Green File Crime Thrillers Box Set

by James Kipling

  “My payment covers a full month of expected work. You’ll receive your money’s worth,” Dr. Ellison assured Lionel. “Ms. Chavanne is on duty, and your two guards are right outside the door. This woman is in good hands.”

  Lionel knew Dr. Ellison was suggesting he leave the room.

  “I do need sleep,” he responded, his voice firm. “I’ll be in room 12B.”

  Dr. Ellison nodded his head. Lionel was far from London. The secret basement was below a building disguised as a Ukrainian office building, located in Kiev. The building was a simple two-story structure that had no magnificent architectural significance attached to it. To the public eye, the building was simply a run-down structure that housed businesses which were of very little interest to anyone; legitimate businesses that were fully staffed by R.O.G.U.E agents. Kiev was the main HQ that Boris Petrov had chosen. Lionel wasn’t overly fond of Kiev. He secretly harbored a worry that Boris Petrov’s attitude, which at times was somewhat arrogant and prideful, might become a problem that would eventually have to be dealt with. For the time being, though, Wendy appeared to be safe, and he needed rest.

  “Room 12B,” he told Dr. Ellison. He glanced down at Wendy and then left the room. Why am I still in love with that woman? he thought in agony, as he paused before two men wearing black suits. Both men were holding assault rifles. “No one enters this room except for Mr. Petrov, myself, Dr. Ellison and Ms. Chavanne.”

  One of the men snapped to attention. He was a new recruit who appeared anxious to impress. “Yes, Sir.”

  Lionel eyed the new recruit with weary eyes. The recruit didn’t appear old enough to shave. His face was hard, but his eyes were soft. Too soft. The second man, who had been assigned guard duty at random, had at least ten years on the new recruit. He appeared seasoned and prepared to strike without question.

  “I want constant logs on all activity as well.”

  “Lionel,” the seasoned agent working guard duty said in a respectful but stern, Australian accent, “with all due respect, mate, we know how to do our job.”

  “Roger Alden is a dangerous man, Mic,” Lionel explained, as he glanced up and down a long, gray hallway with countless doors. “I killed one of Alden’s men. He won’t take that insult lightly. And secondly,” Lionel pointed out in a stern tone, “we have Wendy Cratterson. At this point, Mic, we are uncertain what information Wendy Cratterson possesses.” Lionel locked his eyes on the new recruit. “I don’t know you. I don’t trust you. And I don’t like you. I’ve known Mic for sixteen years.”

  “But you still don’t trust me, mate,” Mic grinned.

  “Do you trust me?” Lionel asked.

  “Not on your life, mate,” Mic grinned again, and then nudged the new recruit with his right elbow. “I wouldn’t trust this guy to watch a spitting cobra, eh?” he laughed. The new recruit didn’t know how to respond. Mic was on guard duty because he had run his mouth to Mr. Petrov. It seemed he didn’t mind running his mouth to Mr. Petrov’s second in command, either. “Lighten up, mate, it’s all in fun.”

  Lionel studied the hallway for a second time. “Mic is one of our best agents,” he told the new recruit in a careful voice. “Mic has accomplished numerous assignments that have promoted our position. Respect his experience but avoid his mouth.”

  Mic threw a pleased grin at Lionel. “Spoken like a true friend.”

  “Mic,” he stated in a serious tone that forced the smart-mouthed Australian to pay attention, “The American news is no good. Roger Alden is... I’ve never seen him rise to this level of aggression before.”

  “I know, mate,” Mic said, focusing on the matter at hand. “Mr. Petrov is worried. Usually he takes my mouth, but yesterday he put me on thirty days of guard duty. He’s worried, mate.”

  “So am I,” Lionel confessed. “Wendy Cratterson is a very important piece of the puzzle.”

  The new recruit stared at Lionel’s handsome, intelligent face, a man that had killed numerous men, as his mind struggled to think of something profound to say. Being a twenty-year-old Canadian who had stolen vital secrets and, as a result, had been forced to turn to Mr. Petrov was no walk in the park. Not one single agent trusted or even spoke to him, for that matter.

