The American Agent (An American Agent Novel Book 1) Read online

  "Of course, Alex. Dial back on the intensity. You're about to be made a very tempting proposal...a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

  Alex wondered how much of what they had told him was the truth. If they lied about being with the CIA, then they might be lying about the rest.

  "Only five other people in the entire world have knowledge of this very lucrative offer."

  Wilson picked up a glass of water from an end table. "Here, drink this. And relax. The Chief will be with you in a few minutes."

  "No thank you, I'll pass on the water. I'm having trust issues at the moment."

  "Suit yourself."

  As Reed and Wilson turned to leave the room, Alex said, "Who are those five people?"

  "Excuse me?" Reed replied.

  "Who are the five people who know about this proposal, besides me, of course?"

  "You're looking at two of them."

  "And?"

  "As it stands at the moment, you're about to meet the third person. And if you accept our proposal, you will one day meet the fourth person. But you will never meet the fifth."

  Alex rubbed the back of his neck, trying to release the aching tension tingling down his spine. "Must be someone pretty high up?"

  "You could say that," Wilson said. "We don't even know who the fifth person is...but we have to go, and you, you're about to meet the Chief."

  The door closed with a gentle click.

  Once they were gone, Alex weighed his options on the glass of water and decided to take a drink. It tasted fine. Actually, it satisfied the thirst he'd acquired from being unconscious. He imagined his mouth hanging wide open, jaw sagging, not swallowing for hours. A sip turned into a gulp and before he knew it, he'd downed the whole glass.

  With his pallet wetted, he switched his attention to the organized cherry wood desk in the back half of the room. Documents were stacked on it in a neat pile, held down by a round paper weight made of crystal. A gold coffee cup contained a few pens next to a phone and desk calendar.

  In the back of the room, a set of bookcases extended from floor to ceiling, encompassing the entire wall.

  Alex walked over and approached the dark stained shelving. Glass doors enclosed the middle of the three sections, which contained objects like a model war plane, a tank, and a small globe. The two outer sections showcased historical books on war and ancient civilizations.

  Now behind the desk, Alex gravitated toward the middle case, his hand drawn to the glass door.

  "Do you like model planes, Mr. Parker?" a stocky man asked, his head as bald and shiny as a marble floor. He waddled forward on a wooden cane with a brass handle.

  "As a matter of fact...I do.” His heart racing from the sudden appearance of the man, Alex zeroed in on the curved handle of the cane. Probably hid a blade of some kind.

  "Would you like to take it out and look at it?"

  Alex glanced up from the cane to the display shelf. "The craftsmanship of the B-52 is amazing, but no, that won't be necessary.”

  "Well then, let's get down to business, shall we? Take a seat on the sofa." The gentleman moved to the front of the desk and leaned against it as Alex sat on the edge of the couch, slumping forward, hands clasped together, elbows on his knees. "First of all," the man continued, "you can call me, Washington."

  That gave Alex reason to pause. Maybe that's what Reed meant when he said, A plane is waiting to take you to Washington.

  Alex studied the character in front of him, dressed in a sharp gray business suit with a blue paisley tie tucked inside a matching vest. Washington removed his coat and laid it on a clear spot on the desk.

  "You must understand that everything we are about to discuss is highly classified." The man's gaze turned frigid. "Even if you decline our proposal, you can’t breathe a word of this to anyone...ever."

  Alex never broke eye contact. "What is this proposal you speak of?" he asked with an edge to his voice.

  "I'm glad you asked." Washington shifted forward, placing both hands on the handle of his cane. "As you know, ever since the attacks on 9/11, our military has aggressively pursued terrorists in the Middle East. I know you're aware of all this. You were involved in special ops in Afghanistan and Iraq. But with the second Gulf War over, and Iraq in shambles, a new threat has emerged. The Crescent Moon."

  "I thought that movement was in its infancy?"

  "All movements have to start somewhere. The group is gaining influence worldwide and is a growing threat."

