Rogue wolf, p.1
Rogue Wolf, page 1
Rogue Wolf
A Noah Wolf Thriller
David Archer
Vince Vogel
Right House
Copyright © 2024 Right House
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this ebook are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this ebook may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
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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
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Epilogue
Last Chance!
What'd You Think?
keep Reading!
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Also By David Archer
Also by Vince Vogel
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Prologue
The assassin moved with a purposeful grace, a shadow flitting through the night. Wearing a marvel of modern espionage technology known as a quantum cloak, he was almost invisible to the cameras that watched over Kirtland’s main gatehouse. To those watching the footage, he was nothing but a faint ripple on the screen, a trick of the light easily dismissed.
He kept low, his movements fluid and silent as he approached the gatehouse. Inside, two guards sat unaware of the phantom that was now on the verge of breaching their perimeter. The assassin’s hand moved to a small, wand-like device clipped to his belt—a parametric speaker. With a subtle adjustment, he directed a sound, a faint whisper of someone calling out, to the far side of the gatehouse. The guards, intrigued and confused by the phantom sound, stepped outside to investigate, their attention drawn away from the very real threat sauntering past behind them.
Slipping under the barrier with the ease of a practiced intruder, the assassin made his way onto the site. In the security hub, guards watched their monitors, oblivious to the intruder among them. On the screens, everything seemed normal, save for the occasional, almost imperceptible distortion—a ghost moving unseen, unheard.
The offices of E & E loomed ahead for the assassin. He retrieved another tool from his belt, a compact air-launched grapple. Coming around the rear of the building, he fired it expertly up at an open third-floor window, the hook catching securely on the brickwork of the fourth floor. With practiced ease, he began to ascend, the rope barely making a sound as it uncoiled.
Reaching the window, he slipped through it into a storeroom, his movements as fluid as water. The moment his feet touched the floor, a voice crackled through the comms unit in his ear. “Okay. So you’re in,” a man’s voice said with a hint of relief mixed with urgency. “From what I see, you haven’t alerted anyone—their security system is still on amber. Now move.”
The assassin nodded to himself, the message clear. Time was of the essence. With every passing second, the cloak’s power dwindled, bringing him closer to visibility, to vulnerability.
At the storeroom door, the assassin paused, his hand reaching down to his belt for a rectangular device that resembled a small, rugged carry case with thick handles on both sides for grip: a Through-Wall Radar Imaging (TWRI) unit. He activated it, and the device hummed to life, sending out waves of sonar that penetrated the office walls. The screen on the device flickered, then displayed a real-time layout of the building on the other side—walls, furniture, and most importantly, the people moving around. His eyes scanned the images, looking for the right moment to strike.
When a clear path presented itself, he didn’t hesitate. The assassin stepped through the door and moved swiftly along the corridors. The security cameras, blind to his quantum-shrouded presence, captured nothing but the slightest distortion in the footage—a ghostly presence that defied detection.
The assassin’s steps were measured, calculated. He made his way to a particular office, its significance marked by the nameplate on the door: Allison Peterson.
Without a moment’s delay, he burst inside.
Allison Peterson, her graying blond hair swept back to reveal the stern features of a powerful woman in her fifties, was seated behind her desk. She stood up sharply, her face a mask of surprise and confusion. “What is this?” she demanded in a voice edged with authority and disbelief.
The assassin, a silhouette of death, uttered just three words, his voice tinged with an emotion that didn’t fit the scene: “I’m so sorry.” Then with a practiced motion, he lifted a silenced pistol and fired. A single bullet found its mark in the center of her forehead.
As Allison Peterson, the head of E & E, slumped in her chair, a movement caught the assassin’s attention—a sharp intake of breath from behind him. He spun around, the pistol ready in his hand. In the corner of the office, one side of the door through which he had entered, stood another figure.
Molly Hanson, her eyes wide behind her glasses, stared in horror at the assassin—at the eyes that peered out from behind the black ski mask. “Noah?” she whispered, disbelief etching her voice.
The assassin hesitated for just a fraction of a second, a flicker of emotion crossing his obscured face. “I’m so sorry, Molly,” he said, and the room echoed with another gunshot.
As Molly crumpled to the floor, the voice in his earpiece crackled to life, cold and detached. “Good work, Mr. Wolf. Now it’s time to get out of there so you can terminate the remaining names on the list.”
The words were a cruel reminder of the path he had chosen, of the decisions that had led him to this moment. Noah Wolf, the ghost in the machine, moved on, the weight of his actions heavy in the fog of his mind.
Chapter One
One week earlier.
Only a week earlier, Noah’s life had been so very different.
