Blood Dawn

By Chris DiBella

Four Russian submariners wash up on a Florida Beach in 1989, seemingly the survivors of a sunken vessel. The reason for their being in such close proximity to the American shoreline soon becomes evident, as an elderly couple overhears a conversation that leads them to believe there’s much more to the story than just a malfunction at sea. For over thirty years, the fabricated account of the soldiers’ tale remains a mystery.
Sean Mercer and his partner, Pat Vigil, are in Colorado conducting research at Rocky Flats when they inadvertently stumble upon a massive tunnel system lying beneath an old nuclear facility. The discovery leads to questions about an unsolved mystery from decades earlier, but finding the answers they seek could lead them down a path from which they might not return.
Upon ascertaining information about a Russian plot to smuggle a nuclear bomb into the United States, Mercer realizes there may be a link to the current conspiracy and the discovery about the past. The race is on to find the nuclear weapon and bring the madman responsible for the threat to justice, but will time run out before he and his partner can thwart the attempt to detonate a nuclear weapon on U.S. soil?
Blood Dawn is the third installment in the NESA Files series featuring Sean Mercer and the rest of the NESA team.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris DiBella
• Release date: Dec 23, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370615711

Chris DiBella

Chris DiBella is the author of the NESA Files series. His latest novel, Blood Dawn is the third installment to feature Sean Mercer and the rest of the NESA team. Chris lives in Carlsbad, California, where he is active in the local community with other writers helping to spread the word about the wonderful world of books. He can sometimes be seen at local golf courses, pretending he knows how to golf, and he also authors a zombie/horror series under his pen name, Chris Tucker, titled The Infected Diaries. To contact Chris, you can visit www.chrisdibella.com www.facebook.com/authorchrisdibella or email: [e-mail]

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Prologue

Florida 1989

The warm air skirting off the Atlantic Ocean provided just enough of an effect to minimize the sweltering heat. Beachgoers were wading in the water and sunbathing on the hot sands of Flagler Beach, while children scurried along the oceanfront with kite strings in one hand and ice cream cones in the other.

Fred and Grace Archetto were doing their best to keep out of the sun by using an oversized beach umbrella to shelter the solar beams, but were still unable to escape the scorching heat of the day. Their granddaughter was frolicking nearby at the ocean’s edge, seemingly oblivious to the power of the sun.

Grace had just finished applying sunscreen lotion to her exposed body parts, but was having no success in the attempts to get her husband to do the same. Fred finally had enough of his wife’s nagging.

I don’t need it, woman. I’m sitting under an umbrella. How’s the sun going to get to me under here?

Oh, just put it on, you stubborn old goat. You don’t want to be sunburned for the whole trip, do you?

You’re the one who dragged me down to this overheated oasis. Providence is twenty degrees cooler and we could’ve gone to the beach back there. Not to mention, that beach is attached to the same ocean as the one we’re sitting in front of right now.

Is it going to kill you to experience a little culture? Now, quit your whining and put on this sunscreen so you don’t get burned.

Fred saw no point in carrying on with an argument he knew he would lose anyway. After forty-two years of marriage, he knew he would give in to his wife as he had done so many times before, and decided to put on the sunscreen. Grace decided that a little fun jabbing was in order.

See, I know what’s best for you. Now turn around and let me put it on your back.

Eh, I haven’t been able to say no to that pretty face in over forty years. I see no reason to start now.

The happy couple continued with their playful banter while observing their granddaughter playing in the sand. As he scanned the horizon, Fred thought he spotted something peculiar. He noticed four people swimming at what seemed to be a rather far distance from the shore.

Gracie, look at those fools out there. Don’t you think they’re a little too far out?

What are you, a lifeguard now? When you were younger, you swam out further than that. Besides, what do you care? They’re just doing what young people do… having fun. Or has it really been so long that you’ve forgotten what that feels like?

Fred dismissed his wife’s smart-aleck comeback and kept his eyes focused in the direction of the swimmers. They appeared to be making their way closer to shore, so he let his mind wander to other things as he called out to his granddaughter.

Hey, Seaweed, come on up here and get something to eat.

She hates it when you call her that, Grace commented.

Excited about the mention of food, the six-year-old hurriedly ran up to her grandfather and sat in his lap.

Over the next half hour, they ate lunch, enjoying sandwiches from a cooler which Fred reluctantly agreed to carry from the hotel. He was glad now that he had done so, as the turkey sandwiches his wife prepared were one of his favorite lunchtime meals. She always put the right amount of meat between the bread and knew the precise ratio of vegetables and condiments to layer in the perfect mixture of flavor.

