Counterblow: A Javin Pierce Spy Thriller: Javin Pierce Spy Thriller, #7

​Thank you

for purchasing this novel

from the best-selling Javin Pierce Series.

The Story

There’s no such thing as friendly fire…

Set-up and wounded, CIS spymaster Javin Pierce is determined to send a message to the Mossad agents who betrayed him and tried to destroy his team. They escaped justice, but CIS has moved on…

Javin hasn’t.

Short on official options, Javin partners with a Russian SVR agent to ensure Mossad pays. The deal might cost him his life, but he cannot rest until he has made his enemies pay. But can he fight a single-handed war with Mossad? And is revenge something worth loosing everything?

Now more than ever, Javin has to complete this unsanctioned mission … all without leaving a trace.

​COUNTERBLOW

JAVIN PIERCE SERIES -

BOOK SEVEN

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 - Javin Reborn - Short Story

Bonus - The Extractor (Jack Storm #1) Prologue

Bonus - The Extractor (Jack Storm #1) Chapter One

Bonus - The Extractor (Jack Storm #1) Chapter Two

Bonus - The Extractor (Jack Storm #1) Chapter Three

Acknowledgements

Copyright

Chapter One

Canadian Intelligence Service Headquarters

Ottawa, Canada

Javin Pierce had just received a call from Mila Kuznetsova, the Russian SVR operative who was supposed to be dead. What’s going on here? He drew in a deep breath, feeling a warmth spreading across his body, as the adrenaline shot through his system. How can this be a fight-or-flight moment? Fight to find the truth, perhaps. He shrugged and said, How did this happen?

Mila’s voice took on a playful tone. Oh, not on the phone. When can we meet?

Eh, I’m not sure. It’s going to be a long trip to Moscow and—

Who said I’m in Moscow?

Where are you?

Some place much closer to Canada.

How close?

Across the border. I’m in DC.

Washington, DC?

Yes. When can you come?

A grin stretched across Javin’s face. He could go any time. He had requested personal leave before the Canadian Intelligence Service, or CIS, would have forced him into administrative leave. It all happened because of the botched-up London operation.

Then he frowned when he thought about Liberty, his girlfriend, and the promise he had made to her that they were going to spend the time together. He sighed. I’ll have to make things work with Liberty, but I also need to know what happened to Mila. Give me some time, a day, to make plans.

So, the day after tomorrow?

That will work.

Ten a.m.?

How about noon?

Are you asking me out, Javin?

He frowned and felt his forehead wrinkle. He shook his head. No, it’s not like that. A lot of things have changed since… His voice trailed off, and he hesitated a moment, before saying, Since your… your event.

Oh, what did I miss? Mila’s voice took on an edgy tone and turned cold.

Not on the phone. But I’ll tell you—no, I’ll show you when we meet.

All right, Javin, always the man of surprises…

Not like yours, for certain. Now, what is this about?

A favor.

Something that will get me fired?

Most likely.

Killed?

Only if you’re not careful.

That’s comforting.

It’s up to us whether we live or die.

Most of the time.

Eh, maybe all the time. It’s based on our decisions, choices, and their consequences.

What about being at the wrong place at the wrong time?

Okay, I’ll grant you that exception. Now, what’s a good email address?

The one you have.

This is extremely classified. Do you have a clean one, never used?

Sure. Use this one, then.

Javin gave her a disposable Gmail address he had never used before. It was verified, confirmed, and linked to a phone number and address of a man who had died six months ago. If someone tracked that address, it would lead to a dead end.

Okay. See you in a couple of days.

I’ll be there.

I miss you, Javin.

He let out a silent sigh, then said, I missed you too. He wanted to tell her again that things had changed, but he was worried she might clue in. He might have already said too much. Mila was a tough-as-nails covert operative working for the SVR, or Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki, the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service. She was incredibly smart and had at her disposal a vast network of Russian operatives and an even wider net of assets. She knew how to find out the secrets of almost everyone. Moreover, she had a history with Javin, a love-hate history…

Take care, now, my Javin. Mila’s voice turned playful, as it had been at the start of their conversation.

Yes, you too. Don’t cause trouble, he said teasingly.

Oh, no, I’ll wait for you. Then we’ll cause trouble together…

Bye now.

He ended the call and shook his head.

Javin, is everything okay? Claudia Aquarone asked in a voice full of concern.

Javin drew in a deep breath, feeling a dull pain spread across his body. A few days ago, he had been shot in the chest. The bulletproof vest he had been wearing had stopped the rounds, but he had still suffered bruised lung tissue. The doctors had called it a pulmonary contusion, and the pain would continue for a few more days.

