Next Exit, Quarter Mile
Next Exit, Quarter Mile
CW Browning
Also by CW Browning
Kai Corbyn Series
Games of Deceit
Shadows of War
The Courier
The Oslo Affair
Night Falls on Norway
The Iron Storm
Into the Iron Shadows (Coming Soon)
The Exit Series
Next Exit, Three Miles
Next Exit, Pay Toll
Next Exit, Dead Ahead
Next Exit, Quarter Mile
Next Exit, Use Caution
Next Exit, One Way
Next Exit, No Outlet
The Exit Series Box Set #1: Books 1-3
Watch for more at CW Browning’s site.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Also By CW Browning
Next Exit, Quarter Mile (The Exit Series, #4)
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Sign up for CW Browning's Mailing List
Also By CW Browning
About the Author
About Next Exit, Quarter Mile
When Alina Maschik – code name “Viper” – flees Syria, she has a serious problem. Someone knows much more than they should about the elusive assassin. With orders to lie low, Alina returns to Medford, determined to do just that.
But once again, New Jersey refuses to co-operate.
The Casa Reino Cartel is moving mysterious cargo up the Eastern seaboard; a tragic accident in the Pine Barrens kills a local street racer; FBI Special Agent John Smithe is looking for answers where there shouldn’t be questions; metro area hospitals are stockpiling a new antidote, and an invisible foe has zeroed in on Viper.
A web of intrigue stretching from Damascus to the Pine Barrens has been skillfully cast. Now, Viper must confront ghosts from her past even as she fights to unravel a sinister plot before thousands of Americans die.
Author's Note:
It is with very special thanks that I’d like to acknowledge CW4 Chad Griffin, USA, RET. Without his unfailing willingness to share his knowledge with a civilian author, this book could never have reached the level of technical accuracy that it did. He faithfully answered random questions at all hours of the day and night, never once questioning why he was being asked about bullet velocity or operational procedure. His support and eagerness to help make the military passages as accurate as possible was truly invaluable.
“For I hear the whispering of many - terror on every side! - as they scheme together against me, as they plot to take my life.”
~ Psalm 31:13
Prologue
Amalfi Coast Road, Italy
The sun was shining high in a cloudless blue sky, bathing the coast with warmth as the gleaming, silver Aston Martin Vanquish flew around the hairpin turn, skillfully navigating the curve without decreasing speed. The driver glanced in the rearview mirror before taking the next bend at the same high speed. Once through the turn, the sleek sports car faced an open, straight stretch of road that ran parallel with the cliff. Beyond the edge of that cliff, a sheer drop ended in the choppy Mediterranean Sea far below. The driver glanced in the rearview mirror once more before lowering the pedal to the floor. The engine growled in contentment as it increased speed, gliding along the pavement effortlessly. Millions of diamonds sparkled on the surface of the deep blue sea stretching to the left, refracting light from the brilliant sun above, but the breathtaking sight went unnoticed by the driver as she threw back her head and laughed in pure joy as the speed entered triple digits.
When the black Mercedes shot out of the last bend behind her, the Vanquish was already halfway to the curve that would bend the road inland towards the city. The driver glanced in the mirror. The distance was too great for the Mercedes to catch her now, and she returned her eyes to the road. If there was any thought to the speed at which they were traveling, it was only to know that she would reach the safety of the city before the car pursuing her. A Mercedes could not catch an Aston Martin with such a large lead.
An Audi emerged from the bend ahead, coming toward her, and the driver pursed her lips in displeasure. Glancing back at the Mercedes, she hesitated for the briefest of seconds before taking her foot off the gas. The speedometer immediately began to plummet as the driver reached into the middle console, extracting a 9mm, semi-automatic pistol. As the sports car dropped down into double digits, she watched the Mercedes begin to close the gap behind her. The Audi drew closer and the driver of the Aston Martin glanced at the Mediterranean far below on the left. The sparkling waves seemed to catch her attention for the first time, and she noted the long distance over the cliff edge with a dispassionate look. On her right, a very narrow shoulder ran alongside a sheer and rocky mountain wall.
There was no way out.
The driver looked down at the speedometer and then in the rearview mirror at the Mercedes. The Aston Martin had decreased speed to just above the posted speed limit and the Mercedes was rapidly gaining ground, showing no signs of slowing. The Audi was also closing in swiftly, and the driver watched as the barrel of an automatic rifle emerged from the passenger's window.
The hint of a smile crossed her face.
