Items related to Beloved Enemy (Jack Mcclure)
The Secretary of Homeland Security has been shot dead at his home in Washington. The last man to see him alive? Special Agent Jack McClure. Secretary Denis Paull had information so sensitive, it cost him his life. But, before he died, he passed his secret on to Jack McClure. Wanted for murder, Jack is in a race against time. He must outrun the FBI, outrun the paid assassins on his trail, and find the real killer before he loses everything. But in order to save his life he must confront Annika Dementieva, the woman he once loved, but who is now his most deadly enemy...
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
About the Author:
Eric Van Lustbader is the author of 25 novels, which have been translated into over twenty languages. He is also the author of Robert Ludlum's hugely popular Jason Bourne series, which have sold millions of copies worldwide.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:
ONE
“I CAUGHT him on the rooftop, diagonally across from the club. It was twilight, the best time, in my opinion, for sniper work, so I was lucky. I admit that. I was also pretty pissed off: a fucking sniper at my rdv. A leak somewhere, that was what I was thinking when I came at him…”
“This was in Bangkok,” Jack McClure said.
Dennis Paull, the head of homeland security, nodded. “That’s right.”
The two men were sitting in Paull’s study, secreted within his red brick, Federal-era townhouse in Georgetown. Outside, a velvet night had descended, along with a rain that pattered softly, misting the windowpanes.
Jack shifted in the leather club chair. “How long ago?”
“Legere’s rendezvous or his debriefing?”
“Both.”
Paull opened a dossier on the desk in front of him. It was buff-colored, with a black stripe down the left side, denoting Eyes Only status. He looked sallow and worn, his pale gray eyes lying sunken within dark circles. “The encounter occurred eight days ago. The debriefing, which was conducted by myself, a day later.”
Jack sat forward. “You conducted the debriefing alone?”
“Legere is my asset.”
“I didn’t know about him.”
Paull’s eyes flicked up to encounter Jack’s steady gaze.
“Nor did I know why you had gone to Bangkok. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m telling you now.”
“Now,” Jack said, taking a sip of his Bulleit rye, “that there’s a problem.”
Paull sat back in his swivel chair. “And you’re my problem solver.” He cocked his head. “What is it, Jack?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t give me that.”
Jack sighed, placed the old-fashioned glass on his boss’s desk. “Ever since I got back from Sharm el-Sheikh I’ve been under the impression there’s a glass wall between us.”
“You’re wrong.” Paull took up his three fingers of bourbon, sipped it thoughtfully, then placed the glass precisely three inches to the right of the open dossier. “It wasn’t Sharm el-Sheikh; Sharm el-Sheikh is where all the debts were settled, where Alli’s past was finally healed. How is she, by the way? Adjusting to Interpol’s procedures?”
“She’s based out of Paris, but currently she’s on assignment; a back of beyond where she’s unreachable.”
“Good for her. But, Fearington being an FBI feeder academy, I had assumed she’d apply there.”
“I don’t think that was ever her intention. In any case, she needed to gain some distance from recent events.” Jack waved away the diversion. “Let’s get back to the problem at hand.”
“We are faced with several problems,” Paull interjected. “Let’s start with Rome. It’s what happened in Rome that concerns me.”
“Specifically Annika.”
“Specifically the Syrian, or should I say Iraj Namazi, the Iranian, so you have informed me.” His gaze fell heavily on Jack. “Annika is now with Namazi, in what capacity…” He paused, thinking out the route he would take. “Now that her grandfather is dead, she’s allied herself with Namazi, isn’t that right?”
Jack nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak. His breath was hot in his throat, and his heart contracted at the reminder of Annika’s latest betrayal.
“This woman,” Paull said, “is perhaps the most dangerous female on the planet.” He reached for his bourbon, then seemed to change his mind. “This is the woman you love.”
“Loved,” Jack said, finding his voice. “Past tense.”
“Is that so?” Paull steepled his fingers, tapping the tips together ruminatively.
“It is, Dennis.”
“You can turn it on and off at will.” His tone made his skepticism clear. “You’d tell me if it were otherwise, wouldn’t you, Jack?”
“I would.” Jack nodded to the tape recorder on Paull’s desk. “Let’s get on with it.”
“We’re talking now of allegiance.” Paull turned his glass around and around on the desktop. “Speaking bluntly, my fear is that you’ll try to find her.”
