Storming the Hill: Book 3 of the Shadowkill Trilogy

By Mark S. R. Peterson

Book 3 of the Shadowkill Trilogy
A team of mercenaries has infiltrated the White House.
Their ransom: complete control of SHADOW team.
Will Major Walker and the Mechanical Clandestine Division of the US Military pay the heavy price to save the country? Or does Lucas, Stacy, and the rest of SHADOW team have another plan?

STORMING THE HILL is the third and final novel in the Shadowkill Trilogy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark S. R. Peterson
• Release date: Oct 5, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370833016

Mark S. R. Peterson

Born in small-town northwestern Minnesota, Mark S. R. Peterson knew he had a love of writing as far back as 2nd grade.His genre interests are as expansive as his musical tastes–from classics like Mozart and Beethoven to heavy metal like Poison and Metallica. He writes thrillers, horror, science fiction, and fantasy, and even dabbles into nonfiction and inspirational.He is a graduate of Bemidji State University, majoring in criminal justice and psychology. He wrote his first book between homework and achieving his 2nd Dan black belt in Tae Kwon Do. He has over 15 years of law enforcement experience and currently lives, according to a Washington Post article, in the “ugliest county” in the United States.BEHOLDER’S EYE is his first published thriller novel, the first in his Central Division Series. KILLZONE is the first in his Shadowkill trilogy.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Raymond Rockford weaved through the heavy mall traffic. He had studied the store map near the entrance, knowing his destination was a temporary store set up solely for the upcoming holiday season.

Game-O’Rama.

Sounded a bit 1980ish, but he honestly didn’t care.

He rounded the corner, ignoring the kiosk vendors set up along the middle of the aisle, vying for his attention and money. Game-O’Rama was straight ahead. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure the store stocked the item he needed, but they claimed to carry the widest assortment of games and puzzles.

They handled a certain brand that specialized in 3D puzzles of historic buildings, from the Capitol Building in Washington DC to Harry Potter’s fictional Hogwarts Castle.

Over the past two weeks, Raymond had visited close to thirty malls without any luck. He asked the General why they couldn’t just order it online.

Because it creates a digital trail, said retired United States Marine General Carter Williams. And that’s the last thing we need is a goddamned digital trail.

Raymond’s first stop was the Mall of America in Bloomington, Minnesota. No go. Oh, sure, he found a variety of 3D puzzles. Just not the one they want. They could’ve ordered it, but again it would’ve created a trail, for they wanted his email address to notify him of its arrival.

Thanks, but no thanks.

Now, he’s in the backwoods town of Fargo, North Dakota. Not exactly a sprawling metropolis like New York or Los Angeles or even DC, but it certainly wasn’t a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sort of town either.

The store was shoulder-to-shoulder with people. This was the one thing he hated about the holidays. Shopping. And not just any shopping. Holiday shopping. When he was in high school and worked at the local K-mart in Billings, Montana, he worked every single day from the day after Thanksgiving until Christmas Eve. No one had any days off, including the managers themselves.

When he graduated, he enlisted in the Marines as fast as he could. It was the best decision he ever made.

He finally found the brand of puzzles he had been searching for along the far wall. He moved as fast as he could, elbowing past people with gentle nudges. Then, his heart seemed to skip a beat.

There, along the bottom shelf, was the exact puzzle he was looking for.

Bingo!

But before he reached it, a lady in her early thirties snatched it up. It was the last one on the shelf. He didn’t know if they had more stored in the back, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

Excuse me, ma’am, said Raymond, tapping her on the shoulder. I really need that puzzle.

No way! It’s mine!

Please, ma’am, my son was just diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer and this puzzle has always been a dream of his.

She held it close to her, wrapping both hands around it. Well you can’t have it. It’s mine. Get another one. There are plenty like it.

But none like this one.

He held out two one-hundred dollar bills. The sticker on the box was $49.99.

Again, she shook her head, and marched straight to the counter.

* * *

Terminal stomach cancer, my ass. I bet he doesn’t even have a son.

Marleen Dutcher stuffed the present in the trunk, along with all the other gifts. She looked back towards the mall entrance to see if that man was following her, and, when she saw no sign of him, drove away.

Since the brief encounter in the game store, she never saw him again.

Marleen, however, did have a son. He had Asperger’s, and more than anything else, he thrived on putting together puzzles. And the more difficult, the better.

