Brotherhood Protectors_Lost Signal

  Text copyright ©2018 by the Author.

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  Lost Signal

  An Unknown Identities Novella

  Regan Black

  About Lost Signal

  A covert agency turned him into an indefatigable operative who survives by two rules: carry out all orders as given and never leave a witness.

  Wildlife photographer Hope Small has returned to the Crow Reservation in Montana to capture footage of migrating birds. Her ordinary day full of waiting in a beautiful, remote field becomes a nightmare when an armed man crosses her path and abruptly begins to hunt her.

  Running for her life, she does what she must to survive, only to discover the man beneath the cold-blooded killer. A man in desperate need of help that only she can provide.

  *

  With special thanks to Elle James for inviting me to her world of Brotherhood Protectors!

  And to all the men and women of our armed forces who honorably serve every day.

  *

  Visit ReganBlack.com for a full list of titles, excerpts, and release dates. For early access to new releases, exclusive prizes, and much more, subscribe to her monthly newsletter.

  Chapter 1

  As yet another dream of chubby-cheeked children with bright red hair and freckle-dusted noses slowly faded, John Noble rolled over and reached for his wife, Amelia. Instead of her hip or her growing baby belly, he found her warm, shapely leg.

  Her long fingers gently combed through his hair and though she murmured something soothing, he was too awake to go back to sleep. Propping up on an elbow, he smiled up at her and then leaned forward to press a kiss to her belly through the faded Boston Red Sox T-shirt she slept in.

  “Feeling okay?” he asked, breaking the quiet that surrounded them. They’d settled in Eagle Rock, Montana a few months ago and he hadn’t quite adjusted to the lack of ambient noise. It was nice sure, but different. The city sounds from machinery to vehicles to voices had been a comforting background to him for most of his life. Lately the refrigerator cycling on downstairs in the kitchen could wake him up. “What do you need?”

  “Need?” Amelia chuckled, her face bathed in the pale glow from her tablet screen. “Is it too early to call in a sitter?”

  “Little bit.” He rearranged the pillows so he could sit up next to her.

  She studied the device resting on her belly. “Sorry I woke you.”

  “It’s no problem.” He turned her chin, brushed a kiss over her lips, then snuggled her closer. “You’re the reason I’m free and living in the light again. Talk to me, love.”

  She arched an auburn eyebrow before turning back to her tablet. “This pregnancy has made you soft.”

  He stroked her arm, the back of his hand grazing the side of her full breast. “Wanna bet?”

  She snorted.

  “Seriously, are you craving something other than sleep?”

  “No. The baby danced a jig on my bladder and I couldn’t get back to sleep once I was up.”

  Since the baby had started moving, she would often get distracted, enjoying the sensations. He hoped the novelty wouldn’t wear off as the baby grew. He’d discovered a distracted Amelia could be all kinds of fun. “So you’re checking headlines.” Forever a reporter, it was how his wife relaxed.

  “Ben and Scott need a new lead.” She stretched her legs out, drew them up again. “I had time to do some digging.”

  His mind wandered as she continued her search. Their friend Ben, like John, was a former operator for an off-the-books black ops agency with no qualms about human testing as long as they reached their goals. In search of the perfectly obedient and unstoppable soldier, or creating soldiers with specific skills, they routinely manipulated good men and women into signing over their lives to the program. Men and women who were little more than lab rats struggling to survive in a harsh, perverse environment.

  John and Ben knew the leader as Gabriel, code name Messenger. The stern man who always wore a gray suit delivered an equally polished sales pitch that made Unknown Identities sound like salvation. John, Ben and countless others had discovered the hard way that UI was a pitiless hell.

  In the years since John had escaped UI, he and Amelia had worked tirelessly assisting other operators seeking to break free of the merciless program. With Ben as their double agent, feeding them intel on Messenger and UI, they’d managed to deal the program a nearly-fatal setback, blowing up the lab where many of the altering concoctions were developed and breaking into their computer records to re-distribute the bulk of UI’s funding.

  Living off the grid and ever-alert for retaliation had been fine until Amelia’s pregnancy.

  Cleary making a bid to rebuild UI, Messenger had targeted three soldiers, framing them for a brutal murder, making sure they were convicted, and then breaking them out of prison. He’d expected all to three of them to cooperate and agree that UI was better than a life locked away behind bars.

  Scott Blackwell, the newest addition to their team—Amelia preferred the term family—had barely escaped the worst of it. They were able to deactivate the UI tracking device and get him out before Messenger had ordered him into the lab for tests and alterations. Scott had proven himself a quick learner and John was grateful to have more time at home with Amelia.

  Home. Another concept he wasn’t sure would ever be part of his reality. Now that they were here, despite the quietness, he would not be moved. Not by Messenger or any of his operators. Amelia loved the area and nestled against the Crazy Mountains, they could see a threat from miles away.

