Alexander King Thriller Series: Books 1-3

by Bradley Wright

  The three police officers disappeared behind the stables as they ran toward him. King pulled out a knife of his own. He walked around behind Doug Chapman and straddled his back. This monster wasn’t going to come back and haunt King. There were enough ghosts from his past to worry about in the world as it was. He grabbed the hair on top of Doug’s head and pulled it back toward him. He flipped the blade open on his knife, then sliced in such a way that no one would ever be able to stop the bleeding.

  As he stood, King grabbed Doug’s knife , then turned to his left and began to run. He heard “Freeze!” shouted from a distance, but he did not comply. It was an odd feeling being the good guy who’d just killed the bad guy, but running away from the scene. It was even crazier that he was doing so on his own property. It was a cruel twist to this story that was his life as a person trying to get revenge. A man only trying to do good. Running away couldn’t have felt more wrong. But he knew it was the only thing he could do.

  As he jogged through the tall green grass and the adrenaline began to subside, his hand began to ache. The wound in his leg was stinging, but it would heal. Then he thought of all that had happened over the past week. He’d taken out some of the most horrible criminals on the planet and probably saved a lot of lives in the process. But as he had come to know over the years, the harsh reality for a man like him was that he only remembered the ones he couldn’t save. The friends who weren’t as lucky as he was to make it out alive. The innocent victims caught in the cross fire at the hands of a deranged enemy. All a man could do when he faced the worst humans alive and lived to tell about it was continue to fight through the sadness. Somebody had to do it, and he felt fortunate that he was one of the few who could make a difference. No matter how small, or large, that difference seemed.

  He pulled out his phone and dialed Sam as he jogged. Pain shot through his broken hand as he held the phone to his ear. The police behind him were a distant memory. They would never catch him before he met up with Sam. He knew this backcountry far too well.

  “Took you long enough,” Sam answered. She always played the tough woman when she was worried about him. He’d grown to find comfort in it.

  “Yeah, there were some complications. Thanks for the diversion. Dbie and the Gibbonses okay?”

  “All good.”

  “Pick me up on Williams Lane at Big Sink Road in half an hour. We’ll need a cleaner for Chapman’s body. He’s got my DNA all over him.”

  “I’ll take care of it. See you in half an hour.”

  King looked down at his leg again. His pants were fairly bloody from the knife wound, but no arteries or anything serious had been hit. He would be fine. But with today’s injuries, he was sure as hell going to be sore tomorrow.

  But at least he had a tomorrow.

  As he continued his jog toward the pickup point, he was aware of the surrounding beauty juxtaposed against the darker side of his life. The deep blue sky, the horses playing near a massive oak tree, the vast green pasture—all of it couldn’t have been more different than the dark alleys and disgusting people that comprised the rest of his life. It didn’t seem fair. But he knew that even though he hadn’t chosen the life he currently led, he would choose to keep living it that way. And the beauty of where he came from only gave him more reason to fight—to preserve it and protect the people who peacefully enjoyed it.

  He knew not every American appreciated what he and his fellow servicemen and women did, but the ones who did care were the only ones who mattered. And though he’d lost another friend, he knew that in the grand scheme of things, Mary was willing to sacrifice her life if it meant justice would prevail in the end.

  It was funny . . . one of the things King had always hated most in life were secrets. Especially the types of secrets that allowed someone like his father to betray one’s entire family. And secrets like Saajid Hammoud was able to keep long enough to kill so many innocent people. But now that King’s entire life was a secret, it gave him pause. He couldn’t hate all secrets if his secret gave him the ability to protect people.

  King turned and ran backward for a moment. He could no longer see the spot where Doug lay dead. It was too far away now. But he certainly felt good about the fact that that man’s secret life of wreaking havoc was over. And when he turned back around, with only open pasture in front of him, he realized he was happy about one other thing.

  Now that he understood that some secrets were bad and some were actually good, as he looked down at his hands covered yet again in someone’s blood not his own, a final truth came to mind about his undercover lifestyle.

  Some secrets are deadlier than others.

  And because of that truth, he could fight on.

  Epilogue

  January 21, ten months later

  Eastern Market, Washington, DC

  The wind was howling on a cold night in Washington, DC, and a snowstorm was threatening to pummel the surrounding area. Alexander King walked into the Acqua Al 2 restaurant as he had been instructed to do. There was no one inside, which wasn’t a surprise seeing as how it was three in the morning. He unwrapped his scarf and unbuttoned his overcoat. He hated the cold, so being called back to the northeastern United States in the middle of winter wasn’t exactly something he was happy about. But it was Sam who told him he needed to be there, so he did as she asked. It was her secrecy in all of it that he didn’t understand.

  He moved past the dining room and found the long empty hall that Sam told him to look for. He walked up the stairs, then down another corridor overlooking a different restaurant. He knew that was where he was supposed to be, but no one was there to meet him. The hallway had come to a dead end and he was staring at a wall.

