The Cairo Vendetta

Book 9: Sean Wyatt Adventure

by Ernest Dempsey

Genres: General Fiction; Spy Thrillers

Synopsis

Sometimes a terrorist threat comes from the least expected place.
Beyond the plains of the Serengeti, in the distant shadows of Kilimanjaro, a new new evil has risen.
A warlord is building an army with child soldiers he abducted from Tanzanian towns. But the threat he poses isn't just to East Africa.
Somehow this rebel has acquired powerful missiles armed with enough nerve gas to wipe out entire cities.
Join the adventure in this exhilarating prequel to the series with Government Agent Sean Wyatt and his partner Emily Starks as they travel to Tanzania to foil a warlord's evil scheme and bring his reign of terror to an end, but what they find is that there is more to the mission than they first believed.
Go back in time to the years just after the tragic events of 9/11. Follow Sean, Emily, and Tommy Schultz as they race against the clock to figure out who is pulling the strings behind a wicked plan that could bring the world to its knees.
Grab this exhilarating thrill-ride now and see why readers are saying Ernest Dempsey is one of the best new voices in this genre.

Release date: June 27, 2016

Publisher: Enclave Publishing

Print pages: 188

Sample

PROLOGUE

Tanzania, Western Border

In the blink of an eye, the peaceful surroundings of the forest turned into hell on earth. 

Darkness had come early for the five men in SEAL Team Four. They’d been lurking in the shadows for almost three hours, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. Just a hundred meters from their hiding place, their target—a compound run by a ruthless warlord—began settling down for the night. 

Most of the men running patrols had since disappeared behind the feeble-looking gate. Only a few guards remained. They appeared to be young, fifteen at most. Every member of the strike team had been apprised of the situation. Their target—a warlord by the name of Baku Toli—had been abducting children to serve in his rebel army. 

That wasn’t even the worst of it. Intelligence reported Toli had also obtained biological weapons. There was no word as to where he planned on using the weapons or what his motives might be, but one thing was obvious: his intentions weren’t good. 

“Two guards at main gate, sir. Two in the tower to the north. Same with the tower to the south.” Petty Officer Alberto Garza was quick to assess the situation. Not terrible odds. Six on five was better than what they usually faced. But as soon as the first shot was fired, the rest of the warlord’s small army would hit back—hard. The SEALs would have to move fast. 

Lt. j.g. Fletcher Collins was the commander of the mission. Affectionately known as Fletch to the others, he made quick decisions and was a natural leader. He’d glanced over at the others to give the signal to move up when the first shot was fired from behind their position. 

And that’s when everything came unraveled. 

First the dirt exploded around them again and again as bullets flew at their position. Other rounds thudded into the trees and clipped branches nearby. Next, Petty Officer Max Wilson took a bullet to the leg. He grimaced and dropped to his knees before another round zipped through the base of his neck. He fell over prostrate, grasping at his throat for five seconds before slowing to intermittent twitches. Then he stopped moving altogether. 

The remaining four SEALs returned fire immediately. In the dark it was difficult to see the enemy, but the muzzle flashes illuminated the gunmen in bright bursts and effectively gave away their positions. The ambush was coming from a wide arch, surrounding the Americans in such a way that would make escape nearly impossible. 

Fletch dove for cover behind a huge tree stump and continued firing on the right flank. The other three took up positions behind the biggest tree trunks they could find. 

Petty Officer Tevin Simmons, a young man of twenty-seven, squeezed the trigger on his assault rifle. A second later a yelp merged into the rat-a-tat-tat of the gunfire. “One down,” he said. The voice had sounded like a child’s. The men all knew they would be facing some of the child soldiers Toli had abducted and brainwashed. Now it was eerily real. 

Senior Chief Mark Mueller was in the center with Garza. Their weapons swiveled to the left and right with every muzzle flash. Even though they were firing into darkness, the reckless shooting by the enemy exposed them every time they pulled the trigger. For a unit as elite as Team Four, that was all the light they needed. One after the other, the SEALs dropped the shooters until only a few were left. Whoever the enemy was, they were wildly inaccurate—better at hitting stumps and rocks than their targets. 

