Deepfake: A Zack Wilder Thriller (The Fulcrum Book 3) Read online

  Deepfake

  A Zack Wilder Thriller

  N.J. Croft

  Copyright © 2022 N.J. Croft

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN-13: 9798449614407

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  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 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Acknowledgement

  Books By This Author

  “A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on.” - Winston Churchill

  Prologue

  Six months ago

  The searing heat enveloped him as President Samuel Mulenga hustled his wife and daughter out of the residence. Mid-summer, and the African sun was merciless. Sweat beaded on his forehead, rolling down, stinging his eyes. Though that could be the smoke hanging heavy in the air. Overnight, fires had broken out across the city. He wiped the sweat from his face as he strode across the lawns, ushering his wife and daughter toward the waiting helicopter.

  Beside him, Suria flinched at the loud rat-tat-tat of AK47 assault rifles. They were getting closer. Too close.

  “Come with us,” she said, resting a hand on his arm, her expression imploring. She was trying to stay strong for their daughter, but Samuel could see she was breaking up inside. “We can all leave,” she urged. “You owe this country nothing. They have turned on you like jackals.”

  “You know I can’t. Not while there’s still a chance.” Even as he said the words, he knew there were no chances left. Maybe his fate had been sealed long ago. He just wished he understood why. How had it come to this?

  “Father,” Constance implored, “it’s over. You must see that. We can’t lose you as well.” They’d already lost so much. Constance was crying silently. She’d been crying for days, ever since her brother had killed himself from the shame. Samuel felt the bitter taste of betrayal and guilt on his tongue. He should have supported his boy, told him that they believed him, however damning the evidence. But he’d been too busy. He’d always been too busy for his children, believing his work was more important.

  Now, the world had descended into madness. Samuel no longer knew what was truth and what was lies. He blew out a breath. “I am their leader. They’ve forgotten that for a while, but if we keep clear heads, maybe they will remember, and things will return to normal.” A lie, but no matter how bad things seemed, he couldn’t walk away from his life’s work.

  More gunfire and a shrill scream cut through the heat of the day.

  “You have to go,” he said to Suria. “Take Constance to safety. If you stay, they could use you as hostages.” Or worse. The mob mentality had taken over. He’d seen it before when civil war had almost torn their country apart. Back then, he’d been the one to bring peace. Now he could sense the killing madness, sharp on the air. They were like a pack of hyenas crying out for blood. His blood and the blood of his family.

  Constance clambered on board the helicopter, her usually graceful movements clumsy. Suria turned at the last moment, her mouth open to no doubt beg him to go with them.

  “I love you,” he said, cutting off her words.

  “I love you too.” She swallowed and gave him a forced smile, though her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I’ll see you soon.”

  He could see the lie in her eyes. So many lies. “Of course.” He kissed her on the forehead, then stepped back and watched as she boarded. The helicopter lifted into the air before the door had even closed.

  A roar rose from the mob raging outside the six-foot walls that enclosed the residence. Shots fired into the air. The bullets went wide, and then the helicopter was out of range. He sighed with relief, his shoulders sagging.

  “Mr. President, we have to get inside before they breach the walls.” Jumo, his chief bodyguard, spoke from behind him. At least a few were still loyal—Jumo had been with him from the beginning, had fought with him side by side all those years ago.

  They hurried back to the house, and Jumo locked the door behind them. Not nearly enough to keep a determined mob out. Now that his family was safely away, Samuel gave in to the fear that had been encroaching since dawn when the angry crowd had formed outside their home. He hesitated, lost and alone, not sure where to go.

  An explosion rocked the front of the building—they’d blown the main doors. Flames licked at the walls and smoke billowed, like a scene from hell. Samuel’s eyes smarted and he blinked as figures emerged from the haze. A shot rang out, and Jumo crumpled to the floor.

  Samuel heard a sound behind him and swung around. The last thing he saw was the downward sweep of the dull blade of a machete.

  Chapter 1

  The rain beat a staccato rhythm on the metal roof of the van, the noise grating on Special Agent Zack Wilder’s already raw nerves. The interior was cramped and filled with equipment, too small for the four people it held.

  They were parked across from the restaurant, but the windows were blacked out, so Zack kept his attention on the series of monitors. TacOps had been in earlier that day, and the whole area was wired for sound and video. Two of the cameras were external. One showed the front entrance of the restaurant through the heaving rain. Two of Patrick Byrne’s men stood on guard outside the red front door, their figures hunched against the weather. The second external camera was positioned opposite the only other exit, down a side alley. An FBI agent was hidden behind the dumpster to the left of the narrow doorway.

  The other two cameras revealed the inside of the restaurant.

