Rogue Read online

  Rogue

  (Book One)

  By

  David Leadbeater

  Other Books by David Leadbeater:

  The Matt Drake Series

  A constantly evolving, action-packed romp based in the escapist action-adventure genre:

  The Bones of Odin (Matt Drake #1)

  The Blood King Conspiracy (Matt Drake #2)

  The Gates of Hell (Matt Drake 3)

  The Tomb of the Gods (Matt Drake #4)

  Brothers in Arms (Matt Drake #5)

  The Swords of Babylon (Matt Drake #6)

  Blood Vengeance (Matt Drake #7)

  Last Man Standing (Matt Drake #8)

  The Plagues of Pandora (Matt Drake #9)

  The Lost Kingdom (Matt Drake #10)

  The Ghost Ships of Arizona (Matt Drake #11)

  The Last Bazaar (Matt Drake #12)

  The Edge of Armageddon (Matt Drake #13)

  The Treasures of Saint Germain (Matt Drake #14)

  Inca Kings (Matt Drake #15)

  The Four Corners of the Earth (Matt Drake #16)

  The Seven Seals of Egypt (Matt Drake #17)

  Weapons of the Gods (Matt Drake #18)

  The Blood King Legacy (Matt Drake #19)

  Devil’s Island (Matt Drake #20)

  The Alicia Myles Series

  Aztec Gold (Alicia Myles #1)

  Crusader’s Gold (Alicia Myles #2)

  Caribbean Gold (Alicia Myles #3)

  Chasing Gold (Alecia Myles #4)

  The Torsten Dahl Thriller Series

  Stand Your Ground (Dahl Thriller #1)

  The Relic Hunters Series

  The Relic Hunters (Relic Hunters #1)

  The Atlantis Cipher (Relic Hunters #2)

  The Disavowed Series:

  The Razor’s Edge (Disavowed #1)

  In Harm’s Way (Disavowed #2)

  Threat Level: Red (Disavowed #3)

  The Chosen Few Series

  Chosen (The Chosen Trilogy #1)

  Guardians (The Chosen Tribology #2)

  Short Stories

  Walking with Ghosts (A short story)

  A Whispering of Ghosts (A short story)

  All genuine comments are very welcome at:

  [email protected]

  Twitter: @dleadbeater2011

  Visit David’s website for the latest news and information:

  davidleadbeater.com

  Contents

  Other Books by David Leadbeater:

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY ONE

  Other Books by David Leadbeater:

  CHAPTER ONE

  Nathan picked up the treasurer’s trail the moment he stepped off the bus. The treasurer wasn’t a hard man to spot, being a three-hundred-pound behemoth in a grey Armani suit, sweating profusely and carrying a black briefcase the size of a Labrador. Nathan already knew the principal item nestling inside the briefcase was a state-of-the-art laptop.

  What else?

  A diary?

  His lunch?

  A detailed A-Z of every single one of his ladyfriends?

  Through the years he’d developed a way of holding conversations inside his head, to help pass the time. He was used to waiting, to killing the hours, the days and the weeks.

  Killing.

  Yeah, yeah, funny man. But seriously, you could keep a mini-fridge in that briefcase.

  The treasurer struggled with his heavy case, along west 53rd, heading for Hells’ Kitchen. Nathan was well acquainted with the area, despite hailing from England. The last time he’d visited Manhattan had been in 2017, and that job had been tied up within an hour.

  This job looked like it was going to take an hour just to reach its first destination.

  Nathan settled in for a long haul. Surprisingly, this treasurer didn’t have an entourage of heavily armed guards. He felt safe. No doubt decades of uninterrupted tedium had dulled his senses. Everyone knew him and who he worked for. He kept to the same routines, streets, eating establishments, shops, strip clubs and offices. Of course, he had plenty to choose from. The Five Families Mafia owned a lot of real estate in New York City.

  Nathan gripped the straps of his heavy backpack with both hands and started along the opposite sidewalk. A variety of scents assaulted his senses as he passed a row of shops – the heady aroma of fresh coffee, the warm smell of fresh bread, the mouth-watering fragrance of cooked bacon. An unstoppable multitude pounded the streets and filled most of the space before and behind him; men, women and children marching in a herd with the odd individual clad in a suit and tie attempting to barge through because his time was more important.

  Nathan walked close to the road, able to navigate around the worst human bottlenecks by nipping into slow-moving traffic. He wasn’t alone. On the other side of the road the treasurer used his girth to forge his way through, not caring who he jostled or who took a whack from the hefty briefcase. Several people clutched their knees and thighs in his wake.

  They stayed on 53rd, crossing Broadway and then 8th. Hotels and eateries, office buildings and shops lay to both sides. The din of human and mechanical traffic was strident, a heavy thunder to the senses. Nathan stayed focused. He found it easy. He’d been doing this for six years.

  Doing this?

  Killing people. All around the world. I’m an assassin and I work for the British government.

