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  The Unsanctioned Patriot

  (Aaron Hardy Patriotic Action #1)

  By Alex Ander

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  .

  The

  Unsanctioned

  Patriot

  Aaron Hardy

  Patriotic Action

  .

  This story proudly

  Made in the U.S.A.

  .

  Copyright ©2016 Jason A. Burley

  All rights reserved. No portion of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be published in a newspaper, magazine or electronically via the Internet.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to real events or locations or actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter 1: Nigeria

  June 30th, 9:55 p.m. (local time); somewhere in the foothills of the mountains in Nigeria

  “Team one in position—over.”

  “Copy that. Team two—report—over.”

  “Team two is in position—over.”

  “Copy that. Team three, what’s your status—over?”

  “Team three—thirty seconds to ready—over.”

  Hidden high above the compound below, Sergeant Aaron Hardy moved his legs and body as much as he could. He had been in the prone position for the last seventeen hours and his muscles were cramping. In two days, he would celebrate his thirtieth birthday. At this moment, however, his body felt much older.

  Hardy had enlisted in the United States Marine Corps as soon as he graduated from high school. He spent the first four years of his career serving overseas, primarily in Iraq before becoming a member of the Second Marine Special Operations Battalion, headquartered at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. For the next five years, he was involved in numerous direct-action, special reconnaissance and counter-terrorism missions, until Colonel Franklin Ludlum asked him to command a team of his own to conduct top-secret missions all over the world.

  Lately, Hardy had been considering a new line of work. During the last five years, his body had been under an extreme amount of stress and it did not recover as quickly as it once did. He was still in great physical shape, but he knew if he maintained this break-neck speed, his body would fail much quicker. He still wanted to be part of the special operations community, just in a little less intense setting that did not require so much reconnaissance. The countless hours spent waiting for the action were making him grow restless and sometimes took a greater toll on his body than the gunfights. He wanted to see more action and he wanted more control over it. He wanted to take the fight to the enemy instead of waiting for the enemy to dictate the terms.

  Hardy peered through his binoculars and scanned the compound. The main building was located in the center and was dark and quiet. Two sentries guarded the main gate and appeared tired and bored, eager to be relieved of their duties. The two buildings that served as living quarters for the soldiers were located fifty meters to the rear of the main building and were only ten meters apart from each other. Both were alive with activity. The men inside were raucous, engaged in a card game. Music blasted from one of the buildings. 80’s punk rock, Hardy thought, twisting the binoculars and glancing at his watch. He raised the binoculars to his eyes. His earpiece crackled.

  “Squad leader, this is team three. We are in position, awaiting your orders—over.”

  “Copy that.” Hardy slowly swung the binoculars to the right. “All teams standby—over.”

  Hardy checked his watch three times in the next few minutes. This was exactly what was making him grow restless—the waiting. His team was in place ready to carry out their tasks, but everything hinged on the target.

  The voice of team leader one filled the airwaves. “Inbound vehicles eight hundred meters out and closing fast.”

  Finally. Hardy caught sight of the approaching headlights to his left. He watched two SUV’s speed toward the compound and come to a stop outside the main gate. The lead vehicle slid forward, when the tires locked. The guards opened the gate and waved them through. Once at the main building, the second SUV’s occupants jumped out and took defensive positions around the first SUV. Four men, dressed in black suits, white shirts and black ties, armed with AK-47 rifles stood guard, their heads rotating left and right, searching for security threats. The driver and the front passenger of the first SUV, similarly dressed, hurried inside the main building. After a few moments, they re-emerged and stood on either side of the front door, looking all around the immediate area. The one to the left raised his wrist to his mouth. The left-rear door of the first SUV opened and another man carrying a rifle came around to the right-rear passenger door and opened it. Two feet swung around and landed on the ground. The man inside lunged his upper body forward, giving him the momentum needed to get out of the vehicle. The man, a Nigerian warlord, was the most powerful drug dealer in the country. He stood six-feet, two inches tall and weighed at least three hundred pounds. His alias was simply, The Nigerian.

  Using his middle finger, Hardy spun the wheel on the binoculars, zooming in on the man’s face. He needed visual confirmation to proceed with the mission. The man had his back to Hardy, examining his surroundings. He watched the man button his suit coat and take a few steps toward the main building before stopping. “Show me your face,” Hardy said under his breath. When the man continued his gait, he turned his head to the right and Hardy had positive identification. “All teams, this is squad leader. We are a go. I repeat—all teams, we are a go on my command—over.”

  “Copy that,” replied all three team leaders.

