The Shadow Conspiracy

By Brent Peacock

Al Qaeda terrorists have bought a cache of stolen weapons grade Plutonium from the Russian mafia. They plan to build a suitcase Nuke and level Washington DC. Special Agent in Charge of the FBI Washington Office, Steve Harris has the unenviable job of finding the terrorists and their weapon. Which wouldn't be a problem if he knew WHO they were and WHERE the weapon was!
In Australia, ex CIA black ops assassin Allen Reynolds code name 'Shadow,' has problems of his own. A group of hired mercenaries have attacked his home and killed his family. Reynolds barely escaped with his life. Now he is on the hunt for the people responsible. He's more than angry, he's fueled by revenge!
Harris and Reynolds cross paths in Washington in a race against time to stop the destruction of the Capitol, while a secret non-government black ops group hinders their every step, with an agenda of their own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brent Peacock
• Release date: Apr 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463073728

Brent Peacock

Brent Peacock is 58 years old and has been happily married to his wife Jo for 39 years. They have four adult children and live on the Gold Coast, Australia. Brent has been involved in motivational and leadership seminars for the past 30 years and holds a Dip. Theo. Brent likes Caving, Golf, Movies and reading. Brent and Jo are self confessed travelholics. Most of the references to overseas cities and places in his books come directly from their travels worldwide. Brent answers the following questions. Your favourite city? Paris. Your favourite place in the world? Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming. Your most scary moment? Flying from Grand Canyon to Las Vegas in a small 6 seater plane during a gale force wind. The most life changing place you have been? Monument Valley, Utah. It is one of the most spell binding places on Earth.

Book preview

Chapter One

Arat

Northern Iraq

March 2003

THEY CAME LIKE PHANTOMS IN the first light of dawn. Six men clothed in desert fatigues, armed to the teeth. Moving in absolute silence they entered the small ramshackle Iraqi village of Arat, guided by tactical handheld GPS units.

They moved with professional coolness, not the slightest bit phased by the danger that lay ahead. The troops were members of the US Marine Corps Force Reconnaissance, Special Forces sent deep behind enemy lines to perform specific attack or extraction tasks. Force Recon is an elite Marine unit with a fearsome reputation

Early desert gloom began to give way to weak twilight as the sun edged towards the horizon. Long shadows still provided sufficient cover for the team as they crept through the narrow streets, heading for their target. No villagers had stirred as yet; the streets were quiet except for the occasional barking dog.

Captain Stanton King, call sign 'Ghost', held up his left hand giving the 'Wait' signal as he checked around the corner of a group of low buildings. On his first command assignment, King was sweating in the early morning humidity, his heart racing as he edged around the mud brick building. The narrow street was clear so he clenched his fist and the team continued. From shadow to shadow they advanced, the GPS guiding them to the building containing their target, or so the intelligence told them. Thirty yards ahead, a sentry stood guard outside the door of a small house, the building fronted by a door and only one window without glass. The tiny dwelling was jammed against two others, and looked like any other peasants home in northern Iraq. But this house was different. Inside the troops hoped to find Asam Kassem, one of the leaders of Saddam Hussein's Iraqi command who had fled Bagdad when the allied attack began. Local intel reported Kassem's location to the US forces, and the commander of the northern operations had decided to take the chance to bag a high ranking target.

King quickly sized up the scene. Only one sentry meant Kassem felt secure in his hideout. This far north, the Iraqis still controlled the area. The tiny village probably contained fifty enemy troops, but none of them seemed worried about attacks.

Mud brick homes usually had a back entrance so King dispatched two marines to cover the rear, as the remaining men took up cover positions out front. The sentry was fighting sleep as he sat on a wooden stool beside the door. He too thought the village was safe.

'Big mistake!' King thought as he clicked his op-com headset. A single click in response told him the rear guard was in place. King clicked the headset three more times, and waited. Two clicks returned his signal; the sniper was ready to take out the sentry.

From his roof top vantage point, US Marine Corps sniper Lieutenant Allen Reynolds, call sign 'Shadow', could see the whole target area, and watched as the squad advanced. Hearing the ready clicks he aimed at the lone sentry, centring his sight on the unsuspecting Iraqi's head. A single 'click' sounded in his head set, his finger tightened on the trigger and one soft 'Thummp' from the silenced rifle signalled the bullet was away. The sentry flipped back like a rag doll as the projectile smashed through his forehead, and his dead body silently slid down the wall onto the soft dirt street. Two marines quickly dragged the body out of sight into a nearby alley Reynolds shifted his rifle to cover the door, just in case the shot had alerted anyone inside. No movement, no response.

