by Brad Taylor
ALSO BY BRAD TAYLOR
One Rough Man
All Necessary Force
Enemy of Mine
The Widow’s Strike
The Polaris Protocol
Days of Rage
No Fortunate Son
The Insider Threat
The Forgotten Soldier
Ghosts of War
Ring of Fire
Operator Down
Daughter of War
OTHER TASKFORCE STORIES
The Callsign
Gut Instinct
Black Flag
The Dig
The Recruit
The Target
The Infiltrator
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
penguinrandomhouse.com
Copyright © 2018 by Brad Taylor
Excerpt from Daughter of War copyright © 2019 by Brad Taylor
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
DUTTON and the D colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
ISBN 9781524745394
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Version_1
CONTENTS
Also by Brad Taylor
Title Page
Copyright
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
About the Author
Excerpt from Daughter of War
Dear Reader,
When my first novel, One Rough Man, was released, I caught a lot of flak over the ending because Pike asks Jennifer to help him find the temple her uncle had given his life trying to locate. Several reviewers basically said, “Taylor clearly sets up the next in the series without any intrigue whatsoever.” In truth, by the time One Rough Man was published, I was halfway through All Necessary Force, and the search for the temple was nowhere to be found, having occurred off the page. I had no intention of writing that as a second novel and just liked ending One Rough Man in the way I did. Since then, I’ve been asked on multiple occasions what Pike and Jennifer had done to find the temple—and so here it is, eight years later. I hope you enjoy!
Best regards,
Brad Taylor
Chapter 1
Guatemala City, Guatemala
Spring 2011
Pedro Martinez peered through the smoke filling the makeshift workers’ bar, trying to penetrate the fog to spot his friend’s arrival. Or his enemies. He didn’t know what they looked like, but he knew his actions would bring them if they discovered what he was doing, both inside the government and out. The ones outside were whom he truly worried about. The government simply followed the money. Even if they pulled the trigger, the money did the killing.
He saw the door open, and a man appeared in the gloom. He walked through the smoke, and Pedro thought he recognized his friend. The new arrival approached the bar, then simply leaned against it, glancing around. Pedro stood and waved, and the patron began moving toward him. When the man finally came close enough for Pedro to penetrate the haze, he recognized his friend’s face, the forehead and upper lip glistening in a sheen of sweat that was much greater than the heat the bar extracted.
Pedro pointed to a seat and said, “Did you get it?”
The man glanced left and right, refusing to answer. Pedro said, “Rafael, did you get it?”
Rafael focused on Pedro and said, “Yes. I found it, and you were right. But I don’t think I want to give it to you. This is very dangerous.”
“Of course it’s dangerous. You knew that, but the dangerous part for you is over. Give it to me.”
“They will know. They will kill me. They will know.”
“Not if you did it right. Nobody will know until it’s too late. You go back to work tomorrow like nothing has happened. And I’ll stop what they’re doing. For both of our families. For all of the families they’re trampling.”
Rafael worked for a company called De Gaulle Solutions, a Canadian mining firm from Quebec that extracted gold and silver through open-pit mines. Over the course of years, the mining concerns had grown exponentially in Guatemala, the government enamored with the revenue, but the fallout had hit the villages near each of the mines exponentially. Rain forest devastated by the open sores of the mines, destroyed farming and grazing lands, and the toxic runoff all had begun to erode the small villages dotted throughout Guatemala. Then the villagers had begun to fight back, protesting more and more in a feeble attempt to get the government to listen to them. Why were their concerns less important than the mining companies who paid for the mineral rights?
Pedro knew the answer: because of the money.
Up until now, the government had been able to “prove” that what they were doing was for Guatemala’s greater good and that the complaints were from just a few disgruntled farmers. There wasn’t any rape of the land. It was all precisely controlled. And then there had been a rumor that De Gaulle Solutions was asking for a mining concession in the Maya Biosphere Reserve, the largest protected rain forest in Central America. A huge tract of land greater than the size of El Salvador, it was in the north of Guatemala and supposedly had ironclad safeguards.
But the money always spoke.
Rafael glanced around the room one more time, then pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He passed it across.
Pedro opened it, smoothed out the creases, and read an email from the head of De Gaulle’s Guatemalan branch to a deputy in the Guatemalan National Council of Protected Areas—the Consejo Nacional de Áreas Protegidas, or CONAP, in Spanish. Pedro scanned the letter and saw the details of a bribe if the government would approve a limited search for rare-earth metals in the protected lands of the biosphere. An area that was supposedly bulletproof secure from the rapacious beasts that had begun gobbling up Guatemala.
