Zeb Carter is almost your average Private Military Contractor. Almost. They really should have gone after him.
Zeb Carter is almost your average Private Military Contractor. Almost.
When working for a WDE (We Don't Exist) Agency, Zeb witnesses a gruesome crime in the Congo and tracks the perpetrators down to New York. Only to discover that not only are they protected by the FBI, but also are closely connected to a very high profile politician.
Ordered to stand down by the FBI, Zeb finds that his hunt brings those close to him in the sights of the killers.
A thriller that spans Congo and New York, The Warrior is dotted with gritty action, a central character that fuels imagination, and a supporting cast of great colorful characters.
The Warrior is about relentless determination and a burning need to avenge and to deliver retribution against all odds. The Warrior is not just about action but also about character build up and the clash of differing values and how those clashes affect outcomes. Lastly, The Warrior is about the brotherhood of warriors.
The first in the Zeb Carter and Broker series.
Excerpt
He lies in the slow night, waiting, the tabla playing in his head.
The tabla, an instrument played widely in India has a small wooden drum, the sidda, and a larger metal one, the dagga.
The sidda is played with the fingers and palm of the right hand and the dagga with the fingers, palm and wrist of the left hand. The black spot on the tabla determines its tone and consists of soot, metallic dusts, plant extracts. The exact manner of its creation has remained a secret for hundreds of years and is passed on from father to son of tabla makers in dusty parts of India. Its teaching too is passed from teacher to pupil with no formal instructions in existence.
All these facts flit through his mind subconsciously as he strokes the leather skin of the tabla and plays out taals in his mind.
He came to the village just as dusk has been settling in, and has become one with the rain forest. The mud huts with thatched roofs are just about a hundred metres away, so close that he can hear conversations in the huts, families eating, children crying, and women cooking. The village is split by a road going across it with huts almost evenly scattered on either side of it, about 200 of them in all. He knows from his reconnaissance file that there is a concrete structure in the middle of the village that serves as a communal school and youth centre.
He observes the arrival of the soldiers close to midnight, about 40 of them in two trucks and an open topped Jeep, a few white skinned among them. He hears them banging through huts, the screams of women and children, sounds of violence, and the occasional shots.
He has called Andrews on his satellite phone and relayed the goings on.
Andrews has been categorical. He is not to go into the village. He is not to engage; he is to stay where he is, observe and record as much as possible.
Andrews will call the Democratic Republic of Congo’s embassy in Washington as well as the US Embassy in the Congo and alert them to the incident. He will also call some media companies and get them to look into what’s happening. He is playing the teentaal in his mind on the tabla, when the trucks roar off; the screams and moans of the women and children subside, but by not much.
He can see the front of the Jeep its body hidden by a hut. Ghostly shadows move between the huts occasionally. If sound could be blotted, it would be a lazy evening in the Congo.
Zeb is a Specialist, a Troubleshooter, a Private Military Contractor if you want to be nit-picky. In an earlier life he was with the US Special Forces. Some would say he is a mercenary. He is hired around the world for his skills in finding stuff. Stuff such as stolen nuclear war heads or terrorists. He is also hired for finding people. Hostages kidnapped for ransom, soldiers held prisoners in enemy territory, civilians held hostage by nutters, find anyone really. He has often acted as body guard, security consultant, or a protector. Sometimes he is hired to make people disappear. Bad people, roaches.
Some call him an assassin. He knows he isn’t one, but can do that job better than the best assassins in the world. Labels don’t bother him. His job is a violent, high risk one. He wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t.
Armed forces across the world hire him, as do police forces, national governments, Hollywood stars and billionaires.
His last assignment had been to retrieve a stolen Russian nuclear warhead. He had to work with the Agency as well as various covert government organizations in Europe, USA and Russia, infiltrate a few terrorist cells, and negotiate with the world’s most wanted arms dealers before locating the warhead in a mosque in Detroit. He had then called in the Agency, who had then called in a few WDE (We Don’t Exist) organizations to conduct a dawn raid on the mosque. He was part of the team that went in; it was his finger that pulled the trigger splattering the brains of two members of the cell.
He had flown to New York for his debrief at one of the several anonymous offices maintained or temporarily occupied by various Federal agencies. Andrews was waiting for him in the colourless office.
‘We have something else for you, if you are interested.’ That was Andrews. Very good at the small talk. ‘But first things first,’ continued Andrews, ‘Report?’