King moved his forward troops to cover the area in front of the house then gave the single click command to attack. From the front and the rear, the marines entered at the same time taking those inside completely by surprise. Five men inside were still asleep when the marines burst in and captured them without resistance. Four women and five children slept in another room, away from the men. The Marines quietly woke each woman and the children stirred as their mothers gathered them up.

Checking each man's face against a pocket sized picture, King realised Asam Kassem was not there! He grabbed the nearest Iraqi and jammed his SIG Sauer P226 pistol into the man's temple.

Where is Asam Kassem? he snarled in the man's ear.

The Iraqi looked puzzled. He lifted his hands in the universal sign for 'I don't know what you mean!' causing King to react with violence. He smashed the gun into the man's head, knocking him senseless. Then to the surprise of the other marines, he jammed the barrel of the SIG into the man's forehead and pulled the trigger. The sound of the shot was muted, but the effect was devastating. The whole of the back of his head blew off, splattering blood and brain matter across the floor.

One of the women cried out at the sound of the shot, and King yelled to the Marines guarding them to bring all of the captives into the same room. He lined the women up against one wall and the children against another. Lifting his Heckler & Koch silenced MP5 sub machinegun, he flicked the selector to 3 burst mode and aimed at one of the women. Once again he snarled the question to everyone in the room, Where is Asam Kassem? A marine near him repeated the question in Fassi, but again the captives looked bewildered and didn't answer. King squeezed the trigger and the woman's chest blew apart as the bullets threw her backwards into the wall.

Shocked looks on the faces of the Americans betrayed their thoughts, but no one said a word. Some looked at the ground while one of the younger Marines couldn't take his eyes off the dead woman. Children began to scream and the men looked like they were ready to charge the Marines and rip their throats out with their bare hands. The remaining women wailed in fear as King turned to the five children and shouted, This is your last chance! WHERE IS ASAM KASSEM?

One of the men spoke up in broken English. Not here, never here! King turned to face him, rage filling his face and cut him down with a 3 burst volley. The dead man fell back into the group of women, pushing two of them to the ground. King waited a full 15 seconds, but getting no further response he cried out, Kill them all!

With that he turned his MP5 on the children and shot them all dead. The marines froze, unable to comprehend what they had just seen, then one of them turned his weapon on the women and shot them as well. The room was filled with the smell of gun powder, blood and human waste from the evacuated bowels of the victims, as King turned and mowed down the remaining men. It was all over in less than 30 seconds.

The carnage was unbelievable; the bodies were piled on top of each other, blood splatter all over the walls and floor. One of the Marines turned away and quickly walked into another room to vomit out of sight of the others. King looked around and acted as if the scene made no impression on him at all.

Search the place, there must be something here that will tell us where Kassem is! he ordered. The troops carefully went through every room, cupboard and chest of drawers but found nothing. After only ten minutes they reported back, blank looks on their faces.

Shadow, how's it looking out there? King asked over the op-com.

Clear, Ghost! Shadow replied.

Move out! King ordered. The troops quickly exited the tiny home, hardly looking back at the massacre. As they left, King poured two gallons of lamp oil over the bodies then set it alight. Before they had left the street, smoke and flames were pouring out from the house, the wooden beams, furniture and roof structure well ablaze.

Shadow looked at his commander. No go? he asked.

Asshole wasn't there! was all King replied.

The cover of twilight allowed the Marines to clear the village without incident, and the pick-up with their transport back to base went without a hitch. Reynolds noticed the squad was unusually quiet on the trip back, but marked that down to the failed op and thought nothing more about it. The other team members looked at each other with the look that said it all. No one would ever talk about what happened at the small mud brick house in the forgotten corner of a country no one cared about!

Chapter Two

Magadan

Siberian Coast

Eastern Russia

(Present Day)

THE FADED BLUE MERCEDES 280SEL struggled as it climbed the hill near the airport outside of the coastal city of Magadan. It was the first month of the short East Russian summer, but you wouldn't know it. The outside air temperature would hit a high of 45o Fahrenheit, not even enough to melt the lingering snow and ice that still covered the ground from the vicious sub arctic winter.

The front wheels slid gently as the big German car rounded a sharp bend, causing the driver to correct to keep the Benz on the right side of the road. The two men seated in the back hardly noticed, but the heavy set man in the front passenger seat looked sharply at the driver, who smiled back in response.

Don't worry Comrade; I know how to drive this piece of German shit! the driver said softly. The heavy set man didn't reply, he just grunted and looked back out the windscreen.

And I know how important Comrade Ivanov is! the driver continued. The heavy set man turned back to face the driver and scowled.

If anything happens to Comrade Ivanov, I will personally kill you, your wife and your children! Is that clear?

The driver swallowed and said softly, Perfectly clear Comrade!