Hence the reason she wanted this particular 3D puzzle. The pieces were smaller and it was bigger than other 3D puzzles of the same historic location. Adam would still put it together in only six or eight hours, she would guess, but at least it would keep him occupied.

She got home, and opened the garage door. The bus would be here in an hour and fifteen minutes. More than enough time to hide the packages. Tomorrow she would wrap them. It would still be a chore to keep Adam from ripping open the presents, but once they’re wrapped he wouldn’t be able to see what they were.

After unlocking the door, she came back out. She popped open the trunk.

Excuse me, ma’am.

She whipped around. It was the man from the mall.

What the hell are you doing here? She gripped her keys in her hands, lacing them through her fingers, just like she was taught in her self-defense class. How did you find me? Did you follow me?

He held up four or five one-hundred dollar bills this time. "Please, I really need that puzzle. I’ll give you all this, no questions asked."

No.

He took a step closer.

If you don’t get back in your car, I’ll scream. Honest to God, I will.

He took out more bills from his pocket. Okay, you drive a hard bargain. One thousand dollars. Cash. You don’t know how much it would mean to me if you’d let me buy it from you.

She could really use a thousand dollars. The private school Adam attended just raised their tuition and, even though her husband Bill made decent money teaching at the university in Moorhead, their monthly budget had been a bit strained lately since he decided to lease a new BMW.

If he’s willing to pay two hundred before and a thousand now, maybe he’ll go even higher.

She shook her head. Sorry, my son-

With blinding speed, he charged at her, clamping a hand over her throat and pinning her to the side of the car. He forced her onto the concrete floor, keeping one hand over her mouth and now squeezing tighter around her throat.

She flailed her arms and kicked, just like she had been taught, but it seemed to do no good. The energy she exerted didn’t last very long. She struggled to breathe, but each time she tried, he squeezed more and more. She tried scratching his arms, but all she got was his coat.

Her vision quickly grew blurry and she saw flashes of light.

Adam. Please God take care of . . .

* * *

He hadn’t expected to kill her.

But he had to do what he had to do.

He needed that puzzle. He had to do everything he could to gain possession of one.

He’s certain even an amateur coroner would rule her death a homicide, but the more distance he can put between himself and this house the better.

It wasn’t the first time he had killed someone. But it was the first time he killed someone for a puzzle.

A 3D puzzle of the White House, mind you.

The lady was right when she said there were other 3D puzzles of the White House. But this particular brand included not only the White House building itself, it also had the east and west wing as well.

And that was exactly what he needed.

CHAPTER ONE

Dragon eased through the doorway, Bat following right behind. The barrel of the sniper rifle was next to her right ear.

Since both were equipped with drone capabilities, they were assigned to cover the roof. Dragon swept her M4 from side to side, seeing no one through the night vision goggles.

The other two teams covered the two entrances: the front door and the basement. Even though their objective seemed simple--recover the bomb-making devices and apprehend the master bomb maker himself, Mohammad al-Bashir--they never assumed missions would be simple.

Dragon and Bat were designated as Red Team. Shootergod, Maverick, and Gutter were assigned the front door as Blue Team. Green Team, coming in through the sewer system, consisted of Ninjaskills, Stone Cold, and Weaselman.

All were in position.

The building was a run-down apartment building located in downtown Chicago. Its only occupants were rodents, cockroaches, and the bomb-making thugs.

Bat’s sniper rifle was equipped with a suppressor. The initial plan was to get as close to the bombs as possible without alerting the bad guys of their presence. Two homeless were passed out on the landing beneath the roof door. They had no weapons, but Red Team was cautious anyway.

They slipped past them and were met with three more on the next landing.

Red Team to HQ and other teams, said Dragon over the headset. Be aware, there are homeless living in here. We’ve met with five so far and have two floors yet to go. All are unarmed and passed out, but be aware.

Shootergod, the team leader, thanked her for the update.

Intelligence stated that the bombs were on the third floor. Supposedly, back in the 1920’s and 30’s, the building was owned by a wealthy doctor. The room in question was the doctor’s bedroom, which also housed a large safe room. Its door was consisted of thick steel, resembling a bank vault.

Stationed outside the third floor room were two guards, with Uzi submachine rifles strapped along their shoulders. Both wore sunglasses, despite the dim interior.

