Read Chapter 1 of our new novel, Covert Action
Covert Action releases on March 5th in print, ebook, and audio
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Our latest novel, Covert Action, Book 5 of the Command and Control series, is more than a national security thriller—it’s a murder mystery. And the murder that drives much of the action in the story happens in Chapter One.
If you enjoy this taste of our next book, we encourage you to pre-order Covert Action so that it shows up the moment the Amazon Machine says GO. Even more important, your preorder is a vote of confidence in our writing—and if we haven’t said it enough: thank you for being a reader!
Hardcover print edition is back!
Many readers wrote to us to express their dissatisfaction when our publisher discontinued the hardcover print edition. Well, someone was listening! (We told you we had a great publisher.) Covert Action will have a LIMITED hardcover print run. The operative word in this last sentence was limited. Once the copies are sold, that’s it. If you are a hardcover reader/collector, we encourage you to buy NOW.
Without further ado, please enjoy Chapter One of Covert Action.
Chapter 1
Tashkent, Uzbekistan
Tim Trujillo clenched his eyes shut, then opened them again. The words on the laptop screen still ran together. He pulled off his reading glasses and rubbed his face with a callused hand. Tired and long past hungry, right now he was feeling every bit of his fifty years.
Tim checked his Tissot Seastar diver’s watch, a gift from his wife on his retirement from the Army. When Jenny gave Tim the expensive timepiece, she made him promise to take her scuba diving. It was a promise he had yet to fulfill.
He focused on the dial. Five minutes after one in the morning.
Where in the hell was the shuttle? Tim got to his feet and stretched his arms skyward, feeling the vertebrae pop along his spine.
The temporary waiting room for the private air terminal of the Islam Karimov Tashkent International Airport was deserted. Ongoing construction at the growing public airport had forced yet another relocation of the exclusive terminal, this time to a remote corner of the property. There was nothing out here but a concrete apron for the planes to park, a single hangar, and the maintenance shed that had been repurposed as a waiting room. The holding area for passengers was two rows of low-slung, tattered vinyl chairs, a single desk with a heavy black phone, and a coffee pot.
Tim strode to the window facing the main terminal, a soaring modern structure of glass and steel looming in the distance across a pair of concrete runways. The design mirrored the mountain range hidden in the darkness beyond the terminal, making it seem as if the building was growing from the landscape.
Grand infrastructure projects like this were springing up all over Central Asia as part of the Belt and Road Initiative, the Chinese government’s thirty-year plan to create a modern Silk Road reconnecting Asia and Europe. It seemed everywhere Tim went in this part of the world, China was building something new. And not just slapdash, get-it-done projects. These were massive ventures built for growth fifty years in the future. Four-lane highways, airports with a hundred gates, high-speed rail lines connecting regional cities.
Billions of dollars were being invested in sweetheart financing that the host countries would probably never be able to repay. And while he’d read dozens of articles lamenting this robber baron activity, Tim knew that nine out of ten Americans couldn’t even find Uzbekistan on a map—if they’d ever even heard of it. He shook his head. Had he not seen this level of Chinese economic activity firsthand, he probably wouldn’t believe it either.
His involvement in this part of the world changed nine months ago when Grand Surfan Oil and Gas, majority-owned by Chinese shareholders, hired him as a security consultant. With his background in Army intelligence and a career’s worth of experience fighting non-state terrorist groups, he was just what the doctor ordered for the kinds of risk Grand Surfan was trying to protect against.
Tim went back to his laptop and tried to focus on the report he was writing.
The terrorist group known as the Seljuk Islamic Front, commonly abbreviated as SIF, is a regional insurgency that has gained rapid prominence in Central Asia over the last nine months. Although rumored to have ties to Uighur independence groups in western China, the SIF appears to limit its offensive activities to Chinese state-sponsored infrastructure projects in Central Asia. That said, just because Grand Surfan has not suffered any attacks yet does not mean the company is safe from future attacks. It is my recommendation that Grand Surfan effect an advanced security posture immediately. . .
He blinked again to clear his vision and ran his gaze down the list of recommended improvements to harden the company’s field installations. The list was not short, or cheap. Oil fields were sprawling affairs, and in the vast spaces of the Central Asian steppes, every site was wide open to attack from all sides.
His report advocated for tripling the security forces, including a regional QRF with dedicated air transport capability. Specialized hardware to detect and defuse improvised explosive devices was a must. Surveillance camera networks needed to be upgraded at every facility. Tim wondered if he could ask for the latest Chinese government facial recognition software. He’d heard it was the best in the world, and the former intel officer in him wanted to see if it lived up to the hype.
