Magnus, page 1
Books in This Series:
Magnus, Book 1
Rogan, Book 2
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
About This Book
Prologue
Day 1
Day 2, Morning
Day 2, Morning
Day 2, Noon
Day 3, Early Morning
Day 4, Early Morning
Day 4, Lunch
Day 4, Dinner
Day 4, Evening
Day 4, Almost Midnight
Day 5, Early Morning
Day 5, Midmorning
Day 5, Lunchtime
Day 6, Early Morning
Day 6, Midmorning
Day 6, Early Afternoon
Day 7, Morning
Day 7, Dinnertime
Day 7, After Dinner
Day 7, Evening
Day 8, Morning
Day 8, Late Morning
Day 8, Early Afternoon
Day 8, Late Afternoon
Day 8, Later Afternoon
Day 8, Later That Evening
Epilogue
About Rogan
Author’s Note
Complimentary Download
About the Author
Copyright Page
About This Book
Magnus arrives in the Arctic for severe-weather training, overseen by an international joint task force, but run by military brass. With multiple countries involved and multiple divisions of the military, it’s a wide-open mix of potential trouble. And trouble is what he’s here to find. Not to create. However, after meeting the one and only doctor on-site, a female member of the British team, Magnus knows that she needs his help to keep her safe. Yet she can’t be his main interest, not when something is seriously wrong at this Arctic training compound. Too bad his heart wasn’t listening …
Dr. Sydney Jenkins had been a last-minute replacement for the doctor scheduled to be here. Sydney had been delighted for the new experience, until she arrived to find all hell breaking loose, almost on her first day. Men missing, accidents that shouldn’t be happening, and her medical clinic targeted. Not sure who to trust, she’s inclined to accept Magnus’s protective presence, but … she’d been wrong before.
Making a mistake under these conditions would be fatal—for both of them …
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Prologue
Lieutenant Commander Mason Callister walked into the private office and stood in front of retired Navy Commander Doran Magellan.
“Mason, good to see you.”
Yet the dry tone of voice, and the scowl pinching the silver-haired man’s face, all belied his words. Mason had known Doran for over a decade, and their friendship had only grown over time.
Mason waited, as he watched the other man try to work the new tech phone system on his desk. With his hand circling the air above the black box, he appeared to hit buttons randomly.
Mason held back his amusement but to no avail.
“Why can’t a phone be a phone anymore?” the commander snapped, as his glare shifted from Mason to the box and back.
Asking the commander if he needed help wouldn’t make the older man feel any better, but sitting here and watching as he indiscriminately punched buttons was a struggle. “Is Helen away?” Mason asked.
“Yes, damn it. She’s at lunch, and I need her to be at lunch.” The commander’s piercing gaze pinned Mason in place. “No one is to know you’re here.”
Solemn, Mason nodded. “Understood.”
“Doran? Is that you?” A crotchety voice slammed into the room through the phone’s speakers. “Get away from that damn phone. You keep clicking buttons in my ear. Get Helen in there to do this.”
“No, she can’t be here for this.”
Silence came first, then a huge groan. “Damn it. Then you should have connected me last, so I don’t have to sit here and listen to you fumbling around.”
“Go pour yourself a damn drink then,” Doran barked. “I’m working on the others.”
A snort was his only response.
Mason bit the inside of his lip, as he really tried to hold back his grin. The retired commander had been hell on wheels while on active duty, and, even now, the retired part of his life seemed to be more of a euphemism than anything.
“Damn things …”
Mason looked around the dark mahogany office and the walls filled with photos, awards, and medals. A life of purpose and accomplishment. And all of that had only piqued his interest during the initial call he’d received, telling him to be here at this time.
“Ah, got it.”
Mason’s eyebrows barely twitched as the commander gave him a feral grin. “I’d rather lead a warship into battle than deal with some of today’s technology.”
As he was one of only a few commanders who’d been in a position to do such a thing, it said much about his capabilities.
And much about current technology.
The commander leaned back in his massive chair and motioned to the cart beside Mason. “Pour three cups.”
Interesting. Mason walked a couple steps across the rich tapestry-style carpet and lifted the silver service to pour coffee into three very down-to-earth-looking mugs.
“Black for me.”
Mason picked up two cups and walked one over to Doran.
“Thanks.” He leaned forward and snapped into the phone, “Everyone here?”
Multiple voices responded.
Curiouser and curiouser. Mason recognized several of the voices. Other relics of an era gone by. Although not a one wanted to hear that, and, in good faith, it wasn’t fair. Mason had thought each of these men were retired, had relinquished power. Yet, as he studied Doran in front of him, Mason had to wonder whether any of them had passed the baton or if they’d only slid into the shadows. Was this planned with the government’s authority? Or were these retirees a shadow group to the government?
The tangible sense of power and control oozed from Doran’s words, tone, stature—his very pores. This man might be heading into his sunset years—based on a simple calculation of chronological years spent on the planet—but he was a long way from being out of the action.
“Mason …” Doran began.
