Lone Operator

By Jan Domagala

A batch of experimental missiles is hijacked by a group with military training.

Duncan Pryde, an agent of the Ministry of Intelligence is tasked with the recovery of them before they can be used.

Nathan Jericho, an ex-Special Forces soldier now running the Independent Criminal Executive has them and intends to use them.

Pryde has to work with a beautiful Coalition Intelligence Agent, Jasmine Fields trying to learn what Jericho's motives are and avert a disaster of catastrophic proportions.

Lone Operator is full of political intrigue as shadowy figures behind the curtain of civilization pull strings in Machiavellian plans.

Action and adventure rich in texture with complex characters and a hero like no other make Lone Operator a thrilling entry in a new series that will grab you by the throat and leave you wanting for more.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Red Penguin Books
• Release date: Aug 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9781637771402

Book preview

Prologue

Cronus III, 2287ce

The convoy was moving slowly but with purpose through the countryside. Four vehicles in all, the lead vehicle was smaller than the others. It held two soldiers in front, Captain Hanley was in command of the convoy and he sat next to Sergeant Johansson, his second on this mission. 

Behind them was the first armed vehicle, which held four armed soldiers who manned the weapons platform; behind this was the payload, followed by the rear armed vehicle with the same complement of soldiers.

The payload was a complement of experimental missiles being transferred to a testing site for the final stage of testing before deploying to the military around the galaxy. The testing was nothing more than confirmation by the military's highest echelon, putting a rubber stamp on their approval, which meant the weapons could then be used.

Approaching last kilometre of the op lads, we’re almost there so that means we keep our vigilance. This isn’t the time to get lax, heads on a swivel, let’s not screw the pooch at this late stage, Hanley said through the comm link they all shared.

Area is clear in front and to the rear, no threats detected, your way is clear, said the pilot of the forward aircraft, providing air support for the convoy. Both jet copters were variants of the old Osprey, tilt rotor V-22 aircraft. Each had the ability to keep pace with the vehicles below, to hover over them or speed off if the need arose, and were armed with a variety of weapons—rockets, missiles and pulse cannons.

Hanley glanced at Johansson, his driver, to say, We’re on the home stretch now. We should be free and clear in just over an hour.

Johansson was about to agree when the sound of an engine rocked their vehicle.

What the fuck was that? Johansson said as he peered up through the windscreen at the aircraft that had suddenly come into view. It had appeared from nowhere, or so it seemed, passing over the two air support aircraft to position itself in their path, hovering thirty metres off the ground facing them.

What is that? Hanley said, looking at it. He had seen nothing like it before. Shaped like a flat egg with a weapons pod popping out from under, where he assumed the pilot sat at the front, two pulse cannons appeared from inside the hull at the side aiming right at them. Bright lights shone from these weapons and twin beams of particle energy fired right at the leading aircraft. The beams struck the aircraft, slicing through like a hot knife through butter, cutting it into three slices which then erupted in explosions as critical systems were destroyed. A fireball lit the sky up as the aircraft was destroyed and then fell to the ground in front of Hanley’s vehicle.

Incoming, he shouted, and Johansson steered the vehicle around the burning wreckage that had slammed into the ground blocking the convoy’s path.

Light that thing up, he shouted to all support craft. The trailing aircraft acquired a target lock immediately and opened fire with missiles which were blown out of the sky before they had travelled more than a few metres from the pods holding them. The armed vehicle behind the payload truck opened fire with its large calibre pulse cannon; it’s major weapon then followed it with its full complement of rockets.

The attacking craft turned slightly, then targeted the smaller ground vehicle with its twin particle beam weapon. In seconds the rockets had all been destroyed and the vehicle sliced down the middle, killing all on board.

The last remaining aircraft fired more missiles and opened fire with its pulse cannons as well. The missiles fared no better than last time and the pulse cannon blasts struck shields that stopped them without causing any damage. Another burst from the particle weapon sliced the aircraft into pieces as it tried to turn and evade further attacks. As it erupted into a huge fireball it lost all power, then slammed into the ground seconds later.

Hanley had seen all this and wasn’t sure what else they could do. He was staring defeat and possible death in the face. Johansson had pulled their vehicle up to a halt and both of them were outside firing up at the strange vehicle attacking them with as little effect as the last aircraft had. They watched as their bullets bounced off the shield erected around it.