  Hardy dropped his binoculars, wrapped his right hand around the stock of the M40A5 sniper rifle in front of him and shouldered the weapon. He closed his left eye and acquired the two guards at the main gate through the rifle’s scope. Swinging the rifle to the right, he placed The Nigerian in his crosshairs. When the man was two steps away from the front door of the building, Hardy gave his teams the ‘GO’ command.

  In less than five seconds, all the men with rifles from both SUV’s were on the ground, shot by Hardy’s teammates. After giving the ‘GO’ command, Hardy had the two guards in his sights and eased back his weapon’s trigger. He heard two muffled ‘pops’ from his rifle and confirmed they were both down, the 7.62x51mm NATO bullets hitting their targets.

  “This is team leader one. All tangos are down. I repeat—all tangos are down—over.”

  Seconds later,
Hardy heard two massive explosions. Both of the buildings to the rear of the main building blew apart. One huge fireball rose from the remains and lit up the night sky. In the distance, Hardy heard small arms fire before his earpiece came alive.

  “This is team leader two. All tangos have been neutralized—over.”

  Hardy held his breath, waiting for team three’s situation report. Team three had the most delicate part of the mission. Their orders were to secure The Nigerian. They were to engage him only if he returned fire. Even then, they were to shoot to incapacitate him. Unable to wait any longer, Hardy called for a situation report.

  “Team three, I need a sitrep—over.” All he heard was silence. Sporadic weapon’s fire came from the main building. His team members were shouting. It sounded like a struggle was taking place inside. The commotion stopped as soon as it had begun. Silence ensued. Hardy repeated his command. “What’s your sitrep, team three?” There was no response. “Team two, advance on the main building—I repeat—team two—”

  “Squad leader, this is team leader three—”

  Hardy squinted through the binoculars. “Team two, stand down and await further orders. Go ahead, team three.”

  Team leader three: “We have your birthday present…all wrapped up and ready for delivery—over.”

  Hardy sighed. “Copy that, team three. All teams rendezvous for evac.” Hardy paused before letting a grin form on his face. “Good work, gentlemen. Let’s go home.”

  Thirty minutes later, with all of his men safely aboard two Bell UH-1Y Venom (Super Huey) helicopters, Hardy felt the tension leave his shoulders. His head fell back and he let out a slow, long breath of relief. He had brought his team to the completion of another mission without any casualties. In twelve hours, everyone would be stateside, enjoying some much needed rest and relaxation. He shut his eyes. A good day.

  Chapter 2: Jack

  June 30th, 8:11 p.m.; Washington D.C.

  Jack Darling took another long drag on his cigarette before tapping it on the ashtray in front of him. As his fingers spun the glass of straight Scotch whisky on the counter, he adjusted his weight on the barstool. He checked his watch again. He did not like waiting. He saw himself as a busy man and every minute he wasted waiting on someone else was a minute lost in his constant pursuit of the next big story.

  As an investigative reporter for The Washington Post, Jack Darling had spent the past twenty years building his reputation in journalism on integrity, making sure his sources were legit before any story went to publication. His attention to detail was next to paramount. His perfection caused him to work long hours, tracking down leads and verifying sources for each story.

  Jack loved journalism, but he had been thinking about a career change for some time. He was almost fifty-years-old; however, the eighteen-hour days made it seem as if he was approaching, if not beyond, retirement. He wanted one last big story before he put away his pen and paper. He wanted to go out on top, remembered as the reporter who broke that big story wide open. Maybe, he was dreaming. Maybe, he was already over the hill. He glanced at his watch. The man he was supposed to meet tonight was late—probably would not even show.

  A waste of time, Jack thought, downing the rest of his Scotch before motioning for the bartender to get him another drink. Jack loved to drink and smoke. With the hours he put in at his job, these two guilty pleasures helped him relax. He always knew his limit though and never crossed the line, especially when he was working a lead. After mashing his cigarette butt in the ashtray, he reached for the half-full pack of cancer sticks, popped one out and stuck it between his lips. He thumbed his cigarette lighter twice. Before he could get a flame, his antiquated flip phone rang—the number was blocked. He thumbed open the device and pushed a button. “Jack Darling,” he said, the unlit cigarette flopping up and down when he spoke.

  “Are you alone?”

  “What? Who’s this?”

  The voice repeated the question, louder the second time. “Are you alone?”

  Jack thought he recognized the speech pattern. “Adam?” The man Jack was meeting at the bar only identified himself as Adam. “Where the hell are you? You’re late. I’ve been waiting here for fifteen minutes.”

  “I know. I’ve been here for forty-five minutes. Now, are…you…alone?”

  Jack sat straight and whipped his head back and forth, trying to find the man. “Of course, I’m alone. Where are you?”

