Resurrected

By Norm Clark

The new administration's kinder, gentler CIA has clamped a tight lid on a horrific sequence of events in its European theater. Knowledge of the events would provide fodder for opponents of the Agency's new image and policies.
Jack McDuff, the Agency's top rated covert agent over the past twenty years, has been reassigned to a desk job in Miami. Cast aside by the Agency, he has made the decision to resign when an unlikely contact makes him aware of the restricted intel and then presents a solution.

Jack readily accepts the unsanctioned rogue mission, and sets out on the most difficult assignment of his career. He begins a journey fraught with danger, mistrust, uncertainty, and surprise. It will require every resource developed over the past twenty years to survive and succeed. Throughout his journey, he discovers new enemies, makes new friends, and uncovers secrets that will change his life forever.
His search for the mastermind twists and turns through Europe and the Middle East, then halfway around the globe to Mexico, Texas, and the Caribbean to a final dramatic showdown with an ingenious conclusion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Norm Clark
• Release date: Sep 11, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301858644

Norm Clark

At the tender age of eight, Norm Clark acquired a copy of "The Wizard of Oz" and became a voracious reader, which unwittingly sowed the seeds of a dream to write. Many years later, Ken Follett's "Eye of the needle" gave birth to the repressed desire to author novels, and it set the genre. The need to provide food and shelter forced his dream to the back burner, but he spent his free time studying the creative writing process until able to begin his first action novel. The favorable reception of "Resurrected" encouraged him to continue with his dream.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The Central Intelligence Agency’s stock skyrocketed in the wake of the 911 terrorist attacks. America wanted answers and cared not what it took to get them. The gloves came off. A green light shone on all black ops and field intelligence missions, with no stone left unturned.

But the people’s anger faded over time, and the ultra liberal voices rose from the ashes to find their way onto the opposing political party’s platform. The Agency’s tactics, portrayed as un-American, joined a long list of changes touted to restore our country’s historic values.

The newly elected President formed a team to implement his campaign promises.

The Agency’s new director began the process to portray a kinder, gentler image to the world. His first directive canceled all planned covert missions. A second ordered all ongoing missions phased out as quickly as practicable without divulging our involvement. The President’s re-election campaign would determine the final target date.

Recruiters approached Lee Douglas the day after his Yale graduation. Well qualified by his education, he also sported the classic Ivy League look they sought to represent the Agency’s new image—grey pin stripe suit, button down white oxford cloth shirt, and horn rimmed glasses.

Thrilled with the opportunity to contribute to his country’s security, he immediately agreed. Trained on a thirty day fast track in station protocol, he became Rome’s station chief. The accelerated process permitted no time to learn field operations, which would come later.

CHAPTER 1

Rome, Italy

CIA Station

Lee Douglas sat in the black leather executive chair at the large walnut desk in the dim light of his office. Dark paneled walls and chocolate brown carpet absorbed the light from the wall sconces spaced throughout the room. Each day he wondered what idiot had created the dungeon décor that contributed to his growing state of depression.

With a blank look, he fixed his eyes on the IN basket filled with files and folders stamped TOP SECRET in large red letters and let his mind wander.

The Agency’s new image had come to light a week after his arrival in Rome and dealt a severe blow to his job expectations. Field work, though winding down, still existed, but he had not yet received the training. His morale had declined and reached a nine-month low since his assignment as the Rome station chief.

Enter at your own risk, he bellowed in response to the crisp rap on his office door.

A well-dressed, attractive woman with short blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes entered with a folded paper in hand.

Lee checked his watch then stared at her in disbelief. Christ Joanne, can’t it wait until tomorrow?

She responded with a ‘this needs your attention now’ look.

He shook his head in resignation.

Joanne handed him the paper and settled into a leather armchair as Lee turned on the curved brass desk lamp with a green shell shade to read the secure fax.

Urgent extraction needed for Mossad agent from Vienna. He will arrive at the safe house tonight between nine and midnight. They will pick him up at three AM. This has a priority one rating.

He slammed the fax on the desktop. Why do they drop this crap on us at the last minute? Do they think we sit here all day at their beck and call?

