Maze of Traitors (A Brianna Dagger Espionage Thriller—Book 2)

By Vin Strong

When a deadly virus threatens the world, only CIA Agent Brianna Dagger and her unmatched parkour skills can prevent the impending disaster—even as betrayal lurks around every corner.

MAZE OF TRAITORS (A Brianna Dagger CIA Thriller—Book 2) is the second novel in a new series by spy thriller author Vin Strong. The series begins with MAZE OF SPIES (book #1).

A captivating espionage thriller that will grip you from beginning to end, the Brianna Dagger series is replete with astonishing twists and heart-pounding tension. It will have you falling for a brand-new female protagonist and turning pages late into the night. Fans of Vince Flynn, Brad Taylor, and Tom Clancy are sure to fall in love with the next big name in spy thrillers.

Future books in the series are also available!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vin Strong
• Release date: Mar 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9781094396583

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M A Z E   O F

Traitors

(A Brianna Dagger thriller—BOOK 2)

V I N   S T R O N G

Vin Strong

Vin Strong is the author of the BRIANNA DAGGER spy thriller series, comprising five books (and counting), and of the ZACK FORCE thriller series, comprising five books (and counting).

An avid reader and lifelong fan of the thriller genres, Vin loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit https://vinstrongauthor.com/ to learn more and stay in touch.

Copyright © 2024 by Vin Strong. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

BOOKS BY VIN STRONG

ZACK FORCE THRILLER SERIES

PATRIOT FORCE (Book #1)

PATRIOT DOWN (Book #2)

PATRIOT RISING (Book #3)

PATRIOT STRIKE (Book #4)

PATRIOT TARGET (Book #5)

BRIANNA DAGGER THRILLER SERIES

MAZE OF SPIES (Book #1)

MAZE OF TRAITORS (Book #2)

MAZE OF LIES (Book #3)

MAZE OF SHADOWS (Book #4)

MAZE OF SECRETS (Book #5)

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

Nswadi felt good. It was evident in his expression, and a number of those who passed him on the streets recognized it. A lot of work had gone into that feeling. He’d managed to make it to Kinshasha after years of effort, and his eyes still held the same wonder they did the first day he saw the gleaming towers and paved roads. He was filled with hope as he made his way either to one of the cosmetics plants or perhaps the food processing plants. They were always hiring. He rarely had the same job for long, but there was always work, and with a few more years of this work, he could ensure that his daughter never struggled as he had.

Nswadi felt good, and it was evident in his expression, but a fit of coughing from a pedestrian nearby changed his expression from excitement to sympathy and then concern. The coughs came wet one moment and then dry and harsh. He took a step toward the woman who coughed, but another coughing fit from behind distracted him. He turned his head to see an older man, and each cough for him seemed exceptionally violent. The coughing passed, though, and the woman and man both continued walking, attempting to avoid notice now just as Nswadi attempted to hide any notice he’d given them.

But there was more coughing only a few seconds later. This did not come from the old man or the woman. There were three new people. No. Four people coughed. No five. Nswadi paused again but once more, the coughing fits ended and everyone’s journey resumed. Nswadi’s didn’t smile anymore. His fear grew stronger when he passed another young woman coughing even more violently than the old man earlier. Nswadi lifted the collar of his shirt to cover his mouth.

All around him, people coughed.

He hurried along, only just quelling the urge to run. For the first time, he questioned how much he really needed this job. The city had risen up almost immediately to show him he was not where he belonged. Perhaps he should listen to it.

But he did need this job. This would be the difference between his children growing up in poverty and illiteracy and growing up to possibly achieve something for themselves. He had to see this through.

He moved as quickly as he could, but regardless of how quickly he moved, the sounds and sights of people in the street coughing followed him. Finally, he couldn’t help himself anymore. He ran, sprinting through the crowded streets, not sure of his destination, but certain that he needed to get somewhere, anywhere, or the coughing people would get him, and some unspeakable fate would befall him.

