Killer Lawyer
Killer Lawyer
Mark Nolan
Copyright © 2018 by Mark Nolan
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, incidents, and dialogue are all products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Dedicated to my family and friends who believed in me. Thank you.
Contents
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
Dear Reader
Acknowledgments
Email Signup
Also by Mark Nolan
About the Author
Chapter 1
Juanita Yacht Harbor
Sausalito, California
At half-past midnight, newly licensed attorney Jake Wolfe lay in bed staring at the ceiling and waiting for orders.
Orders to kill.
He lay on top of the covers, fully dressed except for his boots, ready to go at a moment’s notice. Beneath him, he felt his sixty-foot power yacht, the Far Niente, rock gently on the water, where it was berthed at his boat slip.
In the stillness, he listened as small waves lapped at the hull. The boat creaked in a familiar way, the rigging from a nearby sailboat flapped in the breeze, and a passing seagull called to another. He knew every sound of the boat, as if she was an old friend with her own personality.
Closing his eyes, he wondered how it was possible that he’d become an assassin. After serving four years in the Marines and later doing secret black ops missions for the CIA’s Special Activities Division, he’d received an honorable discharge at his end of active service. He’d come home and studied law online, had passed the bar exam, and had started a solo law practice. The fighting should all be behind him now, but Uncle Sam had come calling again, in need of a patriot to help protect the homeland.
His girlfriend, Sarah Chance, should be in bed with him. But she’d accidentally witnessed Jake assassinate three terrorists, and now she was afraid to spend the night.
Jake cursed and thought about the liquor cabinet in the galley. A few drinks of Redbreast Irish whiskey could help him forget about life and get some sleep. It was only natural if you had Irish blood in your veins.
No, not tonight. He shook his head and pushed that temptation out of his mind. He had to stay alert.
A light rain began to patter quietly against the boat. The buzzing of his encrypted black phone on the nightstand interrupted his thoughts.
Jake noticed his adopted war dog, Cody, wake up from where he’d been sleeping on the bed. The dog looked at him with wise brown eyes, quirking one eyebrow. Jake smiled at his faithful friend. Cody was a Golden Lab—a yellow Labrador retriever and Golden Retriever mix—with short, wavy hair.
“At ease, Marine,” Jake said, and scratched Cody behind his ears.
Sitting up, Jake grabbed the phone. It was a call from Shannon McKay. He thumbed the answer icon. “Wolfe.”
“We have a situation,” McKay said. “The one I warned you about.”
She spoke in a commanding voice, always serious and professional. In their working relationship she was the starched shirt and he was the loose cannon.
Jake saw her image on an encrypted program similar to Skype or FaceTime. She was wearing a charcoal-gray suit jacket over a white blouse, the telltale bulge of a pistol in a shoulder holster under her left arm. Staring directly at the camera with a no-nonsense gaze, she projected the image of a powerful, capable, and dangerous person—someone who could give an order and you’d be dead, or soon wish you were.
Jake made light of the deadly situation with a dark humor they both shared. “I’ve got pants on and I’m about to drink some strong coffee.”
“So far, so good, but no whiskey in the coffee; I need you alert.”
Jake smiled ruefully. She knew him too well. They shared a complicated history, but they’d earned each other’s trust and respect, although they still traded barbs and challenges.
“The mission?” Jake asked as he walked to the galley with Cody following. He knew missions were often kept secret until the last minute, to protect operations security.
“A high value target I’ve been tracking. He’s a foreign banking executive who secretly helps terrorists launder their opium money and buy assault rifles and rocket launchers from arms dealers. Those weapons are fired at our troops, and some of them are smuggled into the U.S. and sold to criminal gangs.”
Opening the sliding door, Jake let Cody out onto the aft deck to do his business on a section of artificial grass. “Is this related to the drug gang I fought with recently?”
“Correct. You shut them down, but this guy was their money man.”
“Still conducting business as usual?”
“Yes. Recently, in Los Angeles, a gang of criminals robbed a bank while wearing body armor and carrying AKs sold through his pipeline. They injured several LEOs and one police officer died who had recently returned to duty after her maternity leave.”