Pedro finished reading and smiled, saying, “Yes, yes, this is the proof we need. Perfect.”
Rafael said, “That’s not proof. It’s simply a piece of paper I printed off. Who’s to say you didn’t write it?”
“But you still have access to the computer servers, right? If we release this, the government will seize those computers, and it will be known worldwide.”
Rafael scoffed and said, “You are so naïve. All you’ve done is put both of us in danger.”
Pedr
o said, “If you believe that, why did you do it?”
Rafael didn’t answer. He said, “I must go.” He stood, and Pedro said, “You did well. Don’t worry. Go back to work tomorrow, and we’ll do the rest.”
Rafael nodded and rushed out of the bar.
Pedro waited a bit, then rose himself, leaving a few bills on the chipped Formica table. He waded through the castoffs of Guatemala City, passing dangerous men who would slit his throat without thinking if it meant a profit. They let him go without a second glance, because he clearly had nothing of value.
Not to them, that is.
He pushed open the plywood door, failing to notice a man who rose behind him. He stepped into the street and quickly circled around to an alley, not wanting anyone to see which way he left. He glanced back, seeing one man smoking a cigarette outside the entrance to the saloon. He began jogging past the trash piled in the alley, then tripped over something in the darkness, slamming into the pavement on his knees.
He looked behind him and made out a figure lying in the grime. He went to it and recognized Rafael, his head bent back, his throat split wide. He leapt to his feet and began backing up, one foot behind the other, until he bumped into another man.
He whirled around, and the man said, “You have something that belongs to us.”
Pedro turned to run back toward the bar and a hand wound into his hair, jerking his head back and exposing his throat.
He felt the lick of the blade, then nothing.
Chapter 2
Charleston, South Carolina
Spring 2011
The commencement speaker droned on about sacrifice and the noble pursuit of the greater good, and Jennifer Cahill found her mind drifting. Going back a year, when she’d seen sacrifice for the greater good in a literal sense, when blood had been shed. When she’d confronted risks much greater than the man on the stage had ever experienced.
Maybe Pike was right. Graduation ceremonies are a waste of time.
In her heart she didn’t believe it, simply because she’d worked too hard to be sitting in this chair. Older than most gathered in the shade of the oaks, she had needed three attempts to obtain her degree in anthropology, and there was just no way she’d miss walking across the stage, even if there was nobody in the audience to celebrate with her.
She thought of her uncle, a professor at the College of Charleston, where she had earned her degree, and the one relative who should have been smiling behind her. But he was dead. Murdered in Guatemala on a disastrous quest for a Mayan temple. He was gone, and she had no one else. She wished Pike had had the decency to show up. He knew how much this meant to her, but he’d refused, saying he had something more important to do. Something involving a real estate deal he had to close. Which was bullshit. He just found ceremonies like this exceedingly boring and was fishing for an excuse.
After her experiences with him in Bosnia, she could see why. Anything short of a roller coaster flying off the tracks would be boring to Pike Logan. Despite herself, she grinned, thinking about their experiences—“high adventure,” as Pike called it. She found herself wondering what he was doing right now.
In truth, she thought of him often—much more than she cared to admit—but he was an enigma. She thought he was attracted to her, but he seemed afraid to face that fact, spending his time coaxing her into the gym for a session of hand-to-hand training or driving her to a range to shoot weapons. Like he was petrified of leaving a world he controlled. Then again, she understood, in a sense. He’d lived through the loss of his family, and she knew it still bit deep. They were both damaged goods, and she gave him the space he needed, although he’d really been acting strangely the last couple of weeks. Asking her questions about her future after graduation and seeming to hang on her answers like it was life or death.
The first row of graduates stood up, the females in white dresses and the males in white dinner jackets, and she realized she’d zoned out for the entire speech. Before she knew it, she was across the stage and the ceremony was over. Graduates ran about, talking to friends or hugging family, and she felt a little lost. She was supposed to have graduated a year ago and had no friends at the school anymore to celebrate with. They’d all left while she’d been getting shot at in Bosnia.
She clutched her bouquet of roses and walked toward the exit of the College of Charleston courtyard known as the Cistern, dodging families and graduates, feeling alone, like an interloper at a party full of people who knew one another.
She heard her name called and jerked her head to the left, seeing her friend Skeeter at the edge of the crowd. A true friend who’d graduated the year before—when Jennifer should have. She broke into a smile and speed-walked to her.
They hugged, and Jennifer said, “What are you doing here? I thought you were in New York taking over the fashion industry.”
