay up to date on all new releases, deals, and special projects:
Click here to sign up
What Others Are Saying
About R.J. Patterson
“R.J. Patterson does a fantastic job at keeping you engaged and interested. I look forward to more from this talented author.”
- Aaron Patterson, bestselling author of SWEET DREAMS
“Patterson has a mean streak about a mile wide and puts his two main characters through quite a horrible ride, which makes for good reading.”
- Richard D., reader
“Like a John Grisham novel, from the very start I was pulled right into the story and couldn’t put the book down. It was as if I personally knew and cared about what happened to each of the main characters. Every chapter ended with so much excitement and suspense I had to continue to read until I learned how it ended, even though it kept me up until 3:00 A.M.
- Ray F., reader
DEAD SHOT
“Small town life in southern Idaho might seem quaint and idyllic to some. But when local newspaper reporter Cal Murphy begins to uncover a series of strange deaths that are linked to a sticky spider web of deception, the lid on the peaceful town is blown wide open. Told with all the energy and bravado of an old pro, first-timer R.J. Patterson hits one out of the park his first time at bat with Dead Shot. It’s that good.”
-Vincent Zandri, bestselling author of THE REMAINS
“You can tell R.J. knows what it’s like to live in the newspaper world, but with Dead Shot, he’s proven that he also can write one heck of a murder mystery.”
- Josh Katzowitz,
NFL writer for CBSSports.com
& author of Sid Gillman: Father of the Passing Game
DEAD LINE
“This book kept me on the edge of my seat the whole time. I didn’t really want to put it down. R.J. Patterson has hooked me. I’ll be back for more.”
- Bob Behler
3-time Idaho broadcaster of the year
and play-by-play voice for Boise State football
DEAD IN THE WATER
“In Dead in the Water, R.J. Patterson accurately captures the action-packed saga of a what could be a real-life college football scandal. The sordid details will leave readers flipping through the pages as fast as a hurry-up offense.”
- Mark Schlabach,
ESPN college sports columnist and
co-author of Called to Coach
Heisman: The Man Behind the Trophy
Other titles by R.J. Patterson
Behind Enemy Lines
Game of Shadows
Rogue Commander
Line of Fire
Blowback
Honorable Lies
Power Play
State of Conspiracy
Brady Hawk series
First Strike
Deep Cover
Point of Impact
Full Blast
Target Zero
Fury
State of Play
Seige
Seek and Destroy
Into the Shadows
Hard Target
No Way Out
Two Minutes to Midnight
Against All Odds
Any Means Necessary
Vengeance
Code Red
A Deadly Force
Divide and Conquer
Extreme Measures
Final Strike
Cal Murphy Thriller series
Dead Shot
Dead Line
Better off Dead
Dead in the Water
Dead Man's Curve
Dead and Gone
Dead Wrong
Dead Man's Land
Dead Drop
Dead to Rights
Dead End
James Flynn Thriller series
The Warren Omissions
Imminent Threat
The Cooper Affair
Seeds of War
STATE OF CONSPIRACY
A Titus Black Thriller
R.J. PATTERSON
For Trevor, a relentless
seeker and speaker of truth
CHAPTER 1
Mogadishu, Somalia
TITUS BLACK ADJUSTED the focus on the scope of his SR-25 sniper rifle before checking the wind. The breeze coming off the Indian Ocean provided him with a welcome respite from the heat. The scorching hot weather stood in stark contrast to the bitter cold he'd left behind in Washington. Even though the famed cherry trees were just a few weeks away from blossoming and signaling the grand entrance of spring, Washington felt more than just seven hours behind Mogadishu, making him wonder if they were an entire season or more behind too. A bead of sweat slithered down his nose, picking up speed as it neared the end and eventually splashed onto the flat metal surface of the hotel rooftop.
“Just be glad you’re handling this operation remotely,” Black said over his coms.
Christina Shields, who was located at the Firestorm headquarters in Washington, agreed. “Ever since I saw the movie Black Hawk Down, I vowed to avoid Mogadishu at all cost. And so far, I’ve been successful.”
“Well, you’re not missing anything,” Black said. “The food’s lousy and I’m quite certain that there is a platoon of bed bugs patrolling the interior of my mattress.”
“Sounds dreamy.”
“What I wouldn’t give for a good night’s sleep,” Black said. “Scratch that, what I wouldn’t give for even a bad night’s sleep at this point. I just want to curl up somewhere and get some shut-eye, even if it’s only five minutes.”
“Shut-eye? What are you? A cowboy?” Shields asked, her distinctive south Georgia accent becoming more pronounced than usual. “You gonna cook you up some vittles over the campfire tonight?”
“I know you think this is funny, but I’m looking forward to flying home if only for the fact that I might be able to get more than five uninterrupted minutes of sleep.”
Shields’ tone turned more serious. “Are you sure you’re up for this today? I can tell Blunt and—”
“If not now, when?” Black asked, his tone turning serious. “Who knows when we’re going to get another shot like this at Hasan Ahmed?”
