Silent Shadow of Betrayal

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Silent Shadow of Betrayal

By: Jibo Walter Updated just nowMystery/Thriller

Language: English

Chapters: 104 views: 117

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Agent Amy Cornwall excels at working from the shadows—until a botched field operation reveals dark dealings between her bosses and an informant. And a hidden plot by a terrorist genius that could kill thousands of Americans. Among them: are her husband and daughter. She has to go dark. The Division wants to erase her. And they know every detail about her identity, her history, and her family. Will this mission be carried out successfully in erasing her?


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104 chapters
Chapter One
I watch and if everything goes well, the killing will begin in less than Five minutes.I’m hiding with two other members of my sniper team in the barren mountains of northeastern Lebanon, just a few clicks away from the Syrian border. Jordan Langlois is the shooter and Santiago Sanchez is his spotter. Jordan is from the mountains of Kentucky and Santiago is from East LA. From the way they joke and work together, you’d think they were raised in the same orphanage.No, not really. Just the Marine Corps and eventually the CIA.I’m originally from Maine, then went into the Army, and now I’m the lead officer for this squad of the CIA’s highly classified Special Activities Division—a very bland name for a very dangerous job. We go in way behind enemy lines, kill bad guys, and then get the hell out. Ahead of us, we work very, very hard to ensure that our names and actions never appear in the newspapers.Considering I’m married to a journalist, that can sometimes be a challenge.Today we’re
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Chapter Two
WE QUICKLY break down our gear and go down a trail we hadn’t used before because any repetition will get you noticed. Santiago is in the lead, Jordan is in the middle, and I’m Tail End, Charlie.I look at my watch once more. Analog, old-fashioned, reliable. It will never need a battery at the wrong time, doesn’t beep to give away your position, and has no electronics to fry in case somebody tosses a nuke into the air someday. It doesn’t tell me the date, which is fine, because I know it’s May 22.The path we are on is narrow—broken rock and gravel—and seems too rugged even for goats. Yet we move with confidence and speed toward the safety at the other end of the trail. Like me, Santiago is carrying his MP5 in his arms, head always moving: left, right; left, right. Jordan has his pistol out and is doing the same. As the one bringing up the rear, I have to move and look over my shoulder at the same time.Jordan says, “This sun is starting to fry me. Where are all the cedar trees? I thou
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Chapter Three
It’s 9:05.“We stay!” I yell back.Santiago looks at Jordan, Jordan looks to him, and the two of them then look at the chopper, ready to scoop us up and take us out to a Navy vessel in this part of the Mediterranean, on a routine training mission.Routine.That’s how the deaths of Jeremy and Oliver are going to be reported, if they get killed outright, without the horror of captivity and torture:Died while on a routine training mission.And me?Lost half my crew in a foul-up.Almost as one, Jordan and Santiago scream my name, and I look at my watch.9:06.The nice crew over there from the Night Stalkers has given us an extra sixty seconds, and maybe I’ll live long enough to thank them. But then the helicopter lifts straight up, its landing struts retreating into its belly.The chopper rises out of the wadi, soars over a rugged set of rocks, and then it—Disappears.Just like that.Now even its engine sound has gone away.All I can hear is the heavy breathing of my crew, Jordan Langloi
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Chapter Four
He laughs and the rest of the men—except for the old man sitting against the wall—laugh as well, then Farez comes forward and punches Jeremy squarely in the face. Jeremy gasps more in surprise than pain—the code word and acknowledgment had been used!—and staggers back as Farez quickly removes his AK-47 and drives it into Jeremy’s abdomen.He lets out a cough and he’s on the ground, and so is Ollie, and the kicks and the blows from the automatic rifles rain down, and he squirms and tries to curl into a ball to protect himself as much as possible, but the handcuffs and ropes make that impossible, and he’s drifting into unconsciousness, knowing it’s all gone wrong.ONCE UPONa time I had been a captain in the U.S. Army, serving as an intelligence officer, but a series of unfortunate and bloody events had led me to the precipice of a dishonorable discharge and a life sentence to the Army prison in Leavenworth until a heavily tanned man working for the Central Intelligence Agency had offere
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Chapter Five
His office here in Lindsay Hall is cold, the radiator rattles, and parts of the roof leak. The entire four-story building with its various rooms and salons is under the control of the National Trust, save one part of the building that’s being renovated and is forbidden to tourists or other visitors.Ever since Horace has been here, the renovations have been ongoing. God willing, they will never stop.During World War II, Lindsay Hall was used as a training facility for the Special Operations Executive. Here exiled Poles, Norwegians, Frenchmen, and many others were trained in killing and sabotage, and were later parachuted into occupied Europe.On the wood-paneled walls in his office Horace has a portrait of the Queen right after her coronation in 1953; a photo of Winnie standing among London bomb damage in 1940; and a framed photo of his younger self, standing on a balcony at some long-forgotten reception in Nairobi in the late 1960s. An indication of what was vital in his life, and
