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Category:
Action/Thriller
Publisher: Thom Tate
ISBN-10: B00IXMWSOS
Type: Fiction
Pages: 72
Copyright: Dec 15, 2013
ISBN-13: 9781311210975
Price: $1.49 (eBook)
Book 4 in the Covert World Spy Thriller series.
Being in the sights of a former ally was the last thing Black Ops Agent, Blake MacKay expected, but that’s just where he landed.
An intercepted call discloses that the former Iranian nuclear guru, Mohsen Fallali, has come back on the grid to head-up Iran’s new nuclear weapons program. Mossad has to act fast and sends Solomon Zinn, an elite sniper, to take him out. However, the Ansar al-Sharia militant group wants Fallahi for their own purposes and will stop at nothing to get him.
Aware of the two groups after Fallahi, Blake is sent to Vienna to capture him before Mossad or Ansar al-Sharia can carry out their plans. When Blake discovers that his Mossad adversary is a former lover, he must devise the ultimate deception to complete his mission.
When the three competing forces descend on Vienna, all hell breaks out in this thrilling spy novella.
Excerpt
Chapter 1
Vienna, Austria
01:19 (23:19 GMT)
July 18th
The glow of streetlamps cascaded onto the wet pavement, adding an orange hue to the scene and spilling into the room like a glowing ribbon, illuminating Solomon’s M89SR sniper rifle resting on the makeshift table.
The rain had stopped more than an hour ago, but the sound of water dripping from the downspouts outside the open window imparted a soothing atmosphere. It was late, and she was tired after waiting for close to twelve hours.
She’d chosen a room on an empty floor of a multi-purpose building in the Griechengasse, a small shopping area catering to tourists.
Below were apartments, shops, and restaurants, the kind putting spinning postcard holders on the sidewalk. They invited customers in with the noise of traditional Bavarian music and the smell of fresh pretzels.
The conditions weren’t ideal, but she’d been in far worse. From her vantage point, she could make out the entire front of the Hotel Austria across the street. The location where her mark would arrive.
She spit out the last of her fingernail, a nervous habit she had no intention of breaking. To quell the butterflies and hunger she was experiencing, she moved over to the wooden crate she used as a table.
Letting out a tired sigh, she opened the Styrofoam container that had been sitting on the counter for hours. The once appetizing sandwich now lay stiff and unappealing, its edges turning a shade of brown as rigor mortis set in.
The fruit salad, now at room temperature, looked disgusting to her eyes and stomach. But with hunger gnawing at her, she devoured the meager remnants of her lunch.
Placing her fork down on the makeshift worktop, she took a moment to rest and reflect on her meal. The lukewarm coffee offered little comfort as she washed down the final bites of warm fruit.
A shudder ran through her body at the unpleasant combination of tastes and textures in her mouth.
Disgusting!
The sound of splashing water, forced out from beneath rolling tires, alerted her. She grabbed her M89SR sniper rifle and chambered a round, hurrying to the window.
A black Mercedes sedan appeared, followed by a pair of silver Range Rover SUVs.
Adrenaline pumped through her veins, and an overwhelming feeling of confidence overcame her nervousness.
This was it. The wait was over.
#
Two blocks away and around the corner sat a white Citroën panel van, outfitted to resemble a Deutsche Telekom utility truck. They had decked it out with ladders and tools of the trade.
To further disguise its true intent, they dropped roadwork cones on the road as the trio of men waited for their spotter to return.
Marid Kanaan entered the vehicle from the side door, out of breath. Light reflected off his water-soaked orange top, which was part of their uniform to appear authentic. Abir and Marid both wore the same bright orange vests. The driver sported a bright green jacket. Safar, the man in the passenger seat, was wearing yellow.
“They’re stopping now.”
Abir checked his watch. “How many?”
“I have no knowledge, but there are three vehicles.”
Abir Mammeri was not a tall man, but his devotion made up for his lack of stature.
He backhanded Marid across the face. “You fool! How are we supposed to do this if we do not know what we’re up against?”
