Countermeasure Read online

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Copyright Information

  Acknowledgements

  Quote

  Prologue - The Darkest Hour

  Chapter One - Second Chances

  Chapter Two - Hidden Identities

  Chapter Three - The Encounter

  Chapter Four - Jaded

  Chapter Five - The Breach

  Chapter Six - The Morrigan

  Chapter Seven - The Crumb

  Chapter Eight - Shite!

  Chapter Nine - Clash of the Titans

  Chapter Ten - Aftermath

  Chapter Eleven - Fate

  Chapter Twelve - The Evil Inside

  Chapter Thirteen - Voilá

  Chapter Fourteen - Purgatory

  Chapter Fifteen - The Eagles Have Landed

  Chapter Sixteen - Holy Find

  Chapter Seventeen - K-I-S-S-I-N-G

  Chapter Eighteen - Unexpected Visitor

  Chapter Nineteen - Without Hesitation

  Chapter Twenty - Very High Expectations

  Chapter twentyOne - The Morning After

  Chapter twentyTwo - Big Guns

  Chapter twentyThree - High Stakes

  Chapter twentyFour - What Comes Around

  Chapter twentyFive - Full Disclosure

  Chapter twentySix - Search

  Chapter twentySeven - And Destroy

  Chapter twentyEight - Fall From Grace

  Chapter twentyNine - Come Back To Me

  Chapter Thirty - A Part of Me

  Epilogue - Redemption

  To Russia With Love - Preview

  COUNTERMEASURE

  Chris Almeida & Cecilia Aubrey

  ISBN 978-0-9879217-1-0

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Countermeasure - Copyright © 2011 by Chris Almeida and Cecilia Aubrey

  Edited by Emmanuelle Hertel

  Cover art by Chris Almeida

  Electronic book publication January 2012

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the authors.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Countermeasure is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Our journey toward publishing Countermeasure has been a long and curious one, therefore our list of acknowledgements is equally long and curious. We would like to thank the following key people who were instrumental in the birth of our series.

  To the Role Playing group Order of the Midnight Breed (OMB) for having taken both of us in and made us fall in love with writing all over again, reigniting our flames and desire to make our own world of fantasy known to readers.

  For all the amazing support and encouragement as well as for being the official hardcore fans, guinea pigs, proofreaders, and cheerleaders of this series: Candy Chapman, Harriet Vallero and Micquleta Williams.

  For proofreading and help with our research on France and all things French, Anders and Nina Karlsson.

  A big thank you to Lisa Fitzpatrick for the great insight into the pharmaceutical industry.

  To Alan Langford for the many discussions and consultations on technologies used in the book.

  To Joann McGee, Sarah Davis, Heather Von Ohlen, Hope Sloper, Karen Lorio Piper, Sandra Zapp, Lori Freeman and Jennifer Murray Thompson for the continued laughter and friendship during the writing of the series.

  And, of course, to both our families for being the drive behind the machine.

  We love you all.

  “Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together, but do so with all your heart.”

  Marcus Aurelius

  Prologue

  The Darkest Hour

  The night was pitch black. A dark blanket of clouds covered the starry ceiling, blocking the moonlight. The sea raged, slapped against the side of the vessel, and threw the seventy-foot yacht from to side to side as if it was a child’s toy. On their own, the thunder and clamor of the rain as it hit the water were deafening, but fearful cries also filled the air—screams that came from the yacht’s cabin and dissipated in the storm’s din, adding to its eeriness. In between her whimpering and screaming for help from God, a woman prayed. Her words, somehow heard distinctly above nature’s rage, were deliberately isolated and directed toward a non-existent audience. Zooming in on the cabin, the scene unraveled as if on a movie screen. Another voice was also heard—a man’s voice, its despair almost palpable.

  “Maeve!” the man cried into chaos.

  “Conor! In the galley!”

  He fought the wild swings of the yacht and the water splashing from both the sea and the sky to reach her.

  The bizarre film-like spectacle shifted and the scene came into focus. A dark-haired man staggered into the cabin’s galley as a petite blonde woman moved forward to meet him. Taking her tightly in his arms, he gently kissed her forehead as tears streamed down his face, mixing with the salty sea water that soaked him through.

  The couple cried, deep pain emanating from their embrace.

  He cupped her face in his hands. “I don’t think we’ll make it any closer to the coast than this, a ghrá.”

  “I don’t think I can do this Conor.” Her voice was full of pain and longing. “I can’t leave him behind like this,” she added, looking into the man’s eyes.

  “We won’t make it Maeve…we have to do it this way.” He held her tightly as she began to wail. Her cries were magnified by the howl of the wind and the rain hitting the yacht.

  “Are you sure we can’t find a way, any other way out of this nightmare?” Her trembling words hit a nerve, like a serrated knife through flesh, cutting deep.

