Seven Days in August: Jack Beckett Book Nine

By D.G. Baxter

New from D.G. Baxter, action and suspense as Jack Beckett infiltrates a domestic terrorist group. Two FBI agents working the counterintelligence unit out of Sacramento go missing. The FBI can't afford to lose another agent, so they throw the book away and ask Beckett to go undercover. He uncovers a plot to take over the US government financed by a Saudi prince and a shadowy English mastermind. If Beckett doesn't escape with the truth, innocent lives will be lost. Beckett has seven days to save the missing agents and stop the most dangerous terrorist attack in US history. A page-turning thriller with new action hero Jack Beckett.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D.G. Baxter
• Release date: Jun 13, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393389064

Book preview

1

Jack Beckett was on the I-80 north and traffic was running smoothly, and that meant plenty of cars were cruising at 80 mph. Three lanes were going north, and Beckett was in the center lane traveling at 75. He didn’t want to be the slowest car, nor the fastest car. There was nothing urgent about this trip.

As of an hour ago he had no idea he would be driving to Sacramento. Then Riley O'Connor called. She was uncharacteristically brief. She needed to talk to him, and she didn't want to do it over the phone. She was in Sacramento and could not leave, so that meant he needed to come to her. He wasn’t doing anything important, so he was happy to take the two-hour drive from San Francisco.

He asked what this was about and O’Connor reminded him she couldn’t talk about it over the phone. But, she added, it was about hate. It was about hate, and it was dangerous, and she would fill him in when she saw him. Talk about a cliff hanger. That left Beckett running possibilities through his head as he drove north. Hate was a big word. So was dangerous. He could practically write a story just with those two words forming the plot.

He had just passed the Davis exit when he saw a dark blue sedan pulled onto the shoulder. A man and woman were standing by the rear of the car. He reduced his speed, and as he got closer he saw the man push the woman once, then a second time which caused her to fall backward. He had already slowed to 50, so he pumped the brakes hard and managed to pull onto the shoulder about 75 yards in front of the Ford. There was no way he would allow a woman to get beat up and not do something.

Beckett jumped out of the Mustang and jogged quickly to where the man was standing. The woman was still on the ground and was struggling to stand up.

What the hell is going on? Beckett asked.

The man looked at him and shrugged. Just an argument, he said. He was maybe mid-20s, tall but thin. He was wearing blue jeans and a crew-cut sweatshirt. His hair was short, and he had multiple tattoos on one arm.

Beckett gave him a dirty look, then reached down and offered his hand to the young woman. She had long dark hair and was also casually dressed.

She took his hand, and he pulled her up, then he turned to the young man.

Never hit a woman, Beckett said. It’s bad for your health.

This is none of your business, the man said. Why don’t you get back into your car and leave before you get hurt?

Beckett shook his head and smiled.

I need to warn you, Beckett said, This is not going to end well for you.

He turned to the woman. Are you ok? he asked.

Just then he saw her eyes grow wide and he knew what was coming. He turned back toward the man just as he threw a punch at Beckett’s head. Beckett raised his left arm and blocked the blow, then stepped into a powerful right hook of his own, which landed square on the man’s chin. The young man staggered back on wobbly legs. Beckett took one step and put his right leg behind the man’s left leg, then gave him a hard shove. The man landed on his back, hit his head on the pavement, and the fight was over.

I assume you know this guy? Beckett asked the young woman.

More or less, she said. This was our second date. He lost his temper and pulled over, then began to scream at me. I got out of the car to leave, and he followed. Next thing I know I'm on the ground.

Beckett shook his head. Not the way second dates should end. It might be best if I give you a ride. I’m on my way to Sacramento.

Thank you, she said. No way I’m staying here with this jerk.

The man was groaning and beginning to get up.

Just a second, Beckett said. He walked over and kicked the side of his head, not too hard, but hard enough to keep him on the ground for a while longer.

I told you this would not end well, he said. He then motioned for the woman to follow him to his car. As they walked to Beckett's car, he asked a question.

Do you have a safe place to go?