“I am sorry, I can go back and—”
“No! It is too late. Allah is on our side and he will ensure we are victorious.”
Abir was the nephew of Mohamed Alzahabi, the leader of the now-infamous Ansar al-Sharia extremist group. Mohamed took the boy in when he was three, after his dad died.
Early in the 1980s, President Reagan issued a directive to bring down any Libyan aircraft straying beyond the ‘Line of Death’. It was a fictitious boundary extending twelve miles off the coast of Libya.
Two F-14 Tomcats had shot Abir’s father, a fighter pilot, out of the sky when he had ventured past the border. As a result, he fell into the hands of his extremist uncle, and his hatred for the West was born.
He made a quick prayer to Allah for the mission’s success and the safety of his four-man squad. The men pulled black masks over their heads and chambered rounds into their weapons.
Abir tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Faadi, let’s go.”
Solomon peered through her rifle’s scope and fixed it on her target.
#
Mohsen Fallahi’s work on uranium enrichment was in the higher echelons of the Iranian atomic energy program. It was akin to Robert Oppenheimer’s in the 1940s in terms of audacity and breadth.
In 2006, Fallahi fell off the grid and people presumed him dead. The re-emergence of the man and the stalling of diplomatic efforts to contain Iran’s nuclear ambitions instigated Mossad to act. It was Solomon’s task to eliminate the bastard before he could start.
Her right eye peered through the scope as she held her focus on the back of the Mercedes automobile with both eyes open. Solomon stroked the gun’s trigger with her finger.
Four guys in dark suits exited the closest Range Rover while the Mercedes’ doors remained closed. Three of the eight men approached the passenger rear door. One was bald, and the other had a lengthy ponytail.
They faced each other, making a path for Fallahi. The third, sporting a black beard, stood to the side, his head on a swivel. The fourth person wore a traditional Iranian cap and strode into the hotel.
Solomon chose the second SUV as her target. The visible duo appeared to be dressed in more formal attire. The chauffeur sported a dark turban, and the individual in the back had donned a vivid red waistcoat. Two more people were out of her vision.
The driver’s door of the Mercedes opened, and an enormous man came out of the vehicle. He marched to the back and unlocked the trunk.
Dammit!
She removed her forefinger from the trigger and stared out across the street. The backend of the vehicle was now blocking her view, and a slight wave of panic washed over her, as she feared a clean shot would be impossible.
The hulk of a man took a bag from the rear compartment and closed it. She settled down, peered through her scope, and returned her finger to the trigger.
After a protracted wait, the back passenger door opened, and Mohsen Fallahi stepped out.
She put her crosshairs in the dead center of Fallahi’s head. She inhaled a deep breath, held it—.
Machine gun fire shattered the quiet of the night, startling her. The resulting bullet went wide and to the left, ripping through the black-bearded one’s torso.
She gazed in disbelief as a lone Citroën van squealed to a stop in front of the hotel. The bald and pony-tailed bodyguards surrounded Fallahi and pushed him inside the building to escape the mayhem. The giant followed.
Two guards exited from the SUV. The one with the turban sent a five-round burst into the yellow-vested terrorist. Four of the slugs hit him in the chest. The fifth slammed into his head, blowing out the back of his skull.
A shorter man, attired in orange, jumped out of the opposite side of the van and took refuge at the rear. He risked a glance at his now-dead colleague.
“Faadi, they’ve taken him inside! Go get him!”
The green-vested terrorist kneeled to avoid the hail of bullets heading his way.
Solomon kept observing, in shock.
The short bloke in orange appeared to be the leader, and another man dressed in the same color dropped to a prone position. They provided protection, peppering the Mercedes with covering fire to allow the driver to cross the street.
Two other guards in the second SUV exited. One wore traditional white clothes with a black vest, and the other had on a tan suit. The first guy motioned for the bald and the pony-tailed sentry to remain down, protected by the car.
