Interception: A Javin Pierce Spy Thriller: Javin Pierce Spy Thriller, #5

​Thank you

for purchasing this novel

from the best-selling Javin Pierce Series.

The Story

They’re tracking you…

Back into service after going rogue, Javin Pierce and his partner Claudia are working with the Chinese intelligence agency to discover a traitor among their ranks. Paired with a team they can’t trust, the agents are facing a crafty hacker that moves in the darkest shadows of cyberspace. As Javin and Claudia get closer to discovering the traitor’s identity, they realize this is only the beginning…

As they now go head-to-head against a man determined to sacrifice all others to save himself, how will Javin and Claudia outwit the hacker and bring down the traitor posing as a patriot?

​INTERCEPTION

JAVIN PIERCE SERIES -

BOOK FIVE

ETHAN JONES

​Table of Contents

Front Page

Title Page

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

Epilogue

Bonus - Contracted Hit Short Story

Bonus - Deception Book 6 Chapter One

Bonus - Chapter Two

Acknowledgements

Copyright

Chapter One

Outskirts of Beijing, China

The hacker knew he was in huge trouble as soon as he heard the first knock on the door. The rap was gentle, as if whoever was behind the door was reluctant to wake up the hacker at this ungodly hour of the night. He glanced at the clock on the wall across from his couch where he had yet again fallen asleep. He blinked the sleep away and shrugged. Nothing good ever came from someone arriving at your apartment at 3:30 a.m.

He jumped to his feet and bolted toward his workstation at the other end of the room. A quick glance at the first monitor told him there were at least two men outside the door. One of them had blocked the peephole, which was expected. The hacker had installed a second camera in one of the doorframes, about an inch from the floor. It showed the lower half of the men’s bodies, with black flat shoes and dark blue pants that looked like uniforms.

One of the men knocked on the door. Open up. Police. Open up, he shouted in Chinese.

The hacker, of course, had no intentions of complying with the order. He flicked a switch in his custom-made computer, which released a small, thin hard drive. He picked up his black sport jacket from behind the chair, put it on, and tossed the drive in the front pocket. Then he picked up his two cellphones and put them in the front pockets of his black jeans.

Another loud rap on the door, then the same voice said, Last warning: This is the police. Open up, or we’re coming in.

The hacker ignored the warning. He glanced around the desk area to see if he had forgotten anything. He was usually extremely careful, but there was always the first time for a mistake, which he could not afford.

A loud bang told him the police were attempting to break down the door.

Time to fly, he told himself.

The hacker pulled a lever and heard the computer’s back-up hard drive plunge into a specially-made plastic container full of highly concentrated hydrofluoric acid. The failsafe security measure he had employed in the past. The corrosive acid would dissolve the drive’s contents, making any retrieval attempt futile.

He slid his Chinese-made QSZ-92 5.8mm pistol into the small of his back and an extra magazine in one of his pockets and dashed toward the balcony. At another time, in another life, he would have easily fought through this situation. He had done so more times than he cared to remember. He would not even need the gun. But this was different, and he was no longer a young man. More importantly, he had a pretty good idea about who was really coming for him.

Out on the balcony, he released the fire escape ladder. It slid down with a loud rattling noise. If someone was watching his fourth-floor balcony, they would have noticed.

It didn’t matter.

The hacker glided down the ladder, but only halfway.

As expected, two uniformed police officers ran toward the ladder. One of them shouted at the hacker to stop. The second officer aimed his pistol at the hacker.

He didn’t stop.

The officer fired a round that pinged against the ladder’s metal railing. It was a couple of feet away from the hacker’s hands. Either the officer was a bad marksman, or he did not fire to kill or wound, but to simply slow down the hacker.

The hacker ducked, then turned his body. The second-story window about a yard away from the ladder had been left slightly open, as it was when the hacker had checked earlier that evening. He rented that apartment too, under a different, false name. It was his insurance policy for situations like this.

The apartment was empty, as he expected it to be. He zipped through the living room, then listened as he came to the door. Distant footsteps, so he burst into the hall.

One of the police officers shouted at him, but the hacker ran toward the stairs. He reached them and ran up, instead of down. He knew the officers on the street would be rushing in that direction.

He continued to the fourth floor, then another flight of stairs, and reached the door leading to the terrace. The rusty metal door was padlocked, but he had the key. He threw the door open, then bolted it behind him.

The hacker ran across the terrace, careful not to trip on the uneven surface, littered with debris and slick because of the rain that had poured down throughout the day. The dim moonlight cast an eerie glow around him, barely enough to light up the terrace. He slowed down as he felt out of breath, his heart drumming in his chest. I’m getting too old for this.

A gunshot rang from the street, but the hacker did not stop. As he came near the end of the terrace, he picked up speed, readying himself for the jump onto the other building. The gap was only a couple of yards wide, but he was jumping about ten feet down.

You can do this, Han.

He mustered all his strength and leaped over the gap, arrowing through the air.

Han landed hard on his left leg. He rolled onto the dirty, wet terrace and shouted in pain as his ankle twisted under his body weight. Han cursed the officers, then checked his pockets. The hard drive was still there. The phones and the pistol were in their place. He struggled to climb onto his feet and hobbled toward the fire escape ladder that would take him down to the street behind the building. You’re almost there, Han.

