Justin Read online

  Justin

  The Kings of Guardian, Book Ten

  Kris Michaels

  KMRW LLC

  Copyright © 2018 by Kris Michaels

  Krismichaelsauthor.com

  Cover Art: Digitally Imagined

  www.digitallyimagined.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted in the licensed material is a model. This book is fiction. Names, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations are entirely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Also by Kris Michaels

  Chapter 1

  Undetected, invisible, a mere shadow melding into the warm December night’s inky darkness, Justin King ghosted toward the side entrance of the Perth mansion. Every facet of his attire was custom fitted—both to the man and to his purpose. His customary thousand-dollar, handmade, Italian leather dress shoes had been replaced with equally expensive, specially crafted ankle-high boots, highly flexible with soft suede soles that left no distinguishable footprints. The ten thousand dollar bespoke Seville Row business suit of a successful restaurateur was replaced by a uniform of black, body-hugging tactical material, a skull cap of black wool and black leather gloves that molded themselves to his fingers so snugly they did all but leave fingerprints. He drifted to the left behind a large acacia bush. The move kept him out of the camera’s angle as he merged further into the shadows. The make and model of security camera installed outside the home picked up only indistinct movement where he was standing. He used the environment and moved when the wind shuffled through the branches to further disguise his approach.

  Three feet farther up the wall, next to the water meter and electrical panel, sat controls to an alarm system. Whoever had installed the ‘state of the art’ equipment didn’t have a fucking clue how to protect their clients or the information they tried desperately to conceal. Justin skirted a small shrub and lifted his gloved fingers to the alarm panel door— only to stop short. The door to the panel box was open a fraction of an inch, almost undetectable. The adrenaline-fueled charge that hummed through him intensified and swelled.

  He crouched and flattened against the exterior of the massive home and visually scanned the area before he fished his thermal imaging scanner from the pocket of his black tactical vest and palmed it. Similar to a cell phone set to vibrate, the apparatus would pulsate if it detected another body within the scanner’s two-hundred-yard range. His forefinger slowly pushed the device—the size of a deck of cards—two, 360 degree, rotations before he dropped the device back into its carrying pocket.

  Satisfied he was alone, he pushed off the wall and rose silently. The pad of his index finger pressed the thin metal door of the alarm panel box open a further fraction of an inch. He glanced around one more time before he focused on the interior of the alarm panel. Sweet. He sent a furtive glance around him again before he shut the alarm panel as far as the disarmed and dissected panel would allow. The work was professional, but personally, he would have used a lithium polymer battery. At a mere 500 microns, the thin casement was bendable, and with a less than three percent self-discharge, the battery life supporting the digital looping device currently deceiving the human alarm monitor, assuming there was one, would last for up to a week. There would be no need to reassemble the system if an emergency arose. Not that most operators in his line of work went to the trouble of masking their entry. He did. It was a mark of a true professional, and it was one fucking hell of a thrill ride. Get in, get out, and nobody knows you were there or how you did it. Fuck, the rush was intense. It was better than base jumping or skiing down a double black diamond slope after launching out of a helicopter.

  Justin dropped into a crouch and worked his way toward the side entrance. According to the intel he’d received, there was a redundant camera system backing up this alarm system. The rigged loop on the alarm panel would work on all but the entry point cameras and the camera fixed on his objective: the safe. Taking out the entry point camera wasn’t necessary and could alert the guards. Justin pushed a tiny pen-light from its compartment on his vest. He used the glow-in-the-dark sites he’d painted on the device to line it up perfectly with the light sensor on the top of the fixture and sent a laser-point of light to the photo-sensitive lens at the top of the porch light. The light immediately darkened. Justin lifted and entered an already open door. He replaced his equipment in its proper pocket while moving into the home quietly and efficiently. He had planned on forty seconds to pick the locks on the back door and enter, but thanks to whoever was already here, it took him four.

  The blueprints to the house didn’t do justice to the opulence that surrounded him. A younger version of himself would have taken the scenic route to his objective. The ever-present need for danger and excitement hadn’t diminished, but he’d learned to control it…somewhat. The older version of himself would settle for a trinket of nominal value that he could carry away from the mission. His trophy room held pens, coffee cups, figurines and countless other tiny treasures. Stupid? Maybe, but then again, the thrill was worth the risk. The pounding of his heart while engineering the acquisition and extraction of his handler’s required information and beating high tech systems manufactured to keep people like him out…well, it was a life-affirming rush and one he would never get tired of feeling. Knowing that someone else at least as competent as himself in the art of covert entry was already here? Fuck, that was a heady sensation, and his blood, supercharged by that bit of information, thrummed through his veins. He fucking loved the thrill. He made his way from the back of the home to the front stairway. He took a moment to scan the design of the room. The target had excellent taste, but he could admire furniture another time. A glance at his watch dropped him to a crouch beside a Fendi couch. Justin glanced at the luminescent hands of his ten thousand-dollar Breitling watch and waited. Right on schedule, the slight tap of a soft heel sounded. Justin drew quiet breaths, pushed back into the darkened corner next to the couch and watched.

