Sins of the Past

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Sins of the Past

Jackson Jones

Prologue

President Gregory Taylor sat at his ornate desk in the Air Force One equivalent of the Oval Office. Taylor looked weary, his jet black hair was growing greyer by the day and his black suit was crumpled. He was only 58, but at this point in time he looked in his seventies. There was a knock at the door and Taylor looked up through his wire rim glasses, "come in."

The door opened and a beautiful young woman stepped in. Rachel Fletcher was thirty years old, she had dark brown hair which stretched down, just past her shoulders and her sparkling blue eyes were dazzling. She held her chin up, not in an arrogant way, but just so she could be taken seriously.

"Good morning Mr. President," she smiled.

Taylor sat up and looked at her, "hello Rachel."

Rachel was holding a brown envelope and she held it against her black suit. She stepped forward and gave the envelope to Taylor; he took it and opened it.

"That is an email; Senator Clay sent to his PA Trish Dunne," Rachel explained, "it appears he already knows who has won this election."

Taylor read the sheet of white paper, "Trish, I looked at the current polls and Taylor is way in front. I don't think we can come back from this."

Taylor sighed and Rachel frowned, "is that not good news sir?"

Taylor got to his feet and stepped over to the window and stared out at the Alaskan landscape. Every Friday morning for the past four years, Taylor had been taken out and flown over Alaska as he loved the view, "I just don't know anymore Rachel. These last four years have worn me out. If I get re-elected I will step down. Jack will take over the Presidency."

"You mean, Vice-President Harrison?" Rachel asked, shocked.

Taylor turned to her, "you do not trust my judgment?"

"It's not that sir; it's just that he seems a little young."

Taylor turned back to the window, "you've been a great asset Rachel. The best analyst in the White House."

Rachel blushed, "thank you sir. Is there anything I can get you?"

Taylor smiled at her, "yeah. I could do with a Brandy."

"Sir, its seven o'clock in the morning!" Rachel exclaimed.

Taylor turned to Rachel, "you're right."

He smiled. Suddenly all of the Boeing 747's lights flashed red and a large alarm blared.

"What's happening?" Rachel exclaimed.

"That's the impact alarm!" Taylor yelled above the deafening noise, "We’ve got to get to the pod!"

Taylor took Rachel's hand and dragged her across the office.

Outside a missile sped toward the 747 at 500mph. It collided with the right wing and exploded with a ball of flame, the whole of Air Force One shook and the wing broke off. It nose dived toward the snow.

Inside, Taylor and Rachel reached a metal door. Taylor typed in a pass code and it opened revealing a cramped metal tube, "Get in! It will keep up safe!"

They dived in and the door closed.

Captain Geoffrey Turner rubbed his forehead as a warm, crimson liquid trickled down his cheeks. The force from the collision had made him hit his head on the controls. He looked through the windshield. The 747 was hurtling toward the snow and rocks faster than the speed of sound. Turner grabbed the controls and pulled up frantically. The 747 pulled up slightly, but collision was unstoppable. The nose of the plane disintegrated as it hit, instantly crushing Turner. Air Force One stopped, half buried in the snow.

Chapter One

Jakob Klejavic took a sip from his cool strawberry Daiquiri as he gazed out from the step of his beach hut at the Mediterranean Sea. The palm trees at his home here in Comino- a beautiful rocky island just off Malta- swayed gently under a most welcome breeze and what was, just like the last week another wonderful day. The relaxing sound of the water of the Blue Lagoon lapping at the shore soothed Klejavic as his mobile phone rang. Klejavic reached into the pocket of his shorts and answered it.

"Klejavic," he grunted in his Norwegian accent.

"Jakob," the called replied, "it's Richard."

"Is it taken care of?" Klejavic asked.

"Yes sir," the man named Richard replied, "she did well."

Klejavic smiled, "well tell her to make sure the target is terminated, and to receive the prize. Then we shall begin phase two."

"Yes sir," Richard replied, "when are you flying back from Malta?"

Klejavic got to his feet and stepped to the edge of a large rock, overlooking the infamous Blue Lagoon, "my plane is in one hour. I will meet you in Berlin."

"Yes sir," Richard replied.

Klejavic hung up and replaced his mobile in his pocket, he then smiled, "this place is beautiful."

