Sealed In Lies, Kelly Abell [best ebook reader for pc txt] 📗

his
own apartment in Washington D.C.
Jack tossed in some underwear and a few
toiletries. He zipped the bag closed and slipped it
beneath the bed. No sense having a maid poking
around in here and raising questions. He knew
Carlos had no plans to travel for the next few
weeks. If she saw his suitcase packed and ready to
go she would alert the rest of the staff and he would
be questioned. He used his foot to kick the bag
further under the bed, definitely not a good idea for
this to be seen.
Jack looked at his Rolex. Ten minutes until show
time. He put on some underwear, his tuxedo pants
and the freshly starched shirt. He reached for the
black bow tie. He struggled with it in the mirror.
Damn it, he hated these things. He always struggled
with getting them straight. After three attempts and
a mouthful of curses, he finally succeeded.
Strapping on the shoulder holster, he inserted his
beloved SIG P-226. Raising his pant leg he picked
up the knife from where it lay on the goose down
comforter and slipped it into its custom made
sheath. Lowering his pant leg he patted the leather
sheath for good luck. That knife and the SIG were
the only partners he’d ever needed or wanted.
Straightening, Jack picked up his jacket from the
chaise lounge. He stood for a moment near the
double French doors, which led out onto the stone
balcony where he’d watched the sunset earlier. It
was the most beautiful view Jack had ever seen. He
looked through the beveled glass onto the
mountains beyond. From just beyond the manicured
gardens he could see the peaks and valleys of the
mountainous terrain. On calm nights you could hear
the calls of the wild life from that balcony. He liked
the solitude of the dark and the sounds of the night.
It settled him. He would miss that.
It was on that very balcony, working on his laptop
in the middle of the night, he found The Emperor
file. In addition to being a highly trained killer, Jack
excelled with technology. He frequently used his
laptop to hack into Carlos’s computer in the inner
sanctum, a name Jack gave to Carlos’s private
office. He discovered the plot quite by accident.
Being the curious sort, he tried to access the file. It
was naturally encrypted with several layers of
protection, but no match for Jack’s extraordinary
skill. He out shined the tech people Carlos had
working for him by a long shot. He quickly worked
his way through, peeling away layer after layer,
until he had access. What he found made his
patriotic blood run cold.
Walking away from the window, he slipped the
jacket on and buttoned it. He sighed again. It fit him
like a glove. Yes, he was going to miss all the welldesigned clothes, gourmet food, and the gorgeous
women, but he had a duty to serve and protect his
country. If he didn’t figure out the identity of this
Emperor character and resolve this plot to kill the
President-Elect, then everything he stood for would
be for nothing. He had not been trained by the best
and become the best at what he did by sitting back
and ignoring trouble. Now that he knew Michael
Hardy was in danger, it was his duty to protect him.
Lucky for Jack, Carlos kept some records of
transactions with The Emperor, but there were
pieces missing. Within a few hours, Jack read
enough about the elaborate plot to kill the President
of the United States on his Inauguration Day, but he
lacked vital information on who was involved and
where the hit would occur. It could be during the
ceremony or one of the many elaborate balls that
followed.
One additional piece of information Jack uncovered shocked him. Another name was listed in the transaction records, Senator Warren Walters. He
had a code name as well, Asno, jackass in Spanish.
Jack had smiled at that. He agreed with Carlos’s
assessment of the Senator. Warren currently served
on the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence and
was a former SEAL teammate of Jack’s. Jack
snorted, thinking of Warren; yes, he had to agree
with Carlos’s pet name, Asno. Jack wondered why
Warren’s name appeared in the file. Being the
current Vice President elect, he would step in if the
President died. Coincidence? No, Jack didn’t
believe in coincidences.
When Jack finished that night, he had just enough
information to feel confident that the hit was
planned and being carried out. Now, the trick was to
return safely to the states and try to link everything
he found together in order to bring down Carlos
Cortez, his drug cartel, Warren, and the Emperor.
First though, he had to get through tonight. Jack
had spent all day prepping his staff. They were
going to run metal detectors at the door, keep armed
guards patrolling the perimeter closer to the house,
and keep another team of armed guards at the gate.
