Payback corps justice bo.., p.1
Payback (Corps Justice Book 18), page 1
PAYBACK
A CORPS JUSTICE NOVEL
C. G. COOPER
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
STOKES - CHARLOTTESVILLE, VIRGINIA
Chapter 2
THE HOODED MAN - FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA
Chapter 3
BRIGGS - HUMPBACK ROCK, CHARLOTTESVILLE, VIRGINIA
Chapter 4
A DAY IN THE LIFE - PHOENIX, ARIZONA
Chapter 5
FLAP - CAMP DAVID, FREDERICK COUNTY, MARYLAND
Chapter 6
A DAY IN THE LIFE - ATLANTA, GEORGIA
Chapter 7
STOKES - CAMP DAVID, FREDERICK COUNTY, MARYLAND
Chapter 8
CHARLOTTESVILLE, VIRGINIA
Chapter 9
A DAY IN THE LIFE - LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
Chapter 10
THE HOODED MAN - SPRINGFIELD, VIRGINIA
Chapter 11
FLAP - WASHINGTON, D.C.
Chapter 12
BRIGGS - CAMP CAVALIER, CHARLOTTESVILLE, VIRGINIA
Chapter 13
ZIMMER - CAMP DAVID, FREDERICK COUNTY, MARYLAND
Chapter 14
A DAY IN THE LIFE - WASHINGTON, D.C.
Chapter 15
ZIMMER - CAMP DAVID, FREDERICK COUNTY, MARYLAND
Chapter 16
FLAP - CAMP DAVID, FREDERICK COUNTY, MARYLAND
Chapter 17
THE HOODED MAN - FREDERICKSBURG, VIRGINIA
Chapter 18
STOKES - SEDONA, ARIZONA
Chapter 19
BRIGGS - SEDONA, ARIZONA
Chapter 20
FLAP - SALVADORAN SAFE HOUSE
Chapter 21
STOKES - SEDONA, ARIZONA
Chapter 22
A.K.A. MENARD - LAKE TAHOE, CALIFORNIA
Chapter 23
GAUCHO - LAKE TAHOE, CALIFORNIA
Chapter 24
STATE OF THE UNION - ONE WEEK INTO THE CRISIS
Chapter 25
DR. MCKENNA - UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA MEDICAL CENTER - CHARLOTTESVILLE, VIRGINIA
Chapter 26
LENA - SEDONA, ARIZONA
Chapter 27
THE AGENTS - SEDONA, ARIZONA
Chapter 28
BRIGGS - LOS ANGELES AIRSPACE
Chapter 29
A DAY IN THE LIFE - BRANSON, MISSOURI
Chapter 30
TOP - CHARLOTTESVILLE, VIRGINIA
Chapter 31
STOKES - SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
Chapter 32
FLAP - SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
Chapter 33
LENA - A TRAIN IN THE FRENCH COUNTRYSIDE
Chapter 34
BENNINGHAM - AUSTIN, TEXAS
Chapter 35
BRIGGS - SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
Chapter 36
ANNA - PARIS
Chapter 37
TOP - CHARLOTTESVILLE, VIRGINIA
Chapter 38
THE MESSENGER OF GOD - OWENSVILLE, KENTUCKY
Chapter 39
LENA - PARIS
Chapter 40
ANNA - PARIS
Chapter 41
TOP - CHARLOTTESVILLE, VIRGINIA
Chapter 42
FLAP - ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA
Chapter 43
THE MESSENGER OF GOD - HURRICANE MILLS, TENNESSEE
Chapter 44
STOKES - DENVER, COLORADO
Chapter 45
FLAP - FAIRFAX, VIRGINIA
Chapter 46
GAUCHO - CHARLOTTESVILLE, VIRGINIA
Chapter 47
LENA - PARIS
Chapter 48
STOKES - WASHINGTON, D.C.
Chapter 49
THE MESSENGER OF GOD - ADAMSVILLE, TENNESSEE
Chapter 50
BRIGGS - CHARLOTTESVILLE, VIRGINIA
Chapter 51
LENA - SOMEWHERE IN BULGARIA
Chapter 52
ZIMMER - UNDERNEATH PENNSYLVANIA
Chapter 53
FLAP - WASHINGTON, D.C.
Chapter 54
LENA - STOLIPINOVO, BULGARIA
Chapter 55
STOKES - CHARLOTTESVILLE, VIRGINIA
Chapter 56
BRIGGS - CHARLOTTESVILLE, VIRGINIA
Chapter 57
ZIMMER - CHARLOTTESVILLE, VIRGINIA
Chapter 58
THE MESSENGER OF GOD - MIDLOTHIAN, VIRGINIA
Chapter 59
FLAP - WASHINGTON, D.C.
