Denied the Truth: The Society Series, #5

By J Stark

After narrowly escaping death at the hands of the Grey Dragon Society, investigative journalist Nathan Hughes travels to Venezuela to look into a mysterious senator with sinister ambitions. Once there, Nathan and his rookie partner, Rachel Parks, uncover a twisted trail of illegal weapons, kidnapping, and assassination. Pulling the strings is the beautiful but insane Senator Isabella Espina.
Nathan believes she's the head of the Society, and the closer he gets to her, the more vicious and frequent the attempts on his life. Can he survive Espina's army of Patriot Guards to get to the truth or will he come face to face with the unspeakable horror that lies waiting in the dark dungeon of her fortress, La Casa Segura?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BrixBaxter Publishing
• Release date: Aug 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201677756

Book preview

Introduction

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CHAPTER 1

Nathan Hughes struggled to keep his car on the road. As he approached the sharp curve, he glanced down at the speedometer which read sixty-five. He attempted to counter steer the lumbering Tahoe SUV through the one-lane curve and nearly washed out the rear tires.

The cabin of the SUV filled up with choking dust as he released the brake pedal and mashed the accelerator to the floor. The rear wheels grabbed enough traction to shoot the rear end out of the drainage ditch and back onto the shell road. He looked up worriedly into the rearview and saw his pursuer successfully maneuver the curve without as much as a bobble and begin to close the gap between them.

Shit! he said through gritted teeth. I can’t shake them.

Without removing his eyes from the road, he felt around on the floorboard until he located the .50 caliber rifle that had slid off the seat during the last curve. Its magazine was fully loaded and he now held it close to him in his lap.

Nathan pushed the heavy SUV harder as he flew down a straight stretch of road, but the lighter and nimbler car of his pursuer was gaining major ground.

Well, Nathan muttered to himself, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em!

He cut the steering wheel hard to the left as his pursuers attempted to approach from that side. There was a loud crunch as his rear bumper caved in their right fender. The contact caused both to begin fishtailing wildly on the loose road, and the pursuer backed off.

Nathan could see the passenger lay his gun out of the open window as the driver once again accelerated and tried to pull alongside. Two shots impacted the side of the SUV with a loud double thump as a steep angled bridge appeared up ahead.

Nathan’s eyes grew wider as he realized the bridge was about to become a launching ramp if he didn’t slow significantly down. The road surface had now turned to fresh asphalt and the white dust began to clear. Three men waited for him on the bridge with rifles. His speed was hovering around seventy and he had to make a decision immediately.

Here goes nothing, he shouted and slammed on the brakes while spinning the steering wheel hard to the right. The front of the SUV dove hard toward the road as blue, pungent smoke boiled off the rubber tires. The landscape outside slowly rotated by as the rear end hopped once, then flipped completely around, facing the opposite direction.

Nathan released the brakes and jammed the accelerator to the floor as hard as he could. Now facing his pursuers, he headed straight for them in a high-speed game of chicken.

He could see both of their faces. Their eyes and mouths were wide open in terror as the much larger SUV barreled toward them. Nathan gripped the .50 caliber tight and raised it from his lap. The driver yelled something at his passenger and turned the car just in time to avoid a head-on collision.

As they flew by, Nathan raised his rifle and fired off four shots in quick succession. The car continued its trajectory and slid off the road into the shallow ditch. It plowed up a wide swath of dirt and grass while it shed all four hubcaps and both side mirrors. When it finally came to a stop, radiator steam boiled from under the hood, and both right-side tires were shredded from the impact.

Nathan tossed the gun into the floorboard and quickly spun the SUV back in the other direction. He arrived at the pursuer’s car around the same time as the ambulance.

Holy shit, Billy, are you okay! he shouted to the driver through the open window. He pulled on the driver’s door but it wouldn’t budge.

Bill Shotwell raised his head slowly and looked at Nathan in a daze. Most of his face was splattered with green paint and his swollen left ear was still dripping yellow paint. The passenger was basically the same, though his colors were purple and blue.

The EMTs roughly pushed Nathan to the side and began cutting the seatbelts. They brought in a portable jaws of life and hydraulically pried the jammed doors open.