Black closed one eye and peered through his scope, resuming his surveillance of Ahmed. The Somalian terrorist leader stroked his beard before throwing his head back and laughing with the rest of his party. Less than half a mile away at Mogadishu Stadium, Ahmed and a handful of other local business leaders crowded around a table in an open-air concourse. They all appeared to be engaged in the conversation, enjoying Ahmed’s animated story-telling style.
“Do you have a clear shot of Ahmed?” Shields asked.
“Not yet,” Black said. “Still waiting for one.”
“I’d already have put two bullets in him by now if I was there,” Shields said, chiding Black.
“You beat me once at the range, and—”
“Twice,” she said. “And it would’ve been three times if you hadn’t faked a stomach ache.”
“That was legit,” Black said. “I thought my insides were going to rip through my skin and spill out onto the floor.”
“In a way, they did.”
Black watched as Ahmed drifted from one person to the next, all the while not paying much attention to the soccer match taking place on the field below. Black wanted to kill Ahmed just as casually as he’d murdered three U.S. college students traveling the country a couple of months earlier. U.S. President Noah Young had come under intense pressure to retaliate, especially after Almunafadhin, Ahmed's organization, bragged a
bout it on social media and leveraged footage from burning the three young men alive as a way to recruit more fighters. Young secretly ordered the operation after Almunafadhin threatened to attack the U.S. and called him a coward. And while Black wasn’t there in any official capacity, he couldn’t pretend otherwise.
After a few more minutes of Ahmed weaving among the crowd of VIPs in his area, he disappeared down a flight of stairs with another man. Black cursed under his breath but loud enough that Shields heard him.
“You lose Ahmed?” she asked.
“For the moment,” Black said. “I’m hoping he comes back, but I can’t be sure. He didn’t give any indication one way or another.”
Black mopped the sweat from his brow before continuing to watch the section Ahmed had just been in.
“So,” Shields began, “are we gonna ever talk about it?”
“Talk about what?” Black asked.
“Don’t be coy. You know what I’m referring to.”
Black knew exactly what Shields meant, but he wanted to make her say it. “We were just talking about Ahmed. But I guess you’re switching to a different topic. Do you want to discuss Bahiri Zahid’s escape now?”
“Titus Alexander Black, stop playing dumb with me.”
Black chuckled. “Did you just use my full name?”
“I sure did,” she said. “My southern sass is about to be on full display if you don’t stop this nonsense.”
“You can take the girl out of the South, but you can’t take the South out of the girl.”
“You’re stalling.”
Black huffed a laugh through his nose. “Okay, okay. You just have no idea how much fun it is to give you a hard time.”
“If it’s half as much fun as it is for me to razz you about how much better a shot I am than you, I understand. But I’m not letting you off the hook that easily.”
“So you want to talk about the kiss, do you?” Black asked, already knowing the answer to his question.
“Of course,” she said. “I want to know if that was just a heat of the moment kind of thing or if maybe there’s more to it.”
“It was definitely heat of the moment,” Black said, “but that’s not to say—”
He stopped as he saw Ahmed re-emerge up the stairs.
“But that’s not to say what?”
“It’s Ahmed,” Black said. “He’s back.”
“You’d better not be lying.”
“Check on the satellite feed yourself,” Black said.
“I would except the one I was using just went out of range. I’m re-tasking one right now, but it’ll take a few minutes.”
“We’ll continue this later,” Black said, following Ahmed through the scope.
The wind whipped across the top of the hotel, the gust nearly sweeping away Black’s hat. He took his finger off the trigger and tucked his cap underneath his chest.
Ahmed paused for a brief conversation away from the crowd. However, he rocked back and forth from one foot to the other.
Black adjusted his sights, trying to account for the wind. But he wasn’t sure that was possible given how strong it was blowing.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Black said. “If I miss …”
The rest of his sentence was left unsaid, but it was clear what he meant. If he missed, Ahmed might disappear underground. And that would raise the ire of President Young. He wanted to send a message to the terrorists that attacking U.S. citizens abroad would not be tolerated and would be dealt with harshly. Black agreed with the response, but he also didn’t want to bungle it.
“You think you can hit him?” Shields asked.
“On a normal day? I wouldn’t hesitate, but this wind is brutal. And from this distance, it’d be little more than a roll of the dice.”
“Weigh the consequences,” she said. “What if you miss? The president will be pissed and, like you said, who knows when we’ll get a chance like this again?”
“You’re right,” Black said. “I just need to take the shot.”
He leaned forward, pressing his right eye flush against the scope and following Ahmed as he returned to his group. They continued to drink heavily, without even a hint of irony as Muslims. Ahmed often railed against the evils of the West in the videos he posted online, yet he didn’t appear any different in private.
