Sold Out (Nick Woods Book 1) (26 page)

"Moving
along, Nick, you get a new identity. You can make up your own back story, or
we'll provide you one. Even better, we're giving you two million dollars since
you won't be publishing some colossus best seller. Move where you want. Do what
you want. We don't care."

Nick
looked at the woods just fifty yards away. He had his rifle across his back and
pistol reloaded and ready to go. He wondered if he could make it. What was the
flight time of a Hellfire missile?

"Don't
even think about it," the deep, altered voice said. "I can see you
looking at the woods, thinking about running. Trust me, I will obliterate you
in a heartbeat. Gladly."

Nick
looked to the sky again. Allen wiped sweat from his brow and tried to stop his
hands from shaking.

"I'm
letting you two live," the voice resumed, "because you've done our
nation a great service. Nick, you've done so twice, and yet you were betrayed
terribly after your service in Afghanistan. But, I will put this nation's
security over your two lives without hesitation. Our nation needs the program
you nearly unraveled, and I have shown my decency by relieving Whitaker and his
assistant of their command and leaking their positions to you two. I can do no
more without weakening our nation beyond a level I'm comfortable at. And that's
why I directed my two men to such a secluded area. Had you two failed and they
survived, I'd have placed them back in charge, and they would have never
forgotten either their reprimand or how it felt to lose control of their men.
Leaders fear irrelevance. But you two aced them, so the ball's now in your
court. I am prepared to give a single order and engulf you both in fiery
explosions and the sights of two hundred trigger-happy men. Make your
decisions. Quickly."

Allen,
too quickly, said, "Nick, you know what I want to do."

Nick
nodded, but he knew he couldn't give up. Couldn't surrender and let this man go
free. To continue his reign of abuses.

Nick
looked at the distance to the woods and judged his course and where he'd hit
the deck. Could he find some cover and either low ground or a dead fall to
protect him from the shrapnel? He looked at Allen who read his mind and shook
his head "no" in utter disbelief.

"Don't
do it, Nick," Allen said.

Nick
looked up again and toward the tree line. He doubted he could avoid the three
drones with their Hellfire missiles and two hundred men following in their
wake, but he had survived a battalion of Soviets who'd been given his location
by his sell-out commander.

Nick
prepared to make his move. He judged the distance to the woods, checked the
sling holding his rifle around his back, and then confirmed his pistol was
loaded. But seeing the pistol, he paused and thought back to another pistol.
This one taped under a sink and discovered by Anne. He smiled at the memory,
recalling the anger and sadness from her that followed.

Looking
at this pistol, which had been hidden, as well, from her in a cave, he realized
that the one thing Anne had wanted above all else was for him to be
"normal." To not be paranoid or worried all the time.

Nick
considered this a moment.

With
the death of Whitaker, he'd avenged Anne's death and that of his spotter in
Afghanistan. Not to mention, many other heroes who Whitaker may have betrayed
and abandoned in a foreign land.

Nick
could race for the woods and pursue an even more difficult search for the man
behind this all -- certainly a Congressman or senior CIA official (and possibly
the President) -- but that's not what Anne would want. Not even close.

Nick
holstered his pistol in his belt in the small of his back and glanced at Allen,
whose face had gone from horror to relief as he'd read Nick's thoughts.

"We'll
take your deal," Nick said toward the speakerphone.

"Wise
move," the voice replied, and before the sentence ended they heard the
sound of helicopters rapidly approaching.

"This
was a trap," Allen said with incredulity.

"Seems
it was," Nick said, swallowing down relief. That was nearly the second
time he'd died within the past five minutes.

And
as a black, unmarked Blackhawk descended into the clearing, the two men watched
as more than a dozen other Blackhawks circled above it, covering it like a
swarm of hornets.

"Glad
you took the deal," Allen yelled over the helicopter's roar.

Nick
nodded and looked up to the clouds. He thanked Anne for saving his life, yet
again; both just now, and after she found him when he was in the deep abyss of
anger and paranoia more than ten years ago.

Nick
couldn't believe how wrong he'd been on this one. On how he'd missed the trap
devised by whoever was above these guys, and on how the helicopters were far
closer than he'd ever expected.

He'd
have certainly been dead within five minutes.

Allen
turned and walked toward the landing helicopter.

Nick
followed.

"I
hope you can see me now, Anne," he thought, a tear streaming down his
face. "If it wasn’t for you, I'd be a dead man right now."

Epilogue

Texas
Senator Ray Gooden's predictions came true.

Allen
Green turned into an instant hero, famous and rich. The charges against him for
child porn were dropped and proved to be part of a grand conspiracy.
The New
Yorker
offered to hire him back, but he told them to take the job and shove
it.