Fred kept gazing in the distance as the four heads bobbled above the waves of the Atlantic. They seemed even closer, but something still felt odd about them being so far out in the first place. He pondered that maybe his wife was right and they were just out there having fun. Biting into his sandwich, he once again turned his attention away from them.

Your sandwiches should be on display in museums, dear. They are something to be truly admired. What do you think, Seaweed?

Grandpa, that’s not my name.

I told you, Grace quipped. Besides, you only like them because you can’t cook at all to nourish yourself. You’d be happy with any woman that could make you a passable meal.

Yeah, but what would I do to make up for the incessant nagging you give me? No one could ever replace you in that department, my love.

Keep it up, wise guy. It’s an awfully long walk back to Rhode Island.

Just make me a few sandwiches to hold me over until I get back, Fred retorted. I’ll be fine.

After finishing lunch, Fred gulped down some sweet tea Grace had also prepared for the day. He decided to sneak a peek and see what progress the four floating heads had made in their attempts to make it back to land.

They were much closer now and he could discern from the looks of them at this distance that they were most likely all males. He guessed it would only take about ten minutes before they walked out of the water and onto the sands of Flagler Beach. He figured at that time he could stop spending his day worrying about their adventures and get back to enjoying his vacation.

Grace had since dozed off and was able to stay in her slumber despite all the commotion surrounding her. The noise of the children and the waves breaking on the beach did nothing to deter her from getting a good afternoon nap.

With his granddaughter uninterested in having a conversation and with nothing else to occupy his time, Fred decided to time the swimmers and see how long it took them to reach dry land. By his watch, it had taken just over eight minutes from his original estimate of ten. What he next observed left him in an utter state of confusion.

The four men who waded ashore were wearing nothing but underwear and military-style hats. The looks on their faces were that of defeat after such a long and arduous swim from wherever they came, and they collapsed onto the sand almost immediately, hugging it as if it were the first time they had ever felt solid ground.

Unable to resist the urge, Fred quietly got up as to not wake his wife, and started making his way down to the water’s edge. An inner thought told him to grab the jug of sweet tea before going down to greet them. Upon arriving to the fatigued swimmers, he noticed something else out of the ordinary.

At first, Fred though it was just gibberish; the senseless ranting of tired men who were suffering from exhaustion after being out in the water far too long. After a few seconds, he realized it wasn’t random babble they were speaking, but instead it was another language. From the accents and certain recognizable words, he knew this dialect to be that of the Russian people.

The other beachgoers either didn’t seem to notice the strange scene unfolding or they were too wrapped up in their own fun experiences to care. Fred thought he had probably been the only one paying attention to them for the last half hour, therefore being the only one to even notice them now.

Are you gentlemen alright?

Three of the swimmers stared at the old man with a confused look, much like the one they were receiving in return. The fourth man spoke, but the accent and broken English, combined with the panting for breath, made it difficult for Fred to understand completely.

We…how do you say? We are very tired.

Fred tried to be sympathetic. Well, I can see that. You fellas just came in from the middle of the ocean. What were you doing out there?

At this point, Fred realized he still had the pitcher of tea in his hand and had yet to offer it.

Here. Drink this.

One of the men grabbed it and took a big gulp before handing it to the next. After it reached the man who spoke English, he once again addressed the generous stranger with his battered attempt at the foreign language.

Is there telephone nearby? It is very important to make call as soon as possible.

Fred was taken aback by the request. They had just swum from the middle of nowhere and didn’t have any desire other than to make a phone call. He took this as them not thinking clearly.

Let me go get you some help. I’ll be right back.

No! the man shouted, startling Fred. We do not need help. I just need telephone.

Confused, Fred replied, The hotel might let you use theirs. We have one in our room. It’s that one right there, he said pointing to a tall pink building at the end of the sand.

Yes. That will be good. Please take us to hotel room.

Even though he was only trying to help, Fred regretted mentioning the choice of the phone in their room. At this point he felt obligated to help them and, with all the confusion, he simply went along with it.

Okay. You guys come with me. I have some extra towels you can use to cover yourselves.

Fred led them up to where his wife and granddaughter were perched on the beach. Curious as to why they were still wearing their hats and very little else, he finally gave in and just asked.

Are you guys with some sort of military outfit? Judging by your hats, I’d guess you’re with the Army.

Yes. We are with military. We are part of special unit working with United States government and we came across trouble while in water. I just need to contact my superior officer and we can get out of here.

