“You want in on the mission, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Figures, if some guy was trying to kill my family and friends I’d want to be the one taking him down. Look, I can’t promise anything, but I will run it past my people.”
“Appreciated.”
“OK, is there anything else?”
Deb's eyes narrowed. “How's Vance doing?”
“Not bad for a dead man. He sends his regards. Allegedly, he thinks very highly of you, or this meeting would never have happened.” Bishop took a phone from his pocket and tapped the screen. “I guess this is where people would expect a speech about this meeting never happening.” He slipped the device back into his pocket. “But, we're all professionals, so it's not necessary.” He turned to Mike. “I’ll be in touch.”
TJ sensed warmth in the man's smile as he shook hands with each of them.
“A pleasure.” Bishop turned and nodded toward the end of the runway. “That'll be my ride.”
TJ turned and spotted a speck on the horizon. It rapidly grew into an aircraft that touched down in a cloud of dust. A parachute flared from behind and the sleek white business jet slowed with a roar of engines.
“Catch you on the flip side.”
TJ shook his head as the man jogged across to the jet as a set of stairs dropped. He stepped inside and it closed. Then there was an almighty roar and the aircraft blasted off the dirt strip with twin jets of flame spewing from its turbines. Within seconds it was airborne and streaking away.
“God damn,” said TJ.
“Impressive,” added Mike as he watched it disappear.
“Did you see any markings on that jet?” asked Deb.
“No, but I think we're dealing with a very capable organization,” said TJ as they moved away from Mike toward the SUV.
“The Agency made the exact same assessment.”
TJ slipped an arm around his wife's slender waist. “So, tell me more about this Vance character.”
She turned and kissed him on the cheek. “Don't be jealous, it was a purely professional relationship. We worked together on one of my first field operations.”
“And he thinks highly of you?” TJ mimicked Bishop's accent.
She laughed. “Darling, he was compromised and abducted. I managed to tail his kidnappers and a paramilitary team recovered him before they could work him over.”
“You saved his life.”
“I guess you could say that.”
“My wife the super agent.” He kissed her on the lips.
“Hey, get a room guys,” Rick's voice hissed over the radio.
Deb grabbed TJ's handset from his belt. “Need I remind you that these means have been compromised.”
“I think we all know who's going to get compromised,” replied Rick.
Mike laughed as he joined them.
Deb shook her head as they climbed into the SUV. “Your teammates.”
“Correction, our,” said TJ. “They're your teammates too.”
***
Barbosa sipped his coffee as he listened to one of his lieutenants outline the reason that drug production from one of his labs had slumped. Allegedly, the farmers he forced to supply the cocaine had chosen to grow food, limiting their output of coca leaves. “How long has this been going on?” he asked as a servant brought in his breakfast of poached eggs on salmon, drizzled with pesto.
“About three months,” replied his man. “There has been a drought–”
He cut the lieutenant off with a wave of his hand as he stuffed a laden fork into his mouth. “There are no excuses,” he mumbled.
The man nodded.
He swallowed. “Take two families.” He paused to sip his coffee. “And kill them.”
“Even the children?”
Barbosa stared at him over his cup. “Children, grandparents, chickens, cats, dogs. Kill them all. Set an example for the others.”
“Yes, boss.”
“Actually, forget it. I'll look after it myself.” He wiped his chin with a crisp white napkin. “Is my car ready?”
“Yes, boss,” one of the bodyguards loitering in the background replied.
Barbosa downed his coffee and left the dining room. His wife farewelled him in the foyer of their luxurious home and he strolled out to where a convoy of three armored SUVs were parked.
His head of security, Duvan, was waiting at the middle vehicle with the door open. “I've got good news, boss.”
Barbosa climbed into the rear of the SUV. Duvan slammed the heavy door and rode shotgun in the front passenger seat.
“One of our people got some red hot intel on the SEAL and the dog.”
“Have they found them?”
