Restore: The Alliance Chronicles, #5

By SF Benson

Restore is a thrilling journey of revenge and redemption.

Asher Jones is a soldier turned rebel spy who is guilty of being a liar, traitor, and a cheat. He is determined to return home to his wife and child, but the crumbling New Order stands in his way. With the desire for justice and retribution in his heart, he faces off against a man who will stop at nothing to make his enemies pay. Asher must decide if silencing his enemies is the only way he can enjoy life.

If you enjoyed the action-packed techno thriller of The Alliance Chronicles, you will love Restore.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Avanturine Press
• Release date: Nov 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9798223013488

SF Benson

SF Benson, a Michigan native, resides in Southern California with her husband, a human daughter, and a couple of miniature fur kids (two female short-haired guinea pigs). At one time, she wrangled a household which included three Samoyeds, saltwater fish, a hamster, and three guinea pigs. She’s an avid bookworm who appreciates a well-written book regardless of genre. SF prefers writing stories about strong, diverse protagonists set in dystopian, science fiction, or paranormal worlds. Connect with Author SF Benson: Be the first one to find out news about releases and giveaways! Email List https://bit.ly/3GnDYCk Facebook www.facebook.com/bensonsf Twitter @bensonshantella

Book preview

RestoreTitle Page

CONTENTS

Also by SF Benson

Prologue

Resignation

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Requisition

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Relations

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Reparations

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Epilogue

Read on for a sneak peek of

Mark

Asher

Glossary

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Acknowledgments

About the Author

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Copyright © 2018 by Avanturine Press, LLC

All rights reserved worldwide.

Published November 19, 2018

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written permission of the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of this author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design & Formatting by Avanturine Press Books

Editing by Maria Rosera

For more information about this book and the author visit:

www.authorsfbenson.com

ALSO BY SF BENSON

THE ALLIANCE CHRONICLES

Regress

Rescue

Release

Rebel

HEARTS DUOLOGY

Cursed Hearts

Blessed Hearts

Hearts Duology Boxed Set

Holiday Hearts

ALL THINGS DARK & MAGICKAL SERIES

The Glass Watch

Bitter Fruit

The Red Veil

For the love of family

PROLOGUE

DECEMBER 2025

Despite the fact that Hybrids outnumbered Purebreds in the American Republic, I was, without a doubt, this country’s biggest fear—a disillusioned American who found hope in Allah.

But no one would label me a dissident. I’d been through a hell of a lot in my life. Losing my family, my first love, and even my freedom made me desperate. I sought solace from my overwhelming grief. At one point, that comfort came from drugs and alcohol. When those things jeopardized my independence, I turned to religion. I wasn’t seeking destruction, only hope and a little salvation. The only thing I got from my church was words promising an afterlife with those I lost when I hungered for a way to live in the here and now. So I sought a replacement. What I got was a new family, love, and a form of temporary peace.

Besides, I thought I was on the right path. All around me, the country and its inhabitants were disintegrating thanks to acts of homegrown aggression. Everyone had a beef, but nobody had a solution. People couldn’t find common ground and mutual respect even if they were marked with an X on a map. The level of hatred sickened and shamed me.

And now we were headed in that same direction again.

At this moment, my superiors derided me for the things I’d done—stealing encrypted government technology, releasing it to the public, and helping rebels stay ahead of the New Order. Nothing I could do or say would change the opinions of those who’d sworn to protect the country. They only saw that I sided with the rebels, not entirely true. I sided with those who offered me a chance at something…better.

When I first got started in this endeavor of double-agency, it was just the Alliance against the government. At some point, the organization split. Those who believed in peaceful solutions continued, but there was a darker element that developed. One that wanted freedom for all by any means necessary. That group became the one I answered to. The one who willingly separated me from wife and child for a year. Because of that disconnect, my heart went astray and put me in the face of temptation. Thank Allah—or whoever listened to me—nothing came of it.

If you tore through the carefully constructed wall of the Alliance, you found the chinks in its armor. The so-called managers of information kept shit from the bottom feeders, the lowly agents stuck in the field, expecting total obedience. Disagree and there were lethal consequences. When my wife disagreed with the leaders, she had no choice but to go underground with her extended family. They all live in the New Mexican Territory with my grandparents watching over them.

"Lieutenant Jones… The angular man in uniform, General Eddy Stone, stopped in front of the table. You have a lot of explaining to do starting with Lieutenant Castaneda’s allegations."

I smirked. She got her rank, and it only cost her…everything. I’m not sure what the good lieutenant told you.

Wonderment loomed over General Stone’s face. It was obvious that he struggled with the possible reasons I might have for choosing the opposition over the country. He could join the club. I’d been questioning lots of things in my life of late—been seeking a bridge that narrowed the gap between my religious beliefs and the science our leaders forced upon us.

