Brett Battles: Shadow of Betrayal

ALSO BY BRETT BATTLES

THE CLEANER

THE DECEIVED

In memory of

William Relling, Jr.

Friend. Mentor.

Missed.

PROLOGUE

MARCH 25

THE DOORS TO THE COUNCIL ROOM HAD BEENclosed for hours. That wasn’t unusual. Council meetings routinely went into the early hours of the morning. It was just that this was a special meeting with a single item on the agenda. One that was very important to James Hardwick.

Hardwick had been the one to propose the item to his boss. It was a huge power play for both of them, but also the right thing to do. All the pieces were in place, and if the answer was to move forward, so much would be achieved in the service of the overall plan of their organization, a group known as the LP.

While the council met, Hardwick waited in the hallway outside the meeting room, sitting on a wooden chair against the wall. He occupied his time by going over every detail of his proposal: playing out all the scenarios, imagining the possible outcomes for each stage, and working out solutions that would keep the overall focus of the proposal on what they needed to achieve.

At 2:14 a.m. the doors to the meeting room finally swung open.

Hardwick stood up, crossed his hands behind his back, and bowed his head slightly as the members of the council walked by silently. A few didn’t seem to even notice he was there, but most at least gave him a nod, or looked him in the eye as they passed. The fourteenth member to walk by was Chairman Vine.

“Sorry we took so long, James,” Chairman Vine said, his voice wavering. Hardwick had no idea how old he was, but he thought there was little chance the Chairman was under eighty-five.

“No problem, Mr. Chairman. It’s always better to take as much time as needed in matters like this.”

The Chairman looked like he was about to say something, then stopped himself for a moment before speaking again. “He said to give him a few minutes.”

The him the Chairman was referring to would be Hardwick’s boss, Mr. Kidd. He was the only council member who had yet to leave the conference room. “Thank you, sir.”

The Chairman smiled, then turned and followed the others down the hall. His footsteps echoed in the marble hallway, growing fainter and fainter until the corridor fell silent again.

It was a full five minutes before Mr. Kidd called for James to come into the conference room. Without being asked, Hardwick closed the door behind him after he entered.

His boss was sitting in a chair near the end of the large oval table that dominated the room. It was made of mahogany and stained to a dark reddish-brown. Inset into the top of the table in front of each of the fifteen chairs was a computer screen. Only the one in front of Mr. Kidd was on, but Hardwick couldn’t see what was on the screen.

The room had no pictures on the walls, no windows. Here was a place where distraction was not tolerated. Where focus on the issues at hand was all that mattered. The business of the council had been conducted that way for decades. In fact, it was in this very room where the master directive was fleshed out more than fifty years before, the plan members of the LP had been working on since that day. All the original members were dead now, but their vision remained. And it was for the fulfillment of this vision that Hardwick had developed his proposal.

“Sit down,” Mr. Kidd said. He was a robust seventy-four. Sharp, in shape, and full of an energy Hardwick himself also possessed. His face gave nothing away, though, as he watched the younger man take the seat next to him.

“How did it go?” Hardwick asked.

There was a pause, then Mr. Kidd began to smile. “Exactly like you predicted. Your proposal was clear and to the point. Most were able to see the merits immediately. For a few, it took a little bit longer.”

Several hours longer, Hardwick knew, but only said, “So I can get started?”

“A question first. Do you know if Mr. Rose was able to confirm the event he’s selected for his target?”

“Yes,” Hardwick said. “I’m told it’s locked, and there is little chance it will be changed.”

“And the procurement?”

“I had to be careful getting this information, of course, but it appears Mr. Rose has someone he’s hired from the outside already on it. I understand they have already picked up,” he paused, “children from various locations. His target number is between twenty-four and thirty.”

Mr. Kidd frowned. “Distasteful. But necessary, I guess.”

“So Mr. Rose seems to believe.”

“Well, James, you now have the full backing of the council,” Mr. Kidd said.

“So I can start immediately?” Hardwick asked. He could feel his excitement building, but he let none of it show.

“Yes.”

“Thank you,” he said to his boss. He started to stand. “I should go. I have plenty to do.”

“There is just one other thing,” Mr. Kidd said.

Hardwick stopped next to the chair, worried that some condition had been added to his plan that would jeopardize its success. “What is it?”

“From now on, you can address me as Chairman.”

Hardwick stared at his boss for a moment. “Seriously?”

“Chairman Vine … Mr. Vine suggested it himself, and the others agreed.”

Hardwick thrust out his hand. “Congratulations, sir. This is fantastic.”

“Is it?” Chairman Kidd said. He didn’t take Hardwick’s hand. “If your proposal doesn’t work out, I’m fairly certain I’ll become the shortest-term Chairman in the history of the LP.” He locked eyes with Hardwick. “I’d appreciate it if you could make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Hardwick grinned as he reached down with both hands and grabbed his boss’s, shaking it with confidence. “I guarantee it.”

CHAPTER

1

MAY 25

THE MEETING LOCATION HAD BEEN CHOSEN FOR ITSisolation, an abandoned Catholic church on the east side of a little-used road fifty kilometers northwest of Cork, Ireland, near the border between County Tipperary and County Cork. The structure that remained was all but invisible from the road. One of those places only a local would know about, then forget over time.

As a bonus, no one lived within a kilometer and a half of the ruins, making it a natural choice for an exchange. In the two days Jonathan Quinn had been scouting the location, no more than a dozen cars a day had driven past, and not a single one had even slowed, let alone stopped.

The roof of the church had long since disappeared, leaving only the gray, pitted stone walls of the chapel. Encouraged by the wet Irish climate, vegetation had grown up around the building, both surrounding it and filling the inside. It was as if a congregation of flora was waiting in the open-air sanctuary for a priest who had yet to arrive.

Nearby, an untended cemetery provided the only reminder that people had once worshipped here. Quinn didn’t know how long the compound had been abandoned, but the most recent grave marker he’d located had been for someone named Maureen Owens, year of death 1889. So it wasn’t hard to imagine that it had been at least a century since any parishioners had gathered between the chapel walls.

Quinn did a last walk-through just after noon, careful to step only on broken stones or patches of grass to avoid leaving any trace of his presence. He double-checked to make sure all the cameras and microphones were well hidden and working. When he was satisfied, he returned on foot to the van parked a half kilometer away.