He
had a book to write, producers wanted to turn it all into a movie, and Allen’s
days of having to be an unpaid, underappreciated reporter were long gone. Even
better, after an awkward start, things went back to better-than-ever with his
girlfriend Jennifer, who eventually forgave him for not returning her calls
early on.

Nick
Woods received a new identity, as well as the two million dollars he'd been
promised. He promptly pulled it from the bank, transferred it a half-dozen
times, and eventually withdrew it all in a series of cash withdrawals.

Rumor
has it he’s hidden deep in the mountains of Montana, he buried his money, and disappeared
from the radar screen. Most believe he’s awaiting more troops to come after him,
and that he’s holed up in some fortress-like canyon, crammed full of weapons, traps,
and tunnels.

Texas
Sen. Ray Gooden found new leadership for his covert organization. It rebuilt
both its bank accounts, through drug running, and its ranks, through hungry
young men anxious to further serve their country.

Gooden
continues to rule through fear and intimidation both the covert organization
and the Senate Armed Forces Committee. Neither the CIA, nor America's newest
President, has found the nerve to take him on.

THE END

Author’s
Note
: I really appreciate you
purchasing the book and presumably finishing it, if you’ve made it this far. I
can’t tell you how hard I worked to try to get it right, but I know it’s still
not perfect. Not even close.

In
all honesty, as you could probably tell, this was my first book. And it took me
more than fifteen years to get the book in the state you’re currently reading
it in.

Trust
me, I know my writing falls short of the mark in this book -- Nick wouldn’t be
happy about me missing the target, believe me -- but I’m afraid I’m just far
too close to the book. Even with the help of two different editors who I hired
and who did loads to make this book better, this was the best I could do on
this one.

I
just struggled to accept their suggestions.

The
honest truth is I wrote much of "Sold Out" right after my exit from
the Marine Corps. At that time, I was dealing with some serious paranoia and
trying my best to deprogram myself from four years of extreme situations
serving in the infantry.

I
was in a dark place, and I suppose the book reveals it.

Just
as Nick Woods gets into a major fight with his wife over his paranoia and
preparations for an attack on his home, I, too, dealt with that.

In
Nick’s case, he got caught with a secret journal and a gun under his sink. In
my case, I got into a major fight with my first wife because I was unscrewing
the electrical outlets in my home, convinced after an extremely odd interaction
at the mall that everything I said in the home was being listened to by the
federal government.
(I had run into what I assumed at the time was a CIA
agent, and all of this was in 1999 or 2000. Way before the days of it being
common knowledge that the NSA tracks much of what we say and do.)

My
point is that the Nick Woods in “Sold Out” is far realer than you probably want
to imagine.

We
prefer images of soldiers and Marines returning home with a smile, wrapped in
the flag, and hugging wives and kids. We don’t want to think about those same veterans
taking different routes to work, being startled in their sleep, or nearly attacking
a guy in the mall who approached them twice with some weird comments that in
hindsight were probably nothing.

But
the veterans who have actually been through a lot are like that. They have wire
triggers, they’re alert, and you don’t want to startle them. (Just ask one of
my friends.)

I
also get asked a lot about
the
Nazi “SS” symbol on Nick’s chest, which as you know by now stands for “Scout
Sniper.”

Believe
it or not, the Nazi "SS" symbol burned onto someone’s chest isn't
something I made up. I had a buddy who I served with in 3rd Platoon, Alpha
Company, 1st Battalion, 8th Marines, who later became a Scout Sniper two years
after I met him and got to know him really well. (This was roughly in 1997, and
I’m sorry but for his privacy I will not name him.)

Anyway,
a bunch of my friends were circled around him one day following his completion
of Scout Sniper training. I walked up to see what was causing the commotion.
Turns out, he had a Nazi "SS" symbol burned into his chest, exactly
like Nick Woods in the book. (Same location, same terrifying font.)

My
friend told me it had been burned into his chest with a coat hanger just a
couple of days earlier after completing the brutal Scout Sniper school training.

I
said to him, "Man, do you know what that symbol is?"

He
answered me with pretty much the exact dialogue that you find in the book.
(In
short, that it stood for Scout Sniper, and was not about the Nazi connotation.
Rather, it was about the strength, quality, and pride portrayed by the German
Army in World War II.)

My
friend also said that all Scout Snipers got one burned into their chest.
(At
least at that time. Perhaps that has changed.)

But
having said this, I know of several Marine Scout Snipers who have read this
book and given me feedback who have served in the Corps since 1999 (when I got
out). Not a single one of them has mentioned the Nazi "SS" symbol
scene as either being incarnate or problematic. Thus, I'm assuming it still
happens.

