Parade Rest

Ken Noonan

Description

The most sure way to gain your goal is first to distract those who would logically mobilize to stop you. Then, second is to make your carefully planned move to win while your opposition is preoccupied by your distraction. Attack and win while no one is looking
If someone wanted to take charge of a country and government how could someone do that and get away with it? A group believes it can be done and and set about to do so. A plan has been placed in motion by a group that is determined to create a horrendous attack on a military parade designed to honor the Marines who helped take Baghdad. Carlos Brady, an agent with Homeland Security, investigating a claim of a pending attack by a terrorist group on a military parade to be held in Southern California finds himself at odds with a belligerent FBI agent who is convinced that the threat is a hoax. Brady and the FBI Agent disagree vehemently. When Brady’s superior removes him from leading the investigation Brady and his partner, a female agent decide that they must stop the parade to stop the attack. They find, due to the incompetence of the political establishment that they cannot stop the parade. Their goal becomes stopping the attack. The dilemma continues to an unexpected result.

Sujets

• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: AuthorHouse
• Date de parution: 26 février 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9798823000161
• Langue: English

Extrait

PARADE REST
 
A Novel
 
 
 
 
KEN NOONAN
 
 

 
 
AuthorHouse™
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.authorhouse.com
Phone: [phone]
 
 
 
 
© 2023 Ken Noonan. All rights reserved.
 
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
 
Published by AuthorHouse 02/22/2023
 
ISBN: 979-8-8230-0018-5 (sc)
ISBN: 979-8-8230-0017-8 (hc)
ISBN: 979-8-8230-0016-1 (e)
 
Library of Congress Control Number: 2023901739
 
 
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
 
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
CONTENTS
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty One
Twenty Two
Twenty Three
Twenty Four
Twenty Five
Twenty Six
Twenty Seven
Twenty Eight
Twenty Nine
Thirty
Thirty One
Thirty Two
Thirty Three
Thirty Four
Epilogue
PROLOGUE
Their mother stretched her limbs as her newborns reached out to her. They touched her tentatively. They began to move up on her tender torso. Eyes sightless, their tiny limbs grappled to gain purchase.
Slowly, methodically their mother began to gnaw on her tiny, fragile infants beginning with the baby nearest her. One by one they struggled against her relentless grip only to be crushed alive without passion or audible cries of pain or anguish.
After killing all but one of her brood she reached out for her last born as it skidded away. The mother scorpion made one final effort to reach the last of her babies. She missed.
It fled.
ONE

