Counter Terror (A Jake Adams International Espionage Thriller Series Book 13) Read online

  COUNTER TERROR

  A Jake Adams International Espionage Thriller #13

  by

  Trevor Scott

  United States of America

  Also by Trevor Scott

  The Jake Adams Cold War Espionage Short Story Series

  Reykjavik Sanction (Mission #1)

  Napoli Intercept (Mission #2)

  Wueschheim Imperative (Mission #3)

  Jake Adams International Espionage Thriller Series

  Fatal Network (#1)

  Extreme Faction (#2)

  The Dolomite Solution (#3)

  Vital Force (#4)

  Rise of the Order (#5)

  The Cold Edge (#6)

  Without Options (#7)

  The Stone of Archimedes (#8)

  Lethal Force (#9)

  Rising Tiger (#10)

  Counter Caliphate (#11)

  Gates of Dawn (#12)

  Counter Terror (#13)

  Covert Network (#14)

  The Tony Caruso Mystery Series

  Boom Town (#1)

  Burst of Sound (#2)

  Running Game (#3)

  The Chad Hunter Espionage Thriller Series

  Hypershot (#1)

  Global Shot (#2)

  Cyber Shot (#3)

  The Keenan Fitzpatrick Mystery Series

  Isolated (#1)

  Burning Down the House (#2)

  Witness to Murder (#3)

  Other Mysteries and Thrillers

  Cantina Valley

  Edge of Delirium

  Strong Conviction

  Fractured State (A Novella)

  The Nature of Man

  Discernment

  Way of the Sword

  Drifting Back

  The Dawn of Midnight

  The Hobgoblin of the Redwoods

  Duluthians: A Collection of Short Stories

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and not intended to represent real people or places. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author.

  Counter Terror

  Copyright © 2016 by Trevor Scott

  United States of America

  trevorscott.com

  Cover image of shooter by Deanna Quinto Larson

  Background cover image by author

  For Trevor Schmidt

  An outstanding young science fiction author

  1

  Rome, Italy

  Rain drifted across the Piazza del Papolo, obscuring the People’s Square that was lit by dozens of ornate lights. The chill November breeze brought with it an ethereal set of clouds resembling apparitions flying in formation, like a massive flock of ghostly snow geese.

  Jake Adams lifted the collar on his leather jacket to ward off the bite from the cold moisture, and cast his gaze upon the sparse crowd moving through the piazza with quick paces. This was not an evening for lingering, he thought. Perhaps that would be his best indication of his contact, who was at least ten minutes late now. The man would be moving slowly like a tortoise among a group of hares.

  Something big was heading toward Rome, Jake knew, and he was determined to discover what form that would take. Most of the major cities of Europe had seen terrorist attacks over the years, but Rome had somehow escaped that destiny. Jake guessed the terrorists were suicidal and crazy, but they also knew that attacking the seat of the Roman Catholic religion would be like dropping bombs in the shape of pigs on Mecca and Medina.

  Jake held tight against the western wall, which gave him a perfect view of the wide piazza, while allowing him a quick escape around the wall toward his car parked just a block away near the Tiber River.

  He had been commissioned to meet with a man with contacts throughout the various nefarious organizations across Italy—from anarchists to religious zealots. Jake’s contacts had confirmed that Sergio Russo was a capo in the Calabrese Malavita. The only photo Jake had of the guy was a few years old and wasn’t very detailed. But the man’s dossier described one distinguishing feature that could not be denied—a birthmark at the right temple in the shape of the Island of Malta, running from the hairline to his right eye.

  There he was, Jake thought. Moving in from the south side of the piazza was a slight man in jeans and a dark green rain jacket, the hood pulled over his head.

  “Got him,” Jake said into his comm unit.

  “Roger that,” Alexandra said. This was his girlfriend’s first foray into the field since giving birth to their daughter nearly six months ago. Alexandra was positioned at the north side of the piazza near the entrance to a Leonardo da Vinci museum, which was closed at this hour.

  Jake’s contact moved to the center obelisk statue that towered above the piazza, where he stopped and swiveled his head. Then he lit a cigarette, the all clear sign.

  Instead of concentrating solely on Russo, Jake kept an eye on the perimeter as he walked out to the center of the piazza.

  When Jake got to the base of the obelisk, he glanced up at the man to size him up. He fit the description. Jake climbed the few stairs to the base of the tall obelisk and stood within a few feet of his contact.

  His contact said in Italian, “Why do they call this a square?”

  “I know,” Jake said, also in Italian. “It’s obviously a circle.”

  Their code phrase complete, Jake moved in closer and finally got a good look at the Mafia captain. Russo was somewhere in his mid-fifties, with speckled silver hair receding at the temples, allowing Jake to see the Malta birthmark. He had a three-day growth of beard just like Jake, although the Mafia man had more gray.

  “Do you speak English?” Jake asked.

  “Some. Your Italian is littered with Calabrese.”

  “The true Italian,” Jake said, trying his best to compliment the man. He knew that those from Calabria, the southernmost province of Italy, were staunchly affiliated to the region. It was like the Texas of Italy.