Knowing the questions did not require a response, Joanne sat in silence and watched Lee tilt back and let out a deep sigh of frustration. He removed his horn rimmed glasses, rubbed his nose between his thumb and forefinger, and succumbed to the inevitable. Find Tony for me please.

CHAPTER 2

Tony Rico sipped Campari at an outdoor table under a large red and blue umbrella in his local restaurant hangout, ‘Trattoria Bernini’. The drink and the cool five o’clock air restored his vitality after a boring seven and one half hour train ride. Tony disliked the tedious trip but preferred it to his normal routine of the past nine months, sitting behind a desk in the Rome station.

He ordered another Campari and ran his fingers through his black wavy hair, then placed both hands on the small stomach paunch gained since Lee took over the station. He knew Lee did not cancel the covert missions, Langley issued the directives, but he had to blame somebody. With a sip of his drink, he settled into his chair for the only respite left in his domain. His cell phone jolted him to reality. He checked the caller ID, glanced at his watch, and shook his head in disbelief. He considered not answering, but yielded to fifteen years of loyal service.

Tony here.

Joanne’s friendly voice responded, Hi Tony.

Do you know what time it is?

Yes I do, she tersely replied.

Upset, he let his head drop. He had no reason to chirp at Joanne, she just followed orders. Okay, let me talk to him.

Hello Tony.

I called you an hour ago from the train station when I got back from Zurich. What the hell happened between then and now that couldn’t be put off until tomorrow?

Lee understood his frustration and agreed with him, but until Langley trained and qualified him for field work, he had no option. You know I don’t have a choice.

Tony had no argument. Recent events had pared the field staff to just him, and Lee had repeatedly pressed for the field training. His only chance, try to delay it until tomorrow. All right, give me the details.

Mossad has an agent extraction from Vienna. They’ll deliver him after nine o’clock and retrieve him at three in the morning.

Impossible to postpone the assignment, Tony took solace in the fact it would be a short and easy one. Okay Lee, which house will we use?

Number four.

Safe house four! I thought that dump rotted away. We need to move it to another house.

This is the only one Mossad knows about, and our policy won’t let me change it.

Jesus, I haven’t had my shots, joked Tony. I could contract a serious disease in there. Can we blow the damn place up after tonight?

I’ll see what I can do, laughed Lee.

I hope I still have a key.

Call me if you have a problem.

Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.

Tony checked the time. With an hour to spare, he downed his Campari and ordered one more.

CHAPTER 3

The silver Fiat sat parked on a dark, narrow street in the old Jewish Ghetto district. The facades of the aged buildings stared down with the menacing look of gargoyles in the dim light.

Tony surveyed the area for a half hour, and waited until the last possible moment. With the Walther PPK pistol in his waistband and four iced beers in a small cooler, he stepped onto the cobblestone street then crossed to the old building. He opened the warped, faded wood door and strode across the small lobby to the stairs. At the top of the worn marble staircase, he turned right then unlocked the aged door to unit six.

Tony switched on the lights of the main room and exposed the dark dingy décor, even worse than he recalled. He could not understand why they used this safe house. It painted a horrible picture of their operation. He would inform Lee tomorrow that he had made his last trip here.

Settled into the tattered chair with the most available light, Tony opened a beer and set up his laptop to pass time on the internet. He drank three beers over the next hour and dreaded the result, the bathroom would be intolerable. Waiting as long as possible to make the trip, he gave in when nature left him no choice.

He finished in haste and bolted from the bathroom.

His survival instincts sprang to life as he walked toward the main room. He spun back to see a black clad figure in the dark hallway. Tony turned and lunged for his gun in the main room, but came up short as two bullets slammed into his back and dropped him to the floor.

The gunman leaned down and placed the silencer tube to Tony’s temple, then fired a final round.

A shock of matted red hair showed when he removed his black ski mask to retrieve a sticker decal from within, which he pressed to Tony’s forehead.

CHAPTER 4

Miami, Florida

CIA liaison office

Jack McDuff, a large, thickset man with reddish brown hair and a slightly ruddy complexion, walked into his bare-walled spartan office. His hazel eyes stared at the empty wire mail baskets and his over-watered, limp plant on the tan steel desk as he draped his suit coat over the armless visitor’s chair. He moved around the desk and caught his reflection in the office window, then deepened his focus to the palm fronds in perpetual motion against the endless blue sky. A lone seagull soared and dove with the wind as it frolicked past the window. A perfect world for the gull, but more like a prison to him—a prison with no bars, walls, or guards—a prison he could walk away from if he chose to do so.