  No…being a new recruit and working for Boris Petrov was the pits. But at least he was alive. Alive to live another day, right? Well, that depended on whose team you were on. And as the new recruit stared at Lionel, his mind began to wonder if switching over to Roger Alden’s team might not be such a bad idea.

  “We’ll guard her very carefully, Sir.”

  There was something about the new recruit that Lionel didn’t like. He sensed a sour spot in the young man’s mind that worried his gut.

  “Your name is Steve Lastmore, right?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “You worked for the Canadian Security Defense Agency,” Lionel continued. “You sent stolen files to the Russian Government.”

  “I...yes, sir. I felt my allegiance lay elsewhere.”

  Boris Petrov always had a weak spot for young traitors, a weak spot that never sat well with Lionel. Young men like Steve Lastmore, in the eyes of Boris Petrov, were ripe for the picking. In some respects, Lionel agreed with Boris. Many young men and women, who had been hand-picked by Boris for the same actions of which Steve was guilty, had been transformed into exceptional agents. Not all, though.

  Four of the apples became very sour and created deadly, vicious issues for Boris Petrov that Lionel had to personally tend to with bullets. Lionel knew that Steve Lastmore might receive one of his bullets.

  “I warned Mr. Petrov against you.” Lionel narrowed his eyes. “I’m watching you.” With those words, Lionel took a hard right and walked down an empty hallway.

  Steve Lastmore watched Lionel vanish into the shadows with bitter eyes. Yes, while it was true that he didn’t have the guts to kill anyone, his fingertips were far more capable of creating destruction.

  “I—” he began to speak to Mic.

  Mic held up his left hand. “Mate,” he said in a voice that was no longer friendly, “the man you just spoke to is the best in the business...and the deadliest. I won’t even step into his path. You would be smart to keep your mouth shut and do as your told.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Steve replied, glancing down at the assault rifle in his hands while thinking about Roger Alden. Steve was fully aware of the events taking place in America. The Canadian government was in a panic. Well, the entire United Nations was in a panic, for that matter; at least, according to a source Steve knew who worked at the U.N. The Russians and the Chinese, both on high alert, were buzzing around like angry hornets.

  Russian troops, naval ships and combat war planes were being called away from Syria and rerouted back to Russia. The Chinese Navy, growing weary of playing tit-for-tat with the American navy in the South China Sea, had ordered all foreign naval ships into an uncomfortable position that, had it not been for President Green, would have caused a direct naval conflict at sea.

  President Green was ordering the entire American military to stand down momentarily, in order to show good will instead of open aggression to prevent a brutal war from starting. Of course, the American media was attacking the President for activating intelligent diplomatic channels to ensure peace, rather than go toe-to-toe with two countries who were prepared emotionally and mentally for war. While America had become an embarrassment to the world, allowing liberals to turn a once powerful nation into a laughingstock, and producing nothing but weak snowflakes who the Russian and Chinese military laughed at, the Russians and the Chinese had been training their people for war. They were creating a united mindset among their citizens, composed of unselfish duty and unrestrained readiness.

  While the American landscape was falling victim to people who were offended at every possible element, including something so silly as a children’s show titled ‘Thomas The Tank Engine’ and ‘Veggie Tales’, some real tough guys were preparing to pounce.
And to make matters even worse for the Americans, the last President had drained the American Military of capable leaders, decreased the defense budget, and applied stricter recruiting requirements—among other disastrous policies—that forced over forty percent of new recruits to be turned away. The American military was currently in horrible condition and in no shape to fight two major world powers. And the American people—well, the snowflakes who were quickly taking over the population—were in no shape to stand toe-to-toe with a Russian or Chinese soldier who would slit their throat instead of walking them to some stupid ‘Safe Zone’. President Green fully understood this. The American people did not, and the media was using their ignorance to blast President Green for being a ‘traitor and coward’.

  Maybe I am playing for the wrong team, Steve thought, as Mic stationed himself back into position. Maybe I will give Mr. Alden a call.

