Death Toll Rising: America is under attack, #1

By Terry Keys

Award-winning author Terry Keys takes you on an edge-of-your-seat, high-octane thrill ride for the ages!

Psychological thriller for the ages, fab read will want to read more of this author, at one point I could not read quick enough I was that engrossed (Amazon Customer)

A gripping thrill ride in the tradition of Brad Thor, Vince Flynn, James Patterson, Jack Reacher and Harlan Coben, Death Toll Rising will keep you up all night! HBO's Homeland on steroids! The suspense will push you to the edge! 

US President Jackie Wilson fresh off her election victory wasted no time pushing for the change her campaign promised. World leaders descended to her hometown of Houston, Texas to attend the first World-Wide Religious Summit. As the eve of the summit approached Japan's Prime Minister, Akio Yoshida, suddenly falls dead… murdered in Houston's Chinatown. His final moments had been broadcast live for the entire world to see. During the stream a chilling death threat was made to the remaining world leaders and America was named as the mastermind behind the terror sending shockwaves across the globe. Leaping into action the FBI, CIA and Homeland Security attempt to pursue the real murderers but are left with no clues, no leads and ultimately no direction. As promised the following day at noon another world leader suddenly dies.  In a desperate attempt to restore order to chaos, HPD Detective David Porter and his team are summoned to help with the case. As global panic sets in and the world begins to lose patience as the possibility of nuclear Armageddon lurks in the shadows. 
With everyone paralyzed by fear and time quickly running out, the fate of earth as we know it hangs delicately in the balance. The world could be coming to an end... no one wanted to watch… but no one could look away… The war on terror has reached home... 

Buy Death Toll Rising to enjoy this super-powered thrill-ride!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Terry Keys
• Release date: May 23, 2017
• ISBN: 9781542386333

Book preview

Prologue

Dry, lung-scarring heat forced Akio Yoshida to take a deeper, harder breathe than he was used to. Japan’s prime minister had barely reached the bottom of the private jet’s staircase, and he could already feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead. If there really was a hell on earth, he’d found it. He had made several trips to the United States, but this was his first to Houston, and the rumors about the humidity and the unbearable summer climate had proven to be true.

Bush Intercontinental Airport was as busy as it ever was. Planes landed or took off every few minutes it seemed. It rivaled Japan’s Narita International Airport, Akio thought to himself. A dozen armed U.S. soldiers were already in place and surrounded the small plane. A handful of prescreened journalists and photographers also stood nearby trying to catch a glimpse of Akio. They all wanted the shot for their newspaper or website. A handful of onlookers gathered as well.

Akio was in Houston to attend the world’s first Religious International Summit. The goal of the summit was to bridge the gap between various religions around the globe, repair strained relationships, and start to build peace. The summit would include leaders from Japan, China, Russia, Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, Kenya, Egypt, Turkey, Kuwait, Israel, France, Italy, England, Germany, and a handful of African nations. The summit was scheduled to begin in two days. Yoshida was the last of the visiting country leaders to arrive in Houston. He still had a few days to spare and planned to tour a few places in the highly cultured city. Among his stops would be the Johnson Space Center, the Holocaust Museum, and the USS Texas which intrigued the man more than it probably should have. The USS Texas was the last remaining vessel that was active during WWI and WWII and was an amazing part of both world and American history.

Houston also boasted a very impressive Chinatown that Yoshida wanted to visit. This, he had decided, would be his first stop. A few drinks and, if it went as planned, a few special guests to keep him company.

Rush hour traffic in Houston was legendary for being some of the worst in the nation. It was nearing five p.m., which meant any type of travel would be a nightmare. Yoshida and his team had overlooked this detail when scheduling arrival time. What would typically by a forty-minute drive to Chinatown would now easily take closer to two hours, Yoshida was informed.

A tall, square-chinned, middle-aged man with a sergeant badge approached Akio. The man, Sergeant Butler, bowed to the prime minister.

He extended his hand to shake. Konnichiwa, sir, Butler said.

Akio bowed back. Konnichiwa. It is an honor to be here in your country.

We are honored to have you, sir. You have the entire power of the U.S. Secret Service at your disposal.

Suddenly, two of Yoshida’s men rushed to his side. Akio raised his hand, gesturing the men to stand down.

Butler looked both men firmly in the eyes, almost beaming through them. I want to assure you every conceivable security measure has been taken. The health and well-being of the prime minister will be my number one concern until we put him back on this jet in five days, Butler sternly announced.

Thank you, Sergeant Butler. My men are very protective. I have an incredible security team; I want them quickly brought up to speed.