He wordlessly handed across his report to Andrews, who made a show of going through it. He had worked with Andrews for a long time, could easily read him. Andrews wasn’t really interested in his report. He would have been thoroughly debriefed by the WDE agents. Andrews was here to stoke his interest in the next assignment, whatever it was. He was bored of these games, but went along. Andrews was a first rate handler who gave him interesting assignments and just for that he could go along with his games. For a short while.
Andrews finally put the report down, drummed his fingers on the desk, looked at him, away and then back at him. ‘We might have a problem.’ Pause. ‘In the Congo.’ Andrews waits for his response. Realising it could be a long wait, Andrews continues. ‘As you know the Democratic Republic of Congo has a UN Peace Keeping Force, which has not been particularly effective in keeping the peace. In fact it has been accused of not doing enough to keep out rebel troops, getting involved with drug and gold smuggling.’
Andrews waited for a response, got none and forged ahead. ‘But the UN Force is not what is troubling us. There are a bunch of military contractors out there, gone to train the DRC’s army. Six of them. The Agency has used them in the past but stopped dealing with them. Too brutal. Don’t play by the unwritten rules in our game. Multiple paymasters at the same time and some of those paymasters the bad guys. That kind of stuff. Over the past few months there have been whispers of Western military contractors actively working with the other side, the Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda, FDLR, involved in all kinds of nasty stuff. And don’t even ask me why a force for the liberation of Rwanda is active in the DRC.’
He watched Andrews speak.
‘So?’ He asked once Andrews had finished.
‘The firetrucking thing is,’ Andrews in his inimitable style, ‘we don’t know whether those rogue contractors are the same we used in the past. The Agency has stopped dealing with them but it would be minefield territory if those chimpanzees are the same and it comes out that the Agency has associated with them. China is expanding its presence in Africa and we want to be seen as the good guys. We want you to go to the DRC and find out who those guys are what the frick they are doing. No action. Just investigate and report.’
‘Nope.’
Andrews waited for an explanation, got none, did his routine of looking away and back, and drummed his fingers.
‘Yes, I did think you would say something like that. Not challenging enough for you and all that. I want you to meet someone,’ and slipped out of the room.
He can back a little while later with the Director. And then it became personal.
“The Warrior” by Ty Patterson is a gripping and powerful read about Zeb Carter, a mercenary who witnesses a few too many crimes on a mission in the Congo to let go of them. On a personal vendetta against a particularly nasty specimen of a ruthless and brutal killer and rapist, Carsten Holt, Carter returns to New York to take the man on with the help of his friend and family. His work gets him in conflict with federal agencies, business men, journalists and politicians. The plot is cleverly developed and intelligently thought-through, the interconnections of the various parties involved in the hunt for Holt are excellently laid out. The descriptions of the developing complications and conflicts that arise for some of the players in this game are one of the highlights of this reading experience and a welcome relieve from often too simply laid out crime fiction. Patterson is a distinguished, clever and skilled story teller.
Another strong point of the novel is the ease of language the author uses which - when portraying action in the Congo – catches the raw masculinity of the fighters perfectly, but then moves effortlessly to the world of politics and businessmen in New York. His command of English is confident and a pleasure to enjoy.
You might say that in fiction the world of corruption has been somewhat exploited enough and the surprise effect of who has what kind of interest in the mines and riches of Africa are nothing new, but neither are the still urging and unresolved issues of child labour, kidnappings, mass killings and abuse of power to name but few, in those countries. Seeing this world from a man with questionable moral values himself, a contract killer if you so will, makes the reading experience all the more interesting as it confronts us with moral relativity, which in effect we all live in.
Zeb Carter and his brothers in arms are a group of people I enjoyed watching, their camaraderie and sense of values are decently developed and avoid the trap of stereotype and worn out repetition.
I am not a great fan of thrillers, the military world and ‘Rambo/macho’ action but I must say that I found myself pleasantly surprised to find a book in this genre written with so much intelligence and depth.
Her grandma always said she had “the blessing”, and to always use it for good, but sometimes there is shame in fame if a person can’t handle it. Don’t let the Boo Hag ride ya
Children will enjoy reading and hearing about the silly antics of a puppy still learning how to be a good listener. This story is about Riley, a cute, little, rescue puppy who gets into all sorts of predicaments.