  Not exactly.

  Well . . . I do.

  Being totally honest, you know MI6 would never sanction some of the crazy things you’ve done.

  He shut the internal conversation down. The treasurer looked like he was about to stop. Sure enough, he stepped out of the human flow into a niche between buildings, pulled out a crisp, white handkerchief and started to mop his brow. Nathan saw an opportunity, and headed out into the flow of traffic, threading his way across the road, navigating the gridlock of yellow cabs, executive saloons and foolish tourists who chose to drive at this hour.

  He was eight seconds too late. The treasurer had recovered his breath, and was now back on the sidewalk. Nathan stayed twenty steps behind, slipping the stiletto blade back into a holster that ran the length of his forearm.

  Relax. There’s no rush with this one.

  He’d been given six days for this job. He knew that two other assassins had also been assigned similar targets. Between them there were seven treasurers to kill, spread out all over the world, from seven different criminal organisations. Nathan imagined it would cause chaos and bloodshed among the families involved but knew that was fa
r from the only reason his bosses, known as the Hellfire Club, had ordered the hits. He wasn’t certain, but the Three Old Men always appeared to have some hidden agenda for the unfathomable jobs they sanctioned. Questions revolving around the Hellfire Club were manifold, countless, and best left unasked, ranging from the need for and origin of the name to the covert role it played inside MI6.

  Not my place to question them.

  Especially since all those who have, even top-class assassins, tended to disappear afterwards.

  This isn’t a questionable hit.

  Not like some of the others.

  He didn’t like where his thoughts were going. A darkness pooled there that was best left alone.

  Further along West 53rd the eating establishments and shops gave way to the bland facades of office buildings. The tree-lined sidewalks became easier to negotiate as people found their work places and disappeared down to the metro. At the next junction Nathan saw a wine and spirits shop on the opposite corner, a sign advertising an underground parking garage and a building hidden behind bristling metal scaffolding tubes. The intersection was marked by white lines within which people walked. A woman pushing a stroller. A construction worker swinging his lunchbox. A dirty white truck rumbled by in their wake.

  Nathan found himself surprised again as the treasurer headed straight for the spirits and wines shop.

  Isn’t he supposed to be working?

  What would his boss, the leader of the five families of New York City, the predominant ruling entity of the east coast Mafia, say to that?

  Nathan doubted it would include much compassion.

  He hefted the backpack once more as the treasurer started to cross the wide intersection, deliberately closing the gap. There were no rules with this one. It didn’t have to look like an accident or be done in the shadows. Nobody had to be ‘disappeared’ or chopped up. There were only two requisites. One: that he escaped clean.

  Goes without saying.

  And two: that there was no ambiguity as to the target.

  The treasurer, whose name had been provided, but then purposely forgotten by Nathan – because he preferred to keep murder entirely impersonal – entered the shop. Nathan preferred not to remember the names of his targets. He found it helped him sleep better at night. A discreet bell jangled an alarm to the shopkeeper. Nathan paused outside the shop and stared through the dark coloured window.

  Shelves lined the centre and the edges. Liquor of all kinds sat in bottles and boxes and dispensers. A wide counter delineated the back of the shop. Nathan saw an old man appear from a back door, wiping his hands on a towel before greeting the treasurer like an old friend.

  Hmm . . . this is designated as a Tier One clean kill. No uncertainty. If I do it here, it may look like a liquor store robbery gone bad.

  Silently, he cursed, but stored the frustration away.

  A minute later, the door opened. Nathan was rummaging around inside his rucksack, head down as the treasurer walked past, inches to his right, looking like another tourist searching for a city map.

  Nevertheless, Nathan’s radar was on high alert.

  The guy never even noticed you.

  Nathan prided himself on being one of the best assassins alive today. Only the best undertook operations for the Hellfire Club, and they undertook them in every corner of the world – glamour or squalor, it made no difference.

  The treasurer turned up 10th Avenue, passing a busy CVS store. A large van sat at the right kerb, its rear roller doors open. Two men were offloading furniture and making ready to carry it into a nearby store. Nathan saw and evaluated it all. Surely the treasurer couldn’t lug his heavy load all the way down tenth.

  Minutes later, his destination grew clear. It was a large coffee shop with brightly lit windows. The treasurer entered and shouted an order to the barista before settling into a table at the rear, with a wall at his back. Nathan thought that might be intentional. If this was a place where he liked to sift through the Mafia’s financial maelstrom, he wouldn’t want curious eyes peering over his shoulder. Nathan took a seat that allowed him a clear view of the rear restroom and quickly ordered an extra hot latte.

  He was ready.

  As if to reward Nathan for his hours of patience the treasurer soon folded his laptop and started picking his way through occupied tables to the counter. Not an easy task for a man his size. Nathan was shocked to see him hand the laptop to the barista for safekeeping, and then grab the restroom’s key.

