Noah Wolf Box Set 1 Read online

  NOAH WOLF BOX SET #1: BOOKS 2-4

  Copyright © 2018 by David Archer

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

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  This box set contains books 2-4 in the USA Today bestselling Noah Wolf Series. If you have yet to read the first book in the series, Code Name Camelot, you can easily download a copy of that on Amazon for FREE.

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  BOOK 2 – LONE WOLF

  BOOK 3 – IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING

  BOOK 4 – HIT FOR HIRE

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  BOOK 2

  LONE WOLF

  “Throw me to the wolves and I'll return leading the pack .”

  PROLOGUE

  In the course of protecting the security of a nation, governments must often make choices that are best kept away from public notice. Society being what it is, people are wont to believe that everyone has some innate good within them, and that when necessary, they will do the “right thing.”

  Those who choose public service, however, whether it be through law enforcement or political office, soon learn the truth: that even the finest examples of men and women are capable of horrific acts under the right circumstances, while the worst examples view those acts as nothing more than taking care of business. Such people are often beyond redemption, and in many cases they are far enough ahead of the rest of society that they avoid being detected, exposed and caught. While it may be obvious to some of us that they are evil, the vast majority of society never sees it, and so would never sanction the kind of action that is necessary to eliminate such evil.

  For this reason, such actions are carried out by shadows, people who do not exist as far as society is concerned. Every nation has had such people, including the supposedly civilized Western nations. Over the years, the United States of America has publicly denied the existence of assassins within the ranks of the CIA and FBI, which it can do because the Alphabet Soup Groups that are known to the American people honestly do not engage in such things, or at least, only when there is absolutely no other alternative at the moment when such action must be taken.

  Instead, there is a special organization that is so secret that even most of the government knows nothing more about it than that it does exist, including some of those Alphabet Soup Groups. Whenever one of those organizations comes upon an individual whose departure from the world would leave it a notably better place, a request must be filed through a highly secure computer network. The request must include as much information about the person or persons to be eliminated as possible, an explanation in great detail as to why the requesting organization believes it necessary to resort to elimination, and a projection of the benefits to society if the request is granted.

  That request will be delivered to a single person who has demonstrated a capacity for common sense and a willingness to accept responsibility. She alone will determine whether the request will be granted or denied, and if it is granted, she will assign the mission to eliminate the target or targets to one of several teams that work for her. These teams specialize in doing just that—eliminating those persons whose presence in the world can no longer be tolerated.

  Her name is Allison Peterson, and she runs a nearly invisible department known as E & E, which stands for Elimination and Eradication. This department was established under a secret order from the president of the United States, and given absolute autonomy. Allison alone can grant or deny requests for elimination, and no one, not even the president, can order her to approve one.

  The missions she assigns are carried out by teams that normally consist of only four people. One, the team leader, is the assassin. He or she is aided in missions by three support specialists: transportation, intelligence and muscle. Each team is named after something from mythology, which has led to her department getting the nickname of Neverland.

  Noah Wolf is Allison's star pupil, recruited because of something that most people would consider a character flaw, but which she saw as potentially the greatest strength any assassin could have.

  When he was only a child, Noah Foster was present when his father murdered his mother, and then committed suicide. Something inside the seven-year-old boy broke, and from that day on, he had been completely without emotion—or conscience—of any kind. He would probably have found himself in an institution not long after that tragedy, but for the help of a genius friend who he met in foster care. Her name was Molly, and she was one of those rare children with an IQ so high that it was almost impossible to measure. While she lived at the foster home with Noah and other children, she was taking high school and even some college classes in a special education program, and one of those classes was psychology. It didn't take her long to figure Noah out, and to realize that if he continued to act so differently from everyone else, he would soon find himself locked away.

  Molly convinced him to use his own surprisingly intelligent mind to study the actions and mannerisms of people around him, and mimic them in order to conceal his emotional state. She compared him to Mister Spock from Star Trek, the famous Vulcan, because Noah had instinctively turned to logic. He naturally examined all sides of any given situation before attempting to react to it, and by the time he was ten years old, he could arrive at a conclusion so quickly that his reactions seemed natural and brilliant.

  As he grew older, he continued to mimic others, keeping his logical nature as secret as he could. He was considered an asset to any task he undertook, because he would simply examine the problem, decide what needed to be done and then do it. He was never selfish, never lazy and always willing to do whatever it took to ensure the success of any project he was involved in, for himself as well as for others who worked with him.

