The Legacy: Descent into Chaos

By Michael Julian

THE LEGACY
Descent into Chaos by Michael Julian - SYNOPSIS

Wade's future with his wife is threatened when he is forced back
into the intelligence arena to rescue his ex-girlfriend and stop an
international catastrophic event.


At a party in Paris, Chef JASON WADE (WADE) is celebrating his marriage to fashion photographer KIRA GARCIA and the opening of his newest restaurant in the city of lights. He was once the most valuable asset of the INTERNATIONAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY (INIA) created after 911. Being a chef was the perfect cover. But once he met Kira at the Souk in Amman Jordon, when he was on assignment and she was on a photo shoot, he would do anything to protect her. So he left the agency. INIA is so deep undercover that the world-wide intelligence community doesn't know it exists.
As Wade moves through the crowd at the party in Paris, and mingles with his guests, he receives a disturbing phone call that sets in motion a deadly game of cat and mouse with an international Network, known to be notoriously deadly, organized and operating in secret. The call is from his former employer, INIA. The agency needs his help. They know he's the only one who can help his former partner who's in serious trouble; a former partner who also happens to be his ex-girlfriend.
Wade reluctantly agrees to help, thinking he can still somehow keep his wife safe and out of danger.
But Wade and Kira soon become targets of THE GLOBAL INTELLECT NETWORK (G.I.N.). The Network's chairman, wealthy French businessman PHILLIP JACQUE BRUNELL, and their elite group of assassins, THE BLACK KNIGHT SOCIETY (BKS), led by the most feared assassin alive (THE SCORPION), hunt down the couple across two continents. G.I.N. has tentacles everywhere, in every government. Wade and Kira don't know who to trust.
In a race against the clock, the couple try to stop an imminent terrorist attack by G.I.N. that will stun the world and trigger a global coup d' e`tat. Wade is the only one who knows how to find the key to stop it.
Set in the backdrop of artsy and gritty New York City to the scenic and romantic settings of Europe, Wade and Kira grow closer together while fighting to survive. They discover secrets they've hidden from each other and ignite a smoldering sensual passion they had never imagined. Their journey leads them to an exquisite villa in Venice Italy where Kira is ultimately kidnapped by G.I.N. and Wade has to rescue her from a yacht in Monte Carlo where she has been taken.
Wade is forced to make a critical decision: to stop the Network's catastrophic attack or save the love of his life…there isn't time to do both!

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9780985946029

Book preview

All rights reserved

Copyright © 2012 by Michael Julian

ISBN 978-0-9859460-2-9

PART I

1

Train Station, French countryside

Finally signs of spring were starting to emerge as the French countryside shrugged off the chill of a rough winter. A winter that had ravaged all of Europe.  A northern wind gusted that foggy morning as the man patiently waited outside the train station for his contact. The woman approached him precisely five minutes before 6 A.M. Their exchange was brief, unnoticeable. She slipped the micro-computer drive into his tan trench coat pocket and vanished inside the dissolving fog.

He heard a whistle blow in the distance; the 6:15 train to Paris was on time. The cars would be nearly empty, only weekend travelers would be on board. The man in the tan trench coat and brown hat boarded the train and sought out an inconspicuous seat. He had reached the third car and was about to sit when he noticed the three men standing in the doorway of the fourth connecting car. The men, all dressed in black, locked their eyes on the target. They were fixated like a cat ready to pounce on its prey.

The man in the trench coat turned abruptly in the opposite direction. He sensed the danger and swiftly walked back to the other cars. His only escape was to jump off the train travelling at high speeds. He had come face to face with death before, but this time somehow seemed different.

He passed through to the next car; it only had one passenger seated. Walking toward the last car, he could see it was empty. That was good; he knew the assassins would not leave any witnesses alive. They were following closely. The man opened the door and stood on the connecting platform of the car. He put something into his mouth and swallowed hard. The train was approaching a clearing, and that would be his best chance to—His focus was interrupted. He heard the door slide from the car behind him.

A jagging pain surged inside his body, radiating through his limbs. A knife lunged deep into his shoulder as one assassin stood by the door to ensure there were no interruptions. The other stood behind him, clasping his gloved hand over the man’s mouth while his comrade drove another knife into his gut, pushing it hard passed his spine, shoving it harder through his back. The man in the trench coat fell to his knees and looked up at his assailant, his vision wavering, blurring out of focus. He could feel himself fading away; taste the warm blood falling from his mouth. A chill came over him. His body fell limp to the ground. The last image he saw was the assassins standing over him. Darkness came quickly.