Pressing the gas pedal, the speedometer began to climb again, and the driver turned her attention to the Audi. For a few, breathtaking seconds, the two sports cars hurtled headlong towards each other. The narrow road allowed no room for error, and the uniquely shaped headlights of the Audi were advancing rapidly when the rifle disappeared from the window. The driver of the Aston Martin watched as the passenger began yelling and grabbing onto the dashboard. His companion ignored him, staring hard at the driver of the sports car, his dark eyes penetrating as they gazed into the windshield of the Aston Martin.
The driver of the Aston smiled, winked, and threw on the handbrake. Spinning the wheel, she expertly guided the sports car into a spin, controlling it effortlessly as the car
rotated twice before coming to a complete stop, facing the Mercedes.
The Audi's brakes squealed, echoing off the rocky cliff. Hitting loose gravel along the outer edge of the road, the car began to slide sideways. Within seconds, the driver lost control and spun to the right. The front of the Audi hit the low barrier wall at high speed, and the old stone wall was no match for it. Gravity took over, and the Audi disappeared over the side.
The Mercedes slammed on the brakes. The Aston Martin was thrown in reverse and the driver hit the gas, flying backwards as the Mercedes locked up their wheels and slid towards her. Raising the 9mm and leaning to the left, the driver of the Aston Martin aimed out the window. On a soft exhale, she squeezed the trigger, firing two shots.
The Mercedes veered sharply to the right and slammed into the cliffs, both the driver and passenger dead.
The Aston Martin came to a stop in the middle of the suddenly quiet roadway. The engine purred quietly, unperturbed at the shenanigans of its driver. Switching gears, the car rolled forward until it was alongside the crumpled Mercedes.
Viper glanced into the driver side window at the motionless men. The driver was thrown over the steering wheel and the passenger was facing her, his body twisted and thrown back against the door. A bullet hole was centered on the passenger’s forehead, but the driver’s forehead was obscured. There could be no risk of the driver surviving. Her third shot went through the window and into his temple.
Setting the gun back into the center console, Viper hit the gas and turned the car around, speeding away toward the city, leaving two accidents and four bodies behind her.
Chapter One
Kandahar Military Base, Afghanistan - 5 years ago
Gunnery Sergeant Michael O'Reilly squinted against the blinding glare of sunlight and raised a hand to shield his eyes. He paused outside the mess hall, watching two shadows on the horizon grow larger as they approached the base, taking on the distinctive outline of the Apaches. The search party was returning.
Lowering his hand from his forehead, Michael ducked his head and continued inside. He preferred not to think about the Marine who went missing two days ago. By all accounts, the soldier simply walked off-base, unarmed. Who does that?
Shaking his head, Michael removed his soft cap and rolled it into a cylinder, tucking it into the side leg pocket of his uniform cargo pants. Grabbing a gray plastic tray, he moved into the chow line. Rumors were flying around base, but Michael tried hard not to listen to them. With only a few weeks left of his last deployment, he was keeping his head down and trying to stay under the radar. He was too close to going home. No way he was going to jinx it by listening to nonsense that would get him emotionally invested in a missing soldier.
“Hey, Fightin' Irish!”
Michael glanced behind him, his face creasing into a grin at the black-haired, deeply tanned man who hailed him from the door.
“Blackfoot,” Michael replied with a nod of greeting.
Johnny, AKA Blackfoot, laughed and slapped him on the shoulder as he got into line behind him.
“I'm Choctaw, not Blackfoot,” he repeated the same disclaimer he always said, his dark eyes glinting. “If you knew more about the American Indian tribes, you'd understand that.”
“If you knew more about the Irish, you'd understand that we're not all Notre Dame fans,” Michael retorted cheerfully.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Johnny waved it away with a shrug. “The Apaches were coming back when I came in just now.”
“I saw them.” Michael moved forward with the line, eyeballing the lunch options ahead. He'd been stationed here for nine months now and was still amazed at the food options. Kandahar had the best chow halls he'd ever seen. “What should I get today? I'm thinking the barbecue pulled pork...”
Johnny peered forward and grimaced.
“That doesn't look up to standard,” he muttered. “You have to try my uncle's barbecue. It's the best barbecue west of the Mississippi.”
Michael grinned. Every chance he got, Blackfoot bragged about his family barbecue. One day, he supposed he would make the trip out to Oklahoma to try it, then maybe Blackfoot would shut up about it.
“Did you hear the latest chatter about Curtis?” Johnny went back to the topic of the missing Marine. “I heard he walked off the reservation. Just strolled out there, like he was going for a walk in the park.”
“Yeah, I heard that too,” Michael said, suppressing a sigh.
“You think he lost it?” Johnny asked.
“I don't know.” Michael shrugged and moved forward to set his tray on the metal bars that ran parallel to the food. “I know you won't catch me out wandering the desert.”