  Alex narrowed his brow. "What do you want from me?"

  "We want you to work for us, Mr. Parker. We need an extra player to give us a leg up in the war on terror. We know about your service as a Navy SEAL and that you're an only child. We know about the loss of your parents—the plane that crashed into the Pentagon. A tragic loss for so many on that day. And we also know that you believe in this country and in the cause of freedom. We believe you are perfect for what we have in mind. You have no ties to the outside world, except for a few distant relatives and Samantha Peterson, your ex-fiancée. We've been searching for someone with your unique skills and experience. You’re everything we're looking for."

  Hearing Samantha’s name made him remember they had a lunch date planned for today. After years apart, they’d started talking recently. Guess she was getting stood up. Oh well.

  Alex glanced up. "What, exactly, did you have in mind?"

  "I'm getting to that." Washington stared back, seemingly irritated by the interruption. "Again, after 9/11, the President created the Department of Homeland Security. We are sort of a...nameless division of that department. And we need the use of your services for covert operations and espionage. Our purpose is to obtain vital information about the world's terrorist organizations and the governments that support them. On occasion, the need arises to eliminate key figures within their ranks. That's where you come in, Mr. Parker."

  "You want me to be your assassin?"

  "More than that, a spy as well. We need you to do the jobs no one else can touch. Mind you, everything will be in the name of freedom and justice, an act of war on terror.” Washington's leathery face hardened with conviction. “We will never ask you to commit murder on the innocent, but to wage war on the men who plot to destroy our way of life."

  Alex took a moment to consider the well laid out presentation. For some reason, the Chief, as Reed and Wilson called him, had earned his respect in a matter of minutes.

  "Covert operations and espionage, well, that's a very dangerous occupation," Alex said after a brief contemplation. "Not to be greedy, but what do I get in return?"

  "For starters, you get the satisfaction of knowing you're helping your country, saving lives, preserving freedom. Second, you'll get to travel all over the world for free," Washington said with a sly grin. "And last but not least, you'll get just about anything else your heart desires."

  "Anything?"

  "Anything."

  Alex's gaze drifted around the room as he weighed his options. He could say no to the offer and return home. Or he could take some serious time and really think about it. Like days, if they'd allow it. Not minutes or hours. That's what he should do. That's what a normal person would do. But what did he have to go back to? He didn't have a job. He didn't need one. He had his parent's life insurance policy to thank for that. The farmhouse was paid off and in his name. And what about Samantha? There was no way to know if anything would ever happen between them. The truth was, ever since he left the Navy he felt like his existence had little purpose. Maybe this was his chance to add some meaning back to his life?

  "Well?"

  "I can't think of a reason not to accept your proposal.”

  "Good. Here's a pen and notepad—“

  “Wait...I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”

  “Let me make myself clear, Mr. Parker.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I know what I said earlier about the proposal, that you couldn’t speak of it if you declined it, but in reality, you don’t hav
e a choice. The moment you entered my office you passed the point of no return. The wheels have already started to turn. Our agents have taken over the investigation from local officials and cordoned off the crime scene at your house. The evidence has been documented for public record. There is no going back...so make a list of your requests and they'll be granted."

  Alex gasped. “Crime scene?”

  “That’s right.” Washington froze and appeared to remember something important. "There is one small catch to our agreement, however. It has to do with the unfortunate result of the crime that took place at your home."

  "What might that be?"

  "You have to die, Mr. Parker." Washington grinned like the devil. “But don't worry, it won't hurt a bit.”

  4

  SAVANNAH, GEORGIA

  From the middle bench of the Chevy Tahoe, Alex watched Samantha standing in the rain, her father holding an umbrella over their heads. The downpour battered the red clay around the gravesite as two men in ponchos lowered the coffin into the ground using a wench system. It was a closed casket funeral. According to media reports, Alex suffered a severe beating, blunt force trauma to the skull, and a nine millimeter bullet to the back of the head.

