Sudden Threat Read online

  SUDDEN THREAT

  BY

  AJ Tata

  COPYRIGHT

  DEDICATION

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  PROLOGUE

  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

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 50

  CHAPTER 51

  CHAPTER 52

  CHAPTER 53

  CHAPTER 54

  CHAPTER 55

  CHAPTER 56

  CHAPTER 57

  CHAPTER 58

  CHAPTER 59

  CHAPTER 60

  CHAPTER 61

  CHAPTER 62

  CHAPTER 63

  CHAPTER 64

  CHAPTER 65

  CHAPTER 66

  CHAPTER 67

  CHAPTER 68

  CHAPTER 69

  CHAPTER 70

  CHAPTER 71

  CHAPTER 72

  CHAPTER 73

  CHAPTER 74

  CHAPTER 75

  CHAPTER 76

  CHAPTER 77

  CHAPTER 78

  CHAPTER 79

  CHAPTER 80

  CHAPTER 81

  CHAPTER 82

  CHAPTER 83

  CHAPTER 84

  CHAPTER 85

  CHAPTER 86

  CHAPTER 87

  CHAPTER 88

  CHAPTER 89

  CHAPTER 90

  CHAPTER 91

  CHAPTER 92

  CHAPTER 93

  CHAPTER 94

  CHAPTER 95

  CHAPTER 96

  CHAPTER 97

  CHAPTER 98

  CHAPTER 99

  CHAPTER 100

  CHAPTER 101

  CHAPTER 102

  CHAPTER 103

  CHAPTER 104

  EPILOGUE

  ROGUE THREAT SAMPLE 1

  ROGUE THREAT SAMPLE 2

  Copyright © 2009 A.J. Tata

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For more information email all inquiries to:

  [email protected]

  Published by Variance LLC (USA).

  www.variancepublishing.com

  Library of Congress Catalog Number – 2009930797

  ISBN: 1-935142-08-9

  ISBN-13: 978-1-935142-08-9

  Cover illustration: Larry Rostant

  Cover layout: Jeremy Robinson and Stanley Tremblay

  Interior layout: Stanley Tremblay

  Map: Jackie McDermott

  Visit A.J. Tata on the web at: www.ajtata.com.

  Author’s website designed by www.alifelski.com

  In Memory of:

  Command Sergeant Major Jerry Lee Wilson

  Captain Bill Jacobsen

  Major Doug Sloan

  This book is dedicated to the memory of three soldiers killed in combat, two in Iraq and one in Afghanistan. These men are role models for all of us.

  CSM Jerry Wilson was command sergeant major during my last six months of command of the Second Brigade, 101st Airborne Division. Jerry, a tall, strong man from Thomson, Georgia, was killed in Mosul, Iraq, in 2003, during Operation Iraqi Freedom. Jerry’s heart was as large as he was tall, and as I said at his funeral in Thomson, we must all endeavor to earn his sacrifice.

  Bill, who also served with me in the 101st Airborne Division, was killed the next year during the devastating attack on the dining facility near Mosul, Iraq, while serving as a Stryker Brigade company commander. Bill was a six-and-a-half-foot-tall Mormon who loved his soldiers. In the streets of Mosul, he was an icon among both his troops and the Iraqi people. He was the best officer with whom I have served. Speaking with Bill’s wife and their four boys at his funeral near Charlotte, North Carolina, I again vowed to live up to the sacrifice of the many good men and women who were fighting both in combat and on the home front.

  Doug served with me in the Eighty-second Airborne Division and Tenth Mountain Division and was killed by an improvised explosive device in Afghanistan in 2006, three months after he was scheduled to leave company command, but his soldiers had asked their commander to keep him in place. Kneeling in front of Doug’s rifle, helmet, smiling photo, and identification tags at his memorial service in Konar Province, Afghanistan, on a crystalclear day amidst the towering Hindu Kush, I wept, proud of Doug’s courage and the fact that he had achieved the highest praise a man can seek: subordinates who demanded his leadership.

  Jerry, Bill, and Doug were the kinds of leaders soldiers loved to follow. They were selfless men who courageously and valiantly answered the call to duty. Men and women like them are not uncommon in our military. Indeed, they are a reflection of our society and the values of our nation.

  The sacrifices of these men should galvanize all of us to recognize the reality that, indeed, freedom is not free, and we have enemies who seek to destroy our way of life.

  And if you’ve read this far and don’t turn another page, that’s okay by me. Google Jerry, Bill, and Doug, and you will understand the sentiment that these men stirred in those around them.

  If you choose to read on, this work of fiction attempts to capture the grittiness of combat against a realistic geopolitical backdrop. Any thriller must have a stage on which to play out, and that stage must be based on current events. In addition to the disclaimer that this book is, in its entirety, fiction, including all of its characters, I want to add that Sudden Threat’s only purpose is to entertain. It is not a political statement and in no way, shape or form represents

  any official opinion of the government. Sudden Threat is the first in a series of books that follows the paths of two brothers, Matt and Zachary Garrett, CIA paramilitary operative and U.S. Army officer, respectively.

