Thy Kingdom Come: Book One in the Sam Thorpe series (9 page)

Movement rustled behind him. He started to turn when something hard connected with his head. He tried to stay on his feet, but his knees betrayed him and he fell. Another blow to the head and Sam sank to the ground and …
silence.

E
lizabeth Henley hurried across the McGill University campus. The late evening wind blew her scarf into her face. She shivered and wrapped it tighter around her neck, wishing she’d worn a warmer coat. Her boots crunched through the fresh snow as she circled Pollack Hall, the tall steeple and arches standing straight like sentinels. She passed a few students, but most of them were inside the library studying or, more likely, down at the pub hoisting a tall one.

She gritted her teeth when she thought about her meeting with the dean, the weak-kneed pansy. She couldn’t believe that Billy Martin would be readmitted to her class. The dean told her that Mr. Martin was a leader in the community. Not only had he provided scholarships from his own funds, but he had encouraged a number of his friends to contribute money for scholarships. The college couldn’t afford to alienate him.

No,
she fumed,
they couldn’t afford to make Mr. Martin mad.
It didn’t matter that she’d been made to look like a fool. She’d sent Billy packing, but tomorrow he’d be back in class. The class would know he’d received no punishment—and all because of his father’s contacts. It made her so mad she could spit.

Elizabeth stepped around a puddle of melting snow and entered the parking garage, dark now from the overcast sky and lack of overhead lights. She unlocked her bike and climbed on. Even though she’d been in Montreal for over twenty years, Elizabeth didn’t drive unless she had to.

Her world was small—the university, the apartment she shared with the professor, the stores where she shopped—and most importantly, the meetings she attended. They kept her going. Sidney Kramer had been kind to her, but he demanded sex. His sweaty body drenched her.

Her bigger world had collapsed when her love died. What she did or where she did it didn’t matter anymore. She pedaled toward home, remembering him.

He’d been so beautiful. Six feet tall, he’d towered over her. His long arms could wrap her up like a Christmas package, and those deep blue eyes could stare into her soul. He had cared for her, but she hadn’t known if he loved her like she loved him.

The horn honking shook her out of her reverie. “Watch out!” The young man shook his fist at her. “You swerved right in front of me! I could have killed you! Wake up”!”

She ignored the loudmouth and pedaled on, planning how she would get her revenge. Animals like that driver would be the first to feel her wrath. It would be so sweet. She knew her love watched over her because she could feel his presence at night while she slept.

Sam felt as if he were climbing toward the top of a well. The sides were slippery and he was cold, so damn cold. The closer he got to the surface, the colder he became.

Groaning, he opened his eyes. At first he couldn’t focus. All he could see was a whitish blur. He kept blinking. Darkness from the forest surrounded him. Light from the moon cast a shadow across the snowy path. He lay on the ground, shivering. Concentrating was difficult, but he had to think. Taking several deep breaths, he looked around. Where the hell was he?

Memory descended in a rush. He had been walking. That’s right. Walking down the trail. Then he’d heard movement behind him. There had been at least three of them. He’d tried to defend himself but hadn’t moved quickly enough. Let the third one get behind him. He had gotten some good punches in. One of the bastards had a broken nose.

He couldn’t believe he’d let himself get sandbagged. He was supposed to be sharper than that, the big deal military colonel.

He pushed himself up on his knees only to fall down. He tried again and rose to his feet, almost slipping and falling. Pain radiated from the back of his head and slithered down his neck. He had no idea how long he’d been out. His head throbbed and his side burned. When he felt the back of his head and pulled his hand back, there was no blood. It must have been the butt of a rifle or some other blunt instrument.

His right side ached. Someone must have kicked him. Taking several deep breaths, the air he sucked in was cold and smelled of evergreens. He needed to get moving—and now.

Spotting his flashlight in the snow, he grabbed it and flipped the switch. Luckily it worked. Light illuminated the ground. He flashed the light around but saw nothing other than pine trees and a blanket of white. Matted snow showed where he had fallen. A series of footprints headed off in the direction of the farm. The freezing cold bit through his clothes. He had to get back to the barn before hypothermia set in.

A trail indicated the direction to reach the barn. His brain felt as if it were only working at half speed. Dizzy, he limped down the path, the trees seeming to blur in and out of focus. He almost fell when he slid down a hill. Forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other, he limped along, fighting the impulse to stop and rest.

Slipping and sliding down a long hill, he spotted the silhouette of the barn up ahead. He pushed on, the icy cold enveloping him.

When Sam opened the door, the main area was empty. He walked through the conference area and into his office, losing his balance twice and banging against the wall. He was glad he didn’t run into anyone.

Sam fell onto his cot. His body shaking, he forced himself to strip off his clothes, then soaked under the hot shower to warm his body and stifle the pain. The steam having cleared his senses, he dried himself and popped a couple of aspirins.

When Sam lay back on the bed he immediately fell fast asleep. He dreamed a bear attacked him and all he had to defend himself was a spoon.

Something wakened him. He sat up and looked at his watch—three o’clock, still dark outside. What was the noise? He flipped his bedside light on but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Damn, his side ached and his head throbbed. He pulled himself up and swallowed three more aspirins, then lay back down and fell asleep again.