A gurney was unfolded and Billy Shotwell was lifted on to it. The passenger was able to walk to the ambulance on his own.

Nathan walked beside the gurney as they rolled him away.

Maybe I should sell this business to you, Hughes, he said groggily, still trying to shake off what was likely a mild concussion. Best damn J-turn I’ve ever seen in my life. Not to mention the shooting.

He scowled at Nathan and spit out tiny gummy globs of green paint.

Sure glad that was only a paintball gun and not the real thing. How did you sling that land barge Tahoe around 180 degrees at speed without rolling it?

That’s not important right now, Nathan said, standing back as they lifted him into the ambulance. I’ll come down to Memorial and we’ll talk all about it.

Yes, sir, Bill exclaimed as they closed the back doors. Best damn J-turn I’ve ever seen in my life!

Nathan drove home slowly after he left Memorial Hospital. Billy was going to be okay and told him they planned to release him tomorrow. Though it turned out a little rough, the overall experience had been an exhilarating one.

Two weeks ago, he’d been recommended by his range instructor to attend Shotwell’s Tactical Solutions if he wanted top notch training. Police agencies from around the world flew in to take Billy’s courses. Billy was a retired CIA operative, but if you asked him, he would laugh and say his job was to keep the agency Director’s ice-cream machine in good working order. He was a very humble but highly capable man. Nathan had heard that Billy was once a real-life James Bond and an ice-blooded killer if he had to be.

To get a compliment from Billy was a rarity. Most students struggled and failed to please him. Most of the time, he was a pleasant and amiable guy, but he’d been known to be a demanding taskmaster when it came to teaching survival.

His training school wasn’t cheap, but it was one of the best facilities in the world.

Nathan had felt like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders after he returned from Serbia. The Society was convinced he was dead, thanks to some Academy Award caliber acting and he had disrupted their illicit operations once again. All his peace of mind vanished with the note left on his door.

The Grey Dragons knew of his deception. His life was worthless once again.

He’d made the decision to evacuate his home, taking only his research material and a few personal items. It pained him to leave his surveillance system, motion sensors, and intrusion detection security system that he had invested so much in, but he no longer felt safe there.

His Grey Dragon research and laptop had already been moved to a secure storage locker. A replay of security footage revealed two masked men had broken in and rummaged through his house. They had left the note on the door.

Captain Dawkins had informed him that there was but one survivor of the assault to take down Vladimir. Major Spears had been killed by evisceration when Vladimir started swinging his battle axe. The rest died as they had lived—by the sword. The survivor was found unconscious, missing a hand and a large chunk of his thigh. He required several surgeries and blood transfusions before he could relate what he saw.

As he recounted the story of that day, his heart monitor began to beat so rapidly, the police had it temporarily unplugged.

Vladimir had beaten a thick steel plate into a crude shield and set a series of traps throughout the old farmhouse. There was confusion and inaction when it was discovered Major Spears was missing. Some wanted to begin the assault without him and others wanted to wait. When he suddenly returned, he called them all together for instructions.

The first team through the door was butchered. They were able to fire off several rounds but Vladimir’s knives swung with such savagery, they fell in the doorway. Bright red blood ran in rivulets to the edge of the old porch and dripped down like gory icicles to the ground.

The second team breached the rear door and were blown to pieces by a gasoline bomb with a trip flare detonator. This also caught the house on fire and Vladimir was forced to come out and fight in the open.

The shield was only partially effective against the hail of bullets, and the giant took several in his extremities. It seemed to have little to no effect on him.

The last thing the survivor remembered was a huge blade coming down from above. He raised his arm in defense and lost his hand. The blade continued to travel downward and removed a meaty portion of his thigh down to the bone. By the time the police and firefighters arrived, everything was quiet. The Patriot Guard were all dead. Though they tracked Vladimir’s blood trail into the woods, his body was never found.

Nathan parked his car in a small unobtrusive lot and began to walk. He knew this was paranoia in overdrive but he felt the need anyway. He doubled back to ensure he wasn’t being followed and eventually arrived at Deer Park Motel. The Deer Park mainly rented rooms by the week, but some could be had by the hour. The rooms were sparse and musty, but no one asked questions and that was what he needed right then.

