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  DEAD IN THE WATER

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  Heisman: The Man Behind the Trophy

  Other titles by R.J. Patterson

  Titus Black series

  Behind Enemy Lines

  Game of Shadows

  Rogue Commander

  Line of Fire

  Brady Hawk series

  First Strike

  Deep Cover

  Point of Impact

  Full Blast

  Target Zero

  Fury

  State of Play

  Seige

  Seek and Destroy

  Into the Shadows

  Hard Target

  No Way Out

  Two Minutes to Midnight

  Against All Odds

  Any Means Necessary

  Vengeance

  Code Red

  A Deadly Force

  Divide and Conquer

  Extreme Measures

  Cal Murphy Thriller series

  Dead Shot

  Dead Line

  Better off Dead

  Dead in the Water

  Dead Man's Curve

  Dead and Gone

  Dead Wrong

  Dead Man's Land

  Dead Drop

  Dead to Rights

  Dead End

  James Flynn Thriller series

  The Warren Omissions

  Imminent Threat

  The Cooper Affair

  Seeds of War

  ROGUE COMMANDER

  A Titus Black Thriller

  R.J. PATTERSON

  For Jesse Meyer, for his friendship

  and passion to help others

  experience a deeper life

  CHAPTER 1

  Al-Hudaydah, Yemen

  TITUS BLACK SCANNED the warehouse from a nearby rooftop and hoped for some kind of movement. For the past three hours, he’d been lying prone as he and Christina Shields conducted surveillance on the area. So far the most activity he had witnessed was beads of sweat rolling off his face and dripping on the ground.

  “I swear I’m going to spontaneously combust up here,” Black said into his coms.

  “That’d be fun to explain to Blunt,” Shields cracked. “Yes, sir. That’s what happened. One minute he was looking for our target, the next I was sweeping up his ashes after he burst into flames.”

  “You think I’m kidding, don’t you?” Black asked.

  “Look, I’m sure it’s hot out there, but in order to preserve my cover, I’m stuck in a van that I can’t turn on. I’ve only got a small vent in the roof to cool me down. So, save your sympathetic pleas for someone else who cares.”

  “You’re getting sassier as the day goes on,” Black said.

  “Heat has a way of bringing out my dark side. That’s why I want you to hurry up and find the target so we can leave this godforsaken city.”

  Black chuckled. “When you’re hunting an assassin who goes by the nickname The Ghost, you have to know it isn’t going to be easy.”

  “There’s hard—and then there’s stuck in what I imagine the actual place of hell is like,” Shields said. “Hot, humid heat forever with only the occasional breeze to tease you. I’m certain any minute now, Satan himself is going to tap on the window with his pitchfork and offer me a reprieve from the heat in exchange for my soul. And I might just give it to him.”

  “Well, I don’t think it’s going to come to that,” Black said. “I believe our target just exited the building.”

  The target Black and Shields were hunting was the man who supposedly served as the handler for The Ghost and several other known assassins. Months and months of intelligence reports fingered Yuri Lebedev as the sole link between anyone attempting to hire The Ghost. But Lebedev had proven to be slippery, almost as difficult to pin down as The Ghost himself. However, someone tipped off Firestorm Director J.D. Blunt of Lebedev’s whereabouts.

  “I hope that’s him,” Shields said. “I mean, we’re not even supposed to be here, breaking Yemen’s laws as well as going against the wishes of the CIA.”

  Black didn’t respond as he hustled down three flights of stairs. He needed to tag Lebedev’s car with a GPS tracker so he could be detained for questioning later.

  Just outside the gates of the warehouse, a bustling market stood in stark contrast to the stark building along the strip of land fronting the city’s port.

  Black reached ground level and then sprinted along the road. A constant cacophony of horns rang through the air as drivers urged pedestrians to clear a path for vehicles. People shuffled from one stand to another as they browsed, paying little attention to the noise or the revving engines of impatient drivers.

  Lebedev fell in behind other cars, inching his way forward as the sea of people parted. Black eased up behind Lebedev’s vehicle and slipped a magnetized box just under the bumper. With the task complete, Black spun around in the opposite direction toward Shields’s van.

  “We’re locked and loaded,” Black said.

  “Excellent,” she said. “I’m turning on the tracker as we speak. And, Black?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Please hurry back to the van before I blow our cover for a bottle of water.”

