Vengeance: A Derek Stillwater Novel (Derek Stillwater Thrillers Book 8) by Mark Terry Page A

in a heartbeat. You’re pretty tough. For an old guy.”

    Writing reports took a couple days. Once he turned them in, he planned to leave, but the State Department guy wanted to go over it with him.
    “No,” Derek said. “I’m not.”
    “You’re an employee of the State Department. It’s protocol.”
    Derek spun on him, stepping into his space. “No,” he growled. “I’m not. I’m officially with Homeland Security. I don’t answer to you, asshole. File the reports and go away.”

    That evening he was called to the secure communications room.
    In a private room with a flat-screen monitor hanging on the wall, Secretary of State Robert Mandalevo waited for a video chat. Mandalevo was in his sixties and reminded Derek of a skeleton. About six-feet-three, Mandalevo was so thin he looked like he was ending a hunger strike. He was bald and his complexion was dark, his skin rough. Some of his critics called him Skeletor.
    “How are you, Derek?”
    “Fine.”
    Mandalevo sighed and leaned forward so his elbows rested on the desk, which Derek thought might be in his office in Foggy Bottom. “You need to cooperate with Brandon.”
    “Do I?”
    “He’s just doing his job. I read your report. It’s thorough, but I feel like maybe some things were left out, Derek. Like when you say you were taken to a room and interrogated at length. Let’s talk about that.”
    “There’s nothing to talk about.”
    The Secretary sighed. “Derek. Listen to me for a minute. I think of you as my friend.”
    Derek stared. They had been thrown together a couple years earlier at a G8 Summit. Then later he had needed a favor and ended up doing some work for Mandalevo in return. He didn’t know if he would have classified Bob Mandalevo as a friend. Maybe. For a brief time he’d dated one of Mandalevo’s daughters, though nothing had come of it.
    With a laugh, Mandalevo said, “Okay, that caught you off guard. But I do, Derek. I know we don’t socialize, but I have nothing but the greatest respect for you, what you do and your opinions. You’re a straight shooter and I value that you don’t kowtow to the position. Jim Johnston told me the same thing.”
    “What do you want?”
    “Derek, I want to make sure you’re okay. Physically, mentally and emotionally.”
    “I’m fine.”
    The Secretary stared at him. He glanced off-camera and held up a sheaf of reports. “I read the preliminary reports by John Hammond. He indicates you were dragged off and waterboarded multiple times. That you were later tortured with electric shock. He also reports that your escape attempt killed several people, including a twelve-year-old boy. You didn’t mention this in your report, Derek.”
    Derek said nothing.
    After a long silence, Mandalevo said, “I understand you’re heading to Russia.”
    “Yes. No favors this time.”
    “No. Spend some time with your son. Relax. When you get back to the U.S., make an appointment. We need to talk.”
    “Sure.”
    “Goodbye, Derek. And thank you for your mission.”
    The connection cut out and Derek sat for a long time in the communication room before hunting up the Blue Angel bar. Six hours later he staggered back to his quarters and passed out.

14
    Sheikh Nazif knelt on a rug facing Mecca and prayed. He prayed for vengeance. He prayed for the life of a man who called himself Bill Black. Standing, he chanted, “ Sam’I Allahu liman hamidah, Rabbana wa lakal hamd. ” God hears those who call upon him. Our Lord, praise be to you.
    He raised his hands. “Allahu Akbar.”
    Back to his prayer mat, he chanted, “ Subhana Rabbiyal A’ala ” three times. Glory be to my Lord, the Most High.
    But his mind was on the two Americans. And on his son, Abdul.
    Prayers finished, he looked over at Ebo, who was finished his prayers. “You have the photographs?”
    Ebo nodded.
    “Is the website ready?”
    “Yes.”
    “Start it up.”
    Edo nodded. “Allahu Akbar.”
    Nazif smiled. “Allahu