Jake cursed and thought about when he’d served overseas as a military dog handler. Some of his best friends had been killed by Russian-made AK-47s. And his good friend Stuart, Cody’s former handler, made it home alive but had died of a heroin overdose. The deaths of his friends had cut deep wounds in his soul that never stopped bleeding. “This dirtbag gets rich by arming terrorists and cop killers?”
McKay pursed her lips. “He also helped fund the overseas terrorist cell that was beheading women who refused to be sex slaves.”
“The men I te
rminated.”
“The very same.”
“Was he aware of the beheadings?”
“He knew exactly who he was aiding and abetting. Now, he’s funding a shipment of Stingers that are on their way to the United States.”
Jake almost cringed thinking about the FIM-92 Stinger, a shoulder-launched heat-seeking missile. “We can’t let those weapons fall into the wrong hands.”
“Agreed. One of the Stingers from a shipment to Europe was used to shoot down an airliner over the Baltic Sea. Another supply is now on its way to California. We need to put a stop to that. You could help us do so tonight if you’re willing to serve your country again and shut down the money supply.”
Jake felt his sense of duty weighing on his shoulders. “Did you say the banker is designated as a high-value target?”
“Yes. My orders are to eliminate this HVT from the chessboard.”
“I’m willing, but why me? You must have plenty of wild-eyed former Navy SEALs, Army Special Forces, and infantry Marine veterans who’d love to kick ass.”
“Three reasons. First, you agreed to twelve missions and this is one of them. Second, you’re closest to his location. Third, this man funded the reward money when terrorists put a bounty on you and Duke.”
Duke. Jake was quiet for a moment, taking a deep breath and letting it out. When he spoke, his voice was low and menacing. “He’s the dirtbag who paid them to kill my dog when we were deployed?”
She nodded. “Yes. The reward was twenty thousand U.S. dollars for any war dog’s tattooed ear.”
Jake’s temper flared and he began pacing back and forth, clenching his right hand into a fist, righteous anger rising to the surface. “Who is he? Where is he?”
“I’m sorry to bring up painful memories, but I thought you’d want to be the one who dealt with this … person.”
“Show me his face and location. I’ll go there right now and break his neck with my bare hands.”
Chapter 2
McKay said, “Hold your position. He’s coming to you, and we’ll do this my way or not at all. Agreed?”
Jake cursed through clenched teeth. “All right. I’ll follow your orders. But no matter what happens tonight, I’m going to find and kill that evil man. Nothing will stop me.”
“Understood. There’s a scenario to take him out at his hotel when he falls asleep, but I brought you on board to do it right now because I know your history.”
“Thank you, Shannon.”
McKay paused a moment. Jake rarely used her first name. “I’m sending his travel route to you.”
Jake’s phone buzzed and a GPS display lit up. A bright dot indicated the location of a tracking beacon. “Mount Tam.”
“Yes, he’s up there visiting some millionaire friends. I wasn’t sure if he’d spend the night in their guest room or try to drive back to his hotel. Our surveillance just heard him say he’s going back to the city.”
“Has he been drinking?”
“Like a fish. It’s a wine and whiskey tasting party. He brought some of the finest bourbon, Irish whiskey, and single malt Scotch that blood money can buy at thousands of dollars per bottle.”
“Will he be driving his own car, or taking Uber or Lyft?”
“Driving. His friends tried to talk him out of it, but he gave them some excuses. The truth is, he wants to party with hookers in his hotel penthouse in the city.”
“He’ll be alone in the car?”
“Correct.”
“Your orders?”
“Make it look like an accident. We don’t want him to become a martyr. That might cause repercussions for people who are helping us inside the bank’s offices around the world.”
Jake thought about it for a moment. “There’s a dangerous exit right before the Golden Gate Bridge where a car might run off the road.”
“Perfect. He’ll have a mixed half-case of open whiskey bottles in the trunk. Plant one in the front seat after the car wreck if you can do it without being seen.”
“Why are we improvising at the last minute?”
“Because I’ve been arguing with people in high places on your behalf. I won the debate and you’re good to go. Don’t let me down.”
“I appreciate that. When will he be passing through Sausalito?”
“He’ll be on his way soon. Get in position right now.”