Fletch gave the signal for the other three to fan out and press the attack. He started to leave the protection of the stump when suddenly he felt the cold metal of a rifle muzzle against the back of his neck. A chill shot through his body, and he froze stiff. 

“Don’t move, American.” 

The voice was young. The kid couldn’t have been more than twelve. Fletch didn’t turn around to look. For a second, the idea of dropping to the ground and sweeping the kid’s legs rushed through his brain. That notion was lost to fantasy the second he saw three other child soldiers with guns appear to his right. Their barrels were leveled at their hips, pointing straight at him. 

Fletch dropped his weapon and raised his hands. Garza looked back from his advanced position and noticed his commander in trouble. Before he could react, though, a line of young soldiers appeared. They charged out of the gate toward the battle, covering the span in fifteen seconds in spite of the heavy weapons they bore. Garza and the others spun around, ready to fire at the new threat. 

“Stand down, boys,” Fletch ordered. He knew a no-win situation when he saw one. There was zero chance he and the others would get out alive if they tried to fight their way out. “There’s too many of them.” 

Fletch glanced over at the lifeless body of Wilson lying face down in the dirt. The sight caused Fletch to clench his jaw. Based on the poor aim of the so-called soldiers, Wilson had been unlucky. He was only twenty-five years old—a good kid. Now he was gone. Just like that. Fletch had lost a member of his team once before, and he never stopped blaming himself for it. The old demons started to flame up before his eyes as he imagined how heartbroken Wilson’s family would be. He was engaged to be married in a few months. Now his parents and his fiancée would have a hole in their lives until the end of time. 

All because of Baku Toli. 

The American commander’s thoughts were interrupted by a man’s voice from amid the cluster of soldiers swarming the area. 

“What have we here?” the man asked. “Americans?” 

Fletch kept facing away from the sound of the voice. He wasn’t about to make a sudden move, not without being told. As it turned out, he didn’t have to move at all. The dark face of the man they’d come to kill appeared  as Toli stepped around in front of him. 

He wore a red beret, dark camouflage fatigues, and had two bandoliers of bullets stretching from his shoulders across his chest. 

Fletch had seen the face a dozen times while he studied the mission. He’d learned all he could about Toli, but information was scarce. It was as if he’d appeared from nowhere, a creation of Fletch’s imagination. Fletch wished he was a figment. Toli was real enough, though, and now he was standing face to face with the American.

“What are you doing here?” Toli asked in his thick East African accent. “It was not wise for you to come to my fortress. Now I will have to kill you.” 

Fletch looked out of the corner of his eye. He saw the remainder of his team reluctantly surrendering their weapons. 

“Well we all do dumb things every now and then.” He flashed his eyes at one of the children hovering close by. “What kind of sick coward abducts kids and uses them to fight for him? You always stand behind someone else’s gun? Too afraid to use one yourself?”

Toli pulled a pistol from the holster on his hip and smacked it across Fletch’s face. When the American recovered, he found himself staring down the wrong end of the barrel. 

“These boys must learn what it means to become men,” Toli said. He waved a finger around. “And they must learn what it means to serve the Almighty.” 

Perfect. Another religious fanatic who thinks he’s the savior. “There have been men like you before, Baku. In fact, there was one not too far north of here in Uganda. Things didn’t work out too well for him, if you catch my drift.”

Toli was unimpressed. His reply was a derisive snort followed by a wave of the hand. “Take them to the basement in the main building,” he ordered one of the few men he had serving. “Make sure they are watched at all times.” Toli stared hard into Fletch’s eyes. “I have plans for these Americans. Soon the world will know who we are.”


1 Atlanta, Georgia

Sean didn’t think. He didn’t worry about the consequences. He simply saw the threat and reacted. 

He’d seen the suspicious guy lurk into the stadium midway through the fourth inning. The man looked like any other middle-aged guy attending a baseball game. He wore a cap, the team jacket bulging out around his belly, and jeans that had seen their fair share of washings—the blue almost faded completely. 

He wasn’t, however, an ordinary man attending a baseball game. 