  “I’d do anything to avoid causing you or him any pain, a ghrá…but we have no other way out.” His voice also trembled with the realization of the enormity of the situation they were in. “I am sorry, Maeve…so sorry this had to end this way.” He wrapped one arm around her slim waist, cupped her head with his hand, and pressed it to his broad chest. “We have to try, Maeve…at least that. He’s a man now. He’ll be okay.” Words spoken to reassure himself as much as her.

  “He’s a man but he’s still my son—my child, Conor!” she cried in desperation. “I can’t…I can’t….” Panic seeped into her words. Conor knew he had to act quickly to snuff her indecision to follow through with their possible salvation. There was no other way.

  He shook her gently and lowered his eyes to her eye level as if he was handling a child. “Maeve, love…I know this is painful, but we need to get off this yacht—now!” His firmly spoken words snapped her out of her panic and she grew quiet. “Now, Maeve. Let’s go.” He took her hand in his and started toward the steps leading up to the deck.

  The bizarre cinemat
ic zoom happened again, but this time it focused close, very close, on Maeve’s face. Her eyes lifted. She looked directly into what would have been the camera’s lens. “Don’t believe them, Trevor.”

  Trevor Brennan sprang up in bed. A scream froze in his throat, his heart raced a mile a minute, and a cold sweat beaded his entire body. He rubbed his face with his hands and then covered his eyes with them. He rested his elbows on his bent knees while he tried to control his breathing and irregular heartbeat. “Fuck!”

  He’d crossed paths with nightmares about his parents before, but nothing this real, nothing this detailed. Questions and doubts plagued Trevor even after all those years—ever since Stephan Connellan, his father’s best friend and right-hand man at Brennan Enterprises, had informed him of their disappearance four years ago. Stephan had harbored similar questions since day one, but as time went by and Trevor’s parents still hadn’t been found, their hope had dwindled until the last little flame had been snuffed by uncertainty. For Trevor and Stephan, life went on, regardless of how painful it had been to do so without them.

  But after tonight’s nightmare, Trevor’s hope and need for closure was back in full force. He needed to know, needed to be sure. He lay back in bed and planned his course of action. “No stone unturned.” His words echoed in the room.

  Chapter One

  Second chances

  Cassandra James slapped her badge against the ID plate at the entrance door and rushed to the bank of elevators. Stifling a curse, she pressed the button to call the car. “This is the third time I’ve overslept. Bob is going to lynch me,” she mumbled, tapping the “Up” button multiple times. When the doors opened, she hurried into the brushed-steel cubicle and pressed the button for the fifth floor, where James Security Agency was located, followed by the “Close Door” button. “Come on, come on and close already, damn it!” she exclaimed loudly, hitting the button again impatiently, breathing a sigh of relief when the doors finally closed.

  Cassandra leaned back against the handrail and absent-mindedly rubbed at the scar on her left hip. One would think the wound wouldn’t trouble her after two full years. Instead, the sore scar tissue was the reason she was late that morning. She’d spent the entire night tossing and turning, the pain bothering her through the long hours of the night. It was worrisome, since lately it only ached when something was off or about to happen—a kind of weird premonition device attached to her hip.

  The ding of the elevator bell shook her from her reflections and she burst through the doors as they opened. Kelly, her father’s assistant, called out as Cassandra hurried by her desk, “You’re late!”

  Cassandra waved her off and kept walking. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  Kelly stood, leaned over her desk, and added a subtle warning, “Your father is in a mood. The meeting has already started in conference room three.”

  Thanking her, Cassandra peeked through the glass and saw the team sitting around the conference room table listening intently to her father, Robert James. She took a deep breath to center herself and quietly entered the room, taking the closest chair.

  Like a hawk, Robert turned his head toward her, raised his eyebrows, and tapped his watch. Cassandra shrugged her shoulders, flashed him a grin, and settled in to hear the morning update.

  Cassandra felt a kick under the table and glared across it at Jessica Forrester, her best friend, who mouthed, “What’s going on?” She shook her head and mouthed back, “Later,” before returning her attention to the front of the room where her father was holding court.

  Bob, as she liked to refer to him, hadn’t changed much over the years. At the age of fifty-five, his brown hair barely showed any signs of graying and his stern brown eyes still gleamed with energy. Today, he was dressed in a button-down shirt and khaki pants. From the cut of his clothes, it was clear that the ex-Navy Seal kept his body fit and trim.

  “We have a couple of new clients,” he stated, and proceeded to describe each in detail.