“I’m your problem solver, Dennis. That’s why you hired me; that’s why I’m here.” But Jack now knew that Paull had a second agenda. In addition to being a fine administrator, he was an astute judge of human nature. Possibly the two facilities were intertwined. He knew full well how deep Jack’s love affair with Annika went. In addition, though he and Jack had never spoken of it, he suspected there was depth to Jack’s friendship with Annika’s grandfather, Dyadya Gourdjiev, murdered a year ago in Rome.
As if to prove Jack right, Paull said, “It’s not just Annika. Now that she’s shown her true colors, your relationship with her is, I think, complicated enough without members of her family further gumming up the works.”
“What works?” Jack said, a bit too sharply.
“Your thought processes.” Paull leaned forward suddenly, elbows on the desk. “Your intense loyalty is one of your strengths, Jack. But, in this case, I wonder if it might become a liability.”
“I haven’t thought about it,” Jack lied.
Under Paull’s penetrating gaze, he reached out and depressed the “play” button. Legere’s plummy voice rolled out across the wood-paneled study:
“He must have heard me because he swung the M82A3 Special Application scoped rifle right into my face—”
Jack stiffened. “That’s a U.S. Marine weapon.”
Paull nodded, silent.
“Beneath this thick bandage the wound is horrendous.”
“Legere was pointing to his cheek,” Paull said.
“I’ll need plastic surgery. I can’t go back into the field with this on my face. How would I ever melt into a crowd? It’s like a neon sign.”
Paull’s voice on the tape said, “The sniper,” guiding Legere back on track.
Legere: “Yes, well, I hope he was a better sniper than he was a hand-to-hand fighter.”
Paull: “And yet you killed him.”
Legere: “An accident. I hit him, his knees buckled, and he fell against the concrete parapet. The back of his head split open.”
Paull: “Pity he couldn’t tell you who he worked for.”
Legere: “I know who he worked for: the Syrian.”
Paull: “Have you brought me proof?”
Legere: “The sniper’s rifle. Who else but the Syrian would have access to a U.S. Marine rifle?”
Paull: “Please continue.”
Legere: “I found the sniper after twenty minutes of recon of the rdv’s immediate area. It was now one hundred hours. I went into the club.”
Paull: “Name.”
Legere: “WTF. It’s at Thonglor Soi 10. Very farang friendly, so I felt right at home. Lots of girls in shorts cut so high you can see the lower hemis of their ass cheeks. They’re all dancing in super high heels, though God alone knows how. Snotty kids, anyway.”
Paull: “Your contact, Legere.”
Legere: “Right. I bellied up at the far end of the neon-lit bar, just as planned. He came in several minutes later, ordered a drink, then, after checking out the nightlife, sauntered over to where I stood. We exchanged the proper parole and got right down to it.”
Paull: “What did he say?”
Legere: “You’re right. There’s a worm in the casket. The Syrian has a mole high up in the U.S. government. Very high up.”
Paull: “Which branch?”
Legere: “Well, I…”
Paull: “Out with it, damnit!”
Legere: [sighs deeply] “That’s just it. The contact’s head exploded, and I turned tail and ran.”
Paull: “You ran.”
Legere: “The place was a fucking madhouse—blood all over the bar, people screaming, vomiting at the sight of the contact’s brains and fragments of his skull bobbing in their gin blossom specials. I’d never have found the shooter, and the cops, who keep an eagle eye on these places after midnight, were already infiltrating the club floor. I did the only thing I could do: I got the hell out of there.”
Paull: “Without the name of the Syrian’s mole or where he works.”
Legere: “I fucked up. In retrospect, the sniper was a feint. The real assassin was waiting in the club. The Syrian’s as clever as a demon.”
Paull: “The question to answer now, Legere, is how your rdv was compromised. It wasn’t from this end. You and I were the only ones who knew about your assignment.”
Legere: “That means someone on the ground in Bangkok.”
Paull: “Someone you met or spoke to.”
Legere: “Boss, no one knew why I was in Bangkok. No one.”
Paull: “Clearly not true. Go back over it in your mind.”
[A pause.]
Legere: “I’m clean, I swear. Maybe my contact said something inadvertently.”
Paull: “You were shadowing him that day. Where was he before the rdv?”