Have
I asked them specifically about this scene? No, I haven’t. I have learned from
experience that they are extremely sensitive as a group to the idea that the
“SS” might mean anything nefarious or evil. They do not see it that way. Not
even close. They see it precisely as I’ve described.

Finally,
I’d like to offer a final piece of evidence that this is probably still
occurring. Here is a news story that went viral as recently as 2012:

"US Marines in fresh controversy over sniper team photo
with Nazi SS flag:"

http://www.theguardian.com/world/2012/feb/09/us-military-marines-nazi-ss-flag-photo

This
story is from a very reputable news source, and obviously includes photos with
them posing alongside a Nazi flag.

I
say all this just to provide some context and show where I'm coming from as the
author. I would never make up such a thing to dishonor the incredible Marines
who go on to become Scout Snipers. They are by far some of the greatest Marines
in the Corps, and the dangers they face while operating as a pair outside
friendly lines are almost without comparison.

Finally,
as you now know from reading this Author’s Note, I was (and am) too close to
this book. I feel confident that if you will give me another chance on another
book I’ve completed, you will find any of them to be stronger works.

I
apologize again that I was too close to this one to make it as good as it could
have -- and should have -- been.

Sincerely yours,

Stan R. Mitchell

If
you enjoyed
“
Sold Out (Nick Woods,
No. 1)
,
”
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Books by Stan R. Mitchell:

Sold Out
(Nick Woods, No. 1)

Mexican Heat
(Nick Woods, No. 2)

Afghan Storm (Nick Woods,
No.3)

Little Man,
and the Dixon County War

Detective Danny Acuff, (Book
1)

Detective Danny Acuff, (Book 2)

Detective Danny Acuff, (Book 3)

Soldier On

About the author:

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investigative novels that take 50 pages to excite you? Look no further!

Stan is the best-selling author
of 5 novels in 3 different time periods. He's also a prior infantry Marine with
Combat Action Ribbon, and a former journalist who spent ten years in the
newspaper business, learning how to hook the reader, cut out the filler, and
just tell the story.

In short, Stan is
knowledgeable, he's fast, and his books will blow you away. You can learn more
about him
at
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Mexican Heat (Nick Woods, No. 2)

Pro
logue

Nick Woods pulled off the interstate tired, uncomfortable,
and hungry.

He stopped at a large gas station that sat just off the exit.
He was making good time, working his way through the backwoods of South
Carolina, but he was due a stop.

Nick needed gas, he needed to piss, and he needed a Mountain
Dew and a Snickers.

He parked his ’97 Jeep Grand Cherokee by a pump and closed
the door gently. The SUV had nearly 200,000 miles on the odometer, but it still
ran well and he treated it like a queen. Frequent maintenance and plenty of
love had kept it in top shape, just like the old Colt 1911 .45 automatic pistol
stashed under his seat.

The Colt .45 had been hidden in a cave and carried under some
tough conditions when a lot of bad men were hunting him just a few years
earlier. It had killed many of those men (and one woman, though she was armed
just like the men). Following such excellent and trusty service, Nick had
decided to keep it for sentimental value.

But unlike the old 1911 under the seat, the newer pistol on
his hip, a Kimber 1911 .45, carried no sentimental value. It was kept for use.
Instant use.

The Kimber was also customized and upgraded: green Tritium
3-dot night sight, adjusted trigger pull, and custom grips. Of course, like any
good gunman, Nick had loaded a round in the chamber prior to loading the
seven-round mag into the pistol, so he toted eight rounds of .45 caliber ammo
instead of seven.

Under his blue jean jacket, he also had two more magazines of
seven rounds for the gun. Twenty-two rounds total, plus an emergency .38 pistol
strapped to the inside of his left ankle, and a one-hand opening knife clipped
to the right pocket of his jeans.

Nick had been accused of being paranoid, and he knew it to be
true. It was also true that he had needed every weapon on him -- and more --
several times just for being who he was, so he didn’t mind being labeled
paranoid. He understood that to mean “prepared.”

Nick stood by the door of his red Grand Cherokee, pausing a
moment before walking away. The vehicle provided cover and held a number of
better weapons than what he could carry with him concealed. Like his M14. And
his 12 gauge pump loaded with double-ought buck. And of course his trusty,
scoped M40 bolt gun in .308/7.62.

Besides the weapons, the Jeep was most importantly his best
chance of getting away if things suddenly got hairy. And Nick never walked away
from escape possibilities lightly. He shuddered at the memory of hundreds of
Soviet troops hunting him in the mountains of Afghanistan a decade earlier.