Yes, sir. I will bring them up to speed in short order. The United States military is the finest in the world. If we can’t protect you, no one can. Every detail needs to run through me before it happens.

A few of Yoshida’s men smiled wryly but no one replied.

Yoshida was escorted to a waiting limousine. Butler and a few of Yoshida’s men climbed in behind him and started discussing the security details. 

Yoshida’s team had informed the U.S. of his itinerary, and his first stop, Fu Fu Café, was fully reserved and awaited the prime minister’s arrival. The restaurant topped many lists as the best place to eat in Houston’s Chinatown, and Yoshida was eager to give it a shot.

Private entertainment had also been arranged and would be provided by a small local band. The restaurant was known for being open late, upward of five or six a.m., which also suited the Japanese leader. His late-night parties were well-known.

Sergeant Butler, we have been moving twenty minutes but have only traveled a short distance. Is there a problem with this route? Yoshida asked with a look of concern on his face.

It’s rush hour here in Houston, sir. Any route around the city will be equally as bad.

Yoshida threw his hands up in the air. So it’s like this every day here?

I’m afraid so, sir. And worse if we encounter an accident along the way.

Yoshida muttered something in Japanese that made his men laugh. Butler smiled politely. He felt like he was the ass of the joke, but he wasn’t sure what he’d said or done. Language aside, you can always tell when you aren’t in on the joke. It bothered him, but what the hell could he do about it?

Yoshida stared in amazement at the gridlock of cars all around him. He wondered why his team hadn’t better planned this out.

Finally, a little over an hour later, the group arrived at the restaurant. A US-led security team had already swept the place twice and given the all clear for the Prime Minister. The team had established a perimeter and stood outside, armed and ready for Akio’s arrival.

As the limousine pulled up, patrons who were in eyesight pushed in closer, everyone wanting to catch a glimpse of the foreign leader. Cameras were already flashing by the dozens.

As the car came to a stop, three armed guards walked over and opened a rear door. Akio climbed out of the limo and bowed, waving to the gathered crowd as he walked into the restaurant.

The entire waitstaff stood along the front, and each of them greeted Yoshida. The youngest and cutest of the waitstaff escorted Yoshida to his table in a back, a dimly lit corner of the restaurant. Someone had done a great job making sure he got the best service. Yoshida’s affinity for women was no secret.

Both the U.S. and Japanese secret service teams had the entire restaurant secured. Men with guns and no smiles paced back and forth, ready to leap into action at a moment’s notice. Sergeant Butler had been given direct expectations from the president herself regarding the well-being of Yoshida. Her exact words, "Do not eff this up, Sergeant Butler," couldn’t have been clearer.

As the hours rolled by, Akio had become bored with the band. A few weeks earlier his security had prescreened some adult entertainment to accompany him at his request. Akio told the men to send for the women now. He slammed back three more shots while he waited.

About fifteen minutes later, two young, tight-bodied blonde entertainers stood outside the front of the restaurant.

Sergeant Butler heard his name called over the radio. He pointed to Akio to stay put. Akio smiled.

Butler here what’s going on out there Petty Officer Newman? he called into his radio.

Sorry to bother you, sir, but . . . uh, two strippers—I’m sorry, adult entertainers—just showed up. Said they were called, Newman nervously replied.

Who the hell called them, Newman? And how do you know they’re strippers? Are you sure they are at the right place?

Sir, I don’t know who called them. That’s why I’m calling you. And trust me, these skirts ain’t here for wonton soup. They asked for Mr. Akio by name.

Just then, Butler saw several of Akio’s men heading toward the front of the restaurant.

Hold on, Newman, Butler said.

He turned to the head of Yoshida’s security team. You guys hire some goddamn girls? he hissed, putting a hand on the man’s chest.

Yes, are they here? Mr. Yoshida is waiting for them. And I’d watch where I put those hands.

Butler inched closer to the man, purposefully invading his personal space. This is not how this is going to work. Everything needs to run through me, compadre. Got it? I thought I made that painstakingly clear a few hours ago.

The man pointed in Butler’s face. Listen, cowboy, we no work for you. We work for Mr. Yoshida. If he asks for girls, we bring him girls. Mr. Yoshida always gets what he wants. You got it? he taunted pushing a stiff finger into Butler’s chest.

The two men stood face-to-face and glared into each other’s eyes.

Finally Butler spoke up. My orders come from the President of the freaking United States. I don’t give a damn what you or your goddamn boss wants. My job is to keep his ass alive, and we do it my way on my turf. This isn’t freaking Japan. None of you are running this show. This is my show.

Butler grabbed his radio. Newman, pat ’em down and then let them in.

Excuse me, sir?

