Crosshairs: An Espionage Thriller (Jack Cross SI6 Book 2), page 1
CROSSHAIRS
JACK CROSS SI6
BOOK 2
JACK DILLON
Crosshairs
Kindle Edition
Copyright © 2023 (As Revised) Jack Dillon
Rough Edges Press
An Imprint of Wolfpack Publishing
9850 S. Maryland Parkway, Suite A-5 #323
Las Vegas, Nevada 89183
roughedgespress.com
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, other than brief quotes for reviews.
eBook ISBN 978-1-68549-278-6
Paperback ISBN 978-1-68549-279-3
CONTENTS
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Prologue I
Prologue II
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
Epilogue
A Look at Book Three:
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About the Author
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CROSSHAIRS
PROLOGUE I
JULY 2005—LONDON
General Bainbridge sat in the rear of the Bentley across from his wife and daughter.
They were all dressed for the evening’s celebration: he was in a grey dinner suit by Tom Ford, his wife, Martha, in an elegant black Armani dress, and their twelve-year-old daughter, Elizabeth, also wore an Armani dress, but hers was white.
“Should we be celebrating tonight, dear? I mean, you know, after what has happened?” Martha asked, her eyes troubled.
“We might as well, dear. Who knows when we might get another chance. Besides, promotions like these are few and far between. I’ve worked hard for this opportunity, and I don’t see why we can’t enjoy the moment,” Bainbridge replied, looking out the window.
“You know why, all those people…” she said, allowing her words to trail off. She never spoke of his work in front of Lizzie, not that she knew much about it anyway. As far as she was aware, her husband worked for the Ministry of Defence, and that was as far as her knowledge went.
He looked at his wife and then glanced at Lizzie, who was oblivious to it all. She had learned a long time ago to tune out of their conversations; it was none of her business anyway.
Martha was referring to the attacks on the London underground on the seventh of July that year. It had followed the attack in New York almost four years previously when the war on terror had begun in earnest. This present attack had forced the government to take action by forming a tactical intelligence unit that targeted terrorism in all its guises and took the fight to them.
Bainbridge had just been given command of this new unit, and tonight’s meal was to celebrate his promotion. All Martha knew, though, was that her husband had been promoted to a higher position within the Ministry of Defence and that it had something to do with recent events. Her husband never divulged any details about his work to her, which at times put a strain on their marriage.
He glanced out the window once more as the car stopped.
“We’re here,” he said.
As he got out and stood on the pavement, ready to help his wife out of the spacious interior, he said, “I’ve asked Tony to join us.”
Just then, as all three of them were huddled together, four motorbikes skidded to a halt nearby, two at the rear of the car and the other two in front.
All four riders wore black, even down to their helmets.
Bainbridge immediately sensed danger and shouted, “Get back in the car.”
He pushed the two women into the Bentley once more as his driver, James Nicholson, a member of his security detail, came round to stand with him.
“Here, sir, my back-up piece,” Nicholson said, thrusting a Walther PPS into his hand. “Now get back in the car with your family. I’ve called for back-up,” he added, pushing Bainbridge back against the car.
Just as Bainbridge was debating whether or not to agree, gunfire raked the opposite side of the Bentley.
Bainbridge turned to see the two gunmen who had pulled up in front of the vehicle, firing at the car, hoping to kill the passengers inside.
Bystanders on the pavement outside the restaurant scattered in a wail of panicked screams, which galvanized Bainbridge into action. He aimed the Walther over the top of the car and fired.
His first shot glanced off the helmet of the gunman, knocking him off balance as the force pushed his head backward. Bainbridge’s second shot hit him high on the chest, dropping him to the floor.
Nicholson had similar luck with the other gunman, dropping him with his first shot. Before he could acquire another target, a bullet hit him on his shoulder, spinning him around.
Bainbridge saw his driver take the hit and knew the shot had come from the two riders at the back of the car. Now they had clear targets.
