Sabotage: Beginnings
Savage Souls Series
LS Silverii
This sixth book in the series is dedicated to my wife. Thank you for allowing me to pursue what drives me wild. Other than you of course!
This series allowed the opportunity to incorporate my experiences as an undercover agent as well as what I’ve learned through my studies of human fringe behavior. I appreciate all of my brother and sister law enforcement officers who walk the jagged line daily. Those who keep the faith despite the frayed conditions have my eternal gratitude.
The writing community is amazing for surrounding each other with genuine support. These wonderful people generously support and mentor me without hesitation. I thank you for your time, talent and truth. Liliana Hart, Jean Jenkins and the ARC readers who held nothing back.
Copyright © 2016 by Scott Silverii
Kindle Edition
SilverHart Publishing
“Sabotage: Beginnings”: Savage Souls Series
© 2015 Savage Souls Series by Scott Silverii
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
For information contact SilverHart Publishing
What drives the hearts of men to do heroic feats, while others do horribly unspeakable acts? When the lines between black and white are no longer easily defined, that’s where the true heart of a man is tested.
CIA Operative Justice Boudreaux has served his country behind enemy lines, only to discover that the real enemy is the Agency who sent him there. While his mission is to save, another secret agent is programed to destroy. Ben Ford is a murdering machine with only one thing in his heart – to kill for his country.
When the two warriors collide, there are no nations safe from their ability to complete their missions. But there’s a fine line between good and evil, and the only way to win is to sabotage the other. May the best man win.
NOTE TO READER – This novel is the prequel to
SAVAGE SOULS
.
Also Check Out
BROKEN
– It’s FREE and the first book in the series. The final novel in this MC series is HUNTED: The Final Chapter and is due out 01-03-17.
The exciting continuation of St. John and Abigail’s saga is now available for pre-order. Order yours now and make sure you’re the first to have it delivered to you.
HUNTED: The Final Chapter
J
ustice Boudreaux was
in a foreign land to kill. Why—because that’s what his government trained him to do. He was good at it. Both he knew and the CIA knew it. The trouble with this whole fucked-up scenario was his target also knew it.
His rubbery sole slipped in the sandy coating that painted everything. Justice paused to scan the hard, jagged region just beyond the border of Pakistan. Mountainous and arid. Unforgiving. He eyed his partner without confidence in her ability to maintain the track.
Sweat flowed from his shaggy beard. Water was scarce, so he didn’t bother wasting it to douse for comfort—it was needed for survival. His partner, chosen without Justice’s consent, had a different purpose for her canteen’s contents. Her glint showed determination, but Justice still doubted Batya Cohen’s abilities. He wagged his head as she sucked from the Camelback water bladder strapped to her backpack.
“You’d think breaching Pakistan without their government’s knowledge would be a bigger problem than you having to work with a woman,” Batya said. She drew from the rubber water tube until liquid gushed between thin lips.
She spit the fine wind-swept sand granules from her mouth, “
L’Chayim
,” she offered.
“Cheers,” Justice replied.
“Oh, you speak Hebrew?” her lips parted to show bright white teeth.
“My government says I gotta talk the talk, so I do as I’m ordered.” Justice squatted against a clump of boulders. Making himself a small target for the enemy was hard to do at six-feet-six, but he managed to shove his 258-pound frame into a gulch of rock and shade.
She retied the shemagh over her head and neck. Afghans traditionally wore the square cloth, but many soldiers and special operations warriors also adopted use of the versatile garment.
“Justice, please answer this.” Batya snugged the tip of the water hose beneath her desert-colored vest. “Is it because I’m a woman or a Jew?”
“Neither.” He snapped at the implication. “This isn’t Israel’s problem. Why would the Mossad bother dispatching a female to eliminate a rogue American asset? There’s more to it than you’re allowed to tell.”
The olive-and-black checkered scarf was tugged just beneath the razor-slits that barely allowed him to see her cold hazel eyes. “Your country may have created this
shaitan
, but he has killed many in my country. There’s no tolerance for his return.”
