Goodman The Fourteenth Protocol (The Special Agent Jana Baker Spy-Thriller Series, #2)

1. Auflage 2015
ISBN: 978-0-9905738-1-4
Verlag: Thought Reach Press
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 462 Seiten

Reihe: The Special Agent Jana Baker Spy-Thriller Series

A terrorist on the loose, a country in panic, and time is running out.
After an eleventh terrorist attack, the American people are at a breaking point. But when a fledgling special agent stumbles across the one clue that could break the case wide open, she uncovers a secret CIA spy operation and becomes the only asset that can stop it.

Come inside this spider's web of espionage, conspiracy and intrigue, and witness young Agent Baker's struggles against evil and her own fears as they take her to the edge of the abyss; and the clock is ticking.

The second in the series of high-octane espionage spy thrillers.

Hundreds of Five-Star Reviews for the unrelentingly fast paced espionage thriller book

'Ripe with SUSPENSE, ESPIONAGE, and RIVETING ACTION...preys upon our worst fears: Terrorism in our own backyard. I've found a new Brad Thor espionage book collection...a spy series thriller novel that keeps you guessing and an ending that will leave you hungry for more.'
--- Michael Lucker, Screenwriter to Paramount, Disney, DreamWorks, Fox, Universal

'CONSPIRACY wrapped by INTRIGUE AND SUSPENSE, then TIED IN KNOTS.'
-- Kevin McLaughlin, Special Agent, DEA

'Like David Baldacci or Jack Reacher thriller book collection all in one. Undoubtedly one of the best spy thrillers I've read in years. This spy series is fast paced, unrelenting!'

'...his writing is excellent...this will be a best selling terrorist spy thriller in 2018...makes my top list of espionage thriller books to read.'

'The heroine in peril, Jana Baker, is such a strong female lead character. She's scared but has the guts of any male special agent. Makes for one of the great thriller books to read.'

'The plot is a mix of James Bond, 24, and Call of Duty.'
--- Russ Atkinson, Special Agent, FBI (ret.), thriller book author.

'I am going to blow off work so I can finish reading this spy mystery series. No joke. An intrigue novel that has New York Times bestseller list 2018 written all over it.'

'One of the best new mystery thriller authors...author has hit this one out of the park. One of the best terrorism crime novels I've read in years. A new Jack Reacher. Can't wait until this thriller is made into a CIA spy thriller series collection.'

'...a mystery book with an edge of your seat quality that keeps you sucked in.'

'I ended up falling in love with the main characters...definitely a 2018 bestseller.'

'A government conspiracy that leads all the way to the white house and the president, a rogue CIA agent...and just one FBI special agent to stop it.'

'The undercover CIA thing is so realistic. I love finding the bestselling mysteries like this...one of my favorite thriller books to read in 2018.'

'Terrorism, suspense, gunfire...all with a strong female lead. What else are you looking for? Rivals the New York Times bestsellers by Brad Thor, Lee Child, or David Baldacci...'

'This book is like a Jody Foster / FBI special agent Clarice Starling in Silence of the Lambs without the lunatic psycho...faced with death and a white house government conspiracy. If this book doesn't become one of the bestselling mysteries out there, I don't know what would.'

'I can't wait for the sequel...another espionage thriller series!'

The Special Agent Jana Baker Spy-Thriller Series by Nathan Goodman:


Peyton Phoenix Thrillers by Nathan Goodman:

Autoren/Hrsg.

Goodman, Nathan

Leseproben

5 

Cade snapped out of his fixation about the use of the word emergency and picked up the phone. What did they want him to do about some server going haywire on the seventeenth floor? He’d never been called to go to seventeen, ever.

“Cade Williams,” he said into the phone.

“Williams? This is Johnston. I have a real situation here. Drop what you’re doing and get up here.”

“Yes, sir. Ah, sir?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll meet you at the elevator on sixteen, and I’ll bring you up. Time to earn your pay, boy.”

Cade hadn’t even gone to the bathroom yet. Well, this was shaping up to be a fun day. And by “fun” he meant “giant pain in the ass.”

“They better have coffee on seventeen,” Cade said as he stood up.

“SEVENTEEN?!” came the retort from Whitmore. “Come on, man. You and I both know there is no seventeenth floor. It doesn’t exist. It’s like a ghost or something.”

“Well, time to find out. Do you think they have cream and sugar, or do you think I should bring my own? And maybe I should bring one of those little wooden stirrer things?” The sarcasm hung thick.

“Oh. My. God,” said Whitmore. “Mr. Big Shot. ‘Just git yer ass up there, mister!’” Cade thought it was hilarious when Whitmore imitated the accent of Rupert Johnston. True southern redneck-speak combined with a lisp. Both of them knew Cade going up to seventeen was a big deal. No one on his floor had ever been asked up there.

“Maybe I’ll be named CEO by the end of the day,” said Cade, breathing a little uneasy. I need to calm down. Man, it’s not as if Elvis is up there or something.

By the time Cade walked the fifty feet from his desk into the lobby, Rupert Johnston was standing there, peering down at him. Rupert Johnston was every bit of six feet five inches tall, at least 220 pounds, and not exactly what you would call “portly” either. He was old to be sure, but it was like seeing a man made out of sinew and covered in striated leather. Cade had never met him in person and had never wanted to. His heavy-rimmed glasses and furrowed brow did not exactly invite conversation. Old guys like this look at me like I’m such a wuss, thought Cade, his eyes looking anywhere but into Johnston’s, where they would meet utter defeat.

