- Home
- Brian Andrews
Rogue Asset
Rogue Asset Read online
Also by W.E.B Griffin
HONOR BOUND
Honor Bound
Blood and Honor
Secret Honor
Death and Honor
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
The Honor of Spies
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
Victory and Honor
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
Empire and Honor
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
BROTHERHOOD OF WAR
The Lieutenants
The Captains
The Majors
The Colonels
The Berets
The Generals
The New Breed
The Aviators
Special Ops
THE CORPS
Semper Fi
Call to Arms
Counterattack
Battleground
Line of Fire
Close Combat
Behind the Lines
In Danger’s Path
Under Fire
Retreat, Hell!
BADGE OF HONOR
Men in Blue
Special Operations
The Victim
The Witness
The Assassin
The Murderers
The Investigators
Final Justice
The Traffickers
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
The Vigilantes
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
The Last Witness
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
Deadly Assets
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
Broken Trust
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
MEN AT WAR
The Last Heroes
The Secret Warriors
The Soldier Spies
The Fighting Agents
The Saboteurs
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
The Double Agents
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
The Spymasters
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
PRESIDENTIAL AGENT
By Order of the President
The Hostage
The Hunters
The Shooters
Black Ops
The Outlaws
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
Covert Warriors
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
Hazardous Duty
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
Rogue Asset
(by Brian Andrews and Jeffrey Wilson)
CLANDESTINE OPERATIONS
Top Secret
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
The Assassination Option
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
Curtain of Death
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
Death at Nuremberg
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
The Enemy of My Enemy
(and William E. Butterworth IV)
AS WILLIAM E. BUTTERWORTH III
The Hunting Trip
G. P. Putnam’s Sons
Publishers Since 1838
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
penguinrandomhouse.com
Copyright © 2021 by William E. Butterworth IV
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
Ebook ISBN 9780698164604
Cover design: Eric Fuentecilla
Cover images: (running man) © CollaborationJS / Trevillion Images; (cityscape) Ryan_Fire_Starter_James / iStock / Getty Images Plus; (trees) Anna Jurkovska / Shutterstock; (birds) Ihnatovich Maryia / Shutterstock
Map illustration by Daniel Lagin
Adapted for ebook by Maggie Hunt
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
pid_prh_6.0_138667525_c0_r0
CONTENTS
Cover
Also by W.E.B Griffin
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Authors’ Note
Map of the Middle East and Northeast Africa
Part I
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
Part II
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
Part III
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
About the Authors
FOR THE LATE
William E. Colby
An OSS Jedburgh first lieutenant who became director of the Central Intelligence Agency.
Aaron Bank
An OSS Jedburgh first lieutenant who became a colonel and the father of Special Forces.
William R. Corson
A legendary Marine intelligence officer whom the KGB hated more than any other U.S. intelligence officer—and not only because he wrote the definitive work on them.
René J. Défourneaux
A U.S. Army OSS second lieutenant attached to the British SOE who jumped into Occupied France alone and later became a legendary U.S. Army counterintelligence officer.
★
FOR THE LIVING
Billy Waugh
A legendary Special Forces Command sergeant major who retired and then went on to hunt down the infamous Carlos the Jackal. Billy could have terminated Osama bin Laden in the early 1990s
but could not get permission
to do so. After fifty years in the business, Billy is still going after the bad guys.
Johnny Reitzel
An Army Special Operations officer who could have terminated the head terrorist of the seized cruise ship Achille Lauro
but could not get permission to do so.
Ralph Peters
An Army intelligence officer who has written the best analysis of our war against terrorists and of our enemy that I have ever seen.
★
AND FOR THE NEW BREED
Marc L
A senior intelligence officer, despite his youth, who reminds me of Bill Colby more and more each day.
Frank L
A legendary Defense Intelligence Agency officer who retired and now follows in Billy Waugh’s footsteps.
OUR NATION OWES THESE PATRIOTS A DEBT BEYOND REPAYMENT.