His 1978 Mercedes-Benz 450SL was parked just around the corner from the apartment complex. He was not expecting anyone to be waiting for him, but if they were, he wouldn’t hesitate to use his gun.

He limped down the slippery rungs. His ankle was burning in pain, and, at one point, he almost lost his footing, but made it safely down to the dark, narrow alley. He listened for a moment for police sirens or rushing footsteps.

Nothing.

So he shuffled toward the mouth of the alley, and when he reached it, he studied the street and the parking lot behind a small café. His light blue Mercedes was the only car parked there, next to a black truck that belonged to the café’s owner. Han paid him handsomely so that nothing would happen to his precious forty-one-year-old convertible.

He cast a wide gaze around before he slipped into the driver’s leather seat. It was not very comfortable, but he did not drive a classic car because of luxury, or nostalgia for years gone by. No, Han had picked the Mercedes because it was impossible to hack. Newer cars were relatively easy prey for hijackers, who could interfere with the vehicles’ Wi-Fi system and take control of the vehicle’s functions. There was nothing digital in the German masterpiece, just steel, plastic, and glass.

Han turned on the car, then slipped the clutch, ignoring the pain that shot up from his ankle. The car glided smoothly forward and out of the parking lot. He glanced to the left as he came onto the empty street. He shifted to second gear and looked in the rearview mirror. No one was tailing him.

He doubted he had so easily lost the police and the one who had sent them. He looked over his shoulder, but still there was no car behind his Mercedes. What’s going on?

Han turned on the counter-surveillance system he had installed in his car. It was a radio frequency detector that automatically scanned the vehicle for GPS transmitters and other kinds of tracking bugs. The system required about sixty seconds for a full sweep of the Mercedes, but Han would start to notice anything unusual within the first few moments.

The first hit came about fifteen seconds later, just as Han had made a left turn. The dashboard-mounted monitor alerted him to a tracking chip planted in the undercarriage, on the right side of the car, by displaying a colorful graph of activity, like a heart rate monitor. Han grinned. Amateurs.

He turned on the homing switch, and the screen pinpointed the exact location of the transmitting source. Han stopped on the side of the street and waited until the scanning was complete. No other alerts about more spying devices. He stepped outside and felt with his hand inside the rear wheel well. His fingers found a matchbox-sized, GPS-enabled device securely attached to the metal frame by a magnet. He smiled, crushed the device under his heel, and returned to his seat.

Before he had lifted his foot off the clutch, a silver sedan slithered up behind him. The car had no markings, but Han had a feeling it wasn’t just a random resident out for a late-night drive. His hand went to the pistol. If he had more time or was better prepared, he would have tried an electronic attack, attempted to take control of the vehicle, which looked like a newer model Honda. But he had no time and no idea how many other vehicles might be following him or trying to surround him. He shrugged. Desperate situations demanded desperate measures.

He stepped outside and aimed the QSZ-92 pistol at the silver sedan. Han fired a quick burst. His bullets lifted sparks off the Honda’s grille and skimmed over its hood. His intention was not to kill or wound the police officers or whoever was inside the sedan. He just wanted to end the chase.

A gunman popped his head out of one of the back windows. A submachine gun glinted in the faint light coming from a single lamppost a few yards away from the sedan. The gunman slid half his body out the window and turned the weapon upon Han.

The hacker fell behind the front of the Mercedes as bullets hammered the vehicle. Shards of glass fell over his shoulders as the windshield erupted. He was not worried about any of the rounds striking him. What if this is suppressive fire so that other gunmen can advance toward my position?

The thought darkened his long thin face. He crouched near the right-side corner of the front and waited for a moment. Then he stole a peek. The gunman was still firing round after round, but he was aiming his fire at the back of the car.

Han lay on his side, then fired a few rounds. He tried really hard to miss the shooter. Even after the barrage against the Mercedes, a gut feeling told him the gunmen did not want him dead. But Han was not going to be taken alive.

The shooter emptied his magazine and slid back into his seat.

Han realigned his pistol with the sedan’s right-side front tire and squeezed off the last few rounds. He was not sure if his bullets hit the mark. The Honda did not drop to that side as he had expected.

He took advantage of the break in the gunfire to reload his pistol. Then he cocked it, which released the firing pin with a single pull. The weapon took a twenty-round magazine, since the 5.8 x 21mm calibre was narrower than the standard Western 9mm Parabellum rounds. Han wished he had armor-piercing cartridges.

He double-tapped the right front tire, which exploded and caused the sedan to sink down. Han smiled and returned to his driver’s seat. He released the clutch, stepped on the gas, and shifted gears. The Mercedes tore through the street as fragments of the broken glass flew around the cabin. Han cleared off what was left of the windshield with the pistol, then looked over his shoulder. The silver sedan was still in its place and getting smaller and smaller by the second.