***

The three assassins stood in a room inside an elegant villa. In front of the lead killer was a tall man with a piercing gaze who spoke to him in French.

What did you do with the body? the man asked.

We searched him and found nothing, the assassin replied. We threw his body overboard. We thought—

Silence! the tall man shouted as he pointed his finger sharply at the assassin. You didn’t think! Did it occur to you he swallowed the drive?"

The lead assassin stood stiffly. He was speechless.

The tall man banged his fist on the mahogany desk and approached the killer; a pearl handle knife engraved with a black Scorpion was in his hand. The lead assassin’s eyes grew larger, riveted on the blade. The tall man scraped the side of his face with the knife. The assassin lurched and tumbled to the ground convulsing, shaking. His screams were shrill from the excruciating pain. His face contorted. Blood oozed from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. He shook violently before he took his last breath. The pearl handle knife was saturated with a rare, fast acting and deadly venom. This was the calling card of the most feared and legendary assassin alive. The Scorpion.

The Scorpion walked around the desk and sat in his chair. He picked up the cell phone lying there. The person on the other end had heard everything.

You have a serious leak in your organization, he said. We are not going to let one incompetent link in the Network destroy a plan that has taken decades to culminate. If you don’t plug the hole, everything and everyone in your group will be eliminated, permanently! His voice was biting. Are we clear?

The man on the other end responded in French with a thick German lilt.

Infinitely clear. 

Paris, France

One week later

The room vibrated with excitement as the charismatic Jason Wade mingled among the guests at a party celebrating his newly opened restaurant and his recent marriage. He looked quite dashing in his black tuxedo. This was the second restaurant in Paris for the talented chef, and it had drawn an elaborate mix of people.

Musicians, artists, corporate, and political types all seemed to feel at ease in the warm glow of candlelight set against the funky, modern but elegant atmosphere. The music of Mozart filtered through the hum of chatter. Guests devoured savory hors d’oeuvres; a fusion of Asian, Indian, and Cuban cuisine, served on silver platters circulating the room as they drank Dom Perignon Rosé champagne.

While Wade spoke to the Italian Ambassador, he could not resist glancing across the room at Kira, his stunning bride of six months. The red silk dress she wore, with a back that plunged to the waist, was a flawless fit on her toned body. Jason watched her and smiled. Kira was talking to a captive audience, a group of Wall Street analysts. Her features were striking. Long raven hair, full lips and high cheek bones were accentuated by her big almond shaped eyes and smooth olive skin. She always seemed to mesmerize both men and women.

Wade ended his conversation with the Ambassador and made his way over to join her. Just as he reached Kira’s side, his cell phone rang. He looked down at the number with a curious frown then put his arm around her waist and whispered, I have to take this.

She looked up at him warmly and nodded with a smile as she playfully brushed her body against his thigh.

Really? she quipped. Don’t be long.

He kissed her lightly and excused himself from the group. He walked throw the double doors that lead to the kitchen and a small office located in the back of the restaurant. Wade took a deep breath and answered the call.

I haven’t heard from you in a while, he said to the caller.

The man’s voice on the other end was cautious, apologetic. I’d never call if it wasn’t serious.

Wade was quiet at first, then asked guardedly, What can I do for you?

A favor…I need your help. Can you meet with someone before you leave Paris? A one-time deal I promise. I can’t discuss it now. The man paused. I’ll explain later.

Wade understood instinctively. His answer was firm, I can’t help you.

Just hear me out, the man pleaded, a rasp in his voice.

You know my situation, it’s too risky! He hissed.

All I’m asking is that you hear me out.

There was silence; uncomfortable silence. Finally, Wade gave the caller a curt response, I’ll listen to what you have to say, but don’t expect anything.

Fair enough, the man replied. I’ll call you later tonight.

Wade returned to the party smiling as he moved through the crowd but he couldn’t escape the pangs of anxiety gnawing at his core, a choking uneasiness engulfed him.

2

Manhattan, NY

The silver Porsche maneuvered around a corner and pulled in front of a convenience store. Cane Spencer, a handsome well-built young man with a flair for dressing, was making a stop for cigarettes on his way to a recording session at Icon Records. For two weeks he tried to kick the habit, and this was his first cigarette of the day.