  “Have the bartender send your second drink to the table in the back corner.”

  Jack started to speak, but stopped when the line went dead. He told the bartender to send his drink to the back corner and slid off the barstool. He did not like games. Games fell under the umbrella of wasting time. The frown on Jack’s face transitioned into a scowl. Adam had been in the bar for forty minutes and never made contact. This guy has some serious trust issues. Jack had had two conversations with the man. Both times, he was cocky and rude. There was also an underlying nervousness in his voice.

  As Jack approached the booth in the back corner, the man’s features became visible. He had short, dark hair, parted on the side. His dark-colored eyes were darting back and forth as if he was searching for someone. He wore a blue sport coat over a white shirt, his tie was loosened a bit and the first button of his shirt was undone. The man seemed to be in his mid-twenties. Even though he appeared to be physically fit and quite attractive, the first word that came to Jack’s mind was ‘nerd.’ When Jack stopped at the booth, the man stood and extended his hand. The man was well over six-feet tall, but slim. Jack shook the hand and they sat.

  Jack was the first to break the initial silence. “So, why all the cloak and dagger stuff and what do I call you?”

  “Adam is just fine. I don’t want my real name associated with any of this, not—” he stopped talking when the waitress appeared.

  Not acknowledging Jack, she placed his drink on the table and stared at Adam. “Can I get you another?” She was not trying to hide her interest in him.

  “No, thanks, I’m fine for now.”

  After she left, Jack put a small tape recorder on the table and pressed ‘play.’ Not wanting to waste any more time, he started the interview. “Adam, it is. So, Adam, why am I here? What do you have for me?”

  Adam shook his head. “No tape recorders. In fact, I want your word I will be left out of your story.”

  Jack pushed the ‘stop’ button and retrieved a note pad and pen from his pocket. He motioned with the items in his hands and looked at Adam. “Is it all right if I take a few notes?”

  Adam nodded and spied the people in the bar as if someone was listening to their conversation.

  Jack opened the note pad to a blank page. “You look scared.”

  “You would be, too, if you’d seen what I’ve seen. So, where do you want me to begin?”

  “Let’s start at the top.” Jack straightened and leaned forward, clicking the pen and scribbling to verify it worked.

  Adam squirmed in his seat and took a last glance around the bar before telling his story.

  Adam was a low-level information analyst at The Tucker Group, a company providing security for high-ranking officials of large multi-national corporations and Chief Executive Officers, travelling outside of the United States.

  A week ago, Adam discovered he had computer access to information way above his security clearance. He did not know why, but being a techie and curious by nature, he snooped around some of the files. He found the information so vast that he grabbed a flash drive and downloaded the information. Halfway through the download, the data transfer stopped and his security clearance returned to level one. He tossed the drive into his bag and turned his attention to his workload.

  When he arrived at work the next day, two men in suits met him at the front door and escorted him to the top floor, where he waited in a conference room. Fifteen minutes later, a man came into the room and proceeded to ask Adam questions regarding the information he had viewed the previous day. Knowin
g they had caught him, he admitted to viewing the information, but told them he did not know what it was and continued working on his projects. The man questioned Adam for two hours before dismissing him.

  At noon, Adam’s boss, accompanied by the same two men, who met him at the front door in the morning, showed up at his cubicle. The man handed Adam an envelope and told him his services were no longer needed. Adam gathered his personal belongings and the two men in suits escorted him out of the building.

  Jack flipped a page in his notebook. “What was in the envelope?”

  Adam took a long drink of his beer, raised his eyebrows and swallowed. “There was termination paperwork, a paycheck for the remainder of the week and another check…for ten…thousand…dollars.”

  Jack stopped writing. “They gave you ten thousand dollars after firing you?”

  Adam nodded before bringing the beer bottle to his lips.

  “For what?”

  Adam shrugged his shoulders and tipped the bottle back.

  “Is it standard policy for the company to give such large checks to employees that have been terminated?”

  Adam shook his head. “Not to my knowledge.”

  Jack licked his finger and flipped back several pages. “Did you tell the man in the conference room you had downloaded information to the flash drive?”

  “Are you nuts? I was already in a deep hole. I wasn’t about to give him a shovel too.” He checked his watch and peeked at their waitress. She had stolen several glimpses of him.

  “So, what was on the flash drive?”

  Adam reached into his pocket and produced a small USB flash drive. He placed it on the table and pushed it toward Jack, making a big show of the motion. “I started going through it when I got home that afternoon. There’s some serious messed up—” he stopped and waved his hands in front of his face. “I don’t want anything to do with this.”