The first light of dawn filtered through the curtains of the Florida Keys mansion he shared with his family. It cast a soft glow across the room. Noah lay in the tranquil embrace of sleep, his mind adrift in the quiet sea of restfulness. Suddenly, the gentle calm was broken by a small, energetic force that bounded into the room and leaped onto the bed.
“Daddy! Mommy!” exclaimed a tiny voice, full of excitement and joy.
Noah’s eyes fluttered open, meeting the bright, cheerful gaze of his four-year-old daughter, Norah. Her cheeks flushed with the enthusiasm of youth, her small hands reached out to him with uncontainable happiness. Beside Noah, Sarah stirred, her eyes opening to the sight of their daughter’s radiant smile.
“Good morning, Monkey,” Noah said, his voice thick with sleep but filled with warmth as he reached out, pulling Norah into a gentle embrace.
“Morning, Monkey,” Sarah echoed, her arms joining the cuddle, enveloping their daughter in a loving family embrace.
For the next thirty minutes, the bed became an island of comfort and affection, the trio nestled together in a cocoon of familial love as they watched cartoons on a laptop.
As the morning progressed, the family readied themselves for a day out on the water. As they drove to the marina, the Florida sun shone brightly, its rays sparkling off the gentle waves of the Keys. They boarded their boat, a sturdy Lowe SS210 pontoon, and soon the family was joining the countless other Florida Key residents who were out on their boats today.
Noah took the helm, steering the boat with practiced ease, the salt air tangy and invigorating against his skin. Sarah sat beside him, her blond hair fluttering in the breeze. Norah, safe in her life jacket, clapped her hands in delight as the boat cut through the water, her eyes wide with wonder and excitement.
As the day wore on, they made their way to their favorite beachside restaurant, mooring at a nearby jetty. Hand in hand, the trio made their way toward Keyside Kookout Café & Grill, the scent of the sea mingling with the aroma of freshly cooked seafood and spices. They picked a table on the terrace with a view of the ocean, the sound of the waves a soothing backdrop to their meal.
“This is perfect,” Sarah said, her eyes reflecting the sky.
Noah looked at his wife, then at his daughter, a sense of cont
For a moment, the world outside their family bubble ceased to exist. There was only the sun, the sea, and the unbreakable bond of a family united in love and happiness.
But even the most serene moments aren’t meant to last.
A hooded figure had just jumped the rope barrier. Noah had caught it in the corner of his eye. The figure was now darting between the tables, and before Noah could react, he had snatched an old man’s wallet with the swiftness of a practiced thief. The peaceful atmosphere of the terrace erupted into chaos as the startled diners reacted to the sudden intrusion.
Noah’s instincts kicked in. His senses sharpened. The tranquility of moments ago was replaced by the adrenaline rush of action. Without hesitation, he sprang from his chair. In one fluid motion, he kicked a vacant chair out from the table, sending it skidding across the tiled floor. The shot was perfect. The chair collided with the fleeing robber, tripping him as he made a beeline for his accomplice waiting on a getaway scooter at the edge of the terrace.
The thief stumbled and went down. Noah was on him in an instant, grabbing the would-be robber as he tried to scramble back to his feet. “Hey!” the kid on the moped cried out, his voice laced with panic.
The second thief dismounted the scooter, rushing to aid his partner in crime. But Noah was already one step ahead. He ripped a strand of bunting from a nearby restaurant display, moving with a precision and speed that belied his seemingly relaxed demeanor just moments before. With deft movements, he secured the first thief’s hands behind his back just as the second thief lunged at him, aiming a kick at his face.
Noah’s reflexes were sharp, his movements fluid. He ducked back, evading the attack with ease. The foot whooshed past his head, missing its target.
Noah rose, facing his assailant. The thief swung wildly, haymakers that were all force and no finesse. Not the types of punches fighters throw but the type used by street thugs with no training. Noah avoided each blow with a dancer’s grace, his body moving in perfect harmony with his trained instincts.
Sarah’s voice broke through the commotion. “Noah, just let him go.”
“I’m trying,” Noah called back over his shoulder.
As the guy squared up to him, already panting, Noah issued a final warning. “I’m highly trained. You’re not. If you leave now, it’s just your pal in the slammer.”
But the thief was beyond listening. “Let him go,” he demanded for his fallen comrade.
“Just leave,” Noah eased out of his mouth.
“Fuck you!” the guy cried, lunging at him.
In a heartbeat, Noah executed a precise sweep kick, toppling the second thief to the ground. In mere seconds, he had the man hogtied on the pavement next to his accomplice.
