Exit Strategy

By Lucien Romano

WHO IS KILLING THE WORLD'S DICTATORS?
When an untraceable website appears on April 1st 2003, threatening to remove unsatisfactory heads of state, it is dismissed as a hoax - until the killings start. Public opinion blames America's War On Terror, forcing the CIA to hunt for the real culprits. But with resources stretched by Iraq, they recruit an outsider.

Dr. Shelby Wright uncovers the shocking truth, but the consequences plunge her into a web of intrigue that threatens her life. As further assassinations throw international relations into crisis, both the world and Shelby need an exit strategy.

Reviews - what readers said about EXIT STRATEGY on amazon.com, .co.uk and Goodreads:
***** "I am an avid reader and always looking for something different - this certainly fitted the bill"
***** "Terriffic twist at the end."
**** "Makes a fantastical concept sound believable in a very sublime manner."
**** "A thoroughly enjoyable read with a great set of twists and turns along the road."
**** "A great eye for period detail and an intriguing alternative history."
**** "Exit Strategy brings a fresh dimension to science fiction."
**** "highly recommend it to anyone who likes a book with twist and turns."
**** "The author has managed to create lots of page turning action."
**** "a really cool story, a mix of crime thriller and Sci Fi."
**** "I would definitely recommend this book."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lucien Romano
• Release date: Apr 24, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311575043

Lucien Romano

LUCIEN ROMANO is a Brisbane-based author who usually writes science fiction, but he could not resist the invitation from a former colleague to collaborate on her new book.SEX AS IT SHOULD BE is the result, covering in detail things no one else ever seems to mention, and answering questions you never knew you needed to ask.

Book preview

Exit Strategy

Volume One in the Starbound series

Copyright 2014 Lucien Romano

Published by Lucien Romano at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this e-book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this e-book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Acknowledgements

Steven Garrard – editorial advice

Kim Lulham – cover art & location advice

Dawn Wilson – e-book format tester

Author's Note

All characters and events in this novel, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Who is killing the world's dictators?

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

About the author

Who is killing the world's dictators?

When an untraceable website appears on April 1st 2003, threatening to remove unsatisfactory heads of state, it is dismissed as a hoax – until the killings start. Public opinion blames America's War On Terror, forcing the CIA to hunt for the real culprits. But with resources stretched by Iraq, they recruit an outsider. Dr. Shelby Wright uncovers the shocking truth, but the consequences plunge her into a web of intrigue that threatens her life. As further assassinations throw international relations into crisis, both the world and Shelby need an exit strategy.

Chapter One

She was flat on her back, staring up at the sky. Where the gold of sunset faded into indigo, the Moon shone down, seeming to watch over her, but coldly and remotely, like the secrets it concealed. Beneath her, the grass had grown damp and her hands were chilled and numb. She knew there was something she had to do, but she wanted nothing to disturb these moments of peace.

Shelby snapped back to the present. Dreams had always fascinated her, but she was supposed to be conducting an interview, even though it was going nowhere. The interviewee was rambling and Shelby had been waiting for her to finish. The beeps from her cellphone were sufficient excuse to wrap it up.

'That's great,' said Shelby. 'We're done. Thanks for your time.'

'Aye, awright,' said the woman, a sad little dumpling with a downturned mouth. She relit her cigarette and walked away.

Shelby was alone on the dockside. Behind her, new condominiums clustered, their aspirational balconies deserted. She shivered. How the hell had Edinburgh University persuaded her to come and do fieldwork for them in April? It was chilly enough in Cambridge. The paycheck was worth it, sure, but she'd remember to add the cost of a better overcoat next time. She pulled out her cellphone.

Check your email and call me, read the text message. It was signed BJM with her current authentication code, SEW46213. What does he want? thought Shelby. Does he know I'm not in the US? It was probably something routine, but that did not matter. She decided finding out would require hot coffee and could easily take the rest of the afternoon.

Shelby walked briskly back to her hotel room, thought about taking off her overcoat, but kept it on. For the umpteenth time that week, she wondered how the Brits managed to survive with such crappy heating. She put the kettle on and flipped open her laptop. Before it booted, the reflection of a woman in her late thirties with untidy blonde hair stared back at her through black-framed eyeglasses.

Brad McIntyre's email was all of two sentences and a website address. This went live yesterday at 12:01 GMT. What do you make of it? Shelby clicked on the link.

