Relentless Pursuit: A Kelly Maclean Novel Read online

  Relentless Pursuit

  A Kelly Maclean Novel

  Nate Hawk

  This book is dedicated to the victims of the Boston Marathon attacks, their families and the first responders that fearlessly stopped the further loss of life.

  ***

  Relentless Pursuit is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to actual people, alive or deceased, events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  The author is solely responsible for any mistakes within the writing.

  Copyright © 2015 by Nate Hawk.

  Natehawk.com

  All rights reserved.

  I love to hear from my readers! Writing is one of the greatest pleasures in my life. If you enjoy this book I would be humbled if you would spend the time to send me an email. I always do my best to write back in a timely manner!

  [email protected]

  You may like to keep up with the quick pace of my new projects and follow some of my personal thoughts about life on my blog:

  http://natehawk.com

  Or on Twitter: @NateHawkAuthor

  Or Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/NateHawk/920246518037816

  Readers like you allow me to spend my professional time writing. I hope that you are able to spend your professional time doing something that you have a passion for as well! Thank you!

  -Nate Hawk

  Reviews for:

  Relentless Pursuit

  “Hawk’s political action thriller is sure to be counted among other great thrillers of our time!”

  “Hawk is an artist at crafting suspense!”

  “Hawk provides the reader with endless suspense through Kelly Maclean’s relentless pursuit of justice!”

  Table of Contents

  Preface

  Prologue

  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

  Preface

  By January 1st, 2012, the United States had officially withdrawn its military might from the gritty battlefields of Iraq and ceded control of the country back to the Iraqis. After ten years on the run and after being eviscerated by the United States’ military, Al Qaeda was in tatters. Its leadership had mostly been eliminated and the organization itself was no longer strategically effective. However, most military strategists did not expect the new Iraqi government to remain in control of the entire country for long.

  The atrocities of war in Iraq and Afghanistan had begun fueling a new generation of unstoppable hatred within radical Islam. The leaderless ranks of aspiring terrorists had swelled and the youthful naivety of Jihad and martyrdom was more popular than it had ever been before. Much of the freshly radicalized energy in the Middle East was being focused on creating a rogue nation where Jihadists could live under Sharia Law. A radical Utopia where training and planning for Western attacks would be conceived. How could the newly elected Iraqi government keep a lid on the proverbial pressure cooker?

  The US and coalition forces had mostly depleted their war chests. In regards to a new war front, there was a lack of public support, worn out military equipment and dwindling morale within the ranks. Reprisals from the West for attacks on US or Allied soil would likely be weak and probably worth any newly gained publicity and notoriety that this rogue nation state might receive. In the worst case, anyone killed in reprisals would become martyrs. Best-case scenario for the radicals, America would send in more troops and the liquidation of the Allies’ blood and treasure could resume. This new nation exists and it is commonly translated as ISIS, the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (or Levant).

  The nation is a war-torn humanitarian disaster. It is run by extremists with many backgrounds and allegiances to other radical Islam groups. There is constant infighting as old leaders lose control, new leaders rise within the ranks and more groups of radical Islamists pledge allegiance to join the fray. ISIS has become a hotbed of insurgency and the fighters are constantly plotting fresh attacks in the West.

  This story follows a fictitious account of Kelly Maclean, a former Marine turned cop. He becomes a victim of Jamaat Al Fuqra, a convoluted, homegrown American terror group. After fighting elements of Al-Qaeda in Iraq during 2004, he’s introduced to another brand of Jihadi extremism during the Boston Marathon attack. This group shares a similar radical vision of Islam with ISIS and spouts the same rhetoric of hatred that always leads to martyrdom and mass murder of innocent noncombatants. His relentless pursuit for justice of a fugitive terrorist unwittingly leads him to an international ISIS terror plot in Germany. With the time of attack nearing, Kelly now finds himself being tracked by the CIA. Can Kelly dodge them long enough to get payback and prevent the attack from happening? Or will he become the next pawn destroyed in the international game of terrorism?

  Prologue

  November, 2004

  Second Battle of Fallujah, Iraq

  Kelly Maclean

  It happened in the blink of an eye. Upon making the third of several planned entries into urban buildings that day, the designated point man had taken a frontal burst of gunfire from an insurgent shooting an AK. Several of his platoon members had watched in horror as he fell with that familiar, lifeless look upon his face. Simultaneously, his team dove for cover. But Kelly Maclean (Boston) wasn’t convinced. He’d seen the man fall too but he thought that Mike Pearson (Dallas) was not yet dead.