He turned around and tried to feign a smile, but it didn’t feel right to lie to Claudia. Besides being a long-time trusted partner, she was perhaps the only person he could rely on at this time. The favor that Mila was asking for was probably something that would require Claudia’s involvement.

But he didn’t want to involve her. He didn’t want to share his personal problems with her. She had no place in his private war. He was going to a dark place from which, most likely, there would be no return.

So Javin just nodded. It will be okay. An unexpected call, that’s all.

Claudia walked closer to him. She was dressed in business attire since they had just stepped out of the meeting with their boss, Michael Bateaux. Although Bateaux didn’t require it, both Javin and Claudia always dressed their best for the situation. Javin was wearing his favorite black jacket with a blood-red shirt and a black tie with a large double Windsor knot as he liked it. Claudia had donned a light gray skirt suit, one of the few times she could actually put on a skirt for work. When she was a couple of steps away from Javin, she whispered, Is it?

Javin nodded slowly. It’s… it’s complicated… he said in a soft, warm voice.

To say the least… I overheard some of it. She shrugged. Didn’t want to, but it’s a habit. And you were close.

Javin said nothing. He knew Claudia was within earshot. That’s why he hadn’t mentioned Mila’s name or her supposed death. Javin studied her curious eyes. Will she be able to put two and two together? If not now, it’ll be very soon.

Claudia said, I heard ‘Moscow,’ ‘Washington, DC,’ and something that can get you ‘killed.’ Care to explain?

Javin wavered for a moment. "I’d love to, but not right now. I… I need to gather more intel, to know what I’m getting myself into… before I involve you, if I do…"

Claudia’s expression didn’t change. Her bright blue eyes gave him a warm glow of reassurance, but her thinly plucked eyebrows formed two high arches. We still work together, Javin. Just because you’re on a short temp leave, doesn’t mean—

Javin stepped closer to her. Let’s get out of here.

They walked down the long hall. They were on the fourth floor of the CIS headquarters. When they came to the elevators, Javin pointed to his left and said, Let’s take the stairs.

Once into the stairwell, he said, I don’t want this to happen to you, Claudia.

What is ‘this’?

What happened to me… Being kicked out of the agency, just like that.

Claudia stopped atop the landing. Javin, your leave is temporary. The inquiry will rule you did nothing wrong in London or Barcelona.

Javin shook his head. I appreciate your confidence, but you were there in the meeting with our boss. He gestured with his head toward the door. You heard what he said. His face fell as he slumped his shoulders. The committee wants blood.

She returned a shrug. I know you’re dreading it, Javin. I get it. I’ve been there before. She nodded and gave him a cheerful smile. I’m not trying to make light of it. Whatever action the inquiry will recommend, Bateaux can overrule it.

Right, but will he?

Why not? You’re the best operative in the agency—

Javin smiled. Some people might disagree with that assessment…

Fine. Claudia shrugged again. "The best male operative. Our boss is no fool. You might have your issues; who doesn’t? But he’s not going to let anyone kick you out…"

Okay, let’s say that’s the case. Javin walked in front of her. What’s the next step, after my leave, after the committee finally makes their decision?

Claudia followed him down the stairs. "In my case, it was a written reprimand, followed by a month off from field ops. I had to attend psych sessions twice a week, which, to be completely honest, were somewhat helpful. Some people might call them ‘touchy-feely’ or ‘group hugs,’ but they work. At least they worked for me."

Javin descended a few stairs without saying anything.

Claudia said, "I know it feels awful right now, but things can only get better. They will get better. You’ll see."

Javin nodded but said nothing. He didn’t want to contradict his partner and shut down her enthusiasm. Mostly because he’d then have to explain himself. And she was mostly right. If he showed true regret and improved his attitude and his performance, this would all be history, swept under the proverbial rug.

The problem was not about what Javin had done but about what he was planning to do.

The operations in London and Barcelona had left a couple of loose ends. People had crossed Javin and his team members. The CIS agents had trusted a man by the name of Ali Khalifa Al-Attiya. He was the aide of a powerful Qatari prince, who had struck a deal with Javin. If his team could find and deliver a terrorist mastermind, the prince would reveal the location of a nuclear physicist assisting Iran in its devious plans to build a nuclear weapon. Javin had kept his side of the deal, but Al-Attiya had betrayed them, putting the life of Javin and his team members in grave danger.

The aide was now going to pay for it.

However, Javin’s boss had stopped any and all attempts by Javin to go after Al-Attiya. The aide had apologized for the misunderstanding, and that was enough for Bateaux. He considered the Qataris a trusted ally and had concluded that moving against the aide was going to cause a great insult to the Qatari prince. It was an unacceptable risk.

