Deep Deceit: A Detective Morgan Foster Vigilante Justice Thriller Read online

  DEEP DECEIT

  KJ KALIS

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

  Copyright © 2022 KJ Kalis

  eISBN 978-1-955990-10-3

  ISBN 978-1-955990-11-0

  All rights reserved

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved, no part of the publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise including technology to be yet released), without the written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of the book.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher are illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published by:

  BDM, LLC

  ALSO BY K.J. KALIS:

  The Kat Beckman Thriller Series:

  The Cure

  Fourteen Days

  Burned

  The Blackout

  The Bloody Canvas

  Sauk Valley Killer

  The Emily Tizzano Vigilante Justice Thriller Series:

  Twelve Years Gone

  Lakeview Vendetta

  Victim 14

  The Jess Montgomery Thrillers

  The Trident Conspiracy

  The Patriarch Code

  Never Call Home

  The Detective Morgan Foster Vigilante Justice Thriller Series

  West End Justice

  Blister

  Deep Deceit

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  A Note from the Author

  The Adventure Continues

  1

  The only thing he could do was watch.

  Bill Bryce checked the time on his watch and pulled the minivan he’d stolen behind a rocky embankment, the dust and sand from the desert road billowing up behind him. Seeing the plume in the rearview mirror, he shook his head. The billowing dust clouds were like a beacon in the middle of the dusty desert that someone was on the move. It made it far too easy for overhead drone surveillance from the Iranian Ministry of Intelligence and Security to track where he was going.

  “Settle down,” Bill grunted at the cloud of dust and sand as it blew away across the desert. He slipped out of the minivan, closing the door. It gave a loud creak as he did, the dirt and dust building up on the hinges, but no one was around to hear it other than him. Bill half- jogged and half-ran toward an outcropping of rocks that hung over the edge of the hillside, sliding into the sand behind it, his heart tight in his chest. He wrapped his fingers on the boulders as he looked across the valley, the surface of the stone rough and warm from the afternoon sun.

  As he peered around the rocks, the only thing below was Natanz.

  The Natanz enrichment facility was supposed to be a secret, but, literally, everyone in the intelligence world and anyone who paid attention to the news knew the Iranians were enriching uranium as fast as they could. Emboldened by a change in American leadership and the constant squabbling between the United States, China, and Russia, the Iranian leaders thought they were working under the radar at best or didn’t care at worst. Natanz was just one of the many enrichment facilities that were working nonstop to produce enough uranium to fuel a stockpile of bombs they could use to threaten the world superpowers or their enemies into submission on their quest to become a superpower in their own right, establishing a global Islamic caliphate centered in Tehran.

  The Natanz plant sprawled over five abandoned acres in the middle of a coppery brown desert, the hillsides around it colored in everything from pale beige to gold to a ruddy orange, the palette of the desert.

  Bill glanced over his shoulder and up the rocky hillside above him, checking to make sure no one was watching him from above. As far as he could see, there wasn’t anyone, but scanning the hillside, he realized that people who had lived in the area for generations were far better at camouflaging their presence than he was. There could be dozens of armed militia or Bedouin tribal groups in the hills and he probably wouldn’t see them until it was too late. Setting his jaw, still kneeling on the ground, he peered back around the rocks. The only thing his contact, Sima Qajar, had said as they passed in the hallway at the plant was “Get out, now!” Sima had hissed the words at Bill, barely audible. Why she had said them, he still wasn’t sure. He didn’t know if his cover was blown or something else was going to happen, but he could tell by her wild eyes and the way her hands were shaking that she meant it. He didn’t need to be told twice.

  Once they passed in the hallway, Bill had pulled his hard hat down lower on his face and jogged straight out of the facility toward the van he’d rented. After weaving his way to one of the back maintenance exits of the plant and not taking the time to run his badge through the scanner, he left. As far as the Iranians knew, he was just a contractor working on the electrical systems for the plant and was still on site.

  Unless, of course, his cover had been blown.

  Bill stared at the ground for a second, feeling the grit and the stones from the desert poking their way through his jeans into his knees. He adjusted how he was positioned and wiped the palms of his hands on his pants. They were sweaty. He used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe his forehead, feeling the sand and the dirt sticking to the perspiration on his skin.

  He peered around the rock face again, hearing a rumble. As his eyes focused on the plant, a few trails of steam and smoke curled through the air at the bottom of the dry valley, Bill stared. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the plant. A tingle ran down his spine. He knew that sound; knew it all too well.

