Shadow Brokers (Infernum Book 5) Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Before You Start...

  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

  Epilogue

  Find a New Adventure!

  Author Notes

  Also by Percival Constantine

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Percival Constantine

  Yoshino-cho 4105-16

  Esperansa Kubo 201

  Kagoshima-shi, Kagoshima-ken

  892-0871

  Japan

  847-380-1423

  [email protected]

  31,400 words.

  SHADOW BROKERS

  An Infernum novella

  by Percival Constantine

  BEFORE YOU START...

  Just go to percivalconstantine.com/subscribe to get your free stories!

  CHAPTER 1

  Mason Draconi stared at the setting Costa Rican sun while cleaning glasses from behind the counter of his beachfront bar. The small structure had an open setting, with small picnic tables set up atop the wooden floors. A light breeze blew through the openings and he smiled, enjoying the feel of the cool, sea air on his face, tingling the silver whiskers that made up his beard.

  He heard footsteps and looked to acknowledge the new arrival who sat on one of the stools in front of the counter. The man was tall with dark hair and wearing a Hawaiian shirt. The guest removed the dark sunglasses, revealing piercing, blue eyes behind them.

  “Evening,” he said.

  “Welcome,” said Draconi. “What can I get you?”

  “Ahh…” The tourist slapped both hands on the countertop in rhythm as he looked up at the large menu behind the bar, considering his options. He pointed. “How about a Mai Tai?”

  “Sure thing.” Draconi took the metal shaker from under the bar and filled it with crushed ice, then topped that off with white and dark rum, orange liqueur, and lime juice. He affixed the top and shook the ingredients together vigorously, then strained them into a highball glass and set it in front of the tourist, dropping a thin, red straw into the drink and placing a cherry on top.

  “Thanks.” The tourist took his drink and slowly sipped from the straw. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  Draconi shook his head. “Moved down here after I retired.”

  “Oh yeah? American, right?”

  Draconi nodded. “And you? That an English accent?”

  “It is. Where in America are you from?”

  Draconi shrugged. “Kind of all over. I worked in insurance, so I traveled a lot.”

  “Why did you come here to retire?”

  Draconi scoffed and gestured to their surroundings. “Do you really have to ask?”

  The tourist smiled. “I suppose not.”

  “What brings you here? Vacation?”

  “If only, my friend.” He took another sip from his drink, the level of the cocktail sliding down just a little lower. “I’m here on business, I’m afraid.”

  “What kind of business?”

  “Something of a…wayward employee I’m tracking down.”

  Draconi noticed the man had his blue eyes fixed on him. But the old man was well-trained and he acted like he didn’t recognize it. There was something in those eyes, though. Something that seemed very familiar to him.

  “Wayward employee? What’s that all about?” asked Draconi.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t really tell you that, Mason. It’s a bit confidential.”

  Draconi blinked. “Sorry, what did you call me?”

  “That’s your name, isn’t it?” asked the tourist. “Mason Draconi, right?”

  Draconi laughed. “Think you got the wrong guy, friend. My name’s Norman Jacobs.”

  “Is it?”

  Draconi gestured to the business license framed on the wall above the bar. “That’s what it says right over there.

  The tourist chuckled. “Well, that’s certainly embarrassing for me.”

  Draconi’s hand moved slowly under the counter. Strapped just below the countertop was a holstered Magnum, loaded just in case he had need of it. And this tourist was starting to make him think that maybe he would. His fingers wrapped around the handle and he began to slide it out of the holster.

  “What made you think I was this Draconi guy?”

  “Nothing, I suppose. I just heard that he ran a bar on the beach.”

  “Lots of those around here.”

  “Yes, I suppose so. But how many are run by Americans?”

  Draconi narrowed his eyes. “You’d be surprised. Is this Draconi the wayward employee you’re looking for?”

  The tourist sucked air through his teeth. “Sorry, friend. That’s—”

  “Confidential. Right. So you said.” Mason had the gun unholstered and now held it beneath the bar. “So what’s your name anyway?”

  “Oh, I’ve had many of those.” He produced a silver case from his shirt pocket. Snapping it open, he took one of the cigarettes from inside and slid it between his lips. As he lit it with a Zippo that matched the case, he stared at Draconi. “You must know what that’s like…Norman, wasn’t it?”

  “Actually, I don’t. Only ever been Norman Jacobs.”

  “Of course.” He closed the lighter and placed it and the cigarette case on the counter. “Got an ashtray?”

  Draconi slid a glass tray in front of the tourist. He did a quick scan of the area. There were a few other people in the bar. If he pulled the Magnum and shot this guy right now, it would cause a commotion. He wasn’t sure if it was worth that kind of heat. Plus, he had to know why this stranger was out here.

  “Still didn’t tell me your name.”

  “I didn’t?” The tourist feigned surprise. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Perhaps another time, yes?”