  “Where have they been looking?” he asked as she swiped an image to enlarge it.

  “Western Texas,” she replied. “I thought Ben would have picked up the trail.” She scrolled to another news site. “The email they sent last night said otherwise.”

  Due to his specific UI enhancements, Ben often found information and leads no one else could. “Is Scott holding up?”

  “Like a champ.” Amelia’s mouth curved into a subtle smile. “According to both Ben and Jaime.”

  “That’s good news.”

  While preventing Scott from falling deeper into Messenger’s trap, they’d met Jaime. Her open-minded support and creative solutions had led them to this gorgeous area with the dilapidated house and neglected property she’d inherited. Seeing Amelia’s attachment, John and Jaime came to terms and a fair price, and all five of them had worked to fix up the house, property, and outbuildings.

  After months of renovations and restorations interspersed with intense tactical training sessions, the house was in great shape and John considered Scott savvy enough to leave the ranch and handle field work with Ben. To John’s mind, the best part was being in a much stronger position to assist additional operators wanting to separate from UI.

  “You were worried about how he’d do?”

  “More than a little,” John confessed. “I know his relationship with Jaime is a solid link and he clearly likes working with Ben and me, but still. A lot can change in the field.”

  “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

  He scrubbed a hand through his hair, preferring not to go down this path. “He had to get out there. Only a real-world test would allow any of us to be sure. Even him,” he added defensively.

&
nbsp; Amelia set the tablet aside with deliberate motions, turned the bedside lamp on low, and faced him. “You sent Ben and Scott out there to pick up a trail on Scott’s friends, but you gave Ben separate orders.”

  “Amelia.”

  “You and Ben came to an agreement. A contingency.”

  He cringed at the utter disappointment she’d loaded into that last word. “Not a Messenger-level contingency,” he stated. Here he was tucked into bed and it felt as if he was navigating quicksand, every handhold slipping out of reach. “I didn’t give anyone a secret kill order or threaten torture or mind-altering injection.”

  “John.” She shook her head, her rich, auburn hair shimmering in the soft light. “How could you?”

  “Amelia,” he said, matching her tone. “Think of it as chain of command. That’s how Scott saw it when the three of us discussed the situation. He’s the new guy on the team. We put everything at risk if I assume too much and send him out alone before he’s ready.”

  “And you don’t think it might be a problem for him that Ben, acting as his superior, can be invisible?” she countered. “No stress there. No reason for Scott to be afraid of that scenario at all.”

  “It wasn’t anything as dramatic as that.” John took a breath. How could he explain himself without upsetting her? He and his wife were rarely at odds, though they didn’t agree on every method or strategy. He reminded himself their differing outlooks made them stronger, enabled them to survive and more effectively undermine the UI system. The goal was still to eliminate the operation and for that, they needed to locate the new lab. “Sending him out alone—”

  “No, not alone.” She rolled away, twisting the switch on the bedside lamp to the next brightness level before she got up to pace the length of the room. “I realize it’s too soon for that.”

  “Then what option did I miss? He trusts Ben,” John said.

  She sighed, paced away and back, repeated the process.

  He knew her mind was full of Ben and Scott and UI with plenty of room leftover to be aggravated with him. His brain shoved aside the pertinent discussion in favor of pure admiration for the woman. The pregnancy glow theory was true, at least from his vantage point. She was more beautiful, more precious to him body and soul, with every passing day.

  “I get it.” Stopping, she faced him. “I do.” She spread her arms wide, let them fall. “What we’re trying to build out here is important. And you’re right. If Scott or any of our future rescues can’t follow the rules or stay in control in the field, everything, big sky included, falls in on us.”

  “Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

  “Did you really talk it through with Scott first?”

  He nodded.

  “Then, yes. You’re forgiven.” She paused at the window, her back to him as she stared out into a moon-splashed night. “I really like it here.” With an audible sigh, she faced him. “I didn’t realize how much I would love having a home again.”

  He pulled back the covers, patted the mattress. “I assume that’s the nesting phase talking.”

  “Probably,” she admitted, crawling back into the bed. “You should have discussed the contingency openly with everyone.”

  They’d have to agree to disagree on that. “Next time all five of us will be on the same page.” He drew her close to his body, stroking her hair and kissing her shoulder, feeling her body go lax.

  The contingency talk had been a conversation for the men, former soldiers all, and he hadn’t seen any point in bringing Amelia and Jaime into it. Strong, capable women, both of them would have balked at the unpleasant, hard facts.

  Neither he nor Ben had any doubts about Scott’s loyalty. The problem was the UI master of manipulation and his relentless pursuit. If Messenger’s team managed to find Scott and capture him again, Scott had specifically asked Ben to kill him.

  Ben had given his word.

  The candid discussion had saved John from having to give a harsh order, one that would have nudged him closer to Messenger’s methods, and Amelia’s greatest, if unspoken, fears.