Green Team had quickly gained control of the circuit breaker, which was also where the bulk of the video wires congregated. A single guard stood nearby. A quick suppressed shot by Weaselman put him out of commission.

Then, Ninjaskills went to work on accessing the video feed, creating a loop so their movements would be hidden.

Cameras lined the third floor and front door. Blue Team was the team assigned to storm inside, quickly and silently, and enter the room where Mohammad al-Bashir and two associates were working. Green Team, upon getting the go, would take out the two guards.

* * *

Maverick held up a fist.

The current video feed displayed fourteen homeless people scattered between the first and second floors. Three were huddled by the front door. They had to be careful not to step on them.

HQ, how sure are we that the homeless are not dangerous? asked Shootergod. He was behind Maverick and Gutter, using his sniper rifle to locate any movement in the windows above them.

Headquarters was silent on the matter. Green Team, are you positive the homeless are unarmed?

We didn’t pat them down, said Dragon. But all are passed out. We found beer bottles along the floor near them. Please advise if you want us to frisk them. Be aware that it would awaken them, which could also alert the third floor guards.

Shootergod sighed. I just hate assumptions. Okay, original plan. Give us the go, Green Team.

When Ninjaskills said the looping video feed was working, Maverick brought his fist down and pointed at the front door. He eased inside, taking the left side while Gutter took the right. Shootergod squatted by the door, peeking back at the empty street, then turning his attention to any threats from inside.

The first floor was clear. As they made their way to the second floor, Bat from Green Team said, Two guards taken out. You’re clear, Blue Team.

That was the signal they were waiting for. With great speed and catlike silence, they bounded up the stairs, past the second floor, onto the third. The two guards were along the floor, blood seeping from shots to their temples.

CHAPTER TWO

Red Team stayed as backup to the right of the door while Blue Team slipped up to it.

Shootergod switched to heat sensitive vision. He saw only two inside, but, with the steel lining of the safe room near the back, it may hinder him seeing any heat signatures.

He changed back to regular vision. Along the third floor, the lights were on.

Maverick counted off three . . . two . . . one-

He smashed the door in, moving immediately to the right and Gutter to the left. Two men were seated at a table before them, soldering irons in their hands. The one of the left grabbed a Glock, but was quickly taken out.

The one on the right ducked under the table, reaching for a set of wires along the wall. They had been briefed about this. It was one of the two possible outcomes that would blow up the entire building.

The wires, when pulled from the wall, signalled to a group of a dozen armed guards in a nearby building. They had trained hard and long for this possibility, and could be inside in less than sixty seconds.

Shootergod shot the man in the head. His hand was two or three inches away from the wires.

The door to the safe room closed tight.

Gutter pulled on it. Damn, it’s locked. Ninjaskills, we need you to blow a door.

Ninjaskills was the only soldier who had experience with ordinances. Sure, the others could toss in a grenade or launch a rocket. But when C4 or other explosives were needed, Ninjaskills was their man.

Be right there.

Then, moments later, Ninjaskills said, HQ, teams, we have a problem.

* * *

Red Team noticed the problem first.

The homeless weren’t homeless after all.

They were stationed around the building to guard against situations like this.

And all were indeed armed.

With night vision goggles on, Bat turned behind as he heard movement. That’s when he saw three men, dressed as homeless, marching down the stairs armed with Uzis. He shot two before the third one realized there were soldiers on the stairs--even though Red Team had night vision goggles, these goons did not--and fired blindly into the wall.

Dragon brought down the third.

More emerged down the stairs as well as along the far end of the hallway.

* * *

Green Team saw the homeless stirring, but didn’t register they were a threat until they saw the men unpacking Uzis and Glocks from underneath their coats.

Then they heard the shooting from Red Team.

Weaselman and Stone Cold ran off first, leaving Ninjaskills to monitor the video feed. Weaselman stayed right behind Stone Cold, who, as usual, packed the heavy gear: a belt-fed M60. When they came up onto the first floor, the stairs had seven or eight men heading up. Stone Cold lit them up, dropping them in seconds before they could return fire.

From a side room, two more came out and Weaselman shot both in the head. She switched to her heat sensitive goggles. First floor was clear.

But they didn’t get halfway up the stairs when four more blocked their way and fired down at them.

Stone Cold fired back and then noticed a grenade tossed down at them. Move! He leaped down the stairs, right behind Weaselman. Moments later, the grenade ripped the stairs apart.

