Recruited Read online

  Recruited

  A Rayna Tan Thriller

  Wesley Robert Lowe

  Wesley Lowe Media

  Copyright © Wesley Robert Lowe 2016

  All Rights Reserved

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Connect

  Author’s Introduction

  JTF2 Mandate

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Excerpts from American Terrorist

  Also by Wesley Robert Lowe

  About the Author

  Connect

  Acknowledgments

  Connect

  Join our Action Thriller Readers Group for information on free books, new releases, exclusive content, special giveaways and prizes. Information is at the end of this book or visit my website at www.wesleyrobertlowe.com

  Facta Non Verba

  Deeds, not words

  Canadian Special Forces JTF2

  Author’s Introduction

  RECRUITED is a work of fiction. Although inspired by real people and events, any resemblance between the story’s characters and real world events is unintentional or coincidental.

  Names of some locations have been altered to protect the innocent, reflecting the powder-keg sensitivities that exist in certain cities, provinces, districts and nations.

  In the usage of Arabic names, I have not used traditional formal practices. These can result in long names with words that the majority of readers (and myself) find difficult to understand. Instead, I use just a first name, for the most part. That will make it easier to follow without losing any of the story’s importance.

  While the Rayna Tan series is not a war series, it’s helpful to know a bit about Special Forces. I’m sure you have read or seen movies with the American Navy SEALs or the British Special Air Service, but many readers will not know that Canada has a counterterrorism Special Forces Unit, called Joint Task Force 2 (JTF2). Adding to the cloak of mystery is that for security reasons, secrecy is embedded into the DNA of the Unit. However, in military circles around the world, these operators are a highly respected special ops force, with extensive combat experience including Operation Enduring Freedom in Afghanistan. As Rayna was a member of JTF2 as the story begins, a brief introduction to JTF2 is included. This is not fiction.

  As the prequel to the Rayna Tan series, RECRUITED is the story of why Rayna chose to leave the secretive world of JTF2 to join an even more shadowy operation, Fidelitas. She’s a fascinating character: stunningly gorgeous, IQ off the charts, a sniper in the league of Chris Kyle… Yes, Rayna has her flaws but overall, she’s one very dangerous and very human lethal weapon.

  For better or worse.

  JTF2 Mandate

  GENERAL INFORMATION (UNCLASSIFIED)

  NATIONAL DEFENSE AND THE CANADIAN ARMED FORCES

  Joint Task Force 2 JTF 2

  (Source: Canadian Armed Forces)

  JTF2 is responsible for protecting Canadian National Interests, specifically combatting terrorism, both at home and abroad. They were founded on April 1, 1993, when the Canadian Armed Forces received responsibility for federal counter-terrorism operations from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP). Since formation, the unit has continuously evolved to meet 21st Century threats. Their unique skills, ability and importance are recognized globally. Crucially, JTF2 is the only foreign special operation unit to be accepted into American Tier 1 Special Operations Units, right alongside the Delta Force and Navy Seal teams.

  They are experts trained to operate in the world’s deadliest terrain. Many consider their training program to be one of the most rigorous and efficient programs on the planet. They also train foreign troops, including those from the United States and Britain.

  Admission into JTF2 is incredibly competitive and rigorous. Three years prior service in the regular forces is required before an application will be accepted. Qualified candidates must demonstrate exceptional leadership skills, discipline, resilience and courage, as well as meet physical standards. All operators must work well on their own or in a team and share responsibility for achieving mission success. They must be professionally and personally mature, with a highly developed sense of duty, integrity, and judgment. They must also be intelligent, creative, dependable, self-reliant and proactive, as well as confident yet aware of their limitations, and work best under pressure and under demanding circumstances. Only a fraction of the qualified applicants are accepted into JTF2.

  Information about JTF’s specific activities is classified. Members of the unit cannot inform family members of their involvement. While the exact type of operations assigned to this unit captures the interest of the public, there are many operational risks involved with information disclosure. Being open and transparent presents a significant risk and might seriously compromise the effectiveness of Canada’s counter-terrorism capability.

  JTF2 represents the most precise and combat-ready unit in the country. They are closely allied with the best special operations forces worldwide, allowing them to operate seamlessly when called upon. Canadians can take great comfort in the knowledge that as an integral part of Canada's Special Operations Forces community, JTF2 stands on guard 24 hours a day to defend Canadians, and Canadian interests, at home and abroad.

  Chapter 1

  Irbil, Iraq

  The mission plan came together quickly.

  It had to. Otherwise, the four missing US and Canadian forward air controllers wouldn’t last long. The Special Forces team disappeared while calling in air strikes for the 17A Kurdish Peshmerga Brigade a day ago. Every hour they were incommunicado lowered their chances of survival exponentially, assuming that they were still alive.