I have family in Sacramento. Just get me to the next exit, and I'll call and get a ride home. I don’t want to trouble you.

No trouble at all, Beckett said. I’m always glad to lend a hand.

They drove to the next exit in silence. There were several restaurants and gas stations, and the road was a busy one leading to a big shopping area close by. Beckett waited in the car in a restaurant parking lot while the woman stood outside and used her cell phone. She leaned down and talked through the window when she was finished.

My sister will pick me up inside this restaurant in 20 minutes. I’ll be fine until she gets here. By the way, my name is Casey.

Nice to meet you, Casey. I’m Jack Beckett.

Thank you, Mr. Beckett. For everything.

Beckett smiled. Glad I could help.

Casey Graham watched Beckett drive away, knowing she would never see him again. She smiled. The world could be cruel at times, but out of nowhere good people show up when they are most needed. She promised to keep that in mind.

A short time later Beckett passed through Sacramento and stayed on I-80. The FBI office was in Roseville, a few miles farther north. O’Connor said she would meet him there, and she asked him to call her when he was getting close.

O’Connor was now a special agent. She was promoted after getting shot a few months back, but she got back into action in time to solve a high profile murder and kidnapping spree in San Francisco involving three people and a $20,000,000 ransom. Beckett helped on that case, avoiding the collapse of San Francisco’s tourist business. Over the past year, Beckett had worked with O'Connor many times, from Columbus, Ohio to Chicago. She was based in San Francisco, and Beckett eventually settled there after traveling around the country in his dad’s classic Mustang.

Beckett wasn’t finished traveling from place to place, but he figured it was time to have a home base. The city by the bay was as good as any. There wasn’t much not to like about San Francisco, except maybe the prices. Rents were expensive, but Beckett had his dad’s $6 million in the bank to soften the blow. Yes, he knew he was luckier than others, but he soon accepted the fact that he was now in a great position to help when circumstances called for it.

He seldom said no when someone needed his help. At the moment he wondered what was up with O’Connor. Her voice had a trace of tension; she was a bit on edge. He had never seen that part of her. She had always been a tough cookie. His GPS said he was getting close to the FBI Sacramento office.

When he was five miles out, he called O'Connor.

Are you close? she asked.

Looks like five minutes or less, he said.

Ok, park in the visitor lot and come to the lobby. I’ll wait for you there.

See you soon, Beckett said and hung up.

The new FBI building was in a suburban area not far from I-80 north. The grounds were spacious and uncrowded, offering plenty of parking. Beckett found a spot and walked the short distance to the entrance of the modern three-floor building. It was apparently fairly new. The heavy double lobby door opened to a large lobby with marble floors and floor to ceiling windows on two sides, giving the lobby an open, airy feel.

O’Connor had been seated but got up when Beckett walked in. She walked over and gave him a friendly handshake. O’Connor had only hugged Beckett once before, and that was in private. In public it was always all business.

Jack, thanks for coming up.

No problem. Glad to do it.

Before I take you to a meeting I have set up, let’s sit over here. I need to give you some background.

She directed him to a seating area with the most privacy. They could see men and women passing though the lobby, but their conversation wouldn’t be heard. They sat in two comfortable chairs facing each other.

O’Connor leaned in closer to Beckett as if to suggest this was a confidential discussion, which it was.

Jack, what I’m going to tell you is for your ears only. That’s why I didn’t want to use the phone.

I figured as much, he said.

This FBI division has specialized in counterterrorism since 9/11. It’s the office with the most ongoing investigations on the west coast. The special agent in charge, Frank Dufresne, called Sam Cunningham and asked for some help on a particular case. Cunningham is up here today as well, and he brought me along.

Beckett nodded, starting to sense this was going to be an unusual case.

"The case involves a far-right militant group that has several identities but often goes by the name Widerstand. In German, that means resistance. Homeland Security picked up some intercepted satellite phone traffic six months ago that was considered the early planning for a domestic terror plot. That was passed to us for follow up.

The goal of the plot is to create a coordinated act of terror so intense that martial law would be required.

O’Connor paused to let that sink in.