JusticeForThePeople.com claimed that they intended to do something about the world's unsatisfactory leaders. Visitors to the website could register and then nominate a head of state. Periodically, one would be chosen and invited to step down. If they did not, they would be removed, by force if necessary. As a demonstration, the first would be gone by tomorrow.

Shelby sat back and shook her head. 'Brad, why are you wasting my time with this garbage?' she asked aloud. 'It's a student prank, you numbnuts.' If anyone else had asked her to check it out, she would have stopped right there, but the Agency would pay for her time and she could probably get away with billing them half a day at least. She made herself a coffee and carried on reading.

Further down the page, an update from eight hours ago claimed that their agent, named as Bombardier Jeremiah Joseph Lawrence of 5th Brigade Royal Horse Artillery, had assassinated Robert Mugabe, the president of Zimbabwe. There was an accompanying video.

The monochrome clip showed two African men in suits standing a few feet apart on either side of a double door. Into the picture strode a soldier wearing an old colonial-era British uniform, a rifle slung over his right shoulder. He opened the doors, went inside and closed them behind him. The guards paid no attention to him. For several seconds nothing happened. Then the guards jumped, as if in response to a sudden loud noise. They looked at each other for a moment before rushing into the room. Several more seconds elapsed before the soldier reappeared, the rifle still slung over his shoulder. He walked calmly along the corridor towards the camera. Shelby could see he had an old-timer's mutton chop sideburns and moustache. A wisp of smoke escaped from the rifle barrel as he disappeared from view. She picked up her cellphone and called the number from the text message.

'Doctor Wright, how y'all doin?' drawled Brad in a nails-on-chalkboard imitation of her Tennessee accent.

'Well, I was freezing my butt off out on the street, so I needed a good laugh to warm up.'

'What's so funny, honey?'

'That website. You do know it was April 1st yesterday?'

'Yes I did,' he said, switching back to Californian. 'But no, it's not a hoax. That stuff is for real.'

'You're kidding me!'

'About a matter of national security? I don't think so. How soon can you be in London?'

'Tonight, I guess. Is that where you are now?'

'Yeah. How about you?'

'I'm in Leith. Edinburgh, that is.'

'Edinburgh, okay. I'll have someone call you with travel and hotel details. I'll see you tomorrow morning.'

On the big TV in the airport's business class lounge, the BBC news had started. After stalling for a few days, the American advance had regained momentum and they were advancing on Baghdad. Shelby frowned. Most Americans supported the war, but she had her doubts. Could that be what had alerted the CIA: a threat to the President because of Iraq? There was nothing on the news about threats to world leaders or the Website, not even as a novelty item.

Shelby helped herself to coffee and picked up an abandoned copy of The Guardian. She turned to Doonesbury, a small link to home. Normally, she would have passed the time reading, or observing her fellow travelers and trying to deduce things about them, but she ought to have a proper look at the Website.

After viewing the video clip again, she returned to the home page. If this was for real, then she was missing something. At the edge of the screen, a sidebar listed the languages she could view the page in. It was a long list, so long that she had to scroll and scroll to reach the bottom. Every language she knew of was there, and more. She clicked on French, German and then Spanish. The translations looked okay, which was suspicious in itself. Machine translations were still very crude, meaning professional websites had to rely on expensive human expertise. She sampled several more. She had no idea whether they were accurate, but that was not the point. Why bother to create so many for a hoax? It did not make sense. Something about the Website did not add up, although its assassination claim was a self-calling bluff. Before long, everyone would know whether it was true.

The hotel was one of those small country house in the city types. By the time Shelby arrived, the restaurant was about to close, but room service was available. In her room, she kicked off her shoes and turned on the BBC's 24-hour news channel. The main story from Iraq was the rescue of a captured female soldier by American Special Forces, while in Britain, the anti-war protests continued to attract huge numbers of people. There was still nothing about an assassination or the Website. What time was it back home? She picked up her cellphone and hit speed dial 1. It rang and rang as she paced up and down. Could something have happened? Surely not, it had only been a couple of days since her last call. Maybe she should try Pop instead? Her thumb hovered over the cancel button. She would give it two more rings.

'Hey, Mom.'

'Oh Randy, thank goodness,' said Shelby.' You had me worried.'

'I'm fine, Mom. I was studying, that's all.'

'You shouldn't work so hard.'

'I guess, but who else is gonna turn one of Dirac's crazier notions into a doctoral thesis for me?' He paused. 'What are you up to?'

'I'm in London,' replied Shelby, before realizing it might prompt a question. 'Attending a conference,' she improvised, which was sort of true.