  A combination of circumstances led him to join the Army when he was only seventeen, and he found it to be exactly the kind of environment he needed. The rules, structure and discipline fit perfectly into his concept of how the world should be, and he excelled as a soldier. He rose to the rank of Staff Sergeant, served three tours of duty in Afghanistan and Iraq, and had more than a dozen different commendations in his file.

  None of that did him any good, however, when his platoon leader, Lieutenant Daniel Gibson, one day decided to engage in sport with some Iraqi civilian girls that the platoon had stumbled across on a patrol. The girls, of course, objected to
being raped, and so he ordered them killed. Noah had been assigned to sniper cover that day, and was unaware of what was going on until he was called down from his position. Only one of the girls was still alive, and Gibson offered Noah the chance to take advantage of her before she met her own fate.

  Noah assessed the situation, and concluded that his commanding officer had committed and condoned the rape and murder of Iraqi civilians, which could be considered an act of war against Iraq by forces of the United States. He refused to participate, and demanded the situation stop, but Lieutenant Gibson told him to shut up and then shot the one surviving girl through the head.

  Noah's computer-like brain saw that the situation was completely out of control, and took what he considered to be logical action. He shot and killed his platoon leader, and then attempted to place the rest of the platoon under arrest. The other men fought, and he was forced to kill several of them before the remainder surrendered.

  Unfortunately, when they returned to their base, it was his word against theirs. When it turned out that Lieutenant Gibson was the son of Congressman Gibson, the up-and-coming presidential hopeful, the political pressure came down from Washington and Noah was arrested for multiple counts of murder. He was railroaded through court-martial and sentenced to die.

  That was where Allison found him, sitting on death row at Leavenworth. She visited him there in disguise, explaining that if he was willing to put his talents and abilities to work for her, she could arrange for him to have a second chance. Of course, it would mean never having any contact with anyone from his past, since the official story would include that he committed suicide in his prison cell.

  Noah made the logical choice, and agreed. Days later, he was taken out of his cell in the middle of the night and transported to the department's training compound in Colorado. The morning news carried the story that the renegade soldier who had murdered the son of Congressman Gibson had killed himself in his cell. His unclaimed body was interred in the prison cemetery only two days later.

  Noah Foster became Noah Wolf, and his training as a professional assassin began.

  His codename was Camelot.

  ONE

  Nouakchott was the capital of the Northwest African nation of Mauritania, and its economic and political center. As such, it was also the center of international interest in the country, housing embassies and diplomatic missions from many other nations, including the United States of America.

  The US Embassy there was one of the busiest in that entire part of the world, with constant meetings between the Ambassador, Dwight Henry Morgenstern, and the country's president, Mouhammed Bamba Habib, and Prime Minister, Saleh Ndiaye. A meeting with President Habib was scheduled for that particular morning, and Ambassador Morgenstern was in his office early, briefing the two men who would be accompanying him to the appointment.

  “Mister Colson,” he said, addressing the tall, blonde man, “I'm fully aware of the sensitivity of your mission, but you need to understand that I cannot be certain that President Habib will give you any information at all. While he may be the leader of a moderately powerful African nation, he's also a father, and I'm afraid he's putting the welfare of his daughter ahead of anything else at this moment.”

  Colson smiled. “I'm going to suggest, Mister Morgenstern, that you leave that to me. All I need you to do is get me in the room with him, and then leave us alone for a few moments. I've been provided with certain credentials that we believe will convince him to cooperate. Besides, my whole purpose in being here is to try to find out just what we can do to help. I can't do him any good if he doesn't give me something to work with. Once he understands that, I believe he'll jump at the chance to tell me whatever he knows, no matter how little it may be.”

  Morgenstern simply stared at the young man for a moment, then looked at the much taller, thin youth that accompanied him. “Mister Starling, I don't know that they'll let you in at all. President Habib has tightened security all around the palace, and one of the measures he's put into place is a limitation on how many people can be in his presence at any given time. You may be required to wait outside the office.”

  “Seriously? And I was so looking forward to meeting the man.” He smiled charmingly. “That's not really a worry. I just go where they send me, and I sit and wait wherever I'm told to sit and wait.”

  Morgenstern turned back to Colson. “Then I guess we’re as ready as we're going to be,” he said. “Shall we, gentlemen?”

