Labyrinth dsa miami book.., p.1
Labyrinth (DSA Miami Book 1), page 1
LABYRINTH
W.J. COSTELLO
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
LABYRINTH
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2022 by W.J. Costello.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. For information address: wjcostello.com
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The DSA Miami novels:
Labyrinth
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
CHAPTER 61
CHAPTER 62
CHAPTER 63
CHAPTER 64
CHAPTER 65
CHAPTER 66
CHAPTER 67
CHAPTER 68
CHAPTER 69
CHAPTER 70
CHAPTER 71
CHAPTER 72
CHAPTER 73
CHAPTER 74
CHAPTER 75
CHAPTER 76
CHAPTER 77
CHAPTER 78
CHAPTER 79
CHAPTER 80
CHAPTER 81
CHAPTER 82
CHAPTER 83
CHAPTER 84
CHAPTER 85
CHAPTER 86
CHAPTER 87
CHAPTER 88
CHAPTER 89
CHAPTER 90
CHAPTER 91
CHAPTER 92
CHAPTER 93
CHAPTER 94
CHAPTER 95
CHAPTER 96
CHAPTER 97
CHAPTER 98
CHAPTER 99
CHAPTER 100
CHAPTER 101
AUTHOR’S NOTE
CHAPTER 1
Ray Barnes drove his car toward work.
He was a guard. He worked the night shift.
Headlights and streetlights illuminated the road. He stared unseeingly at it. His mind was elsewhere.
He had had an argument with his wife. He felt bad about it.
What if something happened to him at work tonight? What if he were exposed to sulfur mustard or a nerve agent? What if he died?
He would never be able to apologize to her.
He couldn’t call her now. She was sleeping.
He would have to wait until he got home. Ten hours to go. A long time to suffer.
He worked at the Blue Grass Chemical Agent-Destruction Pilot Plant in Richmond, Kentucky. It had more than five hundred tons of three kinds of chemical agents:
Sarin. Sulfur mustard. VX.
They were part of the American chemical-weapons stockpile. The plant was destroying them.
He stopped at a red traffic light.
A van pulled up alongside him and stopped.
Three men jumped out. They jumped into the car before he could lock the doors. Every one wore a black balaclava that covered all of his face except his eyes.
The light turned green.
The van drove off.
The man in the car passenger seat pointed his gun at Ray.
“Drive.”
Ray did.
“Who are you? What do you want?”
“We want your cooperation.”
“With what?”
“Give me your gun.”
Ray did.
The man handed one of the men in the back Ray’s gun.
“Drive the speed limit. Not too fast. Or too slow.”
“Sure. Where are we going?”
“To your workplace.”
“The plant?”
“That’s where you work. Isn’t it?”
“What are you going to do there?”
“You ask too many questions. Just drive.”
Ray hit the brakes.
The car stopped.
He looked over at the man.
“I’m not going anywhere with you. Just kill me here. You’re not going to use me to get into the plant.”
The man nodded calmly. He took out his phone. He showed Ray the screen.
“You bastards,” Ray said.
“Drive.”
“Let me talk to her first. I want to make sure she’s alive.”
Ray’s wife looked terrified in the photo. Knife at her throat. Mouth gagged.
The man made a call.
“Put her on.”
The man handed Ray the phone.
“Mary?” Ray said into it.
“Ray? Oh, God. Who are these people? What do they want?”
“Have they hurt you?”
“No. But I’m scared.”
“Don’t worry, honey. I’ll deal with this. Just—”
The man snatched the phone from Ray.
“Now drive.”
Ray did.
The man put the phone back in his pocket.
Ten minutes passed.
“Pull over,” the man said. “We’re going to wait in the woods here while you go to work and get three canisters of sarin and bring them back to us. You take too long and your wife dies. You report us and she dies. You try anything tricky and she dies. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Ray said. “I understand. How do I know you’ll let her go if I cooperate?”
“She’ll definitely die if you don’t cooperate. That’s all you have to worry about right now.”
Ray pulled over onto the roadside and stopped.
The three men got out.