Each workday started with this mundane routine since his transfer to the Miami station a year ago. A transfer received, with no advance notice or discussion, after twenty years of stellar field service working from the Berlin station. He had accepted every covert mission, completed every dirty job, and they had cast him out like a rotten apple from the barrel. His reputation as the top field agent in the European theater now worked against him. The Agency’s new image and policies had put him out to pasture.

He committed to one year in Miami to find a resolution. With no response to his requests for clarification, he had reached a dead end on the Agency’s road traveled for so many years.

The time had come to make a decision.

Maggie’s voice on the speakerphone snapped him about. Jack, I have Carlos Cruz on line one for you.

Surprised, it had been three years since they last spoke, Jack considered not taking the call. Not a call from an old friend to say hello, Carlos would be looking for a favor.

Maggie repeated the call information.

Jack reacted and pressed the blinking button. Carlos, I don’t believe it. How long has it been?

Too long Jack, too long.

To what do I owe the pleasure? he coolly responded.

I’m in town, and need to talk to you. Can you come to the Cooperage Hotel on Collins Avenue?

Jack had never been fond of Carlos either personally or professionally. He considered his primary focus, the furtherance of his ‘ladies man’ reputation, as a detriment to his job performance.

His first inclination, to turn down the request, gave way to another thought. Carlos worked in Langley, and he just might have data that would help to clarify his situation. It would be Jack’s last chance.

Sure, why not. I can be there at ten.

Room 204, I’ll fix you a drink.

A rare smile crept onto Jack’s face. You know I won’t turn that down.

He placed the handset in its cradle and stared at the phone as memories of Carlos surfaced. Lured from Seal Team Six in 1990, Carlos started his field service in 1992. They worked from the Berlin station for fourteen years until Carlos received a transfer to headquarters in Langley. He shook his head to clear his mind.

Jack stopped at the front desk on his way out. Maggie, I’ll be gone for the rest of the day. Call me if we have any excitement.

Sure thing Jack, she said with a sarcastic smile.

He hooked his suit coat with two fingers and swung it over his back, then headed for the parking lot. The expected blast of humid heat smacked him in the face when he pushed the door open.

Jack slipped in behind the wheel of the white Jeep Wrangler in the covered area of the parking lot. Thankful for the shade that blocked the direct sun from the steering wheel and other touchable knobs and handles, he started the engine. With the air conditioner on full blast, he headed for home.

*****

Jack lived on a street lined with Queen Palms in a neighborhood of older, white block-wall houses with red tile roofs. He turned the Jeep onto a driveway flanked by Bermuda grass and low shrubs.

In the furnished rental’s beige interior, he dropped his briefcase on the tweed sofa on his way to the bedroom.

Jack selected an ensemble from his closet—a flowered aloha shirt, British walking shorts, and a Panama hat—then headed for Collins Ave.

CHAPTER 5

South Miami Beach, Florida

Jack had driven by the Cooperage Hotel numerous times with only cursory glances. But today, the Mediterranean style hotel had a postcard look with its soft yellow walls and white trimmed windows set against a brilliant blue sky.

His agent acumen, suppressed by the yearlong desk assignment, charged to the forefront when he agreed to meet with Carlos. Colors were brighter, sounds were sharper, and smells were stronger. He relished the mindset that had surfaced from his field agent years, even if only for one day.

The pungent salt air filled his lungs as he stepped from the Jeep. Manicured palm trees sprung from a sea of bright green Bermuda grass and lined the walkway to the hotel. He passed the ground floor’s maroon window awnings and arrived at the hotel’s dramatic entrance.

The clip-clop sounds made by his open toed, leather strap sandals on the Spanish tile lobby floor drew the young clerk’s attention. He looked up from his book and gave him a ‘just another tourist’ look. May I help you sir?

Jack slipped the Ray Ban sunglasses from his face and queried, Stairs?

The clerk pointed to his left. Just around the corner sir, he said then returned to his reading.