Everything would be tied together on the brand-new Huawei 10G network. This part of the world welcomed the advanced telecommunications capability with open arms, even if the United States and much of Europe rejected the Huawei technology for security reasons. Tim had to admit the network was impressive. Nearly anywhere he went in the region, if he was able to access the Huawei network, he had blazingly fast internet. Mobile phone coverage in the mountainous region was spotty, but getting better all the time as the Chinese continued to build out the network. He knew more than a few of his former Army colleagues with cyber backgrounds who would love to see the inside of the latest Chinese communications network.
Tim grinned to himself. You can take the boy out of the Army, but you can’t take the Army out of the boy.
He edited the list to spell out quick reaction force in place of the acronym QRF. That recommendation was probably overkill, but he decided to leave it. He was a consultant, after all. It was his job to make the best possible recommendations. His boss could figure out whether or not his proposal was worth the price tag. Hell, the company was pumping so much oil out of the region, they could afford everything on his wish list twice over.
He slapped the laptop lid shut and heaved a sigh.
This was his tenth day of visiting field installations for an on-the-ground security assessment. His whirlwind tour had taken him through Kazakhstan, Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan, and Uzbekistan. His last stop before flying to Beijing to deliver his report in person was Ashgabat, Turkmenistan. One final series of inspections and his report would be complete.
Tim glared out the window at the empty tarmac. That assumed the damned shuttle ever showed up.
He rolled his shoulders. Every muscle ached and he smelled like he’d been on army field maneuvers for a week. The steppes were high desert country. Dusty and hot during the day and cold at night. He could feel grit in every crevice of his body, and he longed for a hot shower and a cold beer. His stomach rumbled. Maybe some barbecue, too.
He scratched at his stubbled chin. He’d quit shaving a week ago and his beard had reached the itchy stage of growth. Jenny hated him with a beard and always made him shave it off as soon as he got home.
A wave of homesickness swept over him at the thought of his wife. He did the mental math on the time zone difference between Tashkent and northern Virginia. One a.m. here, which meant it was three in the afternoon at home. Too early to call. Jenny would still be at work, and he knew she turned her cell phone off in the classroom.
He cradled his phone in his palm. Maybe just call anyway and leave her a message. A quick I love you. Tim smiled to himself as he pictured her listening to the voicemail. Her chestnut hair lit by the sun, the curve of her cheek, that secret smile she reserved only for him . . .
“Twenty-eight years and counting,” he said out loud. Even his voice sounded dusty.
Call her, you idiot. Tell her you love her.
Facial recognition opened his phone to the home screen, a picture of him and Jenny flanked by their two kids. Emma, tall and slender with a mane of chestnut hair that rivaled her mother’s, was on Tim’s arm. Mark, a senior in high school and two years younger than his sister, took after his father. In the upper right of the screen, the icon for the Ironclad app he’d installed a few weeks ago pulsed three times, signaling that his secure backup was up to date.
He navigated to the list of recent calls. With his thumb poised over the line labeled Sweet Jenny, he heard the roar of a jet engine. He sat up just in time to see a small aircraft touch down on the runway and flash by the window.
Finally. He got to his feet and stowed the phone in the pocket of his cargo pants. From the window, Tim made out the form of a sleek Gulfstream G500 making the turn at the end of the runway and taxiing toward the private airfield apron.
A Gulfstream? That was new. Every Surfan shuttle he’d been on so far had been King Air 350 turboprops that had seen better days. This plane looked brand-new, but the tail number indicated it was a Chinese aircraft.
Across the concrete apron, the doors on the hangar slid open, spilling bright yellow light into the night. The jet made a ninety-degree turn and entered the hangar. The doors rolled closed behind it, but not before Tim spied a black Mercedes parked inside the building.
What the hell? Tim’s eyes clocked to the whiteboard that served as the temporary flight schedule. Grand Surfan shuttle was listed for nine p.m., and he’d been waiting here since eight-thirty. There were no other flights listed. That plane had to be the Grand Surfan shuttle.
It’s so late, he thought with a flash of irritation, they must assume there’s no passengers waiting.
Tim headed for the door. He was not about to abandon his carefully planned itinerary without at least a discussion with the pilot.
The outside air was crisp and dry. Brilliant stars speckled the sky. He felt the skin of his bare forearms prickle with cold and realized he'd left his jacket back in the waiting room, along with his laptop and duffel.
He jogged across the dark tarmac to the passenger door at the corner of the hangar. The exterior lights on the building were out, which rankled the security consultant part of his brain. With all the construction going on, it was likely some contractor had messed up the wiring when they moved the private air terminal.