  Russo smiled and showed Jake a set of imperfect teeth with crooked canines, stained yellow from his smoking habit. He worked on his cigarette, putting the tip to a bright orange and squinting as he let out a breath of smoke.

  “Do you know the irony of this place?” Russo asked.

  Jake shrugged.

  “For centuries they used to execute citizens here,” Russo said.

  “Why the Egyptian obelisk?” Jake asked.

  Russo shrugged. “Augustus had it brought here from Egypt in ten B.C. It was first erected in the Circus Maximus.”

  In Jake’s earpiece, Alexandra said, “Tell him to get on with it.”

  “Enough history lessons,” Jake said. “I was told you have some information for me.”

  The Italian switched back to his native tongue and said, “You know that we work on a code of silence.”

  Jake knew. “But.”

  “But this could be very important to the survival of the western world, especially Italy.”

  Jake swiveled his eyes to scan the area behind the Mafia man and to his blind spot. He would have to rely on Alexandra to cover that which he couldn’t see. And also he had to depend somewhat on the Italian to sense something out of the ordinary.

  “And?” Jake asked.

  “My people are concerned.”

  Jake guessed that the Calabrese Malavita didn’t rattle easily. “What do you know?”

  “Roma will be a target soon,” Russo said.

  “I could hear that on the evening news.”

  Russo li
t a second cigarette from the butt of his first one and nodded his head. Then he flicked the old butt into a fountain with a lion spitting water. “This is true. But it’s one thing to speculate, and another to know certain facts.”

  “We need specifics,” Alexandra said in Jake’s ear.

  “When and where?” Jake asked.

  Russo’s eyes shifted and then narrowed with uncertainty. “I don’t know that for sure.”

  “Rome is a big city with many potential targets.”

  “I know. And they have increased security at most ancient cites. But it’s still not enough.”

  Jake had observed that himself recently. Although they had a few heavily-armed units in place at high impact targets, it wouldn’t take that much to mitigate their efforts. As he pondered that, his eyes caught a man approaching from the south end who looked out of ordinary. It wasn’t his clothes, but it was more his demeanor as he approached that made the hairs on the back of Jake’s neck stand up. Now he shifted his gaze toward the east side of the piazza and noticed another man who was walking with purpose toward the center obelisk. That was the problem. The man wasn’t making a normal path through the piazza. He was moving toward them.

  “Jake, you’ve got company,” Alexandra said in his ear.

  “I know,” Jake said. “One at my twelve and one at my three.”

  Russo looked confused. “What?”

  Jake instinctively unzipped his jacket allowing for easy access to his 9mm Glock under his left arm. “Did you bring some friends?”

  The Mafia man shifted his eyes. “No. I came alone.” Then he seemed to understand that all was not right with this meeting.

  “A third man behind you,” Alexandra said, her voice professional and clear. “Seventy-five meters out.”

  “Coming your way,” Jake said, and then grasped the Italian man by his arm and started to round the obelisk and down the stone steps on the other side. Then to Russo Jake said, “Are you armed?”

  “Of course,” Russo said.

  Jake drew his Glock and held it against his right leg.

  “I’ve got the car,” Alexandra said.

  The problem, of course, was that there was a lot of open space across this massive piazza before they reached safety. It was the reason for meeting here in the first place, but it left them vulnerable during a retreat.

  Suddenly, the relative quiet was broken by the sound of gunshots. Jake swiveled around and shot twice at the shooter. Then the two of them took off running toward the north entrance to the square.

  More gunshots.

  The Mafia man now had his gun out and started shooting like a madman, nearly emptying his magazine on the three men on their tail. But his shots were erratic and hit nothing.

  By the time they got to the north end, Jake could see the dark brown Fiat Tipo he had acquired earlier that evening.

  Alexandra was behind the wheel and skidded to a stop just long enough for Jake to get in the front passenger seat and Russo to pile in the back seat. As they pulled away, the tires spinning on the wet cobblestone streets, bullets flew at them striking the side and back of the car.

  The Mafia capo was hunkered down in the back seat swearing in Italian.

  Jake turned to see the men climb into a black Audi. Damn, Jake thought. No way could they outrun that car.

  Now Russo leaned forward and said, “Who is this fine lady?”

  Alexandra shook her head.

  “My associate,” Jake said, not wanting to give away any more information than he needed to at this time. “Who followed you to this meeting?”

  “How do you know they didn’t follow you?” Russo asked.

  Alexandra huffed out a breath of air.

  Jake said, “Who knew you were meeting here tonight?”

  “Just my boss. Nobody else.”

  “Does he trust you?” Jake asked.

  “He was the one who told me to meet with you. He has a mutual friend of yours.”

  That would be Jake’s Spanish billionaire benefactor, Carlos Gomez. The man who had sent Jake here as well. Did he have a leak in his organization? Anything was possible.

  Alexandra ran through the gears like a formula one driver, turning around corners like she was on the Circuit de Monaco. By now they were a block from the Tiber River.

