The Azure Backlash Read online

  The Azure Backlash

  Mitch Herron 5

  Steve P. Vincent

  The Azure Backlash © 2021 Steve P. Vincent

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Contents

  Books by Steve P. Vincent

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Sample of The Foundation (Jack Emery 1)

  Also by Steve P. Vincent

  Join Steve P. Vincent’s Mailing List

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Books by Steve P. Vincent

  The Jack Emery Conspiracy Thrillers

  The Foundation (#1)

  State of Emergency (#2)

  Nations Divided (#3)

  One Minute to Midnight (#4)

  * * *

  The Mitch Herron Action Thrillers

  The Omega Strain (#1)

  The Shadow Enclave (#2)

  The Lazarus Protocol (#3)

  The Capricorn Deception (#4)

  The Azure Backlash (#5)

  The Jade Stratagem (#6 - 10 January 2021)

  * * *

  Available from all good online retailers. Or visit stevepvincent.com.

  For Sam Vincent.

  * * *

  A bubbly and smiling addition to the world in one of the hardest times for it.

  1

  Mitch Herron shouted to be heard over the waves that crashed against the hull of his yacht and the constant buzz of the oncoming Zodiac boat’s engine. “Turn back!”

  The man at the tiller of the Zodiac ignored his demands. The jet-black inflatable, bearing its quartet of thugs armed with firearms and blades, kept on course.

  If they wouldn’t turn their boat around voluntarily, Herron would have to give them some more forceful encouragement.

  He levelled his pistol at the pilot, adjusted his aim for the rise and fall of the boat in the water, then fired. The pistol roared, the man slid over the side, and another took his place at the tiller. Herron sighed, irritated he had to kill to keep these men away from him, but they’d proven relentless, and the odds were stacked against him.

  Herron pocketed the pistol, its ammo spent. He’d seen off the occupants of two previous boats, plus the man he’d just downed. Nine shots for nine kills was a range score anyone would be proud of, but here in the real world he now faced three more armed assailants without the firepower to defend himself from range.

  The hijackers seemed to realise he was out of ammo, because when no further shots boomed at them, they let out visceral howls of victory. They thought they had him cold, a lone sailor trapped in the middle of the ocean. They didn’t know Herron had made a career of killing far more dangerous threats than them.

  Herron gripped the yacht’s wheel as the Zodiac thudded against the hull and, a second later, the first grappling hook flew over the side and caught against a rail. Teeth clenched in his determination to stop them getting aboard, he reached out for the throttle and pushed it to full speed.

  The engine roared in response, and he spun the wheel back-and-forth aggressively, to no effect. One thug appeared over the side. Then another. Then the third.

  His evasive manoeuvres foiled, Herron let go of the wheel and pulled back on the throttle. Now he’d have to do it the hard way.

  He crouched down and reached into the safe inside the life jacket compartment, still unlocked from retrieving the pistol. He came out with a few stacks of cash and a combat knife, put everything in his pockets, and locked the safe. Then he left the wheelhouse to confront the attackers.

  “Don’t shoot!” He shouted as he approached the hijackers with his hands up. “Please, I have money!”

  “Anyone else on board?” The pirate closest to Herron spoke in broken English, a broad grin on his face. “Any more guns or other weapons?”

  “No more guns and nobody else on board.” Herron stopped ten yards from Smiley. “I’ve got cash in my pocket. I’ll give it to you if you leave.”

  “You should have jumped overboard.” Smiley laughed and took a few steps closer. “Now we’re going to take your money, your boat and your life.”

  Herron’s face remained expressionless, although he wanted to smile. When he’d seen the first Zodiac, he’d believed he could see the attack off; he’d still had confidence when he’d spotted the second. But the third was more than he could handle with a small yacht and a now-empty pistol. To have a chance, he’d need to get up close and personal, and Smiley was playing right into his hands.

  He feigned fear. “Let me get the cash for you…”

  “Slowly.” Smiley waved his pistol at him. “If there’s enough, we might let you jump after all.”

  Herron reached into his pocket, gripped a rolled-up wad of US dollars, and threw it underarm. As the cash soared through the air, Smiley and his two accomplices tracked its trajectory… which was exactly what Herron had hoped for. He dug into his pocket again.

  And threw the knife right at Smiley.

  It flew like a pitcher’s fastball and buried itself in the hijacker’s chest. As Smiley cried out, Herron closed the distance between them and pulled the knife free. A stream of blood came with it, but it was a trickle compared to the gush of crimson that washed over Herron as he slit the stunned man’s throat.

  With only a few seconds to capitalize on his advantage, Herron charged at the next closest hijacker and hit him like a line-backer. The crown of his head destroyed the man’s jaw, the force of the impact knocking the pirate out. He sagged, and Herron lifted him over the side of the yacht.