  “Lightning doesn’t strike twice, Kelly,” Jason Griffin (Des Moines) soberly suggested. “The Red Sox just took the damn pennant for the first time in what… a hundred years? I’m betting your luck has run out.” Griffin added dryly. “We’ve already got one KIA. Don’t make it two.”

  “I told you I’m going in for him, damn it,” Kelly Maclean insisted.

  Gunshots continued erupting from the residential building that the men were hidden in front of. Then the smoke trail of an RPG thundered just overhead, follow
ed by a ground shaking explosion that rocked the men to their core.

  “Besides, if he’s still alive you know they’ll cut his head off!” Kelly yelled with disgust.

  “Our backup will be here in two minutes,” Bobby Graves (Yuma) wisely proposed. “Then we’ll go in and send all those assholes to Allah.”

  He made the sign of the cross with his hands as if to ask God to accept Mike Pearson’s soul.

  “Bullshit! I’m going in the back right now,” Kelly said. “Cover me!”

  And just like that he disappeared through a half destroyed wall and around the side of the building. Other men from his platoon began engaging several insurgents that suddenly appeared in the windows of the same building. The men of the 3/5 Darkhorse Battalion had stumbled into a hornet’s nest of foreign killers. Griffin and Graves looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. They had tried to be a voice of reason but they weren’t surprised that Kelly hadn’t listened. When did Kelly Maclean ever listen?

  “Maybe he’s right. Maybe Pearson was just out cold,” Griffin noted.

  Before Graves could answer, the distinctive sound of four shots from a Beretta nine millimeter pistol echoed from the blown out windows of the active building in front of them.

  “Shit!” Griffin said. “Maybe Pearson is alive!”

  “Or maybe they just finished him off with his own pistol,” Graves countered with a serious tone, as he too recognized the sound of the weapon that had been fired.

  By then Kelly had made it to the back door. He knew it could be rigged with explosives. He knew there could be ten Jihadists standing there, waiting for the first Marine to come through so they could waste him too. Had Kelly’s luck run out? Would this be his final act that would end his life? He knew the “what ifs” were the quickest way to get killed. Plus, he was just about out of time if there was any chance of rescuing Pearson before some knife-wielding fanatic sawed off his head.

  Kelly was a big man so the laws of physics worked out to his benefit when he failed to stop at the door. As he put his shoulder into the movement, the door’s lock easily gave and Kelly fell inside the building. He could see through three open rooms to where Pearson had taken up a position in the corner. Pearson had his pistol out and he inadvertently flagged Kelly before he understood who was there. There was a dead foreign fighter sprawled on the floor in an ever-expanding pool of blood. Pearson had good reflexes and a professional trigger control so he removed his gun sights from Kelly immediately.

  Kelly shook off his fall, shouldered his rifle and began to move quickly towards his fellow Marine when a fusillade of bullets erupted down the stairwell towards him. Kelly’s training instantly came into play; instead of flinching he pivoted towards the advancing man. Three shots from Kelly’s rifle and the man went down for good. Kelly looked back and saw Griffin and Graves advancing through the door in fluid motion. Kelly had never doubted that the men were covering his six. Although they had voiced their concerns, Kelly had learned to trust them with his life.

  When Kelly grabbed Pearson and pulled him into a standing position he realized why his buddy had used his pistol: his right hand and arm was a bloody mess that would take numerous surgeries to repair. Plus his M4’s receiver was shattered.

  “Hey brother,” Pearson began stoically, as he watched Kelly inspect his wounds. “Looks like I kinda fucked up here…”

  Pearson was still alive although his eyes looked blank. Shock was clearly beginning to set in.

  “We’re gonna get you out of here, bro. You fight it! Just start thinking of home because this is your ticket back to the states.”

  A bit of life flashed back into Pearson.

  “Nothing but mild weather and beautiful women, Kelly. That sounds OK,” he admitted.

  The teetering Pearson dropped his Beretta and put his good arm around Kelly’s shoulders as they began moving towards the door. The other two Marines retrieved his weapons and provided the needed cover for their tactical retreat. Once the men were outside of the building, the order was given. Shortly thereafter a round from an Abrams tank leveled the building.

  ***

  Loganville, Georgia

  September, 2005

  Megan Evans

  Megan hadn’t known what had happened, really. One moment she and her husband were talking excitedly about their weekend plans. The next moment their black SUV had careened out of control, rolling several times in the grass before it came to a stop. A half second prior to the vehicle’s roll Megan had heard glass exploding on the driver’s side but she did not immediately identify the significance of the noise. When the vehicle finally came to a stop in the Georgia scrub, Megan swept her red hair out of her face, opening her eyes to a different world than the one that she had known only seconds before.

