Absolute force, p.1
Absolute Force, page 1
A B S O L U T E
F O R C E
(A JAKE MERCER POLITICAL THRILLER—BOOK 3)
J A C K M A R S
Jack Mars
Jack Mars is the USA Today bestselling author of the LUKE STONE thriller series, which includes seven books. He is also the author of the new FORGING OF LUKE STONE prequel series, comprising six books; of the AGENT ZERO spy thriller series, comprising twelve books; of the TROY STARK thriller series, comprising seven books; of the SPY GAME thriller series, comprising nine books; and of the new JAKE MERCER thriller series, comprising five books (and counting).
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Copyright © 2024 by Jack Mars. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. 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 it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
BOOKS BY JACK MARS
JAKE MERCER THRILLER SERIES
ABSOLUTE THREAT (Book #1)
ABSOLUTE DAMAGE (Book #2)
ABSOLUTE FORCE (Book #3)
ABSOLUTE PERIL (Book #4)
ABSOLUTE TREASON (Book #5)
THE SPY GAME
TARGET ONE (Book #1)
TARGET TWO (Book #2)
TARGET THREE (Book #3)
TARGET FOUR (Book #4)
TARGET FIVE (Book #5)
TARGET SIX (Book #6)
TARGET SEVEN (Book #7)
TARGET EIGHT (Book #8)
TROY STARK THRILLER SERIES
ROGUE FORCE (Book #1)
ROGUE COMMAND (Book #2)
ROGUE TARGET (Book #3)
ROGUE MISSION (Book #4)
ROGUE SHOT (Book #5)
ROGUE STRIKE (Book #6)
ROGUE ORDER (Book #7)
LUKE STONE THRILLER SERIES
ANY MEANS NECESSARY (Book #1)
OATH OF OFFICE (Book #2)
SITUATION ROOM (Book #3)
OPPOSE ANY FOE (Book #4)
PRESIDENT ELECT (Book #5)
OUR SACRED HONOR (Book #6)
HOUSE DIVIDED (Book #7)
FORGING OF LUKE STONE PREQUEL SERIES
PRIMARY TARGET (Book #1)
PRIMARY COMMAND (Book #2)
PRIMARY THREAT (Book #3)
PRIMARY GLORY (Book #4)
PRIMARY VALOR (Book #5)
PRIMARY DUTY (Book #6)
AN AGENT ZERO SPY THRILLER SERIES
AGENT ZERO (Book #1)
TARGET ZERO (Book #2)
HUNTING ZERO (Book #3)
TRAPPING ZERO (Book #4)
FILE ZERO (Book #5)
RECALL ZERO (Book #6)
ASSASSIN ZERO (Book #7)
DECOY ZERO (Book #8)
CHASING ZERO (Book #9)
VENGEANCE ZERO (Book #10)
ZERO ZERO (Book #11)
ABSOLUTE ZERO (Book #12)
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
“The fact that we’re even having a conversation about near-peer adversaries is a problem,” General Hawks said. “There shouldn’t be such a thing. Our supremacy should be utterly unchallenged. So why the hell are we squabbling over budgets?”
The others gathered around wisely said nothing.
All meetings were treated as though they were critical, but in Harold Grant’s experience, most weren’t. He’d been to too many meetings. He’d been to enough meetings to make him wonder if he ought to rethink his career entirely. Senator Nat Barello seemed to make every meeting a priority, and of course, Harold was the aide stuck joining him. Every. Damned. Time.
His role at this meeting, as at every other meeting, was to pretend not to hear anything being said while also making sure to commit everything to memory. That way, if Senator Barello needed a piece of information later on, Harold would be able to provide it to him.
This meeting, however, actually appeared critical. Normally, an aide wouldn't be allowed in a meeting like this, but Senator Barello served on the Senate Armed Services committee, and at Barello's request, Harold had been extensively vetted and given clearance. That didn't mean he knew everything, though. Harold had been to many secure locations with the senator in the past, but this was easily the most secure place of all of them. Harold didn't even know where it was.
He knew he was in an underground bunker in a large conference room with screens all over the walls. He had caught glimpses of other parts of the facility and had seen enough to piece together that this was some sort of weapons research lab, but he had chosen not to follow that thought through to any conclusions. Even for a walking prop like an aide, knowing too much could be dangerous.
And clearly, the government didn’t want people to know much about this place. The level of security was impressive. He’d had his fingerprint and retina scanned before he was even allowed onto the aboveground outpost that led to this bunker. He’d been through two metal detectors, one x-ray machine, and stood for almost five minutes while three different agents checked him for recording devices in a manner that would have justified a legal complaint in any other circumstance.