From the moment he sat down at the end of the aisle — two rows ahead of Sean and in the adjacent section — he’d acted oddly. No one else had noticed; at least it didn’t seem that way. Everyone’s attention was focused on either the game or their concessions: beer, nachos, and that old American staple—hot dogs. 

The primary reason Sean even noted the man was that the game was half over and the guy was just showing up. Who comes to a baseball game halfway through it?

To be fair, he hadn’t missed much. The Braves were losing by two, and the home crowd was already growing restless.

Sean had watched as the guy looked around, checking to his left and then his right as he eased into his seat. It was almost as if he was looking for someone. Maybe he wasn’t sure if he was in the right row. Whatever the reason, Sean’s instincts had kicked in immediately. 

He’d spent the last few innings half watching the game while he kept an eye on the guy. When the seventh-inning stretch began, he realized what the man had planned.

The guy in the jacket looked around nervously. Sean watched as the man reached into his jacket and pulled out a pistol, keeping it close to his chest as he stepped toward the railing only two rows away. 

Sean had only taken a few karate classes in his youth, though he’d been in his fair share of brawls in high school and college. Trouble had a way of finding him, much like it was now. Fortunately, for the last six months he’d been through one of the most rigorous training programs the U.S. government had to offer—a program that only graduated 5 percent of the people who went in. His senses felt heightened. His muscles tensed.

None of the other fans seemed to see what was happening. The security guards that lined the edge of the field were looking up into the stands, but they were spaced in such a way that the gunman approaching the front row blended in with the rest of the crowd. 

Sean charged down the steps, giving no thought to his personal safety. The man pulled out his weapon and took aim at the first baseman, whose back was turned as the team warmed up for the bottom of the inning. There wasn’t any time to think. Sean leaped from two rows away and sailed through the air. As the man’s finger tensed on the trigger, Sean’s shoulder plowed into his lower back. The jarring blow caused his hand to flail in the air as the weapon fired, sending the round off into space to land somewhere—hopefully harmlessly—outside the stadium. 

The momentum from Sean’s flying tackle sent both of them toward the brick wall separating the fans from the field. The gunman’s body protected Sean. The gunman, however, had no protection—and being caught off guard, was unable to react fast enough to brace himself. His face smacked against the top corner of the wall, shattering the cheekbone below his eye. Dazed and suddenly in agonizing pain, he dropped the weapon and grabbed his face. A gash had opened up in the skin and oozed crimson through his fingers. Sean worked hard to stay on top of him, holding on to the writhing gunman like he was roping a calf in a rodeo. 

“Freeze!” a voice commanded from nearby. 

Sean released the man and kicked the weapon away while still straddling him. He slowly put his hands up. 

Two police officers were pointing guns at the man on the ground, each with menacing expressions on their faces. 

The closest security guard hopped over the wall and grabbed Sean under the armpits. He pulled him up a few steps and held on. 

“That guy had a gun,” Sean explained. 

“Just let the cops do their thing.” 

Another police officer descended the steps with a radio in hand. The crowd of fans in the closest two areas were in a panic and flooding out to the aisles as far away from the gunman as they could get. The players were being ushered to the opposing team’s dugout for safety. 

Sean bit his tongue and watched as the police cuffed the gunman and dragged him up the stairs and out onto the concourse. 

One of the cops stopped and questioned the security guard. “What’s this guy’s deal?” 

Sean knew better than to chime in. If he’d learned anything about cops, it was to speak only when spoken to. Sean could have been arrogant, especially given the fact that he’d just saved the first baseman’s life. Or he could have played the I have security clearance you’ve never even heard of card. Instead he let the guard answer for him. 

“This guy took down the man with the gun. I’m just holding him here to make sure you all didn’t think he was part of the problem.” 

The cop, a guy probably in his midforties, narrowed his brown eyes as he assessed whether or not the guard was right. 

“That true, son?” 

Sean nodded. “Yes, sir. I noticed the gunman walking toward the field during the seventh-inning stretch. When he reached in his pocket, I rushed him.” 

It wasn’t like Sean to sound so submissive. But in this case, he’d prefer to give the cop whatever info he wanted and get the heck out of Dodge. Too many people had seen him as it was. No question he’d get grief about it when he got back to the office in the morning. If it took that long. 

