Last Strike, Unknown Identities #4 available August 11, 2015.
Preorder today at Amazon
Can a single-minded assassin reclaim his humanity?
For years Last Strike has faithfully served Unknown Identities, the covert agency that saved his life. With no memory of his previous identity, he’s become exactly what the program needs him to be: an unstoppable assassin.
Dr. Daria Johannson joined a top secret scientific research team with the noble goal of preventing loss of life on the battlefield. When they used her innovations to turn her first patient into a cold-blooded killer, she vowed to make amends and expose the dangerous UI program.
When Daria becomes Last Strike’s target, her only hope of escape is reminding him of the past he’s forgotten. With her life in his hands, will he follow his training or fight for a chance to live – and love – again?
Unknown Identities – an alternative for elite soldiers and spies facing criminal charges… if they can survive the program.
~~EXCERPT~~
Chapter One
Colfair, Iowa March 25, 2:45 p.m.
Last Strike stood sentry on the sidewalk near the black sedan, heedless of the wind tugging at his long coat. Hands relaxed at his sides, eyes sheltered by dark sunglasses, he resembled the rest of the protection detail stationed around town.
That faulty assumption would be the last mistake of any attacker who managed to get this close to the man inside the car. Being underestimated was one of the things he enjoyed about his job. It gave him one more advantage in a deck already stacked in his favor.
“Boston in February. Yes. That is the logical explanation.”
Last Strike heard his boss’s voice through the cracked window. He didn’t bother to speculate or put the words into context. Not his job. His boss, code name Messenger, had global interests, while he had only one: do Messenger’s bidding. At the moment, that was keeping an eye out for danger in this sleepy little town.
Behind his sunglasses, he scanned the street for anyone showing too much interest in them.
About now, he wished they were in Prague or Hong Kong. This small-town slice of the Midwest oozing Americana put an itch between his shoulder blades. Give him the raw honesty of urban decay any day over this grating façade of peace and contentment. To a man, they would weep if they knew who stood on this pristine, family-value street. He experienced a rare struggle with temptation as he imagined a violent scene, allowing none of that to show as he stood, unflinching, a consistently faultless example for the other bodyguards.
“All of the evidence indicated they were dead,” Messenger said. Last Strike felt the chill of his boss’s gaze, but he would not cease his surveillance duty until ordered to do so.
His world was simple and his concerns few. He followed the orders issued by the man inside this car. Always in an expensive gray suit, his boss managed Unknown Identities (UI) a covert network of uniquely skilled operatives. To be recruited was an honor extended to those men and women who were out of conventional options, usually due to poor personal choices or some horrendous failure. The UI program had several research and training facilities hidden under layers of grants, dummy corporations, and other impenetrable smokescreens.
Last Strike’s detailed knowledge was a result of being around from what amounted to day one. As a control subject for various experiments while UI honed their techniques, he’d suffered early on, but Messenger had eventually rescued him. Only Messenger embraced the skills and personality markers the scientists and developers feared when they tagged him for termination, claiming he was too volatile to continue.
Messenger had given him a code name and weapons and put him to good use as an elite assassin for the benefit and protection of the program. Now, a trusted asset, he had extensive access because he never spoke unless spoken to. Even within secure facilities, most people were too afraid to even say hello, fearful he’d report the exchange to his boss. It was a good life. Secure and direct, he knew where he stood at all times.
His expression stony and his thoughts light, Last Strike continued to scan the street, not quite relieved by the lack of threats. He enjoyed the hunt and the strategy involved to efficiently dispatch a target. It had been several weeks since Messenger had tasked him with an assignment beyond personal security.
“We followed protocol with every washout.” Though Messenger’s cultured voice betrayed no emotion, Last Strike knew this conversation was about more than successes or failures.
Washout protocol referred to subjects who survived testing and yet managed to fail UI in other areas. Typically, they were institutionalized in private hospitals, where powerful drugs kept their resulting psychoses under control and explained away any bizarre tales of life inside the UI labs. He’d been close to that fate himself, once.
While Messenger continued his conversation, Last Strike noticed a photographer across the street. He signaled the closest man on the perimeter and kept a sharp eye on the situation as it was resolved.
The window rolled down. “Join me,” Messenger ordered.
Waiting until the bodyguard at the front of the car took his place, he rounded the trunk and opened the back door, sliding into the seat next to his boss. In the dim interior of the car, he removed his sunglasses.
“Last Strike, you told me Amelia Bennett died.”
This next installment of the Unknown Identities series will be released on August 11th! Preorder your copy today at Amazon
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