That Time in Rio, Logan Ryles [i have read the book a hundred times txt] 📗

That Time in Rio

A Wolfgang Pierce Novella

Logan Ryles

Contents

Also by Logan Ryles

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Wolfgang Returns in…

That Time in Tokyo

Ready for more?

About the Author

Also by Logan Ryles

End Page

Copyright © 2021 by Logan Ryles. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

THAT TIME IN RIO is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Library of Congress Control Number:

Published by Ryker Morgan Publishing.

Cover design by German Creative.

Also by Logan Ryles

The Wolfgang Pierce Novella Series

Prequel: That Time in Appalachia (coming soon)

Book 1: That Time in Paris

Book 2: That Time in Cairo

Book 3: That Time in Moscow

Book 4: That Time in Rio

Book 5: That Time in Tokyo (coming June 4)

Book 6: That Time in Sydney (coming June 18)

The Reed Montgomery Thriller Series

Prequel: Sandbox, a short story (read for free at LoganRyles.com)

Book 1: Overwatch

Book 2: Hunt to Kill

Book 3: Total War

Book 4: Smoke & Mirrors

Book 5: Survivor

Book 6: Death Cycle (coming soon)

Book 7: Sundown (coming soon)

Visit LoganRyles.com to receive a free copy of Sandbox.

The Wolfgang Pierce Novella Series is dedicated to:

Abby and Naomi, my original super fans, and two of the coolest people I know.

Thanks for keeping me inspired.

“You walk off the plane in Rio,

and your blood temperature goes up.”

- Amy Irving

1

November, 2011

“We’re going to Rio.”

Wolfgang swiveled one of the leather-clad captain’s chairs toward the aisle of the private jet and stared down at the map Edric spread across the carpet. It depicted Rio de Janeiro in detail, with highlights of streets and key landmarks.

“The director’s daughter has been kidnapped,” Edric said. “More details are on the way, but it seems she was vacationing on winter break in Rio when her private car was hijacked outside her hotel.”

“She didn’t have security?” said Kevin, Charlie Team’s muscleman and disgruntled driver.

Edric looked up. “She did. Two ex-military contractors. Both DOA.”

Wolfgang winced and scanned the faces of the other two members of his team: Lyle, the wiry and awkward tech wiz cliché with smudged glasses, and Megan, Charlie Team’s ground leader. Megan was the most senior member of the team after Edric, with enough skills and smarts to execute missions blindfolded. She was petite and elegant, with red hair and grey eyes that Wolfgang lost himself in during all the worst moments.

“There was a fight?” Megan asked.

“Yep,” Edric said. “The vehicle was assaulted by at least four shooters. The first guard was hit by multiple large-caliber rounds through the windshield. The second guard took two rounds to the chest while attempting to return fire. As far as we know, the hit team took no casualties. After gunning down the guards, they took the target and evacuated in a waiting van.” Edric ran the back of his hand across his forehead. His face—still bruised and dirty from an unplanned confrontation with the SVR in Moscow—was lined with exhaustion and stress, but his posture remained upright and engaged.

“Who is the target, again?” Wolfgang asked.

Edric reached into a duffle bag and produced an iPad. He navigated to a secure email server and opened an attached file. “Rose K. Obviously, her last name is classified. She’s the director’s daughter and only child.”

Edric flipped the iPad around, displaying a full-frame photograph of a teenage girl, maybe sixteen or seventeen years old. She had a dark complexion matched with cocoa-colored hair and wore a preparatory school uniform, although the identifying badge had been blurred out. Rose smiled so brightly that the whole room around her seemed to glow.

“The director sent his teenage daughter on vacation to Rio?” Kevin asked.

Edric shrugged. “Seems so. She went with two friends from school, both of whom were recovered. Rose was alone at the time of the assault.”

Wolfgang rubbed his chin and studied the photograph. He looked beyond the smile and the girlish charm and wondered what he was missing. After three high-stakes missions with Charlie Team, Wolfgang knew nothing was what it appeared to be. In Paris, Cairo, and then Moscow, the tables had shifted beneath his feet, exposing him to altogether different realities than he had been briefed on.

“Do we have intel on any possible motive?” Wolfgang asked.

“The director’s daughter was kidnapped,” Kevin snorted. “The motive is obvious. Somebody’s going after SPIRE.”

Wolfgang chewed a fingernail, still staring at the photograph. He thought about his six months with SPIRE and realized this was the first time that the director—the shadowy shot-caller who ran SPIRE—had ever been a topic of conversation. Wolfgang had been so caught up in the thrills of his job, not to mention the generous paychecks, that he’d never stopped to consider who he was working for. Charlie Team worked for SPIRE—a private company specializing in subterfuge, procurement, infiltration, retaliation, and entrapment. That was enough.

“It’s a good question,” Megan said. “We assume because Rose is the director’s daughter, that this is an attack on SPIRE, but I’m sure the director is wealthy. This could be about money.”

Edric shook his head. “Unfortunately, it’s not.” He tapped on the iPad’s screen, then flipped it around again.

The screen displayed another image of Rose, but this time, she wasn’t smiling, and she wasn’t wearing a school uniform. In fact, she wasn’t wearing anything except dirty undergarments stained with traces of what looked like blood. She stood with her back pressed against a concrete wall—her hair disheveled and her makeup streaked with tear trails—while holding a local newspaper over her chest, the date displayed at the top.