His face took on a satisfied smile, pleased that his clothing choice had created the desired effect. Thrilled his attention to detail had returned after a year in exile, he let his eyes gaze around the room as he crossed the atrium lobby to the stairway. Leather furniture and dark wood tables blended with the wrought-iron trimmed ornate arches to create a classic Spanish décor. It took him back to another place and time.

Jack stepped from the stairs and followed the arrows to room #204. He paused at the door for a moment then knocked.

The door swung wide and Carlos Cruz stood before him. He saw an image from three years past—coal black, salon styled hair, and summer chic clothes straight from GQ magazine.

Good to see you, I’m glad you could make it.

I am too Carlos. Damn, you haven’t changed a bit.

They clasped right hands and exchanged perfunctory hugs.

You look great too, in top shape, complimented Carlos.

Jack did a quick visual check. Soft peach walls accented with green furnishings and dark wood tables had a pleasing effect. His eyes drew to the ocean view through the white French doors. Damn nice room, did you get a bump in your expense account?

Are you kidding? I popped for it myself. I thought you might enjoy it.

I do, it reminds me of the Costa del Sol.

I know what you mean, the good old days.

They took a nostalgic pause, and after a few seconds Carlos lightened the mood. Jesus Jack, a year down here and you turn into Jimmy Buffet. You sure have a relaxed dress code.

You know better than that, I took the day off.

Good, we need the time. I told you I needed to talk to you.

Not quite ready for Carlos’ bullshit, he changed the topic. Yeah, but you offered me a drink, so first things first.

No problem, have a seat. I hope scotch works for you? knowing his favorite.

Jack sat on the sofa’s large floral pattern and retorted with a smile, If you only have scotch, I guess I’ll have to settle for it.

Carlos returned from the desk with two single malt scotches and sat in the green velvet armchair. You seemed distant when we spoke on the phone.

His angst surfaced, Christ, we worked from the same station for fourteen years, and we’ve had no contact for the last three, he snapped. What the hell did you expect?

I know and I’m sorry.

Jack needed this conversation to end. Apology accepted.

They finished their first drinks and Carlos brought refills then looked him in the eyes. We need to talk.

CHAPTER 6

Jack stood with his drink then walked at a slow pace away from the sofa. He made a turn at the desk, sat on its edge, and let a moment pass. Before you start, I need to tell you how I feel about the Agency.

Sure, spit it out. Get it off your chest.

I freaked out when they assigned me here. The more I tried to find out why, the more they ignored me, so I’ve reached an impasse. I spend most of my days at a desk passing DEA data to a computer in Langley. Hell, a clerk could do that. He paused for a sip of scotch. Don’t get me wrong, we need this critical function, but I find it a huge waste of my talent to liaise with them. Look, I understand the new road the Agency has taken, but simple logic should tell them twenty years of field experience would give them better intel analysis than a college diploma. It just doesn’t make sense.

Jack rose and ambled to the French doors. He stood with his back to the room then placed his hands on the head rail.

Carlos eyed his outstretched figure. He knew his vitals, six foot one inch and more than two hundred pounds, but he loomed larger now. His best course of action, wait.

He soon turned. I’ve grown to hate the bastards and I’m ready to bail out. He raved on, What possible reason could I have to help them? He went to the desk and poured a drink.

Carlos waited for him to calm down. I know what you mean, I’d feel the same if they did it to me. He paused and raised his glass for a refill, then took a sip and set it on the table. Can we go over what I need to cover?

A red tinge of anger filled Jack’s face. Jesus Carlos, what part of what I said don’t you understand? he fumed. I am saying no to whatever the Agency wants.

I know how you feel, but you need to hear me out.

His head sunk. He knew Carlos wouldn’t quit, so he gave in. All right, let’s get it over with.

We have a problem at the Rome station to resolve, and I want you to handle it for me.

His anger peaked. Why the hell do you need me? This doesn’t make a bit of sense. You’ve got other agents to cover this.

You mean Tom Nelson, Paul Mitchell, Alan Hamish, and Tony Rico.

Yes, spouted Jack, any one of them can handle your problem.

Carlos took a deep breath. What I’m going to tell you is classified. A pro has killed all of them over the last two months, and we don’t know why. So you won’t be doing it for the Agency. It will be personal, for both of us.

The color faded from Jack’s face. Stunned, he leaned on the desk for a moment then took a deep breath.