You shared confidential information in exchange for sex. Seriously, Jones? Men like you are why there’s that Don’t Touch Law.

He’s referring to the law that rose out of the whole Me Too Movement. It got to a point that no one could shake hands without drawing suspicion. Like, don’t assume shit about me, sir. I’m only guilty of being interested in Castaneda. Nothing ever happened between us.

Still… There will be an investigation. For now, make yourself comfortable. Papers are being finalized to transfer you back to base and a cold jail cell. Frankly, I can’t help you, not this time. Hell, I don’t think you can help yourself.

The door slammed behind him, and I lowered my head.

Honestly, I wasn’t looking for help unless it came with a way out of this shithole. Let me maintain the dregs of my dignity while I still could. If someone was offering me a ride to the New Mexican Territory, that was the only assistance I required. Otherwise let me deal with the consequences.

The door swung open and a tall, stocky man entered the room. This face just as familiar as the last, but from a darker side of the fence.

We’re disappointed in you, Aza.

I must have been in a hell of a lot of trouble if this man dared to use my Arab name here.

Understood. Where’s Taaliba? Dr. Taaliba Aoki represented the Alliance—the underground group hell-bent on taking back our country from the mad scientists running the show.

Dead. This superior wore his uniform, but it was the one that lay beneath it that was more problematic. He was a major general, but his allegiance was not to the American Republic. It seems we have a problem.

I took in the hooded eyes, hook nose, and bronze complexion of Major General Farouk Shatila, just one of the many operatives serving within Riza. This compatriot was a follower of Mohammad Raman Bashur, a man who had become a trusted ally and even a commander. Add him to the list of things I was having second thoughts about. I was a desperate kid when I joined Bashur and his struggle. Instead of simply enlisting in Riza, I let the militant spoon-feed me his rhetoric. I listened to his speeches encouraging citizens to take back the power from leaders who abused it and made the snap decision that his philosophy made sense.

My shoulders lowered. I clasped my hands and moved them closer while dragging the chain attached to the table. Like, what problem is that?

"Your mission was to confiscate the tech, not leak it to the DarkNet. Do you understand the ramifications of your action?"

I shrugged, half-heartedly. Farouk made it sound like it was an easy decision—far from it. Releasing government secrets without explanation guaranteed a public backlash, but honestly, I didn’t see any other options. Everybody wanted that damned SIM card. Holding it promised a short life for me, and frankly, dying young was not on my personal agenda. I told my wife I’d come home to her. I’m a lot of things, but I don’t lie to Rihana.

Spreading my hands wide, I asked, Now what?

Farouk straddled the chair across from me and rested his elbows on the table. Bashur has offered redemption.

Leaning forward, I asked, As in?

Completing the mission that sent you to the island.

The Helix.

What do you, like, expect me to do?

We expect you to locate the target, dismantle it, and bring us proof of its existence. If the public is aware, the brewing storm will cease. They’ll see that we are the right ones and will follow our lead.

How the hell am I supposed to—

Farouk stood. Not our problem.

I scrubbed a hand over my face and shook my head. I was done with all this secret mission, undercover shit. It was time to go home. And if I, like, refuse?

Farouk’s face contorted, and he pursed his thin, chapped lips. That family you’re dying to get back to? You may never see them again.

My fists balled, and my heart rate increased. Threatening my loved ones would always be a deal breaker. I’ll kill you before that happens.

You misunderstand, Aza. The corners of his dark eyes crinkled. A dead man will not see his family on Earth.

Think about it, Lieutenant. We will be in touch, Farouk said and strolled to the door.

Before he could open it, a Riza soldier barged into the room. Sorry, sir. You’re needed.

What has happened? Farouk said.

Leader Venter has been killed. Soldiers are rioting.

Rioting? Against each other?

Farouk pushed his way past the soldier who yelled out, What about Jones?

Set him free. He can help.

The soldier, nothing more than a skinny kid, unlocked the restraints on my wrists. He scowled down at me. You don’t deserve freedom, traitor.

I pierced the boy with a stare and spat back, Until you’ve, like, lived a day in my shoes, don’t judge.

You—

You don’t know a fucking thing about me! Take the opportunity to save your ass and leave me the hell alone!

I left the kid standing with his jaw on the ground. He wasn’t the only shocked one in the room. What was the purpose of all this shit in our lives? Did it make us stronger, better Americans? The more I thought about it, the only answer I consistently came up with was absolutely nothing. It was all a colossal waste of my time, and I wanted out. I wanted normalcy. Somehow, I’d have it despite what everyone else demanded of me.

It was time to find Niang and the rest of my crew and go home.

RESIGNATION

CHAPTER ONE

You have to find satisfaction in what you’ve achieved. Keep questioning everything, and you’ll never be satisfied.