  Her husband’s state of shock was obvious. There was blood pouring out of his torso and he had a stoic expression upon his face. Then she realized that this wasn’t just an automobile accident. In fact, it wasn’t an accident at all. There was more broken glass now after the roll but spider web cracks around the bullets holes were clearly visible where the projectiles had exited through the front windshield.

  Her husband made a strained attempt to speak but his actual words were inaudible. A mumbled “I’m sorry,” was all that Megan could make out at the time. She was terrified. She was frozen in fear and she had no idea what to do to save his life. The truth was that he was already beyond this life; his body and soul just hadn’t quite completed their inevitable, physical surrender. There was no going back for him. Despite treatment advances for modern battlefield trauma, he was mortally wounded. He choked and let out one last gurgle, inadvertently broadcasting blood across the SUV into Megan’s face and onto her clothing. Tears raced from her eyes as she screamed for help. Then, as if she could bear any more shock, she had a frantic thought of her mother who had been sitting in the backseat. The woman had vanished from sight apparently thrown from the SUV as it had tumbled along. Megan didn’t know yet but her mother was gone from this world too.

  Eventually the first responders had arrived and they had done their best to save all three victims. Megan’s mother’s neck had been broken as she was crushed under the rolling SUV. She had died instantly. Her husband had been fatally shot in what would be officially recorded as a road rage incident. The truth was much more complicated.

  An unfamiliar feeling of helplessness had invaded Megan’s conscience as she lay in the hospital bed recovering. Her husband had always made her feel safe but now she found herself alone. She realized that her life had changed forever. She was a tough woman but she felt that she needed to do something to balance the injustices of her husband’s death. Never again would she allow herself to be present with a dying person and lack the appropriate medical knowledge to help. After an emotionally and physically draining year of recovery, she enrolled in nursing school. Her education became the single most important thing in her life. It quickly grew into an obsession for her. She never missed class. An incorrect test answer felt as if it was a betrayal to her husband’s memory. Megan knew that she couldn’t save him but she would certainly find a way to make up for her medical ignorance, the ignorance that caused her to blame herself for her husband’s death.

  ***

  December, 2006

  Massachusetts

  The Predator and The Prey

  The man wasn’t capable of understanding a traditional relationship. That arrangement revolved around him treating a woman nicely in hopes of his efforts leading to intercourse. He was instead a sexual deviant; a creature of control. To make matters worse, he knew that his self-control had been diminishing quickly. In fact, he realized that he had already lost control. It had become time to feed the monster.

  He was dressed in dark natural-colored clothing and he was hunting a carefully selected prey. He knew his target’s jogging route so he knew how long it would take her to jog by the wooded area where he knelt, hidden. Only six more minutes. It was early December so t
he Winter Solstice was mere days away. The early nightfall would help to hide his actions as he worked to satisfy his instincts.

  Two minutes left. On cue, the woman’s figure seemed to grow larger as she ran closer. She was winded and appeared lost in a world of her own private thoughts. The music coming from her ear buds blocked out any unnatural rhythms of the night.

  One minute now. The man took a final glance around for other searching eyes and was pleased when he saw none. Then he heard the woman’s footsteps as the recently fallen leaves crunched beneath her feet. The man’s imagination worked well and as he listened to the telling signs of her approach he envisioned her getting closer and closer. As he remained hidden behind a large oak tree, he could hear the woman’s heavy breathing and he knew the time had come.

  He pounced just as the woman passed the tree. She had no idea what had happened at first as the man’s full weight landed on her. For a split second she thought of the old enigma, “If a tree falls in the woods and nobody is around, does it make a sound?” What if a limb falls on a woman as she’s jogging through a park and nobody is around? Would she ever be rescued? She quickly realized that it was not a branch that had fallen on her but some sort of hormone-seething predatory beast. He hit her hard with a sap that rendered her unconscious and then dragged her to his awaiting vehicle.

  ***

  May, 2008

  Suburbs of Seattle

  Bekhan Akhmadov

  Bekhan’s transformation was quite remarkable. In a few short months, and with Allah’s guiding hand, he had stopped drinking and smoking. He had channeled his misguided anger towards a deserving entity: the United States of America, for its constant meddling in the affairs of foreign lands. The government was to blame but he despised Americans so much that he didn’t feel a need to differentiate. Besides, he’d argued, the populace had voted the government into office. He’d decided to drop his pursuit of an engineering degree to focus on boxing. In fact, his boxing game had even improved and he took that as a sign from Allah that he was on the right track. Plus, he realized that he had become a better role model for his impressionable younger brother. Both of them had a deep-seated hatred for America and they were determined to commit Jihad on the streets of the US. As with other extremists, they would have their time in the spotlight.