  As Robert continued with his briefing, Cassandra’s tired eyes soon began to close. When she shifted positions to keep herself awake, something bounced against her nose. Rubbing it, she looked around and saw a paper ball sitting on the table where it had landed. She looked across the table and encountered a smirk on Jessica’s face. What the hell? At her questioning look, Jessica quickly scrawled something in her notebook and, when Robert’s back was turned, pushed it across the table.

  Pulling the notebook toward her, Cassandra glanced down and read, “Wake up sleepyhead!” Cassandra frowned and looked up at Jessica, who immediately dropped her head, closed her eyes, and mimicked a silent snore by holding her mouth open. Slowly, she lifted her head again and wiped imaginary drool from the side of her mouth.

  Cassandra stifled a laugh and reached for the pitcher of water sitting in the middle of the conference room table. She poured herself a glass, hoping it would help keep her awake until the end of the meeting.

  As Robert described the new client companies and their needs, Cassandra held back a yawn and thought about the reason for her restless night: her last mission with the Central Intelligence Agency.

  She could clearly picture those four years she worked for the CIA after being recruited during her sophomore year at Stanford University. It was one of the few times that she had been thankful for the lessons Robert had taught her over the years — attack and self-defense, along with weapons and survival training. Those skills, coupled with her Political Science and Psychology focus at university, had put Cassandra on the Agency’s radar.

  During her three years at Stanford, Cassandra had buckled down and worked hard to complete all competencies, which had allowed her to graduate with honors a year early. Her last year had been grueling. Between studies and the pre-qualification demands of the CIA, there were times she had thought she would crumble under the pressure. She had spent the majority of that last year juggling classwork and projects to make time for the numerous CIA interviews, months of psych tests, and thorough physical and polygraph exams.

  It had also been a little disconcerting to know how deep the background checks had gone. Neighbors, childhood friends, and past coworkers had called to let her know that they had received weird calls asking about her—Did she do drugs? Was she a troublemaker?—Thank God she had been as boring as Jessica liked to tease her about in those days. Too afraid of Robert’s reaction, Cassandra had toed the line as a kid. God, how Jessica complained that last summer about her absence at parties and get-togethers, but she had been focused and determined to achieve her goal.

  Cassandra’s stint with the CIA began two days after graduation. She flew through the introductory course, where she learned about the CIA as an organization and how intelligence was collected and analyzed. During that small introduction, Cassandra set her mind to being assigned to the Doctorate of Intelligence. She was intrigued by the intelligence collection process and thrived on analysis.

  After doing a round of on-the-job training—grunt work—Cassandra and her fellow newbies were sent to the Farm, the CIA’s training facility located near Williamsburg, Virginia, where they spent months drowning in paramilitary training. It was there that she had gained an appreciation for the hard lessons Robert had taught her.

  All of the aspects of the physical and weapons training were a walk in the park for her—she had been trained by a Navy Seal taskmaster and his buddies. On the other hand, the psychological aspects of the training, specifically interrogation, had been a hard pill to swallow. But years of holding her emotions tight to her chest had served her well. She passed the comprehensive final exam and began her career as a CIA security professional, further developing skills in personal, physical, and technical security and information assurance.

  After about a year on the job, Cassandra transitioned to the position of a multi-disciplined security officer, where her skills in firearms and defense tactics were put to good use. Her assignments typically centered on the collection and analysis of secu
rity- or counterintelligence-related information, but her greatest pleasure came from supporting other US Government agencies with their security requirements, where she could use her skills and knowledge to the fullest.

  Her four years with the CIA had been wonderful. She had been high on life, challenged by her work, and had forged great friendships during that first year. She had finally felt like an adult, not the little girl constantly looking for approval or attention from her father.

  She was an independent and capable woman ready to make a difference. But it had all ended in a nightmare of pain and betrayal when she was shot on assignment. After she had recovered, she realized that she had lost confidence in her teammates, something vital to operations, and so she had left the Agency to take a position in her father’s security firm where she could hand-pick and surround herself with people she trusted to the core.

  Robert had told her straight up that if she was going to work for him she would have to start at the bottom, and Cassandra would not have had it any other way. She worked hard and put in late hours, determined to prove her worth. Up to this point, most of her duties had been internal support to the company and she had only worked detail on one assignment under Robert’s hawkish eyes. That had also been disappointing—an indication that Robert didn’t have confidence in her skills. The knowledge ate away at her self-esteem and caused her to constantly second guess her decisions.

  Sitting back and taking a sip of her water, Cassandra noticed the silence in the room and realized that everyone’s eyes were expectantly turned to her.

  Robert cleared his throat, drawing her eyes to him. “Cassandra, so what’s your answer?”

  She stared at him for a moment, not understanding his question. “What, sir? What do I think about what?”

  Irritation crossed his face as he stared her down from across the table. Oh hell…missed something for sure. She looked to Jessica for help, only to see sympathy in her eyes and the shrug of her shoulders.