  Samantha's sandy blonde hair was pulled back in a bow, clad in a supple black dress and flat soled shoes. It had been years since they parted ways, her into a career as an elementary school teacher, Alex to the Navy. But after her mom’s death, they had several conversations by phone, and had plans for that lunch date that never occurred.

  As Samantha and her father turned to leave, she looked up and spotted the black Tahoe with tinted windows. Her gaze lingered on the SUV momentarily, and then they continued on their way in the rain.

  Alex's eyes followed Samantha all the way to her vehicle at the edge of the cemetery. Before she reached her car, two men in trench coats and umbrellas approached her.

  Alex leaned closer to the window, observing them as they talked. One of the men handed her what looked like a business card, and then both of them disappeared into the torrential rain. A few moments later, Samantha's father drove her away.

  "Who do you think they were?"

  "Police...maybe?" Wilson replied, seated next to Alex.

  "They didn't look like police."

  "I don't know who they were, but you must realize that you can never contact her again...ever."

  "I'm fully aware of that."

  Reed started the engine and put the SUV into gear.

  As they pulled away from the curb, Alex pondered what accepting Washington's proposal meant on a grand scale. It sounded farfetched, like something he'd seen in a movie, but it was all too real. He had to give up the life he knew, assume a new identity, and take up residence outside the United States. Alex Parker had to die and no one could know anything otherwise, including his former fiancée. He couldn’t enter the States again. The security risk was too great.

  The next step was to get to work on his list of requests. He had a few things in mind. And then there was the briefing about his first mission. Washington had told him the mission itself was coming up soon, less than a month away, enough time to look for a place to live and to get settled in for the long haul.

  5

  The UH-60L Black Hawk helicopter roared across the landscape under a velvety midnight sky at more than one hundred miles an hour. Seven years as a Navy SEAL prepared Alex Parker for almost anything, even the most perilous missions. The only difference: back then he went in with a team of experienced and hardened warriors...now, he was a loner. No backup. But he liked it that way. If something went wrong, he had only himself to blame. So far Washington, a.k.a. the Chief, had yet to brief him on the mission objectives. According to his new leader with the walking cane, even the chopper crew didn't know Alex's identity or the exact details of what lay ahead. The mission orders were deemed classified information. The pilots and crew were only there for the drop and extraction. That was it.

  Black hair, face paint, and combat fatigues told the story...special ops were his forte. Alex felt at home in the dark, like a cat. His eyes adjusted, better than most, he believed. In his mind, he moved like a panther, stealth-like, zeroing in on his prey. And once he had the enemy in his sights, he pounced like a predator. Years spent under a dumbbell and morning runs shaped his body into a hardened weapon of war.

  Alex examined the blade of a Ka-Bar knife fitted with a curved metal guard that looped over his knuckles for a firm grip. Satisfied, he tucked the knife away in a sheath on his hip. Next, he removed a Glock 17 nine millimeter pistol from a holster under his left arm. He ejected the magazine, pulled the slide back to inspect the chamber. Once finished, he inserted the magazine and returned the pistol to the holster. Additionally, he had an eavesdropping device plugged into his head set, which bookended a pair of night vision goggles. Finally, he checked his AW Covert 7.62 millimeter sniper rifle and found everything in order. With a suppressor muffling the business end of the rifle, the weapon had near silent firing and ample take down power.

  Alex donned a pair of headphones and turned his attention to a flat screen monitor mounted behind the pilot's seat. The display lit up. It was Washington. He wasted no time in getting down to the mission specifics.

  "Listen up, Alex. Intelligence puts Kasim Abdul Raziz, the newest head of the terrorist organization called The Crescent Moon, at a mobile campsite a few miles north of an abandoned airfield in Afghanistan, close to the Iranian border."

  "You've mentioned the group before, back in your office. Guess I'm supposed to eliminate Mr. Raziz?"

