Defector by Denysé Bridger
Andrew Dahle is a career spook, with no messy emotional ties to
complicate his life. He’s worked with the best, and despite himself,
he’s about to discover that he’s got friends he really didn’t know he
wanted.
A straight-forward operation to grab a defector before he can leave
the country with a top secret project goes wildly awry, and forces
Andrew to choose between saving the life of a colleague’s son or nailing
his target. To his great surprise, he saves the young man’s life, and
wakes up in a hospital.
Grateful, Richard MacAvoy, a retired agent with his own elite
contacts and players, steps in when Dahle is injured saving his son.
Desperate to complete his mission, Andrew reluctantly accepts the help
MacAvoy offers, and in the process just might learn that alone isn’t
always the best way to work, and friends might be worth the
vulnerability he’s always shunned.
The first thing you’ll notice if you get a copy of my new release,
DEFECTOR, is an author note. It reads: DEFECTOR is set in the 90’s, when the biggest enemy the
US faced was a potential nuclear war with the Soviet Union. This particular
story is about the machinations of vying factions to gain the loyalty and
support of a US weapons designer, using any means possible.
For those who don’t know, I used to write
thrillers and suspense stories that won minor awards. Occasionally there was a
romantic element, but for the most part, these stories were focused on
political tensions, and just straight out espionage gone wrong in some cases.
And, most of these stories took place in the late 80s and early 90s, when the
political situation was ripe for intrigues that would affect entire nations.
A few months ago, Midnight Frost Books, a
new company in Western Canada, held a pitch session for their non-romance line.
It got me thinking about those old stories, and how much fun they were to
write. So, I pulled one out and had a look. The first one out of the folder was
Defector, so I submitted the pitch, and they liked it. Enough to contract it
once they’d read it. Edits went smooth, the cover is bloody wonderful, and to
my great shock, 12 hours after it was released this week, it made the
OmniLit/ARe best-seller shelf. As I write this, it is currently sitting at #25
overall in that category–and I am sitting here in absolute shock. But yes, I am
also thrilled and smiling.
Excerpt:
“What have you managed to pull out of your files regarding Yasmine
Akhtar’s recent activities?”
Control leaned back in his chair with a vaguely amused smile then
beckoned Richard into his office. MacAvoy gave Miriam a broad smile and closed
the door as he went inside.
“Michael’s not very happy about you involving yourself in the Firm’s
business,” Control admonished, the smile still solidly in place.
Richard gave the reproach mock consideration, then shrugged
expansively.
“Yes, I don’t suppose he’s overly eager for word to leak that he’s lost
the ‘Phantom’ project.”
“Richard.” This time the disapproval was genuine.
“All right, Control. Tell me what your computers have turned up about
Miss Akhtar.”
“She’s currently with the Bulgarian Secret Police,” Control told him, a
genuine note of mild curiosity and surprise in the words.
Richard’s eyebrows rose, his expression echoing Control’s tone. “She’s
from the Middle East, and after the last squabbles her family was involved in,
she was left with only her father.”
“And where is he located nowadays?”
Control laughed with ironic humor. “You haven’t forgotten much, have
you, Richard? He’s back in Libya.”
“Do you think the ‘Phantom’ might have been destined for Quaddafi’s
arsenal?”
Control shrugged, his entire manner non-committal.
“There’s just no way of knowing until Hunter is located. I’m sure the
Bulgarians have a vested interest in this now that one of their better agents
has been eliminated. They probably have Dahle targeted already.”
MacAvoy felt a distinct jolt as he realized the truth in Control’s
words. His expression must have registered his emotion as Control’s entire
posture became alert and wary.
“Get someone over to the hospital,” Richard directed as he headed for
the door.
“Richard!” Control’s shout fell into empty air, and he rose, grabbed
his jacket and headed after MacAvoy.
* * *
Andrew felt the shadows releasing him, the sensation an abrupt,
disturbing awareness that he knew he shouldn’t be experiencing. He trusted the
instinctive alertness, though, and waited for the sound to give him a clear
indication of where the danger was coming from. It only took a few minutes to locate
the source, and Dahle’s eyes flew open just as the needle was being inserted
into the I.V. tube that ran into his arm.
Andrew pulled the intravenous out as he forced his body into motion
that it clearly objected to. The man hovering over his bed jumped back, his
surprise giving Dahle his only chance to make a useful move.
Andrew threw himself off the bed and into the man next to it, taking
them both down to the floor with a solid thud. He recovered quickly and landed
a jarring blow to the man’s jaw. In the few seconds it took for the attacker to
shake himself free of the pain, Dahle located the gun inside the other man’s coat.
He pulled it free of the holster and pressed the barrel snugly between the
man’s terrified eyes.
“Who sent you?” he demanded, the words little more than a rasp. He
could feel the pulses of pain building with each breath, and he knew he’d
probably torn apart whatever stitching the doctors had done earlier.
Dahle saw the refusal to answer before his assailant tried to offer him
a response. He shifted his hold on the gun, then brought it down against the
side of the man’s head, the action little more than a blur of smooth, practiced
motion.
Andrew staggered to his feet and glanced around the room, suddenly
expecting menace from every angle. He went to the locker and yanked his
bloodstained clothes from the hangers. He dressed quickly, the gun within easy
reach as he kept one eye on the door, then he slipped into position and waited.
Instinct and experience told him there’d be more than one man sent for this
kind of job. This one would have needed a lookout to warn him of possible
interruptions by hospital staff.
He didn’t have to wait long for confirmation of his assessment. The
door inched inward and Andrew banged the heavy metal panel back on the
intruder, causing him to stumble. With a swiftness that stirred to life all the
pain that he’d been fighting, Andrew reached for the wobbling figure and hauled
him into the room. As the door swung shut on virtually silent hinges, Dahle
slammed his captive against the wall and glared into the dazed features of the
startled man.
He recovered a little more quickly than his partner and before Andrew
could prevent it, he was struck soundly in the stomach. Gasping, Dahle almost
passed out completely when the man’s fist came down hard on his injured
shoulder, and he lost his grip on the gun he had been holding. He wheeled back
and barely managed to dodge another punch aimed at his vulnerable shoulder. He
spun on his heel, used the momentum, and landed a surprisingly solid kick to
the second attacker’s midsection. He went down on his knees in front of Andrew
and Dahle grabbed a handful of hair, then yanked back with all his strength. He
heard the distinct crack of bones, then released the man to fall into a
lifeless heap at his feet.
Glancing around him, Andrew knew the room would be crawling with people
before too much longer. He needed to get out of the hospital, and quickly. Picking
up the weapon he’d dropped minutes earlier, he ducked his head around the door.
When he saw no one coming in the direction of his room, he slipped into the
corridor and headed for the elevator.
He didn’t get to the end of the hall before he heard the sounds of
commotion behind him. The bodies in his room must have been discovered a little
more quickly than he was anticipating. He looked automatically toward the
elevator and realized he wasn’t going to reach it, or the stairs, without being
spotted. His entire body was alive with pain and he could feel the knots in his
stomach twisting tighter as he fought down the agony-induced nausea. He
stumbled into a wall as another wash of dizziness blurred his vision and threw
off his balance. With an effort of sheer determination, Andrew reached for the
door knob and almost fell into the room...
Denysé Bridger
“Live the Romance,
Become the Fantasy...”
** Preditors &
Editors Best Author 2012-2013 **
1 comment:
Thank you, CJ - always - for your dedication and hard work. It's much appreciated.
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