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Chapter Six
I’m racing as hard as I can, what gear I need bouncing around my waist and back, and Santiago is right next to me as we approach the low courtyard. From behind I hear the quick, flat shot of Jordan taking his first shot. He commonly shoots with a sound suppressor, but not now.I want the tangle of gunmen before us to terrify and disperse, and they do. Santiago and I kneel in front of the low, stone wall, and it’s over in a matter of seconds, the gunmen holding up their weapons and spraying round after round in our direction, the recoil kicking back and making the bullets whistle over our heads.But Santiago and I keep low, keep our cool, and in careful, three-round bursts, we kill them all.“Cover,” I say to Santiago. I go through the open wooden gate and run over to Jeremy, who’s struggling to get up. His clothes are torn, dusty, and bloody. His face is also bloody and one eye is nearly swollen shut. I kneel, withdraw my Kalmar knife, and cut the ropes around his ankles. He kicks fr
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Chapter Seven
In a small and sterile office at CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia, Ernest Hollister is drinking a cup of hot water with a slice of lemon in it when a blinking icon appears on his computer screen, sounding a tinkle and interrupting his morning the Washington Post.The icon indicates a FLASH PRIORITY message is coming his way, and he double-clicks the icon and waits.And wait.This may be the most powerful and well-funded intelligence agency in the world, but bureaucrats and the lengthy budget-appropriation process means it has an IT system that was cutting-edge when Bush was president—and Ernest isn’t thinking of the man’s son.Still, he loves computers, loves information, loves being tied into a worldwide internet and a surveillance state.The icon is still blinking at him.Ernest likes keeping his office clear of plants, books, plaques, and photos. All of those personal items are bits of intelligence, allowing visitors to his remote and obscure office a way to gather information
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Chapter Eight
AT THE second thirty-minute mark of our slog up the narrow and winding trail, I call for a break.It’s been a long, grueling hike, and I think fondly of growing up in Maine and going with my parents for weekend tramps in our stretch of the White Mountains. Here there’s nothing but rock, fissures, boulders, and the occasional winged creature flying overhead, and the distant bare ranges covered with snow and ice.Jordan has Ollie’s weapon and is taking the lead, and Santiago is now bringing up the rear. I’m in the middle with Jeremy, and he’s been one closed-mouth son of a bitch ever since leaving the farm and his dead comrade.His clothes are a mess, one eye is swollen, he’s limping, there’s dried blood on his face—a mixture of his and Oliver’s, I’m sure—but I’ve yet to hear, “Thanks for saving my ass back there.”Which isn’t surprising. Special Forces soldiers and sailors operate on a different plane than us regular grunts. They are incredibly competitive and have tremendous enduranc
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Chapter Nine
TOM CORNWALL is walking along Broadway in lower Manhattan with his eleven-year-old daughter, Denise, next to him, maintaining pace among the morning crowds. A block away is their destination, Olson Manhattan Preparatory School, and he feels a touch of sorrow walking with her.Two weeks ago, Denise had said with great solemness and dignity that she no longer wanted to hold her father’s hand as they walked to and from her school. Tom knows this is all part of the growing-up process, but still, it’s yet another clear signal that his and Amy’s little girl is on her way to leaving little-girl status behind.It’s a beautiful May morning, and Denise looks ahead as they walk, expertly keeping pace with Tom. He is still impressed at how well Denise has adjusted to big-city life: just over a year ago, the three of them had been living in a pleasant little cul-de-sac in Virginia, with lots of open areas to play around in and practice her soccer.Here, green space is at a minimum. The city is
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Chapter Ten
I HEAR the hum of an approaching helicopter and take out my binoculars for a look-see. Even though we’re minutes away from the pickup, we haven’t let our guard down. Each of us is responsible for a compass quadrant of 90 degrees, so we’re lying down, weapons out, making sure nobody comes up and surprises us.My left ear is still throbbing from the quick and brutal radio exchange I had a few minutes ago with a CIA communications officer overseeing our operations in this part of the world. If one cuts out the code words and phrases and obscenities, it reminds me of the fights I used to have with Dad back in Maine.You were supposed to be back at eleven! It’s almost midnight!Something came up. It’s the truth.And what was so important that you didn’t come back at eleven like you promised?Dad…I have an idea that when I get back to the States, I’m going to lose a lot more than just my driving privileges.The sound of the helicopter grows louder.So what?I got Jeremy back. And to my bos
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