Serve in the Shadows Recruitment Read online

  Death is not the end. It is just the beginning.

  While on deployment in Afghanistan, Master Sergeant Derek Lawson of the 75th Ranger Unit, received a warning from a shadow-like figure, just in time for him to avoid a bullet from a hidden sniper. When Derek looked for the person, there was no one to be found. Back at base camp, the master sergeant receives news of his brother Grant’s death. Grant Lawson was a CIA officer and was killed while gathering information on a critically sensitive mission.

  Through a twist of fate or because of the strong family bond, Derek can still see and communicate with Grant, together they are determined to find justice against his killer and to see his last assignment through to the end. With Grant’s skills, he learned from the CIA and clandestine services, and with Derek’s knowledge and abilities earned with the Rangers, they make a great team. Together, the brothers will attempt to stop a terrorist plot and expose corruption within the upper levels of the CIA Clandestine Services.

  Serve in the Shadows: Recruitment

  Copyright © 2018 by David S. Darling

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please write to the author, at the email address below.

  [email protected]

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Editor: Olga Sushinsky. www.wilson-editorial.com

  Cover Art: Norm Jolin. www.ndesign-studio.com

  Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To my wife and mother and other family and friends, for your support and advice and continued assistance, for without you, this endeavor may not have happened.

  I would also like to thank Jonas Saul for his encouragements, knowledge, and experience. You helped to shine a light unto my path, and for that I am grateful. You are a great mentor, role model and friend, and I wish you nothing but continued success.

  There are many great people whom I asked technical questions to certain aspects of this story, and I would like to thank you for your help and assistance. Any errors or omissions are my own.

  To my beta readers, thank you very much! Your kind words on my developing story helped me in the struggle to continue writing, even when it was furthest from my mind.

  And finally, to my current reader. I hope you enjoy this book and future novels. For without you, there would be no one to read them.

  Dave Darling

  June 2019

  “Few men are killed by the bayonet, many are scarred by it. Bayonets should be fixed when the firefight starts”

  – General George Patton Quotes, from “War as I Knew It.”- 1947

  “Lead, follow, or get out of the way.” – Senior NCO’s world over.

  Introduction

  South Sudan

  A short figure in a long tan robe moved slowly eastward along a sidewalk. His steps were deliberate with age. The fabric that swirled around the man’s feet kept him cooler during the day and warmer at night, and with the daily climate change in South Sudan, that was essential.

  It was a long way home after finishing his Isha prayers at the mosque. The only lights on the street came from one street lamp, that flickered dimly overhead. Fifty yards away were a few closed signs visible from the storefronts.

  The man pulled out a new cell phone, as it buzzed. The illumination from the screen showed an old weathered face, darkened and lined from a long life of living outdoors. He squinted with one eye while scrolling through the screen on his phone, his left eye was covered a mass of scar tissue.

  The light cast from the phone clearly showed he was missing three fingers on his right hand; however, he quickly navigated through various screens and menus with his remaining index finger. After a minute, the man stopped walking and frowned, raising his phone upward while turning around and trying to get a signal.

  As he turned a few times to find a new angle, the street light went out, and the shops were plunged into darkness.

  All power in the immediate area went dead.

  He was using the light from the phone to look around, he began to pant, and his heart racing. Wide-eyed, he frantically he tried to pierce the darkness with the glow of his phone, without success.

  He saw some movement too late … as a shadow departed from the alley directly behind him. Then a very strong hand clamped a damp cloth over his nose and mouth, muffling any attempt to scream. Within seconds, the man’s knees buckled and he collapsed, into a boneless heap on the ground, his left hand still clutching the phone.

  Seconds later, an old dark minivan with no lights stopped beside them, the rear sliding door already opened. A figure from inside the vehicle reached down and lifted the unconscious man inside.

  The side door closed, as they drove away into the night.

  A minute later, the power was restored to the area, and once again, the signs in the storefronts shone their neon closed signs.

  *****

  The itching of fabric on his nose pulled Ymir from a deep sleep, and when he tried to reach up to scratch it, his arm would not move. Both arms were firmly tied to the chair where he sat. He could not place where he was either.


  Opening his eye, Ymir tried to look around, by moving his head rapidly back and forth. He could tell that a heavy cloth bag had been placed over his head, blocking out the light.