The forward armed vehicle had pulled up, allowing the soldiers to deploy to add their firepower to that of the pulse cannon on board.

A blast from the particle weapon sliced through the pulse cannon and vehicle, destroying it in seconds. The soldiers spread wider, looking for cover from the trees that lined the road they had been travelling along when the attacker had struck. 

Taking a stand behind stout looking tall trees, both Hanley and Johansson used covering fire to help the four remaining soldiers to join them. Spraying bullets from their rifles at the shielded craft, Hanley saw the bullet strikes impact the shield.

The hovering craft fired the twin particle beams into the trees, severing them just above where their heads were. The massive trunks were sliced through, felling them, toppling them over. Bodies went scuttling as their cover suddenly disappeared. 

The huge trunks fell down, crushing two of the soldiers like rotten fruit. The others were more fortunate to reach the cover Hanley and Johansson had found.

As the craft hovered, lines were dropped that soldiers rappelled down to the ground from. As soon as they were on the ground, they began to spread out, targeting anything that moved with rifles. One of the soldiers who had escaped being crushed put his head out from behind a tree to see what was happening and received a bullet through the forehead for his curiosity.

This is looking worse by the second, Hanley thought.

Most of the soldiers who rappelled down from the strange craft congregated around the payload truck. They began to offload the missiles and ferry them over to below the craft.

Hanley and Johansson, along with the last remaining soldier, came out from under cover to fire on the soldiers walking in their direction.

Bullets slammed into all three of them the moment they emerged, knocking them all off their feet.

Hanley lay on the ground and pain filled his senses as he managed to turn his head to see the soldiers walk over to them all. A bullet to the head killed Johansson, then the other soldier. He lay there unable to move as blood pooled on the ground from all his wounds. Beyond the approaching soldiers he could see the missiles being hoisted up into the craft and he knew his mission had failed. 

He looked up into the face mask of the soldier standing over him just before a trigger was pulled and a bullet through his brain turned out his lights for good.

Chapter 1

Praxis, 2287ce

Duncan Pryde breached the surface of the water in the bay to see the moonlight glinting off the waves tops as he looked toward the shore.

He had swum the distance underwater using a rebreather so as not to give his position away with bubbles from a scuba tank breaking the surface. Now he was able to touch bottom as he remained where he was to survey the area before moving in.

The refinery was quite plainly visible even at this time of night, close to midnight, because of the lights illuminating the huge silos that reached up to the sky as if demanding someone take notice of them, crying out for attention. Which was strange considering their purpose, which was to store vast amounts of the narcotic known simply as Dust. You would have thought that an enterprise of this nature would want to be kept a secret, or at least to have more stringent security than what he was witnessing.

Duncan was an agent of the Ministry of Intelligence; it was the government agency that ran intelligence gathering within the Coalition Of Planets. The section he worked for was MI7, which was classified as SecOps, or Security Operations. This had a broad scope of operations and most of the time they dealt with covert operations such as this one. They had been alerted to this operation by an informant who wanted to remain anonymous but also wanted to get out from under the clutches of the criminal organisation running this endeavour, hence his presence here. He had been sent to investigate and, if the intel given to them proved to be correct, he was to shut it down.

Taking out a scanner from his belt, he aimed it at the silos. Within a short time, he had readings from them. Inside each silo was a huge amount of the narcotic. The chemical analysis conducted by the sensors proved the intel to be correct.

It was time to move on to the next phase of this operation.

He swam ashore silently and walked up the narrow beach to the promenade wall that surrounded the facility.

Looking both ways, he couldn’t see anyone nearby. Guards patrolled this wall periodically, but at the moment they weren’t anywhere in sight. Climbing over the wall, he kept low as he assessed which direction he would need to go. 

He was wearing a wetsuit that also doubled as a stealth suit. The material it was made from refracted light so that anyone looking directly at him would see a dead spot, as light was bent around him. As long as he remained absolutely still, he would be invisible to the naked eye.