“Sir?”
“We’ve got a problem.”
Mason narrowed his gaze and waited.
Doran’s glare was hard, steely hard, with an icy glint. “Do you know the Mavericks?”
Mason’s eyebrows shot up. The black ops division was one of those well-kept secrets, so, therefore, everyone knew about it. He gave a decisive nod. “I do.”
“And you’re involved in the logistics behind the training program in the Arctic, are you not?”
“I am.” Now where was the commander going with this?
“Do you know another SEAL by the name of Mountain Rode? He’s been working for the black ops Mavericks.” At his own words, the commander shook his head. “What the hell was his mother thinking when she gave him that moniker?”
“She wasn’t thinking anything,” said the man with a hard voice from behind Mason.
He stiffened slightly, then relaxed as he recognized that voice too.
“She died giving birth to me. And my full legal name is Mountain Bear Rode. It was my father’s doing.”
The commander glared at the new arrival. “Did I say you could come in?”
“Yes.” Mountain’s voice was firm, yet a definitive note of affection filled his tone.
That emotion told Mason so much.
The commander harrumphed, then cleared his throat. “Mason, we’re picking up a significant amount of chatter over that training. Most of it good. Some of it the usual caterwauling we’ve come to expect every time we participate in a joint training mission. This one is set to run for six months, then to reassess.”
Mason already knew this. But he waited for the commander to get around to why Mason was here, and, more important, what any of this had to do with the mountain of a man who now towered beside him.
The commander shifted his gaze to Mountain, but he remained silent.
Mason noted Mountain was not only physically big but damn imposing and severely pissed, seemingly barely holding back the forces within. His body language seemed to yell, And the world will fix this, or I’ll find the reason why.
For a moment Mason felt sorry for the world.
Finally, a voice spoke through the phone. “Mason, this is Alpha here. I run the Mavericks. We’ve got a problem with that training center. Mountain, tell him.”
Mason shifted to include Mountain in his field of vision. Mason wished the other men on the conference call were in the room too. It was one thing to deal with men you knew and could take the measure of; it was another when they were silent shadows in the background.
“My brother is one of the men who reported for the Arctic training three weeks ago.”
“Teegan Rode?” Mason confirmed. “I’m the one who arranged for him to go up there. He’s a great kid.”
A glimmer of a smile cracked Mountain’s stony features. He nodded. “Indeed. An oops on my father’s part but a bright light in my often dark world. He’s a dozen years younger than me, just passed his BUD/s training this spring, and raring to go. Until his raring to go then got up and went.”
Oh, shit. Mason’s gaze zinged to the commander, who had kicked up his feet to rest atop the big desk. Stocking feet. With Mickey Mouse images dancing on them. Sidetracked, Mason struggled to pull his attention back to Mountain. “Meaning?”
/> “He’s disappeared.” Mountain let out a harsh breath, as if just saying that out loud, and maybe to the right people, could allow him to relax—at least a little.
The commander spoke up. “We need your help, Mason. You’re uniquely qualified for this problem.”
It didn’t sound as if he was qualified in any way for anything he’d heard so far. “Clarify.” His spoken word was simplicity itself, but the tone behind it said he wanted the cards on the table … now.
Mountain spoke up. “He’s the third incident.”
Mason’s gaze narrowed, as the reports from the training camp rolled through his mind. “One was Russian. One was from the German SEAL team. Both were deemed accidental deaths.”
“No, they weren’t.”
There it was. The root of the problem in black-and-white. He studied Mountain, aiming for neutrality. “Do you have evidence?”
“My brother did.”
“Ah, hell.”
Mountain gave a clipped nod. “I’ll find him.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” Mason said quietly. “Do you have a copy of the evidence he collected?”
“I have some of it.” Mountain held out a USB key. “This is your copy. Top secret.”
“We don’t have to remind you, Mason, that lives are at stake,” Doran added. “Nor do we need another international incident. Consider also that a group of scientists, studying global warming, is close by, and not too far away is a village home to a few hardy locals.”
Mason accepted the key, turned to the commander, and asked, “Do we know whether this is internal or enemy warfare?”
“We don’t know at this point,” Alpha replied through the phone. “Mountain will lead Shadow Recon. His mission is twofold. One, find out what’s behind these so-called accidents and put a stop to it by any means necessary. Two, locate his brother, hopefully alive.”
“And where do I come in?” Mason asked.
“We want you to pull together a special team. The members of Shadow Recon will report to both you and Mountain, just in case.”
That was clear enough.
“You’ll stay stateside but in constant communication with Mountain—with the caveat that, if necessary, you’re on the next flight out.”
“What about bringing in other members from the Mavericks?” Mason suggested.
Alpha took this question too, his response coming through via Speakerphone. “We don’t have the numbers. The budget for our division has been cut. So we called the commander to pull some strings.”
That was Doran’s cue to explain further. “Mountain has fought hard to get me on board with this plan, and I’m here now. The navy has a special budget for Shadow Recon and will take care of Mountain and you, Mason, and the team you provide.”
