Bruce Savage Thrillers The Ultimate Ebook Collection

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Table of Contents

Author's Note

About Bruce Savage

Books by Bruce Savage

Casualties of WAR

Quotes

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Three

Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Five

Chapter Thirty Six

Chapter Thirty Seven

Chapter Thirty Eight

Chapter Thirty Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty One

Chapter Forty Two

Chapter Forty Three

Chapter Forty Four

Chapter Forty Five

Chapter Forty Six

Chapter Forty Seven

Chapter Forty Eight

Chapter Forty Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty One

Chapter Fifty Two

Chapter Fifty Three

Chapter Fifty Four

Chapter Fifty Five

Chapter Fifty Six

Chapter Fifty Seven

Chapter Fifty Eight

Chapter Fifty Nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty One

Chapter Sixty Two

Chapter Sixty Three

Chapter Sixty Four

Chapter Sixty Five

Chapter Sixty Six

Know Your Enemy

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Three

Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Five

Chapter Thirty Six

Chapter Thirty Seven

Chapter Thirty Eight

Chapter Thirty Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty One

Chapter Forty Two

Russian Games

Quotes

Prologue

Part I My Empire

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Part II Enemies & Allies

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Three

Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Five

Chapter Thirty Six

Chapter Thirty Seven

Chapter Thirty Eight

Chapter Thirty Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty One

Chapter Forty Two

Chapter Forty Three

Chapter Forty Four

Chapter Forty Five

Chapter Forty Six

Chapter Forty Seven

Chapter Forty Eight

Chapter Forty Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty One

Chapter Fifty Two

Chapter Fifty Three

Chapter Fifty Four

Chapter Fifty Five

Chapter Fifty Six

Chapter Fifty Seven

Chapter Fifty Eight

Chapter Fifty Nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty One

Chapter Sixty Two

Chapter Sixty Three

Chapter Sixty Four

Part III Friends & Family

Chapter Sixty Five

Epilogue

Wait!

From the Author

THE STORIES

Casualties of WAR

Bruce Savage

Copyright 2015 Brucesavage.com

All Rights Reserved.

ISBN-13: 978-1517788933

Know Your Enemy

Bruce Savage

Copyright 2015 Brucesavage.com

All Rights Reserved.

ISBN-13: 978-1518880254

Russian Games

Bruce Savage

Copyright 2016 Brucesavage.com

All Rights Reserved.

ISBN: 978-1517789176

Author’s Note

These books are a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Contact Bruce Savage via email at bruce@brucesavage.com

About Bruce Savage

Bruce Savage was born in Lewiston, Maine in 1967, the youngest son of 16 brother’s and sister’s to Winfield Strout and Blanche Strout. He published his first successful work when he was 10 years old in Boy’s Life magazine. The publication paid him $1 for a joke he wrote. So excited about his accomplishment and seeing his name published he pursued the art of writing for the next 40 years. In 1984 he enlisted in the United States Army and served his country in Germany. In 1999 he graduated from Columbia Southern University with a Bachelor’s in Computer Science and Information Systems. He held several positions with several fortune 500 companies until 2002 when he dove head first and full time into the world of writing and publishing. Since then he has produced 11 novels and counting. Casualties of War was his first novel followed by Psycho.

He is currently working on many other novels that will be available soon as well as the screenplay for Russian Games. He currently lives in Florida and the Philippines with his wife Julie and his daughter. He frequently enjoys making donations and contributions to ending poverty and supporting those less fortunate and he is an avid animal rights supporter.

Books by Bruce Savage

The Novels:

GOD’S ASSASSIN

NO MERCY FOR THE DEAD

EUROPA'S CHILD

RUSSIAN GAMES

QUEST FOR THE TABLET

ORIGIN

SHORT SCARY STORIES

PSYCHO

CASUALTIES OF WAR

KNOW YOUR ENEMY

MORE SHORT SCARY STORIES

For previews and information about the author:

Visit www.brucesavage.com.