He bolted the door and wedged one of the chairs at an angle under the knob. It wasn’t high tech, but it would do in a pinch. Fearing the room might be bugged, he turned on the TV for some background noise and set up his laptop.

He hoped to find an email from his South American contact concerning Venezuela but found nothing. He checked his Glock 17 and loaded another spare magazine. He also checked over the Remington 12 gauge in the corner of his bedroom and took the safety off. If he needed it in a hurry, he wanted it ready to go.

He made the rounds and checked the only two windows in the room. He attached small pieces of thread to them both. If he found the thread broken, he’d know someone had been there.

Living in fear and paranoia did not sit well with him. He had begun to loathe Philadelphia and the trappings that came with living there. He had only felt free when he was out in the world doing what he had been born to do.

The city was packed full of people who had no concept of anything outside their small mundane circle of friends and work. In the end, it was just as much of a death sentence as an assassin’s bullet. All the friends and family he cared for were not there anymore. He felt alive when he was on the move. The Post had become a burden. The thought of going to work made him think of large green bottles of Jameson’s, and that was the last wagon on Earth he wanted to fall off of.

He sat and logged on to his ghost media page set up for his alter ego, Jack Redding. Even that was becoming stale. His donations had fallen off due to his sporadic opportunities to blog consistently.

Nathan sighed and closed up the laptop. He walked the room again, turning off the lights, and ended the routine by taking a customary glance out the main window. Outside, a man in a fedora smoked a cigarette next to an early model Cutlass.

He saw Nathan move back the drapes and walked to the driver’s door, throwing his half-lit cigarette on the ground. He paused to look over his shoulder, then started the car up and drove away.

Nathan watched as the taillights slowly disappeared down the street, and he clutched the Glock a little tighter.

CHAPTER 2

The Philadelphia Post’s offices came into view as Nathan rounded the corner. He parked the car and flipped down the visor. He inspected his face in the mirror. He hadn’t shaved or cut his normally short hair in almost two months, and he liked it.

He wasn’t looking forward to the ribbing he was about to get by his coworkers, but he’d gone through much worse. The only thing he didn’t like was his bloodshot eyes and haggard face. He found it difficult to sleep through the night, and every little noise made him sit up in bed and listen.

Everyone in the newsroom stopped talking and watched as he made his way toward his office.

Nathan? Oh my God, is that you? Cindy Lou exclaimed as he passed by. It is you! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with a beard. It looks very distinguished!

Oh c’mon, give the butt-kissing a break for once, will you? Steve, the new guy, said. He looks like hammered crap. What’s the matter, Hughes? Reporting getting to be too much for you?

Nathan just smiled and flipped him the bird as he walked by. The office erupted into laughter. Steve frowned and went back to what he’d been working on.

In his office, he closed the door and sat at his all too familiar desk. Coming back to normalcy was going to be harder than he’d imagined. His thoughts soon returned to where they always did, the Grey Dragon Society. He was getting closer to the truth, and he knew it.

They knew it too. That was why they were throwing their top assassins in the mix. Somewhere, there was an endpoint. He would either uncover and unmask their leader or he would end up six feet under.

He was able to get the flight logs off the plane and the dead Venezuelan’s phone. He’d stayed up for two nights poring over the information until it came to a dead end at an organization called VB Provincial in Caracas. VBP coincidentally was partially owned by Isabella Espina, a crooked Venezuelan legislator.

It all fit together and he pushed away from his desk in disgust.

I should be on a plane to Caracas right now instead of wasting away here with fluff pieces! I need money. Think, Hughes. How can you get your butt over there?

Espina looked to be higher up the Dragon food chain than even Dedic, though he wondered why anyone would want the job. They certainly had a penchant for eating their own. Espina could be top dog. He also wondered how the Council fit in to all of this. They seemed to call the shots, but did they really?

Illicit money, political espionage, and communication trails all seemed to lead to Venezuela. It had to be more than a coincidence, but he wouldn’t know sitting on his backside in Philly.

Though