Threat to the Republic: The Patriot Gambit

By Major Jack

Liberty hangs by a thread. Only one woman stands between democracy and its darkest adversary: FBI Special Agent Maria Gonzalez—the embodiment of courage and justice.
Gonzalez races against time when Senator Jack Ryland, despite his charismatic smile, vanishes into the sinister clutches of a deep state conspiracy. But behind his all-American facade, Ryland harbors twisted secrets and dangerous allegiances.
As Election Day looms, the Patriots tighten the noose around Ryland's deep state operatives. Gonzalez must navigate this deadly conspiracy, rescue Ryland from his captors and expose the truth before the final vote is cast. Failure means the Republic's end.
Armed with razor-sharp instincts, Gonzalez enters a lethal game of cat-and-mouse, pursuing every lead to unravel Ryland's enigma and take down his threats to democracy for good. Each tick of the clock pushes liberty closer to extinction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Major Jack
• Release date: Jan 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224918270

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The calm of the night was deceptive, for within the hour, the fate of Senator Jack Ryland and, perhaps, the nation itself would pivot on the edge of a knife. The moon, a sliver of silver in a star-pocked sky, cast a weak light over Senator Ryland's Virginia estate, where the night had laid its quiet blanket. It was a brief reprieve before the storm.

Inside the estate, the air was thick with the anticipation of tomorrow's election. Senator Ryland, a man whose silver tongue had carved his path through the bedrock of political adversity, paced the length of his study. His gaze often drifted to the clock—tick by tick, it was a countdown to what he hoped would be his finest hour.

The estate, a fortress of solitude for the contemplative senator, was secured by the best: ex-military men who knew the cost of freedom and the price of safety. Surveillance cameras, motion detectors, and reinforced gates were but a few threads in the intricate web of security that surrounded the property.

But tonight, there was a chink in the armor, a betrayal that had festered unseen, malignant in its intent. It allowed shadows to slip through the defenses, shadows with the faces of men—stern, resolute, and unyielding in their purpose.

The Patriots, as they had named themselves, were not merely a militia group; they were an ideology crystallized into action. They bore no emblem, but their intent was clear as they cut through the perimeter with a precision that belied a military pedigree. Their movements were silent, coordinated as if each man was an extension of the other's will.

Senator Ryland's personal guard responded to the breach, their training kicking in, their weapons a comforting weight in their hands. But comfort turned to confusion as the estate's security systems, sabotaged from within, faltered and failed.

The ensuing firefight was brief and brutal. In the chaos, the Patriots advanced, their strategy unfurling like a dark flag. They had one objective: the man whose voice had echoed in Senate halls and across television screens, promising change, promising a future they saw as anathema to their vision of the country.

In his study, the first distant echoes of gunfire reached Senator Ryland. His instincts, honed by years in the political arena, screamed at him to take cover. He barely had time to move to the reinforced panic room before the door to his study burst open.

The Patriots entered, their weapons trained on the senator. The leader, a man with a voice like gravel, declared, Jack Senator Ryland, you have been judged.

Senator Ryland, his heart hammering against his ribs, kept his composure. By whom? You? A band of armed zealots?

The leader stepped forward, the barrel of his gun unwavering. By the people you've betrayed. We know who you really are.

The accusation was a blade meant to cut deep, but Senator Ryland's skin had grown thick from years of barbs and jibes. You're mistaken, he retorted, but the certainty in the leader's eyes gave him pause.

The Patriots' plan unfurled further as they produced a camera. They broadcast their captive across the digital waves, spinning a narrative of treachery and deceit. The allegation—that Senator Ryland was a foreign agent—was ludicrous, designed to inflame and divide. But in the current political climate, where truth was often a casualty of convenience, it was a weapon as potent as any firearm.

The Patriots secured the senator, blindfolded and bound; their message sent into the world like a virus. They left him in the dark, his ears straining for any sound that might give him hope. His only company was the ticking of the clock, now a harbinger of an uncertain dawn.

Beyond the walls of his now-breached sanctuary, the Patriots had established a perimeter, their every move an orchestrated dance of vigilance. They understood the magnitude of their gambit; the eyes of the secret services would soon turn their way, and time was a luxury they could ill afford.

Inside, Senator Ryland strained against his restraints, the coarse rope biting into his wrists. He was no stranger to the machinations of power and the give-and-take of political warfare. Still, this physical bondage was a different beast—a primal challenge to his authority and autonomy.

The leader of The Patriots, a man whose face was obscured by the darkness save for the occasional glint of moonlight off his cold eyes, paced before Senator Ryland. You think this is about the election, Senator? he posed, his voice a low rumble. It's about the soul of the country. You represent everything that's gone wrong with our leadership—corruption, lies, and the selling of American values.

Despite the fear that clawed at his chest, Senator Ryland met the man's gaze evenly. If you believe in the values you claim, then you'll let the people decide tomorrow. Let them vote without this... this stunt influencing the outcome.

A dry chuckle escaped the leader's lips. This 'stunt' is the voice of the unheard. You politicians have deafened yourselves with your own rhetoric.

The senator's sharp mind raced, seeking angles, leverage—anything to turn the situation to his advantage. But with each passing second, his options dwindled like the waning moon outside.

Once a symbol of Senator Ryland’s hard-earned stature, the estate now felt like a mausoleum, the silence punctuated by distant shouts—his guards or perhaps the first responders breaching the outer defenses. It didn't matter. Here, in this room, he was alone against his captors.

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the estate, the flash visible through the edges of his blindfold. The Patriots were not without opposition; his security team was making a final, desperate push to regain control.

The Patriots scrambled, their composure momentarily slipping. Orders were barked, and footsteps thundered through the halls. The leader leaned down, his breath hot on Senator Ryland's face. This changes nothing. Remember, Senator, your life now hangs on the will of the people.

And with that, the leader departed, leaving Senator Ryland in the oppressive grip