Legere: “At a massage parlor he frequents, off Phaholyothin Road, in Soi Aree.”
Paull: “That’s clear across town.”
Legere: “Which gave me the time to do my reconnoiter of the rdv site.”
Paull: “All right. What was the name of your contact?”
Legere: “Connaston. Leroy Connaston.”
Paull: “Whose idea ...
“I CAUGHT him on the rooftop, diagonally across from the club. It was twilight, the best time, in my opinion, for sniper work, so I was lucky. I admit that. I was also pretty pissed off: a fucking sniper at my rdv. A leak somewhere, that was what I was thinking when I came at him…”
“This was in Bangkok,” Jack McClure said.
Dennis Paull, the head of homeland security, nodded. “That’s right.”
The two men were sitting in Paull’s study, secreted within his red brick, Federal-era townhouse in Georgetown. Outside, a velvet night had descended, along with a rain that pattered softly, misting the windowpanes.
Jack shifted in the leather club chair. “How long ago?”
“Legere’s rendezvous or his debriefing?”
“Both.”
Paull opened a dossier on the desk in front of him. It was buff-colored, with a black stripe down the left side, denoting Eyes Only status. He looked sallow and worn, his pale gray eyes lying sunken within dark circles. “The encounter occurred eight days ago. The debriefing, which was conducted by myself, a day later.”
Jack sat forward. “You conducted the debriefing alone?”
“Legere is my asset.”
“I didn’t know about him.”
Paull’s eyes flicked up to encounter Jack’s steady gaze.
“Nor did I know why you had gone to Bangkok. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m telling you now.”
“Now,” Jack said, taking a sip of his Bulleit rye, “that there’s a problem.”
Paull sat back in his swivel chair. “And you’re my problem solver.” He cocked his head. “What is it, Jack?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t give me that.”
Jack sighed, placed the old-fashioned glass on his boss’s desk. “Ever since I got back from Sharm el-Sheikh I’ve been under the impression there’s a glass wall between us.”
“You’re wrong.” Paull took up his three fingers of bourbon, sipped it thoughtfully, then placed the glass precisely three inches to the right of the open dossier. “It wasn’t Sharm el-Sheikh; Sharm el-Sheikh is where all the debts were settled, where Alli’s past was finally healed. How is she, by the way? Adjusting to Interpol’s procedures?”
“She’s based out of Paris, but currently she’s on assignment; a back of beyond where she’s unreachable.”
“Good for her. But, Fearington being an FBI feeder academy, I had assumed she’d apply there.”
“I don’t think that was ever her intention. In any case, she needed to gain some distance from recent events.” Jack waved away the diversion. “Let’s get back to the problem at hand.”
“We are faced with several problems,” Paull interjected. “Let’s start with Rome. It’s what happened in Rome that concerns me.”
“Specifically Annika.”
“Specifically the Syrian, or should I say Iraj Namazi, the Iranian, so you have informed me.” His gaze fell heavily on Jack. “Annika is now with Namazi, in what capacity…” He paused, thinking out the route he would take. “Now that her grandfather is dead, she’s allied herself with Namazi, isn’t that right?”
Jack nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak. His breath was hot in his throat, and his heart contracted at the reminder of Annika’s latest betrayal.
“This woman,” Paull said, “is perhaps the most dangerous female on the planet.” He reached for his bourbon, then seemed to change his mind. “This is the woman you love.”
“Loved,” Jack said, finding his voice. “Past tense.”
“Is that so?” Paull steepled his fingers, tapping the tips together ruminatively.
“It is, Dennis.”
“You can turn it on and off at will.” His tone made his skepticism clear. “You’d tell me if it were otherwise, wouldn’t you, Jack?”
“I would.” Jack nodded to the tape recorder on Paull’s desk. “Let’s get on with it.”
“We’re talking now of allegiance.” Paull turned his glass around and around on the desktop. “Speaking bluntly, my fear is that you’ll try to find her.”
“I’m your problem solver, Dennis. That’s why you hired me; that’s why I’m here.” But Jack now knew that Paull had a second agenda. In addition to being a fine administrator, he was an astute judge of human nature. Possibly the two facilities were intertwined. He knew full well how deep Jack’s love affair with Annika went. In addition, though he and Jack had never spoken of it, he suspected there was depth to Jack’s friendship with Annika’s grandfather, Dyadya Gourdjiev, murdered a year ago in Rome.