He turned and headed into his beach hut to get changed.

Chapter Two

Rob Watson yawned as he walked down the stairs of his aunt’s farm house in the middle of the Texas desert. He brushed his brown hair out of his eyes, revealing his hazel eyes. Watson was in his early thirties and still believed he was good looking. He was over six foot tall and he was well built with muscles bulging out of the sleeves of his white T-shirt. He reached the landing and gagged on the smell of the woolen carpeted floor, when heated the wool gave off an awful stench which made him feel physically sick. He yawned once again and looked at the ornate clock hanging on the cream painted walls; it was only nine o'clock in the morning. Much too early to be up he thought as he opened the frosted glass door and stepped into the kitchen. The marble tiles felt cold on Watson's feet as he walked across then. He was momentarily blinded by the sunlight bursting in from the patio doors opposite him. He walked to the breakfast table and saw a note from his aunt;

“Hey Rob, I'm just running down to the market to go shopping. Should be back for about six this evening.”

Watson smiled, his aunt was eighty three, but she acted like a woman in her fifties. He turned to the over and turned the hob on and placed the kettle on top. He reached into the cupboard above the oven and pulled out a mug and put a teaspoon of coffee into it. His aunt had owned the same kettle for fifteen years and it took a good five minutes to boil. He sighed and sat on a chair at the table and reached across and picked up the morning paper and scanned the front page. When he saw that there was nothing of any interest, he threw the paper back onto the Elmwood table. He heard the phone ringing from the counter next to the oven and walked over to it. He checked the caller ID before answering it and saw that the caller had withed their number. Watson pressed the reject button and the ringing stopped. Suddenly the kettle started to whistle and Watson turned the hob off and picked up the kettle and filled hid mug up to the brim and stirred it, the water instantly turned black. He took a small sip and withdrew quickly and the coffee was boiling hot. He set it down on the counter as the phone started to ring once more. The caller ID showed once more that the caller had withheld their number.

"The salesmen are eager this morning," he smiled.

He reached over to the phone and picked it up and he took out the batteries. He picked up his mug of coffee and took it over to the table and sat down once again. He blew at the liquid and took a timid sip. He groaned as his mobile phone started to ring. He reached into his jeans pocket and took it out. He stared at the top of the range device, it also said that the caller was withholding their number, "that's impossible."

He answered it and pressed the phone to his ear, "hello?"

"FBI Agent Rob Watson?" the caller asked.

"I haven't been an FBI Agent for over four years," Watson replied.

"I'm sorry to disturb you this early Mr. Watson, but the Vice-President of the United States wants to meet with you immediately."

"Why?" Watson asked, confused.

"I only know as much as you Mr. Watson," the Secret Service Agent replied; "now you must come to the White House immediately."

"I'm in Texas," Watson replied, "it'll take hours!"

"We'll be there shortly Mr. Watson."

Before he could reply, the Agent had hung up. Watson held his mobile in his hands as the heard the rotor blades of a helicopter. He got up and ran to the front door and pulled it open. He saw a black helicopter with the seal of the White House on the door landing a few feet from the door. The door opened and a young suited man with aviator sunglasses jump out of the passenger seat onto the gravel. He ran over to Watson. The Agent had spiked brown hair with blond highlights; Watson guessed he was only in his early twenties.

He shook Watson's hand, "Rob Watson?"

He had to yell to be heard above the rotor blades, "I'm Agent Josh Defoe. I've been ordered to take you to the White House."

"Why?" Watson asked.

"As I told you on the phone Mr. Watson," Defoe replied, "I don't know.

Defoe stepped forward and handed Watson a thick brown envelope, "Vice-President Harrison hopes this will be enough."

Watson opened it and peered inside, his eyes widened in shock, "how much is in here?"

"One million US dollars," Defoe told him, "is it sufficient?"

Watson nodded and turned back into the house.

"Where are you going?" Defoe asked.

"To get some shoes."

Five minutes later, Watson stepped out of the farm house and locked the door behind him. He had pulled on a pair of white sneakers and a black jacket. He strode over to Defoe, "we leaving then?"

Defoe smiled as Watson got into the back of the helicopter and put his seat belt on. Defoe sat in the front next to the pilot, "let's go. Make it fast."

