The Osprey Vendetta: A Thomas Thorn Novel

The Osprey Vendetta: A Thomas Thorn Novel

by Trapper Pettit
The Osprey Vendetta: A Thomas Thorn Novel

The Osprey Vendetta: A Thomas Thorn Novel

by Trapper Pettit

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Overview

Thomas Thorn is a rough-guy CIA agent who's been on surveillance detail in Chicago for the past forty-eight hours. He and his genius partner Irish have the 'eyes and ears' on a power hungry wannabe and his twenty-something mistress, when a call is intercepted. The voice on the intercept is someone codenamed the "Manipulator" who says the local senator "will be" the next resident of the White House. Thorn understands fully that he has just heard the conversation that if left unfettered will change the world.

He surmises quickly that the Manipulator and his European cronies are out for world domination. They seek a new world order in which they hold all the power, but first, they need their puppet senator elected president of the United States. Unbeknownst to Thorn his talents are about to be incorporated into use by a very powerful secret organization known as The Keepers-a powerful counterforce dedicated to the dreams of America's forefathers. A rocket ride of twists and bullets ensues as Thorn and team embark on their quest to stop the Manipulator's duly dispatched vile agent of death-a man simply called Lyons, who has been charged with the plans to vault the puppet senator into the most powerful position in the world.

Shortly after, Thorn is then called to a meeting in a small town in North Carolina where he learns of many other elements that are endangering all that America stands for. It is also at this gathering where he meets the temptress agent Vikki Gold. Three days later, after a whirlwind romance with the world-class beauty, his life is turned upside down aboard a yacht moored off of the shores of Key West. It is on board that he learns the truth about his past, the shadow life of his mom and the death of his father at the hands of Lyons. With likeness of mind, vengeance of heart, he and Vikki Gold are vaulted into action along the shores of the East Coast where every stop is a near death experience, but the steadfast goal remains the same. To stop Lyons and to save the United States-by any means necessary.


Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781475930955
Publisher: iUniverse, Incorporated
Publication date: 07/16/2012
Pages: 580
Product dimensions: 5.50(w) x 8.50(h) x 1.29(d)

Read an Excerpt

The Osprey Vendetta

A Thomas Thorn Novel
By Trapper Pettit

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2012 Trapper Pettit
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4759-3095-5


Chapter One

The PAST

CHICAGO, HILTON SUITES HOTEL, December 2006

My tired bloodshot eyes scanned the scene below me. Sitting at a small wooden workstation overlooking Michigan Avenue from the twelfth floor of the two-bedroom suite, in Chicago's Downtown Hilton, I was getting very bored and that is not a good thing.

My partner and I were peeking in on the second or maybe third life of one nasty individual. We like to dub our victims with various names. This particular character we had code-named Dealfish. As a kid, I most likely would have been diagnosed ADD, so stupid names help me to remember whom it is I am getting ready to make miserable.

With an array of electronics before me and a set of headphones that had been a fixture on my head for the last seven hours, I had been listening to a conversation that was ensuing in the attached appendage on my head. The conversation was getting old, very old. In fact, it was a conversation that could have been repeated on my last assignment and the assignment before that. Man gets a little power, lines up a mistress, mistress wants more and more, and then the fun begins. Right ...

The current song that was assaulting my eardrums was that of petite spoiled blonde twenty-something. She whined with a fake French accent and according to my current partner and friend Dave Roman, fondly known as 'Irish' by his friends and co-workers, she was writing a book on how to 'Win Through Whining.'

Irish, who was currently in charge of my video surveillance unit, is an electronics genius. (Truth be known, he is my video surveillance unit and the fact is, he is a total genius.)

With his eyes glued to the monitor, Irish had stated on more than one occasion: "The Bimbo uses a king size as if it were a road map to Treasure Island." But as he had told me the night before, "Damn the girl is good." I don't know which position she was using, or what fancy sexual maneuver, but they must have been good in order to impress Irish. I think the lad has seen it all.

