Sabotage: A Reece Culver Thriller - Book 2 Read online




  Praise for works by Bryan Koepke

  “Very well written. Interesting. Plot is genius. The book was hard for me to put down. Great depiction of characters. Vengeance will definitely not be the last book I read by Bryan Koepke.”

  – Amazon Reviewer

  “This is a thriller that satisfies on a number of different levels. A son’s search for who killed his father is intertwined with a high-society art theft ring. Reece Culver is a different kind of PI, and Crystal Thomas was silky as a seductress. Good characters, great Western action. The fresh approach here is why I always love to read debut novels.”

  – Amazon Reviewer

  “Colorado author Bryan Koepke brings us his debut novel VENGEANCE. Reece Culver is a former aerospace engineer now a private investigator who struggles with the mysteries of his father’s murder, now a cold case with the law. He encounters Crystal Thomas, a beautiful, seductive yet desperate woman hires him to recover her missing mother. Complicating the investigation and chase which covers the terrain of the Midwest, the involvement of a core of wealthy art thieves, and of course the obligatory romantic inclinations and the slow unveiling of the perpetrator who is responsible for his own father’s murder. The pace is like running on a cardio treadmill until the pieces all fall together. For being a debut novel, Bryan Koepke’s VENGEANCE manipulates the usual ingredients for a thriller - revenge, betrayal, and redemption - in such a forceful way that once started it is difficult to set the book aside for fear you may forget an occult clue Koepke has just dropped in our psyche. He is a writer of enormous promise.”

  – Amazon Hall of Fame Top 100 Reviewer Vine Voice

  “I really enjoyed this book. I found it to be similar to the movie “The Sixth Sense”, in that there was a lot that came together in the end that makes me want to go back and reread the book to pick up all the hints that I missed. It is a very engrossing story that kept my attention, with lots of twists and turns. The author provides highly descriptive detail throughout the book that really helps you make a mental picture of the story as it progresses. It was an exciting read, and now I’m starting it again to look for all the clues I missed the first time.”

  – Amazon Reviewer

  Table of Contents

  Also by Bryan Koepke

  Acknowledgments

  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

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  ALSO BY BRYAN KOEPKE

  Vengeance

  Damage

  Acknowledgments

  First I’d like to thank my wife Ildy for her love and friendship.

  I’d like to thank my friends Brad Printz and Walt Whitehead for their proofreading, and providing insights as beta readers of this story. I’d like to thank my 10th grade English teacher at Mason High School, Mrs. Lopez, for encouraging me to follow my dream of becoming a writer.

  Chapter 1

  Saturday June 8, 2013

  Julian had been told the target would be traveling south along the coastal road. With a practiced hand he pivoted the stock of the Russian-made sniper rifle on its black steel swivel mount atop the bipod legs and aimed toward the highway below. The SUV would be passing right through his sight… there. A chilly breeze blew through the tent, rippling the damp cotton shirt that lay molded to his back. He wasn’t nervous, but he did tend to sweat as the killing hour approached. He regarded the unpleasant sensation as just part of the job. It wasn’t like anyone would ever find out.

  Peering through the custom-made rifle scope, he adjusted the magnification between his thumb and index finger, zooming in on the worn white strands of the highway’s center line several hundred yards below. As he rotated the knob back out, he spotted the farthest flag he’d placed in the branches of a nearby tree. The strip of white plastic barely fluttered, telling him the wind was calm.

  His square unshaven chin pressed firmly against the cold black stock of the Dragunov SVD, and he pushed upward, seating the steel magazine that housed multiple 7N1 steel-core sniper rounds. With its 151-grain projectile and velocity of 830 meters per second, it was perfect for this type of work.

  A rifle was the best—precise, anonymous, and decisive. He ran the shot through his mind one more time. Envision what you want to have happen. He’d read about that in an e-zine, and he adopted it as part of his preparations, even though it was supposed to be part of his ten-year life plan. He didn’t need any plan. In ten years he’d be rich and retired on a private island in the Caribbean.

  The tracking device he’d stuck under the rear bumper would tell him when the SUV was near. It would approach on its way south toward the city of Talbert. He’d picked the perfect spot. The narrow Scottish road curved left around a large hill, and the vast expanse of the North Atlantic Ocean spread beyond the guardrail.

  Confirm the license plate BV-061-EK, lead the target, and pan upward to the windshield. He’d draw a bead on the man’s head, squeeze the trigger, and watch as the windshield filled with a fine red mist. He’d envisioned the heavy vehicle veering sideways and crashing through the flimsy rusted guardrail before plunging into the depths of the sea. The driver would be dead before he realized how freezing cold that water was.