There was a one-foot square window set in the door at eye level. With one hand on the handle of the door, Tim peered into the window.
He froze. Then he moved away and flattened his back against the cold steel of the hangar wall. When Tim had his breathing under control, he slowly reapproached the window and looked into the hangar.
A Chinese man, slight of build with angular facial features, stood in full profile ten meters away. He held out his left hand parallel to the floor and slapped a closed fist into the open palm as if making a point.
A row of shelves crammed with spare parts and boxes blocked Tim’s view of the person the Chinese man was speaking to with such vigor.
Tim returned to the wall, feeling the cold metal chill the sweat on his back. He swallowed.
Chinese Minister of State Security Yan Tao had flown into Tashkent in the middle of the night to have a clandestine meeting . . . but who was the other person?
Walk away, Tim. You’re not an intelligence officer anymore. Report the meeting and get on with your life. Not your problem, dude.
But another part of his brain would not let it go. Who is Yan talking to? At least find out that much.
Tim went back to the window and tried to angle his line of sight so he could see who the Chinese spymaster was talking to, but it was no use. The storage shelves were in the way.
He pushed down gently on the door handle. It was unlocked. He eased the door open and slipped inside, allowing a full ten seconds for the door to close silently behind him.
Voices drifted toward him, speaking in English. The skin on the back of Tim’s neck prickled. First data point: If the Minister had been meeting with another Chinese person, they’d be speaking Mandarin.
Three shelves ran parallel to the wall. Tim took two quick steps forward and slid into the space between the second and third shelves. He sidestepped gingerly along the aisle, trying to find a gap among the crowded shelves where he could see both men clearly.
“I need more resources,” said the second voice. He spoke excellent English. The voice sounded vaguely familiar to Tim.
Minister Yan’s flat response cracked like a whip. “You will get what you were promised. Nothing more.”
In the gap between a cardboard box and an avionics rack, Tim finally found a clear view. The two men stood in the open, with the jet in the background. Minister Yan faced Tim, his posture rigid, his face twisted with annoyance.
The second man faced away from Tim. He was taller than the Minister and had thick, dark hair touched with gray. A tailored suit covered his broad shoulders.
“Do you understand?” Yan pressed.
“I am the one taking the risk here.” The second man turned, and Tim saw his face for the first time.
Tim’s mouth went dry. Of course he knew the voice. He’d heard it a hundred times on the radio and on TV. The question was, why was he here, and why was he meeting secretly with the head of Chinese clandestine services? Whatever Tim had stumbled into, this was explosive—and dangerous.
Get out now, you fool. Alarm bells clanged in his brain.
But he was here. He couldn’t just ignore what he was seeing.
Tim removed his phone from his pocket and turned it on, cupping his hand over the glaring screen. He navigated to the video setting and extended the camera lens into the narrow opening. He tried to control his own breathing.
The Chinese man raised his voice, slashing his hand down again for emphasis. The second man’s bearded face twisted in anger as he responded in kind.
“Without me, you have nothing!” he shouted.
Tim stopped the recording. That was enough. He put the phone back in his pocket and turned to retreat down the aisle. A wire hanging loose from the avionics box snagged on his shirt sleeve, emitting a scritch sound as it scraped along the edge of the metal rack.
The two men stopped speaking. Tim froze, holding his breath. A wave of sweaty nausea swept up his torso.
The figure of a man appeared at the end of the aisle, blocking his exit.
Tim charged. Lowering his shoulder, he plowed into the man, driving him back against the wall of the hangar. The guard was solidly built and quick on his feet. Even as Tim pistoned his fists into the man’s midsection, he felt his opponent grappling him, swinging his body into the wall and using Tim’s momentum against him.
Tim’s hip crashed into a vertical steel support and a bolt of pain shot up his spine. He threw an elbow at the shorter man’s face and felt a satisfying crunch of cartilage. Tim clapped his hands on both of the man’s shoulders, pushed down, and drove his knee upward as hard as he could, catching the man on the point of his chin. The guard’s head snapped back and he sagged to the floor.
Tim spun, throwing open the door. Crisp night air rolled over him. Bright stars signaled freedom.
A new form filled the doorway. Before Tim could react, a fist lashed out, catching him in the throat. Two more blows followed, pounding into the left side of his chest.
Tim’s heart stuttered. His mouth gaped open, but no oxygen entered his body. His knees crashed to the floor. A final blow smashed into the side of his face with the force of a sledgehammer. His eardrum popped, his head whipped to the side, and the stars in the sky smeared into a blur.