But eventually, he had made it to the conference room, and now he stood and tried to appear to notice nothing. He noticed everything, though. Perhaps the strangest thing to notice was that his boss was nobody important here. Oh, his boss was a very important man, but the others in this room were far more important. The ranking member of the Senate Intelligence Committee was here. A deputy director of the CIA was here. Officially, he was several steps removed, but in reality, he was the de facto director of the CIA and had been for the last fifteen years.
The Secretary of Homeland Security wasn't here, which is unsurprising given his recent political challenges. Six months ago, a terrorist organization had executed three different assassination attempts in Washington D.C. within the span of two weeks. None of the attempts had been successful, but they had resulted in the deaths of over two dozen federal agents and nearly one hundred civilians, so needless to say, the Secretary was waist-deep in a knee-deep pool of shit. The Deputy Secretary was here, though, along with the Speaker of the House.
The real power here, though, the man in charge, the man running the meeting, held more real power—at least when it came to national defense policy—than anyone but the President. General Antony L. Hawks, the United States Secretary of Defense, sat at the head of the table. Everyone deferred to him, even those who criticized him politically.
Harold was a little surprised to see him. General Hawks was notorious for avoiding meetings. Unless your title was Mr. President, he was all but impossible to see.
Harold saw him now, though. He was unsurprised to discover that Hawks’ reputation for irascibility and impatience was well-earned. The few attendees who risked trying to bullshit him very quickly learned how little he tolerated such nonsense. Harold was glad he was essentially a nonperson here. He would have hated to be on the receiving end of one of Hawks’ tirades.
The meeting topic was international arms reduction, a favorite topic among politicians because it got press, but somehow no one ever expected a solution. It had been used to win elections for sixty years. Like taxes, welfare reform, and health insurance, it was one of many political issues neither Congress nor the Executive Branch had any real desire to solve.
For General Hawks to be here, though, something real was in the works. That made this meeting not only critical but interesting.
Before the truly interesting part of the meeting began, though, the ground shook. The meeting came to a halt as everyone struggled to determine if they had felt what they thought they felt.
They did. Then they felt it again. Harold blinked, and when he opened his eyes, he wasn’t looking at the head of the table anymore, but at the ceiling. A tile was missing. He fixated on the hole in the ceiling where that tile had been and tried to work out why that was important.
Then faces replaced the tile, a great many faces, all staring at him. That wasn't good. He was supposed to be invisible. Why were pe ople noticing him?
And Why couldn’t he hear anything even though their mouths were moving? Nat Barello got up and rushed to him. There was concern in his eyes. Worry. Nat Barello had never been worried or concerned about anyone.
“Hal!” the senator shouted. “Hal, hang on Buddy! Just hang on!”
He turned his head in wonder and saw himself on the screen. His face didn’t really matter much to him, but the metal pole through his body seemed important. He stared at it and tried to understand how he could see it there. Then, he looked down and saw it in front of him. It didn’t belong there! It didn’t belong there!
He reached down to take hold of it. The moment his hands closed over the metal, his senses returned to him. He didn’t want them. He screamed as pain rushed over him. He could still hear himself screaming as darkness took him.
***
“What the hell are you doing?” the man screamed. He was a nobody. Leo wasn’t even certain the man could be called an aide instead of a page.
“Get back to your congressman and wait there,” Leo said.
“While you do nothing? What the hell are you doing?”
Leo forced himself to take a deep breath before saying, “There are a dozen people here we have to protect, and I’m sorry to say that you’re very low on the priority list. So if you want any chance of getting out of here alive, you’ll do what I say when I say it. So, get your ass back to your congressman and wait for instructions. Is that clear?”
The man nodded, but before he could move, a second shockwave followed the first, and he fell to the floor. Leo angrily lifted him to his feet and shoved him toward the open door. “Go! Go!” he said.
He heard gunfire behind him and turned around. A quick rush out of the other door brought him to the firefight. There were six other Secret Service agents, and a man in battle dress uniform, General Hawks’ aide. He looked at Leo and said, “The man at the computer is Hadad.”
The man at the computer wore a suit that probably cost more than Leo’s car. Not that he would know. It wasn’t like he shopped for clothes at the Armani tailor.
“Hadad? Is that a terrorist organization?”
“No. It’s his name. He’s an arms dealer.”
“Hadad what?”
“Just Hadad.”
One of Hadad’s men turned toward them, weapons drawn. Leo fired two rounds into the man’s chest. but the man only staggered backwards. Damn it, they had body armor.
“Where are the others?” he asked.
“They’re getting everyone to safety.”
Hadad said, “I’ve got it,” and backed away from the laptop. He had dark olive skin and appeared very Middle Eastern, but spoke English with a soft British accent. “Let’s go.”