—from Reflections on Riza by Lt. Asher Nicholas Jones

Niang, a Riza Purebred from Senegal and an operative in the Alliance—not the rebel faction—meets me at the main door. The smell of smoke and the sounds of chaos drift in with him.

What's going on?

Venter’s been killed. The words rush from the man’s mouth.

By who?

His face clouds over. Aoki.

Damn! That man must have a death wish. I push my judgment aside. He’s killed two parents. I’m sure he’s having a difficult time with it.

What's the plan?

Getting you to safety, sir. There’s a helo waiting.

We’re the only ones leaving?

Yes. Fletcher is with Zared and Miss Shepard.

Good enough for me. No one has to tell me twice when to leave.

As the Black Hawk

lifts into the chilly, night air, happier memories flood my mind. I’m on my way home—a beautiful wife and a daughter I barely know are waiting there. It’s a place I haven’t been in a little over a year. And I miss it…I miss them…terribly.

Suddenly my thoughts drift to the item around my neck. Panicked, I tap my chest—afraid I may have lost it. And then I feel it, like a lifeline. Pulling out the chain, I remove the plain silver band, and my finger traces the inscription—You are my heart in Kurmanji. I’ve hated not being able to wear the ring. It was a necessary gesture. When my commanding officer believed I lied about being married, I had no choice but to hide it. Riza heavily frowned upon my relationship with a Syrian refugee. My association with the Fakhourys made my superiors suspicious. So, I lied about our relationship and hid the band.

Not wearing the ring, though, always felt like a denial, as if Rihana didn’t matter to me. But she’s not someone I could toss aside and forget. If it hadn’t been for her, I don’t think I would have stayed clean and sober all those years ago. But contrary to the opinions of others, my love for Rihana isn’t about gratitude. I want to believe… No, I have to believe that it’s so much more.

Sir? Niang starts.

My head lifts. Like, do me a favor? Stop calling me sir. For all we know, Riza doesn’t exist anymore.

Then what shall I call you? he asks innocently.

Jones is fine. Technically, it’s not, but I have no desire to explain how a man like me goes by the name Aza Ahmad. It’s not that we don’t have the time. I simply don’t have the energy.

Understood. I suppose a lot will be different now.

What should I know before we touch down?

We got Aoki and his girlfriend out safely. They’re on their way to the New Mexican Territory per your directions.

And Mark?

Staying behind. He said something about keeping up the good fight.

I’m not sure how that’s going to play out with my step-grandfather. He anticipated all of us returning.

And, like, what’s our final destination, Niang?

You’re going home. We’ll refuel when needed.

Good. I’m going to take a nap. Time to get my mind right.

Hours later,

the helo lands in Los Alamos at my step-grandfather’s enclave. It’s a well-protected airfield that hasn’t been officially used in years. I exit the Black Hawk and leave Niang behind. The night air is crisp, but there’s smoke from all the wildfires scorching the terrain. Instead of waiting for a driver, I cross the open expanse and head toward the hangars where my step-grandfather, Steve Winters, waits for me.

As I approach, he extends his hand.

Cautiously, I accept the gesture. The man has only offered friendship, but every chance I get, I reject it. Before meeting my grandmother, the man was a bodybuilder and a player. But that’s not why I dislike him. He fell in love and married her. That action pushed my grandfather further down the shit hole he fell in. About a year ago, my first grandfather died after alcohol ate up his liver. I make no apologies for my damn convictions.

Asher, it’s good to see you, son.

Same here. Not a lie. I’d be glad to see anyone who isn’t part of Riza or the Alliance. You, like, taking me home?

Not yet. Let’s debrief first.

Always business first with this man. He employs lots of former military men and women. Steve also has a few key Riza operatives on his payroll. He says it’s to keep an eye on the government.

We enter the hangar,

reminiscent of a large-scale bivouac—temporary living quarters for military personnel—divided into areas each with a different purpose. Granted, I’ve only seen such a place in old training films. Riza doesn’t have transient housing. All of our procedures are carried out on the spot with no time spent in the field. Missions are a different beast. Because of the terms of the New Order’s Constitution, housing can be commandeered from civilians whenever required.

I follow my step-grandfather around a few banks of holographic computers and desks. We stop at a room tucked into a back corner. Steve pushes open a scratched-up metal door. On the other side is a utilitarian office space—a metal file cabinet takes up a far wall; a long folding table and a few scattered folding chairs occupy the rest of the space. Two fluorescent lights hang overhead. Someone’s had the foresight to brew a pot of coffee. The contraption sits on top of the file cabinet along with a colorful variety of mugs.

Have a seat, he tells me and points to a chair. He pours a couple of cups and set them on the table. Steve yanks open a drawer and removes sugar packets and powdered creamer. He tosses them beside the mugs.

Coffee is the last thing I want. A stiff drink—something I haven’t had since I married Rihana—would be more welcome.

Sitting across from him, I ask, So, like, where should I start?

"At