Chapters (96)
- Cover
- Berkley titles by David Ricciardi
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- CHARACTER LIST
- PROLOGUE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- EIGHTY-FOUR
- EIGHTY-FIVE
- EIGHTY-SIX
- EIGHTY-SEVEN
- Children of Fallen Patriots Foundation
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
The man who had sent so many others to their deaths would become just another statistic in a spate of synthetic-drug-related deaths over the past few years—including two rough-looking men who’d been gunned down just days earlier at the nightclub where they worked. Though the masked shooters were never located, the victims were reputed to be members of the Albanian mafia, and authorities suspected the attack was carried out by a rival organized crime syndicate over drug distribution territories.
—
JAKE RETURNED HIS attention to the laptop. There was activity on the left side of the screen.
Sixty thousand feet over the western Indian Ocean, a U.S. Navy MQ-4C surveillance drone was tracking an airborne helicopter. A thermal imaging camera under the drone’s fuselage kept the helicopter centered on the screen as it began a wide right turn.
On the right-hand screen was a feed from another navy asset, a P-8 Poseidon maritime patrol aircraft. Essentially a highly modified Boeing 737, the P-8 had the ability to collect intelligence, track objects above and below the surface of the sea, and prosecute targets. It was flying wide orbits thirty-two thousand feet above the sea while it stalked a small freighter steaming east through the Indian Ocean.
Before Jake left Mogadishu, the Somali banker had come to him and complained bitterly that one of the pirates had taken over the operation and was no longer paying the banker. The former Norwegian commando was reputedly splitting the proceeds among the team members, just like the pirates of old.
The two images on Jake’s screen converged as the helicopter landed on the deck of the ship.
He activated the encrypted Bluetooth headset he was wearing and cupped his hand over his mouth as he spoke.
“Red Flag is a go. Repeat, Operation Red Flag is a go.”
A Harpoon anti-ship missile dropped from the Poseidon aircraft and fell nearly to the surface of the sea before igniting its turbojet motor and skimming over the wavetops toward its target. Jake watched as the five hundred-pound warhead detonated against the side of the pirate mothership, filling both screens with an enormous thermal bloom.
The big Harpoon had been overkill for the small merchant ship and when the explosion died down the screens showed nothing but small fragments, barely a few feet across, slowly sinking below the surface. The rest of the ship, and all of the men aboard, had been vaporized in the explosion.
—
JAKE WAS STILL staring at the laptop when he sensed someone approaching the booth.
“I can come back if you’re busy,” the man said.
“Not at all,” Jake said as he closed the laptop. He rose to his feet and smiled at Giánnis.
“I was just taking care of some unfinished business.”
Children of Fallen Patriots Foundation