  For two weeks, two thousand Kurds on the east and west flanks had been battling ISIS in Naraj, a Northern Iraqi city, trying to take back key supply routes from the Jihadis. It had been a seesaw battle with huge losses on both sides. While the Kurds appeared to be winning now, a video text message was sent to the base in Irbil, then forwarded to the Canada United States Expeditionary Targeting Force (CANUS-ETF) command center four hours earlier. CANUS-ETF was an elite group of under two hundred US and Canadian Special Forces operators formed to engage high-value targets in the border area of Syria and Iraq.

  A simple film that changed everything.

  In the video, eight masked insurgents in a large room held the four missing CANUS-ETF soldiers hostage. One of the insurgents who was standing by the coalition fighters fired four bullets, one into the leg of every man. He turned to the camera and growled in crude English, “No man going anywhere. You want back. One hundred million dollars. Cash. Leave in truck in front of Malla Square. Tomorrow, before evening prayers.”

  There was no way the Canadian and American governments were going to pony up the money the Islamic terrorist hostage takers demanded. While the natural desire was to send in a squadron of planes to “blast those mothers to kingdom come,” everyone knew the best possible chance of rescue was to deploy a small strike team of the best combat rescuers.

  Finding the hostages’ location was remarkably easy—it took the geeks at Naval Intelligence less than an hour. So easy that it raised hackles of suspicion throughout the US and Canadian chain of command. Were the hostage takers leading them into a trap? Were they a splinter group with insufficient knowledge to know how to hide their whereabouts properly… well, none of that w
as important. All that mattered to the high command was getting their boys back.

  No matter the cost.

  With more than six hundred combat missions under his belt, thirty-one-year-old American Navy Seal Captain Jonathan Rogers was an easy choice to head this hasty mission.

  While not usually enthused about relying on foreign allies, Rogers smiled when he learned that his Canadian counterpart from JTF2 would be twenty-six-year-old Rayna Tan. He’d met her three years earlier, back when he was an instructor on a three-week jungle warfare training stint in the Philippines. She was bright and deceptively strong, sure, but what really mattered was that she was so much more creative than the typical breed of Special Forces warriors. Friendly, but not friends, they were familiar enough to call each other “Jon” and “Rayna” instead of addressing each other by the typical practice of using their surnames.

  * * *

  On the outskirts of the war-ravaged town of Naraj, a lightless and decrepit three-story building beckoned. A lone man with a rifle sat outside the front door, but there were no other signs of life for blocks in any direction. Even the thermal sights couldn’t detect anyone inside.

  A few kilometers away, Rogers lowered his high-power binoculars and rolled over. He twisted around and gave a thumbs-up to his recon team, all lying prone on the hillside around him.

  “Oh yeah, this is the target all right. Even a graveyard isn’t that quiet.”

  His earpiece squawked with the chirpy voice of the main assault team leader.

  “Snake 6, this is Butterfly 6. What’s the status? Are we a go or no go?”

  Rogers raised his thermal sight and studied the roads around the target. There he finally found some heat differentials. Small ones hidden in bags lining the streets. He marked the IEDs on his handheld “battle tracker” computer with little interest—bombs were hardly big news in this part of the world. What really nagged at him was that in all his years in the sandbox, he’d never hit such a valuable target before with so little time to prepare.

  Well, plans were just details. The fundamentals wouldn’t change no matter what trap the enemy had set up. The name of the game was surprise, speed and violence of action. The SEALs would breach via the ground floor, while JTF2 breached from the roof. From above and below, they’d storm the building, converging on the second floor to free the hostages. He whispered in his radio.

  “You ready, Rayna?”

  “Ready like Freddy.”

  “In a while, crocodile.” It was all so incredibly corny, but both appreciated the moment of levity. After all, in two hours, a maelstrom of hell would be unfurled.

  “Right.”

  Rogers clicked off Rayna’s call. He yanked out a privately owned, secure satellite phone and recorded three quick text messages. One to his wife and kids, another to his mother, but the longest one was to his father.

  He circled a finger over his head at the other five men in the dark. “Mount up.”

  * * *

  Two hours later, a C-130 Hercules dropped six Navy SEALs and a Pandur armored vehicle on the outskirts of the medium-sized town straddling the Syria/Iraq border. The recon team and new arrivals swarmed inside the eight-wheeled mini-tank. The diesel engine grumbled to life as they raced to their target. Hundreds of displaced refugees, hoping to find or steal precious moments of shelter, flashed by their viewports.

  Evidence of destruction haunted the air. Buildings were in ruins and random gunfire blended with the roar of military aircraft overhead.

  They passed little trucks, all crammed with people and their lives’ contents in a few plastic bags exiting to uncertain destinations and futures.

  A young pre-pubescent boy tossed a Coke can at them.

  “Gun it.” Rogers just stared ahead, ignoring the crowd.