  Lionel didn’t hear Steve’s personal thoughts. If he had, Steve would have been immediately shot dead. Instead, Lionel walked into a depressing gray room that held a single twin bed covered with a brown blanket, a sink, a desk and a sitting chair. The room, designed as nothing more than a room to rest, was enough to take the best out of a sleep deprived soldier who had been forced to remain awake for seventy-two hours. Boris Petrov was not the type of man to waste funds on cozy, feel-good furnishings designed with butterflies and roses.

  Boris, although sometimes dangerously arrogant, knew the game and was aware of the risk. He appropriated all finances in a proper manner and focusing on payroll and weapons. Keeping agents like Mic happy was vital and keeping a well-stocked arsenal was just as vital. Boris had countless agents to pay—field agents, scientist, doctors—that were skilled in a variety of fields, including virology, researchers, and intelligence officers. He had men and women trained in computer engineering, a field Wendy would most likely be assigned to, and numerous other agents assigned to different fields of operation. Spending money to transform a depressing room into a Five Star Hotel was not a top priority.

  “Alright, Wendy, you’re safe for now,” Lionel spoke into the empty room, as he walked over to the bed and sat down. “Roger Alden will not give up the search. He’s aware that you are an ‘R.O.G.U.E’ agent by now.” Lionel ran this hands through his hair, which was usually neatly combed. “Right now, Alden will be more focused on what he’s doing back in America. Whatever he’s doing, we have to stop it.” Lionel closed his eyes and fell silent, as his mind searched for the face of President Edwin Green.

  Perhaps, he thought, President Green might benefit from some outside help. However, offering an American President assistance was not only foolish but also extremely deadly. Boris Petrov issued the orders and a man would kill, on the spot, anyone who even dared to offer President Green help, including Lionel. Boris considered President Green a vicious enemy that had been put into place as a puppet, even though the ‘establishment’ was pretending to despise the man.

  “Alden is a dangerous man, Boris,” Lionel whispered, “we’re at a very high alert level. The playing field has changed overnight. I may have to offer President Green my assistance after I find out what information is sleeping inside of Wendy’s mind.”

  Lionel lay back on the bed, placed his hands behind his head, closed his weary eyes, and drifted off into a troubled sleep filled with ugly dreams.

  ((((((((((*))))))))))

  Roadblocks.

  Roadblocks were a problem. General Garcia was fully aware of this problem. Unfortunately, the ELE Satellite was under attack and currently down. The MET satellite was also under attack. Roger Alden was increasing his attacks, now that the mainstream media had nearly decimated President Green by turning the American people against him. It was only a matter of time before people began marching on Washington. Small protests had already begun across the nation, protests designed to condition American minds. General Garcia would worry about the protests later. Right now, he had to figure out a way to help Jacob get to Pennsylvania.

  “Safe house—”

  “No way,” Jacob objected, sitting in a snow-covered van, parked behind a closed warehouse that bums used to drink in. “I wasn’t exactly keen on depending on the safe house to begin with. Even though we have a decoy safe house, General Roger Alden could very well locate the real safe house.”

  “I’m afraid he already has,” General Garcia informed Jacob in a miserable voice. “Our people have reported suspicious movement in the proximity of the safe house.”

  General Garcia lifted his eyes and studied the worried face of Admiral Stephen Meltzer. Admiral Meltzer, one of the few brave soldiers who had survived the vicious attacks carried out by the last president, slowly folded his arms over a pressed uniform shining with medals. “Jacob, our people are on high alert working strenuous hours. At the moment, our hands are tied. The ELE and the MET satellites are both under attack. We’re operating blind right now. All we have are two functioning Earth View satellites that we have commandeered from Space Technologies. We have one of the satellites focused on Roger Alden’s location, and the second assigned to President Green.”

  Jessica, who was standing outside of the van, staring into a heavy snow, wasn’t worrying about satellites or even that she had been transformed into a ‘terrorist’. Her mind was focused on the man she had shot dead. The man, according the news, had been a brave American citizen who had decided to come to the aide of an injured police officer. The media had a difficult time excluding the actual facts about the so-called ‘brave citizen’.

  “I shot him. I killed that man,” she whispered in a shaky voice into a snow-covered cell phone. “Pastor, I killed that poor man.”