He sat in his Porsche momentarily gazing across the street at Madison Square Park. The trees were bursting with life and the tingle of early spring infused the air.

Deep inside the park the faint sound of a violin floated into the night as a street musician played his soul out. Cane remembered how much he enjoyed sitting in this park in the middle of Manhattan when he was younger. It was the only place he could dream and forget the chaos of the city. This week was especially tough for him and Cane wished he had taken that flight to Paris to celebrate the opening of his friend’s new restaurant.

Stepping from the car, he headed toward the bodega, adjusting his leather jacket to accommodate a sudden gust of wind. He glanced down at his diamond-studded Rolex watch. He didn’t want to be late.

When Cane entered the store, he headed straight for the cooler at the rear in search of bottled water. The Indian store owner turned around briefly from the counter as Cane strolled through, but quickly returned his gaze to the television mounted high on the wall behind him. The low tones of a reporter’s voice resonated throughout the store. A BBC newscaster talked about the rash of natural disasters happening around the world; most recent, a monster flood in Pakistan that was devastating the country.

The store owner was still glued to the television screen when Cane reached the counter with water and a snack. The owner bagged his purchases.

Anything else?

Give me a pack of clover cigarettes.

The man put the cigarettes on the counter. The thin brown cigarettes looked like a small cigar with a hint of clover in the way it smelled and tasted. This store was one of the few places in Manhattan that sold them.

Cane looked up at the old TV set while taking money from his trouser pocket to pay. By now the BBC newscast had switched to entertainment news, and a story seized his attention. He listened intently to what the reporter was saying.

"The movie Obsession from TriMaxx Entertainment Studios (TES) has been the highest grossing film over the last six weeks in the U.S. and Europe. It’s expected to be one of the biggest blockbusters of the year, helping to put the financially ailing TES back on the map and over the top."

Cane started to shake uncontrollably, furious at what he was hearing. He slammed the money on the counter, grabbed the cigarettes and bag, and stormed out the store. Like a man in a desert looking for a drink, he tore open the pack, jammed a cigarette between his lips, lit it with his platinum lighter, and took a long drag. Walking toward his car at a swift clip, he punched the numbers on his cell phone irately to call Justin Hicks, the owner of Icon Records.

Cane screamed into the phone when Justin answered, I’m suing them! he shouted. He paused by the door of his Porsche, fidgeting with his keys. They’re not getting away with this!

Calm down, Justin urged. Don’t get yourself all worked up. Just come to the studio. There’re two lovely ladies here waiting for you.

Ignoring the last comment, Cane continued his tirade, What do you think’s going to happen when I blow the lid off of this? They’ll—

A deafening sound interrupted him, an explosion of metal ripping through skin, bone, flesh and blood; bullets tearing through his chest and thigh. Cane couldn’t speak any longer. He gurgled as the phone slipped from his fingertips. The bag and cigarettes fell to the ground. His eyes bulged out of focus while he struggled to keep standing, but it was no use; his legs buckled as his body hit the front of his car and bounced off to the pavement.

He could hear the footsteps coming closer to his head but couldn’t move. Again, another explosion ripping flesh, this time from the side of his head. A sea of red pooled around him as he lay in the street. His eyes still, staring.

Two men in black ski masks, dark clothes and leather gloves jumped back into a navy-blue SUV and screeched off down the street running a red light as they turned the corner. The store owner ran out, kneeled beside Cane and tried to comfort him. But it was too late. All he could do was yell for help.

Cane’s cell phone was on the ground. Justin Hicks yelling on the other end of the line,       Cane! Cane!

It was 3:00 A.M. in Paris, and Kordell Jason Wade bolted straight up in bed jarred from a deep sleep, breathing heavily and gasping for air. He was waking from a nightmare. His heart pounded fiercely, his body dripping in sweat.

Kira sat up embracing him from behind and leaned on his back. The stillness of night played like music through the couple’s spacious flat. Soft blue moonlight beamed down from a skylight bathing their bodies, bare and entwined like two Greek Gods. Kira laid her head on Jason’s shoulder, her black wavy hair draped over his chest as she tried to comfort him, soothe him from the recurring nightmare she knew all too well. Somehow, she thought it was over. This was the first time he had the dream in two years.

In the dream, Jason Wade relived the night his father was murdered.