You heard me. Pat them down, and then let them in. Or do I need to come and do it?

Nooo, sir. I can handle this one. 10-4.

Akio’s security man smiled then turned to walk away. Butler grabbed the man’s shoulder and spun him around to face him. I let them in this time. For the next five days, everything runs through me. No more passes. We clear?

The man smiled at Butler again, gave the slightest of nods, and slowly walked away. He turned back one last time and winked at Butler, who gritted his teeth.

What the hell is this guy’s problem? Butler thought. Here he was, trying to keep his asshole boss safe, and all this guy wanted to do was make it harder.

As the girls walked by, Butler frowned. One of them blew Butler a kiss.

Yoshida had moved to a private room by the time Butler got back to check on him. He opened the door to find the prime minister surrounded by three topless girls, one of them already perched on top of the five-foot-five leader.

Butler shook his head, closed the door, and posted up just outside of it.

Thirty minutes later, Butler popped his head in again. Another girl was now astride Yoshida.

He go all night. He Japanese, one of the guards jeered to Butler, clearly poking fun at the American. All of Yoshida’s crew laughed.

Butler knew he should turn and walk away, but he couldn’t help himself. These guys had already pissed him off, and he was done taking their shit. Well, you guys better be able to go all night. I’ve heard . . . Butler put a hand in the air with his thumb and index finger about two inches apart.

One of the men lunged toward Butler, who never flinched or moved. Don’t make me have to shoot you, because I won’t hesitate. My job is to protect him, and I have the green light to shoot anyone who threatens my ability to do so. And that includes your dumb ass too, little man.

Butler’s radio went off again.

Butler here, he said, never taking his eyes off the bodyguard.

It’s Newman. Director Burke is on the SAT phone. He needs to speak with you now.

About what? And why right now, Newman? I’m sure whatever it is can wait. I’m kind of busy at the moment.

I don’t know, sir. He wouldn’t tell me. He said to get you on the phone now. Seems pretty anxious to talk to you, sir.

Butler took a quick walk toward the front to retrieve the SAT phone from Newman. When he got to Newman, he hurriedly snatched it from his hand.

Butler here.

Butler, listen to me closely. Al Jazeera just posted a 750-page dossier of a supposedly leaked U.S. military operation. It claims the United States government hatched a plan to kill all the leaders here for the Summit one by one. Akio Yoshida was named as the first to die. There are names, places, details of secret meetings that allegedly took place over the last five years. It’s complex, and at first glance it looks pretty damning. This puts us in defcon two, Butler. Go put your hands on Yoshida and don’t let him out of your freaking sight. Do you hear me? You are to sit and wait for further instructions.

Butler tried to comprehend what Burke was telling him. He replayed the message in his head again.

So someone created fake documents to make the United States look like we’re trying to take over the world? Whoever went to that much trouble didn’t create this as an idle threat.

Butler dropped the radio and sprinted to the back where Yoshida was. Several of the other soldiers took notice and ran behind him. He was about twenty yards from the door when he heard the first screams.

It was coming from the private room. The girls were screaming at the top of their lungs. Why the hell are they screaming? Butler thought. What in the hell was happening?

Yoshida’s men who were stationed outside the private room’s door bolted into the room just as Butler reached it. Everyone had their weapons drawn.

They all stared in horror. Yoshida’s lifeless body was slumped over onto the floor. Butler ran over to check the fallen leader’s vitals. He checked his neck and his wrists. Nothing.

He turned to the escorts. What the hell happened here?

We don’t know. He just fell over. We were dancing for him, and he just fell over, one of the girls persisted.

Newman burst through the door with his cell phone in his hand. Sir, you’re going to want to see this—like right now.

Newman handed the iPhone to Butler. He held the phone out in front of him so Yoshida’s men could also watch. Perched in front of a camera, sitting on a wooden chair, a man whose entire face and body were covered in traditional Arabic clothing spoke.

To the children of Islam, I am speaking to you. The true followers. America’s true self today has been shown to the world. We have been warning you for decades that America has one plan, one goal, and one ally, and that is herself. Today Prime Minister Akio Yoshida was murdered by the United States as part of their plan to take over the world.

Suddenly the live video of the man was gone, replaced by . . . What the hell? Butler thought. The video was now streaming from the very room they were in. The camera panned in on Yoshida’s dead body and then around to the US military men who were also present. Butler waved his hand in the air to try to find the hidden camera. He zeroed in on it, took out his service weapon, and fired two rounds into it.

The video began streaming again from the man in the chair.