As if to prove Jack right, Paull said, “It’s not just Annika. Now that she’s shown her true colors, your relationship with her is, I think, complicated enough without members of her family further gumming up the works.”
“What works?” Jack said, a bit too sharply.
“Your thought processes.” Paull leaned forward suddenly, elbows on the desk. “Your intense loyalty is one of your strengths, Jack. But, in this case, I wonder if it might become a liability.”
“I haven’t thought about it,” Jack lied.
Under Paull’s penetrating gaze, he reached out and depressed the “play” button. Legere’s plummy voice rolled out across the wood-paneled study:
“He must have heard me because he swung the M82A3 Special Application scoped rifle right into my face—”
Jack stiffened. “That’s a U.S. Marine weapon.”
Paull nodded, silent.
“Beneath this thick bandage the wound is horrendous.”
“Legere was pointing to his cheek,” Paull said.
“I’ll need plastic surgery. I can’t go back into the field with this on my face. How would I ever melt into a crowd? It’s like a neon sign.”
Paull’s voice on the tape said, “The sniper,” guiding Legere back on track.
Legere: “Yes, well, I hope he was a better sniper than he was a hand-to-hand fighter.”
Paull: “And yet you killed him.”
Legere: “An accident. I hit him, his knees buckled, and he fell against the concrete parapet. The back of his head split open.”
Paull: “Pity he couldn’t tell you who he worked for.”
Legere: “I know who he worked for: the Syrian.”
Paull: “Have you brought me proof?”
Legere: “The sniper’s rifle. Who else but the Syrian would have access to a U.S. Marine rifle?”
Paull: “Please continue.”
Legere: “I found the sniper after twenty minutes of recon of the rdv’s immediate area. It was now one hundred hours. I went into the club.”
Paull: “Name.”
Legere: “WTF. It’s at Thonglor Soi 10. Very farang friendly, so I felt right at home. Lots of girls in shorts cut so high you can see the lower hemis of their ass cheeks. They’re all dancing in super high heels, though God alone knows how. Snotty kids, anyway.”
Paull: “Your contact, Legere.”
Legere: “Right. I bellied up at the far end of the neon-lit bar, just as planned. He came in several minutes later, ordered a drink, then, after checking out the nightlife, sauntered over to where I stood. We exchanged the proper parole and got right down to it.”
Paull: “What did he say?”
Legere: “You’re right. There’s a worm in the casket. The Syrian has a mole high up in the U.S. government. Very high up.”
Paull: “Which branch?”
Legere: “Well, I…”
Paull: “Out with it, damnit!”
Legere: [sighs deeply] “That’s just it. The contact’s head exploded, and I turned tail and ran.”
Paull: “You ran.”
Legere: “The place was a fucking madhouse—blood all over the bar, people screaming, vomiting at the sight of the contact’s brains and fragments of his skull bobbing in their gin blossom specials. I’d never have found the shooter, and the cops, who keep an eagle eye on these places after midnight, were already infiltrating the club floor. I did the only thing I could do: I got the hell out of there.”
Paull: “Without the name of the Syrian’s mole or where he works.”
Legere: “I fucked up. In retrospect, the sniper was a feint. The real assassin was waiting in the club. The Syrian’s as clever as a demon.”
Paull: “The question to answer now, Legere, is how your rdv was compromised. It wasn’t from this end. You and I were the only ones who knew about your assignment.”
Legere: “That means someone on the ground in Bangkok.”
Paull: “Someone you met or spoke to.”
Legere: “Boss, no one knew why I was in Bangkok. No one.”
Paull: “Clearly not true. Go back over it in your mind.”
[A pause.]
Legere: “I’m clean, I swear. Maybe my contact said something inadvertently.”
Paull: “You were shadowing him that day. Where was he before the rdv?”
Legere: “At a massage parlor he frequents, off Phaholyothin Road, in Soi Aree.”
Paull: “That’s clear across town.”
Legere: “Which gave me the time to do my reconnoiter of the rdv site.”
Paull: “All right. What was the name of your contact?”
Legere: “Connaston. Leroy Connaston.”
Paull: “Whose idea ...
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- PublisherHead of Zeus
- Publication date2014
- ISBN 10 1781856184
- ISBN 13 9781781856185
- BindingHardcover
- Number of pages368
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