  As for me, I am a soldier. I believe in and endeavor daily to accomplish the country’s strategic aims, I despise and have fought the enemies of our nation, and I know the threat we face.

  Late at night, as thoughts of combat and training spin through my mind, I’m always left with the images of Jerry, Bill, and Doug. So, if I’ve been able to capture a little bit of the qualities of men such as these in the characters of the main protagonists, then I will have succeeded.

  Acknowled
gements

  The publication of this book would not have been possible without the friendship and guidance of Rob Hobart and Brad Thor. Rob’s professionalism and years of dedicated, selfless service are the foundation for a character readers will discover in Rogue Threat, the sequel to Sudden Threat, and books beyond. Rob introduced me to Brad, who has simply been an unbelievable mentor through the publication process, not to mention a first-class friend and best-selling

  author.

  I am deeply grateful to the Variance publishing team, Tim Schulte and Jeremy Robinson, who decided to take a chance on an Army officer who has enjoyed writing for the past fifteen years in his “spare” time. They absolutely live up to their goal of being an “author friendly” publishing house.

  An author could not ask for two better editors than Bob and Sara Schwager, who have diligently compensated for my inattention in grammar class and plebe, freshman year, English at the United States Military Academy. For sure, any errors in the book are mine alone.

  I also need to thank Rick “The Gun-Guy” Kutka for his weapons technical expertise and for his years of service to our nation.

  To my entire family, who have been so incredibly supportive of me over the years during military deployments and the usual roller coaster of life, I say thank you. My parents, Bob and Jerri Tata, in particular have been steady supporters of my writing even when life seemed to get in the way.

  And to Jodi Amanda, as you say, all ways and always.

  Prologue

  Nangahar Province, Afghanistan, December 12, 2001

  Matt Garrett pulled his white Gore-Tex hood over his forehead, warding off the biting winds that sliced downward from the 14,000-foot peaks of the Tora Bora Mountains and rifled through his layered Afghan garb like invisible sheets of ice. As he turned his head slowly to check on his three other men, the snow was more like pellets fired sideways at his face by enemy weapons.

  Holding in position a mile inside the Pakistan border, overlooking a small, nameless village, he studied the hand-held monitor and watched the grainy, barely discernable Predator feed as it followed the ambulance that had passed through Torkum gate, the fabled Khyber Pass. The ambulance turned north on a small road out of Peshawar and then the video feed was lost due to the raging storm.

  It was December 12, 2001 and Matt had led his team from Jalalabad through the rugged, snow-jammed trail north of the pass that separates Afghanistan from Pakistan while the Eastern Alliance, fortified by a consortium of special operators and some of his cohorts from the CIA, attacked into Tora Bora. The night before, Matt had stared at the map hanging in the small shack near Jalalabad airfield as he listened to the fight raging in the windswept mountains.

  Then he heard the announcement of a cease fire.

  “Bullshit,” he had said. “Head fake.”

  Matt figured that with all of the assets watching and listening to Al Qaeda in the mountains, he would form a supporting effort. His study of Bin Laden always led him to a small village in Pakistan. The one he presently viewed through the scope of his M24 sniper rifle.

  Matt had pointed at the map with his team and said, “If he doesn’t go the back way out of Tora Bora into Parachnir, he’s going there.” His finger had smacked the map north and west of Peshawar. “We’ve got enough dudes up in the mountains; this is where we’re going.”

  Then as they were about to move, an Eastern Alliance checkpoint reported the pearl of intelligence to General Ali. An ambulance had appeared from nowhere in the snowstorm and was passing through Torkum Gate, heading east.

  “That’s him. Get Pred feed over it now,” Matt had instructed. The Predator was unarmed and could only monitor. Matt’s hunch, headquarters determined, was not the main effort.

  Tora Bora was the focus and therefore received the balance of the armed assets.

  Four men and two mules had walked all night from a drop-off point near the border. They shivered and struggled to keep their bottled water and Camelbak hydration systems from freezing. After a quick recon, Matt had selected this rocky crevice with superb fields of fire into the village.

  Matt plugged a cable from his sniper scope into a USB port in his small handheld satellite com-munications device. He was transmitting his sight picture back to Langley, but he also knew that the national command authority in the White House situation room and the national military command center in the Pentagon routinely tapped into the CIA video; all in the name of post-9-11 intelligence sharing.

  Matt could not give a rat’s ass about who was watching the video feed.

  They want proof? They can watch the bullet pass through his brain.