Justice leveled his monocular scope to eye-level. He wafted bats of steaming air through his nostrils while he zeroed upward, toward the ridge of a steep slope of terrain.
“
Shaitan
—devil, that’s what the Muslims call him. Is that what the Jews call him too?”
“We don’t bother giving him a name. There is nothing other than the one true God. To offer this man a name such as devil,
Iblis
, or
shaitan
would conflict with our monotheistic view of only one God.” She knelt about five feet away from him. “Is that another problem you have with me and my people?”
He pocketed the scope into the tactical vest strapped around his torso. Beneath it were light Kevlar panels. Probably not any good for stopping many bullets, but maybe it’d hold his insides together until he scrambled a medi-vac. His gloved finger twirled to signal it was time to move.
“I ain’t got a problem with you being a woman or a Jew. I just thought it’d be ironic for you and the Muslims to agree on something—even if it was a name for the devil.”
Batya leaned her compact frame close to the rock-strewn loam and began the long upward trek toward the unguarded military outpost. “What both of our people do agree on is that your government trained and dispatched this animal to prey on our countrymen.”
He glared at her ass as it moved inches from his dusty face. Justice averted his gaze, but the smile was glued. Guys never really grew up—they just learned to not be so gross in public.
Maybe she can take care of herself after all.
Both operatives sat at the spear’s tip as far as specialized training was concerned. Justice’s acceptance into Delta Force afforded more training than most of the Army’s soldiers would see in a lifetime. Along with the United States Navy SEAL Team Six, both units were by far the most elite of the Joint Special Operations Command units.
The former LSU football standout had left college athletics to graduate early in order to be of service to his country. He’d grown up in a dysfunctional, backwater bayou brawl-a-thon with his father, but he’d always understood hard work would make up for a fucked up childhood of fishing and alligator hunting.
North Carolina’s Fort Bragg was another world away from Turtle Bayou, Louisiana, but it wasn’t long until he got the call that would take him even further away from his beloved United States Army—the Central Intelligence Agency.
The scrabble of boots against sliding rock pulled him back to the present.
“Hold on sister,” Justice gasped.
His left hand swung out to grab her. He pressed her into the rugged mountainside. Grimacing, he held tight until Batya was able to regain her footing. Below, the small rocks tumbled onto big stones as an avalanche stormed its way down the last three thousand feet of elevation they’d just covered.
“I had it.” She snapped at him in a breathless tone, her face contorted by exhaustion and the early stages of dehydration.
He tried to wink with an eye that had become swollen with crystalline salt and tears. They burned red hot against the reflective rock surface. Nothing to do but to deal with it. The canteen water was for drinking—not rinsing. Batya either didn’t respond to his wink or didn’t recognize his effort. Her expression remained set.
“Sure you did. I just didn’t want to have to go down to get you. It’s a long way straight up to start all over.”
“
Zebach sh’lamim
,” she quietly offered. Blessings.
“You’re welcome.” He beamed. “We got about another two hundred feet to the ridge. There’s a guard watchtower there. Supposed to be unmanned.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong—though I’m not—but won’t we be in Pakistan?” Fingertips bloodied from the long crawl, she pressed the wounds against her shemagh until the bleeding clotted.
“How do I reply without lying to you?” He whisked out his canteen and slammed down two slugs of warm water. “Officially, I don’t exist. I’m a ghost in Afghanistan or Pakistan. Hell. I’m a ghost back home. So whether it’s the friendlies, or terrorist cells, or the newly liberated country of Afghanis, my government says I don’t exist.”
“So what exactly does that mean?” she asked.
He saw her breathing had settled down, and color returned to her face.
“It means I don’t much care where I am. I’ll do whatever it takes to get the mission accomplished.”
“Americans, and your John Wayne swagger…” She shook her head, but Justice thought he detected an attempt at humor.