  Jake glanced back and saw that the Audi was slowly moving in on them. “We can’t beat that car,” he said.

  “We’ll see,” Alexandra said, downshifting and rounding a corner. Then she hit the gas and ran through the gears again.

  “Don’t cross the river,” Russo said. “Turn left.”

  Without thinking, Alexandra did as he said. Now they were on a wider street and she could pick up the pace. The only cross streets were for bridges, and many of those were pedestrian only. But this also made it easier for the Audi to catch them, since they were much faster.

  The light ahead changed to red, but Alexandra didn’t even tap the brakes. She flew through the intersection, narrowly missing a car that had to stop for her. Horns blared at them.

  A block later and they hit a bump in the road that made them sail into the air. They hit with a hard bang, the crappy, stiff suspension bottoming out. Jake turned and saw the Audi barely getting any air.

  “What the hell is going on?” Jake asked Russo.

  The Mafia captain simply shrugged, and Jake could tell the man was equally baffled.

  “Boys, we’ve got another problem,” Alexandra said.

  Jake looked back and saw two Polizia cars, lights flashing, in hot pursuit. He whirred his window down and finally heard the sirens.

  By now they were across the river from Castel St. Angelo. In seconds they would be near the Vatican.

  “Turn left,” Jake said.

  “No,” Russo said.

  But Alexandra had already made the turn.

  “This will bring us right to the heart of downtown and the Colosseo.”

  Jake knew this. But instead of staying on the main street, he directed Alexandra to turn right through residential neighborhoods. By going this way, the Polizia would have a nearly impossible time trying to set up a road block.

  Bullets continued to come from the Audi, but they were also forced to shoot behind them at the Polizia cars. Occasionally, Jake and Russo would return fire.

  “Jake. We’ve got a problem,” Alexandra said.

  Looking ahead, Jake could see a busy street with a steady stream of cars.

  “Cut through,” Jake said.

  She turned her head for just a second and then nodded. Without slowing, she timed the traffic ahead as best as she could. But she clipped the back end of one car, which made that car careen into another, leading to a complete pileup. By now, though, they had exited the other side with only minor damage to the front end.

  Jake turned and saw the snarl of cars at the massive intersection. “We’re free. Head to the autostrada.”

  Alexandra let out a relieving breath and loosened her grip on the steering wheel.

  Russo leaned forward and said, “How do they say this in English? I have partial wood?”

  “Something like that,” Jake said. “But she’s taken.”

  Amalfi, Italy

  A distinguished man of some five or six decades stood against the rail on the promenade above the break wall for the sea. He wore a fine suit with an overcoat to fight off the night chill, and he stroked his long, silver goatee. He had just eaten a fine meal of pasta and sea creatures, from fish to octopus. He followed that with a shot of Sambuca. Then he went for his stroll, only to be disturbed in an extreme emergency. His men knew what that meant.

  So, when his most trusted advisor approached through his security detail, it could only mean one thing—something had gone wrong in Rome.

  “Speak to me,” the boss said.

  His man stammered slightly, a nervous tick and no fault of his own. The man had been beaten relentlessly as a child until he finally couldn’t take it any longer and ran away from home, living on the s
treets of Naples until he could work his way into the underworld of drug trafficking and other nefarious criminal activity.

  “Calm down, Poco. Just tell me.”

  The younger man took in a deep breath and finally said, “We followed the Malavita Capo as ordered. He met with another man in Piazza del Papolo.” He hesitated. Perhaps that was a mistake. “Shots were exchanged.”

  “I told you just to observe for now,” the boss said.

  “Yes, sir. But this other man moved like a grande gatto. La tigre.”

  The distinguished man stroked his beard in contemplation. He had heard that the Spaniard was bringing in a professional. And that was why he had sent his men. Just to assess the situation. “What happened.”

  After more hesitation and stammering, the younger man finally said, “A car chase. The Polizia got involved.”

  That wasn’t a problem. He could deal with the Polizia. “And?”

  “They got away. Russo and this new man. And a third person. A very good driver.”

  Not a total failure, the boss guessed. He had hoped to fly under the radar for now. But this could just mean he needed to move up his timeline. He glanced up to the sky and gazed at the swirling clouds which periodically exposed the stars. Then he tried to run the math through his head, but it wasn’t coming to him. Not entirely. He would need one of his whiteboards to make sense of all of this.

  “All right,” the boss finally said. “Put the word out on the street to find this capo Russo. But don’t kill him. Not yet. The last thing we need is a war with the Calabrese Malavita.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His young man went away, and he again considered the equations in his mind. But the numbers weren’t adding up. He would need to get back to his lab in Calabria.

  2

  Tropea, Italy

  Jake and Alexandra had traveled through the night from Rome to Calabria, getting to their home overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea around three in the morning. First, they had dropped off Sergio Russo at a train station on the outskirts of Rome. Then they had dumped the damaged Fiat and picked up Alexandra’s Alfa Romeo where they had left it near the Fiumicino Airport. Jake took over the driving, making it to Calabria in record time.