The chauffeur reached the front of the Mercedes. He sidestepped onto the sidewalk and fired his AK-47. It struck the bald escort on the knee, sending him screaming to the ground.
Bullets tore through the neck of the man with the ponytail. The huge bodyguard appeared through an unmarked hotel staff exit to the left of the driver.
The short one in charge screamed. “Look out! On your left!”
Too late! The bald fellow raised his Colt ACP.45 pistol and shot the driver through the head. The bullet exited his skull and shattered the back passenger door window. Blood and gray matter splattered over the roof of the car as she continued to peer through her scope.
The sentry with the cap had come out of the hotel. He and the tan-suited fellow dragged the bald guy into the building for safety.
She scanned the area. The turbaned guard was crouched behind the first SUV. The one with the red vest and the other with the black top had shifted closer to the rear of the Mercedes.
Her gaze moved to the back end of the vehicle, where the commander was loading his weapon with a fresh magazine. He was speaking to the other orange-vested terrorist. As the two men conversed, the power of her scope showed the anxiety in the fourth guy’s eyes.
After exchanging a few words, the leader reached out and handed him something. It was impossible to make out what he said, but whatever it was, there was a change in the man’s demeanor—from fear to determination.
The orange-clad assailant sprang across the busy street, narrowly avoiding the oncoming cars. Fueled by a fanatical resolve, he raced towards the motorcade with a grenade clutched in his hand.
Two guards lunged for shelter behind the bulletproof Mercedes, anticipating an attack. Despite their protective stance, the terrorist leader emerged from the back of a van and opened fire on the first SUV, shattering its windows and causing chaos within.
The turbaned guard crouched for cover as bullets whizzed past him. Amid the gunfire, Solomon’s heart pounded. She knew she had to act fast or risk losing everything. As the attacker advanced towards the front of the car, she braced himself for what was to come.
With precision and speed, both guards unleashed a storm of lead, ripping through the man’s body and bringing him to a gruesome end on the pavement. But before succumbing to death, he managed to release his grip on the grenade, sending it rolling in the direction of the cluster of vehicles.
Chaos erupted as everyone scattered for safety, praying to escape unscathed from this violent encounter.
The deafening blast shattered what little glass remained and flung the vehicle into the air, landing it on its side with a thunderous crash. Shrapnel tore through the bodies of the heavily armed guards, leaving behind a gruesome sight of twisted metal and blood.
As rain poured down from the dark clouds above, it mixed with the crimson pools forming on the pavement, creating a macabre river.
The terrorist leader emerged from the van, an expression of triumph on his face as he surveyed the chaos he had caused. His own protection now gone, he aimed his rifle at the lone surviving guard outside and let out a maniacal scream as he fired off round after round, each one missing its target.
But luck was not on his side as his weapon jammed. In a desperate attempt to save himself, he reached for another magazine in his vest, but found none. Panic set in as he realized his imminent fate.
In the meantime, the turban-wearing bodyguard had moved away from the overturned Range Rover and retrieved his backup weapon. He sauntered towards the frozen terrorist leader, who was now in complete panic, searching for a way out.
Without warning, the guard raised his pistol and aimed it at the terrorist’s head. The last thing the leader saw was a flash of light as the bullet tore through his skull, sending bits of bone and brain matter flying in all directions.
But this was not the end of the chaos. From her vantage point in an empty room nearby, Solomon watched it all unfold. As she carefully aimed with her gun, she waited for the right moment to make her move.
A subsonic shot whizzed past his ear with a sharp zip before hitting its intended target. The lone terrorist spun around in shock as his head exploded in a crimson mist.
Solomon remained hidden in the dark, keeping her weapon trained on the scene. She crept to a window for a better view, a sense of satisfaction washing over her as she watched the terror and violence come to an end.
The man she had saved jumped into the van and sped off. Beige suit and small capped guards came running out to the street. They were firing their weapons harmlessly in the van’s direction, as it rounded the corner a block away.
A sound of sirens filled the air as Solomon studied the carnage now on the road, three levels down.
What in the hell happened?
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