As he ran, the city changed around him. The towering buildings that moments ago had seemed like pillars reaching to Heaven now loomed over him like leering demons laughing at the fruitless flight of the little man below them. The paved roads that before proclaimed modernity, progress and hope now reminded him of a barren, lifeless desert, a Sahara of asphalt and concrete. The cars that zoomed past screamed like animals fleeing a horror they couldn’t name but that they knew would consume them.

A coughing man stumbled in front of him, and Nswadi shrieked in terror and leaped around the man, moving with an agility he hadn't felt since childhood. He looked up and saw a sign that read Office of Employment.

Salvation!

He ran inside and slammed the door behind him, then sank to the ground and began to weep with relief and fading terror.

Hello? a calm, cultured voice asked. "Are you all right?’

Nswadi opened his eyes to look on the face of a concerned and somewhat wary young woman, the building’s receptionist. He blinked and looked around to see dozens of equally concerned and wary individuals watching him the way anyone would watch a man who ran into a building shrieking in terror only to collapse to the floor weeping uncontrollably.

He felt heat climb to his cheeks and stood. Yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry. I…

He let his voice trail off. How was he to explain himself? He heard people coughing and was frightened by it.

Are you here for a job?

Yes. I… I’m sorry.

Where are you from?

Mai-Ndombe. I am a goatherd. Was a goatherd. I sold goat cheese and milk, but… now I’m here.

The woman’s expression—and the expressions of many others in the building—changed from one of concern and wariness to one of exasperation and mild contempt. This man was not insane. He was simply a poor villager. He had probably seen an automobile for the first time and thought he was being chased by some fantastic beast.

If you want a job, you must wait in line, the woman said, pointing to the last of the dozens of people waiting.

Yes, Nswadi said, cheeks burning. Thank you.

He shuffled to the back of the line, keeping his eyes lowered. When he was there, he risked a look outside.

Kinshasa was just a city. Nothing more. The buildings were buildings, the roads were roads, and the people were people. He had panicked for no reason.

The man in front of him coughed, and Nswadi smiled slightly. What a fool he had been to think such an innocuous—

Another man coughed. Then another. Then another.

Nswadi’s smile faded. He looked up just in time to see the woman behind the counter launch into a violent fit, her cheeks reddening, eyes lolling in her head.

His jaw went slack as one by one, everyone in the room began to cough. He backed away slowly, then ran from the building into the streets.

Everyone around him was coughing. Some steadied themselves against the walls of buildings while others leaned forward and clasped their knees.

One man, a stooped, grey-haired individual who looked as old as Nswadi’s grandfather, fell to the ground and continued to cough, laying where he fell.

Nswadi’s breath came in short, shallow bursts. His legs shook, and he stumbled backward weakly. A burning sensation came to his chest.

He coughed.

A surge of sheer terror coursed through him like lightning. He opened his mouth to scream.

But instead, he coughed again.

CHAPTER ONE

As she leaped from the fifth-floor balcony, Brianna Dagger thought she'd like to visit Krakow under different circumstances. She felt that way about most cities she visited, but Krakow in particular held a special charm.

She wanted to visit the well-preserved Historic Centre, one of the first sites chosen by UNESCO for its World Heritage List. Some of the buildings there were built as far back as the twelfth century, some even before that. It would have been nice to see that part of the city instead of leaping from the hotel rooftop to avoid gunfire. A building with spires, an uneven roof, and an interesting profile was always enjoyable.

The principal focus of Parkour was to get from Point A to Point B as soon as possible regardless of obstacles in the way, but Brianna enjoyed it for more than just the challenge and the economy of movement. Growing up in Dublin, she’d always wanted to travel, but her family was barely making ends meet and could rarely afford even to take their children out of Ballybough to see the nicer parts of Dublin. When they moved to the United States, they lived in a far safer neighborhood, but they still barely made ends meet. The primary reason Brianna joined the CIA was to do her part to advance the cause of justice and freedom, but a major reason she chose the CIA over any number of other agencies was the fact that the CIA afforded her the opportunity to travel around the world and see how people lived their lives in different cultures.

