by Ethan Jones
Justin nodded again. A Polish Air Force Tu-154 airliner crashed near Smolensk, Russia in 2010. Ninety-six people lost their lives, including Poland’s then-president, ten generals and admirals, and eighteen members of parliament. Official investigations by Poland and Russia found that pilot error in the thick fog was to blame for the accident. Still, many people in Poland believed it was a planned assassination. Polish politicians, including a defense minister, without ever offering any concrete evidence, claimed the Russians had caused the disaster, through an onboard explosion.
The Russians had been less than cooperative with Poland in investigating the accident. Reportedly, NATO classified communication protocols were stolen from the corpses of Polish generals. The Kremlin was careless in returning the victim’s remains, which caused many to ask what else the Russians mishandled or didn’t investigate.
Moretti said, “Anyway, it doesn’t really matter, since the Yars missile is destroyed, and the crash never happened.” He closed the red folder and returned it to its drawer. He then pulled another folder, of a green color.
Justin shifted in his seat. He felt a wave of excitement going through him, and a smile formed on his face. The new folder contained their next operation.
Moretti said, “This is your new assignment. You’ll be working together.” He gestured at Justin and Carrie, then added, “And with the Americans.”
“The CIA?” Justin asked.
“Yes. One of their black sites on the outskirts of Nouakchott, Mauritania was attacked three nights ago. Two high-value detainees, leaders of a terrorist group with strong ties to al-Qaeda and what remains of ISIS, disappeared.”
Justin looked at the folder, but Moretti hadn’t slid it across his desk yet.
Carrie said, “Why does the CIA need us?”
“They don’t need us. They’ve asked unofficially for our assistance and with a certain amount of embarrassment. Two of their operatives, who were at the black site at the time of the attack, have also vanished. Conflicting reports are coming in, and the operatives’ fate, along with the detainees’, is unclear.”
Justin nodded. “So the CIA doesn’t know who they can trust?”
“Yes, among their ranks. And their assets in Mauritania and the rest of West Africa are scarce. Carrie’s been there, along with the French foreign intel operatives. The CIA will provide logistics and one of their best field operatives to assist in this mission.”
“Who is he?”
Moretti placed the folder on the desk and pushed it toward Justin. “It’s all in there. Study it, and get ready to leave right away.”
Justin picked up the folder, but didn’t open it. “We’ll do that, sir,” he said in a firm voice. “We’ll find out what happened to the detainees and to the Americans. And we’ll bring them home.”
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BOOKS BY ETHAN JONES
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Justin Hall Spy Thriller Series
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The Javin Pierce Box Set
Books 1-3
The first three thrillers in the best-selling series: The Corrector, Betrayal , and Closure .
________________________________________
The Corrector
When covert operations go wrong, the CIS sends in . . . The Corrector.
After a botched retrieval operation, Javin Pierce is sent in to complete the mission where others failed. But, before even getting started, Javin and his less-than-trusted partner, Claudia, must deal with a devious terrorist plot. Their search leads them to a flash drive containing scandals that could topple world governments and plunge Europe into absolute chaos if they do not retrieve it in time.
How will The Corrector fix this disastrous mission? Uncertain if they can even trust each other and unprepared for the shocking truth that could cost their lives, Javin and Claudia must stop the treasonous plot, retrieve the elusive drive, and save themselves and the entire European continent, all without leaving a trace . . .
________________________________________
Betrayal
A hero, sent out as a mark. Who’s behind the betrayal?
Spy Master Javin wants to eliminate two terrorist masterminds, but he's not the only one looking for them. When the mission suspiciously goes awry, his team is forced into a dubious alliance with Mossad and the infamous Iranian Islamic Revolutionary Guard.
Pursuing the terrorists deep into hostile Saudi Arabia, they not only discover an assassination plot that could topple the Saudi kingdom, but also suspect a traitor has infiltrated their team. Who is behind this betrayal? With suspicions high and time short, can Javin and Claudia unmask the traitor and stop the assassination plot before the Middle East is plunged into an all-out war?
________________________________________
Closure
Covert operative Javin Pierce will avenge his betrayal or die trying . . .
Wounded, off the grid, and needing to rescue his partner from a Saudi jail ... Javin Pierce wants to settle the score with the traitor who double-crossed him. With time short and options few, Javin strikes a shaky deal with sworn enemies. But before long, alliances crumble, and Javin's rogue team is surrounded on every side. Now, desperate to rescue his partner and exact retribution with no one to trust, can Javin survive the deadliest mission of his life?