  He snuggled closer to his dozing wife, his hand resting lightly on her side. The baby kicked. Smiling, he chose to interpret the timing as an active reminder that his wife and baby would keep him firmly anchored on the right side of the ethics line, no matter what Messenger tried next.

  *

  Amelia woke up several minutes ahead of the programmed alarm, roused by the faint chime of an alert she’d set on her tablet for news that might be related to the other two men Messenger had broken out of prison along with Scott.

  She carefully scooted away from John—one of them should be sleeping well—and opened the device. The face that stared back at her from a grainy surveillance picture bore a striking resemblance to one of the two men they’d been scouring news outlets to locate. Flipping between the reference picture Scott had provided and the new photo that accompanied the alert, she wasn’t sure if she was hoping to see differences or similarities.

  The shaggy blond hair was no longer within military regulations, and the carefree smile was gone, but the piercing blue eyes deep-set under straight eyebrows and the square jaw were an unmistakable match. If this wasn’t Owen Harbison, it was definitely his grim doppelganger.

  The article stated authorities in Arizona were looking for the man pictured in connection to a dead body found two weeks ago behind a convenience store in a small town just north of Fort Huachuca. Apparently the photo came from the security camera installed behind the store to prevent drug deals. With no obvious cause of death and dressed in rags, it was initially assumed the victim was a homeless and unhealthy John Doe. The article popped up on Amelia’s search because the body had just been identified as a JAG officer currently stationed in Texas. The same JAG officer who had represented Scott Blackwell—also listed as deceased according to the article—in the court martial several months ago.

  Amelia blinked away tears as she imagined Scott’s conflicting reactions: relief his friend was still alive and dread for what Messenger had turned him into. Damn pregnancy hormones.

  It was a lead, the best they’d had in months. Sitting up, she reset her alarm for the next morning and slipped out of bed. It seemed they had a great deal to talk about over breakfast before they sent this update on to Scott and Ben.

  Chapter 2

  The cool, fresh air washed over his face, slipped down the back of his neck. Turning his palms up, he tried to catch that air, pull it into every pore. Tried to remember.

  There had been life before this, before he’d been transferred into this strange new existence. Life before the injections and the pain, before the poker-faced doctors scurrying around their labs. There had been life before the man in the dull-gray suit with the sharp eyes.

  Out here alone, he was sure about that life before. When he closed his eyes and the only sounds were from Mother Nature, he could almost say his name. Not his ID number, not the stupid codename Mr. Gray Suit himself had slapped on him, but his real name.

  A car engine purred, tires humming on the asphalt road below and his real name slipped out of his grasp again. No matter. Even the vague recollection that there had been a name and a life and something different helped steady him.

  “Pointer, report.”

  The electronic voice in his ear calling out his codename kept him tethered to the present and his filthy, gritty nest where he was hidden from the rest of the world. The lab, the man in gray, this current position—all added up to something better suited for a sci-fi novel. He swallowed the flash of resentment along with his first inclination to tell the voice to shut up. Any disrespect—intended or not—resulted in a painful electrical pulse that would rip through his body without warning. If the infraction was severe, the regular dose of the drug they’d hooked him on would be withheld, making the zap feel like a Swedish massage.

  He still hadn’t decided which was worse, being a lab-rat turned operative for some obviously black-ops gig or being addicted to an unknown su
bstance.

  “Pointer, report.” The command was accompanied by a minor buzz, not much stronger than a bee sting, but a sufficient reminder of who held the power.

  The damned codename made him feel like a dog, but he gave his report, confirming the area remained clear and there had been no sign of the white panel van with a Colorado license plate he’d been ordered to shoot off the interstate. His rifle remained in position as he delivered the update and the only movements on his hillside were the wind teasing the grass over and around his prone body and the nearly imperceptible shift of his breathing.

  He wondered how long it would take the officials in the white lab coats to make breathing unnecessary.

  It wasn’t as bizarre as it sounded. There were three glass-walled cells in the main lab and the other two hadn’t always been empty. The docs moved him and others in and out, jabbed them as needed and recorded reactions and tolerances.

  Whatever else they’d been pumping into him along with the drug that blocked his recollection of his previous life had increased his stamina, reduced his need for sleep, and amped up his observation skills. The first time they’d let him out into the field, the colors, the impact of each image and every distinct sound had hurt like hell. It was as if he’d been trapped in the newest-gen television with the highest clarity and resolution and the best sound system money could buy.

  The first time out, with the orders and expectations and the penalties for mistakes, had convinced him he was stuck in this new system. It was obey or suffer, in the lab and out, even if the orders didn’t make sense. He was a grunt, a tool for the man in the gray suit, that much was clear. Showing a glimmer of defiance was akin to courting death.

  Only when field ops were quiet like this one, with a full, comforting dose of the drug in his veins, did he recall his previous life and entertain the vague concept of escape. It was a relief to hear a heavier engine in the distance. He needed the distraction.