  A fraction of a second later, Bill saw a billow of a cloud emerge from behind the plant, low to the ground. The rumble sounded like thunder, the vibration rolling through him and the ground as he knelt behind the rocks, hiding. His eye caught the faintest movement in the distance, a silver fuselage jutting straight up in the air, moving slowly at first, and then surging upward, making an arc over the plant and then to the north. A tingle ran down Bill’s spine as he stood up, staring at it, his mouth hanging open. Before it was out of sight, there was a flash of blinding light and then a boom that bounced off of the valley below. Bill fell to the ground, his eyes closed, covering his head, his body pressed against the outcropping of rocks where he’d hidden the van he’d used to escape the plant. He lay there for a second, his breath ragged. What had just happened?

  His
ears ringing from the sound of the blast, Bill pulled himself up. He dusted himself off, taking stock. His ears were ringing, but other than that, he was uninjured. His thoughts immediately went to the people that he knew in the plant – Sima, Zahra, Youssef, Sadeq. Were they okay? Had the blast destroyed any part of the plant?

  Bill pulled himself up just enough to be able to see across the valley again. The plant seemed to be unharmed, but he couldn’t be sure based on the distance. As Bill watched the debris from the blast rain down behind the plant, he realized his hands were shaking. He pressed his lips together and pulled the sleeve up on his shirt to look at the watch the agency had given him. He pressed a button on the side, changing the screen. It had a built-in Geiger counter. He stared at it for a second, waiting for it to register, his mind reeling. Had the explosion included nuclear material? If so, everyone in the plant had been exposed – including him. There was no way he was far enough from the blast to avoid radiation sickness. He swallowed. He couldn’t imagine the Iranians would do something like that. Natanz was one of their premier facilities. They needed it, didn’t they?

  Bill tapped the screen on his watch again, still waiting, impatient. A second later, it read five mSv, millisieverts, the way radioactivity was measured. He breathed a sigh of relief. As long as it was under twenty, he was okay. Twenty mSv was the max for nuclear plant workers each year. “I guess today’s not my day to die,” he mumbled, running back to the van, “At least not yet.”

  2

  The cloud of desert sand and dust didn’t leave Bill’s trail until he pulled on the freeway that would take him south to Isfahan. It wasn’t a long drive from Natanz, just over an hour, but it was long enough on the exposed road. Bill had been checking every couple of minutes to see if he had a tail. He’d dodged them for weeks, members of the Iranian intelligence community chasing after him, watching him in the city. It was part of a cat and mouse game that the CIA and MOIS, the Ministry of Intelligence and Security, played. But Bill knew the agents were nothing more than pawns in a game between the leaders of the nations. Bill glanced in his rearview mirror as he circled the outskirts of Isfahan. Three cars behind him a navy-blue sedan had appeared. He could see it edging over the center line occasionally as if they were checking to see if Bill was still in front of them.

  Bill shook his head, “Come on, not today,” he grunted, pressing the accelerator a little harder. The last thing he needed was to have to try to ditch a tail after what he’d seen.

  Bill wove his way through the streets of Isfahan getting closer to the center. He passed the Mubarak Steel Company and the Mehrdad textile factory as the minivan bumped and lurched along the road. He’d have to dump the van, and soon. He glanced in the rearview mirror, his hands gripping the wheel a little tighter. The MOIS was still there. He had to get away.

  From his time at the CIA training facility nicknamed “The Farm,” he knew the most important thing at that moment was to stay calm. He sucked in a sharp breath, looking at the backpack that was next to him on the seat. He knew what the MOIS wanted — and it wasn’t just him.

  “Of all the days to pick up a tail,” he hissed, turning the wheel sharply to the right, careening down an alley past a few buildings that were built practically on top of the street. He needed to ditch the minivan and the tail. Leaning forward in his seat, he scanned ahead of him. From the open window in the van, he could hear the wailing call to prayer from the closest minaret. It was one of the eeriest things about being in the Middle East, the way that five times a day, the sound of ghostly music was pumped out across the land, reminding -- or warning -- the faithful that they needed to drop to their knees to worship Allah.

  Bill turned the wheel hard again, forcing the minivan down through another alley, seeing the blue sedan make the same turn. The van shuddered under his hands, as though it was going to come apart. He drove toward the local mosque, hoping that in the crush of cars at the end of the day nearby, he could dump it and get away.