He was standing on the pavement facing the front of the car, his left side leaning on the door. He saw Nicholson go down in front of him, then, to his left, over the top of the car, he saw one of the riders reach for the door handle to the rear seats.
He was divided in what to do. He knew the fourth rider was behind him, probably lining up a shot, but there was also this rider getting ready to open the door to reach his wife and daughter. For him, the choice was simple. He brought his Walther up over the top of the car just as he saw the man wrench open the passenger side door.
He heard a gunshot and felt something incredibly hard punch him high in his back. As he was half-turned, the impact felt as if it had struck him just above his left shoulder blade.
He was sent sprawling down the side of the car to land ungainly on the pavement not far from Nicholson.
He lay there, momentarily confused as to how he had ended up on the floor. He glanced to his right and saw Nicholson try to get up but was shot once more. This time the bullet hit him between his eyes, painting the ground with his blood and brain matter in a lurid Rorschach pattern.
Bainbridge managed to turn just in time to see the gunman walking over to him, gun extended, ready to fire.
Keeping his Walther low to the ground, he fired three shots at the man, hoping to hit a foot or ankle. The last bullet struck the man’s right calf tearing through the muscle. He fell down, and Bainbridge shot him in the face, killing him instantly.
He lay back down, breathing heavily as the pain began to resonate through him, and then he heard several gunshots from inside the car.
Martha and Lizzie, he had to get to them.
Colonel Tony Armstrong had left the taxi further up the street. Something was happening and traffic had come to a standstill.
As he got out, he heard gunshots echoing through the night coming from the direction of the restaurant and he immediately feared the worst.
Being a member of the Security Services, he was required to be armed at all times. He took out a Walther PPS and jacked the slide on the run as he forced himself through the crowds. He just hoped he reached Bainbridge before it was too late.
Bainbridge dragged himself across the ground. He didn’t know what he was going to do, just that he had to do something.
In his heart, he knew it was too late and that his wife and daughter were dead, but he was determined to get to their killer and make him pay.
He dragged himself level with the rear door. He reached up to grab the handle and dragged himself up. With all his rapidly waning strength, he pulled the door open and saw them.
His wife and daughter were lying on the seats, blood splashed all over them with a bullet hole in each of
The shock of seeing them like that was almost too much to bear. He screamed in anger and loss, and tears filled his eyes so that he was unable to see.
Suddenly he felt a gun barrel placed against the back of his head. He knew what it was, he actually longed for the trigger to be pulled so that he could be with his family. When he heard the shot so loud due to its close proximity, he was both angry and disappointed that he was still alive.
“General, are you hurt?” he heard Tony say when the echo of the gunshot had faded.
Tony arrived on the run. The crowds had dissipated by the time he reached the restaurant; the gunfire had scared them all into hiding, which was understandable.
The scene that greeted him was one of chaos and destruction. There were four bikes on the road, dead bodies on the ground, and he saw what appeared to be a biker standing over another figure with a gun to their head.
There was no time to ask questions, he had to act.
He brought up his Walther and fired.
Bainbridge turned and saw Tony standing there. He could only look at him; the words would not come.
Tony glanced over Bainbridge to see inside the car and immediately understood the man’s distress. He placed a hand on Bainbridge’s shoulder to comfort him, for he knew there were no words that would take this pain away.
PROLOGUE II
PRESENT DAY—SOMEWHERE IN SWITZERLAND
The man entered the room and looked at the large table before him.
Seated around it were faces he recognized, these were the players in the big game. All but one, the person seated at the head of the table, was shrouded in shadows. All he could make out was the shape of what appeared to be a man. These were the game changers. This was the High Council, only heard of in rumors and then only in whispers. The figure at the head of the table was known only to a few and by everyone else as Number One.
The men and women seated around this table held enough power to change the course of history. This was the Hierarchy.
“You have been summoned here because of the consequences we now face due to certain recent actions. Of late, those actions have brought this organization under some unwanted scrutiny from the security services of the United Kingdom. Granted, they are not the power they used to be, but they do have ties to the United States, and attention from that quarter would be both messy and, like everything that country does, a spectacular overreaction. So you are here to reverse that,” the shadowy figure said.
