Coda? (Mercenaries Book 4) Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Description

  Previously

  Author’s Note - Daesh

  The Nest

  Part One - Ian’s Confidence

  Part Two - Beckie Knows Best

  Part Three - Life, It Continues

  - Rose Creek Job

  - Departures

  - Holidays

  - Paris

  Epilogue

  Appendices

  Cast

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Coming Soon

  Coda?

  By

  Tony Lavely

  Cover image: Broken Flowers

  by h. koppdelaney (Hartwig HKD)

  via Flickr - CC-BY-ND-2.0

  All Maps by Tommi Salama

  [email protected]

  The excerpt from Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas, from THE POEMS OF DYLAN THOMAS, copyright ©1952 by Dylan Thomas. Reprinted by permission of New Directions Publishing Corp.

  Copyright © 2015 by tony lavely

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Edition 151223.1

  All rights reserved.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-tailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Tony Lavely.

  Description

  Coda: noun (Music) The concluding passage of a piece or movement

  […]

  • a concluding event […]

  Two and a half years following Connections, death happens. Fighting back, Beckie chooses to go her own way, and it costs her her love. With little to live for, happily ever after now seems like an impossible dream, but she still has family and the team, and San Diego requires saving. Hidden information coupled with her own obstinacy make all her tasks more difficult, but friends help, some by staying, some by leaving. Hurt, confused and grieving, Beckie must push those emotions aside to grow into a role she’s only observed til now.

  Coda?, the fourth book in the Mercenaries series, is a thriller set in an approximation to the real world. Real language is used. While it stands alone, readers unfamiliar with previous books may find the history preceding Coda? of interest. It is recommended for 15+.

  Previously

  Beckie Sverdupe and Ian Jamse were introduced in Sandfall and Allure, where the stories of their meeting and Ian’s offer first, to have Beckie join his mercenary team, and second, to marry him, play out. In the second volume, Freedom Does Matter, Beckie demonstrates her desire to have the mercenary team move away from direct combat types of contracts, favoring negotiations and protection offerings instead. That desire brings her to face a terrorist situation at Wembley Stadium in London, and to assist an innocent woman faced with an intransigent religious man who can never see alternative choices.

  Amy Rose Ardan enters the story during Freedom Does Matter, where her nascent relationship with Abby Rochambeau, an older team member, is exposed and put on indefinite hold: Abby is sent to assist the team setting up campaign security for a Peruvian presidential candidate. As Freedom Does Matter ends, Beckie and Ian return to the Nest; coincidently, Amy disappears.

  Amy’s disappearance is the beginning of Connections as well as the end of Freedom Does Matter; it heralds a journey for Beckie, Ian and Amy beginning in Florida, stopping briefly in Cape Cod and Brewster, New York, and ending in Peru, during which Amy loses Abby but gains Dylan, while Beckie finds the bauble their client prizes.

  Two and a half years have passed since Beckie and Amy drove Beckie’s Miata to join Willie and his family for dinner that January evening.

  Author’s Note - Daesh

  Because the below Opinion piece in The Boston Globe makes sense to me, and language does matter, I’ve chosen to use the term Daesh to refer to the group in the Middle East which may be more familiar to readers as ISIS, or one of the other names mentioned.

  Words Matter in ‘ISIS’ War, So Use ‘Daesh’

  Opinion by Zeba Khan, The Boston Globe, October 9, 2014

  THE MILITANTS who are killing civilians, raping and forcing captured women into sexual slavery, and beheading foreigners in Iraq and Syria are known by several names: the Islamic State in Iraq and al-Sham, or ISIS; the Islamic State in Iraq and the Levant, or ISIL; and, more recently, the Islamic State, or IS. French officials recently declared that that country would stop using any of those names and instead refer to the group as “Daesh.”

  […]

  Whether referred to as ISIS, ISIL, or IS, all three names reflect aspirations that the United States and its allies unequivocally reject. Political and religious leaders all over the world have noted this. French Foreign Minister Laurent Fabius said, “This is a terrorist group and not a state… the term Islamic State blurs the lines between Islam, Muslims, and Islamists.” President Obama made similar remarks saying, “ISIL is not Islamic… and [is] certainly not a state.”

  Muslim scholars around the world have denounced the group’s attempt to declare a caliphate. Egyptian Islamic theologian Yusuf al-Qaradawi published an open letter to Muslim scholars explaining, “A group simply announcing a caliphate is not enough to establish a caliphate.” The Syrian Sufi leader Muhammad al-Yacoubi called the group’s declaration “illegitimate” and that supporting it was “haram,” or forbidden.

  The term “Daesh” is strategically a better choice because it is still accurate in that it spells out the acronym of the group’s full Arabic name, al-Dawla al-Islamiya fi al-Iraq wa al-Sham. Yet, at the same time, “Daesh” can also be understood as a play on words — and an insult. Depending on how it is conjugated in Arabic, it can mean anything from “to trample down and crush” to “a bigot who imposes his view on others.” Already, the group has reportedly threatened to cut out the tongues of anyone who uses the term.