What intel do we have?

CHAPTER 7

Miami, Florida

DEA Covert Operations Center

The early rise allowed time for his busy day. Jack inserted several passports in a hidden pocket in the nylon suitcase to finish packing and set it by the front door. He retrieved his weapon of choice from the lock box on the bedroom closet shelf, a Sig Sauer model P226 NAVY pistol. It had been more than a year since visiting the firing range, so he cleaned the pistol then put it and four full ammo clips in a small canvas tote. He slipped the satphone Carlos gave him in his pocket and headed for the garage.

The white Jeep Wrangler sped along a two lane back road under a bright blue early morning sky dotted with puffy, white pillow clouds. The cool breeze whipped through the open windows and tossed his reddish brown hair about. For the first time in a year, he felt alive. He had a purpose, excited to get back to the field and avenge the death of his friends. The job paid well too, fifty grand plus expenses.

Amazed at how much could change in one day, on the thirty-minute drive he reviewed what he learned.

Carlos could still work the system. To fund the mission, he convinced Langley they needed to use a contract agent because the evidence pointed to a problem from inside.

The Agency’s new policies forced a rogue status on the mission with paramount secrecy. Carlos put a leave of absence in effect for Jack to avoid suspicion of his involvement—the same old con man.

His thoughts turned to the negatives. He could not work with the Rome station and their poster boy Lee. With the station’s staff rotation and the agent’s deaths, he had no contacts there. Plus, they were the prime suspect. The limited data on the agent’s deaths gave him little to work with. With all four men killed by the same Makarov pistol, it led to a one-gunman theory. The dog’s head stickers found on the victims pointed to an Arab gunman concept since they considered the dog the lowest life form. This would be a tough mission, with failure not an option. He chose Rome as a starting point, and Carlos arranged an e-ticket for his flight and a rental car.

Jack turned onto a gravel driveway from the rural road and wound the Jeep to a huge Mexican style house with red, convex roof tiles. Black wrought iron bars secured the deep-set windows in the thick, white stucco walls. Acquired under the RICO Act, it was a perfect site for the DEA covert op center.

He needed to see Brian Anderson, the head of the Miami division’s covert task force, in regards to his trip. They became close friends over the past year, the only bright spot in his Miami assignment. Brian tried, with no success, to include him in his covert missions. The denials crushed Jack, but they remained steadfast friends.

He swung the Jeep around a large circular driveway and parked near the front entrance in the shade of a large palm tree.

Jack pushed in the heavy, dark wood door in the recessed entry, and entered the reception foyer defined by thick arched pillars. An attractive girl with long, straight, light brown hair and dark brown eyes raised her head then beamed a broad smile. Good morning Mr. McDuff.

With a smile, he returned Valerie’s greeting then let her know he would use the shooting range before he saw Brian.

He entered the large living room and headed to a door on the far side of the room. The high-pitched ceiling with massive, dark wood beams overlooked the brown tile floor and white stucco walls common throughout the house. He passed the dark, heavy sofas and chairs arranged around a large, rust and brown rug in the room’s center. Wall hung tapestries and paintings with dark frames completed the room’s Mexican look.

He descended to the firing range installed by the DEA in the unfinished basement when they took over the house. They blessed their good fortune to have this great timesaver on site.

Jack slipped on earmuffs then emptied the four clips at the black and white silhouette targets, pleased he had not lost his shooting touch. He packed the Sig and the empty clips in his tote then returned to the front desk.

Valerie greeted him with a warm smile. You can go up, he’s expecting you.

On the upper level, he walked through the large room filled with busy workstations as Brian stepped from his office. Come on in.

In his late thirties, Brian had the perfect look for his covert work. Brown, medium length hair and hazel eyes topped a trim body, while blue jeans and polo shirts allowed him to blend in on the street. With the skills to make him a top agent, Jack wished they could have worked together in the field.

Brian thrust out his hand as he neared. You look terrific. I see a bounce in your step I’ve never seen before. Did you find a new girlfriend?

No, not at all.

The smile faded from Brian’s face. Well, that’s a shame. Go ahead and grab a chair.

Stacks of folders filled every square inch of his chaotic office, but he would bet Brian could instantly find any given file. A large cork panel, covered with current operations data, consumed the end wall.