“No, but we know they're going to be attending a wedding in Washington state, tomorrow, along with all their friends.”
The cartel boss gazed out of the window as the vehicle started moving. “Get as many shooters as you can. Make it a bloodbath. Kill everyone and everything.”
“I’ll make the arrangements.”
As the convoy left the heavily guarded estate Barbosa took a tablet from a seat pocket to check his sharemarket portfolio. His forehead wrinkled into a frown as the device refused to link to the cellular network. He tried for a minute and then tossed it on the leather seat in disgust. Again, he tried on his phone where he encountered the same problem. “What the hell is wrong with the network?”
“Towers must be down,” said Duvan.
Barbosa scowled as his car slowed and came to a halt. “What now?”
Duvan spoke into a radio before reporting to his boss. “There's a clown on the road.”
“A what?”
“Some guy dressed as a clown. He's holding a red balloon.”
“What the hell?”
“Yeah, weird shit. Stay here, boss, I'm going to check it out.” Duvan opened the door of the armored SUV.
“No–”
Duvan let out a grunt and toppled over.
“No, no, no.” Barbosa struggled through to the front seat and grabbed the door, pulling it closed. “Get us out of here!” he screamed at the driver.
There was a blinding flash. He glanced through the windshield and saw the lead vehicle engulfed in flames. “Go!”
The armored SUV rocked as another blast crippled the vehicle behind it. Then the driver angled the wheel and stomped the accelerator to the floor. Barbosa was flung sideways as the truck bounced over a curb and stalled.
“Get it going!”
His man struggled with the ignition, but the truck refused to start.
“Pump the gas.”
Still, the engine refused to catch.
He caught a glimpse of movement through the side window. A figure was approaching through the smoke from the burning vehicles. As they got closer, he saw it was an armed man wearing a clown mask.
Barbosa fumbled for his pistol as the grinning clown approached the window. He winced as a gloved hand slapped a written card up against the glass. His blood ran cold as he read the neatly printed words.
This is for Axe, Ali and Junior. But... mostly Axe.
The figure tore off his mask and Barbosa found himself face to face with Petty Officer Mike Saunders, the man whose life he had pledged to destroy. Mike glared at him with grim determination and waved with a gloved hand.
There was a loud thump from under the SUV. Barbosa turned to the driver who was still trying to start the engine. “We need to get out.” He crawled through to the back seat with his pistol in hand and fumbled with the door latch. It wouldn't open.
He turned back to the window where the message was stuck to the glass. There was no sign of the SEAL.
Barbosa, The Butcher, had a split second of remorse as the floor beneath him was super heated to a half-million degrees by a thermal charge. Then, he felt nothing as he was instantly incinerated.
A few hundred yards away Mike stood with a second clown, watching the vehicle burn. The other clown tore off his mask, revealing a crooked nos
e and brown eyes.
“Job done,” said Bishop.
Mike felt like a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders. With Barbosa dead his family would no longer live in fear. The cartel boss’s reign of terror was finally over.
“Thank you,” said Mike.
“No dramas. Dealing with scum like him is what PRIMAL does,” replied Bishop.
“PRIMAL, hey. Well it’s good to know that someone out there is willing to take out the trash.”
Bishop laughed. “That’s one way of putting it. Now, we need to get ourselves to a wedding.”
***
“Does Rick look nervous?” TJ whispered to his wife. They sat with fifty other people on benches under the sweeping boughs of the forest that surrounded his family cabin. A string quartet played softly in the background as Rick and his best man, Mike, waited for the arrival of his bride.
She nudged him gently. “I do remember you being pretty nervous when we got married.”
“That's because your father was carrying a gun.”
Deb chuckled. “Terrance, he was a cop.”
“That made it worse.”
She took his hand a squeezed it gently. “Well, you didn't look nervous yesterday.”
As a precursor to Rick and Jenny's wedding the two of them had held a small commitment ceremony for just the teammates and their friends. It was TJ’s idea to reaffirm their vows and there hadn't been a dry eye in the cabin when they'd finished.