This was an opportunity for him to cement his position within HATE, the Hierarchy for Anarchy, Terrorism, and Extortion—and ultimately, a seat at this table.
He felt his pulse quicken as he heard those words. They needed him.
“What do you have in mind?” he asked, keeping his voice calm and measured.
“You will finish what we started in 2005, you will destroy Special Intelligence Section Six.”
CHAPTER ONE
Jack Cross looked down at the graves, his heart as heavy then as when his wife and daughter were first placed in them.
He knew he was torturing himself by visiting them, but what else could he do? He felt that to not visit them would be a betrayal of sorts.
He had told them both on numerous occasions when they had been alive of his love for them and that he would never, could never forget them. To stop visiting them would make a lie of all that.
It was a part of the grieving process, he was well aware of that, but it didn’t help any. He was still too consumed by anger about their deaths to reconcile anything about his life and move on.
They had been brutally and callously murdered in front of him on his return from his last mission with SI6, a mission he was not even supposed to be on. He had agreed to help out his friend and partner, Mike Flynn, during which his friend had been injured in a helicopter crash and barely escaped with his life. On his return home, a hitman sent by the Hierarchy forced his way into their home and incapacitated Jack before shooting his wife and daughter in front of him. It was an act of cruelty designed to break his spirit, but unfortunately for the hit man, it had the opposite effect. Jack had survived, the hit man had not.
Now he faced a life without his family, without a future. Instead of love, his life was filled with hatred and anger toward those who had done this to him. All he could contemplate was revenge.
If his wife had still been alive, she would have pointed out the futility of his feelings. She had always been his anchor to the real world. Whenever he went on a mission, knowing she was waiting at home for his return was what made him strive to stay alive, to not take risks for risk’s sake alone. Without her and his daughter, he had lost that anchor. He had nothing to keep him grounded. He no longer cared if he lived or died, just as long as he ensured those responsible died first.
He could see no way forward other than to take the fight to the Hierarchy; he would have to go back to work.
With one last look at his wife’s grave, he said, “Forgive me,” then turned around and walked out of the graveyard.
Special Intelligence Section Six Headquarters was situated in an abandoned underground railway tunnel deep in the bowels of London.
Commander Jonathan Dark walked through the corridor leading to the inner sanctum where General Donald Bainbridge ruled. His long legs ate up the ground with every stride. His flashing hazel eyes took in his surroundings, noting every detail as this was the first time he had been here. He’d worked for SI6 on a number of jobs, but that was as backup for the agents on the ground.
When he reached Bainbridge’s outer office, he was met by Jennifer Austin, and a smile crossed his rugged face as he saw her for the first time.
Jennifer Austin was twenty-eight yet looked easily a decade younger. She had long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail that hung down her slender back and ice-blue eyes that hinted at mischievousness. Her sensuous full lips parted as if to say something as she noticed his intense stare.
“You must be Commander Dark,” she said, not put off by the attention. It was something she had got used to and used many times to her advantage in her previous career in Military Intelligence before being asked by Bainbridge to work at her present post.
Clearing his throat, John said, “Correct, and you are?”
“Pleased to meet you, Commander. Go right in, the General is expecting you,” she replied as her eyes admired his six foot three, broad-shouldered frame.
He noticed the smirk flash across her full lips, and then she was all business once more.
“Thanks,” he said, and moved to the thick oak door. He admired her without knowing anything about her; she was the type of confident woman that met the world on her own terms and that you had to respect. There was much more to this woman than seen on that first quick glance, and he wondered if he would ever get to learn more.
He opened the door and entered the inner sanctum of the organization he’d only known about from whispers for years. He’d even worked for them, but still, their reputation was something of an urban legend in the intelligence community. No one really knew the true workings of SI6. His invite here today may be their way of opening up to him at least.