This bestselling series has hundreds of five-star reviews and thousands of sales and downloads. An impossible-to-put-down, adrenaline-filled adventure, that will leave you breathless. Confirming Ethan Jones’ place as a spy fiction master. If you are ready to purchase click here:
Preview the first six chapters of The Corrector
from the bestselling Javin Pierce series .
Chapter One
Military Base #9341
Vorë, 17 km northwest of Tirana
Albania
Javin Pierce stared down the barrel of the Makarov PM pistol inches away from his face. This was not the first time the covert operative had looked at the business end of a gun. It was definitely not going to be the last time. He could wrestle the pistol away from the cocky colonel and wipe the smirk off his face in a split second. Before he could ask “ What happened?” the officer would be lying on the floor with a broken jaw. Or worse, a
broken neck, depending on Javin’s operational objective.
He drew in a deep breath and shrugged. His cover was that of a lost tourist, who had ventured by mistake inside the military base. When the patrol had apprehended him—as per Javin’s plan—he had feigned panic and had tried to justify his presence. “ I got lost officer, I just . . . I took the wrong turn and . . . yes; I ended up inside the base. Sorry. Very sorry.”
As expected, the patrol did not buy his excuse. They had thrown him in an old UAZ-469—the Communist answer to the American Jeep, which the Albanian army still used—and had brought him to the command post, deep inside the base. Javin had almost enjoyed a guided tour of the base facilities, one of the targets of his mission.
“Speak, before I blow your head off,” the colonel spat out his heavily accented words, saliva flying out of his mouth.
They were in a small, dimly lit interrogation room that reeked of mold and urine. Javin was sitting on a rickety wooden chair, with his elbows placed on a metal table bolted to the coarse cement floor. The colonel was standing to Javin’s right.
“I . . . I understand your frustration, sir,” Javin said in a low, weak voice. “As I told your patrol, I’m a photographer. I was taking pictures, and I got lost.”
He wanted to give the impression of submissiveness, mixed with a healthy dose of fear. He had no illusions the colonel would let him go free. The middle-aged colonel was eyeing Javin like a snake preparing to devour a fat mouse.
It did not matter. Javin’s escape plan was already in place. All he had to do was wait for the phone call. Javin had lost track of time when the officers had stripped him of all his valuables—camera, cellphone, wristwatch—suspecting he was a spy, which he was. Now, if he could hold on and avoid a good beating, he was more than happy to do so.
The colonel held the pistol tight in his hands. “You’re telling me you didn’t see the signs warning you to stay away from the base?”
Javin shook his head. “No, I didn’t. I’m sorry.”
“You just decided to go through the fence, right?”
“Yes, sir. There was a large gap, so . . . I . . . I thought this was a farmer’s field that would lead me to the top of the hill. As you can see from the photos in my camera, I was trying to get a good shot of the full moon behind the olive groves.”
“I don’t believe you.” The colonel shook his large bald head. “You’re lying to me.”
“Why would I do that, sir?”
“Because you’re not a photographer. You’re a spy. You’ve come here to take pictures of the base.”
Javin frowned, then ran his fingers through his neck-length brown hair. “Your officers searched my camera. They found nothing of that sort. Only pictures of landscape and animals. That’s because I’m a freelance photographer.”
Javin had already emailed the pictures he had taken of the weapons cache. His camera was equipped with an encrypted wireless connection that erased all traces of any activity at the tap of a button. Albania had become the preferred smuggling route for channeling weapons from the Balkan wars and the Kosovo conflict to the Middle East and North Africa. The condemning evidence of the base’s involvement in trafficking weapons to fuel the wars in Syria and Iraq was already safely stored in the servers of the Canadian Intelligence Service, Javin’s employer.
The colonel lowered his Makarov just an inch. He cursed Javin, then he said, “That’s because you deleted those pictures when you were caught.”
Javin cocked his head. “Why would I take pictures and then delete them? When your officers detained me, they called at me to freeze. I did so. I had no chance to get to my camera. Ask them, if you don’t believe me.”
“I’ve asked them already. You knew you were going to get caught, so you deleted them.”
Javin nodded. “Okay, so if that is true, then let me go. I made a mistake, a small, honest mistake of trespassing. My deepest, sincerest apologies—”
“You’re a smooth talker, but it’s not going to get you out of this mess.” The colonel moved his pistol away from Javin’s face and holstered it. “Let’s start again.” He walked back to his chair and sat across from Javin. “What were you doing in my military base?”