Skeeter was a small woman with outsize everything. Big breasts, big confidence, and big personality. Unlike Jennifer, when Skeeter entered a room at a party, she owned it whether she knew anyone or not.
Skeeter said, “Well, New York wasn’t ready for me. I’m back in town for the time being.”
“Where?”
She grimaced and said, “My parents’.” She saw Jennifer’s face and said, “Don’t say a word.”
Jennifer laughed and said, “I guess using that fashion design degree wasn’t as easy as you’d thought it would be.”
The exited the brick walls of the Cistern and Skeeter said, “Yeah, well, let’s see what that stupid anthropology degree gets you. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know, honestly. I’m like a dog that’s been chasing a car forever. Now that I’ve caught it, I don’t know what to do with it.”
Skeeter said, “That’s not what I meant. I don’t give a crap about your future career. I mean, what are you going to do to celebrate?”
Taken aback, Jennifer said, “I don’t have any plans. I don’t know anyone here anymore.”
“What about that Neanderthal you met? Where’s his sorry ass?”
Skeeter had met Pike exactly once, and it hadn’t been pleasant. But Skeeter hadn’t seen what Jennifer had in Bosnia. Jennifer said, “He’s working some real estate deal.”
“So he couldn’t even show up? I told you that guy was an asshole.”
Jennifer wound up to defend him, and Skeeter put her hand in the air, saying, “Stop. I’m parked across the street in the Phillip’s garage. Tonight’s on me. No more talk about him.”
Jennifer felt her phone vibrate and pulled it out, seeing a text from Pike. She was surprised at the thrill it brought.
Hey, you done there yet? I have a graduation present for you.
She smiled and said, “Speak of the devil.”
She texted back, Just finished. Where are you?
Red’s Ice House. I have a table and the dolphins are swimming. Meet me here.
She showed it to Skeeter, who said, “Really? Red’s? That’s where the Neanderthal wants to celebrate. How romantic.”
She swatted Skeeter’s arm and said, “He has a gift for me. And he’s not really big on the whole right thing to do expectation. Let’s go.”
Skeeter narrowed her eyes and said, “You sure about this guy?”
Unbidden, a memory of Pike willing to sacrifice his life so she could escape speared her thoughts. A hillside in Bosnia, a group of killers, and Pike standing between her and them. Knowing he was going to die. But he hadn’t—and because of his skill, neither had she.
She said, “Yeah, I’m sure. Come with me.”
Skeeter said, “You think he’ll mind?”
Jennifer typed, On the way, then said, “Well, he didn’t bother to show up here, so it serves him right.”
Chapter 3
I took a sip of my rum and coke and gave the stink-eye to the man-bun, flip-flop-wearing hipster who thought I was being e
vil for taking up a whole bar table by myself. Red’s Ice House was packed three deep at the bar, with everyone fighting for room. I had luckily secured a table on the water that sat six, but I was the only patron. I knew what he was thinking, but I had enough to worry about with Jennifer coming. I had spent a large personal fortune of both money and reputation to get this crazy scheme off the ground, and I’d lied to Kurt about Jennifer being on board.
But she would be, I was sure. Well, mostly.
I gazed out to the water of Shem Creek and saw the dolphins break the plane of the water again, drawing oohs and aahs from the crowd. The hipster approached and said, “Hey, dude, you mind if we sit with you?”
He gestured to three females behind him, all looking suitably sultry, as if that would get me to let them take my seat. I said, “Sorry. I’ve got a crew coming right now.”
He said, “If they aren’t here, then you can’t take the table.”
Which was enough to trip my very hair trigger for bullshit. I said, “You from around here?”
He said, “No, but that’s got nothing to do with it.” He apparently had no capability for reading danger, because I most certainly didn’t look like an ordinary beer-drinking boat guy. And then I saw why. He waved over his friend, a ginormous asshole with another man-bun and an earring. He looked like a pirate, which would have given him some street cred with me, since I was, in fact, a pirate. The guy leaned into my face and said, “Hey, dude, there’s no reason for you to take the whole table.”
Ordinarily, I’d have let the girls sit, because at heart, I am a gentleman, but this was a bit much. Who says “dude” in a conversation today? Was I missing something?
I said, “My girlfriend is coming and that’s why I’m holding the table. You understand.”
Okay, that’s a lie. Jennifer wasn’t my “girlfriend,” but maybe she might be. If I could prove I wasn’t an ass. Like I was about to become.
He said, “We’re going to sit here until she shows, got it?”