  He vanished over the rail without so much as a scream.

  The last attacker yelled, and Herron turned in time to see a length of pipe en route to his head. Backed up against the guardrail, he blocked the blow with his forearm and grunted in pain as it hit, but a sore arm—perhaps even a fractured one—was better than a caved-in skull.

  Arm throbbing, Herron spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m going to shove that pipe up your ass.”

  The hijacker’s face flushed red, and he swung again. Herron lashed out with a strike to the throat, and the man stumbled backwards. The bar still hit Herron’s head, but with a fraction of the force it would have otherwise. Herron shrugged off the blow and pressed forward.

  When the next swing came, Herron caught the pipe, wrenched it from the pirate’s hand, and went on the offensive. He whaled on the man, all his pent-up fury and frustration taken out on the one target he had left. Soon, the last hijacker was curled up in a foetal position, barely conscious.

  Finished with the beating, Herron threw the pipe over the side of the boat and glared at the pirate. “I want to know how it feels.”

  The injured man groaned and rolled onto his side, his eyes wide. “How what feels?”

>   Herron kicked him. “To attack someone with twelve-to-one odds and still lose.”

  Behind Herron, a woman cleared her throat. “I think you mean sixteen-to-two.”

  Herron froze as a knife pressed into his neck. Clearly, a fourth group of attackers had come aboard while he was busy. But it was worse than that. A new sneering pirate stepped into view, dragging a young girl with him. She struggled and squirmed, but could not break his grip.

  Lynda.

  She should have been hidden below deck.

  The daughter of a friend, she’d stowed away before Herron left Fiji, intent on using him as her ticket to see the world. He’d had no time to drop her off before the pirates had attacked—the best he could do was hide her and hope she’d stay put until the danger had passed.

  But his best hadn’t been good enough.

  The taste of failure was bitter, but Herron hadn’t survived in his profession by dwelling on mistakes or setbacks. He needed a new plan.

  “Let her go.” Herron paused, already regretting his next words. “I won’t resist.”

  “No,” Lynda yelled. “Don’t let them–”

  “This isn’t a negotiation,” interrupted the woman behind him, her blade unwavering at his throat. “If you resist, I’ll skin your passenger alive.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “She might live.” A pause. “Even if you won’t.”

  Herron sighed. “Deal.”

  The woman slapped him hard across the face, then took a step back to survey her work. Blood flowed from Herron’s nose and onto his bare chest, slick with spit and the blood she’d already spilled. Tied to a chair in the wheelhouse and unable to move, he let the pain recede, keeping his eyes locked on his torturer.

  “I’m going to rip out your throat,” he snarled. “I promise you.”

  “A lot of men have promised that, but do you know the one constant with them?” She laughed. “They’re all dead.”

  Herron didn’t respond. His mind was a clouded soup of pain and fatigue. In the hour since the woman and her hijackers had captured him, they’d kicked the crap out of him. No bones had been broken—yet—but he figured that’d be next if he didn’t give them what they wanted.

  The contents of his secret safe.

  The woman could make all the threats she wanted, but that was something he would never give up. The safe contained his entire life—weapons, cash, identities, and cell phones. If he let her take it all, he’d be stateless and broke, an easy target for the law enforcement agencies and old enemies who were always just one step behind.

  She chortled as she paced in front of him. “It’s the thing I admire about the female widow spider. She gets what she needs from the males in her life and then disposes of them.”

  “Let me guess…” Herron snorted. “Your nickname is the Widow, and it impresses all your little hijacker friends?”

  Her features hardened. She was a short woman, Chinese—if he had to guess—and about thirty-five, rock hard, without a curve to be seen. She had the cold eyes of a killer who took pride in her work, a dangerous foe who might live up to her nickname if he gave her the chance.

  “Enough games.” She leaned in close and stroked his cheek softly, her voice a whisper. “Tell me the safe code.”

  Herron kept his mouth shut, although it would mean more pain, a continuation of her bloody work. So far, none of his injuries were too serious, but they were painful and bloody enough to shake Herron. And it was clear she was just getting started.

  “You’re not getting the code.” Herron’s words were a mumble, but her laugh told him she’d heard him well enough. “What’s funny?”

  “I suggest you change your tone.” The Widow turned to speak to one of the other hijackers in a language he didn’t know, then turned back to Herron. “You know this can only end one way.”

  Herron shifted his gaze as the man left the wheelhouse, and a few moments later, Lynda was marched in with a knife to her throat. She was trying to be brave, her lips pursed together, but her eyes showed terror—wide and desperate, and locked onto him in a silent plea for help.

  He’d first saved Lynda when she was a small child, taken by a sexual predator in Fiji and only moments from being assaulted. He’d helped her again less than a week ago, so he’d be damned if he was going to let her be hurt now.

  The Widow was right. There was only one way out of the situation.