“Skills needed?”
“Everything,” Mountain said, his voice harsh. “But the biggest is these men need to operate in the shadows, mostly alone, without a team beside them. Too many new arrivals will alert the enemy. If we make any changes to the training program, it will raise alarms. We’ll move the men in one or two at a time on the same rotation that the trainees are running right now.”
“And when we get to the bottom of this?” Mason looked from the commander back to Mountain.
“Then the training can resume as usual,” Doran stated.
Mason immediately churned through the names already popping up in his mind. How much could he tell his men? Obviously not much. Hell, he didn’t know much himself. How much time did he have? “Timeline?”
The commander’s final word told him of the urgency.
“Yesterday.”
Day 1
Arrived safely. Another man missing as of my arrival. WTF is going on here? Confirmed Mountain is here. Haven’t connected yet. Blizzard outside. Tempers are short. Fear underneath. Nothing new to report.
Racing through the harsh wind, Magnus Moureaux entered the large snow-covered building, shaking the snow off his hood and his shoulders. He stepped from what seemed to be a huge music concert of Mother Nature’s current storm into absolute silence, just with a snick of a door. It had been hard to pull the door open against the heavy winds; closing it wasn’t exactly an easy job either. Standing here, sensing the stillness around him in this antechamber entrance room—one step away from the other entrances to separate the harsh cold outside from the heated building inside—he felt the change in the atmosphere.
Continuing on into a second chamber, he took off his heavy hooded parka, hung it on his labeled spot, and put his massive snow boots underneath, taking off his gloves at the same time, as well as his balaclava. It was one hell of a relief. Feeling better with every layer removed, and now wearing his inside boots, he strode toward the double doors, welcoming the warmth of the heated building.
As he stepped inside, men turned to look at him, and several raised their hands. He just nodded and kept on going. He saw Mountain off to the side. It may be Day One for Magnus here at the training camp, but it was at least Day Three and counting for Teegan, missing out in this tundra.
As much as Magnus wanted to head directly to Mountain, this wasn’t the time. Mountain would know that. They had already prearranged signals between them, one if Teegan were found dead, another if Teegan were found alive. No such stealth communication between the two just meant that Mountain continued to search for his brother, regardless of how long it took. Nobody understood the strength needed for Mountain to keep all that angst and anger bottled up, to keep his focus steady on the goal, to not snap from the weight of it all.
Mountain and Magnus knew their big target was to investigate the goings-on at this training center, what with two suspicious deaths and now two men missing—one of them being Mountain’s brother. This big target was made messier with the international relations involved among the military members from USA, Russia, Britain, Germany, Switzerland, and other countries represented here.
No matter how global this mess was, Mountain and Magnus were under the gun. While this training program was slated to last twelve weeks—and already three weeks in—Mother Nature overruled that future deadline. Any man or woman lost outside in this frozen tundra, with no help or supplies, would be severely tested to last one day, and Teegan had been missing for three days.
Mountain had been honest with Mason and Magnus, fearing his brother was now dead. And, as part of Mountain’s cover as head of Shadow Recon, Mountain would publicly acknowledge that possibility, while openly searching to find his body, yet privately holding on to hope forever.
Yet the camp was not to know that Magnus was part of Mountain’s team, apart from the colonel on base.
Magnus cast another glance toward the big man, as Mountain’s shoulders were slightly stiffer and his head up. Something about Mountain’s size came with certain mannerisms, and everybody had his tells. Plus it was almost as if Mountain could sniff out trouble. Magnus wasn’t privy to all the information or to who else was here who may or may not be on the same mission.
He hoped it wasn’t just the two of them because, God, Magnus could almost taste the trouble in the air, and under it all was … fear. Mountain wouldn’t be easy to put down. Neither would Magnus. He had a lot of aces up his sleeve and certainly dropping him wouldn’t be easy, but it would take a rocket to drop Mountain, particularly when he was on the hunt for somebody who potentially had hurt his brother. A brother who was still missing. Truth be told, recovering Teegan’s body was the expressed goal, but, knowing Mountain, he wouldn’t be giving up on finding his brother alive.
Per the current intel, now they had a fifth incident—counting the dead Russian; the dead German; the still-missing man, Teegan Rode; the second missing man, Terrance Billings; and now the most recent missing man, a Russian, who disappeared during a training event. He went missing so recently that we don’t even have his name yet. Magnus had been informed when he flew in last night.
He headed over to the kitchen area, where he grabbed a mug of hot coffee, anything to warm him up inside. Nothing like a good stomp around outside to get your blood flowing, but the cold set in very quickly. Once it did, that chill could be hard to chase away.
He’d been here for less than twenty-four hours, and it was hard to believe that anything could survive this hostile climate for long. Yet a part of him enjoyed being outside. He loved the outdoors, and he loved the cold. Then at times, such as right now, he wanted to go out and do a long-term search, but the blizzard stopped absolutely everything, and that frustrated him to no end.