"Be the one baby," I said out loud as we heard her cell phone rang. I said it with enough volume that Irish, who was avidly watching the lounging Bimbo in high definition from his monitoring station in the room next door, came running to my cluttered workstation. He too had been observing the little lady as she sprawled on the living room sofa that was located one floor above us. She was sprawling with a Bloody Mary in hand, as she worked her scumbag Sugar Daddy for her new four thousand dollar belly button ring. The one she just had to have.

"Put it on speaker," he said as he grabbed a pencil and pad to jot down any pertinent information. He then asked quickly, "Is the Spider engaged?"

"Yeah, Spider is engaged." I said with a somewhat scornful voice. The Spider program was the brainchild of one of our closest friends, Daniel Old, who was one of Langley's many top rated computer experts. But then again, everyone at Langley is top rated. Just ask them, even the janitor. No egos in that program.

The Spider program was an offshoot of the Roving Bug technology that had been developed by the FBI to turn Mafioso King Pin's cell phones into listening devices. It worked by remotely activating the phones speaker systems, so that the phone itself was a non-planted bug. It was a very successful program. I heard that the original inventor woke up one morning with his own head sleeping next to a dead duck. I think Irish started the rumor just to have some fun with the boys in his geek squad. Those guys are so gullible.

The Spider program took the technology one step further. The program actually took any call made to or from the targeted phone and created another listening device from the caller, or the called. This created a web of recorded conversations from the targeted individual to as far down the list as his teenage daughter's friend's mobile devices. It still confuses me, but what the hell, on some days so does taking a leak.

On one hand the technology was invaluable in gathering information, but on the other hand the Spider's Web created so much useless information that Dan Man had to develop specific filters to keep from overloading the system. If not, he had once told me that he would soon have a web of worldwide conversations to contend with and that his servers would implode with information. In my mind it kind of reminded me of the CIA or the FBI in their present state. As to how it works, I really don't give a rat's ass. I leave the technical stuff up to Irish. He's the resident genius. All I want is accurate current information that is reliable.

The perpetual smile that was one of Irish's many trademarks was not on his lips. He was still dressed in his workout clothes from the rooftop gym where he had been attempting to lose an ever-present gut. He still looked a little winded to me, but what do I know about his workouts? I think he just says he is working out to watch chicks bounce, or see how many sweet rolls he can consume while pacing on the treadmill. Either way he has fun.

I watched him as he was pacing with small baby steps, tapping a red pencil on a yellow legal pad, as if he were drumming for one of the hotel's crummy house bands, so I said, "Ringo, I can't concentrate buddy."

As I looked down at the pencil, the perpetual tapping suddenly stopped and the I-man said, "Thomas, that's a new number." I didn't want to spoil his party by telling him that I already knew that, so my mouth stayed shut.

Both sets of our eyes were now looking at the digital readout and we quickly knew that the area code was located in Europe, not the United States. As the voice echoed over the loud speaker, I immediately placed the accent from Hungary and also knew the gentleman to whom it belonged. I have heard that voice on more than one occasion.

Looking at my partner with a rare quizzical look, I had to ask, "Irish—what's he doing in this thing?"

As the short conversation ensued, I looked at Irish and he said, "Right now I would say he is looking for Dealfish via the bimbo."

"Is the bimbo working for this guy Thomas? Is it possible she's his hook for Dealfish?"

He continued his self-conversation with an even more puzzled look while shaking his head and said, "Nothing surprises me with this asshole. His fingerprints are like the damn plague. They are everywhere."

Truth be known, I didn't know that much about the European, who now carried a dual citizenship, one with his mother country and the other with the good old, "We'll take your poor, your tired and your crooks," USA.

"Wait a minute Irish," I said with a smile starting to develop on my face. "It makes perfect sense. Think about it for a second. If the Manipulator, our codeword for the European billionaire , puts the gentleman from Chicago at the front of the presidential bus, then he can have the liberal lady who wants to be the bus driver, drive the bus when the liberal Senator from Chicago makes an exit. Hell—he might not have to worry about a bus driver for sixteen years and only God knows how much damage he can do in that amount of time. Or, now that I think about it—how much more money could he make? This could make him the world's first Trillionaire. Well, if he lives long enough, that is. He's got to be in his late seventies."

I had known something was going down with the previous conversations that we had recorded between Dealfish and his cohorts, but I hadn't been able to connect the dots. Then a theory hit my brain now that the dots were connecting with the biggest dot being the Manipulator.