  Rounding the corner of the Al-Bashran mosque, he saw what he was looking for. There was a traffic jam of cars backed up on the narrow streets. Just before he had to slam on the brakes, he made a quick turn to the left, darting down another alley, nearly taking out a man who was stepping out of his apartment building, the wheels of the minivan up on the sidewalk nearly hitting the man and a pile of trash that had been left on the side of the road. Glancing in the rearview mirror, Bill realized the tail had gotten caught in the traffic, only the nose of the car visible behind him, jammed between other vehicles and foot traffic. He swallowed. He had a moment of opportunity. But knowing the Iranians, it wouldn’t last long. He had to move. Now.

  Bill stopped the van at the corner, threw it into park, and pulled the backpack off the seat next to him. He jumped out, grabbing a hat he’d put under the seat as he slammed the door closed. He shrugged on the backpack as he walked away, gave only one glance over his shoulder, shoved his hands in his pockets, and looked down. He knew there was nothing else in the van that could be tied to him. Even if the security people managed to find it and towed it in, they would find fingerprints, but they weren’t linked to anyone on any database anywhere in the world. He was a ghost.

  Looking around as he walked down the sidewalk toward Adib Street, Bill knew he needed to steal another car. He was on the opposite side of Isfahan from where he needed to be. His safe house was about five miles away. He could walk it. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that if he stayed on the street for too long, another set of agents was bound to spot him. He’d be a sitting duck, pulled off the streets and dragged to one of the Iranian’s black sites, never to be seen again. Isfahan had been crawling with Iranian intelligence over the last few days.

  Now that he’d seen the explosion at the Natanz facility, he knew why.

  Darting into the local market, Bill’s mind focused on the plant for a second as he pushed his way past a line of colorful scarfs and tunics that a couple was trying to sell. His nose filled with the scent of brewing tea and cardamom pods as he walked by another one of the vendors. He ignored the people that called out to him, focused on keeping one foot moving in front of the other. His mind raced. If that hadn’t been a nuclear explosion at Natanz, then what was it? He’d heard rumors from the people at the plant that there was a launchpad somewhere on the property, but he thought it was just a rumor. Now he knew it was true. Bill’s mouth went dry. Was Natanz more than just an enrichment facility? Was it actually a cover for a military base? If it was, that changed the arithmetic significantly. That was information he needed to get back to the CIA.

  Giving a single glance over his shoulder, he darted around a corner. No blue sedan. At least not yet. Ahead of him, a small pickup truck, covered with dust from the desert, had been left running. He saw the shadow of a young man go into a building, likely making a delivery. Bill started to run, pulling his hands out of his pockets. He opened the door to the pickup truck, tossing his backpack on the seat and throwing the truck into gear just as the man came out. Bill pressed the accelerator and was halfway down the block before he looked back. He could see the man in the middle of the street, waving his hands. “Sorry, buddy. You don’t know what I’m up against,” he mumbled, glancing in the rearview mirror.

  Making his way back out onto Adib Street, Bill checked the time on his watch, the same one he’d used to check the radioactivity levels. It hadn’t even been an hour since the explosion of the facility, but it felt like a lifetime, all the dodging and weaving, trying to get out of the desert and into the city and then losing his tail. His shoulders slumped for just a second. He was exhausted.

  Weaving through a few side streets, Bill double-checked to make sure he wasn’t tailed. The CIA had installed several safe houses around the city, but they only told him about the one he had access to. If something happened, he’d have to reach out in order to get the information on where the next one would be. He didn’t want to do that. He didn’t have time. Changing lanes and driving back the way he ca
me several times, using every counterintelligence trick he knew, Bill didn’t see anyone tailing him, but it was almost impossible to be sure.

  After stealing the truck, he was sure the local police would be out looking for it. With the way they moved, probably not anytime in the next few hours, but the last thing he needed was to park the truck in front of the safe house and then have the police start scouring the building to figure out who’d stolen it. About a mile out from the safe house, Bill decided to ditch the truck on the side of the road, grabbing his backpack again, leaving the keys in it. He pulled his hood up, even though it was still warm for a September day in Iran to be wearing a jacket. The fewer people could see him and the noticeable scar on his right cheek, the better.

  Walking down Masjed Avenue, Bill stopped in the doorway of a local café for a second, waiting and watching. After a moment, he walked inside and ordered himself a black tea to go. The whole time the young man was making the tea, Bill kept his eye on the street in front of him. A second later, he saw the blue sedan pull past. Bill whipped around, staring at the back of the store, not wanting to catch the eye of the driver. How had they found him? His heart started to beat a little faster. As a young man handed him the tea, Bill gave him a nod and walked out the back of the building. Outside, he dropped the cup on the side of the street and kept going, doubling back the direction he’d come, then turned, heading east one block.