  He ground the cigarette into the ashtray, gulped down the rest of the Mai Tai, took his belongings and slid off the stool. The tourist threw several bills on the counter. “It was nice speaking with you, Norman.”

  “You, too. Good luck finding your…wayward employee. Assuming he’s even out here.”

  “Oh, I’m quite certain he is.” The tourist flashed a smile. “You see, my agency doesn’t make mistakes like that.”

  Draconi watched the man walk from the wooden floors of the bar and step out onto the sandy beach. He looked down at the Magnum in his hand and sighed, then slid it back into the holster.

  It was a spook after him, he was certain of that. And that parting crack about his agency was another hint. Either he was trying to warn Draconi that his former employers were trying to hunt him down, or he was playing some sort of twisted game. Whatever the case, Draconi knew he had to be prepared for any eventuality.

  ***

  Draconi finished closing up the bar, but before he left, he took the Magnum from the holster and tucked it into his waistband at the small of his back. He used the tails of his shirt to cover up the gun and stepped out onto the beach.

  He didn’t trust that he was alone. A lifetime of working for the Agency taught Mason Draconi to be ready for anything. And though he was retired, he had a feeling that was about to be disturbed.
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  Draconi ascended the wooden steps from the beach up to the boardwalk. He moved past the shops that were closed for the night. Some bars were still open late, catering to the tourist crowd, but Draconi made sure to lock up at midnight without fail.

  He walked along the side of the street, the occasional car passing by. Draconi would glance over his shoulder every now and then. Although he couldn’t see anyone, he definitely got the sense that he was being followed.

  Draconi ducked onto a side street, walking down the path into one of the neighborhoods. He walked between the houses, moving in no discernible pattern. For a man his age, he still managed to move pretty quickly and silently. The skills of a spy are never outdated, it seemed.

  Once he was certain he was free of his pursuer, Draconi decided he would have to stay somewhere else for the night. If the Agency knew his alias, then it was likely they also knew where he lived and probably had the place watched.

  Fortunately, Draconi had set up several safe houses all over the island just in the event of such a situation. There was one only a few miles away and he could get there soon, continuing on this circuitous path.

  When he arrived at the door to the safe house, Draconi ignored the lock on the front. It was just for show anyway. He reached for the address plate on the wall and pushed it up, revealing a numerical keypad. Draconi entered the seven-digit code and was rewarded with the sounds of the locks turning. He slid the address place over the keypad and walked inside the small house.

  Inside, Draconi closed and locked the door behind him. In the darkness, there was a flicker of light followed by the smell of scorched tobacco leaves. Draconi pulled the Magnum from his pants and held it out, using his free hand to turn on the light switch.

  The tourist sat at the table in the front room, a lit cigarette held between his fingers and a silver gun laid in front of him with a glass ashtray beside it. He took a careful drag on the cigarette and slowly exhaled. “Good evening, Mason.”

  “How the hell did you find this place?”

  He scoffed. “Oh please. You think I would come after you without learning where each and every safe house you had was located? Soon as I saw you were trying to shake me off your tail, I knew you were likely to come here. So I decided to come in first.”

  Draconi raised the Magnum so the barrel was level with the intruder’s head. “Who are you?”

  The man ran his fingers along his face. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t recognize me. I’ve had a bit of work done. But I would’ve thought the eyes were a dead giveaway.”

  Draconi concentrated on those blue eyes. He knew there was something familiar about them, and now he knew why. “Virgil.”

  Virgil smiled. “In the flesh.”

  “Since when are you back with the Agency?”

  “Oh, I’m not. I just thought I’d say that to get you sweating.” Virgil tapped his cigarette against the rim of the ashtray. “This is about a lot more than the Agency. It’s about an old friend.”

  Draconi’s finger tensed on the trigger but before he could pull it, Virgil grabbed his gun and threw over the table. Draconi opened fire, the bullets slamming into the table’s wooden surface. Virgil moved too fast to see and with the distraction of the table, it gave the younger assassin the chance to get the drop on his old mentor.

  The cold metal of the silver gun pressed against Draconi’s temple. He sighed and raised his arms, letting the Magnum fall to the ground. The former spymaster followed, crumpling to the ground after a blow from the butt of his opponent’s gun.

  “This is about Dante,” said Virgil.

  CHAPTER 2

  A credit office in Washington, DC served as a front for an espionage organization. The vast majority of the operatives believed that this organization, called the Agency, was a covert division of Homeland Security. But the higher-ups knew the truth—that they were created to serve the interests of an international syndicate of the powerful known as the Cabal.

  Jack Marco was not one of those higher-ups, but he knew the truth behind the Agency. Because he was a double-agent, also working on behalf of an organization called Infernum.

  Months had passed since Infernum managed to not only aid in the disappearance of a Russian scientist the Cabal wanted to get their hands on, but they were also responsible for killing three valuable members of an Agency special ops team. The fourth and final member had defected.