Not to Javin. He was prepared to take matters into his own hands.

To make matters worse, one of Javin’s team members, Yael Rosenberg, had been killed in action. She was one of the best Mossad assassins, or "kidon," the most secretive branch of the Israeli intelligence service, responsible for the assassination of Israel’s enemies on foreign soil. Her blood was crying from the ground at Javin, like a voice calling for revenge.

The men who had targeted her were members of her own agency, Mossad.

Javin was now going to war with Mossad.

He couldn’t drag Claudia into any of it.

But he’d need all the allies he could get. That’s where Mila came into the picture. A good start, he thought, but definitely not enough. I still need to make a trip to Beijing and talk to a man about a drone…

​Chapter Two

Two Days Later

Washington, DC

United States of America

Javin had arrived earlier that morning with Liberty. He wanted to enjoy the tourist landmarks of the US capital: the White House, the Washington Monument, and the National Mall. They visited them all, and Javin tried to live in the moment, holding hands with Liberty, the only sign of public affection she’d allow herself. Liberty was raised in a strict conservative home, her mother being the true British woman taught to never show her feelings, especially in public. We’re not teenagers, Javin, she scolded him playfully when he tried to kiss her, but didn’t stop him. Their lips touched for just a moment, long enough to send Javin’s heart racing with anticipation.

He didn’t mind Liberty’s slap on the wrist and found it relaxing when he allowed her to take the initiative. Maybe it was because he had to be in control at all times when running an operation. Most times, he was surrounded by danger from all sides, and the possibility of death, which was constantly in his thoughts. Even here, today, while he was enjoying a day of sightseeing with his lovely girlfriend, the upcoming meeting with Mila was at the back of his mind.

He hadn’t lied to Liberty about the reason why they were visiting Washington, DC at this time. He had promised to be as truthful with her as the agency would allow him, without divulging classified information that could endanger any operations. The secrecy served the agency, but it also protected her life. The less she knew about Javin’s professional life and his missions, the better. Liberty would be less of a target if Javin’s enemies were unaware of the existence of his new love.

So he had told Liberty he was meeting at noon with a colleague, someone he had worked with. Javin remained silent about Mila’s nationality, her recent return from the dead, and his passionate past with her. There was a time when he was on the fence about which woman to choose, Liberty or Mila. At one point, the scale was tipped in favor of the Russian. Then Javin learned about her sudden death, killed in a clash with terrorists in St. Petersburg. He had looked into the incident, and everything seemed to support that scenario. A week later, Mila had called him, alive and well.

How much does she know? Javin thought as they rode in the back of a yellow cab.

The cab driver, a chatty middle-aged Pakistani man with the obligatory mustache and a thick accent, dropped them off on Pennsylvania Ave, south of the Ritz Carlton. Javin’s meeting was taking place at the Old Boat Tavern, three blocks away. Liberty had started to get used to Javin’s modus operandi. He liked to walk to the meeting place with plenty of time for reconnaissance, or just to have a quick look around, as he had explained to her. But she knew what he was doing. She was a quick study. Her years of working in refugee camps all over war-torn areas of the globe had taught her a thing or two about survival and situational awareness.

Here we are. Javin slowed down and stopped across from the restaurant. He looked at the establishment, which had a tall, dark wooden door fit for a castle. The landscape outside was meticulous, with rocks, shrubs, and trees. A man was raking golden-brown leaves that had fallen, gathering them into a corner of the cobblestoned sidewalk.

How long will you be? Liberty asked in a slightly annoyed voice.

She understood it was a business meeting and Javin had to go, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

Not sure. Javin shrugged. Let’s say two hours.

Two hours. Liberty nodded.

I’ll call you if it stretches longer than that, but it shouldn’t.

I hope it doesn’t. We still have the museum and the cruise…

Liberty had planned a trip to the National Air and Space Museum. She loved to fly and had a private pilot’s license, allowing her to fly single-engine aircraft. She wanted to see the original Flyer of the Wright Brothers from 1903 and the Spirit of St. Louis, the first plane to be flown solo across the Atlantic Ocean, piloted by Charles Lindbergh.

Of course, we’re not going to miss them.

Promise?

Javin smiled.

It was one of Liberty’s quirks, and Javin had grown fond of it. He was going to keep his word regardless of whether he said the magic word or not. But if Liberty wanted it that way, he wasn’t about to argue with her.

Promise, he said.

He glanced through the restaurant’s windows, but the trees and the reflection of the gray curtain of clouds on the glass obscured his view. Still, he was meeting an SVR agent, one of the best of the Russian spy agency. He knew Mila, or one of her teammates, was watching him. She hadn’t said she was coming alone.