  Pulling up on both arms caused the small bands of plastic to dig into the flesh his bare wrists. A quick tug proved that his legs were bound in the same manner.

  Beads of sweat rolled down Ymir’s back, trickling down between his bare skin and the chair. Naked and tied firmly to a chair, he felt extremely vulnerable. The sharp noise of a door opening made him flinch. The sounds of two different sets of footsteps walking toward him caused him to cringe inside.

  Suddenly, a bright light was turned on him, close enough that he could feel the heat on his skin. Abruptly the hood was yanked off. The light was such a contrast from the darkness it made him squint. He knew one man would be behind him, and the other be behind the lamp itself.

  “Lays ladayna alwaqt lildhahab bibut'in. nahn bihajat ‘iilana ‘iijabat ealaa alfawr,” said the man behind the light. “We do not have time to go slow. We need answers immediately.” Ymir knew the man was an American, even though his Arabic was near flawless.

  He continued in English, “I know you don’t fear death, Ymir, but you have the answers we need, and I need them now.”

  Ymir knew the only two answers that he had that they would be after, and the fear began to churl deep in his stomach.

  The light turned to the ceiling, enabling him to see an open running laptop, which sat on a small rolling table. On the laptop screen was a video of a small house with two small boys playing ball out in front. On the step by the door, was their mother watching them play, while she talked on a cell phone. All taken from an aerial view.

  This could only mean one thing.

  Ymir began to moan and as a sense of deep horror sank in.

  “Your daughter has tried calling you all evening and into this morning Ymir. She is deeply concerned as to where you are,” said the American behind him.

  “We have a drone in the air at this moment, targeting her house. I need answers now. Where is your son-in-law and who is paying him? You have less than a minute to tell me before it is too late to order back the drone.”

  “No! Don’t do this! They are innocent and they know nothing!” Ymir began to plead. Tears rolled down his face, and he was unable to blink or look away from the laptop screen. All his old resistance training melted away in an instant.

  “Forty-five seconds, Ymir. I just don’t have time to get the information from you by other means. Time is of the essence.”

  At that point, Ymir knew he had no choice, and any thoughts of resistance crumbled.

  “Promise me you won’t hurt them, and I’ll tell you what you need to know. Call off the drone strike!”

  Closing his one eye, he began to pray, as a tear slowly made its way down his cheek into his beard.

  The American in front of him closed the laptop and pulled out a satellite phone, “Cancel Operation Orchid.” So far, his bluff is working, if Ymir knew there was no drone this whole scenario would be for nothing.

  Closing up the phone, he turned to Ymir and spoke, “Ymir, at any time I feel you are leaving things out or not telling me the truth, the drone strike is back on. Their lives are in your hands now.”

  Without hesitation, Ymir promptly began, “My daughters’ husband has just left South Sudan for Yemen. He should have arrived a week ago.”

  “And who is paying your son-in-law? Who hired him, Ymir?” asked the man in front of him.

  Ymir looked into his eyes and knew that he couldn’t hold back anything. Those piercing green eyes would catch a lie. His daughter and grandchildren meant more to him than his own life.

  “An American came because he wanted to meet up with Mustafa. I was encouraged not to say ‘no’. I think he worked for the United States. His American accent was unmistakable. Skills I once possessed, I taught and passed along to my son-in-law over the years. I am no longer able to work, and I have been enjoying the peace and staying with family at my age.” Ymir watched the man in front of him. He seemed to take it in as his green eyes bored into his.

  “Describe the man your son met up with,” he demanded.

  “I only saw him once when we were leaving the mosque. The man met us nearby. He was a tall, white man with thinning white hair. He carried a briefcase and.… oh yes! He also had a burn scar on his left cheek.”

  Ymir knew something was wrong immediately after he said that. The man in front of him turned white, and his eyes opened wide and then he looked up behind Ymir, right at the man standing behind him.

  “I am sorry, Grant.… You were to never find out,” said the man behind the chair. The only sound was a slide being cocked on a pistol and a round being chambered.

  Ymir saw the man in front, Grant, step back, his eyes narrowing in rage. He reached behind his back for his gun when two shots rang out. The first went dead center of his chest and the second through his forehead. He went back as if punched and fell through the table with the laptop on it, dead on hitting the ground.

  Ymir knowing closed his eye and bowed his head, as he began to pray …. He never heard the shot as it entered the base of his skull.