  Tom could hear tears falling from Jessica’s eyes. “Mrs. Mayes, I would like to help you and—”

  “I don’t know what happened,” Jessica told Tom, not hearing the worried man speaking to her. “I...my husband...I became so angry...and then I began pulling the trigger.”

  Alvin listened to Jessica speaking to some Pastor, as he worked on a cigarette with nervous hands. Man, not only was he a celebrity in Memphis, but now his face was plastered all over America. The world. Whatever hope Alvin was secretly carrying for a future, which was zero hope, had been destroyed within the span of forty-eight hours. And now he was leaning against a run-down van that was parked behind some crummy warehouse filled with broken liquor bottles and littered with cigarette butts, misery, and failure. A great ending to the perfect life.

  “Perfect life. That’s a laugh,” Alvin complained under his breath, as he blew cigarette smoke out of his nostrils. “Might as well dig my own grave and jump into it.”

  “Stop it,” Mandy snapped at Alvin. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

  Alvin lowered his eyes, studied the snow-soaked woman sitting in a lousy wheelchair, and shook his head.

  “I’m not feeling sorry for myself. I just know the score,” he snapped back. “My face, all of our faces, is plastered everywhere. We’re stars!” Alvin threw his cigarette down into ankle deep snow. “I’m dead no matter where I go. Memphis, Moscow, London, dead all the way around.”

  Mandy wasn’t in the mood to hear Alvin complain. She wasn’t in the mood for anything. “Look, keep your thoughts to yourself, okay,” she barked, and then immediately felt guilty. Alvin had, after all, offered his assistance, and proved to be a true friend to Jacob. And, Mandy reminded herself, it was because Jacob had contacted Alvin for help that the man had become a marked target. “I’m sorry, Alvin. I guess my mouth got ahead of my mind. I didn’t mean to--”

  “It’s okay,” Alvin cut Mandy off, in a tone that told Mandy he understood. “We’re all on edge.” Alvin tossed a thumb at Jessica. “I’m not so sure allowing your sister to call her Pastor Friend was very smart.”

  “Alvin, my sister is, and has always been, extremely cautious with her trust,” Mandy explained, as heavy snow fell down onto her cold body. “Jessie has never been big on handing out her trust on a platter.” Mandy glan
ced over at Jessica, who was standing near the hood of the van. Jessica was standing very still and eerily quiet. “My sister insisted that she could trust Pastor Tom Braston. I... at this point, what have we got to lose?”

  “Our lives,” Alvin commented, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out another cigarette. “Believe it or not,” he told Mandy, as he lit the cigarette with a damp match and glanced around at a shadowy wood line flooded with snow, “I’m not exactly ready to die yet, you know?”

  Mandy searched Alvin’s face. “Jacob said you could change anyone...give anyone a new appearance.”

  “I can,” Alvin nodded his head as he took a deep draw. “But you better know that no matter how good I might be, I’m not good enough to hide us from every media outlet; social media, newspaper, magazine. No ma’am, doesn’t matter if I change a fish into an elephant, we won’t be able to hide from the world.” Alvin tossed a thumb back at the crummy warehouse. “Places such as this will become our new home,” he continued in a sick voice. “You see, we have fingerprints, and fingerprints are poison. Our names, faces, lives, are stored in a secured data base, attached directly to our fingerprints that were stolen from us the day we were born and...” Alvin shut his lips and grew quiet. What was the point in explaining the obvious?

  “You talk like we’re defeated,” Mandy told Alvin in a shattered voice. “There must be hope. I...I have to continue trusting in the Lord. I have to keep my faith and know that the Lord will bring us through this.”

  “Yeah?” Alvin asked and lowered his eyes to find Mandy’s distraught face. “Look, I’m not big on faith, okay. A man has to be able to depend on himself.”

  “Tell that to Daniel when he was thrown into the lions’ den or Noah when the world was flooded,” Mandy told Alvin, surprised to hear her voice closing in on tears. “Tell that to Lot when Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed, to David when Saul wanted him dead when he faced a giant with nothing but a slingshot. Tell that to Gideon, to Joshua when he marched around the walls of Jericho—”