'Have you seen that new website, the one that's promising to rid us of the world's scumbags?'

'A colleague mentioned it and I had a quick look,' she said. 'Isn't it a hoax?'

'Who knows? Folks on campus are betting whether it's for real.'

'We'll find out soon enough, I guess, but I just called to ask…'

'…if I'm taking my meds. Yes, Mom, don't worry.'

'I do worry about you, Randy. It's a mom thing and I'm not gonna keep apologizing for it.'

'Okay…'

'Oh, here's room service with my supper. I'll call you in a couple of days.'

'Sure, Mom. Bye.'

'Love you.'

*

Brad was waiting for Shelby in the lobby after breakfast. She would have walked right past him, supposing he was another six-foot American tourist in a check sports coat, had he not stuck out his hand and introduced himself.

'Doctor Wright. I'm Brad McIntyre.'

'Oh, hi. Pleased to meet you at last.' Shelby was pleasantly surprised. For some reason she had always thought Brad was older and shorter than she was.

'And this is Clive Reynolds, my British colleague. We're working together on this. I've briefed him about what you do for us.'

Brad's companion was five foot six of blue-suited bank clerk. Apart from Brad not looking like she expected, neither man made an immediate impression. They had no distinctive or memorable attributes. It must be protective camouflage, Shelby thought, to blend into their environment. She had unconsciously mimicked them by wearing her best dark gray pants suit, with the pale blue blouse that almost matched her eye color.

'How do you do?' asked Clive.

'Very well, thanks,' replied Shelby. She loved any chance to work with spooks because she rarely got the opportunity to study their behavior and personal interactions first hand. Not that she could ever publish the results of her research. It was part professional habit and part satisfaction of her own private curiosity.

Greeting ritual concluded, Shelby thought Clive would continue with some small talk about the weather, but no, he led her and Brad straight to one of the hotel's business meeting rooms. Sunlight streamed in through a gap in the drapes, across the polished wooden table. They sank into plush leather swivel chairs. Clive pulled some papers from his briefcase and Brad brought out a laptop. Shelby was surprised they were going to hold a meeting here in the hotel. She had expected the venue would be a secure conference room at MI6 headquarters, or maybe the American embassy.

'Thank you for coming down here at short notice, Doctor Wright,' began Clive. 'We have a developing situation that may require your expertise.'

'So I understand,' said Shelby. 'My first impression was it must be a hoax.'

'So was ours, until yesterday morning. Then a flurry of signals traffic from Zimbabwe made us think otherwise. Someone really had bumped off their president. He'll be no loss to the world, but there is a complication.'

'They think you did it?'

'The possibility is certainly exercising their imaginations. We didn't, of course, but that is not the point.'

'The perception is that you might have. Zimbabwe used to be a colony of yours, right?'

'Correct. And since the late Mr. Mugabe had been increasingly oppressing his own citizens, bi-lateral relations were not exactly cordial. It's no secret that we would be only too happy for someone to get rid of him. That is why we need to find out who actually did, preferably before they strike again. According to the Website, this was only a demonstration.'

'Strike somewhere closer to home, you mean? There is a lot of discontent about Iraq here. Is Tony Blair worried that enough people might nominate him?'

'I don't think Mr. Blair need worry himself unduly,' smiled Clive. 'You see, he is only the Prime Minister. Her Majesty the Queen is our head of state.'

'Oh yeah, sorry.' Shelby thought of making a quip about Blair's presidential style, but no, better to change the subject. 'How do you know this homicide was anything to do with the Website? Couldn't it be coincidence?'

'I rather suspect not. The Website claims that its video is from a security camera outside Mugabe's office in the Presidential Palace. The corridor and doors do fit what we know of the location, but it could have been faked in a studio. However, we have a second source for the footage, one that GCHQ believe is genuine. As for the soldier, he appears to be equally real. The man's name, rank and unit match Ministry of Defence records. The only problem is that they also tell me he is listed as missing in action, probably killed, at the Battle of Isandlwana in South Africa on the 22nd of January, 1879. It seems they are wrong and he has actually been keeping a low profile for one hundred and twenty four years, before taking up a new career as a professional assassin.'

Shelby was aware that both men were watching her, casually but intently, waiting for her reaction. Guys, you need Doctor Who, not me, was her first thought, but saying it would have been unprofessional. 'I see,' she said slowly, stalling while she came up with something that did not imply she doubted their sanity. 'Do you have any corroborating evidence?' was the best she could manage. It was like trying to sound positive when one of her less able students presented her with some fatuous theory.