Something big was going down in Carlos’s study
tonight and afterward there was to be a celebration.
Jack hated these “celebrations” because it usually
meant a long night and he had a flight to catch.
A sharp knock on the door snapped Jack to
attention. Old military habits died hard. “Carlos is
ready for you, Raul.”
Jack replied in flawless Spanish. “Be right down,
Miguel.” Jack took a last look in the mirror, wishing
he could shake the sense of foreboding that plagued
him since he’d uncovered the file. Maybe it was the
information he had on this Emperor, and the fact
that it bugged him not knowing what role Carlos
himself was playing in this little dance with the
devil. He just couldn’t put his finger on it, but
something wasn’t right. He just felt it.
Softly closing the door to his room, Jack
proceeded down the elaborately decorated hallway
to the back elevator. He still marveled at the
artwork that lined the walls. Carlos had a fondness
for American painters, particularly Jackson Pollock.
A few paintings by Pollock hung on the walls along
with some other famous American artists. Jack
couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. Looked
like spilled paint on canvas to him, but what did he
know?
He silently made his way down the carpeted
hallway. He waited patiently for the elevator that
would take him down to the first floor and directly
into Carlos’s personal office; a totally secure room
and the only place in the compound not covered
with security cameras. There could be no visual or
auditory record of what went down in the inner
sanctum. Jack had seen money exchanged in that
office that would make Warren Buffet wince.
The elevator doors slid silently open and Jack
stepped into the study. He entered the room from
the back and began his scan. His training taught him
to complete this task in seconds. He saw Carlos
seated at his desk leaning back, smiling and relaxed.
The man accross the desk turned to face Jack. His
eyes widened in shock. Nothing could have
prepared him for this.
“Hello, Jack,” the man said, in English.
Jack saw Carlos’ head whip around at the use of
his given name. “No, you must be mistaken,”
Carlos, said to the man, his eyes suddenly wary.
“This is Raul Ramirez, my number one man. He is
the one I’ve been telling you about.”
The man in the wing back chair stood and reached
his hand into his jacket. “No, Carlos, he’s MY
number one man. This is Jack Weaver; he works for
me in the CIA.”
It all happened so fast. Anger flooded Carlos’s
expression as he began to reach under the desk. Jack
knew what was under that desk and without
thinking he reacted. He whipped his SIG out of his
shoulder holster and fired. Carlos’s head snapped
back and then fell forward, brain matter spattering
all over the expensive mahogany desk and the
window behind it. A soft thud sounded as the gun
Carlos grabbed from under the desk hit the thick
carpet.
The man across from the desk turned gun in hand.
“Nice shot, Jack. You’ve taken care of one problem,
but I’m afraid you’ve created another.” The man
rose and started to reach into his jacket. In a split
second Jack fired again. The bullet caught the man
square in the chest and exploded out his back. The
force of the shot tumbled him backward over the
chair.
Jack had to act fast. Within seconds his men
would be through that door. They didn’t have keys
and were told only to break the door down if they
heard something unusual. Gun shots, would be
unusual.
Jack ran to the fallen man and grabbed his gun.
He aimed at Carlos’s messy brain and fired again.
Placing the gun back in the man’s hand he stood for
a few seconds. Think Jack, think. Acting quickly,
Jack reached into the leather sheath at his ankle and
withdrew his knife. He already heard the banging
on the study door. He only had a few seconds.
Somehow he had to make his men think he’d been
attacked. Rushing back around the desk he turned
Carlos’ body to face the direction of the man on the
chair. Coming back around the desk he knew what
had to come next. Gritting his teeth against the pain,
Jack plunged the six-inch knife into his thigh just
above his knee, skillfully avoiding the artery. He
swallowed the cry that threatened to escape and
nearly fainted from the searing pain. Bile rose into
his throat and he let it come. He vomited all over
the expensive carpet. That should make it more
believable, he thought grimly.
Falling to his knees, he had barely seconds to look
into the man’s cold dead eyes before the study door
crashed open and Carlos’s entourage of security
burst into the room. Jack stared at the man who had
taught him everything he knew, the honorable, Kent
Larson, Deputy Director of the CIA.

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