  A ringing phone snapped him from his thoughts. He picked up the receiver. “Marco.” He paused and listened as the instructions were given. “He wants to see me? Now?”

  Confirmation came. Marco told the secretary he’d be right down and sighed as he hung up the phone. He rubbed his eyes, worry starting to overcome him. Things had been very quiet since the mission in Russia went bad and now Marco worried that the Agency was onto him.

  He slid his chair away from the desk and stood. A suit jacket was draped over the back of his chair and Marco took it off, sliding his arms into the sleeves as he walked from his cubicle. Marco boarded the elevator and hit the button for the top floor. The doors opened to a large area with a secretary sitting at a desk in front of a pair of double doors.

  “Mr. Marco,” said the secretary, standing. “You can go inside. He’s waiting for you.”

  Marco nodded and crossed the distance from the elevator to the large, wooden doors. He turned the handle and pushed it inside, stepping into a large, lavish office.

  A wide desk sat at the end in front of a row of floor-to-ceiling windows. Director Michael Chandler—the man who sat in the high-backed leather chair—had short, white hair combed to the side and glasses on his face.

  “You asked to see me, sir?” asked Marco.

  “Agent Marco. Yes, have a seat.” Chandler gestured to the twin comfortable, leather chairs in front of the desk.

  Marco chose one and settled in. He studied the old spymaster’s face, trying to determine Chandler’s mood. But the director was unreadable. Marco couldn’t tell if Chandler called him here to praise or condemn him. Chandler leaned forward, folding his hands and laying them on his desk.

  “You have no idea why I’ve called you in, do you?” A smile played at the edges of the director’s lips, showing he enjoyed this little game.

  Marco maintained his calm exterior. “No, sir.”

  “I have a job for you. It will be very difficult, but it’s also extremely important. Do you think you’re up for it?”

  “If possible, sir, I’d like to know some details about the mission.”

  “Right, of course.” Chandler opened a drawer at the bottom of his desk and reached inside. When he came back up, he dropped a file in front of Marco. “Go on, have a look. It’s not an assassination, if that’s what you’re thinking. Just a retrieval mission. You’re to locate the target and bring her to a secure location.”

  Marco opened the folder and the very first item in the dossier was a photograph. He couldn’t disguise his surprise, his eyes bulging as soon as he saw the woman’s face. Marco picked up the picture, staring intently at the black and white image.

  “This is Julie Kim,” he said.

  Chandler gave a nod. “It is indeed.”

  “Why her?”

  Chandler took a deep breath and quickly exhaled. “Agent Marco, I’m sure you’ve read reports of what happened several months back in Russia. Now, I understand Kim was a colleague of yours, but you need to consider this from an objective point of view. Julie Kim’s act of betrayal resulted in the deaths of three of the Agency’s top operatives, the escape of two high-priority targets, and the loss of a very important asset.”

  Marco didn’t have a response. Of course he knew the reasons for Julie’s betrayal—hell, he helped her do it. But maintaining his cover was the most important thing for him to do at the moment. He set the photo back in the file.

  “My apologies, Director Chandler. I was just surprised is all. After all the time Kim and I spent working together, it’s still hard for me to accept what she
did.”

  “It was a shock to us all, Agent,” said Chandler. “But do you have the detachment necessary for this task?”

  Marco was loathe to ask the question burning inside him for fear that it might give Chandler some ideas. But he needed to know the answer. “You said this is just a retrieval mission, sir? Why not put out a kill order on her?”

  “Oh believe me, I would love nothing more than to sign that order,” said Chandler. “But before she defected, Kim stole some extremely sensitive information. The kind of information that could compromise our security, everything we’ve spent years building.”

  “What sort of information are you talking about?” asked Marco.

  Chandler smirked. “That’s classified, Agent.”

  “Understood. I just thought that if I knew what it was I was looking for—”

  Chandler sighed. “I don’t think you understand, Marco. Your mission isn’t to locate what Kim stole. It’s to capture and bring her back. We’ll take it from there. It’s why we need her alive.”

  “When would she have stolen that information?” asked Marco.

  Chandler leaned back in his chair. “A very good question. Could have taken it off Sutton’s computer before she helped Lockhart and Tauna escape. Or she could have been compiling it after her unauthorized trip to Mexico, when she was off active duty and stuck behind a desk.”

  Marco’s brows crinkled. “So how do you know she stole it?”

  “We have it on very good authority. An extremely reliable source who said Kim reached out to him, offering to trade the information for a new identity,” said Chandler. “So what do you say?”

  Marco’s gaze traveled back to the photo and he remained silent, considering his options. It was a silence that Chandler clearly took notice of.

  “I understand this is difficult, son. If this is too personal for you, I can give the job to someone else.”

  “No, that’s okay, sir,” said Marco. “It’s like you said, Kim betrayed the Agency. She’s no longer the person I used to know. If she ever was.”