What can I do for you?

You need to know I’ll be out of town for awhile, and any data to forward will have to go through Maggie.

This sounds like a vacation?

Something like that, said Jack with a grin. By the way, I used your range and I need a favor. Can I leave my Sig with you? I don’t like keeping it in the house when I’m out of town.

No problem, I’ll have it cleaned and lock it up for you.

He thanked him and stood to leave, then noticed Brian’s phone and the one Carlos gave him were identical. Does your phone have text encryption?

Yes it does, I use it to keep in touch with my field agents.

My new phone has the same feature, do you mind if I text you to see how it works?

Not at all, give it a shot.

He opened his phone and sent a brief text to Brian’s number.

In seconds, Brian flipped open his phone. It works perfect. I’ll save your new number in case we need to make contact on the QT. His face took on a serious look. Where are you going on this vacation?

Jack couldn’t divulge the rogue mission to his good friend and needed a vague answer. He took a deep breath then paused. Actually, I haven’t decided yet.

Brian’s brow wrinkled. Do I need to worry about you?

He knew Brian cared for him as a friend, and he needed to put him at ease. Not at all bud, I just need to get away for awhile.

Not completely sold, Brian stared intently in his eyes. Call or text me if you need anything.

Thanks for the concern.

*****

Back at his house, Jack called for a taxi. With his PDA, the satphone, and the alias passport given him by Carlos packed in a carry on bag, he verified the ten thousand Euro advance in his pocket then waited for his ride.

The driver loaded Jack’s bags in the trunk and slid in behind the wheel. Where to?

Alitalia airlines.

CHAPTER 8

Vaduz, Liechtenstein

A slight mist lingered in the green meadows that rolled through the Alps foothills. Craggy snow capped peaks, thrust skyward by violent geographic action a million years past, provided a spectacular backdrop to the verdant scene.

A young, stocky, average height man with red hair and a freckled complexion waited on the roadside for his Saint Bernard to return with a thrown stick. His green eyes absorbed the post card view.

The brown and white dog dropped the stick at his master’s feet and sought his approval. Conor Whelan patted him on the head. Damn Bruno, we might live in the most perfect place on earth. He relished the view a bit longer then looked down at the swollen tongue of the panting dog. You look thirsty boy. So am I, let’s head for home.

They crossed the road to the cream colored, wood beam trimmed house with a steeply pitched slate roof. With the thick, wood entry door open, Bruno made a beeline to his oversized water bowl while Conor grabbed a beer from the fridge and guzzled most of it.

He flipped the wall switch to light the fixture above the white table that served as his office, then sat and turned on his laptop. While it booted up he finished the beer and called out to his dog, Bruno, get me a beer.

The Saint Bernard raised his head, looked at him, and thumped his tail on the wood floor.

I guess if I could get ya to do that, you’d be the smartest dog in the world, he said with a distinct Irish brogue. Returning from the fridge with a fresh beer, he took a healthy swig and found the laptop ready, then opened the e-mail and input a message.

I need intel as soon as possible. I know they will send someone. An agent or a contractor will be on the prowl for me.

‘The Wolf’

With the encrypted message sent, he crossed the wood-strip floor and settled on the rust colored sofa facing the stone fireplace to wait for a reply.

Finished with his beer, he returned to the table to check the laptop and opened his mail.

We should agree. Continue as you are. You are to be notified.

Jamel

He slammed the empty beer bottle on the table. What the hell does that mean? I need intel now, he shouted at the screen.

CHAPTER 9

Rome, Italy

Jack sat in the Hertz parking lot at Fiumicino airport and retrieved a number from his PDA. He hoped Luigi was still in business and remembered their codes. A lot can change in two years.

The other end picked up and he heard Luigi’s voice. Ciao.

Mr. Sigmund calling and I need a custom made box.

The phone stayed silent for a moment, then in passable English Luigi replied, Of course, but I’ma gonna be out til’ three, can you come then?

I’ll be there, Jack confirmed, then ended the call and erased its history. With his contact valid, he breathed a sigh of relief. He could pick up the Sig at Luigi’s at three o’clock. Back in the flow, a wave of energy filled his body.

Rome’s traffic forced a difficult hour drive to the