The silos were visible from the wall and he walked over to the fence surrounding the area. A quick scan with the small device told him the fence was not powered in anyway. From another pouch on his belt, he took a small laser cutter and proceeded to cut a hole into the mesh fence large enough for him to get through. Once inside, he ran over to the nearest silo. Each of the three silos stood over three hundred feet high and was at least a hundred and fifty feet in diameter. They could hold millions of tons of Dust inside. Taking out a small round disc device, he placed it at the base of the first silo and pressed a touch screen, which activated the timer. An LED visual showed the timer ready to start counting down, which would begin as soon as the last device was set. He then repeated this action with the other two.

The bombs he’d placed there would destroy them and all the contents inside, curtailing the criminal group's ability to supply the narcotic to this sector.

As he set the last device, he saw the countdown begin. He had four minutes to get to a safe distance or be killed in the blast.

He ran for the fence and went through it and sprinted for the promenade wall. As he reached it, he became aware of two figures converging on him.

Guards, they had come as part of their routine patrol and were about to see him. Having no time to stop, he continued toward the wall. His stealth suit wouldn’t matter now as he was moving too fast for it to be of any use. At the wall he heard one of them shout a challenge to him, ordering him to stop and surrender. He had no intention of following that particular order or any others they might issue as he leaped onto the wall, then vaulted over it to the beach beyond.

Inside his wet suit was a sidearm he’d brought with him, just in case. It was a Walther Q9 fitted with a suppressor—a standard sidearm for the MI7. As he landed on the beach, he withdrew the weapon, turned and aimed at where the guards would appear. As soon as he saw the two of them, he fired. Four shots, two double taps each, all of them making no more noise than a slight coughing sound. Each guard’s head exploded in a red mist as the bullets struck their target.

Turning, Pryde ran for the jetty he had seen on his approach. Tied to the end was a small boat, sleek and trim; it appeared to be a fast speedboat. He ran down to the jetty and jumped aboard. He released the tether holding the boat in place, then started the engine. A deep throaty growl affirmed his suspicion and he steered it away out into the open sea.

He hadn’t gone far when he heard the sound of two other engines on the water from somewhere behind him. A glance over his shoulder told him everything he needed to know. Two other fast boats had appeared from around a curve in the coastline and they were headed after him.

Things are about to get interesting, he thought.

To make matters worse, an aircraft appeared in the night sky, lights blazing as it too chased after him. A spotlight lanced through the dark sky, spearing him in its brilliance, showing the two chasing boats exactly where he was.

Brilliant, he thought.

He couldn’t quite see what the aircraft was through the intensity of the light shining down on him but he suspected it was an old Sikorsky chopper fitted out with the searchlight and possibly a weapons rack slung on either side of the pilot’s cabin. Which meant, if the chasing boats didn’t get him, they could blow him out of the water. Seeing as how they hadn’t done that so far meant they wanted him alive, probably to see who he was and what he was doing here. His internal clock told him the second part of that question would be answered momentarily.

Aiming his pistol at the spotlight, he fired three shots, taking out the bright light, plunging him and the boat back into the sheer darkness of the inky black night.

Bullets zinged past his head as the chasing boats opened fire on him. It was clear by how they were missing deliberately that these were nothing more than warning shots. That would change soon enough when it became fully clear that he was not going to stop.

Swerving his boat to give them something harder to hit, he saw bullets strike the water as their shots went wide of the mark.

Knowing their warnings were falling on deaf ears, those chasing him tightened up their aim and bullets began to hit the back of his boat, sending up splinters from where the shells hit the woodwork of the boat.

Because he was moving in a zig-zagging pattern, he was giving the others more of a chance to catch him up. Before long, he had a boat coming up on him on either side.

He felt the thud as the nearest boat slammed into the rear of his, which rocked when two men jumped aboard.

Duncan turned to face this new challenge. He had to evict them if he wanted to get to his exfil position. The first man came at him, snarling through gritted teeth, only to have them smashed when Duncan struck him in the face with the butt of his pistol. Blood and shattered teeth sprayed out in a red mess as both his hands went up, instinctively to cover his face. A foot in his chest sent him sprawling back to collide with his colleague, and they both fell to the deck. Duncan finished them both off with a coup de grace, splattering their brains over the deck below them.

Returning to the controls, Duncan sped away from the boat at his rear only to have the other ram him from the starboard side. The collision sent him off his feet momentarily. He struggled to his feet, clawing his way off the deck, pistol still in his hand. Seeing another boarder climbing over the rails near the collision point, Duncan raised his pistol and shot the man in the face. The man following him screamed out in shock and pain as the bullet passed through the head of the man in front to graze the side of his face too. 