A gha knew what he must do. He became more anxious as the hot sun began to sink behind the dusty roof tops that surrounded the parking lot. First, was the task completed? Confirming it he would have to kill him.
“Hakim, you delivered the package to this fellow Chalo with no one taking notice?
“Well, there were people around but what could they see? Two friends shaking hands and handing off what looked like a carton of cigarettes? No one could see anything unusual.”
Agha hated this man’s flippant attitude. His anxiety grew. “Hakim, I’m just asking if it went alright. Did it or not?”
“Of course. No one suspected a thing. He went back to his little table in front of the coffee shop and I walked back to the bus depot and traveled over three hundred miles to meet you here.”
With studied casualness the two walked amidst the crowd of workers leaving for their homes and women searching through the outdoor shopping stalls along the street. They blended into the mix of Western and Middle Eastern garb. Turning into an alley they walked slowly to an unpaved parking lot. Late in the afternoon there were only a few cars remaining in the enclosed area awaiting their owners who were working or shopping late. The intense afternoon heat in this sprawling city was cooled only minimally by the shadows of the two-story buildings bordering the western side of the lot. They arrived at the old, dusty car. Parked in the far back corner of the property, it was partially hidden by a small, squat wooden building most likely used for storage. The windows of the warehouses and garment factories surrounding the lot were covered against the scorching sun. No one else was in the parking lot. Perfect, thought Agha.
He had explained to Hakim earlier that they would leave together in this old, non-descript vehicle and drop him off at Hakim’s own car parked about a mile away. Hakim reached for the handle of the passenger door but Agha motioned for him to join him at the rear.
“I have your new directions,” he said as Hakim joined him.
“I don’t know, Agha. If it’s for this weekend I have some family obligations. You know how it is.”
Agha’s fists involuntarily clenched. I can’t take any more of his whining, he thought. He caught his breath. Relax. This will be done very soon. This is the end of the road for him. He could have been useful for future work, especially with the need for me to travel to the new attack site. But he cannot be trusted. I will end his time as a trainee for Project Scorpion today. Everything is in place. We don’t need him anymore. So, today he is terminated, since our rule is that everyone below Senior Associate be terminated at the conclusion of his task. No witnesses. The rule. There will be no trace of his involvement after today.
“The new directions for you are in the trunk.” Agha stared at the back of his colleague’s head as he reviewed how he would do this.
Hakim reached into the open car trunk for a manila envelope. Hakim straightened up and took a step back. Agha, now directly behind him, swiftly slapped his hand over Hakim’s mouth and yanked his head back as far as it would go arching his own body back to keep Hakim off balance. The startled young associate pushed a muffled scream against Agha’s firm hand, kicked his feet and flailed his arms uselessly trying to regain his balance. He sporadically pedaled his feet in the air just above the grit of sand and dirt. His hands groped without effect against Agha’s powerful grip across his mouth. Agha reached into his pocket with his free hand and pulled out a spring-loaded knife. He slashed the razor-sharp blade deeply against the young man’s bared throat. Blood spurted from his gaping wound as Agah twisted him to the left to avoid splashing blood on the car. Bloody air hissed and gurgled from the gash in Hakim’s stretched throat. Agha dropped his body on the hard, compacted ground. His blood puddled red then black on the dry earth.
Agha grabbed the envelope off the ground where it had fallen, tossed it back into the open trunk and slammed it closed. He looked down at him. Hakim’s eyes stretched wide with panic as life slipped away. He bent over and wiped his knife clean against his dying partner’s white shirt deftly closing it with one hand and slipping it back into his pocket. The phlegmy sucking sound coming from Hakim’s wounded throat died with him. He turned away and walked to the driver’s side of the car. He quickly slipped into the seat. His first attempt to get the key into the ignition failed. He fumbled it in his shaking fingers and scraped it against the steering post.
Stop, he thought. Calmate – calm yourself. You’re moving too fast. Remember your training. First, take careful stock of everything around you. Second, take your time. Caution, not speed.
Agha got out of the car, examined the still body of his dead colleague, dark blood pooling beneath his shoulders and head. He looked quickly around the parking lot for any sign of witnesses. There was no one in sight. With a visual sweep of the buildings around the lot he could see no open or uncovered windows. He got back in the car with a measured, more relaxed pace, and calmly inserted the key, started the engine, drove slowly to the small lot’s only exit and into the short alley way. At the end of the alley his efforts to turn into the main street with its creeping mass of cars, small trucks and bicycles were blunted by frustrated drivers with no interest in allowing one more vehicle or pedestrian between theirs and their drive home. He gripped the steering wheel tightly to help keep him focused as he struggled to manage his trembling foot alternating on the brake and gas pedals.
He was edgy, desperate to leave the scene before cries of alarm could capture someone’s attention. Recalling his training he relaxed his stiff hands and drew in a gulp of hot, stinking traffic air into his dry throat. He exhaled in relief. The street was thick with smoking, honking cars and trucks, bicycles and slowly moving street shoppers. A woman, peering at him defiantly from the eye opening of her burka, sauntered across his path into the traffic jam. He waited impatiently for her to pass. Then two more veiled shoppers stepped into the street following the first woman’s deliberate, slow path. His hands gripped the wheel again, sweating now. He unconsciously leaned forward in the direction he wanted to move.
Am I stuck in this place forever? Sweat now snaked down his back, a combination of frustration, the unbearable heat and dread of being caught here. His was the only vehicle leaving the parking lot. He feared someone would find Hakim’s body and scream for help while he sat here trapped by the traffic. I must move from this spot. An old truck stalled and that gave him his chance to move into the snaking line of cars just a fraction of a moment ahead of the women who would soon further block his way. He didn’t look back to see what he knew were angry looks from behind their veils. This was, after all, their precious territory. This older part of the city’s bazaar of shops, cafes and street vendors’ booths belonged to the pedestrians. The traffic moved at their pace.
It’s done. Stay calm. Don’t show your impatience. Take it slow. Don’t stand out to someone who might describe you to the police later. Just look normal, tired, going home from work, like everyone else. We’re too close to our goal to lose it now, he thought.
Yes, work. Great work for The Movement and Project