Minutes later he entered through the plant gates.
Why did the three men want sarin? What would they do with it?
He knew. They would kill people.
Would he be able to live with himself after helping them?
That might not even be an issue. They might kill him.
But they better not kill his wife. They better not.
Or what? What would he do? He would be able to do nothing if he were dead.
Tears ran down his cheeks.
He wiped them away.
He had had a good life. Getting married had been the smartest move he had ever made. He would have been a miserable bachelor.
He parked behind the building that contained the sarin. He got out of the car and entered the building.
He had a dry mouth. Pounding heart. Sweaty armpits.
It took him ten minutes to sneak three canisters of sarin out of the building. He knew where the surveillance cameras were and how to avoid them. He put the canisters in the car and got in and drove off.
Sarin. A lethal chemical weapon. A liquid that could evaporate into a gas and spread into the environment.
Exposure to sarin could cause death within minutes.
Symptoms of severe exposure:
Convulsions. Loss of consciousness. Paralysis. Respiratory failure.
He exited through the plant gates.
Minutes later he pulled over onto the roadside and stopped.
The three men exited the woods and approached the car.
They inspected the canisters.
They nodded.
One pointed his gun at Ray and fired.
Ray’s world blackened.
CHAPTER 2
Frank Jones stood waiting in an alley in Miami.
The ex-con had several places in town where he could easily rob people. This was the best one.
He targeted chicks. They were easy prey.
He had made a lot of money in this alley. How many purses had he rummaged through here? Too many to remember.
He liked to work in the morning. People felt safe then. They let down their guard.
A chick entered the alley.
His first victim of the day.
She headed toward him.
Her flip-flops clacked.
Flip-flops. Hard to run in. Stupid
Clack-clack-clack.
Yeah, he thought. Come to papa, baby.
She was tall. But the taller they were the harder they fell.
When she was about to pass he stepped in front of her.
She stopped.
She looked startled.
He liked that.
He pointed to her purse.
“Nice purse.”
“Thanks. What kind do you have?”
“What?”
“Your purse. What kind is it?”
“I’m a man. I ain’t got no purse.”
“Some men do.”
“I ain’t that kind of man.”
“Sure. Whatever you say.”
He frowned.
“Gimme the purse, lady.”
“Lady? I’m more of a tomboy.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass. I want the purse.”
“I knew it: You do like purses.”
His big size usually intimidated his victims. But she didn’t seem intimidated. He had to fix that.
“The purse or your life.”
“Fine.”
She held out the purse.
He reached for it but she jerked it away.
She smiled.
“Just testing your reflexes. Pretty slow.”
He had had enough. Time to get rough.
He swung a right hook but she ducked to her left and under his arm and threw her left elbow back into his nose and he landed on his ass.
He saw stars.
He shook his head to clear it.
Blood poured from his nose.
He glared up at her.
Bitch.
She deserved a lesson.
He jumped to his feet and drew his knife.
She threw down the purse and raised her fists.
He moved toward her.
She feinted a right.
Her next move was predictable. He knew where she would be. He would be there too. He would slash her.
He sidestepped left and was about to slash out when he realized something was wrong. She wasn’t where she was supposed to be. She had tricked him.
Now he was in a vulnerable position.
She kicked him in the crotch.
He doubled over and dropped the knife.
She kneed him in the face.
He staggered back and crumpled to the pavement.
He had never felt such pain before. Not even in prison.
He held his crotch and groaned.
Who the hell was she?
He had chosen the wrong chick to rob.
CHAPTER 3
Jane Block bent down and picked up her purse and the would-be robber’s knife.
She looked down at the man.
“Get up.”
He glared up at her.
“I can’t. My nuts hurt.”
“You’ll be okay. Get up.”
He did. Slowly.
“Now take off all your clothes.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I ain’t takin off my clothes, lady.”
She pointed the knife at him.
He undressed to his underwear.
“Underwear too.”
“Have a heart.”
“Underwear too.”
Seconds later he was naked. His hands covered his crotch.
“Now give me the clothes.”
