Alexander King Thriller Series: Books 1-3

by Bradley Wright

  King checked his rearview, and the two cars were still on their tail.

  “Don’t forget what position you were in when I let go of you, Lawson Raines.”

  Lawson glared over at King. King didn’t look away.

  “Look, we’re on the same team. Can we drop this bullshit attitude?” King said.

  “Same team?” Lawson raised his voice. “I am not and will never be on the same team as someone who kidnaps an innocent girl.”

  “I didn’t kidnap the girl.”

  “I saw the video. It was pretty conclusive.”

  “You believe everything you see on the news?”

  The two of them were quiet for a moment. King laid his Glock in his lap, took Lawson’s pistol he’d picked up off the ground for him earlier from his belt line and laid it on the dash before pulling the go bag from his back. He fished out one of the burner phones and powered it on.

  “Look,” King said. “I’m CIA. I was set up. I would have never hurt Brittany.”

  “Yeah, then why is she dead? Huh? That’s on you!”

  King’s frustration boiled over. “Still want to place blame? How ’bout finding a mirror. Brittany was fine in my care until you slammed into my car and started a fight. That sniper would never have had the opportunity to shoot her if it wasn’t for you. If it’s on anyone, it’s on you!”

  Lawson took his right hand off the steering wheel and started punching King in the face. King grabbed Lawson’s arm and trapped it. Lawson began steering with his knee and punching with his left hand. King just kept blocking.

  “Stop! If we both die, we can’t find who’s really behind this!”

  Lawson kept trying to fight.

  “Stop fighting me and drive! It’s not our fault she’s dead. It’s whoever set me up that’s behind this.”

  Lawson tore away from King’s grip just in time to swerve around a car right in front of them.

  “Calm down or we aren’t going to survive this,” King said.

  Lawson pounded the steering wheel with his hand. “She was a good kid. Great kid!” He pounded the steering wheel again.

  King grabbed the dash in front of him while Lawson drove wildly down the road.

  “I told you who I am,” King said calmly. “Now who are you, and why are you here?”

  Lawson glared over for a moment; then his face softened. “Brittany is . . . was my daughter’s babysitter. When she was kidnapped, her father called me to help.”

  “Why? Who are you?”

  “Private investigator now, but was FBI in a different life.”

  Lawson found an on-ramp to the freeway and kept speeding straight ahead.

  King began to dial Dbie’s number. “Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

  Lawson looked over at King, dead serious. “Prison.”

  King didn’t look shocked. “Let me guess, you were innocent?”

  Lawson looked back at the road. “Let me guess, it wasn’t you who used your passport at the John Wayne Airport, and it wasn’t you in that video.”

  “Touché,” King said. They had finally found some common ground. If Lawson knew what it was like to be set up, it would be easier to realize King was actually an ally. “Look, we aren’t going to get away from Ortega and his men. They own this city. Sorry to tell you, you really stepped into it by coming here.”

  “Then what do you suggest?”

  “We’re going to have to take the guys behind us out then, ditch the car. We can’t take her with us.”

  “I’m not leaving her behind,” Lawson snapped.

  “We don’t have a choice. Until we can either leave the country or take out Ortega, we will be fighting for our lives. That’s not even to mention the sniper and whoever the hell he or she works for.”

  “I’m not lea—”

  “I heard you. But there’s no other option. We can hide the car, then I’ll have my contact let the embassy know where her body is. They’ll pick her up within an hour.”

  Lawson shot him a look, then turned to the rearview mirror. “You fight well, but do you have any other training?”

  “I have all the other training.” King hit the call button on the burner phone, then put it on speaker. “But you already knew that, Mister Private Investigator.”

  “X, you’re all right!” Dbie answered.

  “I’m not sure that’s how I’d describe it, but I’m alive.”

  “What the hell happened? Who was that man who killed the senator’s daughter?”

  King looked up at Lawson. It was odd to see such a big man wearing such a worried look.