—William E. Butterworth IV
AUTHORS’ NOTE
We want to thank G. P. Putnam’s Sons, and especially VP Editorial Director Tom Colgan and William E. Butterworth IV, for offering us the tremendous opportunity to carry on W.E.B. Griffin’s Presidential Agent series. Being entrusted with a character as iconic and beloved as Charley Castillo is no small responsibility. It bears noting that it is neither our desire nor our objective to try to replace or supplant the creator of the series and his style, depth of knowledge, and flair. Far be it for us to try to replicate his prose. But while the style and cadence of this installment might feel different, we hope the ethos of the characters and the vision of the series shine bright. Rogue Asset is not a reboot or a revamping of the series. Rather, it’s a continuation of the heroic journey of Charley Castillo—a character only the legendary W.E.B. Griffin could create—and his infallible dedication to safeguard the nation he loves. We hope you enjoy reading this new adventure as much as we enjoyed writing it. And thank you, as always, to our teammates and friends, still out there on the pointy tip of the spear, for your invaluable insight and commitment to our nation. You know who you are.
Brian Andrews & Jeffrey Wilson
PART I
“You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you mad.”
—Aldous Huxley
CHAPTER ONE
Marriott Mena House Hotel
Giza
Cairo, Egypt
March 15, 10:11 p.m.
“You Americans and your conspiracy theories,” the Egyptian ambassador to the United States said through a laugh. “I don’t know how these crazy rumors get started, but I can assure you extraterrestrials were definitely not involved. Ingenuity and manpower—that’s how the pyramids were built.”
U.S. Secretary of State Frank Malone, who at six-foot-four and two hundred and forty-five pounds towered over the ambassador, smiled at the comment as he looked past the manicured courtyard and palm canopies at the four-thousand-year-old marvels in the distance. From the outdoor balcony of his Pyramid Suite at the Mena House, he could see both the Great Pyramid and the Pyramid of Khafre atop the Giza Plateau. He shifted his gaze from the pyramids to Ambassador Gamal. Malone had thrown out the “Did aliens really build the pyramids?” comment to see how the man would react. The comment was clearly a joke, but it was also a test. The fifty-nine-year-old Malone, a self-made millionaire and the retired CEO of Malone Construction Ltd., had come to believe that everything in life was a test. Every task, every conversation, every interaction—no matter how insignificant or mundane—was an opportunity to rise or fall. Gain or cede. In this case, the Egyptian had proven himself to be affable, quick-witted, and someone who knew how to handle a curveball.
“As a former construction man, I can appreciate more than most why the Great Pyramid is the Seventh Wonder of the World,” Malone said, contemplating how in the hell the ancient Egyptians had managed to stack more than two million limestone blocks, each weighing two-and-a-half tons, forty stories in the air without cranes and excavators. Blood, sweat, and bone built the pyramids, and he wondered how many slaves had died to fulfill the grand narcissistic desire of a man who believed himself a god.
Thousands? Tens of thousands? More?
“Minister Pasha is very much looking forward to meeting you this afternoon,” Gamal said, referring to Malone’s domestic equivalent—Egypt’s newly appointed minister of foreign affairs. Pasha was Gamal’s predecessor, serving as ambassador to the United States before being promoted. This was the typical diplomatic career progression in many countries, where the U.S. ambassadorship served as the ultimate litmus test and stepping-stone for promotion to the head of a nation’s international affairs.
“I’m looking forward to meeting him, too,” Malone said. “I understand he and my predecessor did not see eye to eye on most issues.”
Gamal laughed politely. “It is true—there was great tension with the last administration, but now, with President Cohen’s commitment to global diplomacy, Egypt is looking forward to renewed opportunities for dialogue and mutual prosperity.”
Mutual prosperity? Malone thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Translation—the reestablishment of the United States’ historically generous Egyptian foreign aid package that the previous administration unceremoniously gutted.
“I’m glad to hear the minister feels that way. Egypt offering to host this summit to discuss the Middle East becoming a Nuclear-Weapon-Free Zone demonstrates—”
A hand forcefully grabbed him by the upper arm, stopping him mid-sentence.
“We’ve got a problem, Mr. Secretary,” his security lead, Jack, said. “Time to go.”
