CHAPTER ONE
October
An attack on American soil; it was what Jacob worked so hard to avoid. The fact that a bomb exploded outside the same building his sister was working in at the time was a grim reminder of the purpose his team served. Even though he didn’t exactly work for the U.S. Government, he still swore an oath to protect the American people against all enemies, foreign and domestic, and it was a never-ending battle. The war on terrorism was much akin to the war on drugs: if you plucked a drug dealer off the streets, three more would grow in its place; a terrorist was the same. He heard a few different presidents wax poetic about stamping out terrorism over the years, but Jacob knew the truth: that day would never come. The best anyone could hope for were people like him remaining vigilant and willing to do whatever it took.
It was over a year ago that the F.B.I. headquarters exploded in Abernathy Texas, courtesy of a homemade car bomb. In that time, his sister, Genie, seemed to recover nicely even though he knew she’d never forget; neither would he.
Jacob adjusted his earpiece beneath the black ski mask that protected his identity.
“Team one in position,” he said quietly.
“Team two in position,” was the immediate response.
All they could do now was wait. A tip from a reliable source and months of planning led them to this dark alleyway. Seventy-five people were massacred inside a local church during Sunday morning services three months earlier and they were so close to having the men responsible that he could taste it. All the chatter indicated another plot in the works, and the level of desperation they all felt was off the charts. The source they were dealing with led them to believe that one of the buildings on this street housed the headquarters to one of the largest terrorist groups active inside the country, and supposedly there was a meeting of the minds scheduled for tonight.
The organization that Jacob worked for was Safe Haven, a private company in charge of doing things that even the blackest of ops could not, but it took a lot of funds to pull it off. Fortunately, there were lots of rich people out there spending their evenings at fundraisers, paying hundreds of dollars for a plate of food for charities such as the keep America safe project, or whatever sounded good and patriotic. Those people never realized or even cared that their money was funding straight up killers such as him. The best part of working outside the confines of the government was the lack of rules. In his world, there was no Geneva Convention and no water-boarding would be showing up on the news. If you were a bad guy, you were dead, and that was that.
“Are you still working?”
Gracie glanced up at Mary’s question before sneaking a peek at the clock. She had a tendency to lose track of time when she began a new creation. If she didn’t finish her sketch before leaving tonight, she’d lay awake all night plotting and planning her next stroke and questioning her amount of detail.
Mary worked as her assistant a couple of hours a day plus she rented the apartment above her studio, and Gracie was rather attached to the girl. Since Gracie was raised in an orphanage, she didn’t have a family to check in on her and no one expecting her home at night. At twenty-six years of age, it was a fate she had come to accept, and, even though Mary was seven years younger than her, she made it her personal mission to watch out for Gracie’s health and fussed when she overworked.
“I’m leaving in a minute. Why are you still up?”
Mary smiled, showing a set of perfect white teeth. “I went on a date tonight, and I saw your light was still on as I walked past.”
“Ooh a date. Did you have fun?”
Gracie couldn’t remember the last time she’d been on a date. What did people even do nowadays?
“It was okay. We went to dinner and the movies, but he was wearing penny loafers, penny loafers for goodness
October
An attack on American soil; it was what Jacob worked so hard to avoid. The fact that a bomb exploded outside the same building his sister was working in at the time was a grim reminder of the purpose his team served. Even though he didn’t exactly work for the U.S. Government, he still swore an oath to protect the American people against all enemies, foreign and domestic, and it was a never-ending battle. The war on terrorism was much akin to the war on drugs: if you plucked a drug dealer off the streets, three more would grow in its place; a terrorist was the same. He heard a few different presidents wax poetic about stamping out terrorism over the years, but Jacob knew the truth: that day would never come. The best anyone could hope for were people like him remaining vigilant and willing to do whatever it took.
It was over a year ago that the F.B.I. headquarters exploded in Abernathy Texas, courtesy of a homemade car bomb. In that time, his sister, Genie, seemed to recover nicely even though he knew she’d never forget; neither would he.
Jacob adjusted his earpiece beneath the black ski mask that protected his identity.
“Team one in position,” he said quietly.
“Team two in position,” was the immediate response.
All they could do now was wait. A tip from a reliable source and months of planning led them to this dark alleyway. Seventy-five people were massacred inside a local church during Sunday morning services three months earlier and they were so close to having the men responsible that he could taste it. All the chatter indicated another plot in the works, and the level of desperation they all felt was off the charts. The source they were dealing with led them to believe that one of the buildings on this street housed the headquarters to one of the largest terrorist groups active inside the country, and supposedly there was a meeting of the minds scheduled for tonight.
The organization that Jacob worked for was Safe Haven, a private company in charge of doing things that even the blackest of ops could not, but it took a lot of funds to pull it off. Fortunately, there were lots of rich people out there spending their evenings at fundraisers, paying hundreds of dollars for a plate of food for charities such as the keep America safe project, or whatever sounded good and patriotic. Those people never realized or even cared that their money was funding straight up killers such as him. The best part of working outside the confines of the government was the lack of rules. In his world, there was no Geneva Convention and no water-boarding would be showing up on the news. If you were a bad guy, you were dead, and that was that.
“Are you still working?”
Gracie glanced up at Mary’s question before sneaking a peek at the clock. She had a tendency to lose track of time when she began a new creation. If she didn’t finish her sketch before leaving tonight, she’d lay awake all night plotting and planning her next stroke and questioning her amount of detail.
Mary worked as her assistant a couple of hours a day plus she rented the apartment above her studio, and Gracie was rather attached to the girl. Since Gracie was raised in an orphanage, she didn’t have a family to check in on her and no one expecting her home at night. At twenty-six years of age, it was a fate she had come to accept, and, even though Mary was seven years younger than her, she made it her personal mission to watch out for Gracie’s health and fussed when she overworked.
“I’m leaving in a minute. Why are you still up?”
Mary smiled, showing a set of perfect white teeth. “I went on a date tonight, and I saw your light was still on as I walked past.”
“Ooh a date. Did you have fun?”
Gracie couldn’t remember the last time she’d been on a date. What did people even do nowadays?
“It was okay. We went to dinner and the movies, but he was wearing penny loafers, penny loafers for goodness
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