“I heard if this search mission doesn’t find anything, they're sending out one of the teams,” Johnny told him, dropping his tray onto the metal bars and sliding it up behind Michael's. “If they do, I won't be surprised if we get the order. You're one of the best shooters on base.”
Michael's heart sank and he kept silent, turning his attention to the pulled pork. Johnny was famous for having ears in the right places. If he heard it, it eventually ended up happening. The odds were already high that Michael's team would be pulled into the search and rescue efforts. Snipers were always in high demand, especially out here. If Sergeant Ethan Curtis wasn't found quickly, it would only be a matter of time before Michael was assigned to assist. Another time and another place, he would have been chomping at the bit to go. It was what he trained for, what his team was there to do. Now, however, the thought simply filled him with emptiness. This wouldn’t be his first rescue mission. It happened once before, a few years back, and Michael had been praying ever since that it would never happen again. His best friend took an armor-piercing round to the head that day. Dave Maschik had been protecting Michael's flank as they moved through a hostile block, looking for a wounded soldier. In the end, they found the soldier, but it was too late. Both he and Dave went home in boxes.
Michael shifted his gaze from the pulled pork to the next stainless steel tub and motioned for the lasagna. The contractor standing on the other side nodded and scooped it onto Michael’s plate.
Only a few more weeks. He just had to get through a few more weeks.
“Good evening, ladies! It's a beautiful night here in the mountains. The temperature is a mellow 84 degrees with a soft wind blowing in a westerly direction. If you look to your left, you can just make out the presence of more friggin' trees.”
Michael shook his head as his earbud came alive with the deep, clear male voice. He glanced at Jones, his spotter, to find him grinning in the semi-darkness.
“Hanover, you're an ass,” Michael replied to the voice in his ear.
“I gotta tell you, gunny, I'm getting tired of staring at 'em,” Blake replied. “Four days we've been out here. I'm getting too attached to the tree spiders. I've started naming them.”
“Is that right?” Michael shifted on his stomach and glanced at his watch. “That true, Murphy?” he addressed Blake's spotter.
“Sad but true,” came the cheerful reply. “So far, he's got Muffy, Snoopy and Big Brother.”
“Big Brother?”
“BB for short,” Blake clarified. “He's got too many eyes, and they all watch me. I think he's a spy.”
Michael's shoulders shook slightly as involuntary laughter welled up inside him.
“It's a spider, Blake. They all have too many eyes,” he muttered, lowering his eye to his rifle scope. “Anything cooking over there?”
“Not a thing,” Blake answered with sigh.
Michael glanced at his watch again and looked at Jones.
“How we looking?” he asked.
“Weather report was right on,” Jones answered with a shrug. “Clear skies and minimal wind. Should be a walk in the park.”
“You hear that, Blake?” Michael asked. “Jones says it should be a walk in the park.”
“I heard,” Blake muttered. “As long as I get to walk out of this nest when it's over, I'l
l be happy.”
Michael chuckled and shifted again. Blake was positioned a couple miles away on the other side of the mountain, covering the north side, while he and Jones had the south. Far below them was a valley separating their mountainside from the one opposite.
That was the mountainside where the government spooks claimed the insurgent camp holding Sergeant Ethan Curtis was located.
“Here they come,” Jones murmured, binoculars pressed against his eyes. “Right on time.”
Michael lowered his eye to his scope and turned it slightly to watch as dark specs started moving into the valley from the South.
“Convoy's arriving,” he told Blake.
“I see them,” Blake answered. “Toddler team should be in place.”
“I hope they moved faster than yesterday,” Michael muttered. “Did you see them changing position? It was enough to make you weep.”
“Yeah, I saw,” Blake answered. “They were moving like drunk sailors. I'm surprised no one fell down the mountain. Did we ever look that bad?”
“Nah.”
Michael turned his attention from the black specs below to the mountain opposite.
“Is it me, or are the kids coming in getting younger?”
“It's you,” Michael retorted. “You're getting older.”
“Hmpf.” Blake grunted. “Look who's talking. You're getting so old they're stocking Metamucil at the commissary, just for you.”
“Didn't I see you taking a little blue pill last week?” Michael demanded innocently.
“It's for my IBS,” Blake snapped.
Jones made a suspicious choking sound and Michael grinned as he scanned the trees in the distance. The SEALs would be right behind the convoy. Once the sound of the helos hit the mountains, if there was a camp in those trees, the insurgents would show themselves.
“Sure it is,” he murmured.
“It's the food here,” Blake muttered. “It doesn't agree with me.”
“Then you have bigger problems than I thought,” Michael retorted. “The food here is the best I've ever had deployed.”