If only she had more of a chance to do that and didn’t have to spend so much of her time chasing asshole terrorists hell-bent on killing people to make a  point.

Her grip tightened on the iron bars, and she propelled herself upward, taking hold of the next ledge and twisting her body mid-jump to get a foot on the bricks for another leap. She cleared the six or seven stories remaining and rolled onto the roof just as Travers swung his leg over the edge to climb on. She leaped to his feet and started after him, relishing the look of shock on his face when he saw her. He disappeared from sight behind a wall, panic covering his features.

Henry Travers was at one time a comptroller for a commercial banking firm in London, but recently, he had chosen to use his talents to launder money for Oracle, a terrorist who had spent years as a small-time thorn in the CIA’s side before deciding to attempt—and twice succeed at –high-profile assassinations of European leaders. At the moment, he was the best lead they had for Oracle, so instead of enjoying the scenery of Krakow, she was focused entirely on Travers.

She ran forward, a quick Kong vault putting her over an HVAC unit and a slide pushing her past a railing. When she reached the other side of the wall, Travers wasn't there. He'd leaped down a story onto another building, a parking structure, and was running toward a stairwell. Brianna didn’t bother to follow him. The chase would take them to the streets, and it made more sense to be there when he exited the stairwell. She leapt onto the structure, rolling on impact but then backtracked and leapt from the top to the next level, angling her body so she was able to roll in rather than fall out.

She repeated the movement until she reached the street. Unfortunately, Travers had caught sight of her technique and emulated it for the last flight and was now running full tilt toward a narrow alley.

Brianna sprinted after him. Decades of free running had given her an explosiveness that allowed her to reach her top speed far more quickly than the average person, and though Travers had a head start, Brianna quickly matched and then exceeded his pace. She would catch him in less than a minute.

Travers looked behind, and when he realized the same thing, his eyes peeled back in terror. He turned down an alley, but rather than turn and follow him, Brianna anticipated the trap and leaped to her left. She pushed off the wall, then turned to push off the opposite wall, lifting herself off of the ground until she was about ten feet in the air.

When she reached the corner, she grabbed the drainpipe with both hands, swinging herself around. As she did, she saw Travers crouched behind the corner, intending to ambush her. He looked up in disbelief as she instead rolled safely to the ground behind him.

He took off running again, but Brianna was too close now for him to evade. He dropped down, crouching into a ball. Brianna leaped over him easily and turned in the air, landing on her feet in front of him.

All right, Travers, she said, it’s over. Come quietly, and I promise you, you’ll be treated well.

She couldn’t really make that promise. Travers was aiding an international terrorist responsible for the deaths of the Mayor of Paris and one of the UK’s Secretaries of State and nearly responsible for the deaths of the German Chancellor and the President of France. How well Travers was treated depended on whether he cooperated with authorities or not, and even then, the best he could expect was a long stay in ADX Florence, the United States’ most secure prison.

If he was that lucky. Brianna knew of several other prisons that the public didn’t know about or incorrectly believed to be shut down that made even Florence look like a resort.

But she needed him to talk, and the easiest way to make that happen was to offer him hope. Come on, Travers. Get up. As long as you don’t try to hurt me, I don’t need to hurt you. Let’s go somewhere and have a conversation. I’ll buy you a sausage. You like Polish sausages?

In response, the man burst into a coughing fit. He tried to stand, but sank weakly back to the ground, hacking and gasping as he tried to catch his breath.

She stifled a wry smile. The poor man had worn himself out trying to escape. She had to give him an A for effort. In a way, it was fun to chase someone who also knew parkour, even if he was several levels below Brianna’s skill level.

Take your time, she said. Catch your breath. We’re in no hurry.

He staggered to his feet again and looked at Brianna. His eyes held sheer terror, and a chill ran down Brianna's