  They were perched high above the village nearly 500 meters away. The driving snow provided ample cover, especially with their white gilley suits that lay atop them. Two of his men were faced outward, securing their position from any passerby. Tony Macrini, known as X-Ray, lay next to him peering through a larger scope, confirming what Matt was seeing as well as providing redundant digital confirmation of the kill.

  “Pred lost them, but they’re heading this way,” Matt said, confidently.

  “Roger,” Macrini said, then spit some tobacco into the bone-white snow. The brown juice disappeared instantly beneath a fresh layer.

  Bones and McKinney tapped Matt every fifteen minutes. One tap meant all ok; two taps meant there was a problem. Better with minimal talking.

  Matt’s heart quickened just a bit. Though he was experienced, to know that he potentially had the shot on Al Qaeda senior leadership elevated his nervous system slightly. That was good, he thought. He wasn’t nervous or anxious, but there was something nagging at him.

  He had been told to call in approval for any sniper shot on AQ senior leadership. It’s okay to drop a bomb on a cave and kill the dude, Matt thought, but I can’t pull this trigger without approval?

  “Movement,” Macrini said.

  Matt shifted his scope marginally and picked up two men with AK-47s slung across their backs standing outside in the snowstorm.

  “That’s it,” Matt said. Pulling into the view of his scope was a makeshift ambulance with a large, red cross on either side. It slowly wound through a defile and pulled to a stop in front of the larger adobe structure in the nine-building village.

  Men clambered out of the ambulance and opened the back door, extracting a stretcher. After the AK-47-clad stretcher bearers pulled the litter from the back, a short man wearing wire-rim spectacles stepped carefully from the compartment into the snow.

  Matt watched as the wire-rimmed, spectacled man rapidly ushered the precious cargo into the large building. Momentarily losing sight of everyone, Matt was pleased when they placed the stretcher on a table juxtaposed to an open window.

  “I’ve got the shot.”

  “You’ve got the shot,” Macrini affirmed.

  Matt deliberated in his mind. Make the call, not make the call?

  “You’ve got the shot,” Macrini said again, emphatically, as if to say, screw the call.

  Before Matt could ruminate any further, his earpiece crackled with the sound of a distant incoming radio call.

  “Garrett, standby.”

  “Don’t answer it,” Macrini cautioned. “I don’t like it.”

  “They can see my feed, they know we can talk.”

  “Garrett, standby, acknowledge immediately.” Matt didn’t recognize the voice through the wind and static, though he assumed it was some bureaucrat seventeen times removed from his low level status as an operator. He registered that the voice could be coming from any of the outstations: Langley, the White House, the Pentagon, and God knows whoever else might be watching. The 8,000-mile screwdriver was going cordless.

  “I’m telling you, man,” Macrini warned. “You

  know anything good to ever come from head-quarters?”

  Matt looked at his friend, a former Marine Force Recon scout. Macrini’s beard, like his own, was thick. He wore a pakol and tan and green blankets beneath the white sheets they used to
conceal their position.

  He turned back to his sight picture and lined up the black dot of the cross hairs on the middle of the patient’s torso. The medical team had stripped the man, a very tall man, down to his long johns. The white shirt was stained red on the left side. Shrapnel, maybe a bullet, Matt figured. The scope traced the body and then the black dot landed on the bearded face, actually just to the side of the elongated nose and just beneath the dark, brooding eyebrows. The eyes, though, seemed compassionate, or perhaps he had the faraway look of a wounded deer.

  Matt nodded to his battle buddy, exhaled steadily and placed an exposed trigger finger on the trigger mechanism. He found that spot where he would have no pull on the weapon, just straight back, not moving the weapon, sending the bullet directly where the cross hairs were resting. He closed his eyes briefly, retreating into that inner sanctuary that allowed him complete focus. Opening his eyes, all he saw was the black dot and the man’s face looming large in his sight picture, the way that a slow-spinning curve ball might look to Tony Gwynn, the greatest batsman of all time.

  “Homerun,” Matt whispered.

  “Homerun,” Macrini confirmed.

  “Do not fire! Do not fire! Kill chain denied!”

  “What the hell?” Macrini said, rolling away from the scope and yanking out his earpiece.

  Matt didn’t move. He was in his zone. Every-thing was in slow motion; his breathing, his trigger finger beginning the squeeze, the movement of the patient’s head turning toward him, exposing the worn prayer callous on his forehead.

  “Take the shot!” Macrini growled.

  “Do not fire! Kill chain denied!”

  “Take the shot!”

  With the good angel on one shoulder, Macrini, and the bad angel on the other, the anonymous voice, Matt closed his eyes.

  I’ve got the shot.

  “This is a direct order. Entry into Pakistan was not authorized. Kill chain denied. Violation will be prosecuted.”

  I’ve got the shot. I’m close.

  “Take the shot!” Macrini demanded.

  Matt exhaled again, keeping his sight picture, and squeezed the trigger at the same time a JDAM missile exploded perilously close to his position.