“So you’re just a good Samaritan, doing his part to help the world?” 

Something in the cop’s tone carried a barb of sarcasm. 

Sean ignored it and remained respectful. “Yes, sir.” He grabbed his shoulder and winced, faking an injury. “If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to go take some ibuprofen. I hit my shoulder pretty hard when I tackled that guy, and it’s getting sore. Am I free to go?” 

The way the cop was deliberating caused Sean a degree of concern. Of course he hadn’t done anything wrong, but he also knew how cops were when it came to protocol, statements, reports, and all that nonsense. Sean was getting the overwhelming feeling that not only would he be missing the rest of the game, he’d also be heading downtown to give some kind of testimony. 

“I’ll take care of this one,” a female voice interrupted the tense moment. 

Sean cautiously twisted his head around. Most of the fans had already cleared out and were stampeding their way down the concourse. Alone on the steps a few rows back was a woman with light brown, shoulder-length hair. She wore a gray business suit and looked the spitting image of a corporate CEO. Her fingers clutched a foldout with a government-issue identification card inside. The cop couldn’t see all the card’s details from his vantage point, but apparently he saw enough to know when to back off. At least from questioning her ID’s validity. 

“What are the feds doing here?” he asked. He put both hands on his hips. “We already got the gunman in custody. What do you want with this one?” 

The woman took a few steps down the stairs toward the three men and slid her foldout back into a jacket pocket. Sean let a sly grin escape and crease across his face. 

“This one,” she said, “is one of ours. He’s been tracking that gunman for over a month now. He knew the guy’s plan and waited for the right moment to take him down.” 

The cop was perplexed by the tale but couldn’t find an argument for it. “You mean this guy is one of yours?” 

Sean couldn’t hold back his instincts any longer. “That’s what the lady said. Now if you don’t mind,” he looked down at the cop’s badge, “Officer Wilkins, I’m going to go see if I can get our suspect out of police hands and into federal custody. So thanks for screwing up and costing me at least a half a day.” 

Suddenly the cop got apologetic. “I didn’t realize you all were working on a case. I’ll put in a call downtown…” 

“Don’t bother,” the woman said. “We know who to call.” 

She grabbed Sean by the arm and led him away from the cop and the guard, who were both staring wide mouthed at the two as they disappeared into the thinning flow of people. 

Once they were out of sight, the woman picked up her pace and turned right, heading for one of the elevators in the recesses of the stadium. 

“Nice job, Emily,” Sean said. 

“Less than a week with the agency, and I’m already bailing you out? Not a good way to start, Agent Wyatt. I certainly hope this isn’t going to be a recurring theme.” 

Sean had graduated from the University of Tennessee with a degree in psychology and not a clue how he was going to use it. He had an affinity for history, but there wasn’t much of a future in that, unless of course he went to work for his friend Tommy Schultz. That would be a last resort. Tommy, being the friend that he was, had offered Sean a good-paying job as a security specialist for his fledgling artifact recovery agency, but Sean had always wanted to forge his own path. 

An interview with the Justice Department had led to some unexpected opportunities. Eventually, he was corralled into a special branch of the government called Axis, a small agency that carried only a handful of field agents at any given time. Sean had never imagined in a million years that he would become a spy. But after passing the series of strenuous tests, he’d been left with few reasons to say no. The only thing that held him back was how heartbreaking it would be to his parents if he were to be killed in the line of duty. The money was good, though, and the job played to Sean’s strengths. 

He was the kind of person who excelled under pressure, and he almost never cracked. When others panicked, Sean made calm decisions. Those qualities were something the government prized for its field agents. Apparently, Axis was even more stringent with their requirements. 

“Don’t worry, Em. I won’t get in too much trouble. I doubt you’ll have to bail me out more than two or three times.” He twisted his head to the side and passed her a wry grin. 

The elevator doors opened, and they stepped in. When the doors closed, she spoke, keeping her eyes forward as she did so. “Please don’t call me that, Agent Wyatt. You and I are not friends. We work for the same agency and therefore are teammates, but do not mistake that for some kind of platonic relationship.” 