  As the assassin waited patiently enduring the wet chill that reminded him of his home on Bainbridge Island, he monitored the moving red
dot on his cell phone. A young woman with a yellow scarf drove past in her blue Volvo sedan. His stomach growled, and he remembered the bacon he’d had at the inn. The slabs were thick and cooked only in patches. Typical British cuisine.

  The dot was rapidly approaching, and he shifted his attention to a silver Nissan Pathfinder rapidly making its way up the road. It carried two occupants. Damn it, he thought as a maroon BMW X5 came around the corner. The Pathfinder would pass in front just as the BMW entered his field of fire.

  He could feel a drop of sweat rolling down the knobs of his spine. He zeroed in the rifle scope on the BMW windshield. The cross hairs remained steady as the SUV slowed to make the curve. He saw the Pathfinder pass through in a blur. He had a split second of clearance as he squeezed the trigger. The windshield misted red and flashed beyond his line of sight.

  Chapter 2

  Reece Culver was driving, and his good friend Haisley Averton sat opposite. He was finding that the Pathfinder he’d rented handled pretty well for a truck. Driving on the left was weird, though, just like the name of the town they’d just passed through. Who would want to live in a place called Lochgilphead? You’d have to check the spelling every time you wrote your address.

  “The way I see it, we have two options. We can find a pub in town, grab a few brews, some chow, and find a place to stay tonight, or we can head straight up to that fishing lodge, check in, and hope their restaurant and bar are still open,” Reece said.

  “I vote for the first one. On the flyer the lodge looks like it’s hard-core fishing only, and I’d rather check out some of the local scotch before we go camping,” Haisley said.

  They were nearing yet another curve on the twisting coastal road. Coming around the bend was a maroon BMW X5. A lot nicer car than what we’re driving, Reece thought. Wouldn’t pay for the upgrade, though…

  As the two cars passed, he heard the loud crack of a rifle. He instinctively ducked. In the rearview mirror he saw the BMW careen sideways, straight into the guardrail. The steel barrier was ripped open with an ear-splitting screech. The BMW carried on through—and dropped out of sight.

  “Did you see that?” he yelled, jamming his cowboy boot down on the brake pedal. The rear wheels locked as the vehicle skidded. The rear end started drifting right, and then the truck’s automatic traction control system corrected their path. Reece could smell the tires burning from the friction.

  “What the hell just happened?” Haisley said as he unbuckled his seat belt.

  Reece flung open his door and jumped down, wanting to see what happened to the other car. He ran to the crumpled section of the guardrail that the BMW had destroyed before it went airborne. Springing off his right foot, he cleared the barrier like a hurdle. The grass-covered bank was wet and slick as he descended. He started to slide, then caught himself, allowing himself to fall on his behind. He half-slid, half-pedaled the rest of the way down to the water.

  The sports utility vehicle was twenty feet out into the ocean with its front end already submerged below the surface. Reece didn’t have much time, if in fact the driver was still alive. He slipped off his Tony Lama boots.

  “Reece, what are you doing?” Haisley cried from above.

  “I’ve got to see if he needs to be rescued.”

  The lapping surf felt cold on his shins, then his stomach, and shoulders as he plunged into the waves. The saltwater burned his eyes as he looked out toward the truck and wondered if he’d get there in time.

  It seemed like it took ten minutes to swim to the sinking truck. Reece kicked through the water, taking big swipes at it as he alternated strokes with his arms.

  Just a little more. I’ve got it now.

  He’d finally made it just as the rear bumper plunged below the surface and followed the rest of the truck’s chassis, sinking remorselessly into the cold black depths. Reece stuck his head below the water’s surface as he followed the red SUV down. There was no way he could dive that far.

  Pulling his head out of the water, he kicked to keep treading water. For the first time he felt the bone-chilling cold. His teeth chattered and his numb legs felt like two heavy clumps. The wind whipped at the water’s surface, spraying his face.

  He turned back toward the shore and felt a strong current carrying him south. If he didn’t get back to shore, hypothermia would set in and he’d drown.

  Come on, he told himself, focus. He swung into motion, feeling more sluggish now. His arms were heavy like wooden oars. Reece kicked his feet to propel himself forward, but felt the weight of his clothes. His friend Haisley was standing on the bank a few feet from the water’s edge. The older bald black man with his white goatee was waving to him frantically.

  Just keep on rowing, he encouraged himself, just like a rowboat, looking for the right spot to fish. As he steadily made his way to shore, his mind filled with questions. What had happened on the road up above? Someone had shot at a moving vehicle, and that car was now sunk in the ocean depths. Whoever it was had to be a damned good shot. That meant that the killing was intentional

  He’d been lucky. One second earlier, and he could have been the one who was killed. A burn of anger started spreading from the back of his neck. That was too close. That made it personal.