When he awoke, rays of sunlight were filtering through the window high in the wall. He stretched and moved around—nothing broken, though everything hurt like hell.

Who would ambush him? Fucking Buster—Sam was sure of it.
Well, asshole, you and I are going to have a face-off, and it won’t be long in coming.

Sam decided to say nothing about the attack. His ribs hurt, but there was no outward sign of injuries.

He looked at his watch: eight o’clock. Then it hit him. Today was Emily’s birthday. Sixteen years old. He had remembered to send flowers, but he always called on her birthday. Seven o’clock in Minneapolis. She wouldn’t have left for school yet.

Sam grabbed his cell and punched in her number.

“Hello.”

The sound of her voice revived him, reminded him why he was here. “Hi, sweetie. Happy birthday!”

“Daddy, you remembered!”

“How could I forget my special girl’s sixteenth birthday? What are you doing to celebrate?”

“Mom is taking me out for dinner tonight. Henry, baby, is coming along too.”

Emily didn’t care for her mother’s live-in boyfriend. Sam hadn’t met Henry yet, but he’d seen pictures— bald, potbellied, and usually sporting shiny wing-tip shoes. Oh well. He seemed to be good for Sam’s ex, and he had done well in the real estate business.

Sam rubbed the back of his head again, still sore from the blow. “I wish I could be there to treat you.”

“I do too. Better go, Dad. School calls. Thanks for the roses. They’re beautiful. Talk to you the end of the week?”

“You bet. Love you.”

Sam disconnected the cell. A huge empty feeling hit him in the gut. He should be there with Emily, not here. Goddamn Gerber had gotten him into this!

Pounding his fist into the palm of his hand, Sam realized it wasn’t General Gerber he should blame but himself. He had missed the signs.

When the anti-terrorist task force had raided a terrorist training base in Iowa, of all places, Sam had spotted a brochure for a flight training school in Minnesota. He remembered showing the brochure to Larry Sable, the FBI contact on the task force. He’d never forget that day.

“Larry, what do you make of this?”

Sable looked it over. “I don’t know but let me take it. We’ll check it out.”

Sam felt uneasy about turning it over because he knew the bureaucracy of the FBI, and had seen their inaction firsthand. He didn’t want the damn thing to get lost in the system. His sixth sense told him to check it out himself, but instead he gave it to Sable. “Let me know what you find out.”

“Will do.” Sable had put the brochure in his pocket.

That was the last Sam had seen of it. He’d made a mental note to follow up, but hadn’t. He’d forgotten.

Six months later those damn planes had flown into the Twin Towers and the Pentagon. As soon as Sam heard the first news broadcast, he’d known he’d screwed up and people had died. Hundreds of people—and he might have been able to stop it. Sam would never forgive himself.

That had been six and a half years ago. When the war with Iraq came, Sam volunteered to command a brigade. He’d led one of the first “Mech” brigades into Baghdad. He did it for all the lives that had been lost in 9-11.

He felt better for a few days. Then he saw the war on terror getting swallowed up with Iraq. That pissed him off.

Rotating back to the States at the end of his tour, he had spent six months at the Pentagon trying to put some normalcy into his life, but it hadn’t worked. He’d taken his guilt and frustration out on Jackie. She tired of it, and he’d moved back into the bachelor officers’ quarters at Fort Myer.

When Sam retired from the Army, he’d started looking for a job. One day General Gerber had called Sam into his office. “Sam, I need your help,” the general had said. “We’ve got a great opportunity to go after terrorists.”

He hooked Sam like a big fish, reeling him in using Sam’s own guilt as bait.

This was Sam’s first undercover operation. He’d been uncomfortable, but things had gone well so far. He’d worked his way through an extensive interview process and must have passed all the tests because Aly Kassim had hired him. Aly’s firm put Sam through an orientation that included travel to a number of their plants around the country. No overseas travel yet. This was his first assignment—advisor to the fucking Patriots.

He rubbed his head again and walked over to the bathroom to pop a couple more aspirins.

Wednesday evening. Five more days to go.

Sam field-stripped the radios he had picked up in Harrisburg and placed them on two tables. When the men arrived in the conference room, Sam divided them into two groups, Popeye in charge of one group and Sam the other. He enjoyed watching Popeye try and best him.

Sam summarized the main components of the AN/PRC-47 for his group. “You’ll need to be able to take the radio down far enough to check the major components in case you lose contact with the net. I’ve found over the years that the usual problems when you lose communications are the connections to the antenna and the power pack.”

Buster seemed to have no particular interest in Sam. Every time Sam moved, his right side screamed at him and reminded him of the assault. Could it have been someone else who had waylaid him? Sam doubted it.

After Popeye finished with his group, Sam brought the men back together. He reviewed each of the parts once more, then supervised while the men reassembled the radios. “These radios have stood the test of time. I’ve learned that if you take care of your equipment it will take care of you. Sounds simple, but it’s not.”

Most of the men listened closely and nodded as he spoke. Even Buster seemed interested in what Sam had to say.

About half of them had some experience talking over FM radios. Sam reviewed proper voice procedure. “You’ll be issued authentication tables. That way no one can break into our transmissions. We will issue codes for a five-day period then provide new codes, so be alert that your code is current.”