You see, America has always wanted to rule the world. They have always wanted this to be the way. You saw what they did to Mr. Yoshida. The American plan to take over the world, released by our brothers on Al Jazeera today, is clear, and now the hateful Americans have followed through with the first promised murder. Join with me, brothers around the world. We must stop them. They seek to destroy our way of life and annihilate all Muslims. Leaders of the world, America will try to get you to leave their country now, under a false narrative of protecting you. Do not board any American plane. It is a trap. America has also paid many of your security teams, so trust no one. Islam is coming for you. We will find you and protect you from the infidels!

No one moved. Everyone just stared at Akio, looking back at them from the floor.

Bring me the AED! Butler demanded.

Ten seconds later, someone reached through and handed him an AED. He’d already cut Akio’s shirt open. He slammed the discs onto Akio’s chest and pressed the button on the AED.

The machine barked out orders. Charge needed. Will charge in five seconds. Clear.

Akio’s body jumped when the charge hit him, but he still remained lifeless. The machine attempted to jolt his heart back several more times, but it was too late.

Butler hadn’t even noticed, but the Japanese soldiers were all standing with weapons drawn and pointed at the U.S. contingent.

Butler put his hands into the air. America is not behind this. You need to lower your weapons now before a lot of good people die. We didn’t even have a person in this room. The only uninvited guests are the ones you arranged to come here.

Our leader is dead here on American soil. You told us Mr. Akio would be safe here. It was your job to protect him, one of Akio’s men said.

Hey, pal, that’s all the hell I’ve been trying to do here the last few hours. It was all of our goddamn jobs to protect him. You invited the girls. Way I see it, it couldn’t have been anyone else. Newman, cuff these girls now.

The SAT phone rang, and Newman handed it to Butler.

Butler speaking, he answered, his eyes still trained on the weapons of the Japanese.

Director Burke here. I got the president breathing down my neck on this. What the hell happened out there? And the whole world just saw that damn video with you going John Wayne and shooting the camera. It makes us look even guiltier.

Sir, I don’t know. None of us know. I panicked. Just wanted to stop the transmission and figured that was the best way. As far as Yoshida goes, there are no knife or gunshot wounds and no blunt force trauma to the head or neck area. I can’t even determine a goddamn cause of death. I can’t see one thing wrong with him. He literally just toppled over onto the floor. But there are no vitals. Make no mistake about it; Prime Minister Akio Yoshida is dead. Best I can tell is maybe cardiac arrest. Maybe a heart attack.

Well, you better figure something out, because not only is he dead, sergeant, but the world thinks the United States of America murdered him.

Chapter 1

"Keep your back elbow up, and bring your hands through the hitting zone last. Fast hands. Come on, turn on one."

My nearly eight-year-old daughter, Karen, was coaching Jose Altuve as he dug in at the plate for his second at bat of the game. She’d really taken to softball and baseball and every nuance that went along with them. If she was going to play, she wanted to be the all-time best at it.

I’d have to thank Chief Hill for these seats when I got back from vacation. I’d watched a handful of Astros games in my day, but I’d never been this close. Field level seats right behind the Astros’ dugout.

Excuse me, coach. But I hope you know he can’t hear you, Hilary said, rolling her eyes.

He can to hear me, Karen called back.

I shook my head and gave Hilary a glance of disapproval. I didn’t understand why eighteen year olds were sometimes so damn sarcastic.

Hil, if Coach Karen wants to give the guy some batting advice, who are we to get in her way? my wife, Miranda, said.

The game was in the bottom of the third inning. The bases were loaded with the score one to zero favoring the Astros.

Daddy, why didn’t you play baseball? Karen asked. I think you could have been pretty good.

Hilary rolled her eyes.

Well, honey, I was pretty good at football. And at six foot three I was unusually tall for a running back, which meant more colleges gave me looks for football. I do love baseball. And when I was younger I was really good at it.

Daddy was good at all sports, Karen, Miranda said, smiling at me.

Dad, why aren’t there many blacks playing baseball? I mean, look out there, Hilary noted.

That is a pretty good question, young lady, Miranda said.

Well, there’s an easy and complicated answer for that. A lot of the inner city youth who end up filling out NBA and NFL teams don’t get exposed to baseball. And by the time they get to high school, they simply don’t have the skills required to compete.

Hmmm. Well, that kind of makes sense.

I hugged my wife as we both shared a laugh.

Hey, what’s so funny? Karen asked.

Nothing was really funny; this was perfect—everything was perfect. My life, our lives, were whole again. Being a detective was incredibly rewarding at times. Catching a killer who you’ve been chasing for months on end gives me a high that’s hard to beat. No one told me while I was in the academy that a police officer’s family would have to endure so much. I love trying to get into the head of a criminal and