  Black took in the chaotic scene around him at Al-Hudaydah. Shoppers shouted while bartering over goods. Cranes picked up containers, conducting a dance of
loading and unloading them. Fishing boats chugged through the harbor, while beeping horns seemed to reach a fever pitch. He’d never been to Yemen and hoped never to return, especially in an area governed by the ruthless Houthis.

  When the armed political movement seized control of the city, the U.S. State Department ordered all personnel to vacate their offices, including the CIA operatives stationed there. Al-Hudaydah was the most hostile territory Black had conducted a mission in—and he and Shields were all alone. No back up. No extractions. No assistance if the situation went south. And he wasn’t supposed to be here.

  When the phone call informing Blunt that his longtime friend from the U.S. Senate, Daniel Rosenblatt, was dead, Black had been in Blunt’s office. The press reported Rosenblatt had died in an automobile accident in Jordan along with two other U.S. emissaries. But the truth was far different. The three men had been killed assassination style consistent with The Ghost’s signature. One shot in the back of the head, one more in the back. The story claiming their deaths were the result of a car wreck covered up the fact that they were in an area of Amman they shouldn’t have been in. That was Blunt’s idea. However, fearing a political kerfuffle, President Conrad Michaels instructed the CIA to drop the issue without seeking retribution.

  But Blunt had always been terrible at taking orders, even from the president.

  Black slid open the van door and poked his head inside. “Do you serve gyros here?”

  “You’re quite the comedian,” Shields said as she twisted the key, igniting the engine. “Hop on in, and I’ll serve you up a fresh handler.”

  “Is the tracker operational?” Black asked.

  Shields held up a tablet depicting the area on a map. In one corner of the screen, a red dot flashed where Lebedev was. Black took the device before Shields eased into traffic.

  “Should be straight forward enough,” she said. “We stake out wherever he’s staying and wait for him to leave.”

  “You really want to wait that long?” Black asked.

  “You got a better idea?”

  Black mopped his brow with his shirt. “Let’s approach him and see what he tells us.”

  “He’s just going to talk to us? Is that what you think?”

  “With proper persuasion, I imagine he’ll be more than willing to open up about his dealings with The Ghost.”

  “I don’t like it,” Shields said. “I think we need to lie low and wait for the right time to move in.”

  “Look, I hate this place,” Black said. “But the honest reason we need to act quickly is because we don’t know when The Ghost is going to strike again. I mean, he just murdered three of our citizens.”

  “They were agents,” she said.

  “Does that really matter? Agents? Citizens? Either way it adds up to three dead Americans. And these killings are getting more frequent. If the intelligence community wasn’t doing such a great job of keeping this news hush-hush, it’d be the biggest international story in every major media outlet. A man indiscriminately killing people assassination style and nobody knows his name? That’s the stuff of urban legends.”

  “Fine,” Shields said. “We’ll do it your way. But I’m not sitting in this damn van another fifteen minutes.”

  “We’ll pose as a married couple,” Black said.

  “Uh, no. We’ll be business associates.”

  Black chuckled as she gave him the precise reaction he’d expected. “Business associates it is then.”

  Once they cleared the congested market, it took only ten minutes to reach the Ambassador Hotel downtown. Shields found a spot on the street across from where Lebedev parked. After they got out, Black strolled across to Lebedev’s vehicle and glanced around before casually snatching the tracker and pocketing it. Black studied the license plate for a moment and committed the number to memory.

  “Let’s do this, honey,” Black said.

  “I will slap you if you say that in front of the receptionist at the desk.”

  Black grinned. “You’re a little extra feisty today, aren’t you?”

  “I already told you that it’s hot. And I hate this kind of heat.”

  Black held the door open for Shields, who gave him a quick eye-roll before going up to the desk with him.

  “I hate to bother you, but I misplaced my voucher for parking,” Black said. “Could you possibly issue me another one?”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” the man said.

  “I appreciate that,” Black said. “My license plate number is 1-74732.”

  “Give me just a moment,” the man said as his fingers flew across his keyboard. “Ah, there you are, Mr. Lebedev.”

  Black leaned forward on the counter, sneaking a peek at the screen.

  Room 327.

  “Upon your arrival, you indicated that you would be parking along the street. Do you need to make different arrangements now for your stay?” the man asked.

  “Street parking is sufficient. Besides, I never feel quite safe in one of those parking garages. It seems more like a vault that I’m going to get locked into.”

