Silent predator, p.1
Silent Predator, page 1
Copyright
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Silent Predator copyrighted 2021 by Delta James and Felicity Brandon
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Cover Design: Dar Albert of Wicked Smart Designs
Editing: Sandy Ebel of Personal Touch Editing
Created with Vellum
Silent Predator
Felicity Brandon and Delta James
Contents
Prologue
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
First Look
Also by Felicity Brandon
About Felicity Brandon
Also By Delta James
About Delta James
Prologue
Their primary mission a failure, five brave men sacrificed themselves to scuttle the USS Kraken, vowing to protect the sub, its secrets, and their failure from ever being known. Each man damned himself and the sons who would follow to a life of eternal patrol as masters of the deep.
Chapter 1
Shiloh
Twenty Years Ago…
Mary Whitaker shuffled through her papers. She knew what she knew. Oh, they could tell her she was wrong, but they didn’t fool her. She’d found the missing link, the thing that would prove not only that FDR’s administration had provoked and had prior knowledge of the attack on Pearl Harbor, but they had also orchestrated a massive and monstrous cover-up to hide their shame.
Three verified sources had quoted a member of FDR’s inner circle, saying: “The blow was heavier than he had hoped it would necessarily be... But the risks paid off; even the loss was worth the price.”
The Guardian project bordered on science fiction. If what she had learned was true, the attacks on Pearl Harbor and Hiroshima would pale in comparison. There might have been more deaths in the attacks, but the enormity of what had been done to cover up the infamy of both the actual deed and the conspiracy to keep it secret would set military and U.S. history back on its heels.
She wished James hadn’t felt he needed to attend the board of governors’ meeting. He hoped he could keep them from rubber-stamping her dismissal. The president of the university had warned her if she persisted in trying to prove that other Pearl Harbor conspiratorialists had only gotten it half right, her employment would be terminated. The truth was so much worse.
Shiloh, their daughter, slept upstairs. Mary shook her head. How on earth had she ever allowed James, whose passion was the Civil War, to name their beautiful daughter after one of its bloodiest battles? The house was silent, peaceful—only the ticking of the mantle clock broke the silence.
Then, a key in the lock. She glanced at her watch. James was home early. She took the file containing the last and most damning evidence and put it back in the secret compartment of her desk. She loved the antique desk with its hidden drawers and hidey-holes.
Certain it had to have been a rough evening, she left her desk and walked over to the bar they’d had built into the dead space under the staircase. She got his favorite tumbler and poured him two fingers of single malt scotch. That ought to help.
“Sweetheart, you’re earlier than you thought you’d be. The meeting must either have gone very well or very poorly.”
She turned with the scotch in hand and a big smile on her face. She knew that losing her job meant their income would be cut in half. James had assured her financially, they would be fine. It would be tight, especially with Shiloh’s college fees, but they’d make it somehow. She stopped when it wasn’t James’ smiling face that greeted her. Three men stood in the doorway from the kitchen, all in black, with ski masks pulled over their faces and guns equipped with silencers in their hands.
“Please,” she whispered. “Whatever you want, you can have.”
“Oh, we’ll take what we need,” said one as he crossed over to her desk and rifled through the papers and files she had yet to put away.
She was so glad she’d hidden the most important file separate from the rest. Mary’s eyes darted from the man gathering her files and putting them in a pack on his back to the other two men pointing guns at her. She prayed Shiloh would remain sound asleep upstairs.
“Nice of you to put this all together for us,” her executioner continued as he removed what appeared to be a prescription pill bottle from the bag. “You really should have had this filled. Perhaps if you’d taken anti-depressants, you wouldn’t have become suicidal,” he went on in a calm tone. “No matter, the pharmacy’s records will show you had it filled shortly after your dismissal from your position.”
Mary shook her head. “I don’t like using any kind of medication. I had a problem with pain killers a couple of years ago.”
“You were a drug addict. Apparently, the shame and the stress were too much for you.”
“I won’t take those.”
“You will, or I’ll send the boys upstairs to enjoy themselves with your daughter before they kill her, then I’ll kill you and your husband and make it look like he murdered the two of you before killing himself.” He shrugged. “Makes no never mind to me. You can either cooperate, or we kill your family. What’s it going to be?”
His tone of voice and nonchalant manner convinced her she had no choice. She had to do whatever it took to save James and Shiloh.
“What guarantee do I have you’ll let them live?”