There was a story going around the office about Rupert Johnston. Cade never knew what to believe, but the story was that Johnston had snuck out of his mother’s farmhouse at the age of fifteen, hiked into town, and gone to the recruiting station. Vietnam was heating up in 1965, and Johnston was going to “git him some.” Some what? Cade wondered. Apparently he either fooled or scared the physician at the recruiting post enough to make him believe he was seventeen. His mother had no idea what had happened to him. To her, Rupert had just up and disappeared off the face of the earth. She even reported him as missing to the county sheriff. The poor old lady probably had a hell of a time raising that pain in the ass anyway.

At any rate, at the time there were no computer systems that would alert police as to Johnston’s whereabouts. So no one knew where he was. His mom looked everywhere. By the time anyone thought to check with the armed services, Johnston had finished Marine Corp basic training at Paris Island and was on a troop transport, somewhere out in the Pacific Ocean. He was not likely to be plucked off of the thing and brought home “because he didn’t have his momma’s permission.”

Johnston stared at Cade for a moment, looking him up and down, and then just walked into the elevator. Cade followed as Johnston pressed the button for seventeen and turned to the digital touch screen panel to input his clearance code. Cade didn’t even glance in that direction. Can you imagine getting caught looking over Johnston’s shoulder? Cade shuddered at the thought. If Johnston suspected you of trying to spy his elevator clearance code, he’d probably give you a pounding to the top of your head, sending you through the elevator floor, or perhaps a spinning crane kick to the jaw. It wasn’t as if Cade wanted to sneak onto a restricted floor anyway. He didn’t like this asshole Johnston, but he liked keeping his job.

The elevator opened, and to Cade’s surprise, the lobby of the seventeenth floor looked identical to the rest of the floors. Somehow he had envisioned armed Navy SEALs standing post, perhaps dressed in body amour and standing behind bulletproof glass. Kind of a letdown actually, he mused.

They walked out, and Johnston swiped his keycard against the outer door. The door chirped in response, and they walked in. Johnston’s legs were as long as tent poles; Cade found it hard to keep pace. Johnston suddenly stopped and spun around, his finger in Cade’s face.

“Now, look, what you see up here stays up here. You got me?”

“Yes, sir,” was all Cade could muster.

The racks of servers looked the same as on all the other floors. Then again, Cade hadn’t exactly expected an interior designer to come up with new and ergonomic designs for racks of black metal boxes with blinky lights on them. Several people Cade had never seen were milling around the server floor, some with iPads in hand. Man, they do a lot of monitoring up here. Or maybe that’s just because of the trouble they’re having at the moment. Hell, we don’t have iPads, Cade thought. As they walked towards the glass entry door to the server room, Cade noticed something odd. Down one of the rows of server racks were several men in business suits. That alone was out of place. None of the executive “suits” ever came down to the server floors. Why would they? Those guys stayed up on the executive floors with their espresso machines. Hell, it wouldn’t matter if the entire building had a sudden power spike that caused the servers to go haywire. The execs couldn’t do anything about it anyway.

The absence of “suits” on server floors made Cade feel just a bit inferior. It was as if he’d detect a slight condescending look when the suits were seen with server guys. The suits looked at them as if they were “just the technical staff,” something easily replaced by calling Linda in human resources and saying, “Hey, go hire me a couple of new server geeks, okay?” It pissed Cade off.

In this case, it looked like that group of suits was not happy. They were having what Cade’s mom would have sarcastically called “a discussion.” Cade only had a few “discussions” with his parents growing up. You know, the kind of discussion that ends with your mom saying, “Well, we’ll just wait until your father gets home.” Hearing that was never a good sign. Cade’s dad was not a violent man, but his disappointment would be evident. That was worse than getting smacked in the rear with a belt a couple of times. Cade always hated the idea of his dad being disappointed in him.

As they got to the server floor, Cade couldn’t help wonder why they needed him up here. I mean, it’s not as if this floor is short-staffed or something. Look around. Plenty of non-suit-clad geeks to go around. Not like I know any of these guys, but you can’t tell me one of them couldn’t handle a simple code yellow on a blinky server box, he thought.

Cade heard voices just over the sound of the server fans. Not just voices, but unhappy voices. An argument was in full swing. As they walked past one server row after another, the argument escalated. When they turned down the row where the suits were arguing, Cade could hear what was being said.

“This isn’t about Tucson, goddammit!” Anger frothed from the voice.

Another replied, “What the hell do you think we’re doing here! This ain’t the boy scouts!”

“Ah hem.” Johnston cleared his throat to interrupt the argument. The suits looked up, and the argument ended abruptly. Whatever was being said was not supposed to be said in front of someone who doesn’t work up here, that’s for sure, thought Cade. Something about the word Tucson stuck with him. The suits looked at him and one in particular; a kind of William-Macy-from-the-movie-Fargo-looking guy, stared at him through black-rimmed glasses. He struck Cade as kind of familiar-looking, but then again, Cade had seen that movie five hundred times or so. I bet people tell him he looks like a buzz-cut William Macy all the time. And then he slits their throats. The thought wasn’t as funny as he initially thought.

Cade made eye contact for a second then looked down at his John Belushi black canvas high tops. He glanced at the server rack on his left, then back at his shoes with a certain unnerving feeling in his gut.

In an abrupt introduction of sorts, Johnston pointed with his thumb and blurted, “Cade Williams, works on sixteen. He’s the resource we need to analyze this.”

William Macy turned his attention to some papers in his hand.

“No non-authorized personnel, goddammit.”

Heat wafted from underneath Cade’s T-shirt and rose past his face. He was uncomfortable to say the least. William Macy looked a little like he’d stepped out of a piece of news footage, circa 1955, where you’d see clips of old civil rights marches. The footage was always in black and white. And there was always some pinhead being interviewed and saying something about how “The white race was dominant.” Cade didn’t like him immediately.

“Now hold on, I thought you said the clearance was there,” said Johnston, pointing his finger at William Macy. Johnston wasn’t backing down,...