  The lumbering vehicle had probably never accelerated so fast before. It shot out of the can’s path in a blur. The soda can continued flight, landing in front of a gnarled, elderly woman wearing a gray, tattered hijab. The homemade explosive device inside exploded. A hundred nails sliced the woman and sent her wailing to the ground. The men in the Pandur were no virgins when it came to danger though—there was no point in trying to stop and help. In this town, she’d just as likely try to kill them instead of thanking the foreigners.

  And yet, despite its proximity to Hell, life somehow went on. Streets had a handful of desperate or foolish merchants hawking their colorful wares and foodstuffs. A shop selling used appliances was doing a booming business—probably a front for some clandestine venture. There was even the occasional laborer trying to rebuild a wall or lay replacement cable. There was no lack of business for any brave soul willing to risk his life on the open street.

  The Pandur entered the last fateful block before the target. A boom echoed far behind them, proving that the Warlock II electronic warfare pod was still working its magic. Save for a few radio frequencies set aside for friendly communications, the jammer encased the vehicle in a bubble of electro-magnetic interference, rendering most remote-activated IEDs worthless.

  Rogers clicked on his radio and called Rayna. “Butterfly, this is Snake element. Target is in sight. We’re thirty seconds out.”

  “Roger, Rogers. We’re approaching from behind. Ring the doorbell, please.”

  The Pandur picked up the pace and plowed into the three-story building’s stone front. The structure refused to collapse, so the Pandur backed up and repeated its assault. Unknown to the occupants inside the building, the goal wasn’t to demolish the building, but just create enough distraction so that the insurgents inside wouldn’t hear the helicopter approaching.

  In the air, the CH‑146 Griffon helicopter carrying the JTF2 team was now directly overhead. Even from a hundred feet above ground, the chopper’s passengers could hear the pounding the stone building was taking. Rayna stood at the chopper door, ready to rappel down, when one of her teammates yanked her back in. Below them, two insurgents squatted on the target building’s roof. One shouldered a rocket launcher and the other sighted in a .50 caliber machine gun.

  The machine gunner unleashed a barrage of fire at the Griffon, clipping its rotors and savaging its body.

  Rayna and thirty-year-old veteran operator Mike Barrows whipped their weapons up and fired back at the terrorist duo.

  Too little, too late. The damaged helicopter fluttered erratically like a wounded dove ambushed in flight. The chopper began sinking toward the roof.

  Rayna slipped into the “zone.” Through the chaos around her, she calmly aimed and fired off two money shots. Both insurgent bodies spasmed. They lurched from the rooftop and fell to the ground.

  As the wounded chopper struck the rooftop, the team dived out. Without missing a beat, they bashed down the door and entered the third floor.

  Needless to say, the mission’s carefully laid plan had been blasted to rat shit.

  * * *

  On the ground, there was now a giant hole in the front of the building—the Pandur came and conquered. The SEALs swarmed out and quickly swept the five rooms on the main floor. “All clear.”

  They stealthily advanced toward the stairway. Before they reached it, a live grenade tumbled down from the second floor, followed by a spray of bullets.

  “Get out!” shouted Rogers. The team rocketed out the front door. Rogers, as team leader, was last.

  The grenade exploded just as he exited.

  The insurgents rushed down the stairs to claim their prize, ready to strike again.

  This wasn’t Rogers’ first rodeo though. As the blast drove him to the ground and shrapnel peppered his vest, he threw his arms in front of himself to cushion his head from colliding with the floor.

  Rogers rolled with the fall and came up with his H & K battle rifle spurting fire. Like hitting ducks in a pond. Another two fewer insurgents to worry about. Rogers motioned his team to ascend to the second floor.

  * * *

  On the roof, Rayna signaled her Canadian team to descend on the second floor.
r />   On the second floor landing, two insurgents crouched and waited. One had his AK-47 pointing downward to the ground floor, waiting for anyone to appear. The other had an AK-47 covering the third floor, tracking any movement from on high.

  Rayna whispered into her microphone. “Drop down to the floor, Jon. I think they might be waiting for us. If they start firing the moment they see movement, they’ll be aiming too high. That’s our chance.”

  “I’ll buy you a beer for that idea.”

  “Eighteen-year-old scotch.”

  “Deal. Frag out on the count of three.”

  “Wait. Get one of your team to throw something in the air, but no grenades. We want to distract them without warning the others they’re in trouble.”

  She’s too damn smart. Rogers smirked. “Gotcha. One. Two. Three.”

  Barrows threw a chem light stick and Rob Dailey from Rogers’ team chucked a spare radio battery. As Rayna predicted, the insurgents rained fire at the sounds without checking what they were.

  Rogers and Rayna slid forward on their stomachs, Rogers to the foot of the stairs on the ground floor and Rayna to the top of their stairwell. Several rapid shots later and another two terrorists joined their evil brothers in Hell.