  “What do you mean?” King said.

  “The video. It’s awful. The whole world watched her get gunned down, then you can see some big guy pulling her into his car. Are you tracking him?”

  “He’s driving the car I’m in. It wasn’t him. How the hell is there another video already?”

  “I don’t know. It’s shot from an angle. Maybe a camera on a building?”

  “Dbie, you and I both know if it was security camera footage, it wouldn’t have already made news. It had to have been leaked.”

  “The sniper,” Lawson said.

  King was thinking the same thing.

  “So what are they saying?” King said.

  “Well, you can’t see the man’s face in the video. They’re saying it’s you, that the police had you surrounded, so you killed her. But I could tell by the man’s size that it wasn’t you. And why, if you killed her, would you take the time to take her body? It makes no sense.”

  “Yeah, but as you know, it doesn’t have to.” King let out a deep breath. “Civilians will believe it either way. Question is, will the CIA?”

  “I can’t get ahold of Sam. They must be holding her until they find you.”

  “Shit.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Any IDs on the two Mexican men at the bar the night Brittany was taken?”

  “Couple of small-time criminals,” Dbie said. “No known connection to Ortega.”

  Lawson chimed in. “What about the white man the girls were talking to at the bar?”

  “X?” Dbie said.

  “It’s okay, go ahead.”

  “Former Navy SEAL, Scott Smith. That’s all I could find. Well, there are other documents, but they are classified.”

  “Classified? No discharge papers?”

  “Nothing. No record of anything after four years ago. Not even a driver’s license.”

  “Then how the hell did you find him?” King said.

  “How do you infiltrate a terrorist camp and take out the leader?” Dbie said. “Some things are too complicated to explain.”

  “See if you can get more on him. Probably nothing, but no other info on him seems weird.”

  “On it. Also, I’ve had no luck with the airport security system yet, so I don’t have any leads on who used your passport yet.”

  “I need to know this,” King said.

  “Doing all I can. And before you ask, still no word from Zhanna.”

  “Damnit. Okay. Find Sam, Dbie. Lawson and I are in some deep shit here.”

  “My hands are tied till she contacts me.”

  “Once she sees the latest video, she will find a way.”

  “I thought the same thing,” Dbie said. “I’ll email all I’ve found on Raúl Ortega. It’s pretty standard drug lord stuff but maybe something will help.”

  “Any known addresses other than the place downtown?”

  “Several.”

  “Of course,” King said. “Nothing is easy.”

  “Wouldn’t be worth doing if it was. I’m going to get back to it. I’ll call you when I know something else.”

  “Thanks, Dbie.”

  King ended the call. Before he put the phone away, he texted Dbie: I need all there is to know on Lawson Raines, a PI in Orange County, California.

  “I’ll call my partner,” Lawson said. “She can help. Investigating is what we do.”

  “Leave yo
ur partner out of it,” King told him while he put away his phone and checked the magazine in his Glock. “Trust me, the more people we involve, the more people we put in danger.”

  “I wasn’t asking.” Lawson pulled his cell phone from his pocket.

  “Oh, good, you still have your easily trackable cell phone on you,” King said.

  “Don’t be a wiseass. It’s a burner. You aren’t the only one with experience. You actually remind me of Cassie. She thinks she’s funny too.”

  “Oh, you’re one of those who thinks to get things done you . . . must . . . be . . . serious . . . all . . . the . . . time. You and my partner, Sam, together would just light up a party.”

  “Why do you think these guys are hanging back?” Lawson changed the subject. “And not trying to run us off the road?”

  “They know there is nowhere for us to go.”

  “Then let’s get rid of them, get Brittany into good hands, then ditch the car. Somebody has to pay for what they did to her.”