The Mercedes drifted around the next turn as Han downshifted, but he was a heartbeat too late. The turn was sharper than he expected, and the car bounced over the curve and onto the sidewalk. Han eased up on the gas and fought the wheel for a moment, before the car returned to the street. He thought about whether he should continue to his safehouse, which was only a ten-minute drive away. It was in a secluded, abandoned warehouse, part of a larger decrepit industrial park, where Han had created a small but efficient hideout. It was off the grid, he had never taken anyone there, and, as far as he was concerned, no one was aware of that location. Yes, I’ll go there, stay underground for a while, until this all blows over. Then, I can find out who exactly is looking for me, and why.

He slowed down and drove extremely carefully for the next few minutes, not wanting to attract anyone’s attention. A bullet-ridden Mercedes would be easy to remember; and it would be a straightforward task to find speeding vehicles in the recordings from the security cameras that were located all over the neighborhood.

When he came near the industrial park, Han sat up straighter in his seat and became even more vigilant. His eyes studied every back alley and every parked vehicle. He took in every detail of the buildings, examining the windows and the doors.

Nothing suspicious.

He circled the hideout, uncertain whether he should turn in or keep driving. A spine-chilling feeling told him to turn around, floor the gas pedal, and drive away as fast as he could. But he shook his head and along with it the feeling burdening his being. My nerves are shot. I’m just getting too old for this stuff...

He parked behind the hideout, in an abandoned garage, then covered the car with a black tarp he had stored there for this exact purpose. Then he limped across the alley to his safehouse. He glanced at the rusty metal door and looked around for footprints in the dirt. Then he walked to the window and glanced inside. It was dark, and he could not see anyone.

He shrugged. Han, you’re being paranoid. There’s no one here. Nobody knows about this place.

He sighed and fished the keys out of his jacket. He also pulled out his pistol and held it next to his side. You never know...

He opened the door, stepped inside the small apartment, and then closed the door, making as little noise as possible. The hinges protested with a small creak, then the entire warehouse sank into silence. Han stood in place, waiting for his eyes to grow accustomed to the dark. In a matter of seconds, he could make out the light switch a few feet away from the door.

He reached and flicked it.

Nothing happened.

He flicked it down and up again.

Still nothing.

He tried it a couple more times, but he was still in the dark.

Han cursed out loud.

A bright light flashed, lighting up the entire room, and a warm, yet firm, voice said in English, Mr. Han, I’m glad you made it.

Han looked at the man sitting in a chair in the middle of the room. He was holding a pistol pointed at Han’s chest.

The hacker shook his head as he recognized the man. "Javin Pierce, what are you doing here?"

​Chapter Two

Han’s Hideout

Outskirts of Beijing, China

It’s your lucky day, or night, Javin, the Canadian operative, said with a small grin. He gestured with his left hand to Han’s pistol. You won’t need that anymore.

This ... this is what you call luck? Han said in slightly accented English.

Would you rather have an MSS agent sitting here?

Han shook his head. The MSS was the feared Chinese security agency. No, but I can’t say I’m glad to see you.

The feeling is mutual. Now, drop the gun.

Will you kill me?

No. If I wanted you dead, you’d already be dead. We could have killed you when you left the apartment, or when you jumped from one building to the other. That was impressive. Javin stood up and walked toward Han, keeping his Sig Sauer P320 9mm pistol pointed at the hacker. But you’re getting rusty. You almost botched up the landing.

Han cocked his head. How did you—

That’s not important. The gun.

That’s my only hope. Han’s fingers tightened around the pistol’s grip.

No, your hope is in what you know, and what you can find for us. The pistol, that’s useless.

Han hesitated for another moment.

Javin fired a round that zipped close to Han’s gun-holding hand. Next time, I won’t miss.

Fine, fine. Han put the safety back on the pistol and tossed it a few feet away from him. How’s that?

Much better. Any other weapons on you?

No.

Javin picked up the QSZ-92 pistol and placed it in his waistband. His eyes never left Han’s face. Hands up.

I told you I’m unarmed.

I need to make sure...

Javin patted down Han and stopped when he noticed the rectangular-shaped object in Han’s front pocket. What’s that?

Not a weapon.

I can see that.

It’s nothing of interest. Han brought his right arm down.

Javin shoved his pistol in Han’s side. Don’t move.

He retrieved the hard drive with his left hand and put it into his side jacket pocket. He continued the search and took two cellphones and Han’s car keys from his pockets. When he finished, Javin said, You can turn around now, and take a seat. He pointed at the chair.

Han stumbled onto the chair and looked at Javin. Now what?

Javin shrugged. It all depends on you, and how much you want to cooperate.

Han returned the shrug. It depends on what you ask for.

Great, I’m glad you’ve agreed to work with—

I didn’t say that.

What did you say?

I have to hear what you want, first.

But you’re not saying ‘no’ right away. And that’s an agreement in my book...

Han shook his head. I might have a different book.

Javin took a few steps closer to Han. Look, you’re not in a situation to impose terms. But you still have options. I’ll outline them for you and you can pick.

You really make it sound like I have a choice in the matter.

​Oh, I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. Javin’s voice carried a hint of mock regret. "You chose when you decided to go behind the MSS’s back. You stuck your nose where it doesn’t