Needless to say, for the rest of the journey the driver was completely silent.

Fifteen minutes later, the old Benz pulled up at a warehouse on the Sh.Marchekankoya at the docks of Magadan that looked older than the car. Two tough looking men walked over to the car and held the door open. The men in the back climbed out and walked with their heads down through the freezing north wind into the open door of the warehouse, followed closely by the heavy set man. As soon as the party was inside the two men closed the doors and slid a padlock into the inside door lock. The taller of the two led the others to a back room which contained a table, six chairs, a couple of filing cabinets and a desk with an ancient computer. A tray on the table held glasses and a large bottle of vodka. Without being asked the second man poured three glasses and gave one to each of the visitors. They downed the clear liquid without hesitation and held the glasses out for seconds. After drinking the second glass, Ivanov sat down at the head off the table and looked at the two men.

Are we ready to go Tomas? he asked.

Yes Comrade, providing the weather holds we will leave tonight.

Good, what's the long range forecast?

Squally rain but only winds to 15 knots. We should make the island in around 9 hours, God willing!

Ivanov laughed. The old traditions wouldn't die, he still found being called 'Comrade' amusing as he was never even a member of the Communist party. But he realised it was more a mark of respect from the general public who had had the old ways ground into them for so many years. What made him laugh even more was the use of the term 'God willing.' Under the Marxist regime God didn't exist, but once again the old ways wouldn't die!

Perhaps your God will look favourably on our enterprise Comrade, he replied. Say a few prayers for us, I don't swim that well, and the thought of falling into the sea of Okhotsk doesn't thrill me!

The men laughed at the joke, and each of them felt the same. Russians by nature do not swim, mainly because the sea is always too cold, but also because most of them live miles from the coast, so they never learn.

Who is going to Captain the vessel? Ivanov asked.

Yuri Romanov, my wife's cousin. He's been a trawler Captain for many years and knows the waters better than most!

Good, very good! So we need to eat and then we can leave. May as well fill up with food, it will give us something to throw up when the waves get rough! Ivanov laughed.

I have a table booked at the best restaurant in town Comrade. Please come with us, the tall man said as he held the office door open. The party filed out and climbed into two Russian made Lada 4 wheel drives that were waiting just outside the warehouse. The heavy set man noted with a smile that the old Benz and its driver were nowhere to be seen.

Three hours later, the trawler under the command of Captain Yuri Romanov cast off and made its way out of Nagayevo bay into the sea of Okhotsk. Romanov was an older man around 55, standing 5ft 11, with a sailors beard, silver hair and lively blue eyes. His skin was bottle brown and wrinkled by the constant exposure to the elements.

He turned to Ivanov who was standing next to him and asked, What course should I head Comrade?

Due south Captain, we are going to a wasted piece of granite known as Seal Rock. Do you know it?

Yes Comrade, but for the life of me, I can't see why you would want to go there, unless you are hunting seals of course!

The arctic fur seal used to be of great value, but I'm after something worth much, much more. Ivanov replied. Romanov looked at Ivanov and thought better of asking more questions. This man was paying him two months wages to make a single trip. If he wanted to go to a piece of rock in the middle of the sea, that was his choice. Romanov would take him anywhere for the right price.

Ivanov walked out of the bridge and down to the main cabin area where the others were sitting. The wind was already singing in the rigging and the waves were around two feet, making the boat ride up and down as it powered through them. One of his men looked sick already.

'It's going to be a long trip for Alexei,' he thought. He pulled the heavy set man aside, and spoke softly into his ear. The man nodded and said something back, then sat down again.

Ivanov thought about his girlfriend and his luxury home in Moscow. This was about as far away from modern Russian living as you could get and still be in the country. Viktor Ivanov was not an ex party member, or even the son of one. He was the only child and rightful heir to one of the biggest criminal organisations in Mother Russia. His father Gregor founded his Mafia organisation after the communists fell from power. As an ex KGB enforcer, he was the perfect man for the job. His considerable fortune enabled him to finance a multitude of underworld businesses which brought in vast amounts of money. He cleverly used that finance to create more and more criminal enterprises until he became the most powerful man in the Russian Underworld and his organisation the biggest and most ruthless. No one dared to question Ivanov; those who crossed him were never seen again. He owned Police officials and high ranking government members. There were even rumours that the President of Russia himself was a confidant of Gregor Ivanov. Viktor learned all he knew from his father and was greatly feared by all who worked under him. It was rumoured he had killed his best friend when the man dared to look the wrong way at Viktor's girlfriend.

Viktor Ivanov was tall and slim, with a hard face and dark brown eyes. He had rugged looks, not really handsome, but attractive to women just the same. His personal trainer