Prologue
Black
operative John Carpenter can’t forget his last mission. After uncovering
brokered deals between a Guatemalan cartel and the CIA, John searches for the
truth while going behind the back of his handler. At the same time, John is
ordered to get a Silicon Valley millionaire out of Nicaragua amidst student
riots and deadly paramilitary. He needs all of his ingenuity and training to
get the asset – and himself – out alive.
He
managed not to moan – he was a professional even in the worst situations – but
he couldn’t stop himself from hyperventilating. He was in shock. He knew he was
in shock. He tried to kick it. Clear his mind, focus on the task at hand. He’d
been shot. He needed to eliminate the threat. He had to finish the mission.
The
searing pain was beginning to drip into his system now, a slow whine that
overtook his adrenaline and as his pain tolerance started to be overwhelmed, he
wanted to cry out, desperate for reprieve.
There
was no one here to help him. If a mission went wrong, if someone was captured
or killed, there would be no rescue. That’s how The Firm’s agent’s operated.
That was how they kept the United States government far away from any political
fallout. And besides, they never made mistakes.
Brian
crawled painfully to cover, feeling blood smear against shards of glass against
the floor. He pressed a hand to his chest, not bothering to look at how bad the
wound was. He didn’t need to look at it. He knew what that kind of bloodflow
through his gloves meant. He managed to pull himself next to a cabinet, leaning
his back against the wood and tried to calm his breath. His sigh turned into a
cough. He raised his other hand instinctively to cover his mouth and he found
he hadn’t dropped his gun when he’d fallen. He held the reliable Beretta in
white knuckled fingers that refused to let go, shaking from the effort of his
training that refused to abandon him against all odds.
He
looked down at the glass. Some of it had been decorated with a metal coating.
He placed his gun in his lap and retrieved a large piece, angling it to see
where his attacker was hiding. It was dark and his vision was beginning to
blur. His thoughts began to wander.
It
wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be a simple hit. Kill the head
of an Antiguan drug cartel. Snatch some information off a computer while he was
at it. An upper level operative had confided in him that something was wrong
with this cartel. Something about corruption. Something way above petty drug
wars and trafficking operations.
He
had slipped past security. Gotten into the estate. His target should have been
here, caught unawares. A silent chuckle escaped him. Had he gotten that rusty?
He coughed up blood.
As
if to answer his unspoken questions, a figure emerged from the darkness. Brian
watched it through the mirrored glass, but it was getting increasingly
difficult to concentrate. The man was a large figure; imposing, he held a
handgun and even as his consciousness ebbed and flowed, Brian couldn’t help but
admire what a well-tailored suit he was wearing. He always tried to be an
optimist. The man continued to walk toward Brian’s hiding place, waving the
handgun as he spoke. His low voice pierced the darkness.
“Looks
like my deal is better than your deal, mamón. I almost feel bad. But business
is business.”
That
was his target, no doubt about it. Sandor Puentes. But Brian didn’t understand
what the man was saying. He couldn’t piece anything together. His mind was a
fog. In his final moments, bleeding out, desperately attempting to complete at
least part of his mission, Brian thought of his best friend John Carpenter, and
the painstaking Spanish lesson he’d received. He’d wanted to master at least
one good swear word.
“Que
te folle un pez!” Brian cried, bursting from behind the cabinet and preparing
to unload his magazine into Sandor Puentes, brutal cartel boss of Antigua,
probably one of the largest sex traffickers in all of Latin America. I hope you
get fucked by a fish!
All
people deserved justice. Some people’s justice was death.
Gunshots
tore through the air like vengeance.
“In
here!” Juan Puentes yelled to the guards. Where were the guards?
He
had heard his mother and father yelling, and gunshots. The deals they had made
with the other cartels were holding strong. Who could be attacking them? His
heart pounded in his chest, his soul itched for battle. If there was trouble,
he would protect his family. He clutched his shotgun and bounded into the foyer
where he was sure the commotion was. Guards flooded the room alongside him,
some shining flashlights. Idiotas, Juan thought, pushing a guard out of the
way. He flicked on the light switch, turning on the lavish electric chandelier.
Pablo
and Isabella, his uncle and mother were in the room, holding each other, shaking
and weeping. Juan stared at them in shock. His eyes drifted over to his
father’s desk, and he saw a handgun resting idly there. He was hardly aware of
anything else until his uncle spoke and pointed near the door.
“I’m
sorry, sobrino. Nephew. Truly, I am.”
A
man dressed all in black laid in a bloody heap on the floor. Blood and broken
glass were everywhere. Juan didn’t understand.
“I suppose it is not sobrino, anymore, mi hijo,” Pablo’s words hung, foreign in
Juan’s ears. My son.
It
was then that Juan saw.
Sandor
Puentes, his strong and determined father – his loving father – lay beside the
other man, his forehead blown apart, mouth twisted in a sneer.
Juan let out a wail, overwhelmed by the sight of his father, firing his shotgun into the air. The ornate chandelier exploded in a shower of glass and crystal. Its shattered remains fell all around him as darkness covered the room once more.
Hi Amber,
ReplyDeleteThank you very much for posting blurbs, excerpt and video trailers of my son's debut spy thriller Ghosts of Guatemala and book two of the John Carpenter Trilogy Operation Nicaragua. We appreciate it very much.
All the best,
Marjan Glavac A Proud Dad
It is my pleasure having your son and his book on the blog.
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