  No surprise really. He comes here often. They know him and who he represents. This coffee shop is this man’s safe place.

  Nathan waited for the treasurer to pass before hefting the backpack, in case he had been spotted back at the wine and spirits shop. After that, everything moved at incredible speed. He loosened the pack’s straps, threw it over one shoulder and gave the shop one final sweep. The eight other patrons and two baristas were engrossed in their work, their partners or themselves. In his head, Nathan counted the seconds it would take the treasurer to reach the restroom, then rose and followed him down the passage. The treasurer was already opening the door. Nathan leapt the last few feet and grabbed its edge to stop it closing.

  “Hey!” His target shuffled around to meet his eyes, still holding the door and baring the sweat-stains under his arms. “Wait your turn, buddy. I got here first.”

  The voice was quiet, which suited Nathan. It wouldn’t carry. Committed now, he struck. The stiletto blade slid free of its sheaf in less than a second. He sank the thin steel shaft into the treasurer’s armpit so hard it burst straight through the muscle at the top of the man’s shoulder. His left hand smashed down against the man’s mouth, ensuring he was unable to utter a sound. Using the stiletto as a fulcrum he manoeuvred the treasurer back into the single restroom and let the door close behind them.

  Swiftly, he turned the lock.

  The man’s eyes bulged. His lips worked mushily against Nathan’s hand. With incredible strength Nathan pushed the treasurer so that he fell onto the toilet’s rim just as the stiletto sank into the plaster wall at his back, pinning him in place. A lighting fast blow to the larynx made him gasp and choke, freeing up Nathan’s other hand.

  Which reached inside the backpack with experienced knowledge of where to find the right weapon.

  He withdrew a silenced Beretta. The 92, 9mm model was the perfect handgun to use with a suppressor.

  The treasurer choked and bled, practically bouncing up and down on the toilet seat, wrenching the muscle that had been perforated by the stiletto. Nathan levelled the Beretta at him and suddenly all motion ceased.

  He tried to speak. Nathan smashed his larynx again.

  “I know what you’re going to say,” he grated in an English accent. “Don’t you know who I am? My boss will eat your brains and fry your liver. Don’t do it, I have a family!” Nathan shook his head. “I’ve heard it all before. Some stories were pretty convincing. But it never changed the outcome.” He nodded at the wall behind the treasurer. “Your brains there.”

  “I . . . have . . . money . . .” the fat man whispered.

  Nathan knew time was wasting. “So do I,” he whispered, backed away as far as he could and aimed the gun between his target’s eyes.

  “Say goodbye.”

  “N-”

  Nathan pulled the trigger, heard the sharp report and moved quickly. There was a noisy fan running inside the toilet which should help mask the sound, but he never took chances. Time was wasting; another murder had been sanctioned in the next few days on mainland Europe, another treasurer to kill.

  Exiting the restroom, he wondered briefly how the other two assassins were faring with the other treasurers. Hopefully this mission would pass with the minimum of upheaval, just like all the others he’d undertaken for the Hellfire Club. Nathan was one of the few people alive who knew that they ran MI6 behind the scenes, sending unwitting agents on occasional missions that wouldn’t necessarily help MI6, but would definitely further the aims of their c
overt organisation.

  Nathan exited the shop, hailed a cab and gave the driver an address where he could drop the backpack and all its contents. After that it would be a quick trip to JFK and then on to Naples.

  The global game of assassination was afoot.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Carrie had just finished an uneventful shift at the diner, and was somewhere along Cocoa Beach, following one of her random routes home, when someone said, “Hey!”

  Carrie dropped a shoulder and turned, smashing her elbow into the guy’s solar plexus. She jabbed the fingers of her left hand into his ribs – three swift strikes that made him gasp and fall back against the bench. Her right hand came up, gripping his larynx as she prepared to target his eyes.

  The figure gave out a mangled yelp. “That . . . that’s not what I expected,” he coughed

  She looked at him. Just some guy. Not an agent. Not as assassin. He wasn’t armed. But she’d reacted on instinct. She’d told herself that the days of danger were past, but at a subconscious level she knew she’d never really be safe, that she’d always be on guard. She switched stances, scanning the area once more. The only people she saw were a pair of gawking mothers twenty feet away, both leaning over the handles of their strollers and fishing around in their handbags for their phones.

  That would be a big mistake. Carrie didn’t want her photo circulating around social media.

  Quickly, she pulled her hood up.

  “I’m sorry,” the man said. “I mean . . . what the hell?”

  She relaxed. This guy’s body language was completely passive. “I need to get out of here,” she feigned shock at what she’d done. “Next time, don’t surprise a woman.”

  “I just… just wanted to talk to you. I’ve seen you around.”

  She studied his face. To be fair, he did look familiar. Her mind turned over. The mothers back there would already have taken pictures, possibly even video, hoping to become the next social media sensations of the Sunshine State, so she was going to have to ditch the lime green trainers.