Black Operator: The Kremlin Assassins

By Eric Meyer

The latest epic shortread novella from bestselling author Eric Meyer.

Maria Tereshkova is running for her life. She has been forced to flee to the United States in order to stay ahead of the killers. Her bodyguard, former DEA agent Cris Rhodes, uses every weapon in his armory, every trick he has learned in the bloody battles against the drug cartels, to guard her from those who would kill her. And still they come, the killers sent by the Kremlin and trained by Russian Special Forces. Killers sent directly from Moscow itself, and from the President who will stop at nothing to destroy those who challenge his authority.

After a massive car bomb attack nearly kills them both, Rhodes has no choice but to set a trap for the next killer. The Kremlin Assassins are determined there will be no mistakes this time, and their attacks are more brutal and more relentless than ever before. Maria not only faces the threat from the Kremlin, but of deportation back to her country where she will face certain death. Yet it is not just her life at stake, but the fate of millions of civilians. ‘The Kremlin Assassins’ is a whirlwind action thriller, a desperate story of survival against all the odds.

The author, Eric Meyer, has written many other thrillers, including the popular SEAL Team Bravo titles, the Raider series, as well as Echo Six and the Devil's Guard series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Swordworks Books
• Release date: Jul 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9781911092780

Eric Meyer

An internationally recognized expert on the subjects of HTML, CSS, and Web standards, Eric has been working on the web since late 1993. He is the founder of Complex Spiral Consulting, a co-founder of the microformats movement, and co-founder (with Jeffrey Zeldman) of An Event Apart, the design conference series for people who make web sites. Beginning in early 1994, Eric was the campus Web coordinator for Case Western Reserve University, where he authored a widely acclaimed series of three HTML tutorials and was project lead for the online version of the Encyclopedia of Cleveland History combined with the Dictionary of Cleveland Biography, the first example of an encyclopedia of urban history being fully and freely published on the Web.

Book preview

BLACK OPERATOR: THE KREMLIN ASSASSINS

By Eric Meyer

Copyright 2017 by Eric Meyer

Published by Swordworks Books

www.facebook.com/ericmeyerfiction

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Prologue

He stared across the table at the girl they were trying to kill. The restaurant was perfect, and the cuisine exquisite. Maybe the waiters were a tad attentive, but Maria Tereshkova, no stranger to good living and fine dining, was enjoying herself. As if they hadn’t forced her to flee to the United States after putting her name on the ballot paper for the Russian Presidency. The last time they almost succeeded. They’d try again; it was a matter of time.

Cris Rhodes looked around the restaurant, searching for threats, found none and tried to relax. A connoisseur of frozen dinners and takeaway pizza, the French-style haute cuisine was alien to the former DEA operator. His parents hadn’t been rich, and he’d worked his ass off to get through college.

A career in DEA followed, and he became a member of an elite team. Stakeouts, lightning raids into enemy compounds with other black-clad operators; laden with weapons and equipment, sweating in body armor, the atmosphere crackling with tension as they waited for the bullets to fly, and a succession of hurried meals out of polystyrene cartons. The astringent relish they used to disguise the flavor of stale, reheated food. Spices, hot plastic, and the charged stink of pre-mission nerves. Who could forget the mind-numbing fear, pulse racing, and adrenaline surging, preparing the body for the violent surge of action. And a single thought.

Is this the day I stop the final bullet?

Did you enjoy your meal?

He regarded her across the table, slim, erect, and dynamic, with an inner core of sprung steel, a woman of the new Russia. Her attractive, dark-haired public face a thin veil for the tough determination that lay beneath. Classic high cheekbones and oval face, she could only hail from that mysterious region beyond the Steppes. And the bastards wanted to kill her. He had to stop them getting to her. He’d seen too many innocents cut down in a welter of blood. The reason he’d quit his job with DEA.

They’d met in the street, an accidental encounter. Later, when the assassin sent by the Russians slaughtered her bodyguard, he’d vowed to protect her. Eventually, he killed the man, after a long chase that left bodies strewn over the streets and environs of Chicago.

For a few seconds, he was back in Mexico. Non-combatants, ordinary folk running from the bullets of the narco traffickers, the cartel blasting them aside with assault rifle fire, like they were of no value. After so long, the nightmares still haunted him. He often woke in the night drenched in sweat, recalling the staccato bursts of gunfire, guttural orders in Mexican Spanish, and the screams of the wounded and dying.