“My word,” he said with little emotion. “I take no pleasure in the business that has to be done tonight, but you can’t be allowed to continue to tell your story. The adverse impact it would have on this country is far beyond your comprehension. Now, what’s it to be?” He held out the pill bottle, shaking it.
With halting steps, she walked over to him, took the pill bottle from his hand, then returned with it and the scotch to sit on their couch.
She had no choice.
“Will… will it hurt?” Her voice was strained.
“Not at all. You’ll simply go to sleep and never wake up.”
“And you’ll leave my family alone?”
“No one else has ever pulled all the pieces together.” He patted the backpack and nodded. “We didn’t know so many threads to the real story existed. Now that the evidence is back in our control, there’s no need. You’re the last loose end.” His voice was almost kind.
“What if I promise…”
“Too late, Mary. Now, take the pills—all of them—and down the scotch.” His voice had turned cold, hard.
She spilled the pills into her trembling hand and tossed them into her mouth, downing them with the scotch, then reached for her murderer’s hand.
“Please. Please don’t let them harm my baby.”
“I have daughters about the same age. I give you my word. This ends with your death.”
As her mind clouded, numbness stole through her body, and she felt the glass slip out of her hand onto the floor. Her body relaxed against the back of the couch, and the darkness of eternal sleep descended.
“We gonna leave the kid?” one of the others asked.
“Double-check to make sure she’s asleep.”
She heard footsteps going up the stairs, then coming back.
“Sound asleep.”
“That’s it then. Head out.” She heard him return. “You did the right thing, Mary. You protected your family... and this country.”
Would Shiloh grow up hating her? Would she and James believe she had willingly left them? They had given her no choice.
She could hear her killers leaving and the kitchen door being bolted shut as her breathing grew labored and her life drew to a close.
She wasn’t sleeping well. Shiloh heard the door closing and slipped out of bed to peer out the window. Three men, dressed in black, sprinted away from the house.
Who were they? What were they doing here?
“Mom?” she called as she trotted down the stairs. “Mom?” Reaching the foyer, she glanced into the empty living room and headed back to the den where her mother usually worked at her antique desk.
Her mother was sprawled on the couch, her head lolling against the back. Shiloh cried out as she ran to her. Her mother was moaning. Leaning down and placing her ear close to her mother’s mouth, she thought she heard her whisper. “Forgive me.”
There was whiskey on her mother’s breath. Her mother didn’t drink whiskey—ever. She might have the occasional umbrella
Her mother wasn’t breathing. Shiloh listened to her heart and heard nothing. Easing her mother onto the hard floor, she ran to get her phone from the charger. She spied the empty pill bottle as she almost tripped over it.
“9-1-1 What is your emergency?”
“My mother. I just came downstairs and found her unresponsive. I think she might have taken an overdose. I’m going to administer CPR. Please, come quick.”
Shiloh gave them the address and then went back to her mother. She performed heart compressions, then tried to breathe air into her mother’s lungs. An ambulance siren broke the silence of the summer night, then a key in the lock—her father.
“Daddy! It’s Mom!”
“What the hell? Oh my God, Mary!”
The two of them worked in tandem until the paramedics arrived. James Whitaker let them in the house, and the two trained professionals took over, to no avail. After administering several drugs and using electroshock to try and restart her mother’s heart, they informed Shiloh and her father, they were pronouncing her mother dead. The older of the two EMTs led them from the room.
“You don’t need to see us taking her out.”
“I want to go with her,” her father said.
“You can meet us at the morgue if you like, but as she died in her own home with you here, there’s no need for you to come down to identify the body. They’ll do their official postmortem, and you should be able to claim the body in a day or two. I’m so very sorry for your loss.” The man seemed to pause as if he was unsure how to proceed.
Shiloh glanced at her father. It appeared the life had gone out of him.
“Is there something else?” she asked.
“I saw the empty prescription bottle. We’re going to have to bag that and take it in.”
“My mother didn’t kill herself.”
“That’s not for me to say. Was she depressed?”
“No, my mother loved life. She would never do what you’re suggesting.”
“Shiloh, take it easy,” her father interjected. “Your mom was upset about her dismissal. I… I didn’t even know she’d had the prescription filled.”
Shiloh rounded on him. “What kind of pills?”
“Anti-depressants. The university wanted her to go quietly and made it clear my job could be in jeopardy if she didn’t.”
“Why? Was this about Pearl Harbor?” Shiloh asked.
“Yes.” Her father nodded. “Her inquiries, especially those involving the Freedom of Information Act, were putting off alumni contributions.”
