Rogue Enemy: A Chris Collins CIA Thriller, #1

By David F. Berens

Do what's right? Or do what you're told?

 

Chris Collins had it all. Great job as Deputy Director of the CIA, a loving wife at home, and a really nice boat until...

It all went away in a flash.

 

The CIA's best Deputy Director, Chris Collins had it all. And then came the case that made him go rogue. After his last successful bust ended with two gun-smuggling, drug-running, crooked politicians behind bars ... he thought he could close the file.

 

But the higher-ups in the cartel had other plans. And before Collins knew it, he was headed south of the Southernmost Point in the Continental United States ... without a game plan, without the blessing of the CIA, on his own. (Except for Ned. There was always Ned.)

 

Chris Collins just can't catch a break. Read all about it in the explosive beginning of the hit Chris Collins CIA Thriller series. You'll laugh some, you'll cry some, you'll hold your breath, and then you'll hope to hell he survives for another adventure.

 

Readers of James Rollins, Matthew Reilly, and Mark Dawson will LOVE this series. Pick up a copy, put the phone on silent, and lock the door - this is going to be an all-nighter!

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Berens
• Release date: Nov 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223280415

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1 SHIRTS OPTIONAL

Chris Collins cracked the cap off another ice-cold beer and leaned back, his feet resting on a cooler box and his shoulders sinking into the cushioned seating on the deck of his sailing cruiser. The boat was an extravagance that had raised eyebrows from some people, but he figured he had earned it through his long, hard years of CIA service.

Go on, give us another one, Ned Henry said to him, flicking his own beer cap onto the mounting pile beside him.

His attempt at a British accent was laughable at best.

Really? Chris protested. I’m not some kind of performing circus seal, you know.

"You are. You’re Deputy Director of the CIA on weekdays and a performing knowledge seal on the weekend. Now perform," Ned said, clapping his hands.

Chris shook his head and smiled. He gazed out over the shimmering blue waters of Chesapeake Bay as he searched his brain for another historical trivia nugget.

When the mummy of the ancient Egyptian king, Rameses II, was taken to France in the 1970s, Egypt issued the mummy with a passport. His occupation was listed as ‘King—deceased.’

How do you know all this stuff, seriously? Ned asked, flapping his sweat-drenched Hawaiian shirt to get some air to his protruding, flabby torso.

Everyone knows a lot of trivial information, they just can’t always recall it, Chris replied.

I promise you, I never knew that. You are one smart seal.

Actually, I was Office of Naval Intelligence. SEALs are under Naval Special Warfare Command.

Ha! Ned said loudly. See, that’s a smart man’s joke.

There’s a difference between being smart and being able to remember a whole heap of pointless crap, Chris suggested. You’re a Cyber Threat Analyst—got to be pretty smart, no?

Oh yeah, there are different kinds of smart. But you got most of ‘em. Fortunately, I got the looks.

Ned did not have the looks. Unless ‘the looks’ meant a bright red head that made his Hawaiian shirt look pale, complemented by a full-body sweat marinade that appeared at the first mention of sunlight. Chris, in contrast, had the enviable tan of a sailing enthusiast. With his crystal blue eyes and wavy hair greying sophisticatedly at the temples, he looked like he could have been on the pages of a yachting brochure. That’s what Ned had thought a time or two as he glanced in Chris’s direction, but there was no way he was going to start commenting on his colleague’s good looks and wisdom on the same day.

The two of them were treating themselves to some weekend fishing, in part to celebrate the success of their mission to put General Buff Summerton and Senator Winchester Boonesborough behind bars. The drug and gun running operation that had been funding Summerton’s run for Governor of Massachusetts had been put to an end. Chris’s questioning of the pair had given him plenty of reason to think there was unfinished business in Cuba to look into, but that would come soon. After a rare day off.

Time for another one, boss? Ned asked Chris, tinkling his bottle with a few flicks.

Sure, Chris said. He stood up and inspected one of the fishing rods that were dangling over the side of the boat.

Are we gonna even try to catch anything? he asked Ned.

Doubt it, Ned replied. But it’s a good excuse for daytime drinking.

Chris dipped into the dark interior of the boat and rattled around for some beers. When he emerged back into the blazing sunlight, Ned was holding a huge Spanish mackerel in his right hand. Chris looked at the shimmering fish in astonishment as Ned grinned back.

Beauty, ain’t she? Ned asked.

What the … you got that already? Chris said.

Sure did … from the box. Ned flipped open a cooler box to reveal another Spanish mackerel, packed neatly in ice. Gonna fry ‘em up in butter soon.

Chris smiled and nodded.

Right … that makes more sense, he said. That saves us a job.

The pair of them stood beaming with undeserved pride at their situation when a thunderous bang exploded into their ears. The noise of splintering wood filled the air as the world turned to a slow blur. The first thing Chris saw as he tried to make sense of what was happening was the ‘CC’ on the side of his boat being blown apart. The two Cs were now flying through the air in opposite directions.

His beloved boat had been slammed into by a cabin cruiser much bigger than his own vessel. It had almost taken off the whole front end. Chris looked around to check Ned was okay. The seriously startled Cyber Threat Analyst was sitting on his backside, his Hawaiian shirt flapping half off.

What in the hell d’you guys think you’re doin’? a voice shouted from the other boat. Chris and Ned turned to see four young men staring at them. Two of them were laughing. Another, who was shirtless and looked like the sort of kid that would have his shirt off in all kinds of situations whether it was appropriate or not, had stepped forward and was jabbing his finger aggressively as he snarled: You cut right in front of us!

Are you kidding? Chris shouted back. We weren’t even moving. You must have been doing 25 knots.

We got four witnesses over here, and only two of you over there, a kid in a Yale University t-shirt spoke up.

That’s not how it works, kid, Chris told him.

Oh, is that right? the shirtless boy butted back in. You’re gonna tell me how it all works? You got any idea who I am? You don’t know who you’re dealing with.

I’m seeing a drunken frat boy, said Ned, who’d got himself to his feet.

I’m seeing the same thing, minus the r, the kid replied.

Excellent. Really strong work, Ned said, with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

This is how it’s gonna be, Chris told everybody. You’re gonna give me your details. Then you’re gonna take us back to shore because this thing isn’t seaworthy thanks to you. Then, later, you’re gonna pay for my boat.

Got it, the shirtless kid replied. Try setting one foot on my boat and we’ll see how that plan all works out.

Chris started moving towards the boy’s boat. As he made his way past shattered wood, a glass bottle came zipping towards his head. He ducked, then looked up to see the kid leaping across the water and onto the broken boat. The kid roared as he crashed his fist into Chris’s jaw. The three other boys followed and set on Ned who was quickly overwhelmed. Chris felt blow after blow rattling around his brain as he dredged up CIA training that had long gone unused. Pulling himself together, he swung his right elbow hard into the boy’s neck, thrusting him into a mast. He followed with a brutal palm strike to the chin that spun the kid around, then forced an arm up behind his back almost to the point of breaking. The