  King pulled and released the slide on his Glock. “I’m glad we’re finally on the same page.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lawson sped off the highway, dodged a few cars, and pulled into the gas station on the right after exiting the off-ramp. King jumped out of the car and moved quickly to his right to hide behind a truck. The two cars tailing them slid around the turn of the off-ramp and came to a skidding halt when they noticed Lawson’s car. King used the gas pumps beside him as cover as he circled around to flank them. He looked back through the gap and watched as Lawson held his hands up in the air for Ortega’s men to see. Two men exited each car and stood behind their open doors, guns extended in front of them.

  King made his last move, sprinting fifteen feet to the back of another car that was closer to the gunmen while their focus was on Lawson.

  “We aren’t the cops,” one of the gunmen shouted in a Mexican accent. “There is no surrender!”

  King knew the gunfire was coming next, so he stepped out from behind his vehicle and shot the two men closest to him, then dove back behind the car. Just as he and Lawson planned, when the two other gunmen turned their weapons toward King, Lawson pulled his own gun and fired on them while they were distracted. King sat up and poked his head around the car. Lawson’s shots had hit their mark. Across from King a mother dove on top of her two kids to protect them from the gunfire. King stood and showed her that he was putting his gun away.

  “Police. Everything is okay!” he shouted to her.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Lawson shouted from across the parking lot.

  King rounded the car and watched Lawson carrying Brittany in his arms toward one of the gunmen’s cars. He felt sad for her. She seemed like a great girl. That sadness, as it often did when he’d failed to help someone, quickly turned to anger. Anger for the senseless loss, anger for her parents who will grieve for the rest of their lives, and anger against the world constantly surrounding him. The world that most Americans know exists but have no idea how insidious it can be.

  As he scanned the area for any more possible trouble, King’s rising blood pressure instantly peaked when a car came to a screeching stop right beside them. One man already had his gun extended—he had King dead to rights. Lawson couldn’t help because he was busy placing Brittany in another car. King glanced around for options, but there were none. He was halfway between the gas pumps and the car they were taking. No cover within diving distance, and no way he could get his Glock up before the man shot him. He’d lost focus, and it might now cost him his life.

  King’s lack of hope quickly turned to confusion.

  “What’s your name?” the Latino man said, with zero Mexican accent. His face was mostly hidden by the shadow of his hat.

  “Thomas . . . Thomas Crown,” King said.

  “Not your bullshit cover. Your real name. I’m not playing.” The man glanced down at his gun.

  King was dead either way, so it didn’t much matter to him if the man new his true identity. “Alexander King.”

  “That’s what I thought. Get your things and get in.”

  “I’m not coming with you. You’ll have to kill me right here.”

  “I’m not planning on killing you, Mr. King, but the police will be here in a matter of seconds. And I probably don’t need to tell you that they will not be taking you to prison.”

  King looked over at Lawson. He noticed Lawson reaching for his gun. King made eye contact with him and shook his head. Then he looked back at the man, who was now lowering his gun.

  “They’re coming with me,” King said.

  “No, just you, Mr. King. We have a war to fight, and the big guy will just get in the way.”

  King didn’t really know what was going on, but clearly this man—even though he was in a metallic green, lowrider Chevy Impala, himself dressed exactly like the gunmen who King and Lawson had just taken out—was not working for Raúl Ortega. And he didn’t really know Lawson Raines either, but the fight he’d just endured with him back in the parking lot told him enough to know that Lawson could more than handle his own.

  Lawson tucked his gun away and walked around the car toward the Impala. “If you’re going after the men responsible for killing that girl, and for taking shots at us, I assure you I will not get in your way. I’ll be leading the way.”

  The man looked back at King. “Your call. You’re the commanding officer.”

  That told King all he needed to know. Even though it seemed odd this man could know he was ever any sort of rank, it was clear he was on the same team. “Lawson is good to go. And we’re dropping the girl somewhere safe before we get going.”

  King looked over at Lawson, who nodded in appreciation.

  “You’re the boss,” the man said. “But we’d better hurry no matter what we do.”

  Sirens echoed in the distance. The police were closing in.

  “Lawson, put Brittany in the back. I’ll get my bag.”