  Chapter 1

  Hindu Kush Mountains

  Afghanistan

  Master Sergeant Derek Lawson knew he was in a rough situation. Looking down, he ejected the magazine from his Glock before sliding it back in. There were only four rounds left, and one surprise in his small backpack. A quick glance around the corner of the rock face showed many shadowy figures climbing up the path and approaching his position. They would be here within a few minutes, and his time to act was fast approaching. Keying his throat mic, he said, “Sitrep.”

  “Landing zone secure and painted. Exfil twelve mikes,” he heard through his earpiece.

  “Roger that.” Having glanced down at his watch, Derek realized he wouldn’t make it on time with the package. “All timings will be met. Carry on with exfil. Out.” A quick keying of the mic over the air was the only response.

  Affirmative.

  Derek reached behind him and hauled a man to his feet, and with a quick shove, sent him staggering up the path. Derek stood slightly hunched over as if waiting for a round to hit him in the back. Normally, he stood a few inches below six feet, at five feet ten, but he wanted to present a smaller target if possible.

  Derek’s prisoner stood slightly taller than Derek, and he tried to make use of the size disadvantage by being uncooperative at every chance.

  He had to use his Glock every few feet, by prodding the prisoner in the kidneys when he slowed or stumbled. Derek continued to push up the path, leaving the HK416 slung over his shoulder for it was too cumbersome for close work. The man in front had his hands zip-tied behind him and was gagged with his own keffiyeh, a traditional scarf that is usually worn as a head-dress. He was being difficult and dragging his feet when he could, slowing them both down even further.

  A well-targeted round cracked off the rock face a few feet away causing both men to flinch and duck down slightly. Derek knew that they were using a night observation device (NODS) or thermal imagery, for the light levels were very low, and the quarter moon was behind cloud cover. There was no way they could have made that shot without them.

  Now is a good time to panic, he thought to himself, looking around and seeing almost no opening or place to set up an ambush on the trail. His training reasserted and he pushed onward and upward.

  About fifty feet ahead of Derek, the trail turned sharply to the right and disappeared behind an outcropping of rock. After he reached the bend, he would have a good defensive position, and the rebels would be exposed. The downside was that that same open stretch to the bend exposed him to their advancement. Chances had to be made. It was time to roll the dice.

  Sliding his Glock down into the thigh holster, Derek grabbed the prisoner by both shoulders and ran him up the hill, almost carrying him in his haste. Looking quickly over the shoulder of the prisoner not t
oo far ahead, Derek saw a man-sized shadow step around the bend and stop in front of him, right in his advancing path, with both his arms extended out with palms up.

  “DEREK! Get down!” shouted the mysterious man.

  His training took over and the Master Sergeant pushed his prisoner forward, while quickly dropping down flat into the prone position. He could hear the crack of a round pass just above his head by less than an inch. The prisoner was slammed forward as the shot meant for Derek - found its’ way into his back.

  Stunned momentarily in the dirt, Derek looked up over the body and said, “Grant? Is that you?”

  “RUN! Now!” shouted out the man.

  Derek got up and with a quick glance at his former prisoner, ran at record speed towards the bend in the trail. No longer being hampered by the prisoner, he moved like the wind. When he reached the bend in the trail, the figure couldn’t be seen, which confused Derek even more.

  “Grant, where are you?” Derek whispered, looking around. He crouched down behind the outcropping and looked around in the shadows. Nothing. No one there.

  A quick look at his watch showed only one minute has passed. If he could do a mile and a half in eleven minutes, he could make the landing zone (LZ) for exfil. This wouldn’t be a problem with his adrenaline pumped up as it was. However, he needed to slow down the rebels to make sure he would not be bringing any company to the party. It was time to use up his only surprise, since the element of stealth was long gone.

  *****

  The rebels advanced up the path into the mountains with surprising skill. They only moved when their partner was covering them, and they communicated in near silence. This was their home, and they were very familiar with every rock and bend in the path.

  One large man near the front lay face down in the prone position, off to the side. He had a clear line of fire right up to the bend. The man he shot lay on the ground not moving, looking like a bundle of rags. He had no idea how he could have missed his target. The Dragunov Soviet sniper rifle he used was incredibly accurate, and with his night vision and the starlight scope, he never had previously never missed anything he had in his sights. The clouds soon parted, and the sliver of moonlight illuminated the area, showing the rebels huddled up and down on the length of the trail.