The pilot ascended and Watson gazed down at the barren Texas landscape. He hated the place and was glad to be leaving. He would much rather have accepted the job as the White House head of security, but he knew that would mean seeing her again,

Rob Watson and his FBI partner Lucy Vasquez crept through a pitch black alleyway in the dead of night. Watson got out his torch and shone it at the abandoned warehouse they had been called to. There was a possible terrorist cell operating from there.

"I think we should call for backup Rob," Lucy said.

 "I don't think there is a terrorist cell here Lucy," Watson replied, "Clay French isn't the best of sources."

They crept along the alleyway to a large metal door, Watson handed Lucy the torch, "hold this for a second."

He pressed his shoulder to the door and pushed; the lock on the other side was not very strong and broke without much force. He peered into the dark room and pulled out his pistol from the inside of his suit jacket and took the torch back from Lucy, "come on."

Lucy took out her pistol and followed. Watson shinned the torch around the room and they saw nothing.

"I think you were right Rob," Lucy said, "let's go."

"Yeah," he replied.

They turned to leave, but suddenly all the lights flickered on. Watson and Lucy spun around to see about ten or so armed Middle Eastern men stood before them.

"Looking for us?" One of them asked.

"Get to cover Lucy!" Watson yelled.

They dived behind a large metal crate just as the terrorists fired their machine guns at them. Watson looked at Lucy, "are you alright?"

She nodded, "we should call for back up."

Watson agreed, "Call it in."

Lucy got out her walkie talkie and spoke into it, "Andrea are you there?"

"What is Agent Vasquez?" the woman called Andrea in the FBI headquarters asked.

"Listen," Lucy yelled above the sound of the gunfire, "we need back up! We're at-"

Suddenly a bullet burst through the crate and smashed into the walkie talkie, instantly shattering it to pieces. Lucy swore loudly and turned to Watson, "what do we do?"

Watson signaled to their pistols and Lucy nodded. They leaped to their feet and fired at the terrorists. They shot four of them who fell to the floor helplessly. Watson and Lucy then ran to the wall and hid behind a large metal statue. They looked at the bottom of the grey wall and saw an opening into the ventilation shaft.

"Get in there," Watson commanded.

Lucy bent down and crawled into the dark vent. She looked back at Watson, "you still got that torch?"

"No time!" Watson yelled as the terrorists ran around the corner.

He dived into the vent as the terrorist fired at them. He shot three of the terrorists as they crawled away. They followed the vent which took a turn to the left. Lucy continued to crawl and suddenly the bottom metal sheet of the vent fell away and Lucy and Watson fell into the darkness. Watson grabbed onto the ledge as Lucy continued to fall.

"Lucy!" he yelled.

"Watson!" Lucy replied, "Let's go. I only fell ten feet."

Watson hesitated and let go of the cold metal and he fell through the air. He was only in the air for a second and then he hit the cold concrete floor. He groaned and Lucy knelt beside him, "torch."

Watson reached into his pocket and took out his torch and passed it to Lucy. She flicked it on and shone it around. They had fallen into a dark and damp concrete corridor.

"This must be where the bombs are," Watson stated as he got to his feet.

"Let's find out," Lucy smiled.

She held the torch and her pistol as she crept down the corridor toward a grey metal door. Watson followed with his pistol drawn, "be careful."

Lucy placed her hand on the door handle and opened it. Inside were two of the terrorists. They aimed their machine guns at the pair, but the FBI Agents were far too fast, Lucy shot the terrorist on the left and Watson the right. The room was large and it smelt of sewage, in the corner there were many packs of C4 and lots of ammunition. The other nine terrorists came running at them down the corridor they had just come, "kill them!"

Watson slammed the door shut and bolted it. Lucy ran over to the weaponry and picked up a pack of C4 explosive. She stuck it to the door and stepped back. Watson smiled, "you're too good at this."

He stepped back and shot the pack of C4 and it exploded sending all nine terrorists flying. Two of the terrorists were killed instantly and the others groaned as the stated to get up.

"Run!" Watson yelled.

He and Lucy sprinted down the corridor to the doors the terrorists had used and ran through it. On the other side was a rusted metal ladder, Lucy looked back at the terrorists, the seven survivors were getting to their feet, they aimed their machine guns at her and Watson.