“Oh my god, that's so cute,” gushed Deb.
TJ turned his head and saw Junior, dressed in a miniature tuxedo, leading Axe along the red carpet that split the rows of people sitting on benches. The little boy was grinning as he clutched the collar of the former Military Working Dog. He noted that Junior wasn't actually leading the dog. It was Axe who was guiding the toddler down the aisle. He smiled. Axe was wearing a bowtie on his collar.
The two of them stopped alongside Rick where he was standing with Mike. The groom wore a grin wider than the Golden Gate Bridge.
“This is to die for,” whispered Deb.
TJ turned and kissed her on the cheek as the string quartet increased in tempo and volume. All eyes were drawn to the aisle as Jenny appeared from behind a massive sequoia tree. She was radiant in an elegant ivory off-the-shoulder dress with intricate beading around the bust. Her father wore a stern expression as he escorted his only daughter down the aisle.
TJ felt a tear forming in his eye. Then, he nearly laughed as he realized the quartet was playing a string rendition of Beyonce's Single Ladies. “Last man down,” he whispered as the bride joined the groom.
An hour later, with the bridal party having photos taken in the woods, TJ found himself at the outside bar drinking champagne with Deb, Ernie and his wife, Maria.
“Wasn't that a beautiful ceremony,” said Maria.
“Stunning,” agreed Deb. “And it went flawlessly.”
As small talk continued, TJ spotted a familiar face among the guests milling among the wine barrels and rough-hewn benches being used to hold food and drinks. The man from the meeting in Mexico, Bishop, was talking with a group of Jenny's friends from New York. “Deb, look who it is.”
His wife didn't miss a beat. “Oh, how lovely he could make it.” She excused herself from the group and they moved toward Bishop.
The clandestine operative broke from his own conversation and met them half way.
“What a surprise to see you here,” said Deb as she offered her hand.
Bishop shook both their hands. “Deborah, you look stunning. TJ, good to see you again. I apologize for the intrusion, but our people got wind of a plan for Barbosa’s people to target the wedding. We wanted to make sure that nothing happened.”
TJ's eyes scanned the surrounding forest and he contemplated making a beeline for the gun cabinet in the cabin.
“There's no need to be alarmed,” he added. “The key threats have been neutralized. We just wanted to make sure there were no residual elements in play.” Bishop took a flash drive from his suit and handed it to Deb. “There are details of his known associates included with his jackpot card.”
Deb shook Bishop's hand. “We owe you guys a debt of gratitude. Tell Vance he will always have a friend inside the Agency.”
“Appreciated.”
“Who invited this clown?” Mike appeared with Ali, Junior and Axe. The SEAL and his wife both wore carefree smiles. Junior greeted Deb and TJ with squeals of delight as Deb lifted him from the ground.
“Hello handsome,” she said as Mike shook hands with Bishop and introduced him to Ali.
The boy wrapped his arms around her neck. “Hello Aunty Deb.”
TJ bent and stroked Axe’s ears as his wife cuddled the toddler. He rose when a waiter brought a tray of drinks to the group and Ernie and his wife joined them. Behind them he spotted Rick and Jenny. Accepting a flute of champagne he waited for the couple to arrive. “Ladies and gentlemen, a toast.”
The others followed suit.
“To the newlyweds.”
They echoed the toast and everyone sipped. Then Rick raised his own glass. “Most importantly, to Axe. The best damn dog I’ve ever met.”
“Axe, Axe, Axe,” chanted Junior as the adults raised their glasses then drank.
“So, Mike,” said Bishop. “Any chance Axe has a girlfriend? Because if he ever sires pups I want one.”
“Me too,” said Ernie.
“Amen to that,” said Rick.
“I don’t think you’d have any problems homing them,” said Jenny. “We’d take two.”
Mike glanced down at Axe. “Seems only fair that we find him a lady, I mean, he helped me get mine.”
“Me too,” said Rick.