  It was the top of the hour, and security guards were unwaveringly predictable. Ninety-nine percent of the time, if a guard was going to make the rounds, it would be at the top, bottom or quarter of the hour. This guard ambled through the front of the house and headed toward the back of the first floor. Justin pushed to his feet and watched the man through the spindles of a grand stairway. He waited until he couldn’t hear the soft tap of footsteps and sprinted around the couch and up the stairs then dropped beside an antique table at the second-floor landing. He angled his head and swept
the visible area using his peripheral vision to ensure he observed the entire area without making unnecessary movements. Nothing disturbed the quiet. Silent strides took him to the suite his target used as an office where he paused and listened. Although silence met his senses, he erred on the side of caution. He pulled out a flexible snake with a micro camera mounted on the tip, opened the door slightly and angled the device through the crack. The two inch by two inch, low-light display revealed an empty outer office. Justin retracted the camera and stowed it away before he slid into the room. He smiled as he neared the next door. As he approached, a soft click caught his attention. He knew that sound. That was the unmistakable sound of a mechanical lock. The safe he was supposed to infiltrate tonight had two locks. The key code his handler had sent rested in his pocket. Unless the person behind the door had the code…The solid thump of the safe’s wheel dislodging the four-way moving bolts sent a buzz unlike any other through him. So that eliminated any question; the person inside had the key code. Whoever was working this retrieval was elite…and the adrenaline kick of observing them - unseen and unaware of his presence - was too much to resist. Fuck it. Justin opened the door a fraction of an inch and stood so he could see over the ornate wooden desk that blocked his view. His smile grew. It couldn’t get any better than this. A woman reached in and pulled out the external hard drive Justin had been sent to clone. Intriguing. He shut the door as she turned around. If it were him, he’d survey the area before he focused back on the task at hand. He counted a slow ten and cracked the door again. Her features concealed by darkness, the woman leaned over and worked a large, clunky, cloning device. Whomever she worked for needed to upgrade their tech, but then again, not everyone could work for Guardian. Justin wished he could reveal his presence to the woman. Hell, it would be nice just to talk to another expert about the intricacies of their shared profession. Justin smiled and soundlessly closed the door. Meeting her could never happen, but damn, wouldn’t that be a rush? He headed out, pausing only long enough to grab a small glass paperweight off the edge of the desk. Memento pocketed, he retraced his steps, quickly and silently, leaving as he had entered.

  He’d have to make a phone call. Someone else had the information Guardian wanted him to obtain. But Justin knew his role, and he knew his restrictions. Jason, his brother, and CEO of Guardian International had only one standing order that he demanded Justin obey. Never disclose himself to anyone, for any reason. In accordance with Jason’s directive, he didn’t make contact with the other specialist. Besides, what would be the point? He assumed people of his caliber probably tended to avoid making friends in the business. It could end badly…or at least he believed it would. As there were only three people who knew what he did for Guardian, his identity would never be exposed. Justin waited at the back door until he heard the guard start his time regimented walk and slipped out of the house. He hoped there was only one sentinel on duty. If not? Well, his little friend upstairs would need to hunker down and wait for the excitement to abate before she left. Hell, on one mission, he’d spent almost twenty-four hours in a janitor’s closet hidden behind six ten-gallon buckets of floor wax. The risks came with the territory. Justin moved through the outskirts of the property. He jumped up, grabbed the top of the eight-foot stone wall and pulled himself to the top. He’d hidden his equipment bag under a bush on the other side. Justin dropped down, grabbed the backpack, and unzipped the main compartment before he pulled out a pair of running shoes. His black pants and long sleeve shirt were carefully rolled up and pushed back into the compact backpack. Sweat saturated the athletic shorts and black shirt he wore under his work clothes. The light breeze weaving through the bushes cooled his overheated skin and sent goose-flesh down his arms. From a small pocket, he pulled out a pair of wireless headphones and plugged them into his ears before slipping his arms through the straps of his gear bag and nesting it between his shoulder blades. With a glance up and down the street before he left the bushes next to the wall, he turned in the general direction of his rental vehicle and started jogging. It may be winter in New York, but the warm summer night in Perth couldn’t have been a more perfect reason to take a run and enjoy the city—even if it was two o’clock in the morning.