  When something moved on that wall, he instinctively reached for his concealed weapon. A portion of the wall began sliding to the right, and he prepared himself for the worst. Could this be a trap? Instead, he saw Sam walk through the opening, grinning from ear to ear, and he relaxed.

  “It’s good to see you, Sam, but what’s with all the theatrics?”

  She gave him a long hug. It had been a couple of months since he’d seen his friend, his “handler”, as was her CIA term. It had been a long end to the year after everything that happened with Saajid Hammoud and Doug Chapman back in March. He took a month to recover from his wounds while everything was sorted out at the CIA. Once everything shook out, the president and the Senate ended up bypassing the deputy director and made Robert Lucas the new agency head. It was a controversial choice because he’d been involved in a lot of questionable situations during his time as an agent. He was known for his no-nonsense approach. It was a good thing for King, though, because Sam had actually known Robert for a while. She was able to discuss everything that had happened regarding the Phoenix program, and how Mary was the only one who knew Alexander King was still alive. Robert, a man not one to avoid blurring the lines, actually enjoyed the idea of having a “secret weapon” that no one else knew about. Which is why King didn’t understand the need for this face-to-face meeting with some unknown person about whom Sam refused to give him any information.

  “You’ll see why the theatrics in a moment,” Sam said. “Are you certain you weren’t followed?”

  “Sam.” King shook his head, giving her his “come on” look. He didn’t understand why this was such a big deal.

  “All right, but we can’t be too careful.”

  She nodded her head in the direction of the room behind the wall. When they walked through, he could see a dimly lit bar; the rest of the small restaurant was dark. Sam had called him to a speakeasy. Normally this was something he’d be keen to check out, but his personal love of a good drink wasn’t at the top of his priorities at the moment. The shadowy figure sitting at the far end of the bar was more his concern.

  As Sam walked him around the bar, the man stood, and Sam was right: King now understood the theatrics.

  “Mr. President,” King said as he held out his hand. “Certainly wasn’t expecting
to see you here.”

  The fit, silver-haired man reached out and gave King’s hand a firm shake. “Call me Bobby.”

  King had watched Bobby Gibbons be sworn in as the new president of the United States just yesterday afternoon.

  “Okay, Bobby,” King said. The president motioned toward an empty seat at the bar, and both of them sat down. “Well, this is your first full day in office, and you called for me. This can’t be good.”

  “That’s an understatement,” Bobby said. “And yeah, they didn’t even give me a warm-up day. They came right at me with some terrifying news.”

  Sam took the seat behind King. He knew she had already heard all about this problem.

  “Would you like a drink?” Bobby asked.

  There was a bottle of Blanton’s bourbon sitting on the bar beside two glasses.

  “Always,” King said.

  Bobby poured. “I’m normally a scotch guy myself, but I knew better than to offer a Kentucky boy such an inferior dram.” Bobby gave him a wink.

  The two of them clinked glasses and gave cheers. King couldn’t help but think he was getting buttered up for something horrible.

  “Why meet in person and go through all this trouble?” King said.

  They both sipped.

  “Right to it then. Well, first I wanted to thank you for saving my wife and me from Doug Chapman. We’d both be dead, and I wouldn’t have fulfilled my lifelong dream of becoming president if you hadn’t made it there and did what you did. I felt I couldn’t thank you properly without shaking your hand.”

  “Just doing my job. But you’re welcome. Now give me the bad news.”

  Sam laughed behind him. That confirmed his fear. Whatever the president wanted next was going to hurt.

  “Well, Alexander, I need your help.”

  “Ah,” King said, nodding, “the start of all painful conversations. Whatever you need, Mr. President. Just don’t beat around the bush.”

  “I need you in Alaska.”

  And there it was. The big ask. It was also the reason Sam had laughed: she knew how much King hated the cold.

  “I couldn’t be more excited,” King said.

  Bobby picked up on his sarcasm and hung his head. “I know. Sam told me you’re allergic to cold.”

  That was actually a good way to put it. It felt like an allergic reaction when temperatures dropped below forty-five degrees.

  “What’s in Alaska that would need my attention?” King said. “Or should I say, who is in Alaska?”

  “It’s both really. Let me start from the beginning. It was just brought to my attention this morning so it’s still fresh. You obviously remember the panic over the coronavirus this past year.”

  “Of course,” King said, then took another drink.

  “Well, some of the seedier types in the world took notice of not only the panic the virus created but how quickly such a virus can spread.”

  “You think someone is going to weaponize a virus?”

  “I don’t think so, son.” Bobby’s tone hardened. “It’s happening. We just need to get to the root of it.”

  “And you think that’s Alaska?”

  “I do, but this is where it gets tricky. Did you hear about the small town on the northern coast of Alaska this past week?”

  Things began coming together for King. “Almost an entire town of two hundred people died in like a couple of days, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “You think it was biowarfare?”

  “We think it was a test.”

  King let that sink in. He remembered seeing that one person had become sick, then the entire town died off in a matter of days. But the reports on TV were that it was a tragic accident that had to do with something contaminating their drinking water. It didn’t surprise King that the news didn’t have it right.

