American Deception

By JC Kane

A string of mass shootings.

POTUS is on a mission to eliminate guns.

FBI Agent Gavin Masters is determined to uncover the truth.

 

Will the president get what he wants or will Agent Gavin Masters unravel the deception?

 

United States President John David Stickman promises to end gun violence after his family is struck by a personal tragedy. His promise quickly becomes an obsession as he refuses to let anything stand in his way.

 

FBI Special Agent Gavin Masters follows up on an ordinary lead, but the information he receives turns out to be anything but ordinary as his investigation leads him to the White House and the president's inner circle.

 

Special Agent Gavin Masters becomes a target as he gets closer to unraveling a government conspiracy and discovering the truth about the president's extreme measures.

 

Read it today and discover the American Deception.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JC Kane
• Release date: Oct 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393523079

Book preview

Chapter One

H ere, put this on, Sam said as he threw a thick leather belt across the room to his best friend, Keith.

Sam and Keith were in the basement at Sam’s mom’s house. They were both eighteen years old and barely made it through high school. Keith had a part-time job at Target. Sam played video games all day. They were best friends and each other’s only friend.

Do it just like mine, Sam said as he rubbed his hands across the belt wrapped around his waist. You have to put two magazines in between those belt loops.

Keith slid the belt through a couple of loops on his jeans, then added two ammunition magazine holders filled with bullets. Then he added another, and another, and another.

Now put three here in front on each side, Sam said as he pointed to the exact spot where he wanted Keith to secure the magazines. In total, ten magazines hung from Keith’s belt, just like Sam’s.

Each magazine was filled with fifteen hollow-point bullets designed to cause maximum damage upon impact.

Sam and Keith only had one handgun each and they stole those from Keith’s dad. Between the two loaded handguns and twenty extra magazines, they had a combined total of 330 bullets. Enough to do plenty of damage.

Sam ordered the ammunition, extra magazines, and magazine holders online. After practicing for weeks, it took them less than five-seconds to drop an empty magazine, slap a fully loaded magazine in, release the slide, and resume shooting. They were ready for their deadly mission.

Keith would’ve preferred to use semi-automatic rifles, but Sam was confident that handguns would be better for what they had planned, so Keith let Sam have his way. That was usually how it worked in their friendship. It also helped that the handguns were free and readily available. Keith stole them from the top shelf in his father’s closet. Not a good place to store deadly weapons, but it worked out okay for Sam and Keith.

Keith had played with his father’s guns when he was much younger, before he knew anything about guns. He took his father’s gun and pointed it at his big toe, then pulled the trigger. Luckily, nothing happened. The gun was actually loaded, but the safety was on. Keith had no idea how close he came to blowing off his big toe that day.

Sam and Keith both accepted that this would be the last day of their lives. Eighteen years was long enough for them. Life wasn’t fun. It was pain. Death would end the pain. They were both prepared to end their lives with a bullet to the head. Before that happened, they had something to do. Something that would hurt a lot of innocent people. Something that made no sense to rational people who valued human life.

Both Sam and Keith stuffed their guns into the waistband of their pants, put on their jackets to conceal everything and walked out the door ready to carry out their sick, twisted fantasy.

Chapter Two

W hat the hell is wrong with you, Masters? Remy asked.

Now what’s the problem? FBI Special Agent Gavin Masters said as he looked up at Remy Nolan’s scrunched up face. Remy was a senior FBI Special Agent in the Public Corruption Unit in Washington, D.C. He was also Gavin’s training mentor. Gavin and Remy primarily worked election crimes with a small number of border crimes and civil rights cases when the needs of the FBI required.

Of course, Gavin worked whatever cases the Federal Bureau of Investigation threw at him. He had only graduated from the FBI Academy at Quantico twenty-one months ago. In three months, Gavin’s two year FBI probationary period would be ending. For the past twenty-one months he made sure everyone knew that he wanted to work in the Counterterrorism Division (CTD) out of the New York field office. Terrorism was the reason he joined the Federal Bureau of Investigation. It was the reason he got a degree in accounting. It was the reason he took and passed the Certified Public Accountant exam. In Gavin’s opinion, terrorism was the number one threat to the United States of America and he wanted to be on the front lines.

Are you trying to get yourself fired? Remy asked.

What are you talking about?

Did you happen to look in a mirror before you came to work today?

Gavin looked at his suit. It was blue. Probably a brighter shade of blue than most FBI agents would wear, but it wasn’t outrageous. His tie was striped with different shades of purple and blue. Some might say it was a bit flashy but he was into fashion and he liked a little bit of color. Not too much. Just enough to stand out without violating the FBI’s conservative, professional dress code.

What is it? Gavin asked. You don’t like my tie?

Your tie is pretty bad, but let’s start with your hair. Remy flipped Gavin’s hair up off the back of his shirt collar.

The back is long, Remy said, but I’m more concerned with the front, or the sides, or maybe just the whole thing you have going on up there. Can you comb it back out of your face or at least trim it all the way down, so it’s really, really short, much shorter?

I could, but I like it the way it is.

I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but it looks like a mop. Remy shook his head as he continued to inspect Gavin’s hair. The front is long, the sides are long. You got this wave thing going on over here. I don’t look at you and see an FBI agent.

I don’t expect you to get it, Gavin said. You’re a lot older than I am. A lot older. In today’s world, FBI agents don’t have to look like J. Edgar Hoover. We have a lot of different agents from a lot of different backgrounds and I will continue to maintain a professional, well-groomed appearance, if that’s okay with you. Gavin spun his chair around and directed his attention back to his computer screen.

And your tie, Remy said. Do you have to wear ties that are so...tacky?

Gavin tried to ignore Remy. He clicked his mouse a few times pretending that he was focused on his work instead of Remy who was still hovering behind him.