Irish, obviously still puzzled, had the look of a lost sheepdog. Just to keep him on his game, I asked poking him in the stomach, "Twins?"

A quick, "Screw you Thorn," assaulted my delicate ears, but since I had prodded the little fellow, I let it slide with a smile.

With a quizzical look, Irish asked me, "Do you honestly think this man can manipulate these guys like pawns on a chess board? I mean we are talking about the Presidency of the United States of America. You know what I mean Thorn?"

"I know exactly what you mean— and yes, this asshole can and will. It's just a theory Irish, but it could grow teeth."

"What can we do Thorn?"

It was a good question. If left to my own devices, I could and would neutralize the guy. It would take some skill, a little luck and a lot of planning, but I knew I could make it happen. However, rather than share my sentiment with the rather naïve Irish, I decided to play it to the letter of the law. So I said, "Let's kill him!"

"What?" Irish said with a hushed voice.

"Just screwing with you I-man, we play it by the book. We observe, we gather all the information we can and then we pass it up the chain. Let the weak links above us make the delicate decisions. That's what we always do, right?"

"Not always with you, Thomas. Remember when..."

I cut the I-man off at 'when.' Who knows who's listening to the listeners?

Having gotten Dealfish's latest cell number, the guy was famous for changing to what Irish referred to as 'garbage phones' (disposables), my partner was already programming the new digits into Spider. As I expected, only 10 seconds had elapsed before Spider came alive with the sound of its latest victim's dial tone.

Now that I think about it, the conversation we heard that afternoon may have been one of the most important conversations ever had in modern history. It was the beginning of what is now referred to as, "Change you can believe in." Right ... I now call it, "Change you shouldn't have believed in." Not in a million years. Here is my personal transcription of the conversation between Dealfish and the Manipulator:

Dealfish: "Yes Sir."

Manipulator: "The Senator from Chicago will live in the Whitehouse one day you think."

Dealfish: "I see a lot of obstacles sir. No one knows him."

Manipulator: "Then we shall introduce him, yes?"

Dealfish: "What about the press? More importantly, what about his past? The opposition will cremate us on that and let's not forget the most important fact, that he is not ..." (Dealfish was cut off in mid-sentence.)

Manipulator: "Enough of these talks young man. Listen to me and listen carefully. Plans are being made. The press will be handled and his past is being scrubbed and sealed. My assets are at all levels now. A New World Order is in the making. You are either with us, or you are not. Do you comprehend?"

Dealfish: "I comprehend Sir, how about the lady?"

Manipulator: "The Princess Lady will be on board soon. Do you understand what I am saying? I will make it happen. And, as far as his past, Americans will question for years where it disappeared to. Very much like a magic bullet."

Then there was an unintelligible laugh. I thought the asshole was going to bust a nut.

Dealfish: "Sir ... What's going to happen? You know, like the long term big picture."

Manipulator: "Sometimes in order to build a new building, the old one has to be collapsed and removed. The Senator understands this principle and it will be his mission. Leave the details to us. Just do as you are instructed."

There was a ten second lapse.

Dealfish: "Yes sir, but I want one thing."

Manipulator: "I don't bargain."

Dealfish: "I am not bargaining sir. I am asking a favor."

Manipulator: "Much better, what is this favor?"

Dealfish: "At some point, I want the Windy City."

Manipulator: "What are you talking about?"

Dealfish: "I want the Mayor's job."

There was an eight second lapse.

Manipulator: "No small request, the Mayor, he heads a long standing, very powerful machine. Why do you want such a position?"

Dealfish: "Simple. I want to own a dynasty, my own little dynasty."

There was a 30 second lapse.

Manipulator: "I will make you the head of your dynasty, but in return you will follow my instructions always, or else the only dynasty you will be heading up will be with the departed. (There was a fifteen second lapse.) Your dynasty will be part of my kingdom. Do we have an understanding?"

Dealfish: "Completely sir, but one last question."

Manipulator: "Ask, I may not answer."

Dealfish: "How will you get the Princess on board? She has wanted the White House back ever since the day she left it."

Inaudible speech, then another fit of laughter.