Black wasn’t surprised, having seen enough to know the entire game was a facade. They would do anything to stir up potential new recruits to join the fight. He thought it would be fun to shoot Ahmed in the head, right through a glass of liquor. But the opportunity never presented itself. The shifty Almunafadhin leader never stayed in one position for very long, weaving through the crowd to shake hands with yet another guest.
After a few minutes, Ahmed finally stopped and leaned against the railing, away from the rest of the crowd. He turned his attention to the field below and watched the game with intense interest, a departure from his hobnobbing over the past half-hour.
Black felt the wind die down, creating the perfect conditions to fire off a long-range shot and eliminate Ahmed once and for all.
“I’ve got him,” Black said over his coms.
“Put him down,” Shields said, her excitement coming through in her voice.
Black smiled. “Aye, aye, captain.”
Just as he was about to squeeze the trigger, Black heard a click behind him and a brooding voice.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a man said. “That is, unless you’re a fan of getting a hole blown clean through the side of your noggin.”
Black eased his hands off the trigger and raised them in the air.
CHAPTER 2
Laramie, Wyoming
J.D. BLUNT PARKED his rental car along Second Street and climbed out of the vehicle. He pulled his coat taut before heading along the sidewalk toward the Prairie Rose Cafe. Snow pelted his face as he trudged toward the door. A bell clanged against the glass as he entered, garnering attention from everyone inside.
Blunt forced a smile as he shuffled toward an empty seat at the bar.
“Evening,” said a man behind the counter with a thick five o’clock shadow. “Would you like some coffee?”
Blunt shrugged. “I guess.”
“Regular or decaf?”
“I don’t care what it is as long as it’s warm,” Blunt said.
The man winked at Blunt. “I smell what you’re stepping in, partner. I can add a little Bailey’s for ya. Just as long as you don’t tell the health inspector.”
Blunt chuckled and made a cross over his heart with his index finger. “I promise not to say a word.”
The man smiled and offered his hand. “Gus Bankston, at your service.”
“How are your eggs Benedict?” Black asked as he shook Gus’s hand.
“Traitorous.”
“Sounds delightful.”
Blunt never expected to make a trip to Wyoming, but that’s how the job went sometimes. It was also one of the things he loved about it. But even in the oddest assignments, this one stood out.
With the mystery of the Fullgood Initiative still hanging over Washington like a San Francisco fog, an urgency existed to expose who was ultimately behind the organization that had undermined the president. Chat rooms were still buzzing about the fact that many of the government’s levers were being pulled by non-elected bureaucrats, people who could either exert their power or enrich their coffers on a whim—and often were doing both at the same time. Blunt had decided that his quest to discover the mastermind required meticulous attention to every lead. And one of those leads had led him to Laramie.
Blunt had come in search of far more than legendary breakfast food. He wanted to find out what Elaine Gibbons knew about the Fullgood Initiative. At first glance, she seemed like a waste of time and resources, the on-again-off-again girlfriend of Charles Harris. In all likelihood, she wouldn’t know much, if anything. But Blunt had a hunch. And he’d learned after years of experience that ignoring his hunches could r
esult in a lifetime of regret.
But his first glance around the sparse diner made him wonder if his hunch was off this time.
Gus finished getting Blunt’s order before turning his attention to the grill. The potatoes sizzled as they slid across the hot surface. Gus turned around and pointed his spatula at Blunt.
“You ready for your taste buds to be amazed?” Gus asked.
“When am I not ready for that?”
“Fair point,” Gus said as he turned back toward the food sizzling in front of him. There was a brief pause before Gus continued. “You just visiting Laramie?”
Blunt shrugged. “What gave me away?”
“What didn’t give you away?” Gus asked with a wide grin. “Perhaps it’s the fact that you don’t come in here regularly. This is Laramie’s most beloved breakfast establishment. And if I’ve never seen you, there’s a good chance that you’re either new to town or just passing through. Based on how you’re dressed, I was taking a chance that you were just passing through. Now, tell me I’m wrong.”
“I can’t lie,” Blunt said. “You’re dead on.”
Gus grinned. “It’s a gift. So, what brings you to Laramie?”
“I’m looking for someone. And based on how well you claim to know the citizens of this town, I’m guessing you’ve heard of her.”
“Fire away, City Slicker,” Gus said.
“I’m looking for a woman named Elaine Gibbons,” Blunt said.
Gus scowled, his eyes shooting upward. “Elaine Gibbons? Elaine Gibbons? I’m afraid that name doesn’t ring a bell. You sure that’s correct?”
“Sure as I’m sitting here,” Blunt said.
“Well, we don’t have anyone who works here by that name.”
Blunt furrowed his brow and stroked his chin. “Maybe this will help jog your memory.” He pulled a picture of the woman known as Elaine Gibbons out of his coat pocket and showed it to Gus.
Gus took a deep breath and drew back. “Who’d you say you were with again?”
“I didn’t, and it’s best that it stays that way,” Blunt said. “So, I take it you recognize this woman?”
State of Conspiracy (Titus Black Thriller series Book 8) Page 1