  Chapter 3

  Reece yielded to Haisley’s strong grip as the older man grabbed his right forearm and pulled his friend from the frigid water.

  “Culver, what were you thinking? You could have drowned,” Haisley yelled as he scooped Reece up and wrapped him into a thick brown corduroy jacket. Reece struggled to gain traction on his wobbly legs. They started back up the slope to the rented truck. The smooth soles of his cowboy boots were not suited to the slick bank he was trying to climb. Haisley’s powerful arm—he was Reece’s father’s former patrol partner—around his waist was a relief. They finally worked out a system of crabbing sideways and reached the road surface once again.

  “We need to call this in, but that can wait. That guy in the fancy SUV isn’t going anywhere now,” Haisley said, urging his frozen friend toward the Pathfinder. Haisley shoved Reece into the driver’s side front seat.

  “You should get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death, son.”

  Reece struggled, pawing at his shirt buttons with hands that felt like they were covered with thick gloves.

  “I don’t know what your problem is, always trying to be a hero,” Haisley groused. “Culver, your father would tell you.” You got to learn when it’s worth going after someone and when it’s a waste of your time.” Haisley grumpily handed over a fresh shirt when Reece finally managed to wrestle himself free of the sopping one. “You know, you might not care about your life, but you’re all that I got left. You and my wife, Mavis.”

  Reece stepped down onto the pavement in order to get his blue jeans off. After a few yanks around his thighs, they thankfully dropped like lead shot. His legs looked odd, almost bluish, and he was glad this road had hardly any traffic. Then again, maybe British women went for the pants around the ankles look. In his early thirties Reece had a chiseled face and broad shoulders, with shaggy brown hair and blue eyes that more than one lover had called striking. That is, once you got past the pants around the ankles, he thought.

  Haisley silently handed over a dry pair of pants and some sneakers. “Let’s go. Get decent so we can report this to the police, or the constables—that’s what they call themselves.”

  “Or the bobbies,” Reece joked as he tied his tennis shoes. “That would fit you. You look like a—”

  In the distance, they heard tires screeching on pavement.

  “Get in,” Reece yelled as they jumped up and closed their respective doors. Yanking the steering wheel all the way over, he jammed on the accelerator and spun the truck around in a tight half circle. The tires roared as the engine’s power propelled them down the road.

  Up ahead a pair of red taillights gained some distance before finally vanishing around a corner. Blindly, Reece found the knob for the headligh
ts with his left hand. The narrow road lit up in front of them, and he nailed the gas pedal.

  “You thinking what I’m thinking?” Haisley yelled as they sped after the dark-colored pickup truck.

  “That wasn’t an accident,” Reece yelled back as he zigged and zagged around the infernal curves.

  “That asshole is running without his lights,” Haisley said.

  A weird sound caught Reece’s attention just as two bullets punched through the top of the windshield. “Get down, he’s shooting,” Reece yelled as he leaned to the left, trying to see around the webbed glass spreading from the holes.

  “Any chance you can reach your gun case?”

  Haisley tore the headrest off the top of the front seat, chucked it into the back, and climbed halfway over before coming back with a black plastic box about the size of a lunch pail. “Okay, I got my Glock. Give this thing all you got and catch this mother.”

  Reece sped up and after a few hundred yards saw the pickup’s headlights as the driver exited the highway onto a side road, running toward the west. He tore after it, sliding nearly out of control as the Pathfinder found its grip on a gravel road lined by thick trees on both sides.

  “Looks like he’s got headlights, just no taillights. Might have it rigged up that way,” Haisley yelled.

  Reece heard his friend’s words but was focused on the vehicle ahead. Sparks lit up the hood as more bullets came their way.

  Haisley leaned out the side window with his .40 caliber Glock semi-automatic handgun and fired back. “Boom, boom, boom!” Up ahead the truck sped over the top of a hill and for a moment the brake lights lit up the road. “Boom, boom, boom!” Haisley fired more rounds toward the truck. “He’s going to the left.”

  Reece felt the light truck’s suspension compress as they flew over that same hill at full speed, crashing down onto the road on the other side. To his left he saw the truck fishtailing as it sped off.

  Up ahead the road was flatter and wider with bunches of narrow trees on each side. The muzzle flash alerted him as he heard the distinctive sound of bullets ripping through the front of their Nissan Pathfinder. Steam shot up in front of Reece. One of the rounds had penetrated the engine’s radiator. In another moment he heard the distinct thump of his right front tire being blown out.