"Climb!" she yelled.

Watson grabbed the ladder and started to climb; he reached the top and pulled himself out into the original warehouse room with selves and shelves of hardware items. He pulled Lucy out and whispered in her ear, "hide."

They both ran in separate directions to hide among the shelves. All terrorists reached the surface and scanned the room, "find them."

Three if the terrorist followed Watson and three followed Lucy, the terrorist in charge jumped back down the ladder.

Watson saw three of the terrorists running close behind him, so he turned and fired a bullet into each of them. Two of them fell to the floor dead, but the third aimed his machine gun at Watson and fired. Watson dived out of the way of the bullets behind one of the shelves. The injured terrorist crept toward him, clasping his hand to his wound. Watson dived out from behind the crate and shot the terrorist in the neck. Watson ran back the way he came to find Lucy.

Lucy stopped to catch her breath; she then heard the footsteps of the terrorists close behind her. She turned to the shelf next to her and started to climb it. She got halfway when the terrorists reached her; they didn't see her and continued to run. Lucy dropped silently down to the floor and crept after them. She aimed her pistol at them and fired, one of the terrorists fell dead, while the others span around Lucy fired, but her pistol clicked. It was empty. Shit she thought. The terrorists aimed at her and there were two loud gunshots and the terrorists fell to the floor, dead. Lucy looked behind her and saw Rob Watson, she ran at him and they hugged.

"Are you okay?" Watson asked.

Lucy nodded. Her face turned sour when she saw the leader of the terrorists standing ten meters behind Watson, he aimed his machine gun at Watson back, but Lucy pushed him out of the way as the terrorist fired. The bullets slammed into Lucy's abdomen and she flew backwards through the air and landed on the cold hard floor.

"NO!" Watson screamed.

She emptied the rest of his pistol's clip into the terrorist who fell to the floor. He ran and knelt beside Lucy, he cradled her.

"I'm sorry Rob," she wheezed.

Watson's eyes filled with tears, "no, you've got nothing to be sorry about. It's my fault."

Lucy smiled, "no. You were brilliant. Thank you."

"You'll be fine Lucy," he assured her, "the FBI will be here soon and you'll be fine. Trust me."

"I've always loved you Rob," Lucy sighed, "but you and I both know that I'm done."

Lucy coughed and blood drizzled out of her mouth, “I’m sorry Rob"

Lucy's eyes fell blank and her head fell back wards. Rob set her head down on the floor and looked down at her pale face. Watson heard the injured terrorist laughing from across the room; he got up and walked over to the terrorist. Watson's face fell white as he realized that he was holding a detonator, he's going to blow up the building Watson thought. Watson turned and sprinted through the warehouse toward the doors. He opened the door and ran through it as the terrorist pressed the detonator. All fifteen of the C4 packs below ground exploded. Watson dived through the air as the whole warehouse was engulfed in a ball of flame. Bricks were sent flying.

Watson woke up with a start. He was still in the back of the President's helicopter. That had happened fur years previously and it led to Watson's dismissal from the FBI and his break up with his long term girlfriend, Rachel Fletcher. The black helicopter descended and landed on a large helipad in the grounds of the White House. Agent Josh Defoe jumped out of the front and opened the back door allowing Rob Watson to jump out. Watson stretched and groaned, he hated flying and he had been locked up in a metal tube for the last two hours doing an act that only birds should do. Three more suited Secret Service Agents walked toward them, the front of which extended a hand to Watson, "Rob Watson, thank you for coming. My name is Chris Reynolds; I am head of security here."

"They offered me that job once," Watson said under his breath.

Reynolds leaned in, "I'm sorry?"

Watson shrugged, "nothing."

He looked at Reynolds, Reynolds must have been in his mid thirties, and he had short brown hair and harsh green eyes. He was slightly taller than Watson, but he didn't make him feel intimidated like he must to shorter people.

"If you'd like to come this way," Reynolds commanded. He and Watson started to walk across a paved walkway on the lawns of the White House toward the enormous white building. Defoe and the other gents followed close behind as the helicopter took off again. Watson turned to Reynolds, "so what am I doing here?"

"I'm sorry sir," Reynolds replied apologetically, “I don't have authorization to tell you."