It was Harlem, NY, 21 years ago; Jason was twelve years old running along a narrow hallway of a brownstone. His mother Marta was close behind telling him in Spanish to slow down. Jason’s mother was Cuban and his father black American. His mother came to the United States on the wave of so many Cubans trying to escape Castro’s Cuba.

Everything was so vivid to him in his dream. The smell of food simmering on the stove that sailed through the air, and the steady glow of flames dancing in the fireplace. He was excited his father Buddy was returning home from a week-long business trip in Miami. It was evident how much the young boy missed his dad.

Jason heard his father’s key in the lock and rushed to greet him. But the door suddenly swung open. Buddy leaned against it, a blank gape on his face. In the center of his forehead a small dark spot started to sprout red drops. It all seemed to be in slow motion but it wasn’t. What seemed like a lifetime, the image of Buddy tilting forward toward his son, the sudden stream of blood pouring from the bullet wound in his forehead and his tall 6’ 2" body sliding off the door, crashing to the ground with a thud, happened so quickly. Jason froze, unable to move.

The youthful Wade gawked at the crumpled figure. His lips parted, but no sound escaped, he trembled. A volcano of raw emotion erupted inside him. Then the tears came, an avalanche of tears overwhelming him. He was locked inside an uncontainable shiver. His mother clutched him then they both rushed to kneel beside the body. Their screams ruptured the night.

The loud ringing of the telephone echoed through the flat, startling the couple. Wade snapped back to the present. He and Kira looked at each other, baffled. After all it was 3:40 A.M. in Paris. Kira answered the call.

Oh no, God no! she cried.

In the 11th district of Paris at the offices of Movement For World Change (MFWC), Nora Kovak was frantically copying information from a computer onto a Thor drive, a thin drive small as a dime, formatted to copy encrypted data. She was a high-ranking member of MFWC, a domestic extremist group in France. She was also an agent for the International Intelligence Agency (INIA) that had successfully infiltrated the organization.

INIA was an ultra-clandestine intelligence agency created after 9-11. The agency consisted of agents from countries around the world working together to combat terrorism and hostile acts. Each country had a division called the Consulate. The U.S. division was Consulate 9. INIA was such a deep cover group that the global intelligence community didn’t know it existed.

Nora had gotten wind of a significant event that would take place in a Western nation. It was imminent and catastrophic. The details were sketchy and closely guarded, even from her. But she knew all vital information was kept on this computer; Otis Conran’s computer.

Otis Conran was the head of MFWC who made her one of his highest-level officers and also one of his closest comrades. At least as close as they came for him. He considered himself Nora’s mentor, molding her to be second in command. He was a staunch authoritarian.

The noise of traffic from the street floating up from an open window did not camouflage the sound she heard outside the door. The floor creaked. The wood slats were giving way to footsteps lightly approaching Otis’s office. Now, she must hurry and email the rest of the documents to her country villa located in Corsica, one of Nora’s best kept secrets. She erased all traces of the documents being sent. The footsteps grew closer; Nora sat completely still. The door knob turned slowly, and the door gradually opened.

***

In a dimly lit section of the Flatiron district of lower Manhattan, sirens cried, and the glare of red and white lights flashing from police vehicles signaled something very serious was happening. Yellow strips of tape cordoned off the area. Cane Spencer, a successful music producer, had been shot to death. A white sheet covered his body lying on the street in a pool of blood next to his silver Porsche.

NYPD homicide Detective Taz Marino was the first detective on the scene. He reported to Captain Liam O’Connor by phone describing the details of the situation. Another police officer questioned the Indian store owner while Taz paced back and forth talking on his cell phone to the Captain.

I just talked to Jason in Paris to give him the news, Captain O’Connor said, his voice riddled with sadness.

I guess he’ll be coming back soon, Taz responded cynically, an unmistakable attitude in his tone was lost on O’Connor at the moment.

He’ll be home tomorrow.

I guess you’ll be glad to see him.

I will, the captain admitted, his tenor much lighter. But I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances.

I know, Taz replied.

Just the mention of Wade from the Irish Captain was infuriating to Taz.

Taz and Wade were once best friends but now bitter opponents. The two men were in the police academy together and partners on the force. They were once a formidable team.

At the age of twenty, Jason Wade was the youngest detective in the city; his record for solving the most complicated and perplexing crimes was unmatched. Ironically, the only case Wade had never