“But my wallet’s in my pants.”
“It’s my wallet now. Give me the clothes.”
He did.
“Can I get my knife back?”
“No.”
“You’re a real bitch. You know that?”
“You’re a real bitch.”
He frowned.
“This is what it feels like to be robbed,” she said. “You’re lucky you didn’t try to rape me. Otherwise you’d have found out what it feels like to be raped.”
She waggled the knife.
He looked scared.
She left.
CHAPTER 4
Jane got into her SUV and put on her sunglasses and drove off.
She headed toward the beach.
She swam every morning before work.
She powered down the window.
Palm trees and tropical flowers lined the street. The sun glowed orange. A warm breeze blew.
She was a federal agent. She worked at the Miami field office of the Domestic Security Agency.
The DSA headquarters was in Washington, D.C. The DSA was a federal agency responsible for public security. It dealt with domestic emergencies.
Before she had joined it she had been a Navy SEAL.
She had a son. Mark Block was thirteen. He looked just like her late husband.
Sam Block had been a Navy fighter pilot. Five years ago he had been killed in combat.
Mark wanted to join the Navy. She would be proud if he did. Proud but worried about his safety.
She turned on the radio and listened to the news.
She was a little tired. She had stayed up late last night.
The swim would wake her.
CHAPTER 5
Miami Mayor Raul Martinez and his wife sat eating breakfast in their dining room.
“I’m hoping for an easy reelection,” he said.
“It should be easy. You’ve already raised millions of dollars for your campaign.”
“We’ll see.”
A knock at the front door.
He stood up from the table and went to the door.
He looked out through the peephole.
A police officer.
Raul opened the door.
“Good morning, Officer. What can I do for you?”
“Morning, Mr. Mayor. I’m Officer Wright. Mind if I come in for a minute?”
“Do you have a warrant?”
“What?”
“Just kidding. Please come in.”
“Thank you.”
Wright entered.
Raul shut the door.
“Coffee? Tea?”
“Coffee. Thank you.”
“How do you take it?”
“Cream and sugar, please.”
Raul turned to his wife.
“Honey, do you mind?”
“Not at all. One coffee with cream and sugar coming right up.”
Amara Martinez stood up from the table and went to the kitchen.
Raul turned back to Wright.
Wright had his gun pointed at him.
“One word and I fire. Nod once if you understand.”
Raul nodded once.
A chill ran through him.
Wright took out a rope and tied him to a living-room chair.
Amara entered the living room and gasped and dropped the cup of coffee.
The cup shattered.
She screamed.
“Shut up or your husband dies.”
Wright tied Amara to the chair beside Raul.
Raul noticed Wright’s shoes weren’t standard-issue police shoes. So Wright wasn’t a police officer—he was just posing as one.
The ruse had gotten him into the house.
Was Wright even his real name?
Probably not.
He looked at Raul.
“Where are your car keys?”
“They’re hanging on a hook in the kitchen.”
Wright gagged Raul and Amara.
He exited the room.
Raul heard the garage door go up.
An engine started and the car pulled out of the garage. It sounded like Amara’s car. So Raul’s car was still in there.
A vehicle with a loud engine pulled in and stopped. A truck? A van?
The garage door came down.
The loud engine stopped.
Vehicle doors opened and shut.
There were voices.
He looked over at Amara.
Terror in her eyes.
Two men entered the room. They wore gas masks and hazmat suits.
They set up a wireless camera. They pointed it at Raul and Amara. They turned it on and started recording.
They set up a humidifier. They filled it with liquid from a canister. They turned it on.
They exited the room.
The garage door went up.
The loud engine started and the vehicle pulled out of the garage.
The garage door came down.
Steam came out of the humidifier.
Raul and Amara choked.
CHAPTER 6
American President Maria Garcia and First Gentleman Hector Garcia had a house in Miami.
They had bought it when she had been a congresswoman. Now they used it as a vacation home.
It had a beachfront infinity swimming pool.
They sat beside the pool.
“Do you miss Washington, D.C.?” he said.
“Not at all. Do you?”