Watson smiled, "you don't have authorization, or you don't know?"

Reynolds sighed, "The latter."

Watson smiled to himself as they reached a small door and Reynolds unlocked it, Watson stepped inside followed by Defoe and one of the other Agents and Reynolds followed last and locked the doors again. Watson looked down the long beige corridor and sighed. Rachel works here he thought. Reynolds stepped in front, "this way."

He led them about 100 meters down the plain corridor and then she turned left to a grey door. He pushed on it and it opened, "in here."

Watson stepped into the room and gasped as he realized he was in the Oval Office. He looked around and saw five suited men sitting and standing around the ornate office. Watson cursed his attire and looked at the suited 34 year old man leaning against the President's desk. Vic-President Jack Harrison had short dark blond hair and blue eyes. He was very tall and slim. He looked up at Watson, "Mr. Watson it's good that you could make it."

Watson smiled and nodded; Reynolds, Defoe and the other Agent stepped into the Oval Office and closed the door.

"Please take a seat," Harrison offered.

Watson sat on a large white sofa. Harrison pointed to the white haired man standing next to him, "Mr. Watson, this is Shane Lennox, my chief of staff."

Next he pointed to a younger man with wavy red hair, a very freckled face and pale skin, "this is Doctor Erik Cremane, he is the head of the WMA, the World Mountaineering Alliance."

Erik nodded to Watson and he nodded back, Harrison then pointed to an ever younger man with a shaved head, dark eyes and dark skin, "This in Professor Raymonde LeStrange, he is a Professor of Glaciology at Harvard University."

"Hey there," LeStrange greeted.

Watson greeted him back and Harrison moved onto the last man who was sitting next to Watson on the sofa, "and finally this is Professor Doniel Larkström, he is the most recent Nobel Prize winner for his scripture on the determination of the polar ice caps."

Larkström had neat white hair and white eyes hidden behind black sunglasses, he was blind.

"Hello," Larkström greeted.

"Morning," Watson replied.

"This is Rob Watson," Harrison announced, "He is an ex-FBI Agent with fantastic field training."

"That's brilliant," LeStrange said to the Vice-President, "but with all due respect, what are we all doing here?"

"Well," Harrison sighed, "this morning at 7.03 am, President Gregory Taylor was onboard Air Force One. He was taking his weekly flight over Alaska when a missile hit their wing."

Everyone in the room gasped.

"My god," Erik shuddered.

"At 7.04 Air Force One crash landed into the Alaskan snow."

"Is the President-" Larkström started.

"There are only a handful of people in the world who know that Air Force One was hit; no authorities have been called to the scene yet," Harrison explained, “no authorities have been call to the scene."

"But the President could be dying!" Watson exclaimed.

"That's why I called the best of the best. You seven will fly out to Alaska in thirty minutes; you will search Air Force One and find President Taylor and the other high priority figure."

"Who's that?" Watson asked.

"It is Taylor's senior analyst," Harrison replied, "her name is-"

"Rachel Fletcher," Reynolds interrupted, "she's my fiancée."

"Rachel was on Air Force One?" Watson asked angrily.

Harrison nodded. Watson ran his hands through his hair and groaned, "It just had to be."

"You know her?" Harrison asked.

"Yeah," Watson replied, "we dated for five years."

"So I guess we can count you in then Mr. Watson," Harrison stated.

Watson looked up, "I guess so."

Chapter Three

The hooded figure sat on the cold snow. The killer looked up at the crashed Air Force One; next to the killer was the RPG the killer had used to shoot down the Boeing 747. The killer was waiting for the call from the mentor. Suddenly, the killer's mobile phone buzzed into life from the pocket of the thermal jacket pocket the killer was using to keep away the cold. The killer unzipped the pocket and took the phone out and answered it, "is it time?"

"Yes," the mentor replied, "terminate every live person remaining on board. Especially the two top priority targets."

Join now!

"And the prize?" the killer asked.

"It has been updated very recently and is now electronic," the mentor told her, "priority one will surely have it on his person."

The killer smiled, "and the rescue expedition?"

"They should be leaving Washington shortly," the mentor replied, "You may kill all but one of them."

"Who is that?"

"An ex-FBI Agent called Rob Watson. Do you remember him?"

"Yes sir, how could I forget?"

...

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