  “It’s okay.” Herron forced a smile at Lynda, and when she returned it cautiously, he looked to the Widow. “The code for her safety?”

  The Widow nodded at the hijacker, who removed the knife from Lynda’s throat. Her smile, unlike Herron’s and Lynda’s, lacked all warmth. “You have my word.”

  “Seven. Four. One.” Herron paused.

  “No!” Lynda elbowed free of the hijacker and ran at the Widow. “Leave us alone!”

  Herron struggled against his restraints as Lynda rained blows on the pirate leader. The Widow was forced back a step as she shifted her focus to defend herself, but once the element of surprise was gone, she quickly gained the upper hand. She took two more ineffectual punches before slapping away a third blow and gripping the young woman by the throat.

  “I should flay you alive.” She grinned as she squeezed tighter, then fixed her gaze on her henchman who’d let Lynda escape. “Or you.”

  “The last number is one!” Herron shouted, forcing the attention of the hijackers back to him. “Seven, Four, One, One.”

  “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” The Widow gloated. “If the code is right, you’ll die, but she’ll live.”

  One hand still tight on Lynda’s neck, she pointed at her humiliated associate and then the safe. The henchman nodded and bent down to enter the combination. And as he entered the last number, Herron closed his eyes.

  There was a boom and, a second later, flames engulfed the wheelhouse as Herron’s booby-trap was tripped, the wrong code setting it off. The explosion shattered the windows and threw the hijacker back, his face and torso horribly maimed. The Widow screamed, releasing Lynda as she instinctively covered her face from the heat.

  Closer to the detonation, Herron felt like he’d been shoved into a furnace. He struggled to breathe, his lungs like they were filled with fire. “Fuck!”

  “Fool!” The Widow hissed, backing out of the wheelhouse. With the safe destroyed and the yacht now useless, escape was her only option. “You could have had a quick death. Now you and your friend will burn or drown!”

  Herron shouted curses at her as she slipped away, but a raging out-of-control inferno now engulfed the wheelhouse, so he only had a moment to act. The yacht was ablaze, and smoke was stealing the air—either fact could punch his departure ticket from the Earth—but his gambit had worked.

  Triggering the trap had been their only chance to escape the boat; now they just had to pull it off.

  He glanced at Lynda. Standing in the corner, she had been far enough from the explosion to escape injury, but she was obviously stunned, frozen in fear, her eyes locked on the blaze.

  “Lynda!” His shout snapped her out of it. “Use the knife to free me!”

  She blinked a few times, stared, and then ran over to him. She reached down to pick up the knife the dead hijacker had held to her throat, then got to work on the restraints. They were thick, so it took some time, all the while the pair of them inhaling black smoke from the blaze. Both were coughing by the time one hand was finally freed.

  “Give me the knife!” Herron held out his free hand and took it. “Now go!”

  She hesitated just a second, then nodded and ran for the door. The Widow might still be out there, but it was most likely she’d bailed, and the slight chance she’d stuck around was better than Lynda waiting for him and inhaling more smoke.

  He'd already gambled with far worse odds and won.

  He cut the restraints around his other wrist and then his ankles. He was stronger than Lynda, so he didn’t take as long as her, although he coughed hard a
s smoke continued to fill his lungs. Free at last, he scampered around the wheelhouse to retrieve two lifejackets and an emergency beacon.

  Nothing else was salvageable. The contents of his safe were ash. The price of saving their lives.

  As he moved, he looked around for any sign of the Widow, but she was gone. Despite the fury she’d stoked in the pit of his stomach, rivalling the fire that was consuming his home, Herron had to let her go.

  Lynda had her back pressed against the side rail of the yacht, staring at the blaze. “We have to save the boat…”

  “Forget it.” He shrugged, then quickly and roughly inspected her for any wounds or burns, then concluded she was fine. “We got lucky.”

  She didn’t look convinced, but she nodded. “What do we do now? That woman took the other boat!”

  Herron nodded. He’d expected that. But as he looked around the deck, he had a sinking feeling when he saw the yacht’s self-inflating lifeboats were missing. The hijackers had clearly tossed them overboard to prevent anyone from escaping. It made things desperate for Herron and Lynda.

  His back-up plan would have to do. “Strap up.”

  He helped Lynda into a lifejacket, then donned his own. After they were safely buckled in, he looked over his shoulder with wistful regret. By now, a third of the yacht was ablaze and the rest would soon follow. Herron watched his stricken home burn for just a second longer than necessary…

  … then he gripped Lynda tight and took them both over the side.

  Herron gasped as he plunged into the Pacific, the water icy compared to the heat in the wheelhouse. As his head went under, he struggled to breathe and swallowed a few mouthfuls of salt water, but he got over the shock and quickly broke the surface. After a momentary panic at being unable to see Lynda, she too popped above the water.