“We can’t let him leave with whatever he got,” Hawks’ aide said.
As a Secret Service agent, Leo’s priority was to get the VIPs to safety, so leaving was absolutely his number one priority.
But Leo had fought with the Secret Service when terrorists invaded the White House, and he wasn’t about to let another terrorist escape. He lifted his gun and aimed for Hadad’s head.
And that was when Hadad raised his own gun. It looked more like a radar gun than an actual gun. Leo frowned at the odd weapon for a moment. Then, without warning, his insides exploded. He fell to his knees and vomited powerfully. When he lifted his head, he could see all of the others vomiting, the Secret Service agents as well as Hawks' aide.
He didn't know where his gun was. As the room glowed with red from the alarm lights and spun not only from the nausea but also from the unending, shrieking siren, Leo felt all hope disappear. He heard that same slightly accented voice say, "See. I told you this thing was powerful. They're totally screwed for another two or three minutes. Full recovery is still an hour or two away. Let's go."
Leo used every bit of willpower left inside of him to lift his gun, but he could only manage to turn his head slightly. If he couldn’t stop them from getting to Hawks and the others, at least he could take one of them out.
But Hadad and his men weren’t trying to get to the VIPs. Instead, they left the way they came. That didn’t make any sense at all.
Leo tried to stand but fell back to his knees. He slipped and landed in a pool of his own vomit. The room strobed around him, and after a few seconds, Leo’s eyes closed and he stopped trying to make sense of anything.
CHAPTER ONE
Jake Mercer imagined the best place to run was probably a mountain trail. He imagined the sound of the breeze over pine needles or the chirping of birds or squirrels would really appeal to him. There was peace and beauty in nature that he could rarely find in the city. Jogging through the National Mall wasn’t exactly the same as an isolated run through nature, but it had its moments.
At the moment, he was nearing the Lincoln Memorial. He picked up speed as he got close. The once proud symbol of American unity had been freshly reconstructed and painted following the terrorist attack six months ago, but all Jake could see was the blood, and all he could hear was the screams of the dying.
He loved the Mall. History seemed truly alive here. Generations of stories were immortalized, the history and philosophy of the greatest nation in history preserved for future generations. He hated thinking of anything at the mall as ominous. He hated it with a passion.
As he got closer, he felt a stitch in his side. He cursed and tried to run through it, but the stitch quickly became a sharp pain, and he was forced to stop.
That was another thing he hated. His entire life, he’d been in good shape. After joining the Marine Corps out of high school, he’d been in phenomenal shape and remained that way.
Three months ago, however, he had nearly been killed while trying to stop a madman from unleashing biological terror on the world in the form of a supervirus. Jake had contracted the virus and been beaten and stabbed in the process of trying to stop the mad scientist responsible. While convalescing, he had fought to defend the President and his family against another terrorist raid. When he returned to the United States, he was near death. Doctors feared he would never be the same again.
His recovery had progressed by leaps and bounds so far, but standing in front of the location where it had all started with his hand clutched to his side and his breath coming in ragged, painful gasps, he was reminded painfully of how far he still had to go.
The memorial. stood silent and majestic. At least it should have. It was silent, of course, but once more, the stone memorial evoked a sense of doom rather than majesty.
God, he hated this.
"Hello, Slacker," came a familiar voice. He turned and saw his partner, Special Agent Jess Foster, approaching. Unlike Jake, she wore only jogging shorts and a sports bra despite the chilly autumn weather. The contrast between her outfit and Jake’s multiple layers of warm clothing only heightened the sense of inadequacy he felt.
Jess smiled and came to a stop next to him. "Way to run, old man."
Her words stung, but he hid that reaction and only chuckled and said, "Just catching my breath."
She nodded. "I knew I'd find you here. You always run here."
For now, that was true, but after today, Jake decided that finding a mountain trail had to be a priority. "Well, you found me," he said, "What's up?"
She held out a folder to him. "This is up," she said.
He glanced at it. It was the itinerary for the President's diplomatic trip to the Middle East. He nodded and put the folder in his windbreaker.
"You don't want to go over it?" Jess asked.
"I do," he said, "so you'll have to jog with me."
“Sure you’re up to that, old man?”
No. “The day I can’t run is the day I shoot myself.”
“Hey!” She shoved him, not entirely playfully. “Don’t joke like that!”
He smiled. "All right, what are the potential threats? What do I need to know? What do I need to tell the other agents so they're more effective?" He started jogging again as soon as he got the words out.
She fell into step next to him. "That’s for you to decide. You're the big strong badass Secret Service agent. I'm the hacker who performs miracles in front of a computer screen. I don't make tactical plans."