Come here, he said to Liberty.

What? She gave him a look of surprise.

This. He drew her close and stole a quick kiss, their lips just barely brushing together. But it was good enough.

She said, Hey, that was—

That was very good. Enjoy shopping. Javin smiled.

Yes, I hope… I hope it goes well. Her voice took on a hint of concern.

It will be okay. Don’t worry.

Don’t say that. I do worry, because I… I care about you.

He smiled and held her hands. Me too. Go now and have fun.

He waved at her and waited until a red Honda sedan drove past on 24th Street. He dashed across the street, then turned and looked at Liberty again. She waved back at him, but he just nodded. Then he came to the tavern’s entrance and pulled the bronze metal handle of the heavy door.

The interior, with its dark wooden panels and the dim lights from wall-mounted black sconces, added to the mysterious atmosphere. Javin waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness, then looked at the smiling brunette across the counter. She was dressed in a white low-cut blouse and a red skirt that accentuated all the right curves. Hello, sir, she said in a cheery voice. Do you have a reservation?

No, but I’m meeting someone.

What’s your name?

He wasn’t sure what name Mila had given the hostess about him or herself, so he said, She should be here. Can I have a look?

Oh, of course, certainly. This way.

Her bright smile made Javin want to ask her about what dentist she used. She had perfect rows of teeth and luscious lips. He followed her to the left, through a brown door that opened into the dining area with large floor-to-ceiling windows and ceiling-mounted, bright chandeliers. Most of the tables were occupied by well-dressed guests talking in hushed tones. He felt a bit out of place, since he was wearing black designer jeans, a dark blue shirt, and a jacket, although the restaurant had no dress code.

He ran his fingers through his short-cropped hair as they walked by a couple of tables, then the hostess turned to her left. He saw Mila sitting next to a window, partially hidden behind one of the marble columns. Her long, strawberry blonde hair was dyed black and wasn’t pulled into a bun, her preferred style. Instead, it flowed down her shoulders, and her vigilant eyes were focused in Javin’s direction. She was dressed in a black blouse and a gray, black, and white skirt. A black leather purse, large enough to conceal a pistol—probably a Makarov 9mm, her favorite weapon—hung from the back of her chair.

She’s right there, he said to the hostess.

Oh, I’m glad we found her. She stepped to the side and gestured with her hand for Javin to continue.

Before he could do so, she asked, Can I take your jacket?

No, I’ll keep it. Thanks.

Javin cast a sweeping glance at the dining area. Situational awareness was drilled into his mind from the time he was a young recruit at The Plant, the CIS’s training facility for covert operatives. He made a note of the fire exit up ahead, in the direction of the kitchen and the washrooms.

Mila stood up and gave him a restrained smile. She stepped from behind the white-clothed table set for four and held out her arms. My Javin, how I missed you…

Her soft, playful tone sent shivers through his body. He embraced her, trying to keep his distance, but Mila brought him closer, holding him tight against her. She kissed him on the left cheek and smiled again, a full, satisfied smile. Next, she looked at the hostess, who said, Your server will be with you right away.

Javin drew in a deep breath and glanced at Mila. You look great and so full of life…

Mila grinned. Yeah, funny guy. Sit down, and I’ll explain.

Javin had barely gotten comfortable on his chair when the server, a man in his late thirties sporting a full beard, appeared tableside. Welcome, sir, he said to Javin. Anything to drink?

Eh, what are you getting?

Red wine. I looked at the menu. They have a pretty good Montes Folly Syrah. Chilean. Ever tried it?

Javin shrugged.

I’m sure you’ll like it.

Another time.

Why not today? You’re off work, and so am I. Mila shrugged.

It’s better if I don’t…

I insist. It will make my request… let’s say, more palatable…

That’s what I’m afraid of, he said in a tone of resignation.

Mila smiled at Javin, then looked at the server. A bottle and two glasses.

Right away, madam. He gave them a small bow and disappeared.

So, Javin, it’s been a while… She leaned back on her chair.

Yes, Mila, not that long, but it feels like forever…

You were telling me how things have changed. Mila’s face began to form a frown. She gestured to the window and said, I saw you kiss Liberty. You’ve made a decision…

Javin nodded. He leaned closer to the table and looked at her. Mila’s face had a rosy glow, her flawless, pale skin shining. Yes, and let me explain what… how it all happened.

He had prepared what he was going to tell Mila and how he was going to tell her about Liberty. But at this moment, it all felt fake and rehearsed. Mila deserved better; she deserved the truth, the whole, unfiltered truth. So Javin shrugged, then said, I hadn’t decided anything until I heard about your death—

Wait. Mila waved a dismissive hand. "Are you blaming