'His uniform and weapon are correct for the period,' said Clive. 'We even have a blurred picture of his face from an early regimental photograph. Our experts have done a computer enhancement and it appears to be the same man.'

'Okay,' said Shelby, slowly drawing a deep breath. 'If this is credible information, how can I help?'

'Our task is to find the perpetrators and nullify any further threat they represent. As a starting point, it would be useful to have some clues to their personality type, possible motivations and likely behaviour patterns. Any ideas on why they chose such a bizarre modus operandi could be helpful, too. That is where you come in.'

Shelby felt like rolling her eyes in dismay. Now you really are kidding me, she thought. Garden variety terrorists fuelled by fundamentalist ideology or a hatred of The West in general are a cinch compared to this wild goose chase. She had no idea what to say, but Clive pulled a cellphone from his coat pocket. 'Oh, do excuse me,' he said and left the room.

Shelby turned to Brad. 'Wow. Is that all you guys want?'

'Yup. Welcome to our brave new world of crazy threats. As if finding Saddam and his WMD wasn't enough right now, we've gotta track down time travelling hit men as well.'

'It's not that I don't appreciate the opportunity,' said Shelby, 'but wouldn't it be easier for you to trace the Website's origin?'

'We've been working on that since the automatic threat detector first flagged it up,' said Brad.

'And…?'

'Can't find it. Not even which continent it's on. And that is a big deal, believe me. It's the main reason this has such a high priority, second only to Iraq. Billions of dollars' worth of equipment plus top internet experts producing zilch result equals a very unhappy director. He needs answers before Washington start asking awkward questions.'

'Is that really a big deal? You guys haven't found Bin Laden yet.'

'Only because he knows better than to use any electronic communications. The day he does, he'll have unwanted house guests. These Website guys are different. They're all over the net, but there's no trace of their home server. There's not even a trace of them erasing their traces, which is another big deal.'

Shelby nodded. Spook world was a necessarily murky place, but one thing they had come to rely on more and more to peer through the fog was signals intelligence: phone and web intercepts. Having it fail on them so completely would have been like a convulsive shock. It was also the unexpected nature of the threat. Fundamentalist terror groups like al-Qaeda or brutal dictators with Weapons of Mass Destruction were to some extent known quantities. Plans to counter them could be made and action taken. The people behind the Website and their larger intentions were a complete unknown. That was why the intelligence community was so worked up. She could imagine the consternation at their meetings and wished she could have been there to see it.

'Then this Zimbabwe assassination happens,' continued Brad, 'and no one at Langley has a clue what to do about it. Someone eventually realized they would need behavioral profiles, and I coordinated some of that after 9/11.'

'I see,' said Shelby. 'I was wondering why me.'

'I know this is a long shot for you, but…' He trailed off.

'…the Agency is desperate enough to try anything right now?' suggested Shelby. 'Thanks, Brad. I thought you called because my expertise was relevant.'

'It may be. Who knows? We've just gotta do our best on this.'

Clive re-entered the room. 'Sorry about that. Where were we?'

'I've been giving Doctor Wright some of the background,' said Brad. 'The problems we've been having finding the Website.'

'Yes,' drawled Clive. 'Inconvenient that.'

'Actually,' began Shelby, 'I did notice something that may give you a clue.' Both men looked at her with unexpected interest. 'Go to the home page and look at the list of languages in the sidebar.'

Brad nodded. 'Okay, there are lots of them. How does that help?'

'Look at the English sentences on the home page. They don't read very well, do they? The grammar and syntax are correct, but the phrases are unusually formal. There are also words that a native English speaker wouldn't use.'

'What's your point?' asked Brad.

'It looks like a translation to me, from some other language.'

'Yes!' exclaimed Clive. 'I see what you're driving at. The people behind the Website are not English speakers.'

'Meaning their own language is one of the others,' said Brad, 'but which one?'

'Whichever one proves not to look like it was translated from something else, I guess,' said Shelby. 'I know that's a lot of work for someone, checking them out.'

'But it's a start,' said Clive. He turned to Brad. 'I owe you that drink, Sir. And several for you, Doctor Wright, large ones.'

Shelby did roll her eyes this time, but neither man noticed. It was typical that even in a serious situation, men needed to make bets with each other. She was relieved to have contributed something, but where did she go from here?

'Righty-ho,' said Clive, 'I think we should pursue this language thing immediately. I'll take care of that. Brad, could you organize a secure laptop and mobile phone for our new recruit? Doctor Wright,