Chapter 60
LENA - SOMEWHERE OVER THE EUROPEAN CONTINENT
Chapter 61
FLAP - WASHINGTON, D.C.
Chapter 62
BRIGGS - CHARLOTTESVILLE, VIRGINIA
Chapter 63
THE MESSENGER OF GOD - CHARLOTTESVILLE, VIRGINIA
Chapter 64
FLAP - WASHINGTON, D.C.
Chapter 65
SPRINGER - CHARLOTTESVILLE, VIRGINIA
Chapter 66
THE MESSENGER OF GOD - CHARLOTTESVILLE, VIRGINIA
Chapter 67
BRIGGS - CHARLOTTESVILLE, VIRGINIA
Chapter 68
STOKES - CHARLOTTESVILLE, VIRGINIA
Chapter 69
FLAP - WASHINGTON, D.C.
Chapter 70
FLAP - SOMEWHERE IN VIRGINIA
Epilogue
A Letter To Readers
Also by C. G. Cooper
About the Author
“PAYBACK”
A Corps Justice Novel
Copyright © 2022 JBD Entertainment, LLC.
All Rights Reserved
Author: C. G. Cooper
This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, locations and events are all products of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to actual events or real persons are completely coincidental.
Warning: This story is intended for mature audiences and contains profanity and violence.
A portion of all profits from the sale of my novels goes to fund OPERATION C4, our nonprofit initiative serving junior military officers. For more information visit OperationC4.com.
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PROLOGUE
FLAP - FAIRFAX COUNTY, VIRGINIA
The death of Konstantin Yegorovich was ground zero for the ripple of shock waves that rattled every aspect of political civilization: finance, military, and intelligence. But the man sitting in the darkening room in the Virginia countryside, sipping a glass of cold, reverse-osmosis water, was thinking of none of those things. Rather, his mind was on the envelope that lay on the table beside him.
He’d never considered the Russian president a friend. An ally, for sure, a helper along the way, a facilitator, a treasure trove of information and intelligence that put Edmond Flap in the seat where he now sat. But a friend? The line between friendship and useful human was one for which Yegorovich had a perennial blind spot. But the director of the CIA was clear-eyed in his assessment of personal relationships. He knew friendships couldn’t be forged over vodka.
During the past week, he’d been inundated by senators, congressmen, and the president himself with questions about Russia and what would happen next. He answered them calmly and methodically. For years, he’d studied the art of appearing either interested or disinterested, depending on what was best for the situation at hand. National security was the coal mine and Flap was the canary. How did he want to play this one?
He took another sip of water and looked over at the envelope sitting on the table next to him. It was addressed with Yegorovich’s spider-thin stroke, handwriting he'd first seen in Berlin in the late ’80s. Back then, Flap had been a station chief before being kicked to the dregs. Yegorovich had saved him. Years before his second act as Russian president, the Yegorovich of 1988 was a newly minted spy, nothing special, just an ambitious young Soviet who knew how to wring personal benefit out of any opportunity. That opportunistic capacity had served them both well through the years.
They’d grown cynical together, formed a firm bond of understanding, shared meals, killed each other’s spies. But as they’d cemented their relationship, they’d also climbed rung after rung up their own intelligence apparatus.
Yegorovich’s ladder ran up through his own government and terminated at president. And there he resided until his last breath, taking whatever he wanted from the sweet shop that was the Russian Federation, manipulating oligarchs, and rattling his saber in the world’s face whenever he felt like the world needed a saber in its face. He wrestled bears and swam with great white sharks—a body bloated with Russian pride and bravado.
Flap put his hand on the envelope, then withdrew it, deciding instead to enjoy a bit more of this untainted ambience before delving in. He’d come out here to his quiet spot in the countryside, a place no one knew about except for Gil, his driver. Gil would never say a word. Flap knew every kink and bad habit the man kept in his darkest corners. That knowledge, and the driver by proxy, had saved him on more than a handful of occasions. Gil belonged to Flap, forevermore.
It was time. The water glass went down, and the envelope came up. The CIA director ran a careful finger beneath the seal. Within was a greeting card, completely white on the front and back. Those familiar spider-thin strokes again—jerky, harsh, and inelegant, yet bold and strong. Very much what the Russian president had been—rough, up from the ranks, his supposed refinement merely a matter of optics.