“Roger that.”
“Good luck, Jake.” McKay ended the call.
As soon as she hung up, he punched the refrigerator door in frustration, leaving a dent. His hand felt the sting, but he ignored it, looking back at his phone. He swiped, and his home screen caught his eye—an old photo of himself wearing desert fatigues and boots, standing in front of an armored military vehicle near some desolate sand dunes. A Belgian Malinois dog stood next to him. On the other side of the dog stood Terrell Hayes, a rugged-looking black man holding a rifle, with a cigarette in his mouth and a frown on his face; the man who’d saved Jake’s life with a blood transfusion, making them blood brothers and best friends forever. It seemed like a million years ago, on another planet.
Jake’s phone buzzed as he received photos of the target’s face, and the car—a red Lamborghini. Jake was half Italian and half Irish—the Italian side of him appreciated the beauty of the sports car; his Irish side wanted to drive it at recklessly fast speeds. The infantry Marine in him was planning to kill the enemy driving it, and get revenge for Duke.
He went to his stateroom and quickly put on socks and boots, armed himself with two pistols and a knife, and grabbed his leather jacket along with a flat, black, hard-shell backpack.
Cody sniffed the backpack, his trained nose detecting what was inside.
Jake patted Cody. “We have a mission, Sergeant.”
After locking the sliding door at the aft of the boat, Jake disembarked and walked up the dock in the dark with Cody trotting by his side.
Jake glanced at his dog. He’d promised his girlfriend, Sarah, that he would try to leave Cody with her during missions, but there wasn’t time now to drive to her apartment and back.
They moved toward his armored black Jeep Grand Cherokee, an off-the-books gift from McKay. He pressed a key fob and one of the back passenger doors swung open automatically. Cody jumped into the backseat, sat in the center, and kept his paws and tail away from the door.
Jake used the controller to close the K9 door, and got behind the wheel. “It’s go time, Cody. Semper Fi?”
Cody barked once in reply.
They drove off in the dark and rain toward what was about to become the scene of a fatal car accident.
Sarah Chance lay awake in bed, thinking about Jake.
Her period was late.
She got out of bed and tied her long, dark hair back with a scrunchie. Then she put on her glasses, walked to the bathroom, and tore open a pregnancy test she’d picked up at the pharmacy on her way home after a long day’s work at her veterinary clinic.
She had absolutely no plans to have a baby at this stage of her life, and yet, for some strange reason, she felt torn, half-fearing and half-hoping she might be pregnant.
As she waited for the test result to appear, she thought about how hard she’d fallen for Jake. That scared her a little. His secret life had almost gotten her killed recently. How could she live with a proverbial sword hanging over her head?
If only Jake would tell the government he wanted out; that he’d done his duty, served with honor, and now deserved to enjoy a normal civilian life. It was time for others to step up and take his place, so he and Cody could live in peace.
A tear rolled down Sarah’s cheek, eyes wet as she watched the result show up on the test stick, plain as day and undeniable.
Chapter 3
Jake drove onto Highway 101 and headed toward the Golden Gate Bridge. Rain continued to fall as he passed a sign that read: Slippery When Wet.
Exit 442 was the last one before going onto the bridge, and next to it was a 15 MPH turn sign displaying a sharply curved a
rrow. Jake took the exit and carefully made the sharp, downward right turn onto Alexander Avenue. Pulling over, he parked on the side of the road near the underpass and grabbed his backpack, then turned to Cody and gave a command.
“Stand post, Cody. I know you can open the car doors, but don’t do that. Stay inside and guard the vehicle.”
Cody barked twice in protest, but he obeyed and whined as Jake closed the door.
Jake noted the separation anxiety in his dog’s eyes and body language as they stared at each other through the closed window. Cody’s deep brown, intelligent eyes held Jake’s gaze, and he put his right paw on the glass.
Jake stood there in the dark and rain, feeling a weight on his heart. Cody was a brother, a best friend, a fellow Marine, and a loyal guardian who would stand by Jake’s side until one of them fell. Together, they’d survived a river of sorrows. The untimely death of their mutual friend, Stuart, was a bond of grief they both shared. How could he go on a mission and leave his right-hand man behind?