As your mentor, Remy said, it’s my duty to guide you down the right path. Remy looked to his right and noticed Assistant Director in Charge Carla Garcia walking towards her office. Hey Director Garcia, can you come over here for a second?

Garcia walked over to Gavin’s desk and leaned against Gavin’s cubicle wall. What’s going on?

Carla Garcia was the Assistant Director in Charge of the Washington, D.C. field office. She was a hard-working, intelligent Mexican woman in her late forties, which made her accomplishments even more impressive. Legend has it that she has never lost an argument and she has no enemies. Even if the stories are not one-hundred percent accurate, she is definitely well-respected in the law enforcement world.

Masters, turn around and show Director Garcia your tie, Remy said as he helped Gavin turn his chair around.

Gavin spun around in his chair, popped up, and gave a nice slow twirl so they could both get a good look and he could go back to work.

Okay, Remy. Gavin said. Fashion show Friday, just for you. I want you to take notes. You could use an upgrade in your wardrobe. You’re starting to look a little frumpy.

Garcia couldn’t help but smile. It was true. Remy did need some serious fashion help.

Yeah, very funny, Remy said. Garcia, look at Gavin. Look at his hair. Look at his suit and tie. Now, tell me, does this look like an FBI agent to you?

Wait, wait, wait, Gavin said. Before you answer, I just want to give you something else to consider. Remy’s tie literally has mustard stains on top of mustard stains. His suit is so wrinkled it looks like he just pulled it out of his fanny pack, and his shoes look like they were made from old pizza boxes. Now, tell me, who looks more professional?

Garcia looked at both of them. She lifted Remy’s tie and inspected the mustard stains. It really did look like multiple layers of mustard. She shook her head and let go of his tie. Sorry, but I’m not interested in judging your beauty contest today. She handed a folder to Remy. I need you to do an employment interview today and it’s time-sensitive.

I’m leaving early today, Remy said. Can you give it to Gavin?

I just gave him a project that I need finished by tomorrow morning. You’re next on the list. That’s the way it works.

Can it wait until tomorrow? Remy asked. I can do it tomorrow, but if I have to cancel with my wife and her family tonight, I’m a dead man.

This was a personal request from the Secretary of State’s office. I promised we’d send over the report by the end of the day. I already confirmed this guy would be available today. Maybe if you stopped flirting with Gavin, you could finish this really fast and make it home in time for dinner.

Carla turned and walked away. She stopped and looked back at Remy. Remy, you might want to put on a new tie before you go. You’re representing the FBI, for God’s sake. Where’s your sense of pride?

Gavin shook his head in mock disgust. Very unprofessional, Remy. I expected better from you.

Remy opened the folder Garcia gave to him and looked at the contents inside. I don’t know why she agrees to do these rush jobs. My wife is going to kill me if I’m not home in an hour. I have to go home, change clothes, pack everyone into the car, and drive out to Annapolis before traffic gets insane. My wife is going to kill me.

Remy closed the file and looked around the office. Maybe James can do it for me.

James is out of town until next week, Gavin said.

Well, that sucks.

Gavin sighed loudly. Give me the file. I’ll do it. I don’t know why, but I’ll take care of it for you.

I thought you were working on a project for Garcia?

Is it just one interview? Gavin asked.

It’s only one interview. That’s it.

I’m sure you’d do the same for me, right? Gavin asked.

Are you serious? You will be saving my marriage if you do this for me.

Gavin snatched the folder from Remy’s hand. Leave now before I change my mind. And no more comments about my hair or clothes.

Remy put his hands together as if he were praying. Gavin, thank you. I won’t make fun of your hair for a week. I promise.

Wow, you’re willing to make that sacrifice for me? Gavin asked.

You sure you can handle both this and your project?

I’m sure. I’ll be here all night, but it will all be taken care of.

Remy kissed Gavin’s head then took off towards his own desk.

Gavin yelled at Remy as he was walking away. Wear a suit without wrinkles on Monday, please. And throw that tie away.

Chapter Three

Keith and Sam drove towards Denver International Airport (DIA) armed with two handguns and a lot of bullets. They drove past the 9,000 pound sculpture of a giant blue mustang with glowing red eyes, affectionately known by some as Satan’s Steed. The sculptor who created Satan’s Steed was killed when a piece of the massive head fell on his leg and sliced open an artery. Some say the blue mustang is cursed. Today would help support that theory.

Keith drove the car to the departures area and parked along the curb. They didn’t see any police officers so they left the car in a no parking zone and walked into the airport.

Keith and Sam chose DIA simply because it hadn’t been done before. They wanted to go big. They wanted to do something impressive. They had to do something different. They had to do something that would stand out from all the other mass shootings, and that’s why they chose the airport.

Initially, Keith didn’t want to target an airport. A grade school would be much easier, he told Sam. No security. No guns. Kids packed in small spaces. But schools had been done so many times it had lost its novelty. It was barely newsworthy. An airport was different. An airport had security and police officers to deal with. It would be much more difficult. If Sam and Keith pulled this off, the attention they would get in the media would be off the charts. They would be legends. They would go down in history. It would cause widespread panic. Airports across the U.S. would have to add extra layers of security to prevent this from happening again. It was exciting for Sam and Keith to know that they might cause such havoc. The airport was a good choice, if they could pull it off.

Of course, they had to consider the risks. There were armed police officers patrolling the airport. But, the police officers weren’t very visible and when they scouted the airport they only saw a handful of officers across the entire airport. By the time the shooting started, there would be so much chaos, the police would have no idea who to shoot unless they were right next to them.

Besides the fact that Keith and Sam lived in Denver, the security screening area at Denver International Airport was perfect for killing large amounts