  Colson and Starling got to their feet, and were joined a second later by Morgenstern. The ambassador led the way out of his office, down the elevator and out the front door, past a pair of Marine guards. A BMW limousine was waiting for them, and another Marine opened the rear door for them to enter. Morgenstern climbed in first, followed by Starling, who took one of the two jump seats in the front of the compartment. Colson slid into the rear seat to sit beside the ambassador.

  The drive to the presidential palace took only a few minutes, but because the weather was so hot, walking was simply not feasible. The three men rode without talking, looking out the windows at the modern structures that rolled by. The city, which had originally been built to house only fifteen thousand people, had experienced phenomenal growth due to droughts that had caused millions of native nomads to forsake their traditional lifestyles and pitch their tents in urban areas. Over only a couple of decades, the vast majority of those tents had been replaced by modern brick and concrete buildings, though there were still areas with tents, shanty-towns that were occupied by people who lived far below any reasonable poverty level.

  The chauffeur pulled the car up to the diplomatic entrance of the palace, and immediately got out to open the driver side rear door. The men followed the same order in exiting the vehicle that they had used in entering it, and were immediately ushered inside by palace security officers.

  Once inside, the three of them walked through the same type of security scanners used at many airports, devices that use backscatter radiation to show an x-ray-like image on a monitor. A technician watched the monitor for any sign of weapons or bombs. Mister Starling's computer was thoroughly examined, as well, subjected to x-rays to be certain that it did not contain a weapon or explosive device.

  “Ils sont propres,” said the technician. Because Mauritania was formerly under French dominion, it was a common language in the country, although the official language was modern Arabic.

  “Ambassador Morgenstern,” said a young man who waited just past the security station. “I have temporary credentials for your associates, if you would follow me?”

  Without waiting, the young man walked away. Morgenstern, Colson and Starling followed him through a hallway and to an elevator. Before they could enter, the young man turned and handed Colson and Starling each a lanyard with a temporary pass, motioning for them to put them around their necks. Both of the men did so, and then their escort pushed the button to open the elevator.

  “I apologize for the security measures,” the young man said. “The situation here is very tense at the moment, as I'm sure you can imagine.”

  “We understand completely, Mahmoud,” Morgenstern said.

  The man known as Colson took note that he was not introduced to the president's aide, but said nothing. He trusted the ambassador to know the correct protocols for the situation and assumed that there was a reason for this omission. The rest of the ride in the elevator was in silence, until the doors opened. Once again, Mahmoud, the president's aide, led the way down the long hallway and motioned for them to stop just outside an ornately carved door.

  He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, but it opened again almost instantly. Mahmoud stepped out and motioned for all three men to enter. He pulled the door closed once again after them.

  “Mister Morgenstern,” said a young woman in perfect, London-accented English. Mauritania was less restrictive than many Muslim nations on the roles of women in business and government, though the standard of dress for women wa
s still somewhat extreme. The president's secretary wore a long-sleeved dress that came to just above her ankles, and a scarf that covered her hair. Her face, however, was unveiled and visible. “The president is ready to receive you and your guest.” She looked at the two men with him. “I'm afraid only one of you can go in with the ambassador.”

  The tall, skinny kid smiled. “That's not a problem,” he said. “If you don't mind, I'll wait out here with you.”

  The woman smiled, and indicated a chair against one wall, next to a window. “Certainly,” she said. “You may sit there.”

  “Thank you, I'll just sit over here and play games on my computer.” He smiled at Colson and Morgenstern, then went to sit down in the chair, opening the small laptop that he was carrying with him.

  Morgenstern hooked his head at Colson, then opened the door beside the secretary's desk. The two men passed through it, and then it closed behind them. The young man called Starling smiled and gave a finger wave to the secretary, then began paying attention to the screen on his computer. A moment later, the sounds of a video game could be heard. “Oops, sorry,” he said. “I forgot to turn down the sound.” A second later, the sounds were muted.

  On the screen, the display showed what appeared to be the controls of a spaceship, with a couple of alien crewmembers visible at the edges of the screen. In the center of the screen was what looked like a view port, showing some sort of battle taking place with other ships, but Starling's eyes were focused on a smaller frame just below that one. Text that looked like it was written in an alien language was scrolling up, but this was a font of his own design, one that the tall young man could read as easily as any other. Tapping the keys silently as he watched the text scroll by, he was scanning all of the wireless networks in the building, and a moment later he found a vulnerability in the system that allowed him to log on. Suddenly, he had access to every computer in the presidential palace, and lists of files began appearing in that same, alien script.