“So, the truth doesn’t matter?”
Her father shook his head. “Of course, it matters, but her pet theory was scoffed at by respected historians, and it cost her everything.”
“I saw three men in black leaving the house right before I came down.”
“Honey, the door was locked. I’m sure it was just a trick of the light. Why don’t you go back to bed? I need to make some phone calls.”
“I’m not tired, Dad, and I’m not a child.”
“Fine,” James Whitaker sighed. “Then call one of your friends.”
The other paramedic popped his head in. “We’re ready.”
Shiloh eluded her father’s grasp and accompanied her mother, sealed in a black body bag, to the ambulance and watched as they closed the doors, expressed their sympathy, and drove away.
Cindy Muncy, the divorcee who lived across the street, ran over. “Shiloh, honey, what happened? Who was that?”
“My mom.” Cindy grabbed her hand. “Did you see or hear anything earlier tonight?”
“No, sweetie. The ambulance woke me up. Is your father inside? I’ll see what I can do to help.”
Shiloh watched Cindy head into the house. It looked as though her mother had been right. Cindy had a thing for her dad. Six months later, her father married Cindy, who helped him regain his reputation and seemingly put her mother’s death behind him.
Chapter 2
Shiloh
Present Day…
“Professor Whitaker! Professor Whitaker?” a voice called from down the hall.
Sigh. They get younger each year and less cognizant of the term ‘office hours.’
Shiloh thought about ignoring the young male voice and continuing on her way. This was her last day as a tenured professor. It had been a great gig, but never her life’s passion—just a way to earn money and garner a reputation while she pursued things that were closer to her heart… and other things that paid better. The Sea of Cortez and perhaps the San Bernardo de Calvo were waiting for her.
“Professor Whitaker! Wait!”
The voice was now close enough to recognize. Shiloh stopped and turned around.
“Make it fast, Fisher.” She glanced pointedly at her vintage Omega Seamaster. “Office hours ended thirty-two minutes ago.”
“I wanted to talk to you about my grade.”
“Interesting. I’ve wanted to talk to you about your grade since the beginning of the session, and you missed two appointments, then blew me off. Your grade is what it is.”
“You can’t fail me,” he argued.
“I rather think I can… and did. What did you expect? You rarely attended class, flunked all but one exam, and did very little of the other assigned work. As usual, you’re a day late and a dollar short. I submitted the last of my grades ten minutes ago.”
“My father contributes a lot of money to the university,” he said, drawing himself up.
“Yes, and I’m sure the university is grateful, but it no longer matters to me. Today is my last day. I spoke with your father a few times during the semester. He shared he wasn’t interested, and it was up to you to raise your grades.”
“This means I can’t get into law school,” he whined.
“Not my problem.” She wanted to roll her eyes. “If you didn’t want to do the work, you shouldn’t have signed up for my class. There are lots of subjects and even more professors who are known as an easy pass… I was never one of them.”
“No. You’re known as an uptight bitch.”
“And we’re done,” Shiloh said, turning her back and heading down the stairwell.
“I’ll get even with you,” he called after her.
Shiloh waved over her head and kept walking.
The little wanker! She grinned. She’d fallen in love with that expression while studying at Oxford.
She wasn’t worried about Fisher’s threats. She had been one of the youngest tenured professors at the school, held three doctorates, and published regularly, but that was all a part of her past.
Her innate ability to find previously undiscovered Spanish treasure ships had garnered her the nickname Cazadora de Tesoros, Spanish for Treasure Hunter. It was this and the project she held closest to her heart that would now be the focus of her life. The treasure hunting had allowed her to walk away from academia and live life on her own terms, and she would always be grateful.
Shiloh climbed into the waiting Uber van with the last of the things from her office. The driver graciously helped her unload her things into her storage unit before taking her to the modest beach cottage on the windward side of Coronado she had once called home. The sold placard across the ‘for sale’ sign made her smile. She opened the electronic gate and walked under her carport for the last time. She’d loved this house when she bought it, and it had proved to be an excellent investment. It was small, intimate, and somewhat isolated. It also had its own private dock where she moored her beloved sailboat, The Sea Siren.
It was The Sea Siren and her converted fishing trawler, The Conundrum, she would call home from now on. She opened the door for the last time and made a final walkthrough of the house. Most of her supplies and personal belongings, not in the storage unit, were already on board The Sea Siren. All she needed was to grab ice to put in the cooler for the last few things she was taking.