  “That’s totally your decision. But just be aware we’ve had a rash of burglaries recently and our security team does not patrol the area where the cars are parked on the street.”

  Black shrugged. “I’m sure I can manage.”

  “Of course, Mr. Lebedev.” The man scribbled a date on a parking pass before sliding it across the counter to Black. “Enjoy your stay, Mr. Lebedev, or whatever is left of it.”

  Black forced a smile before looking at the expiration date on the parking pass. They stepped away from the counter and spoke in hushed tones.

  “Look,” Black said. “Lebedev is checking out tomorrow.”

  “Then there’s no question we need to act now.”

  “I knew you’d see it my way, honey,” Black said, the corners of his mouth turning slightly upward.

  “No, I’m not going to slap you for saying that,” she said. “I’m just going to break your trigger finger while you’re sleeping tonight.”

  “I’ll look forward to that. In the meantime, I’m going to see if I can find a hotel uniform and make a special room service delivery.”

  Black followed one of the hotel maids down the hall until she entered a door marked “Employees Only.” He stood around casually with his phone up to his ear and waited for someone to exit. A couple minutes later, the same woman emerged. Black gave her a polite nod as she scurried past. He wedged his foot against the door to keep it open before easing inside.

  Black searched the room for uniforms and found a rack in the back with pressed sports coats bearing the hotel’s emblem. After grabbing the right size, he put the jacket on and notified Shields over the coms.

  “I’m ready,” he said. “Head up to the third floor, and wait for me outside room 327.”

  “Roger that,” she said. “And, Black?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m serious about breaking your finger.”

  Black huffed a laugh through his nose as he hustled up the stairwell. He grabbed a room service tray lying outside a door across the hall to utilize as a prop and waited for Shields. Once she arrived, Black knocked.

  “Who is it?” Lebedev asked in Arabic.

  Black replied in Arabic. “Room service.”

  “I didn’t order anything. You made a mistake.”

  “Are you Yuri Lebedev?”

  Black heard the security chain on the door slide off before Lebedev opened it a crack.

  “What do you want?” Lebedev asked.

  Black slammed the door into Lebedev’s head, using force to gain entry into the room. He tumbled backward as Black trained his weapon on the assassin’s handler. Lebedev scrambled to his feet.

  Shields entered with her gun drawn.

  Lebedev threw his hands in the air. “Are you here to kill me?”

  “That depends,” Black said. “We want to know how to contact The Ghost.”

  “Who?” Lebedev asked.

>   “The Ghost,” Shields repeated. “The assassin you handle.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m a Russian businessman working here for my company.”

  “Is that why you have a gun?” Black asked as he cut his eyes toward a weapon on the table.

  “It’s for protection,” Lebedev said. “This is a dangerous place in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “Why were you at the warehouse by the docks earlier this afternoon?” Shields asked as she adjusted her prosthetic leg.

  “I was negotiating a deal with the transportation corporation I work for,” Lebedev said. “Now, I’d appreciate it if you would leave immediately. I have plenty of trouble on my own without two strangers adding to it.”

  “Where’s your briefcase?” Black asked.

  “Trust me. There’s nothing in there that you want.”

  “We’re not leaving without it,” Shields said as she marched across the room and grabbed the case by its handle. She studied the lock for a moment.

  “What’s the code?” Black demanded.

  Lebedev sighed before burying his head in his hands. “I’m telling you. There’s nothing inside that you want.”

  Shields slung the briefcase on the bed and then pointed her gun at him. “Give me the code now.”

  Lebedev took a step back. “If you shoot me, you’ll never get that open.”

  She glared at him. “Maybe, but I can make things really painful for you. Now, where would you like your bullet? The left knee or the right knee?”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll give you the code.”

  Lebedev recited a series of six numbers. She entered in each one, repeating the digits back to Lebedev to ensure accuracy.

  “Now, press the two buttons on the outside of the latches,” he said.

  When Shields followed Lebedev’s instructions, nothing happened. She turned toward the Russian and glared.

  “What? Maybe you’re not doing it right. Try again.”

  She repeated the string of numbers back to him, which he promptly confirmed as the correct code.

  “Nothing’s happening,” she said.

  Before he could respond, a puff of gas blasted out of the case and smacked her in the face. She dropped the attaché and backed away from it. Black covered his face with his shirt as he rushed over to help her.