  Why do they care so much? The same reason the United States should. Language matters.

  […]

  Khan, Zeba (2014, October 9) Opinion: Words matter in ‘ISIS’ war, so use ‘Daesh’ The Boston Globe. Retrieved from https://www.bostonglobe.com/opinion/2014/10/09/words-matter-isis-war-use-daesh/V85GYEuasEEJgrUun0dMUP/story.html on Dec. 10, 2015.

  Part One

  Ian’s Confidence

  “GOOD MORNING,” IAN JAMSE SAID, making every attempt to keep the brusqueness out.

  “Good morning,” Chelsie replied. “Thank you for accepting my invitation on such short notice.”

  Ian forced a smile as he said, “I thought it to my advantage to make myself available. The contract you offer seems… seems rife with possibilities.”

  With a smile of her own, Chelsie waved toward the table, to a chair slightly askew. Ian took the one next to it, closer to the door she had just closed.

  “I have a bit more detail,” she said.

  “More detail is always welcome.” But will it be useful detail?

  “Perhaps. The time frame has narrowed slightly. The delivery will be required sometime in mid to late October. Will that present a problem?”

  “As that will allow two months planning, I see no diffic
ulty. And the rest of your contacts?”

  “The stars will align, I’m certain.”

  Ian smiled. Align with which axis? “The target is still San Diego?”

  “It is. And the port of entry will be Newark. The date will be adjusted to match the final schedule.”

  “Very good. I am still… bothered, I suppose, about the potential. You will permit me the latitude to protect my team?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. I will take full responsibility for them.”

  The rest of the meeting was filled with plans that would, Ian knew, be dismissed as soon as more details became known.

  “You know this can only have a bad end.”

  Ian smiled at Freddie Wilson’s morose expression.

  “I mean,” Freddie continued, “not knowing what it is, and even when… This woman’s insane, dealing with disaffected Arabs, these even more than usual.”

  “The spice of life, Freddie, the spice of life. The value of the contract alone ensures that it can only go poorly.” Ian’s grin was uncharacteristically wide. “Our contact knows that we will not lose money.”

  “Not any lives, either, right?”

  Without saying anything, Ian conveyed the distaste that thought brought him. Freddie nodded, then said, “Right. Sorry to suggest it.”

  “Not at all. Something we all must keep in mind first.”

  “Okay. Unless you can get solid assurances on immunity, probably we shouldn’t use U.S. citizens for the job.”

  Ian gave him a quick glance. “Yes, that seems quite a reasonable precaution. Especially as we have time. While Chelsie has not fully defined the schedule, the delivery will be the latter half of October.”

  “This year?” Ian nodded. “And you’re confident we’ll be alright?” Ian nodded again. “So, how’s Beckie feel about it? Maybe laying waste to American soil?”

  “I do not understand—”

  “I’m not trying to guess…” Freddie leaned back in his chair. “Well, yeah, I am. I’m going to surmise that whatever we’re contracting to deliver, that’s not going to be… Not going to be a solution to the draught in California, for example.”

  “Your point?”

  “Simply that if we screw up… or your Ms Chelsie does, with our help, something bad’s going to happen. Doesn’t that seem likely?” Ian nodded, though without enthusiasm. “So, your wife, the heir apparent since Shalin has no interest whatever, how’s she feeling about the prospect? She’s mostly an American citizen, after all.”

  Ian fell silent for several moments, considering Freddie’s words. Rebecca took Bahamian citizenship following me. Still… “I cannot say. On the basis of your earlier suggestion, we will plan without involving any of our American citizens. That will include Rebecca. When the date approaches, I will involve her to the extent necessary, along with the others.”

  “And you’re still confident?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Why? Where’s the confidence from?”

  “From the team, Freddie. From the team’s proven ability. No matter the difficulties or barriers, I have complete confidence in the team.”

  Part Two

  Beckie Knows Best

  Teaching Amy

  LOUNGING ON THE LANAI AT her home on the Nest, Beckie Jamse had her feet up, contemplating the blue Bahamian sky and water, and sipping an iced coffee. While she regretted not joining her husband, Ian, for his current job in Riyadh, they’d agreed her female nature would be a hinderance. Ian had one woman on the team; Beckie admitted she added nothing that Barbara Saunders didn’t, and Barbara had more… prudence than she.

  She started when Elena’s ring tone blared from her phone, and again when Sam Dabron greeted her, “Morning, Beckie. Are you—”

  “Sam? What’s going on? Is Elena—”

  “Nothing, Mrs. Jamse. Lena’s fine. I left my phone and she offered me hers. Now…”

  His pause allowed her to respond, but she had nothing to say. Ian had called Sam back from the job in Syria to vet the new training program Elena and Beth had designed. Nothing that should need her involvement! She mumbled something unintelligible.

  She heard the amusement as he continued, “We were about to have a work-out session with Amy Ardan, until she reminded us you were her mentor.”