He pursed his lips and nodded. “Fair enough, Agent Starks. Although it would be a lot simpler if we just used first names. Just saying.” 

“I disagree.” 

He gave a nod and stared ahead at the doors. A moment later they opened again, and the two found themselves on the ground floor. They exited, and Emily led the way out and to the right toward one of the private parking lots where the players kept their vehicles. 

“I’m sorry,” Sean said. “Where are we going? My car is on the other side of the stadium. And that reminds me: What in the world are you doing here anyway? You don’t look like you’re dressed for a baseball game.” 

“I’m not,” she said. Her shoes clicked loudly on the brickwork underfoot. “And your car will be fine here. We received a call. The director asked me to bring you in.” 

Sean’s somewhat jovial mood immediately darkened. His eyes narrowed, and he glanced at her as they stalked down the sidewalk into the lot. It was never good news when the director called. 

“What’s going on?” 

She stopped at a red Volvo sedan and got in the driver’s side. He hopped in next to her and stared, waiting for an answer. 

Emily revved the engine to life and backed out of her parking spot, spun the wheel around, and steered the vehicle out onto the packed city street. 

“I don’t know, exactly,” she answered after coming to a stop at a red light. “The director didn’t tell me. He just said to bring you in and told me where you were sitting at the Braves game.” 

Sean frowned. “He knew where I was sitting? I scalped that ticket.”

She turned slightly to the right and shot him a devious glance. “They know everything, Sean. Sooner you understand that, the better.” 

He shook off the thought. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m on the team then, huh?”

“We’ll see.” 

The light turned green, and before he could question her sinister comment she stepped on the gas and whipped the car onto the street to the left. She sped ahead and then jerked the wheel right to merge onto the ramp that took them onto Interstate 75 heading north. 

“We really need lights on our cars, you know?” He made the comment as Emily swerved around slower cars in the right two lanes. 

“That would draw too much attention. Sort of like your little stunt at the game earlier today.” 

Sean was incredulous. “Wait a minute. That guy was going to kill someone. I did what I was supposed to do.” 

“Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe that is a police matter.” 

He could feel the blood pulsing into his head, pounding hard with every heartbeat. “What, you’re saying I should have just let that guy kill the first baseman?” 

“Not necessarily. But you’re essentially a spy now, Agent Wyatt. If you draw attention to yourself, your identity could be compromised.”

Emily Starks hadn’t been with Axis much longer than Sean. From time to time, however, she used that sliver of experience to give him guidance—guidance he felt wasn’t needed. 

He decided to use his go-to move that usually worked in situations like this. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful in the future.” Sean knew an unwinnable argument when he heard one. 

She bought his fake surrender. “Good. You know I tell you these things for your own good, right? I just don’t want you to get compromised. That leads to trouble.” 

“That’s very sweet of you.” 

She yanked the wheel to the right, and his head smacked against the window. He winced from the sudden pain and grabbed his scalp. 

“It’s not just for your own good. It’s for the good of the agency and all of us who work for Axis. You screw up; we all pay the price. If one of us gets tagged, the rest of us can, too. I’d prefer not to be dodging bullets when I’m not on a mission.” 

He went on the offensive. “Seems to me that part of the job is we’re always on a mission, even when we aren’t necessarily taking orders.” 

She went silent, which he took to mean she agreed. 

Emily exited the freeway and navigated the traffic across the main part of downtown until they reached the area close to the Georgia Dome. 

“I thought we were going to the main office,” Sean said. “The airport is the other direction.” 

“One, you probably should have mentioned that before we headed north. And two, I know. We’re taking a helicopter to the airport. I’m dropping off this vehicle for another agent.” 

“Oh.” He felt silly for asking. 

“Sooner or later, Agent Wyatt, you’re going to need to learn to trust me.” 

He responded by muttering under his breath, “And sooner or later, we are going to need to start using first names.” 

Her head snapped in his direction, but he was staring out the window as the Peach Tree Westin passed by in the window. “What was that?” 

“Hmm?” Sean looked over at her and shook his head. “Oh, nothing.”