  Zack rolled his shoulders as he watched the scene unfold on the center screen. Inside the restaurant, the lights were low, with about twenty tables scattered around the large room and a bar running the length of the back wall. Byrne sat at a table in the center of the room, facing the door. He could have taken his pick, as he’d booked the entire restaurant for the night. He obviously hadn’t wanted any outsiders present at this meeting.

  Hard luck for him.

  Byrne was tall and lean, with dark brown hair brushed back from a strong face. At forty-five, his features showed every one of his years. He’d lived a hard life, and he looked like what he was—the sort of man who could put a bullet in an unarmed woman’s brain wi
thout even a flicker of emotion.

  Across from him sat his father-in-law, though this was a business meeting. Behrouz Jafari was an Iranian businessman, with a more-than-dubious reputation. His daughter, Byrne’s wife, was not present; apparently, Jafari did not believe that women should be involved in commerce.

  Except for a table at either end of the restaurant where Byrne’s guards were seated, the rest were empty.

  As Zack watched, a waitress approached. She was an FBI agent, but she looked the part, a pleasant smile on her face as she placed drinks on the table.

  Zack’s whole team was determined that this would go down as planned. Byrne had killed one of their own, and they all wanted payback. Carmen Perez had been undercover, facilitating an arms deal between Byrne and a known terrorist. The operation had gone spectacularly wrong, and Perez had died.

  She’d been Zack’s partner at the time. Did he feel responsible?

  The fact was, while Byrne had pulled the trigger, Perez had died because of Zack. But that didn’t make him responsible. He hadn’t had any choice in the matter. Which was pretty much the story of his life up to now.

  He gritted his teeth and his hand tightened on the arm of his chair.

  “Jesus, Wilder,” Kelsey snapped from beside him, “loosen up. Nothing is going to go wrong. We’ve got him.”

  He had no doubt she was right. They had this locked down tight. The problem was, part of him didn’t give a shit. Byrne was just another pawn. Would it make any difference if they got him off the streets? Somebody else would slither into his place.

  What about revenge? But it would make no difference to Carmen Perez. She would still be just as dead. And the man who was responsible, Wayland Smith, was dead as well. Blown to radioactive dust when he’d set off explosives at the Hanford nuclear site.

  But Zack hardly wanted to share all that with Kelsey. So all he said was, “I know.”

  “Well, sound a little more enthusiastic about it. Someone handed us this guy on a platter. We haven’t seen a flicker of Byrne since the shooting.”

  “Aren’t we lucky,” he muttered.

  They’d been hunting for Byrne since he’d killed Perez, but the man had stayed completely off their radar. Then two days ago, the FBI had received an anonymous tip about this meeting. Except Zack was quite aware of who had sent the tip. And why. It had been a pat on the head to him—from the Fulcrum—for a job well done, and it set his teeth on edge. Something else he wasn’t about to share with Kelsey.

  She could never find out about his connection to the Fulcrum, a clandestine organization Zack had been part of all his life, and his family before him. At the age of four, he’d been handed over to their training center by his parents, and he’d never seen them again. While the Fulcrum’s objectives were good—to find balance in a world teetering on the edge of chaos—their methods were often ruthless. Zack believed in the Fulcrum, but after the events of the past year, he would never again follow blindly.

  “Christ. What is it with you?” Kelsey shook her head. “What are we waiting for, anyway?”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face, gave one last glance at the screen—Byrne was drinking his whiskey—and got to his feet. One of the other agents slid into the seat; he’d monitor the screens during the op.

  “Nothing. Let’s go.”

  Kelsey spoke into her mic. “We’re five minutes out.”

  Zack grabbed his jacket and pulled it on over his Kevlar vest. He checked his handgun.

  Stage one. They would take out the guards. He fixed his attention on the screen showing the front of the restaurant. Watched as two agents rappelled down from above and took out the guards silently and without fuss.

  “We’re good to go.”

  He turned and opened the door at the back of the van, feeling the cool damp air wash over his skin, breathing in deeply, and smelling the rain mingled with the scent of car fumes and Italian food. He jumped down, Kelsey following closely behind. They sprinted across the street, aware of agents emerging from their places of concealment and converging on them, while others headed to the alley to ensure the rear exit was blocked. Though Zack didn’t expect Byrne to get that far.

  They paused for a second at the door. He glanced at Kelsey; her face was impassive but her eyes gleamed. He’d suggested she sit this out. After all, she was the mother of “adorable” four-month-old twins; no one would have blamed her. She’d told him to go to hell. No way was she being sidelined. But now he saw the real reason—she was enjoying this.

  He gave a small nod, and she returned the gesture, then he pulled his handgun and kicked open the door.

  “FBI. Nobody move!”

  He took in everything as he entered the large room, Kelsey at his side. Other agents fanned out behind them. One of the bodyguards sprang to his feet. Zack swiveled, aiming his gun. “Sit and put your hands where I can see them.”