Movement in Malone’s peripheral vision caught his eye—fast-moving, black-clad shapes flooding the courtyard outside his balcony.
“Jack, what’s going on?” he asked as Jack pulled him away from the window.
The explosion knocked Malone off his feet and his enormous body hit the hotel room floor hard. He groaned, dazed, body alit with pain. The last time he’d felt like this was in the Rose Bowl, when Oklahoma University All-American defensive end Lamar Goodall had bulldozed him from the blind side and given him a concussion headache that lasted for a week.
Squinting, he coughed and scanned the room. Debris was strewn everywhere. Gray smoke and plaster dust swirled all around him, while tiny burning embers floated lazily toward the ground, reminding him of dust motes illuminated in a shaft of sunlight. Where a wall had once been, separating his suite from the one next door, now stood a charred and gaping maw. Had somebody been in that room? He tried to remember . . . wasn’t that supposed to be Boaz Sharon’s room, the Israeli minister of foreign affairs?
Automatic weapons fire reverberated outside and he heard shouting, but it all sounded funny—muffled, like his ears were filled with cotton. He rolled onto his stomach, then tried to press up to his hands and knees.
“Secretary Malone, are you injured?” a voice said, urgent and yet very far away.
“I don’t think so,” he tried to say, but what came out was a hoarse, pathetic croak.
“We’ve got to go, Mr. Secretary,” the voice said, this time closer as strong hands gripped him under the armpit and pulled him up. “Right now.”
Malone channeled his younger, college quarterback self, grunted, and got to his feet. As he did, a surge of adrenaline dumped into his veins—burning off the brain fog and making his lethargic body suddenly feel ten years younger. He looked right, where the Egyptian ambassador had been standing just seconds ago.
The Egyptian was now on all fours, crawling toward the bathroom.
“Gamal!” Malone shouted.
The ambassador froze and looked at Malone with wide, panicked eyes.
“You’re coming with us,” he said in a tone that left no room for debate.
Gamal nodded, scampered to his feet, and fell in behind Malone as Jack scanned over his weapon. They backpedaled away from the wide-open balcony doors toward the hotel room door le
ading to the inside hallway. A second explosion, this one farther away than the first, reverberated outside.
“Get low and hold here,” his security lead said, gesturing quickly with his non-shooting hand to the space next to the door. “I augmented your detail with some shooters, former SOF and Ground Branch guys. They know how to handle themselves in combat and put together an emergency exfil plan for situations like this.”
Malone nodded, crouching as instructed beside the doorframe.
While Jack conducted a rapid-fire tactical exchange over the radio—packed with acronyms and terms unfamiliar to Malone—a gun battle erupted outside. From his current vantage point, he could no longer see the courtyard, but the shooting sounded like it was just outside the balcony.
“We’re going now,” Jack said, opening the hotel room door.
Two vaguely familiar looking bearded Americans in plain clothes flanked the door. Both men were in tactical kneeling postures, wore headsets with boom mikes, and were sighting over assault rifles with optics packages. Seeing their steely, battle-hardened composure and slick tactical hardware, Malone suddenly felt a helluva lot better than he had just two seconds ago.
“One has the package,” the younger of the two operators said, chopping a hand forward. “Maverick is moving toward the rally point.”
They moved as a five-man, diamond-shaped unit—with one shooter front, Jack, Malone, and Gamal in the middle, and a shooter in back covering their six. The lead operator advanced in a tactical crouch, quickstepping so rapidly that Malone had to run to keep up. Viewed only from the waist up, the operator looked like he was riding on a conveyor belt, his torso gliding at uniform speed and elevation down the corridor.
“Just got a report the tangos are dressed as security personnel,” the operator said over his shoulder.
“Shit,” Jack said with a grimace.
“How you want to play this, boss?” the operator came back, the meaning of the query not lost on Malone.
“Kill house rules,” Jack said, his voice a hard line.
“Roger that,” the operator called back, and an understanding born from blood and brotherhood was reached . . . one that Malone decided could only mean I trust you.