Javin shook his head and tightened his hands into fists. He disliked this part about his role as a corrector. Acting like an animal caught in a trap, showing fear, submissiveness, weakness. Javin was dispatched when covert operations went sideways. His objective was to correct things, to bring them back to their original state, or at least, as close as possible to that state. This was the part he loved, and he was extraordinarily good at it. Sneaking in and out of the country, leaving no traces, or misleading the people looking for him.
In this specific case, the pair of agents assigned the task of gathering the evidence had been detected while they were still in action. The botched operation had almost cost their lives. They were forced to abort the mission, leaving behind a few wounded Albanian soldiers and a long trail of suspicions.
Then the CIS had sent in Javin.
“Come on, I’m waiting here,” the colonel said.
Javin nodded and mustered a smile. “Sure, let me tell you again what happened.”
Before he could say another word, the colonel’s cellphone rang. He pulled it out of the front pocket of his khaki green jacket and glanced at the screen. The colonel gave Javin a puzzled gaze, blinked in surprise, and answered the call: “Yes, commander.”
Javin stifled a small smile. It had to be the call he was waiting for.
The colonel listened for a moment as a dark frown began to spread across his broad forehead. “No, no, of course, no, we haven’t laid a hand on him. He’s . . . yes, he’s here.” He listened for another moment, then stood up and walked toward the door. “Yes. But . . . eh, sir, do you think that is—”
Javin nodded to himself. Considering how the colonel is squirming, it had to be my guy.
The colonel shook his head. “I . . . I understand, sir. Yes, we’ll wait for you.” He ended the call, then cursed the commander. He made an angry gesture with his fist, then turned around. “How does my commander know about you?”
Javin offered a blank look. “I . . . that was your commander?”
“Yes, and he ordered me to refrain from laying a hand on you. How does he know you are here?”
Javin shrugged. “I don’t know. One of the officers must have—”
“And why does he care about you, if you’re a simple, lost tourist?”
“The commander is probably thinking of the big picture. Tourism dollars are very important for Albania. Once the story gets out that a tourist has been detained illegally and without any evidence, the country’s image will be—”
“The commander has never cared about tourists or the economy, only how to stuff his own pockets. Why the sudden interest in you?”
Javin shook his head. “I’m as puzzled as you are, sir.”
The colonel held Javin’s brown eyes, then searched his face. The piercing look seemed to search Javin’s thoughts. A moment later, the colonel shrugged. “Well, whatever this is, I don’t like it.” He slammed his fist on the table, then turned around and pounded hard on the door. When one of the officers opened it, the colonel stormed out.
Javin drew in a deep sigh of relief. A few minutes, and I’ll be out of here. I have enough evidence, and we’ll stop at least this part of the traffic.
He nodded and his lips formed a small smile. He rubbed his chin. Yes, this part of the op is done, but my assignment is far from over.
Chapter Two
Military Base #9341
Vorë, 17 km northwest of Tirana
Albania
Forty-five minutes later, the small door of the interrogation room was thrown open. Commander Pandi Gogollari entered the room, followed by the colonel, who was still fuming. Gogollari had a relaxed look. He was in his early forties—ten years older than Javin, who had just turned thirty-one the previous month—and nowhere close to Javin’s excel
lent physique, which was thanks to the corrector’s strict, almost religious-like regiment of hour-long workouts every other day. Gogollari’s bulging belly and receding hairline, along with the weather-beaten face, made him look much older.
He stepped closer to the table and extended his hand to Javin.
He stood up and gave the commander a strong handshake. “I’m deeply sorry about your treatment, Mr. Pierce. My country is known for its deep-rooted hospitality. This is by no means a way to treat a guest of my country,” he said in slightly accented English, in a voice full of sincere regret.
Javin nodded and smiled at Gogollari. Then Javin glanced at the colonel. “It’s okay. A misunderstanding. I’m glad it’s all cleared up.”
“Well, not exactly.” Gogollari stepped to the side. “The colonel believes you are a spy. Is there any merit to that claim?”
Javin glanced at the colonel, then at Gogollari. “I’m sorry, sir. I am not a spy. I just take pictures, and that’s . . . that’s all.”
Gogollari looked at the colonel, who was shaking his head. “Without any evidence, we can’t hold a foreigner, a citizen of a friendly and allied country. We love Canada, Mr. Pierce, so my apologies for this inconvenience. I will personally drive you to your hotel.”
Javin shook his head. “That’s greatly appreciated, but unnecessary.”
“I insist. A goodwill gesture, to make up for your troubles.”
Javin nodded. “Since you insist . . .”
“Good, are you ready to go?”
“I am, but I will need my belongings.”