What unit are you guys with? I didn’t think there was an Army base close by.

Before the soldier could respond, they all arrived to where Grace was just waking up from her nap. A baffled look instantly came over her face as she observed four strangers standing in front of her wearing nothing but underwear. She addressed one of them.

Honey, the hat doesn’t do much to cover up everything else that’s hanging all over the place.

I told them they could use the phone in our room, Fred stated.

"You what? Fred, do you think it’s really wise to…"

Fred cut her off before she could finish.

Dear, these men have just survived some sort of ordeal. I already told them they could use it to make a call. Besides, they’re military of some sort. I think they’re Russian.

Russian? Fred, this sounds weirder every time you open your mouth. What would Russians be doing here in their underwear and wanting to use our phone?

Gracie, I’m just as confused as you are right now, but they need help, and what kind of people would we be if we just turned our backs?

Sane people, she curtly responded.

Fred addressed his granddaughter again.

Sorry, Seaweed, but we gotta go back to the hotel for a bit.

The look on the youngster’s face was enough to tell him she disapproved of her beach time being cut short.

Going along with her husband, Grace helped to pack up the beach gear and proceeded to lead everyone back to the hotel room. Once inside the lobby, she suggested they use the phone at the hotel desk. Fred insisted they use the one in their room, adding that they had some extra food to give to the famished soldiers. She again went along with her husband’s request.

Upon entering the room, Fred offered the men some sandwiches and cans of soda. The gracious guests barely chewed their food before swallowing it down. Fred finally let some of the stress of the situation leave his body, while Grace was still wound up from all the excitement.

Upon reaching an outside line, the soldier proceeded with placing the call he had been so anxious to make since washing up on the beach. After a few seconds, he was speaking with someone on the other end.

The conversation was primarily in Russian, and Fred and Grace couldn’t understand any of the words coming out of the soldier’s mouth. They looked at each other with a puzzled look and tried to pick out anything they could comprehend.

In between the garbled mumbling, Fred identified a few words, including submarine, Colorado, and plutonium. He looked at his wife, who was just as lost in the translation of it all, and gave a shrug of the shoulders.

The call lasted less than two minutes. When he was done, the soldier hung up the phone and nodded to the others who had come ashore with him. He then turned his attention to Fred.

Do you have any extra clothing we may take with us? As you can see, we aren’t properly prepared for walking around.

Fred graciously supplied them with some shirts and extra shorts he had brought for the trip, and even though the clothes were extremely baggy, they humbly thanked the old man and his wife.

Looking down at the little girl sitting on the bed, the English-speaking soldier kneeled in front of her and took off his hat. Placing it on top of her head, he simply gave her a wink, which caused her to smile. Then, he stood up and opened the door as he led the other three soldiers into the hall.

The married couple stood in silence as they tried to piece together what they had just heard. Unsure of what to say, Fred walked over to the bed and sat down, pulling his granddaughter up to sit on his lap. Grace was the one who finally broke the silence.

What was all that about? Did any of it make sense to you?

"I know just as much as you do, dear. There were only a handful of words I could understand. Colorado? Plutonium? What the heck did all that mean? And what did they mean by submarine?"

Grace asked with a concerned tone in her voice, Do you think we should contact someone of authority?

And tell them what, exactly? That we found four Russian’s floating around the ocean in just their underwear and then we politely allowed them into our hotel room so they could make a phone call? They’ll put me away in the sanitarium just for saying it out loud. I don’t even want to begin to guess what that was all about. I think it’s best if we just let sleeping dogs lie with this one.

1

Present Day

The warm Colorado air offered little in the way of a breeze to cool off the rising temperature of the day. The tedious task of collecting samples and testing for radiation levels had long since lost its luster and it was feeling more like a punishment, as opposed to the actual job the two men were being paid to perform.

As the morning wore on, the drab redundancy finally took its toll and one of the men tasked to the assignment had reached his breaking point.

Okay, he blurted out. I’m done with this for the day. There’s gotta be a golf course with a bar around here somewhere. Let’s go throw a few back and get in a quick nine.

It’s only ten in the morning, the second man replied. You act like you’ve been out here for eight hours.

Well, it feels like an eternity since we started. Would it kill us to hit the greens for a bit?

The stocky, muscular man ran his hand through his short cropped black hair in an effort to wipe away the sweat. His green eyes looked off towards the foothills of the Rocky Mountains as he continued to plead his case.

C’mon, Sean. I’m dying to try out the colonel’s new driver.