We need to find another way, Weaselman said. She brought up the interior map on her onboard display. Intelligence on the exact floor plan was sketchy, as it had not been updated in decades and building plans were not on file at the courthouse. She saw no other stairway-

Fire escape route, she said, suddenly remembering the exterior when they first surveilled the building.

When they got to the front door entrance, Ninjaskills met with them.

Blue Team needs me, Ninjaskills said.

Can’t go up the stairs, said Stone Cold. Fuckers blew it apart with a goddamned grenade.

I’ll take my chances. He unleashed a pair of swords--a cross between a curved samurai sword and the short, straight ninja style--and ran towards the stairs.

Good luck slicing and dicing, Weaselman said, then bolted outside with Stone Cold right behind.

Sure enough, there were fire escapes along the sides. Two to their left and one on their right. Two of the three had no ladders for them to reach, but one on the far left did. They sprinted towards it. Weaselman leaped twenty feet into the air, catching the stairs and bringing it down with the SHADOW’s weight. Instead of a second floor landing, they sought out one on the third floor. It would be on the other end of the building from the other teams, but beggars can’t be choosers right now.

Besides, they thought coming in behind the goons guarding the stairs while Ninjaskills did his thing, they could trap them and have a better chance of succeeding.

They broke through a window leading right into a living room area. Old newspapers, boxes, and beer bottles were scattered all along the floor. A couch, which at one time may have been green, was covered with so much dust and dirt that much of it looked like the color of shit.

But reminiscing on the condition of the living quarters was not on their priority list. They made it to the door.

They cracked it open.

Two men stood outside, dressed as homeless, aiming Uzis down the hall away from them, each with a cigarette dangling from their lips.

Weaselman held up two fingers.

Stone Cold nodded.

She whipped open the door as Stone Cold leveled his M60 on them. Before they could fire a shot, their chests were ripped to shreds.

They met NInjaskills at the stairs. Blood dripped from his sword blades.

What took you so long? Stone Cold asked, chuckling.

You should talk, I was waiting on your ass. With no time to waste, Ninjaskills ran into the room where the bomb maker was located.

Shootergod waved them over to the door that resembled a bank vault. Quick, blow it.

What about this other stuff? asked Ninjaskills, gesturing towards the bomb parts strewn out on a long table.

They’re useless.

You sure?

Ninjaskills marched right up to the table, scanning the parts. He then opened a small metal box. Inside were four small vials filled with a liquid that had a slight greenish tint. My God. Think again. He motioned his hand at the box.

What is it?

We need to get out of here. Now. He carefully closed the box, latching it. He peered under the table.

What? Is? It? asked Shootergod.

100X is the . . . nickname, for lack of a better word, said Ninjaskills. It’s an experimental explosive that, believe it or not, the Nazis designed. On paper. Their chemists never got around to actually creating it. If World War II had lasted another few months, I’m positive the outcome would’ve been worse if this would’ve been produced. I could tell you the chemical name, but just call it 100X. It’s much easier. The Nazi’s called it Liquid Blitzkrieg. A single drop could level a room of this size. One of those vials in that box could destroy this entire building, creating a crater twenty feet deep, And there are four vials in there.

So, we can’t just toss it out the window, huh? asked Weaselman.

Ninjaskills held up his hands. If you did that, say goodbye to this entire city block. And that’s a conservative estimate. It could be as much as three or four city blocks. Like I said, it’s experimental. But chemists have created computer simulations of it, and they say it could work.

How did you know about it? asked Shootergod.

As an EOD, I’m versed in all forms of explosives. Ironically, yesterday morning, I was reading up on how the Nazis advanced the field of explosives.

Why 100X?

100X is the nickname, like I said, because it is supposed to have an explosive impact one hundred times created than that of dynomite.

Shootergod cocked a thumb at the safe door. How are we supposed to get him out of there?

CHAPTER THREE

Major Melanie Walker, head of SHADOW team for the Mechanical Clandestine Division of the United States Armed Forces, peered over at the CIA Liaison, Wendy Kooper. Say something?

They were in the situation room, monitoring SHADOW’s progress. The eight members were in the other room, in their virtual reality gear, while the SHADOW soldiers were in the heart of Chicago.

Wendy shook her head. How did he . . . the 100X? she asked, her