Manipulator: "That will be easy. You see young man, behind every Princess is a Prince and this Prince has a price. He always has."

There was a twenty-one second silence.

Manipulator: "My associate, Mr. Lyons, has the operational blueprint and will contact you shortly. As you know, he is an exceptional planner. No deviations without permission. Follow the blueprint. If any changes are needed, run them through Mr. Lyons. Have a good day young man."

Dealfish: "You do the same sir."

End of conversation.

I was speechless.

Chapter Two

I rish broke the silence of the room with a simple question, "Thomas, do you believe what we just heard?"

"Hold on a second. I need to think this through." The words 'danger, toxic, oh shit,' ran through my brain. In particular, the words, 'oh shit.'

As I was running the various scenarios in my mind, my private mobile phone rang from the table in the bedroom. Only two people have that number and those were Tina, my latest love and live-in of almost two years, and my mother. Well, Mom thinks my number is to a Chinese restaurant.

I answered the ringing phone with my most professional government servant demeanor. "Thorns house of pleasure. Your wish is usually my desire."

The usual words from an adoring woman deep in love with me came ringing back to my ear. "Thomas, this is no time for your crap, I'm in trouble here."

Several thoughts of why I love a monogamous relationship came to mind, but I didn't like the tone of her voice. She sounded truly scared.

"What's going on T?"

"I have that feeling."

"What feeling?"

"That, 'I'm in deep trouble feeling.'"

"I have that feeling every day of my life, can you be a little more descriptive."

"You usually are in deep trouble every day, but I found a bug in my office phone."

"Cockroach?"

"Damn it Thomas, electronic! Will you get serious for at least a millisecond? My phone was tapped. Don't ask me why, but I called for an un-scheduled sweep and our mutual friend, Dan's assistant, found a device in my phone. Who in the hell would want my phone tapped?"

"Listen to me T, don't say another word. Okay? You know the rule. Where there is one cockroach, there are usually more. I don't care how good Dan's assistant is. Go to plan B. Okay?" Upon hearing the words Plan B, she hung up immediately. Good girl.

Plan B was a pretty simple plan. Get the hell out of Dodge. The plan had several other elements such as to call me back on a disposable non-registered phone, take the battery out of her existing cell phone, have a random car rental company deliver her a nondescript vehicle at a nondescript location and to check into a pre-designated hotel under the assumed name of Miss Lindsey Moore.

The latest assignment Tina had been working on was actually considered a very high profile case by the powers that be. She was working on the 2001 anthrax attacks that occurred after the 9-11 horror. It was a very scary time in our history and according to our last conversation, Tina was honing in on several different theories as to who did what, how they did it and the variables of the various anthrax attacks that had occurred right after the 9-11 attacks. Quite frankly, I only had a glimpse into the notes of her investigation. She, like me, lives by several simple rules. As we both work in highly sensitive areas of the government, we subscribed to the motto that less is better. In other words, the less information that each of us knew about the other's work, then the less likely it could come back to haunt either of us for knowing too much about the other's operation. Thus, less is definitely better.

As I was in my room packing for a quick exit back to Washington, my brain shifted into high gear. I love it and hate it when this happens. The love portion of this phenomenon feels like that of a runner's high. I think it is because somewhere inside my head the neurons in the brain are clicking at such a high rate of speed that the dopamine level rises to a feeling of euphoria, like sex. Well not quite, but you get the meaning.

The hate portion of this phenomenon is that if the euphoric feeling is present, then there is a slight possibility that death will follow, like marriage. While packing the last of my scant clothes I went down my mental list as best I could and tried to remember some of Tina's findings. The piece of the puzzle indicating who was involved was simple. She had a theory that there were two separate entities involved in the attacks. The first entity was possibly several of the terrorists themselves. This thought process was derived at by evidence and interviews with a pharmacist in Delray Beach, Florida and a doctor and various hospital staff in Fort Lauderdale. Also, there were several airport personnel at a private airfield outside of Fort Lauderdale and a wide variety of witnesses who had identified these assholes.

(Continues...)



Excerpted from The Osprey Vendetta by Trapper Pettit Copyright © 2012 by Trapper Pettit. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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