You’re a real piece of work, Pat. Just focus for now and when we’re done, we’ll hit the course. I give you my word. But, that’s only if the colonel doesn’t realize his club’s missing first and flies down here to personally ram it up your backside.

You leave that to me. By the time he notices it’s gone, I’ll have it returned safe and sound.

Pat knew his argument was futile. Golfing would have to wait. They went back to their mundane duties as the rest of the morning lingered into afternoon.

As the morning wore on, the temperature soared to the high nineties, causing Pat to once again state his case for some ice-cold beers, which his friend disregarded as he had done for the past few hours.

After a quick lunch, they took a short hike to the top of a nearby ridge. Looking down over Rocky Flats, they admired the scenery offered to them considering it was once the site of an abysmal toxic catastrophe. For miles in every direction, there was nothing but a deserted brown landscape leading to the foothills of the Rocky Mountains.

Sean Mercer took in the tranquil view with his dark hazel eyes. His six-foot-two-inch frame was standing motionless except for the blowing locks of sandy brown hair wafting in the light breeze, and the light shadow of a beard was beginning to show on his face after not shaving for the past three days.

Lost in thought, his partner quickly snapped him out of his momentary daze.

Nothing but a toxic-filled wasteland, if you ask me.

You just don’t appreciate anything, Mercer replied. You’ve got the Rocky Mountains right in front of you and all you can do is complain. I personally could get used to seeing this view, but not sure I’d trade it in for back home.

I’ll take the Cascades any day. Plus, it’s about twenty degrees cooler back in Seattle right now. That sounds better than baking out here in the middle of nowhere.

Mercer chuckled at his friend’s comments, but he did agree that the cool air of the Pacific Northwest sounded better than the blistering heat of Colorado right about now. After a few more minutes of enjoying the view, he prepared to return to the worksite. Pat followed suit and they made their way back down the ridge. Even though they were the only two people for miles around, there wasn’t anyone else Mercer would want to be working with than his best friend.

Pat Vigil had been his closest friend for over twenty years. After meeting in the Army and going through the same Ranger Indoctrination Program together, their strong bond was formed on their similar Irish ancestry and other likes and dislikes they both shared.

Growing up in the same part of the country also helped them to forge an alliance with one another. Despite only living a few miles apart from one another in Boston as children, they wouldn’t meet until decades later, but were now as inseparable as Siamese twins.

Vigil followed Mercer into the field of weapons demolition and reached the rank of captain while serving in Iraq. After a discharge from service for insubordination due in large part to defending his best friend, he joined his partner at the National Environmental Security Agency.

The incident which left both men stripped of their military rank and duty was an unfortunate one, but Vigil never wavered in his bond with Mercer, refusing to testify against his friend after witnessing him strike a superior officer.

Although he would never admit to anyone that what he did was anything special, it was something which made Mercer realize he could trust his friend with his life, and he valued every moment of their friendship.

Vigil’s physique resembled that of a bodybuilder, but he was as agile as he was strong. His five-foot-eleven-inch frame weighed slightly more than two hundred pounds and his head almost looked too big for his stocky, muscular body. His large hands were also disproportionate to the rest of his body, but still, there was a handsome quality to the man.

His nose looked like it had been broken in a few bar fights and his body showed scars from his years of military service. Mercer had been there on a few occasions when his partner obtained some of those injuries.

Reaching the Jeep at their base of operations, Mercer grabbed two canteens from a cooler and tossed one to his friend.

Ya know, Vigil sarcastically stated, They make these things called water bottles and you can buy them with water already in them. This canteen isn’t going to last me the rest of the day. We could’ve put at least ten bottles in that cooler.

I haven’t had a bottle of water in over five years, Mercer replied. Do you have any idea what they do to manufacture that stuff?

Vigil rolled his eyes.

You read one book about it…a fictitious book, and suddenly you’re mister anti-water bottle. Wasn’t it your friend, Tim, who wrote it?

Yeah, and your point is?

My point is that just because you read something in a book doesn’t make it true. Furthermore, you’re totally biased because your friend wrote it and of course you’ll believe it. I read that book and there’s also this guy in there named Ike. He sounds like a badass on paper, but do you really think he would stand a chance against me? No. And I’ll tell ya why. It’s because he isn’t real. Neither is your little water fiasco. So, when we get back to town, I’m buying a case of water and we’re stocking the cooler full for tomorrow. Take your hippy propaganda and save it for someone else.

Mercer laughed out loud. "You really put