  Beckie took the phone from her ear and gaped at it. Could Amy be pulling that to avoid Sam and Elena’s training? Not likely. So why… Chattering from the phone drew her attention; she put it to her ear and listened.

  “You there, Mrs. Jamse? Hello—”

  “Yeah, Sam, I’m here.”

  “With a heartfelt invitation like that, we’ll pick you up at the dock in… in ten minutes, Lena says.” Beckie heard someone mumble in the background before Sam laughed. “Unless you want to call it off?”

  “See you in ten.” She smiled at her husband’s factotum, Maurice Boynton, as he offered fresh coffee. “Thanks, Maurice, but I’ve just been summoned to save Amy from a whupping. Sam’s on the way.”

  He smiled and wished her well.

  She hurried to the dock to wait. The sun had been up almost two hours; the water surrounding Home Cay where she and Ian lived—when they were not off being soldiers of fortune or skilled bodyguards or even thieves—was blue and calm.

  The boat hove into view around the west end of Port Cay, which housed the team’s airstrip. Beckie could see three figures in the boat; Sam, the tall black man, was lounging against the far-side rail, allowing Amy to drive. Must have picked up Elena at Nord, Beckie thought.

  She greeted the others as she boarded, then leaned against the rail opposite Sam. The skiff needed fifteen minutes to run south to Tiny Cay.

  On the almost twenty-five acres of sand and brush they called Tiny, the hand-to-hand with Amy was too amiable, Beckie thought, though not sloppy! Neither Sam nor Elena would have permitted that. Beckie’s irritation finally took control: she yanked Amy’s shirt about off her and screamed in her face, “This is how you fight!” while picking her up and throwing her down. She nearly missed the practice area, but Elena, laughing almost too hard to help, hip-checked Amy’s torso to land safely.

  Beckie sat on Amy’s belly as hard as her hundred pounds would and yanked her face up. “It isn’t a useful practice if you don’t go full-bore! You won’t get what you need from this if you keep pulling punches and don’t use all your assets.” She looked at the girl’s stricken expression and sat back, pulling her into an embrace made slightly more awkward by Amy’s missing shirt and both Elena and Sam’s amusement at her ‘attack.’

  While Beckie relaxed, considering Sam’s motivation in inviting her, Amy flicked the remnants of her shirt up and over Beckie’s head, around her neck, then used her weight and height advantages to consolidate her position. She flipped Beckie to her back and dropped flat against her chest, driving the wind from her lungs. Before she could recover, Amy turned her face down and made the shirt into a garrote. Not wire thin, to be sure, Beckie thought as she gasped, but that only means it’ll hurt more!

  She heard a slap and guessed that Sam had smacked Amy’s butt, since the pressure at her throat relaxed and the girl rolled away. It took a few seconds for her breath to steady; seconds while she and Amy glared at each other.

  When she could, Beckie rose and reached a hand to her partner. She helped her up and into a friendly hug. “That’s what I mean, girl! Well done!” She let go the hug and draped the shirt around Amy’s neck. “What’s your rating?” she said to Sam and then Elena.

  “I wondered just what you were playing at,” Sam said. “She was doing okay when you grabbed her. But you’re right, she brought a whole other thing to it when she fought back.”

  “You thought she wasn’t going too easy before?”

  “Not really.”

  “We try not to kill sparring partners,” Elena added with a laugh. “Too hard to get new ones.”

  Beckie felt her flush brighten. She pulled Amy close again and pressed their cheeks toget
her. “Sorry.”

  “Not a problem. Dylan will enjoy the story.”

  “Unfair!” She took her turn smacking Amy’s camo covered butt. “Are we done, then?”

  “Yeah,” Sam said. “For now. This afternoon, I want you three and Beth over to Port, to do some shooting. Tomorrow, you and Amy will do this again, but you’ll take me on, since you both seem to have hidden reserves. I want you to learn how to bring them out before you’re at death’s door. You available, Lena?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it!”

  On the boat ride back to Home, Amy said, “Sam, thanks for that.” But Beckie popped her eyes open when the girl continued, “What is it you do?”

  Sam chuckled. “I’m not sure what the bosses want me to say to that. Mrs. Jamse, can you enlighten… your protégée, I guess would be right?”

  “We’ve been saying apprentice, but you’re right, too. As for the other, Ian or Kevin would be better, I think, but…” She thought a moment. “Sam… Well, right now, he’s assisting Elena in training, making sure that she puts everyone through the right wringer. But his primary job is soldier. Mercenary. He’s heading a team of eight protecting… Protecting an asset in Syria that our customer doesn’t want to see damaged.” She leaned back and looked up at the blue sky, a frown wrinkling her forehead. “At least, that was the motivation a couple years ago when we took the job. About a year ago, the customer raised the ante by asking us to sometimes join rebel forces fighting both the Assad regime and Daesh.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “When Ian came back from the negotiations, he said their goal was to continue protecting the… asset, and bring a secular government into power.”