  The man pulled the Impala over beside the gunmen’s cars. King jogged over to Lawson’s Audi and pulled out his go bag. His DNA would be in the car along with Brittany’s blood, making it even harder to distance himself from the crime in the eyes of the CIA. But he couldn’t worry about that at the moment. He’d caught a break with the apparent undercover agent finding them, seemingly willing to fight alongside him and Lawson. Now he had to capitalize on it. It was his only path to redemption.

  “Grab all of their weapons. We’re going to need them,” the man said to King as he approached.

  King hurried around to the dead bodies and did as the Latino man said. He picked up the few guns he saw lying around. The sirens were getting closer. Lawson placed Brittany inside and closed the back door. King jumped in the passenger seat.

  “Long time, my friend,” the man said.

  King looked up from the man’s outstretched hand, and now that he’d removed his hat, King recognized the face. King grabbed his hand and gave it a firm shake.

  “Holy shit,” King said. “José Ramirez? How the hell is this possible?”

  José was a ghost from missions past. A few years back, King’s clandestine crew, Team Reign, was moving in on cartel leader Javier Romero in Sinaloa, Mexico. After infiltrating Romero’s compound, the information trail had run cold. José then revealed himself as the undercover agent whom the Director of the CIA at the time, Mary Hartsfield, had used to gain information to get to Romero. José was instrumental in getting King’s team to their target.

  “I’ve been undercover here since the last time we crossed paths in Sinaloa,” José said as he wheeled the car left out of the gas station parking lot. “I’ve worked my way up in Ortega’s camp for years. I know everything. The minute he said your name a couple of days ago, I couldn’t believe it. I knew immediately my time in Ortega’s cartel was through. You saved me from Romero in Sinaloa. Now it’s time for me to return the favor.”

  King didn’t know what to say. He still couldn’t believe his eyes. José h
ad thinned out a bit, but overall he hadn’t changed much. He still had his dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and seemed as fit as a soldier.

  “I thought the bad guys from my past were the only people I ever ran into again. Good to see you, José. And thank you.” King looked back over his shoulder and nodded to Lawson. Lawson nodded in return. “This is Lawson Raines. He and I just met, and before he says anything about our initial meeting, just know he hits like a girl.”

  That was the first smile King had seen on the big man’s face. It was good to know there was a sense of humor in there somewhere. Even while evil and chaos surrounded them.

  José studied King’s face. “Yeah? One hell of a hard-hitting girl by the looks of it.”

  King pulled down the visor and checked his face. A long trail of dried blood ran down from his swollen right eye.

  “Lucky shot,” King said.

  José laughed. “We need to regroup and be ready to strike while Ortega has a lot of his men out looking for you. Where do you want to take the girl?”

  “Closest hospital. I’ll have my contact get the embassy to pick up her body.”

  “Hospital De Jesus is right around the corner.”

  King opened his burner and dialed Dbie. He was ready to get Brittany in a place where her body could be properly escorted back to her family. After that was done, he would be ready for war.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sam crossed the bridge from Langley over the Potomac River. She didn’t know what the town she was driving toward was called, but it didn’t matter. Her only goal was to pick up a couple of prepaid phones and ditch Director Lucas’s SUV. It was a literal magnet for her to get caught. As soon as Robert found out Sam was gone and had taken his Tahoe, they would track her and be on her in a matter of minutes.

  She had punched “drugstore” in the Tahoe’s GPS, and a CVS pharmacy came up across the river. It was farther than she wanted to go, but it was at least a place she knew would have phones. She needed to talk to Dbie to make sure King was still checking in, and she had to get ahold of Kyle Hamilton. Kyle was King’s best friend from childhood, and they’d been glued at the hip until King was forced to disappear two years ago. Kyle had no idea Xander was still alive, but she knew that, like the rest of the world, he’d probably already seen the news report. She imagined her cell phone, since it had been confiscated, probably had about thirty missed calls from Kyle.