Duncan was on his feet by this time and he grabbed the dead man at the rails by his shirt front and pulled him into the boat, then shot the man behind him as he too was climbing aboard. The bullet took out the top of his head in a red jet of gore that would stain the water beyond for several feet before dissipating in the moving current. The dead man fell back into his own boat, preventing anyone else from following.

Duncan steered his boat away from the other two as they came to terms with the chaos he'd caused, which had caught them all flat footed. Using this confusion, he opened the gap between them even wider.

As he cleared his path away from the other boats momentarily, he breathed easier for a second only. Large calibre shells tore up the prow of his boat as the chopper above opened fire on him.

As he was just thinking about how to deal with this new development, the silos exploded. The night sky was lit up in a display any firework supplier would be proud of. Flames flew high into the air, throwing debris outward, scattering shards and flaming debris over an area that covered the entire facility. The fireball reached as high as a skyscraper and covered an area at least as large as two football fields placed end to end.

Nothing close to this cataclysm would survive; buildings that stood next to them were flattened in seconds as the shockwave tore through them. Flames spread out as the flaming debris landed, catching fire with everything it touched.

From out at sea, all eyes naturally turned to view this spectacle, giving Duncan those extra precious seconds to escape.

Before moving off, he turned his pistol to the chopper and fired at the cabin. He smiled as he saw his shots strike the pilot as he slumped over the controls, dead. This sent the aircraft into a spiral towards the surface of the water it would be unable to return from.

Duncan then set course for his exfil location because he knew the boats would forget about their pursuit of him in favour of returning to shore to see what they could do to salvage anything from the blast. Their friends and comrades were in that blast and they would do what they could to help, and all thoughts of him were lost in the shock of seeing the explosion.

Seeing the other two boats turn back, he continued on to where he needed to be. Alone now in the vast sea, he checked his coordinates on his wrist pad. When he was in the correct location, he switched off the engine, replaced his pistol inside his wetsuit, then vaulted over the side of the boat into the water. With his rebreather firmly back in place between his teeth, he dived for the bottom.

His arms stroked as his legs kicked, powering him deeper into the dark depths of the sea until he saw lights flickering in the distance. 

His ride had arrived.

A ship had held position off the coast waiting for his arrival. He headed for it, entering through one of the three escape hatches—one fore, one amidships and the one he used, aft.

As the water left the hatch and the door opened, he entered the sub.

Okay ship, take us home, he said. The ship he had entered was a small starship that was run by an AI. This entire operation was a covert black op, so the fewer people who knew about it, the better for everyone. 

Stripping off his wetsuit, Duncan got dressed in his normal clothes, a shirt, cargo pants and soft leather boots before returning to the flight deck. As he sat down in the command chair, he saw the water far below as the AI steered him high into the air toward the upper atmosphere and the space beyond.

A message came in for you from Terra II, the ship said.

Okay, play it for me please, he replied. There was no need for privacy here; he was the only human on board.

He recognised the voice as soon as the message began playing, but the content of it hit him harder than anything he had experienced before. Seven words ripped his entire world apart. 

Your parents have died, I’m so sorry, the voice said. It was the voice of William Chambers, the man who had sent him on this mission, his immediate superior in the MI7. 

Once the message had been consigned to his memory, he said, Ship, set course for Terra II. 

Chapter 2

Terra II

Pryde was still at his parents’ home. The funeral had taken place months ago and he was finalising the details of selling the family home. He had no need for it; he already had an apartment where he was comfortable.

Grief over the loss of his parents had passed—in fact, being able to compartmentalise things had never been a problem for him. He was able to dial down emotions or dial them up if and when needed. It made him an ideal covert agent. He could dial down empathy and dial up aggression all the while remaining calm and detached.

Some had called him a psychopath but in actuality he was a functioning partial sociopath, which meant he could control his emotions better than most normal people. Psychopaths generally were said to have a personality disorder that had impaired empathy or remorse, exhibited antisocial behaviour which displayed in low fear, high stress tolerance and narcissistic tendencies. It was sometimes synonymous with sociopathy, but in Pryde’s case, although he exhibited a high tolerance to stress and