  "Do you even have to ask that question?"

  Alex honed in on Washington’s hardened expression. “I’m listening.”

  "First off, you'll be dropped two miles south of the airfield. Then you'll proceed across the runway due north. Two-point-five miles beyond that position should be Raziz's camp."

  "Should be?" His instincts hummed.

  "Look, Alex, we're almost certain Raziz is there according to informants on the ground. He's traveling with a hundred or more armed men. So you'll have to be swift, quiet, and efficient to complete the mission. These satellite photos reveal the area around the camp." The screen changed, displaying the terrorist hold-up in fine detail. Tents, trucks, jeeps and men were scattered throughout the rugged landscape. "The camp is located in the foothills of some pretty mountainous terrain. It's to their tactical advantage. At the first sign of trouble, they take to the hills for cover. Once you're in position on the hillside east of the camp, scope him, and then take him out. The launch-able eavesdropping device should help. It has a listening circumference of around a hundred yards. But if they catch wind of your presence, we'll be pulling lead out of your hide."

  Alex didn't flinch. His face remained solid, determined.

  "Once you've completed your mission, the chopper will be waiting at the extraction point. Set your watch. You've got two hours. Your ride out will only wait five minutes past the two hour mark. Remember, the Afghanistan government has no knowledge of this operation."

  "Wouldn't have it any other way."

  "Alex," Washington's forehead scrunched into some serious wrinkles, "this is it, be careful, and get out alive. I'll leave you with this picture of Raziz and the satellite photos of the camp. Memorize them." He paused. "Good luck, you'll need it."

  Washington faded as the image of Kasim Raziz filled the screen. A dark complexion, thick black hair, and a thin mustache characterized the newest leader of The Crescent Moon. A dossier appeared beside the image. The man stood six-foot-two and was reported to be in great physical shape.

  Alex checked his watch.

  Twenty minutes till boots on the ground.

  6

  AFGHANISTAN

  The Black Hawk helicopter cruised low over the arid terrain to keep its sound waves closer to the ground and to avoid radar detection. Five miles from the camp, the chopper would be almost undetectable.

  The bird slowed and hovered over the drop zone.
<
br />   Alex checked his gear one last time and prepared to exit, his fingers clenching the door frame on the port side. With little fanfare, he saluted the pilots and then leaped to the ground, tucked and rolled.

  The helicopter pulled up, sending powerful blasts of air swarming over Alex and the surrounding desert. Skyward, the chopper circled back, keeping low, and blazed away.

  Alex rustled over the barren topography, stopping here and there to remove the night vision goggles and assess his location. Stars twinkled against a clear backdrop, the moon hiding in the blackness, the lunar body in the new phase of its trajectory across the sky. But to his advantage, he used the North Star to maintain proper alignment with his target destination, and as planned, the celestial object led him to the abandoned airfield, two miles from the drop zone.

  There was a slight problem, however. The airstrip wasn't deserted as Washington said it would be.

  Alex slithered through some brush and crouched in a ditch, the prickly tips failing to penetrate his fatigues. The enemy combatants milled about, roughly a quarter mile away. He raised the goggles he'd been wearing to his forehead and switched the sniper rifle to night vision.

  "Expect the unexpected," he said to himself, spying through the scope. The greenish hue outlined the movement of three armed guards.

  Alex wondered why they hadn't heard the Black Hawk two miles away. If they had detected the chopper, they'd be waiting for him.

  He contemplated his next move...a full frontal assault was off the table since the men were sure to have hand radios. His options seemed to be few. If he started picking them off one at a time, even if he was successful in preventing radio contact, even that would alert Raziz's camp when contact was attempted and failed.

  He scampered to the west edge of the tarmac and spotted a small building next to the runway. Cautious, he kept low and shuffled across the aging crumble of asphalt. His senses heightened, he anticipated a spray of bullets at any moment. But no shots were fired as he neared the backside of the building.