His brain snapped back to the present. She was staring at him, her eyebrows raised.

Something about the meal.

Uh, sure, yeah. It was…wonderful.

She didn’t look convinced, took another sip of coffee, and smiled. For a while, I thought you were somewhere else.

She knew. They’d become close, what people would call an item. In the early hours when he awoke, shouting incomprehensibly, she’d be watching over him. Now she deserved his full attention. The restaurant was expensive, her treat, and he hadn’t wanted to ruin what should have been a happy evening. His birthday, he was thirty-four years of age, and she’d insisted on a night out. First, the Chicago Opera, a baffling production in Italian with subtitles on an electronic display. Afterward the restaurant, and a meal that was almost as baffling, French. People told him the food was wonderful. He wasn’t sure.

They left the restaurant and strolled toward their car across the street. A Range Rover, big V8 engine, tough and fast. So far there’d been no further attacks since the mysterious Russian gunman vanished into the dark depths of Lake Michigan. He was dead, still down there feeding the fishes. He looked around, all clear, and they continued walking. And stopped.

Hold it.

She raised her eyebrows. Something wrong?

No. A second later he amended his answer. This was Maria Tereshkova, the woman who had the Kremlin running scared, Maybe. I thought I saw something.

A man, walking away from the Range Rover; he looked too purposeful, pace too quick, like he was trying to get away from something bad.

What did you see?

Wait.

A hundred yards along the street the man dove into an alley. His head peeked out. Looked at Maria for longer than was reasonable, and dialed a number on his cellphone. Cris reacted.

Down!

She was too slow. He pushed her to the concrete and lay on top of her. A split second later, the blast erupted from their vehicle. Smoke and flames poured out, and a powerful shockwave gripped them, throwing them into the air. They landed hard, and she gasped and choked, trying to suck in air. Thick, roiling smoke hung over the wreckage, and he gave it a full minute in case more fuel ignited. When he was satisfied the threat was over, he helped her to her feet. The man had disappeared. No surprise.

Her eyes were wide with shock, but fighting to stay calm. You saved my life, again. Will these people never give up?

No. They’ll keep trying if they believe you have a chance of unseating the President. He won’t allow that to happen. Not now, not in the future, not ever.

Which means I’ll always be in danger.

He glanced at her, surprised.

Didn’t she known what she was up against before she began her crusade to unseat one of the most dangerous men in the world? Something has changed. What? I’ll worry about that later.

He nodded. Yes, you will. But we had a warning, which gives us time to prepare. It’ll take them some time before they can try again.

You’re sure they’ll try again?

Again, he wondered what had changed. They’ll come.

* * *

One week after the car bomb, he moved them to another apartment. Lincoln Park, with a spectacular view over Lake Michigan. He’d rented the fifth-floor condo using an ID card in a different name. One he’d kept since his undercover work with DEA. There was no way the enemy could know where they were, and he was confident he’d shaken them off, for a short time.

He’d chosen the apartment because the windows weren’t overlooked. In front of them was just the lake. No high-rise buildings offering a hiding for a would-be assassin, a marksman with a rifle. Not one hundred percent safe, but as near as he could make it. They could take a breath and recover from the shock of the assassination attempt.

Cris, I’m out here.

He’d just returned from a shopping expedition. He wouldn’t allow her outside, and he’d brought back a set of new clothes. A different profile to help keep them anonymous. She was a snappy dresser, so he’d chosen more conventional clothes for when they went out. A couple of chain store dresses, jeans, a baggy anorak, and dark glasses. Even a dull patterned silk headscarf. He dumped the bags in the hallway and entered the living room. She wasn’t there.

Where did you say you were?

Here, on the balcony. Come on out. It’s a lovely day, the sun is shining, and I’m enjoying the fresh air.

Jesus Christ!

He raced through the open balcony door, and she was sitting on a lounger, looking out over the lake. In the distance, scores of small boats plied back and forth, fishermen, leisure boaters, and a ferry heading into harbor laden with passengers. An innocent enough scene, but innocent scenes could hide something more dangerous.

Get inside. It’s not safe out here.

She waved a hand to dismiss his comment. "That’s ridiculous. We’re not overlooked, and I don’t intend to spend the final part of my stay in the