CASUALTIES of WAR

Bruce Savage

Quotes

He should not kill a living being, nor cause it to be killed, nor should he incite another to kill. Do not injure any being, either strong or weak in the world. - Sutta Nipata II, 14

Conquer the angry man by love.

Conquer the ill-natured man by goodness.

Conquer the miser with generosity.

Conquer the liar with truth. - The Dhammapada

The fool thinks he has won a battle when he bullies with harsh speech, but knowing how to be forbearing alone makes one victorious. - Samyutta Nikaya I, 163

Chapter 1

IT WAS A DARK NIGHT even under a starlit sky. A hot desert wind swept down upon the ground, scooped up handfuls of sand, whipped them around until the exposed parts of your body felt like it was being sandblasted off.

Special Forces Sergeant First Class Allen White cautiously crawled up the sand dune on the outskirts of the small town of Al Basrah in Iraq, not giving thought to the discomfort of the sand that had found its way into his uniform or that was tearing at the exposed skin on his hands and face. He carefully positioned himself and searched the town with his night vision binoculars for the insurgents who his team was assigned to find. An informant reported that an Al Qaeda terrorist cell was hiding in the town. The mission was to take a team of Special Forces soldiers, clear the town of the terrorists, and acquire any useful intelligence that may help put an end to Al Qaeda. Iraq wasn’t going to fall back into chaos as it had come close to a few months before. Insurgence had almost brought the country to the brink of a civil war.

It was Allen’s third tour in Iraq with two weeks to go before this last and final tour was over. Soon he would be home again, for good this time. It was time to leave the wars and battles to younger men. There was no wife and children waiting for him back home in Florida. He had a father and a younger sister who he hadn’t seen in more years than he could remember.

The last time he’d seen them was when he had left home and joined the Army. His father resisted his joining the Army, wanting more for his son than the life that lay ahead. He was young and stubborn and refused to take the advice of his father, who knew exactly what he was getting into. After all, his father was the head of Army Intelligence. He knew what his son’s life was going to be like. He only wanted more for his son, perhaps a future that included them working together someday. A future that as far as Allen was concerned would never be. He resented his father and blamed him for their parent’s divorce. Allen was just too young to understand what caused the divorce.

The Army had been his adopted family for most of his life now and that was the way he wanted it. The life, as he called it, was too hard on marriages and families. His own father and mother were a testament to that. Nevertheless, in two weeks it would be time to start his new life as a civilian and start settling down. Possibly buy a fishing boat and rent it out to tourist and maybe try to make things right with his father and sister. However, tonight he had to put aside his thoughts of his return home. Tonight it was business as usual, the Special Forces way.

Allen focused his binoculars on a small dimly lit house and watched several of the occupants come out and stand on the sidewalk, each armed with Russian AK-47’s.

You getting this Rickster? Allen quietly whispered over his microphone to Sergeant Rick Donnor his next in command.

Yeah, I’m getting it. Looks like we found the Roach Motel. What are they pointing at? Sergeant Donner replied as he kept recording the terrorist standing outside the house with the video camera.

They’re pointing at something coming up the road. Three o’clock, you see the headlights? I wonder who else is coming to the party?

Looks like three Mercedes coming up the road. Intel didn’t say anything about this. What do you want to do about it? Rick asked.

Upload the video. We’ll let the brass make the next call. That’s what they’re good at. We just find the snake and cut the head off. They decide what to do with it. Allen replied. Rick quickly plugged a cable into the back of the video camera, connected it to a laptop and with the punching of a few keys secured a satellite connection.

Uploading now. Smokey, put me through to HQ. Rick called over to another team member that handed him a satellite phone.

Whiskey November, this is Alpha Squad. We have an upload in progress. What’s your advice? Rick said over the satellite phone.

Alpha Squad, we have the upload. Reviewing the video now. Wait for orders. Came the response, then a long pause filled with static.

Alpha Squad, can you zoom in on the second Mercedes? a man’s voice crackled over the satellite phone.

Roger that. Zooming in. They’re pulling up to the target house. Rick replies. The caravan of cars stops and several people step out of the Mercedes, stand for a moment looking around, then enter the building.

Is that who I think it is HQ? Allen interrupts.

Command, are you seeing who I’m seeing? What the hell is he doing here in Iraq? There is a moment of silence, then a voice responds over the satellite phone.

Alpha squad, you have new orders. Scrub the mission. Keep surveillance on the occupants, especially the man who got out of the Mercedes. It’s Juan Martinez. Don’t lose track of him. Put GPS tags on the cars, over.

Roger that, HQ. That shouldn’t be a problem, out. Rick replies, then hands the satellite phone back to Smokey.

Looks like we’re babysitting now, guys. Who’s this guy supposed to be, Allen? Rick asks.

Juan Martinez, multi-millionaire business man from Colombia. He’s got a lot of shady connections with the international underworld, mostly with the Perez Cartel in Bogota. His primary moneymakers are his medical waste management businesses, strictly legit as far as we’ve been able to prove so far. But the DEA believes he’s helping the Perez family make and ship their cocaine somehow. I had him in my sights while doing surveillance in the late eighties during Reagan’s war on drugs, but he somehow slipped through my fingers. Whatever he’s doing here, I can guarantee it’s not selling Avon. Allen replies.

Well, looks like we got ourselves a genuine celebrity, boys. Let’s make sure Mr. Colombian drug smuggler stays on the radar. Rick says.

Rick, Jell-O, Smokey, get down there and put GPS tags on the cars, then get back here. Allen orders his men.

Roger that, be back in no time, boss. Rick replies and heads off down the sand dune toward the house with his men. Little did they know that they have uncovered an essential player in a plot that will take the world hostage. A plot set in motion by Al Qaeda to cripple America and plant the seed of fear in the rest of the world’s leaders.

Chapter 2

OSAMA BIN LADEN’S NUMBER TWO man in Iraq was an understatement for ambition, as well as ruthlessness. He started his career in Al Qaeda as a foot soldier in the nineties after the Gulf War carrying out drop and run missions where he would leave packages of explosives in restaurants, shopping malls, and buses throughout the Middle East and Europe, then disappear as if into thin air. His reason for joining the terrorist organization was simple, to kill all Americans and Westerners and those who support them. However, this wasn’t always so. He wasn’t always a ruthless killer. There was a time in his life when he was a peaceful family man. A time that was long gone. All that was left now was the pain.

It was a smart bomb during the Gulf War that made the transformation for him from an electronics engineer to one of the FBI’s most wanted terrorists in the world. A smart bomb which was capable of not only transforming him, but also killing his wife and children as they slept in their beds. From that moment on he had only one thing to live for, revenge against the Americans and anyone who supported or associated with them. It was his personal Jihad. Al Qaeda conveniently provided the conduit for venting his rage.

Over the years he had built up quite a bloody resume that included a number of bus bombings in Israel, to the training of the terrorists who destroyed the World Trade Centers in New York. He was one of Osama Bin Laden’s top confidants and soldiers. He had earned the right to be his second in command in Iraq, as well as one of the world’s most wanted terrorist’s. It was his Medal of Honor.

His name was Abdul Adl Issar before the smart bomb changed him into the terrorist the FBI, Interpol, and Israeli intelligence came to know as the Ghost. This was what he called himself because this is all that the smart bomb had left. His whereabouts had never been known, as well as his true identity.

Only a handful ever did know outside of Al Qaeda. And they didn’t live long after finding out. Over the years, he has been able to effortlessly walk through all types of security, evade capture, and disappear as if by magic. This was what he was good at. This is what he had become. Not even so much as a picture of him was believed to exist. He was virtually a Ghost.

Tonight the Ghost was in Al Basrah beginning the steps for launching his most diabolical attack on the Americans and the west. It was a plan that will strike at the heart of every world leader and plant the seed of fear in the hearts of everyone who defies Al Qaeda or supports the Americans. It will be the greatest terrorist attack ever conceived or committed in world history, even unthinkably eviler and greater than 9/11. The number of lives lost will be staggering if he succeeds.

The Ghost men escorted Juan Martinez into the small house on the outskirts of Al Basrah and into a room where the Ghost had been waiting patiently for him. The smell of roasted goat and foreign spices lingered in the air as he entered the dimly lit house. It was an unusual meeting, to say the least, a Colombian businessman and suspected drug smuggler and a top terrorist of Al Qaeda. Nevertheless, Juan had something that the Ghost wanted and would pay dearly for, something essential to his plan of destroying his enemies and planting the seed of fear in them, and at ten million dollars it was well worth the price.

Good evening, Mr. Martinez. Welcome to my country. I’m very happy to see you’ve made it. I trust your travel here was uneventful. The Ghost said, raising himself from a floor covered with beautifully crafted rugs and pillows.

My travel was fine. Let us get down to business. I have little desire to stay in this country, as you call it, longer than I have to. The stench of this country is unbearable. How do you people put up with it? It’s uncivilized. Do you have the money we agreed on? Martinez says insultingly, forgetting just whom he is doing business with. The Ghost graciously smiles at him and puts aside Martinez’s insult for the moment.

Of course, Mr. Martinez. Let us get right down to business. I like that, a man who has priorities. The Ghost says and motions for him to find a place on the floor. The men sit across from each other while their bodyguards remain standing ever diligent and untrusting. The Ghost then leans over, opens a laptop, and punches a few keys.

As soon as I have the item, the money will be transferred to your account in Bogota. I believe we agreed on ten million dollars. I trust that you’ve brought the item? The Ghost says.

I have it right here. I have no problem telling you that I’m relieved to finally get rid of it. For one to know just what this is… is to know death itself. Martinez replies, then reaches inside the breast pocket of his jacket and takes out what looks like a small stainless steel canister and tosses it to the Ghost. The Ghost catches it and examines it closely.

And this is truly worth ten million dollars? It will do as I requested it to do? The Ghost asks with a smile.

The contents will do what you want it to do. Completely undetectable by any security measures. Just inject it at least fifteen minutes before you wish to use it. It’ll take that long for symptoms to manifest. Once symptoms manifest, anyone in the immediate area will become infected. It’ll spread like a wild fire. You have no idea just how difficult it was for me to make that. The Americans have been everywhere, it seems, since the start of this infernal war. It was excessively expensive to get viable samples from Indonesia. Now transfer the money to my account. Martinez gruffly requests.

Of course, but first, Mr. Martinez, I’d like a demonstration of the item’s ability to do the job I’m paying you quite considerably for. Ten million dollars is quite a lot of money to just take somebody’s word. Don’t you think? Humor me, would you, Mr. Martinez? The Ghost says.

The smile quickly leaves his sun-bleached face as he raises a hand gesturing to two of his soldiers. Two of the Al Qaeda soldiers move towards one of the bodyguards who accompanied Martinez, grab him by the arms, and force him to the floor. Another soldier keeps a gun trained on the remaining bodyguards who quickly decide to stop reaching for their side arms.

The Ghost opens the cover of the canister and a quiet suction noise permeates throughout the room. He then removes the vile inside, injects a needle into it, and pulls back the plunger to extract a portion of the liquid it contains. He hands the needle to another of his men who walks over and plunges the needle into the arm of the bodyguard being held down. The man screams in defiance and tries to resist, but is helpless against the Ghost’s men, who outweigh him by at least one hundred pounds apiece. The Ghost motions with his hand again, and the two men pick the man up and drag him off to an isolated part of the house.

Do you realize what you’ve just done? Martinez protests to the Ghost.

Of course I do. You may have your money and leave after I’ve seen that you’ve kept your word and the item works. I’m not a fool, Mr. Martinez. And I’m not a pleasant man when someone tries to fool me. If the item works, you’ll get your money and be able to leave. This should take about fifteen minutes; from what you have told me. The Ghost replies, leans over to the plate in front of him, and takes a piece of bread and puts it in his mouth.

In fifteen minutes we’ll all be as good as dead. Once he starts to show symptoms it’ll spread to anyone and everyone around. It’s an airborne pathogen. Are you mad? Martinez replies as sweat is starting to drip down his face and add to the apparent fear and anxiety that he is showing. Martinez quickly finds his way to his feet and attempts to move toward the exit.

Relax, Mr. Martinez, he’s been placed in a room that has been sealed off from the rest of us. There’s no danger of it getting to us. Relax, sit, sit, and have some food while we wait. Life is too short for worrying about things that can’t harm you. The Ghost politely replies. Martinez remains standing, not knowing whether to leave or not and not knowing if he does leave just how far away will he get. This isn’t his country; here he has neither power nor protection other than a few bodyguards.

I SAID SIT! Or you’ll be the next one to demonstrate the item’s abilities! The Ghost yells at Martinez. Martinez slowly finds his way back to the floor and decides that for now to do as the Ghost asks.

Good, now let’s get back to the business at hand. As for the rest of the shipment, I trust that, too, is on its way to its destinations? The Ghost asks as he leans over to the plate in front of him again, picks up a piece of goat meat, and puts it in his mouth.

Everything has been done as you asked. The remainder of the product is on its way to its destinations on a cargo ship. The men you sent to carry it is with it on the ship undetected. As far as the crew knows, they’re carrying a shipment of televisions from Japan. The chances of the Americans discovering them are remote. They can’t search every cargo container that comes into their ports. The plan is fool proof. Many of my Colombian friends use the same methods for smuggling their products into America. Martinez says. His anxiety and wanting to leave is increasing with every tick of the clock.

Good, Mr. Martinez, good. I’m truly impressed with your abilities as a smuggler, and we shall see, as a chemist. The Ghost says. Suddenly there is the sound of gunshots outside. One of the Ghost’s men rushes into the house looking excited, goes to the Ghost, and whispers something into his ear. The Ghost looks over at Martinez for a second, then barks a command in Arabic to several of his men, who quickly cock their weapons and leave the building.

You must forgive me. It seems that we have some unwelcome guests outside who have been watching us. It would seem that Americans enjoy sticking their nose into business that is not their own. There’s nothing to worry about. My men have already neutralized the problem. It would seem that twenty against four American soldiers would be an unfair advantage, but this is a war we’re in, and you must do what you must do. The Ghost says with a smile.

What do you mean, the Americans have been watching us? For how long? Martinez says.

They’ve been here since you arrived. My men have been busy circling them. Allah has blessed us tonight. One of them has survived, We’ve been given another guinea pig, as you would say, to test the power of the item. The Ghost replies as the door to the house swings open and one of the Special Forces soldiers still partially alive is dragged into the room. He is partially conscious as he is brought before the Ghost. The Ghost grabs him by his hair and yanks his head up.

You have some nerve to come to my country and try to tell us how to live and what to do. You’ll make a fine example for the rest of your kind. You’ll be the example for a lesson that our people have been long needed to learn. The Ghost says to the soldier, then waves his hand.

He is then dragged off to the back of the house and put in the room with the other man who is infected. This time a video camera is set up and focused on the soldier. The Ghost will have the video posted on a website as a demonstration of what is to come to the Americans. To show America the price it will pay for their interference in matters that don’t concern them and most of all for killing his wife and children.

Come, Mr. Martinez, let’s have a look at your man and see what your talent as a chemist can do. The Ghost says, standing and motioning to him. Martinez hesitantly stands and starts to follow the Ghost to a room that looks like a quarantine room in a hospital.

You see, there’s no need for you to worry. The room is completely protected. From the looks of your man I’d have to say that the product has done what you said it would do. I’m satisfied with the results.

Martinez looks at the man, horrified at what he is seeing. The transformation has taken place over such a short time. This man was once one of his bodyguards. Lesions have grown on the man’s face and hands, and blood is pouring from his eyes, nose, and mouth. The man is struggling to breathe as his lungs are filling with blood and fluids. In minutes he will certainly be dead.

Your product is quite impressive. Come now, Mr. Martinez, you shouldn’t be too upset at what you’re seeing. A man in your line of work must be used to this sort of thing. Think of it this way, Allah will reward you for the work you’ve done for the Jihad. You’ve done a great service to my cause. Come, let me pay you, then you shall be able to leave. The Ghost says and escorts Martinez back to the laptop, then presses a key and finalizes the transaction. Or so Martinez is led to believe. The Ghost never had any intentions of paying him. Why pay a dead man? What would he do with the money?

Your money is now being transferred to your account. The rest of my order is on its way to its destination, and I’ve seen that your product works as I’ve wished it to. Our business is now complete. I wish you a safe journey back to Colombia. The Ghost says.

Hopefully this will be our last business arrangement. If you don’t mind. Martinez says abruptly, then heads for the door of the house followed by his bodyguards. He then leaves the building and gets into his car, completely unaware of the GPS tag on his vehicle and the bomb that the Ghost’s men have placed to go off when he’s far enough away.

The Ghost looks at one of his men. Go check on our American friend. When he’s dead, take the video and burn everything else. Now it’s time to wait until our enemy is asleep and for the wolf to go amongst the sheep. And then we we’ll thrust our knife into their heart. Allah Akbar! The man does as he is told. As for Juan Martinez, after a couple of miles of driving through the hot Iraqi desert, all that is left of the caravan of Mercedes are fragments of metal and a crater in the desert highway. The Ghost leaves nothing to chance of his identity being discovered. After all, he’s a Ghost.

Chapter 3

IT WAS A BANK ROBBERY, long before I had even decided to join the FBI, that would set in motion the events and actions that would cause the death of many innocent people over the course of time. Including that of my wife Megan and our unborn child. It was a robbery that I had no knowledge of until the shockwave of that event had inexplicably reached the life of my loved ones and me. At least that was what I led myself to believe. It went much deeper than that.

A black 1995 Mazda sat in the parking lot of Portland Savings and Loan on Lighten Street. The occupants of the car, two men, both of Middle Eastern descent, sat in the car for a moment while the passenger of the car finished smoking his cigarette, then casually flicked it out the window. He took hold of the door handle, turned to the driver, and assured him that his business would only take a moment. He only had to make a quick withdrawal.

The driver nodded and reached into his jacket pocket, took out a pack of cigarettes, removed one of the cigarettes from the pack, and started to tap it on the steering wheel in an attempt to pack the tobacco tighter. All the while keeping a keen eye on the man as he walked to the entrance of the bank.

He lit the cigarette and began smoking it while nervously waiting for the man to return. Minutes started to pass as if they were hours, he anxiously thought as he looked at his watch for the fourth time since the man left. How long had he been inside the bank anyway? To him it had seemed an eternity that didn’t seem possible, considering the emptiness of the parking lot. Yet, he did notice that no one had come out of the bank since the man had entered. What was the hold up? It shouldn’t take this long for a simple withdrawal.

Then, as if someone had fired a start gun at a marathon, the man appeared bolting from the doors of the bank, running toward him at a remarkable speed, carrying what appeared to be a bag of some sort. The man flung open the passenger’s side door, threw the bag in, and hollered at the driver.

GO! WE MUST GO NOW! He commanded the driver while swallowing mouthfuls of air and appearing extremely agitated.

What the hell’s going on? What the fuck did you do? The driver asks, confused and angry about what was occurring right before his eyes. It was a bank robbery. This wasn’t the plan. This was not the fucking plan! This wasn’t what he had said he had to do. The man responds to the driver’s irrelevant question by pulling out his gun, pointing it at the driver, and again giving his command.

START THE FUCKING CAR AND GO! The man screams at him, this time putting the gun to the head of the driver and pulling back the hammer.

The driver quickly and angrily starts the car, puts it in gear, and with an angry thrust on the accelerator, points the sports car toward the exit and the street. From behind him, he can hear the sound of alarms coming from the bank and exhales in aggravation, knowing that today wasn’t going to be a good day. What started out as a promising day for him of finding the Al Qaeda sleeper cell believed to be in the Portland, Maine area has now turned into a nightmare, a catastrophe, a major fuck up!

Chapter 4

WITHIN MOMENTS THE LOCAL POLICE are alerted to the bank robbery and begin their search for the black Mazda. The driver attempts to avoid any major roadways, but finds that the only way to get to safety while saving the cover he’s worked for the last year and a half to build infiltrating the terrorist cell is by taking Interstate 95 and getting as far away from the scene of the robbery as he can.

Their moment of discovery came at a stop sign just short of the entrance ramp to the interstate. Now would come the next scene of events, sealing the unforeseen fate of my wife and unborn child and sending me on a quest to find her killer. A quest that would take me further beyond a bank robbery and into the world of terrorism.

The passenger of the car again points his gun at the driver of the car and assures him that capture is not an option. This it will not be allowed. The driver accelerates the car and shoots for the entrance ramp of the interstate, police now in tow with sirens blaring and increasing in numbers.

The driver attempts for the next several miles to weave in and out of traffic, hoping in some way that it may slow their pursuers. Nevertheless, the attempt fails. Their pursuers, now reaching close to a dozen in number and resembling a wolf pack in chase of prey, are getting closer and closer.

An attempt is made by the lead police vehicle to shoot out the rear tires of the Mazda, but is dismissed as the driver continues swerving in and out of traffic. The police, becoming more concerned over possibly hitting an innocent person call ahead to other police vehicles ahead to throw out spike strips, but the driver anticipates this and swerves in and out of the emergency lane, avoiding them.

Finally, out of desperation, the passenger of the vehicle makes a decision, the decision that ignites the events of the present and ensures their escape. The driver of the Mazda now moving at close to 100 miles an hour, is ordered by the passenger to pull up to a Lincoln Town car approaching.

The passenger rolls down his window, pulls out his gun, and attempts to partially climb out. The driver, knowing what his passenger is going to attempt, tries to thwart him by jerking the car to the right and sideswiping the Lincoln, forcing him back into the vehicle. Nevertheless, determination overtakes good intention. The passenger points his gun at the driver of the Lincoln, a middle-aged woman, who by now is terrified and attempting to slow her vehicle, and fires twice at her, successfully hitting her in the chest and head.

The car carrying the woman, who dies instantly from her wounds, is still moving at a high rate of speed, swerves to the right, and slams into the guardrail. The car flips over and over again, then returns to the roadway and crashes into the back end of a tractor-trailer carrying a full load of lumber that in turn begins to jackknife and finally tips over and lands on its side, blocking the road with its over spilled cargo and ensuring the escape of the Mazda. From behind, they witness a pile up of vehicles, police included, as they continue their race to escape. Finally, they find an exit ramp and a place to dump the car and disappear into the population, never to be found.

These events occurred long before I had joined the FBI. These were the events that set in motion the fate of my wife, my unborn child, and my future. Because of their escape and who they were, events in the future would unfold that would affect millions. The money from the robbery would be used to finance operations that would lead to the death of countless innocent people.

Chapter 5

I WAS RUNNING AT TOP SPEED through the front yard of a house on Clayton Street in Portland, Maine. My partner Mark Olsen and I were in foot pursuit of a suspected murderer, Aswan Mohammed, a Somali immigrant who worked for the federal government as an interpreter when he was needed. It was just another typical day in the life of an FBI agent, you would think. Yeah right!

He’s going around back, Mark! I hollered over my walkie-talkie to my partner. I needed to stop for a moment to catch my breath. It seems Aswan used to be a fucking marathon runner back in Mogadishu.

I got him, I got him, Tom! Mark hollered back to me over his walkie-talkie. I caught my breath, got back in the race, turned the corner of the house and for a moment caught sight of the suspect as he kicked in the back door of another house several doors down. Mark wasn’t too far behind. And to think he’s the one that drinks and smokes too much and hardly ever works out. Is there no justice?

He’s inside! I’m going after him, Tom. Mark’s voice blared over the walkie-talkie.

Mark! Don’t you fucking go in. He’s got a gun! I hollered back to Mark, but Mark, being the cowboy he was, had already thrown open the back door of the house and started on his way in. Mark liked being a cowboy. God, how that pissed me off sometimes; times like this, to be exact.

Jesus Christ! Why do you always have to do this to me? You know procedure as well as I do, damn it! I mumbled to myself as I approached the back of the house. As I entered the house I found Mark with his back pressed against a wall in the living room with his gun drawn, pointing at a back room down the hallway.

He’s in there, at the end of the hallway. Cover me while I go in and get him, Tom. Mark whispers to me while pointing in the direction of the back room. I know what he’s thinking and that just ain’t happening again. Not today. No fucking way.

No! You’re not going in after him. Let’s give him a chance to come out on his own, Mark. You remember the last time don’t you? I said to my partner Bruce Willis, trying to jog his memory and remind him of the last time we were in a situation like this, He ended up taking one in the leg. I think he likes getting shot. Mark just smiles that stupid smile of his back at me. Some days I love him like a brother, and some days I just want to smack him upside that thick head of his.

Where’s your sense of adventure, Tom? Mark says to me. Like a chance at what he calls adventure is going to convince me that he’s right. Adventure for me is shopping for an anniversary gift for my wife and hoping nobody sees me in the women’s lingerie section at Wal-Mart. Not diving into a room where there’s a cornered suspect with a gun and a reason to use it.

My sense of adventure is safe and sound. Right where it won’t end up with holes in it. I reply. Before Cowboy Mark can say another word I holler to our cornered suspect down the hall.

Aswan Mohammed! This is the FBI. You have nowhere left to run. Throw out your weapon and come out with your hands up! I holler down the hallway. Mark just looked at me and shook his head, like his idea was any better.

I want a lawyer! You hear me? I’ll shoot her if I don’t have a lawyer here in thirty minutes! Aswan hollers from the room. The position Mark and I were in made it impossible to see where Aswan was inside the room. We didn’t even know if he had taken a hostage. It also made it impossible for Aswan to see if anyone was coming in as well. I think they call this a Mexican standoff. Or for Mark a great opportunity to do something stupid.

A fucking lawyer? What the hell’s wrong with him? Who asks for a lawyer? A helicopter, I can understand. A car, I can understand. But a lawyer? What does he think we have, Johnny Cochran on speed dial or something? Mark says to me. I flip Mark a look that says shut the hell up, then turn my attention back to Aswan.

Come on, Aswan, you don’t want to do that. Just stop now and turn yourself in. It’s over, Aswan. Don’t make this any harder on yourself. I holler back to him.

You have thirty minutes! I want a lawyer! NOW! I swear I’ll shoot her! Aswan replies. Looks like we may have a nut job here. I’m talking about Aswan, not Mark, but then again…

Well. Old buddy. I say to Mark while letting out a sigh of frustration.

Looks like we have a situation here again. Time to give Ashcroft a call and see what he wants us to do about it. I say to Mark, take