The terrace, which had erupted into chaos only moments ago, now burst into applause. Noah, the reluctant hero, tried to play it down as he returned to his family, his heart still racing from the encounter. On his way to his table, he handed the wallet back to the old man, who was overcome with gratitude. “Your meal is on me,” the old man insisted, his voice shaking with emotion. “This country needs more men like you, son.”
Noah, returning to his table, felt a surge of satisfaction mixed with a secret longing for the life he had left behind. The rush of action had awakened a part of him that he thought he had put to rest. But as he looked at Sarah and Norah, he was reminded of why he had chosen the peaceful existence of retirement, a life far removed from the danger and shadows of his past.
***
The drive home from the marina was serene, the Florida landscape a blur of green and blue as they made their way along the Overseas Highway. Inside the car, the atmosphere was a mix of contentment and unspoken thoughts.
Like always, Sarah broke the silence first, her voice soft but probing.
“How do you feel?” she asked Noah, glancing sideways at her husband from the passenger seat.
Noah looked momentarily puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I know you better than anyone else, right?” Sarah persisted, her eyes searching his.
“Yes,” Noah replied, his gaze returning to the road ahead.
“Well…” Sarah began, but her words were interrupted by a small voice from the backseat.
“Please, Mommy. Can you put on Dora?”
Norah’s request cut through the tension, and Sarah quickly obliged, playing the show on her phone before handing it over to Norah as the four-year-old sat in her car seat.
With Dora’s voice filling the back of the vehicle, Sarah returned her attention to Noah. “So I saw that look in your eye back there. There was an excitement I haven’t seen in over a year. Not since E & E got disbanded.”
A faint smile flickered across Noah’s usually stoic face. “Yeah. Okay. It was nice to put my skills to use again. Don’t get me wrong. I love our life here. The sun, the sea, you and Norah. Our friends. It’s perfect.”
“But…?” Sarah prompted, sensing there was more he wanted to say.
“But I’m hardly doing what I do best out here. Taking out the garbage and mowing the lawn isn’t exactly the same as bursting into a room full of armed men and neutralizing them all before they get a single shot off.” Again, that slight smile, a glimpse of the man he used to be.
“Then maybe it’ll be a good thing,” Sarah mused as they turned onto their street.
“What will be a good thing?”
“The rumors. That the new president wants to bring E & E back. Renée and I were talking the other night about it. It’s probably not true—or at least not possible.”
“I don’t know,” Noah replied thoughtfully as they pulled into their driveway. “Looks like there might be something in it.”
“Why’d you say that?” Sarah asked.
Bringing the car to a stop, Noah nodded at the front of their six-bedroom Florida Keys mansion. Sarah turned to see what he meant. Standing in the shade provided by the porch were Allison Peterson and Molly Hanson. Noah’s expression shifted subtly as he stepped out of his black Dodge Durango.
“Molly,” he said, greeting his oldest childhood friend and former colleague at E & E with a polite nod. “Hello, Dragon Lady,” he added with another nod aimed at Allison.
“Hello, Noah,” Allison replied, her tone carrying a hint of annoyance as her gaze flickered to Molly, who was struggling to suppress a smirk.
“What brings you both here?” Noah asked, his tone casual but guarded.
“I wanted to do this in person,” Allison began.
“Do what in person?” Noah’s question hung in the air.
Before Allison could respond, Norah’s excited voice burst out, cutting through the tension. “Aunt Ali! Aunt Molly!” She ran toward them, arms open wide. Allison scooped her up, holding her close.
“My, you’ve grown,” she remarked.
“Yes. I’m forty-three and a half inches tall now,” Norah declared proudly, having memorized every measurement since her mother began measuring her a year and half ago.
“My, that is big,” Allison replied with a smile.
Sarah approached the group, her expression one of polite neutrality. “Allison. Molly.”
The women exchanged nods. “Sarah.”
“Can we do this inside?” Allison suggested, her tone indicating that the matter at hand was both serious and urgent.
A moment later, they were all inside the lavish mansion. The shadowy atmosphere was in stark contrast to the bright Florida sun outside. The sitting room, adorned with plush furnishings and a few Banksy prints, exuded an air of comfort and luxury. They all settled in, with Norah perched contentedly on Allison’s lap.
The Dragon Lady, a figure renowned and feared in espionage circles across the globe, made a strange picture sitting there with the little girl. It was an image akin to a ferocious lioness gently cradling a kitten.
“I take it you’ve both heard the rumors?” Allison said, her gaze shifting from Norah to Noah and Sarah, who sat opposite.
“Yes. We have,” Sarah answered, her voice a mix of caution and curiosity.
Allison shifted slightly, her expression becoming more businesslike. “Well, it’s true. I’ve spent the last week getting Kirtland back up and running.”