  “Okay, that’s the what. Now where’s the who?”

  “Dmitry Kuznetsov, a world renowned biochemist and virologist, flew into Seattle from Moscow several months ago for a world health conference . . . and he never left.”

  “Bridge the gap for me here, sir,” King said.

  “I’ll get you the full briefing, but long story short, we think Dmitry might be in Barrow, Alaska. And we have reason to believe he is concocting a virus for the Russians that will cripple America and either make us vulnerable for a traditional attack, or the virus itself will be the attack.”

  “Shit. That’s an awful big leap. I’m assuming there is some smoke for all that fire.”

  “There is,” Bobby said.

  King finished the last of his bourbon. “Where do I fit in?”

  Bobby looked at King like he was about to tell him King’s dog just died. King braced himself.

  “Senator Fraley from Alaska knows a man who helps staff companies in Barrow. Not far from the town that was infected. You’ll be starting as a security guard in three days.”

  King picked up the bottle of bourbon and poured another drink. As he put the glass to his lips, he turned to Sam. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

  Sam gave a look as if she’d just tasted the most delectable dessert. “Oh, you have no idea.”

  “Nice,” he said as he nodded and turned back to the president. He pointed with his thumb back over his shoulder. “She’s supposed to be my friend. Who needs enemies, right?”

  “My sister treats me the same way,” Bobby said with a laugh. Then the smile disappeared. “Look, I owe you, not the other way around. So if this isn’t something you want to do, you can say no. I just need the very best on this, because I think this might be one of the most important things we stop in our lifetime.”

  “Why not just send in a team and smash the thing up?”

  Sam hopped off her bar stool and walked around King. “Because we need to know who is behind this as much as we need to stop it. If it really is the Russian government that has implemented this, we need to know—”

  “Because that would warrant a catastrophic retaliation,” Bobby interjected. “And we have to be sure.”

  King took the entire drink down in one slug. “I’ll do it.” He stood and shook the president’s hand. “But my next assignment better be in paradise.”

  “You bring this thing down and I’ll meet you on the beach myself.”

  “I’ll give it all I’ve got.”

  “That’s all I’ll ever ask.” The president stood. “Thank you, Alexander.”

  “Don’t thank him yet,” Sam said. “One cute bartender and the entire country could suffer.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” Bobby said.

  “At least someone has some faith,” King said with a smile.

  “Good luck, soldier.”

  King gave the president a nod and followed Sam toward the exit. She walked him all the way to the entrance of the restaurant. Outside the glass door he could see that it had already begun to snow. The large flakes floated down out of the dark sky and under the lights standing tall above the street.

  Sam leaned in and gave King a hug. “Whatever you need, whenever you need it.”

  She handed him a new phone. He gave her the one he’d been using. “I’ll be waiting for the brief and whatever else I’ll be needing.” Then he removed his scarf and his overcoat. He only had a thin button-down shirt on underneath.

  “What are you doing?” Sam said. “You’ll freeze.”

  King opened the door and walked out, turned back toward Sam, and held his arms out from his sides. “I’m gonna have to get used to freezing, it seems.” He looked up at the snow falling all around him. “No time like the present.”

  Copyright © 2020 by Bradley Wright

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  Bradley Wright/King’s Ransom Publishing

  www.bradleywrightauthor.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents ar
e a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead,

  or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  COLD WAR/ Bradley Wright. -- 1st ed.

  ISBN - 978-0-9973926-8-5

  For Team X

  The best advanced reader team on the planet. Everything you do for my work is highly valuable, but what you do for me as a friend is priceless.

  “If the world is cold, make it your business to build fires.”

  Horace Traubel

  In the field of biological weapons, there is almost no prospect of detecting a pathogen until it has been used in an attack.

  Barton Gellman

  Chapter One

  Washington, DC

  “They’re all infected.”

  “What?”

  President of the United States, Bobby Gibbons, stared at his secretary of health and human services, Andrew Richards, like he had two heads.

  The president continued. “Just yesterday you said only half of the town had become ill.”

  “It’s not happening as fast in Yupak as the other town, but it’s a terrible situation.”

  Two weeks ago, and the day after President Gibbons was sworn in, officials brought him into his office and told him that a small town in Alaska had all died from some fast-moving, ultracontagious virus. Just over a hundred people were dead within a week. Something completely unheard of, and alarm bells had gone off that this wasn’t just some fluke. Everyone in Gibbons’s cabinet thought it smelled of biowarfare. Or at least the beginnings of it. The reason it was even more of a red flag than usual was because Dmitry Kuznetsov, a world-renowned Russian biochemist and virologist, flew into Seattle from Moscow several months ago for a World Health Conference . . . and he never left. Now that the people in another town, not far from the one that had been wiped out, had all fallen ill as well, there was almost zero doubt left that something was amiss. And President Gibbons was happy he’d already made the decision to send in an agent to try to dig in to where they thought the problem could be brewing.