“Same here,” said TJ as he leaned across and kissed his wife on the cheek.
“What do you think, bud?” Mike asked his loyal friend. “You ready to be a dad?”
Axe let out a bark, rose up on his rear legs and placed his paws on the barrel.
“Looks like he’s interested,” Ali said with a laugh. “And I just happen to know a very available and very beautiful Alsatian.”
“Hang on,” said Ernie. “Does this mean we’re going to have to run a canine girlfriend selection course?”
THE END
AUTHOR’S FINAL WORDS
Well, that concludes the SEAL trilogy. I hope you have all enjoyed the journey as much as I have. Is this the end of Jack Silkstone’s foray into lighthearted romance? Considering the overwhelmingly positive feedback I’ve had for this series, probably not. However, I do need to get back to the PRIMAL series, as I owe the fans book #10 before the close of 2018.
If you truly enjoyed the SEAL series please consider signing up to my email list here so I can let you know when I get back to romance. Or, if you enjoyed my style you might consider giving PRIMAL a read. The series is filled with characters not unlike Mike, Ali and the rest of your favorites. It also expands on Bishop and the organization he works for. I’ve included the first couple of chapters from book 1, PRIMAL Origin to give you a taste.
Enjoy,
JS
EXCERPT FROM PRIMAL ORIGIN
CHAPTER 1
ABU DHABI, 2004
The US Embassy in Abu Dhabi didn’t impress Vance. Like so many other buildings in the Emirates, it was a monstrosity of steel and glass, chilled to almost arctic temperatures by an army of air conditioners. A CIA paramilitary officer, the solidly built African American wasn’t bothered by the heat of the Arabian Gulf. He’d been in the country for over a month and was fully acclimatized. So much so, he was shivering as he waited for an audience with the ambassador.
“They always have it up too high,” the secretary said.
Vance attempted a smile. “Yeah, it keeps the penguins working.”
The pretty blonde laughed and returned her attention to her computer.
He scanned the room again. It was lavishly furnished, some new vogue designer’s attempt to give it some warmth. The marble floor wa
s laid with ornamental Persian rugs. Expensive paintings graced the walls on either side of a pair of solid mahogany doors that barred entry into the ambassador’s office. It was nothing like the rough compound he’d called home for the past five weeks.
Vance and his offsider, a former Marine known as Ice, were working with a World Health Organization team in an industrial sector of the desert city. They had established a health clinic to support thousands of the city’s impoverished workers. In a US Government–sponsored initiative, the team was currently checking for any signs of a superflu pandemic.
From Vance’s perspective, the WHO team was providing cover for the CIA to track down a terrorist group. In the last month, a spate of suicide attacks had rocked the Gulf States, targeting Western expatriates and government officials. CIA analysts had assessed that the attacks were linked to the recent US invasion of Iraq. However, one of the suicide bombers had been identified as Bangladeshi, recruited from the UAE’s immigrant workforce.
Vance and Ice had been sent to Abu Dhabi to track down the recruiters and follow the link back to the terrorist command structure. So far the few leads they’d uncovered had been dead ends. Despite this, Vance’s experience and gut instinct told him they were hunting in the right place.
A buzzer sounded on the secretary’s desk. “Sir, the ambassador will see you now.” She rose and walked across to open the solid wooden doors.
Vance extracted his muscular frame from the sofa and followed her into the ambassador’s office. The opulence of the waiting area was magnified tenfold in the huge room. Tall, blast-proof, tinted windows reduced the sun’s glare but allowed a sweeping view of the malls, hotels, and high-rises that had sprouted from the oil-rich sands of Abu Dhabi. This was the office of a man at home with wealth and power.
Howard D. Beecroft sat behind his antique desk and examined Vance with a critical eye. He noted with scorn the dusty boots, grubby khaki cargo pants, and faded blue shirt. His gaze lingered on the weathered features of the CIA veteran.
Signed SEAL'd and Delivered Page 10