  For a second, the man hesitated. Zack felt Kelsey tense beside him. But then the man glanced at Byrne and sank down onto his chair, hands flat on the table in front of him.

  Zack spoke to the agents behind him. “Get their weapons. And cuff them.”

  They approached the men—two agents to each guard—pulled them to their feet, patted them down, and cuffed their hands behind their backs.

  Zack kept his attention fixed on their prime suspect. Byrne sat, seemingly relaxed in his chair, hands on the table in front of him. He turned slightly, his gaze shifting to the bar behind him. Then he gave a small nod and dived to the side.

  The barman raised his hands, revealing an automatic rifle. The intel hadn’t said he was one of Byrne’s men. He fired, spraying bullets in their direction as Zack pushed Kelsey to the side and dived forward. He landed on his chest on the gleaming wooden floor, aimed his gun and dropped the barman.

  Directly in front of him, Behrouz Jafari lay on the floor, a bullet—presumably from the barman—through his throat, eyes staring. No threat. Byrne was making a run for it, low to the floor. Zack rolled to his feet and sprinted across the room. Byrne saw him coming and drew a handgun. As he straightened to take aim, Zack kicked it from his hand. Then he kicked out again, striking Byrne in the solar plexus, and he crashed backwards into a table. He pushed himself up, and Zack swiped his legs from under him, so he fell face forward. Dropping one knee to the small of his back, Zack pressed Byrne into the floor. He pulled his cuffs from his belt, dragged Byrne’s hands behind his back, and secured them.

  Taking a deep breath, Zack straightened and looked around. Kelsey was close by, her gun still drawn but hanging loosely at her side. The room swarmed with agents, but all seemed to be in order. One of the bodyguards was holding his arm, blood seeping through his fingers. But none of the agents had been hit.

  “That was fun,” Kelsey said, coming to stand beside him. She stared at Byrne where he lay face down on the floor.

  Zack frowned. Kelsey had a habit of speaking without thinking. It would get her in trouble one day.

  “Hey, no one died,” she said, catching his expression. “Well, except that barman, but he deserved it.” She glanced around. “Oops, and Jafari. He must have taken a bullet from the barman. Very careless.”

  Zack shook his head, reached down, grabbed Byrne by the shoulder, and pulled him to his feet. Blood trickled down his cheek from a cut—probably from broken glass—but otherwise he appeared unharmed. His face was without expression, though his nostrils flared. He spotted Jafari and winced. “My wife is not going to be happy,” he murmured.

  “On a positive note,” Kelsey said, “she won’t be able to take it out on you. Not where you’re going.”

  Byrne turned his attention to Kelsey. “Where would that be?”

  Kelsey ignored the question and glanced at Zack. “You want to do the honors?”

  He shook his head.

  Kelsey frowned, then gave a shrug. “Patrick Byrne, you are under arrest for the murder of FBI Special Agent Carmen Perez.”

  Zack zoned out the rest of the words. He w
andered away and sank into a chair while order was made out of the chaos around him. Sitting back, he closed his eyes and tried to feel…something. He opened them when he sensed someone standing over him. Kelsey.

  Behind her, Byrne was being led from the building between two agents.

  “Are we done?” He wanted away from here. Though he didn’t actually know where he wanted to be.

  Kelsey put her hands on her hips and glared. “What the hell is up with you, Wilder?”

  “Nothing. We got him. I’m glad.”

  “Yeah, you look really happy.” She sighed. “Jones has offered to go do the paperwork. The rest of us are heading out for a drink. To celebrate. You want to come?”

  “No. I think I’ll go home.”

  “Christ, why can’t you relax a little for once? You’ve been on edge since we got the tip. You know, you seriously need to get laid.” She studied him through narrowed eyes. “Speaking of which, just where is Olivia? I haven’t heard from her for a while.”

  “Alaska.”

  Funny, he’d always thought if he had someone who knew his secrets, knew who he really was, then it would pull them closer. Instead, it was pushing them apart. His fault, he was well aware. There hadn’t been some magical change in his personality. He’d had thirty years honing his skills, keeping himself separate, living a lie, and he wasn’t about to turn into some happy, friendly, sharing kind of guy overnight. If ever.

  “What the hell is she doing in Alaska?” Kelsey asked.

  “Working. She was asked to go look at an…incident.” Olivia was an agent with the Environmental Protection Agency. “And obviously, she thought it would be a good idea.”

  “You fucked it up, didn’t you?”

  He rose to his feet. “Leave it,” he snarled. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Without waiting for her to answer, he headed for the door.

  It was only when he got out onto the street and stood in the downpour that he realized he had no way of getting home. His car was back at the office. Hunching his shoulders, he shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking.