Cult Of Death E-Book

John Reinhard Dizon

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Operative Jack Gawain is pulled out of hiatus, when a plot in the Middle East threatens to bring the Western civilization to its knees.

He's reunited with Lucretia Carcosa as they return to Iraq for a search-and-destroy mission. Meanwhile on the European front, William Shanahan is assigned to Operation Death Cult, and teamed up with MI6 assassin Jessica Anderson for deployment to Iraq, in an investigation of reported chemical weapons being stockpiled by ISIL.

In a non-stop rollercoaster ride careening out of tomorrow’s headlines, can Shanahan and Gawain save the world one more time?

Leseprobe

Cult of Death

The Standard Book 3

John Reinhard Dizon

Copyright (C) 2020 John Reinhard Dizon

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2020 Next Chapter

Published 2020 by Next Chapter

Cover art by Cover Mint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

Dedicated to my dear friend Regina and her Dad Chuck — semper fi.

Chapter One

Jack Gawain woke up that morning and stared moodily out the window of his loft apartment on Prince Street in the Soho area of Lower Manhattan. He was in a black mood, feeling as if he had hit a nadir in his life though there was no real reason for it. Most men would probably envy someone in his position. He looked across the bed at the sleeping woman beside him and knew that most men would pay a king's ransom for one night with her. He considered all the money they had in the bank, and the fact they had all the time in the world to spend it.

'That was the root of the problem. He had become an adrenaline junkie. There was sufficient action back in East Belfast around the turn of the century, but his arrest and incarceration at Maghaberry Prison brought it to an end. Since his pardon, he was trying to gorge himself on life as if every moment as a free man could be his last. Now that he had decided to go into retirement, the thrill was gone and the life of leisure had become ennui.

“You up already?” she yawned in her bewitching Corsican accent. She turned to face him, her china-blue eyes tugging at his heartstrings as she peeked through the veil of raven-black hair across her face. He had dozens of affairs in his life, but if he had ever fallen in love this had to be it.

“Aye. What d'ye feel like doin' today?”

“Do you think we can not have an agenda today?” she brushed her hair away from her face with an ivory-skinned hand. “I would really like to take it easy today.”

“Of course, love,” he smiled, scooting over alongside her.

“Oh, no, I'm exhausted,” she rolled onto her back. “Where do you get all your energy from?”

“Nay, I was just lookin' fer a kiss,” he insisted, leaning over and smooching her full red lips. “Why don't I run downstairs and get us some breakfast?”

“What's going to happen when the stock market crashes? One of us will have to learn to cook.”

“I'm not too shabby around th' kitchen when push comes t'shove. Plus, ye can't tell me yer th' only Frenchwoman on earth who doesn't know how t'cook.”

“So buy groceries, let's see who can do better.”

“I've got all I want right here,” he grabbed her ankle and kissed her toes.

“You've had quite enough for now,” she pulled her leg away, sitting up in bed. “Besides, I know how it works. You'll grow used to me, and soon you'll be out looking for a change.”

“Are ye mad, woman?” he chuckled, rolling out of bed. “No red-blooded man in his right mind could ever have enough of you.”

“Do you really have to parade naked in front of the window?”

“Do ye figure someone with binoculars is havin' a peek? It's you they'd be lookin' fer, don't ye know?”

“Why don't you just draw the shades?” she reached over and grabbed her robe off a chair.

'“An' should I block the sun on such a gorgeous day as this, love?” he gazed out the window at the busy Soho streets below. “Ye should really enjoy life, stop an' smell th' roses.”

“You don't just smell the roses, you devour them,” she padded in her bare feet across the carpet.

“Pretty soon there'll be no roses left in your life.”

“Well, I'll still have you, won't I?” he came over and hugged her, her generous bosom pressed against his barrel chest.

“Of course, mon cher,” she kissed his lips. “Now run along. I have to take a shower. Perhaps if you behave we can cuddle up this afternoon.”

“I'm not sure I can wait that long,” he stepped back, showing her how his manhood had been stimulated.

“Oh!” she pushed his hands away as she headed for the bathroom. “Take that thing with you.”

He chortled as he headed to his closet on the far side of the spacious bedroom, picking out a black workout suit. He picked out a pair of black briefs and socks from his drawer, inspecting himself in the mirror as he dressed. There was a Gold's Gym not far from the loft, and he stopped in three times a week to keep his powerlifting physique build in good order. He kept his dark hair cropped short and cut a handsome figure, for which he was thankful considering the life of debauchery they were leading. She was not much of a drinker, and he was always careful not to get tipsy and become unaware of his surroundings. Still, there were calories to be considered, and so far neither of them were the worse for wear.

“Why don't you take a shower before you go out?” she called from the adjoining room. “I'll leave it running for you.”

“Nay, if I go in there with you freshly scrubbed, most likely I won't let ye out.”

She shut the door firmly, causing him to chuckle as he shoveled his keys and his wallet into his pockets. He put on his $10,000 Rolex and his $5,000 diamond ring, then started to pick up his ankle holster but thought better of it. New York had one of the toughest gun laws in the States, and having someone spot it in a careless moment could prove costly. He never left home without it when dressed in his street clothes, but workout suits weren't quite as concealing. He shoved the Glock-17 to the rear of the drawer and headed for the door.

Just as he reached for the doorknob there was a knock. He looked through the peephole and saw a young black man outside.

“Aye, what d'ye want?”

“Jack Gain? I have certified mail for you. I'll need your signature.”

His nerves began twitching as he thought of going back to get his gun. Only this was a high-rent loft building and it was highly likely that he had slipped past one of the other tenants at the door to deliver his letter. The question was: who could have known he was here? MI6, most likely. Why send a letter? To keep from having an emissary hurt or killed, he figured. Or maybe it was Shanahan. There was only one way to find out.

“Slip it under the door, then.”

He heard the crunching of paper at the bottom of the doorway.

“Sorry, sir. It won't fit.”

“What th' bloody hell,” he growled. “Hold on, then.”

He went back to the bedroom and pulled open the dresser drawer, pulling his Glock out of its holster and stuffing it in his jacket pocket.

“What's wrong?” Lucretia asked, having emerged from the bathroom in her robe, toweling her sopping wet mane.

“Some silly bastard with a certified letter.”

“Who knows you're here?” she was startled.

“We're gonna find out,” he replied, heading for the door and pulling it open.

At once he was hit with a Taser, the electrical weapon causing an immediate neuromuscular incapacitation. He lost control of his muscles and dropped to the tiled floor, his body spasming as he was nauseated by a wave of vertigo. He was dragged from the doorway as two men raced into the apartment, a third man rolling him over and handcuffing his wrists behind his back. He started to struggle but could feel a hypodermic needle plunge into his neck before he passed out.

Five hours before on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, William Shanahan sat in the living room of his townhouse in London, mulling over his recent decision. His marriage to his beloved Morgana had not been the honeymoon in paradise he had envisioned. Over the past six months, they both found that the wife of a Secret Service agent was not without its difficulties. Despite the fact that he had finally got the desk job at 85 Albert Embankment he had dreamed of, he was still being called out for emergency meetings at odd hours. He was the liaison with the British Foreign Office on Middle Eastern affairs, and the situation in Iraq and Syria was making life ever more hectic.

His gorgeous wife's intellectual capacity made it all the more arduous. She made it a point to find out everything she could about Middle Eastern affairs to be able to discuss things with him. At times it seemed as if she knew more about it than he did. He saw politics as a necessary evil and could care less as to which sect or faction in the Middle East was planning to destroy each other. He so much wanted to leave his work at the office, but as soon as they had time to sit around and talk, it was always back to the same droll subjects.

What made it all the more disturbing was the fact that he could not talk about the nature of what he did or where he had to go when he was called out after dinner. The calls came at least twice a week, and one came after they had already gone to bed. It was the cardinal rule of espionage: you never told a loved one what you did lest they became a bearer of secrets that could make them a target. Yet true love made one jealous, and she resented the fact that she had no way to confirm whether he was going out on business or pleasure. She trusted him in every way, but she didn't really know him deep down. His job would not permit it. And that bothered her more than anything.

“Good morning, dear,” he greeted her as she emerged from the bedroom on the way to the kitchen.

“You're up early,” she said briskly, pouring water for coffee. “I suppose you've made a decision.”

“I've thought it over carefully,” he cleared his throat. “I don't see how I can turn them down.”

“That's just fine,” she dropped the glass pot loudly into the coffee maker. “I suppose I can get my job back at the airline while you're gone.”

“Oh, come now, Morgana,” he stared at her as she briskly yanked cooking utensils from the cupboards. “We've plenty of money, there's no reason for you to go back to work.”

“And what am I supposed to do, sit around here and get ulcers, worrying if you're coming back home in a body bag? I thought that was over for us, William.”

“Darling, you're not looking at the big picture,” he got out of his armchair and came over to her. She was a Nicole Kidman lookalike with long blonde hair, emerald eyes, and an hourglass figure that never ceased to make his blood percolate. “You've been watching the BBC, you know what's going on more than most of the people at Vauxhall Cross. ISIS (*Islamic State of Iraq and ash Sham) is threatening to divide Syria and Iraq, and turn the mid-region into an Islamic caliphate. The public's laughing about it, but the Foreign Ministry is watching the Iraqi government collapse day by day.”

“Spare me all your corporate bullshit,” Morgana blazed at him. “What are you gonna do, pull on your Superman costume and save the world? All by yourself? The fate of the United Kingdom depends on William Shanahan, is that it?”

“It's not like that. You know I was there last year, I got inside an Iranian facility. I've got the experience, the hands-on contact. I also served in Iraq, I know the Shiite people. They need someone who can lead an undercover team. Lives are going to be at risk. How could we live with knowing people got killed over there when I could've been there to save them?”

“And suppose you can't save them? Suppose you're killed? You asked me to spend the rest of our lives together, to give you my hand in marriage, and now it comes to this? This is a dirty trick, William. You told me we'd live the rest of our lives here in London until you retired from your desk job. Now you're going right back to where you started, risking your neck to get ahead. You're already ahead, I'm the one who's losing here. You're taking from me what I've already got, what I thought I would always have.”

“Morgana, you know I love you more than anything in this world,” he took her in his arms. “There is nothing that's worth risking our marriage for. If you really don't want me to go, I won't. All I ask is that you reconsider the situation before you make your decision. The Chief of SIS (*Secret Intelligence Service) and the Foreign Secretary both mentioned my name, as did Mark O'Shaughnessy. But I'm not going to risk losing you.”

“What about the baby? We said we were going to try and have a baby by the holidays.”

“Of course we will. There's nothing else I would want more.”

“Oh my gosh,” she pulled away and stood with her back turned in the corner. “You have no idea what things are like in America after that war. Our soldiers are coming back with post-traumatic stress disorders, crippled and disfigured, with all kinds of problems. Suppose something happened to you over there? Suppose our child had to live with that while they were growing up?”

“It's not going to happen, my love. You know who I am, you know what I'm capable of.”

“That's the James Bond secret agent who you told me about after we started dating. That's not the William Shanahan I married. I remember the guy I had to stitch up after he nearly got killed on a golf course in Miami Beach. You said that'd never happen again.”

“All right, darling,” he came up and put his arms around her waist. “I'm not going if you don't want me to. All I ask is that you think about it. But I won't go if you don't want me to.”

“I keep thinking about Jack,” she put her hands over his. “You're not holding anything back from me, are you? You wanted that desk job more than anything else. Are they leveraging you into taking the assignment?”

“Of course not, precious,” he hugged her tight. “You know Gawain was always full of bluster. That night when we ran into them at the restaurant, he may have been just bragging. Lucretia was a EUROPOL agent. It makes no sense whatsoever that she could have been the Black Queen of the Citadel. The entire Citadel Gang was shipped off to Guantanamo. Any one of them could have gotten a pass by identifying her as the Black Queen. Not one of the twelve men said a word. Plus, how could have she been out in public going out to restaurants with him when all of Europe was looking for the Black Queen? The whole notion is ludicrous.”

“You told me she disappeared from EUROPOL. Why would've she walked off a job just like that? Especially after you said she was wounded.”

“You know Jack,” he put his face in her hair and breathed her fragrance. “He's got a way with women. Look how he got on with your friend Fianna, not to mention that girl from Florida, Darcy Callahan. He went AWOL on us as well. Mark O'Shaughnessy's still looking for him, but it's just for debriefing. It's quickly becoming past history, just tying up loose ends. MI6 could care less about Jack and Lucretia. If they thought Lucretia was the Black Queen, there'd be a worldwide manhunt for them. It's simply not being done, sweetheart.”

“You've already washed enough blood off these hands, William,” she turned around and took his large right hand in hers.

“I promise you,” he kissed her forehead. “I won't go unless you let me.”

And so it was that William Shanahan attended the meeting with Colonel Mark O'Shaughnessy at Vauxhall Cross that morning. He was resolute that he would make no decision without Morgana's consent. He was an Acting Deputy in the Middle East Department under Director Eric Young, who was also in attendance. There was also a strikingly beautiful young woman who he had never seen before. He was fairly certain that this was going to be the briefing for the upcoming mission. It was going to be extremely difficult to explain to Mark that he might have to back out of the operation. It might even result in losing his position in the Department, but he realized his marriage was more important. Morgana had become that precious to him.

