KURTHERIAN GAMBIT UNIVERSE SAMPLER MICHAEL ANDERLE PAUL C. MIDDLETON JUSTIN SLOAN N.D. ROBERTS CRAIG MARTELLE ELL LEIGH CLARKE TOM DUBLIN NATALIE GREY S.R. RUSSELL TIM MARQUITZ CH GIDEON The Kurtherian Gambit Universe Sampler (this book) is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both. Copyright © 2015-18 Michael Anderle, Paul C. Middleton, Justin Sloan, T.S. Paul, Craig Martelle, Ell Leigh Clarke, Tom Dublin, S.R. Russell, Natalie Grey, CH Gidion, and Tim Marquitz Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing A Michael Anderle Production LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture. The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights. LMBPN Publishing PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy Las Vegas, NV 89109 First US edition, November 2018 Version 1.02, January 2019 The Kurtherian Gambit (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are copyright © 2015-2019 by Michael T. Anderle and LMBPN Publishing. DEATH BECOMES HER THE KURTHERIAN GAMBIT DEATH BECOMES HER BY MICHAEL ANDERLE 1 “May those who fight have honor, else we are doomed in the end.” Unknown politician’s stump speech. "You know the problem with honor? Honor can be a restraining bitch on you. I’ve decided honor was for the last generation.” Bethany Anne Reynolds, Queen of the UnknownWorld Virginia, USA Cautiously, the large agent entered the dilapidated wooden ware- house in old-town Virginia. Taking up most of a city block and surrounded by old weather-beaten and rusting pipes it was an eyesore to everyone walking or driving by it. He spoke into his mic, “Carl, three heartbeats, smells are incred- ibly pungent with a slightly sick smell. Kind of like they’re going through severe body issues, or eating lots of yellow curry. I'm not sure which.” 6 MICHAEL ANDERLE He listened as Carl retorted over the earpiece, “Bill, for the record, Indian food is magnificent, and your culinary bigotry is showing.” “Easy for you to say, I’m the one who has to smell it when you go overboard eating it.” Stopping the conversation and moving silently, the agent squeezed his entirely too-big body through holes which certainly were too small. “OK, inside perimeter and will be making contact inside thirty, that is three–zero seconds. Smells include heavy bleach, with a subtle aroma of aforementioned nastiness. Still three tangos, no heartbeat warnings, no talking.” Carl was viewing the video take coming from the needle camera attached to Bill’s heavy helmet and mask. While there was no way Carl could ever make it on a takedown, he certainly enjoyed sitting in on the real-time action. “OK big guy, I have all the info coming in from the sensors outside. We have no movement and nothing out of the ordinary. We don’t seem to have any issues with flanking, so you are a go from this side. Your call, Billy Boy.” Bill swore to himself. If there was any one thing that got under his skin more in the last fifteen years working with Carl other than being called ‘Billy Boy' he didn’t know what it was. One of these days he was going to give Carl the monumental wedgie he kept asking for. Except he never said it when Bill was around, and Bill never thought about it except times like this. One of these days, though... God help him, and the big guy would be upset, but he was going to make it so Carl had to be surgically removed from his shorts. Time to get back to business. “OK, approaching and have visual. Three contacts all dressed in jeans and shirts, nothing different except two have hunting vests on, one has his off and is messing with it. Can’t see what he’s doing as his back is to me.” At that moment, one of the men cocked his head and gestured at the other two who suddenly looked in Bill’s direction. Death Becomes Her 7 “You’ve been made, loudmouth.” Carl couldn’t keep the concern out of his playful jibe. “Shit. OK, apparently this might get bloody. Talk to Primary and let him know we might need cleanup.” “Primary is already in listen-only mode. I’m sure he’s setting up dispatches already.” Bill heard the three guys around the card table stand up and fan out, ready to face him. He sighed, it wasn’t as if he was worried. He had taken down so many people in fights like this or gunfights, it wasn’t even funny. While he looked about thirty-eight, he was closer to seventy-six years old. Pretty young for a vampire, actually. While bullets hurt, he would mend, and the pain would remind him not to get sloppy next time. Bill stood up, all 6’4”, and confidently strode right over to the three guys, stopping about ten feet away. Damn if that smell bothering him wasn’t peculiar. The bleach was causing his nose severe issues, but he could still smell something over that nasty stuff. Carl watched through the video link as Bill started asking the guys if they would like to come quietly or... He never got out the next word as all three rushed Bill and the signal from his headgear suddenly stopped. The incoming video from a couple of the cameras outside that weren’t damaged showed the whole wooden warehouse go up in flames while smoking embers rained down from the sky in streaks onto nearby buildings. Carl was pretty sure that in seconds there wouldn’t be a piece of the engulfed warehouse left. His best friend, his partner, had just vanished in a big ball of heated urgency and consumption. Carl just stared at the screens, willing Bill to come running back out through the flames. Someone knew they were coming, and they knew how to take a Vamp down. Three of them were willing to take their own lives to make it happen. The color, what little was left, drained from Carl’s face. The shock 8 MICHAEL ANDERLE of losing his friend, the shock of being so mistaken about Bill’s safety left Carl staring at the screen. The ringing of the phone broke through his pain, his stupor. It was the primary contact. He hit the talk button, “Yeah,” his voice barely a whisper. A gruff voice from the other end of the line, “Tell me he has enough parts left that he can make it back to us, Carl,” said Frank, their primary contact with the Government. He had been working his solo career deep in the bowels of the darkest areas of security so long he predated Carl by decades. “I have Spec-Ops ready to extract in five minutes.” “No, Frank. We just lost him. All of him. I just lost my fucking best friend.” Carl wanted to slam the button down as anger and anguish directed both at those who killed Bill and himself, rose up. “We can’t get noticed right now. We’re obviously being watched, and something is so rotten in Denmark I can’t even think straight.” “I’m so sorry, Carl.” Frank knew that there wasn’t much he could say. Carl was his third contact on the other side of the ‘redline,’ and he was aware that it was Carl’s first loss. Frank had been through two others before this, and while he interacted with the agents, he was uncomfortable around them. Frank knew that no matter what the protocol said, it was never ‘his program.' “What’s our next step, kid?” Frank had to get Carl thinking again. While Carl wasn’t young, compared to Frank’s near-century mark he was a drop in the bucket. “Step?” Carl sounded like his mind was just idling, nothing going on as the take from the outside cameras showed the burning ware- house and registered the sirens in the distance. Probably Frank’s work. As much as Carl wanted to yell and scream, cry and drink himself into oblivion, there was only one response. With a voice only starting to come back, Carl replied, “Do? Frank. There is only one choice. I have to wake Him up.” Any color left in Death Becomes Her 9 Carl’s face totally faded away. Oh my, God, he thought. What’s going to happen now? Frank, on the line hundreds of miles away, had much the same thought. Except his thought was even more concise. It was simply, “Oh shit.” Washington, D.C. Bethany Anne Reynolds was a sight to behold. Coming down the inside of ‘spook central’ in Washington, she received surreptitious glances from a couple of the guys. Although her hair was jet black, her personality could be straight from a redhead at the best of times. The ones who were smart forced their gazes away instead of watching her walk down the hall, the view was not worth the scathing look should Bethany Anne notice. Or the ass-kicking during martial arts workouts later. She was only 5’3” and for most of the guys, that gave them a significant height and reach advantage.