Go on, Beckett said. What are they planning to blow up?

Nothing, O’Connor said. They plan to assassinate the governor and the mayors of two major cities, San Francisco and Los Angeles, all on the same day.

Beckett started to whistle, then realized where he was.

That is big, he said.

Exactly, O’Connor said. The California economy is the fifth largest in the world, larger than Great Britain. Can you imagine the chaos that would follow and the shock to the economy if martial law was declared?

And the ripple effect across the US, Beckett said. What if they do this in other major cities on the heels of the first attack?

Now you’re thinking like we were thinking, O’Connor said.

Beckett was quiet, taking it all in.

It gets worse, Jack. That’s why I asked you to come today.

Go ahead, he said.

"The counterterrorism unit sent an undercover agent to infiltrate the group a month ago. That’s the best way to asses how credible this plot is and what stage it is in. He made contact with us once and then stopped reporting at the designated times. Three days later, and with no communication from the first agent, we sent in a second agent to find out what may have happened. He reported once, then went dark, just like the first agent.

We don’t know if the two men are dead or just missing, perhaps captured and locked up.

What are you planning to do next? Beckett asked.

"No one is sure. If they are able to make our guys that easily sending in more just like them may be a fool’s play. We can’t afford to have multiple dead agents show up all of a sudden. Two is bad. Three would be unthinkable.

During a break in the briefing Cunningham and I put our heads together. Maybe there’s something about a trained FBI agent they can spot, we thought. We can't even guess, but obviously, there is something they pick up on.

O’Connor paused, and an expression formed on her face that said, this may sound crazy.

Jack, would you consider volunteering to work undercover?

Now it was his turn to pause.

Maybe, he said. But why me?

Because you’re the anti-agent. You don’t act like one. You don’t think like one. You’re a private citizen, a man capable of great violence, and maybe you can pull it off. Maybe they will accept you and bring you in.

And if they don’t, I get killed, right? His tone of voice said this was a joke, but they both knew it was a possibility.

I have faith in you, Beckett. I’ve seen you in action, remember. If anyone gets killed, it will be the bad guys.

If I say yes, what happens next?

First, you will need the blessing of both Cunningham and Dufresne. This action is highly unusual. It can’t be official. Once we have an agreement to work with you, everyone will deny that it took place. Cunningham and Dufresne are aware that you arrived, and are standing by. I’ll call them if you agree and the three of you can meet privately to work out the details. What happens in that room stays in that room.

What about you?

I’ll be your only backup. I’ll know that you are going in, but I won’t know what was agreed to in your meeting. I need plausible deniability.

Beckett was quiet, and O'Connor studied his face and waited patiently.

Ok, he said. I’ll do it.

2

Frank Dufresne’s office was on the top floor of the new FBI building. O’Connor escorted Beckett there and introduced him to Dufresne. Sam Cunningham was already seated, and even though Beckett knew Cunningham, he shook his hand as well. All three men were standing when O’Connor left the office. Her job was to get Beckett to the meeting and wait for the results.

When the door closed, Dufresne motioned for Beckett to sit.

Have a seat Mr. Beckett, and I'll join you.

Beckett took a large chair next to Cunningham, which left the couch across the seating area open for Dufresne, who was the special agent in charge of the Sacramento office. Cunningham was the special agent in charge of the San Francisco office.

Thanks for taking the drive up from San Francisco, he said to Beckett.

O’Connor wanted to talk, and I had the time, Beckett said. Always happy to help out.

So I’ve noticed, Dufresne said. Cunningham and I have gone through your dossier. You've been involved in many interesting cases over the past year. Are you sure you don't want a job with us?

Beckett smiled. I'm not a desk guy, and I probably wouldn't make it in an organization, either.

I understand you were a boxer.

Twelve years. Boston and New York. Mostly the undercard. I made a living and won more than I lost.

Special Agent Marston out of Chicago says you are a man who knows how to get to the bottom of things.

I just follow the bread crumbs, Beckett said. Usually the answer involves using common sense.

Dufresne looked at Cunningham and smiled.

"I’ve called Beckett