“Captain Shanahan, this is Lieutenant Jessica Anderson,” Mark made the introduction. “She served with the Special Forces Support Group in Iraq and Afghanistan. She's a new addition to the Middle East Department and has been assigned to the Director's current project.”

“A pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she gave him a firm handshake. Jessica stood 5'7” and weighed 140 pounds, with auburn hair, hazel eyes and a slight tan that William perceived came from a salon. She had an hourglass figure and a generous bosom that would make her useless on the field in the misogynistic Middle Eastern society.

“As you both know,” Mark opened the meeting, “the situation in Iraq has grown increasingly volatile over the past few months. ISIL has occupied the border regions between Syria and Western Iraq, and ISIS is in virtual control of Northern Iraq. Our American allies are the only thing that's keeping Baghdad from being overrun. The Iranians are surging across the border into Eastern Iraq by means of clandestine operations, and the Syrians are conducting their own raids into Iraq on their border. The Foreign Ministry has no intention of deploying troops, but we know full well that if the Americans are drawn into a full-scale war, we'll be sucked in right behind them.”

“Our major concern is their capture of abandoned Iraqi chemical weapons factories in Northern Iraq. Most of the plants were certified by UN inspectors to have been rendered inoperable. That hardly means that they can't be put back together again with the millions of dollars being donated to their cause by Sunni billionaires throughout the region,” Young spoke up.

“So you'll need a team to go in and make sure ISIS can't finish anything they may have started.”

“Captain Shanahan has a unique talent for cutting to the chase that I'm sure the Director is familiar with,” Mark explained to Jessica after a short pause. “Of course, the situation is a tad more complicated than it may seems, so permit me to go over the mundane details.”

“My apologies, sir, I didn't mean…”

“I'm certain you did not, Captain,” Mark said coolly. “Nonetheless, we would not want to pass along any classified information concerning this operation without feeling confident that you are absolutely clear as to what will be required.”

“Most certainly, sir.”

“Very well. Your mission will be to move into the Sunni areas from Baghdad, posing as converts to Islam who wish to participate in the jihad. You will then make your way into ISIS territory and locate the key figures in the enemy infrastructure. Your objective is to locate any and all chemical arsenals in ISIS' possession and take steps to assure their destruction.”

“So we're going to search the ntire Iraqi desert and blow up the ISIS chemical arsenal,” William mused. “Do you think there might be time for some sightseeing in Tehran?”

“If you will allow me,” Eric grew testy. “As you are well aware, the Israelis have a major stake in the outcome. All of the participants in this conflict share a mutual desire to annihilate the State of Israel. We have contacted both the Americans and the Israelis. We have the assurances of the CIA and the Mossad that we will have their full cooperation. Two of the Israelis' top agents will be in contact with you in Baghdad. They will be working with you to complete this mission. Your team will have full access to both the CIA and Mossad's network, as well as the air and artillery support of the United States Army.”

“If I may, sir,” William spoke up. “The Muslims hold women in almost as low esteem as they do Jews. Suppose things were to go sideways out there at any point. I could find myself working alone if they were to sequester Lieutenant Anderson and liquidate the Israelis.”

“This is a joint operation, Captain,” Mark pointed out. “You're working alongside the Israelis, not with them. If they are taken off the field you would follow standard procedure. The Lieutenant's job is to manipulate the segregation to her advantage. The female population is considered inferior and non-threatening. The situation will provide its own cover.”

“Any questions, Lieutenant? Captain?”

“Not at this time, sir.”

“Colonel, may I have a word?”

“Certainly. Dismissed, Lieutenant. Thank you, Mr. Director.”

“I hope this has nothing to do with a sightseeing tour of Tehran,” the 6'4”, 300-pound Colonel leaned back in his seat once the door closed.

“No sir, although it is somewhat of an unusual request.”

“Pray tell.”

“I'm going to need you to call my wife to get her permission for me to go.”

Jack Gawain woke up and found himself in a darkened room resembling a police interrogation room. He was incensed that he had been apprehended after being subjected to such drastic measures. Even more vexing was the act that Lucretia had just gotten out of the shower and might have been wet or naked if she was tasered. He was handcuffed and fitted with restraining straps and ankle locks, and obviously they had anticipated him coming out of his stupor by now.

“So were ye silly bastards watching me sleep?”

“Ready to talk?” the man across the metal table asked.

“Where's Luci?”

“She's talking to somebody else.”

“Well, who the feck are you and where am I?”