The envelope and the note had been delivered anonymously. That was to be expected. But Flap was still flummoxed over the fact that it had taken so long. He’d expected something immediate, maybe a message through their secure system, an email, or perhaps a plain message slipped through one of their many social media channels. The delay gave him pause.
He pursed his lips and read the note.
My Dear Edmond,
If you're reading this, it means that my demise has finally come. I know you won’t mourn for me as you are not a man of mourning. Nevertheless, you’ve known me longer than anyone, and while I know you’re not an emotional man, I can be, and I am proud to call you friend. And so, as my only living friend left on Earth, I leave you a gift, something extraordinary. How I wish I could be there to see what you do with this gift. And I hope you will do much.
At the end of this note, you’ll see a twelve-word phrase. You know what it’s for—but let me tell you what it gives you: Every penny I’ve scraped together on my own, every dollar I’ve stolen, every coin I’ve ripped from the grubby hands of the undeserving among my countrymen. I guess you could call it my final legacy.
At the time of this writing, the number stands at just over 500 billion, American. I won’t tell you what to do with it because you have an imagination much like my own. My only regret is that I won’t be there to see you spend it.
Please, Edmond, take this gift and sow the chaos that you and I so loved.
Death is the end of all, and so I do not believe we will see each other again. Farewell.
Your friend,
Konstantin
Flap reread the note three times to make sure there were no catches. Yegorovich was typically a straight shooter with him, but the delay in delivery meant more hands touching the thing, which meant more opportunities to adulterate the contents.
Satisfied, he placed the fake Hallmark atop its torn envelope and took a long breath, letting it out slowly. It was his way of dancing around the room in joy. He’d earned this. And while he had no need for political office, the Russian president was right. There was always more chaos to be wrought, more power to be grabbed, and old vendettas to set straight.
He’d le for two newcomers in his life. Two Marines who were proud and patriotic, and naively assumed Flap to be the same.
Flap had the history on one of them. A full dossier, the good and the bad, the murders and the awards. That one, Briggs, would have to be watched.
The other was the alpha and the omega of his true objective: He would ruin the life of the son of Major Calvin Stokes. The sins of the father would be redressed even if it meant spending the rest of his life doing it.
Yes, and in the process, this gift would solidify his own standing in the world.
Flap picked up the card, memorized the passcode, and then walked to the fireplace in the corner. He dropped the envelope and the card atop the slowly burning log and watched the edges curl, flames licking lazily at them. In a sudden puff, it was consumed.
Edmond Flap lived for a challenge. Ruining Cal Stokes’s life was going to be just that.
It was also going to be fun.
CHAPTER
ONE
STOKES - CHARLOTTESVILLE, VIRGINIA
It was well after midnight and the last thing he wanted to do was sleep. He walked down Rugby Road, past a group of three girls sitting on the curb, giggling, one of them swaying back and forth. It was a Friday night. They deserved their fun. Cal had once been a student at the University of Virginia himself. He never finished, thanks to nineteen hijackers on a single morning one September, but he remembered those nights. Work hard, play hard.
Thumping bass and cheering partygoers streamed from the fraternity houses he passed. It was one of those perfect fall nights, crisp enough that the Virginia humidity no longer lingered. Part of him wanted to go into one of those fraternity houses, grab a beer, and pretend that he was one of them. It would be fun to pretend he was back in school when things were simple, and he’d been an innocent. But even though he looked younger than his age, he knew the students in their late teens and early twenties would home in on him like he was a narc. To them, he was old. That made him smile. He didn’t feel old. He was in the best shape of his life, his mind quicker, more adept than it had been, even as a top student here at UVA.
A young man ran by, followed by a group of his friends. The one out in front held a shoe up in the air as he sprinted by. And sure enough, there in the chasing crowd, another young man hobbled along on one shoed foot. They laughed and hooted, completely ignorant to anything that did not exist within their small bubble. That was the gift of innocence. Maybe in that bubble was a whispering voice that told them it would not last, and that once out of the bubble, they would be out for good.
Or maybe those were merely the thoughts Cal Stokes had as he pined for his own days of dirty socks, beer cans, and not caring a lick for the problems of the world.
If so, you could blame old Father Time for them, like you could blame him for the fact that Cal liked feeling the energy of 18-year-olds just starting out in life, getting their first taste of freedom. That was what Cal Stokes fought for, their right to that freedom, their right to be innocent, their right to be here. And maybe his right to feed off them like a vampire.