  Justin admired the small estates along the road where he jogged. A 'For Sale' sign caught his attention, and he studied the well-lit drive leading up to an old style mansion. The striking example of American Colonial architecture punctuated the knoll where it sat and captured his attention. Bookended by the neighboring Queen Anne homes, the manor stood out as even the landscape lighting varied from the neighborhood norm and cast beautiful rays through the massive limbs of the established trees that accentuated the sprawling yard. He'd studied the map and knew how to get back to where he'd parked the car, but he ended up jogging around that block three times. There was something about the old home that called to him. He glanced at the address and decided to have Danielle Grant, his Chief of Acquisitions, come check it out with him. Justin pulled out his phone and activated the voice notes. He rattled off the address and spit out the questions that popped into his mind as he circled the home. The manor had potential... bed and breakfast, higher-end clientele. Was there a market for such a thing? Did the manse have enough rooms? Was it updated? If it wasn't, what would it take to bring it up to speed? The location was close enough to Elizabeth Quay to be attractive to those who wanted the privacy that a hotel could not give.

  Justin slowed his pace as he approached the late model Mercedes he’d rented. Walking to calm his breathing after the jaunty five-mile run, he smiled at the thrill of watching the specialist work. She was damn good. Her equipment? Not so much. That could mean she was a freelancer, or it could mean the company that sent her wasn’t as concerned about their people as Guardian. Justin threw his gear bag into the back seat of the car and leaned against the vehicle, stretching his calves and hamstrings. He had a busy day ahead. Working without sleep wasn’t new, and he could deal with the long hours. Working with leg cramps? That was a different story, and it wasn’t going to happen. He took his time and stretched out, making sure to cool down before he grabbed a liter of bottled water out of the front seat. A marked police vehicle rolled at a brisk 5 mph through the parking lot adjacent to a small park where he'd left his car. Justin turned and reclined against his door as he took a long drink of water.

  The driver window slid down. “What are you doing out here so late?”

  Justin lowered the water bottle and smiled at the officer. “Well, it may be late for you, but my jet lag is telling me it’s the middle of the afternoon. I’m sorry if I’m in the wrong area, but when we arrived yesterday, this looked like a safe place to jog.”

  “Ah, an American?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, we don’t have many people out and about at three in the morning. Just checking to make sure you’re not up to any evil.”

  Justin laughed, “No sir, just trying to exhaust myself. I’m going to finish my water, drive back to the hotel, and try to get some sleep before my meeting in…” Justin glanced at his watch and grimaced. “Damn, five hours.”

  "What's your name?"

  "Justin King. Would you like to see my passport?"

  "Please." The officer got out of his vehicle and watched as Justin leaned in, opened the glove box of the rental vehicle and pulled out his wallet and passport. He handed the dark leather holder over to the officer. The man looked at the cover of the passport and flipped it open. "Here on business or pleasure, Mr. King?"

  "Business mostly, but I hope to enjoy a day of fun if I can squeeze it in."

  "That so?"

  "Yes sir, I'd love to abseil down Gordon Dam."

  "That's one hell of a drop."

  "The largest man-made, commercial, vertical descent on record." Justin couldn't wait to wrap up his work, take a short flight to Tasmania and rappel down that four-hundred-twenty-feet concrete surface. It would be a major rush. At least that was his plan until tonight's mission cr
umbled.

  "Where are you staying, sir?" The police officer's question brought him out of his musings.

  “COMO, The Treasury, on Cathedral Avenue.”

  “Well now, those are nice digs. What business did you say you are in, Mr. King?"

  I didn't. “I recently purchased a building overlooking the Quay, and I'm here to hire some local contractors to help me convert the structure." He had started to tire of the third degree but kept his cool, his professional veneer wrapped tightly around his internal musings.

  The police officer took one more glance at his passport and handed it back to him. "Enjoy your stay, but at this time of night, stick to running on the treadmill in the hotel's spa, right?”

  “I'll take that into consideration. Thank you, sir.” Justin took another long drink of water, capped the bottle and stretched his lower back. The taillights of the cruiser signaled a left turn. Watching them disappear around the corner Justin bent at his hips and touched his palms to the ground. He was getting too old not to stretch out after exercising. He chuckled at his normal exercise regime. If his brothers ever got wind of what he did to keep in shape for his night time job? Hell, he’d never live it down.

  He glanced at his watch and calculated the time difference between Perth and Washington D.C. before he got into the car and pulled his cell phone out of the glove compartment where he'd stowed it when he’d finished his run. He’d wait until he got back to his hotel room before he made the call. It was lunch hour in D.C., and he’d be damned if he’d be the reason his brother missed a meal. According to a conversation he'd recently shared with his mother, Jason tried to go home for lunch with his wife at least three times a week. His brother worked like a fiend, but he was devoted to his wife and son.