***
A gentle vibration under Tim’s cheek brought him back to consciousness. When he raised his head, his beard snagged in the close-cropped fibers of a royal blue carpet.
His eyes took in creamy leather seats, polished wood accents, a table, and the blade-like face of the Chinese Minister of State Security. Yan’s dark eyes, like polished stones, regarded Tim the way a man might view an insect.
The Minister nodded at the chair opposite him. Tim’s hands were bound behind his back, and he had to use his chin to push his torso off the floor. He settled onto his knees and surveyed the cabin.
Two men in dark suits sat in captain’s chairs two rows behind the Minister. The shorter of the pair sported two black eyes and an obviously broken nose. The second security man was a giant, with not a scratch on him. Tim’s face still ached where the man had coldcocked him and he couldn’t hear anything from his left ear.
Tim got to his feet, moved to the chair opposite the Minister, and lowered himself into the cushioned seat. He did a quick self-assessment as he moved. Nothing broken, but the bindings on his hands were tight and his throat felt like it was on fire. His wristwatch was gone. The finger where he wore his West Point class ring was bloody, but the ring was still in place.
The raccoon eyes of the shorter security guy followed Tim’s every movement, daring him to step out of line. Payback was going to be a bitch.
The Minister held up Tim’s passport. “Timothy Ernesto Trujillo. Security consultant to Grand Surfan Oil”—he sniffed—“and a spy for the CIA.”
“I’m—” Tim’s voice caught in his dry throat. He looked meaningfully at the bottle of water on the table between them.
The Minister sighed and made a hand motion. The shorter guard twisted the cap off a bottle of water. He held it so Tim could drink, while allowing a good amount to spill down his chest. He held his wrist so that Tim’s watch was on full display.
Time. . . what time was it?
Tim tried to focus on the face of the watch, but the guard turned his wrist away.
As Tim swallowed the last of the water, his mind went into overdrive analyzing the situation. He was probably headed back to China, where who knew what awaited him. His only chance at survival was to keep them talking, buy himself some time.
“I’m not a spy,” Tim said. “I thought you were the Surfan shuttle.”
“Hmm.” The Minister pulled Tim’s phone out of his inside jacket pocket and turned it on. The Minister studied the home screen.
“You have a beautiful family, Mr. Trujillo. Would you like to see them again?”
Tim nodded.
“Then I suggest you be truthful with me. Who else knows you were in that hangar?”
“No one.” That much was true.
The Minister turned the phone screen toward Tim. It was unlocked. “Then why were you recording me?”
There was no good answer, so Tim stayed silent.
“Who told you about the meeting?”
“No one. I already said I was waiting for the shuttle.”
The Minister’s thin lips twisted in disgust. “You’re a retired Army intelligence officer caught in an act of espionage on foreign soil.”
Tim said nothing.
“Do you know what the penalty is in China for spies?” the Minister asked.
“We’re not in China,” Tim said.
A mocking smile. “You never know. The Chinese empire grows larger every year.”
If there was a hand signal, Tim didn’t see it, but the guards moved on him together. While Shorty went to the cabin door, the giant lifted Tim out of the chair like he was a child. He spun Tim around and marched him forward. Tim tried to struggle, but it was useless.
The door of the jet yawned open. The rush of wind filled the cabin. The giant security guard forced Tim toward the door.
“Wait!” he shouted.
The Minister appeared in front of him.
“Do you want to talk now?” he yelled back.
“Let me see my family first. On the phone, I mean.”
The Minister shrugged and swiped his finger up the screen of Tim’s phone. The image on his home screen sprang to life. He’d seen it a million times, but his eyes drank in the details like it was the very first time.
The fall of Emma’s hair. He could almost feel his daughter’s arm curving around his back. Mark needed a haircut, and he had the same lopsided smile that Tim saw when he looked in the mirror. And Jenny, sweet Jenny. She deserved so much better than this . . .
Tim’s eyes tracked to the upper right corner. The shield icon pulsed three times.
He let his knees sag, and the man holding him leaned forward to compensate for the added weight.
When he felt the shift, Tim drove his body upward and snapped his head back into the giant’s face. The man’s teeth cut into Tim’s scalp. He hoped he’d knocked a few out.
Tim lashed out with a foot and caught the shorter guard between the legs. He felt his toe sink deep into soft flesh. He pushed off the wall, trying to throw the giant off balance.
The man was just too strong. He surged Tim’s body forward and launched him into space.
The deafening wind noise ceased. The roar of the jet faded and Tim was alone in the dark night sky.
Falling.
Jenny. Sweet Jenny.
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