Blurb: The United States is threatened by a group of sleeper agents operating covertly within the government. Once activated, these sleepers are causing pandemonium. It’s up to FBI Agent Jamaica Kurtz and Police Detective Raymond Kilgore to put an end to the killing before they too become targets of the group.Available at Amazon for $15.00: The Friday Housevisit my homepage at: D K GastonChapter OneWashington , DC – Monday, October 10From the dark early morning sky weightless snow descended gradually onto the nearly vacant street. Under the gleam of a streetlamp and the glow of a van's headlights the tiny white flakes became visible reflecting shimmering light like miniature stars. As the snow delicately sprinkled the hard top surface of the black 2004 Chevrolet Express Explorer, they melted quickly against the recently parked vehicle.The headlights were switched off and two figures wearing long gray coats emerged slowly from the van. The driver was short, pale skinned and gaunt. He'd flicked a partial smoldering cigarette to the pavement; the second man was large and tall. His dark complexion came from his Greek heritage. As the taller man made his way around he picked up the discarded cigarette. He held out his palm facing it skyward toward the smaller man. In its center was the item he picked up.“We're not to leave any evidence,” the big man muttered with a gruff voice befitting his size, waiting for the other man to retrieve the butt.Taking it from his hand, the smaller man noticed that it still carried an ember. He put it back to his lips and took a long satisfying pull. “Fine. I'll finish it,” he said glancing at his watch. “It's almost show time.”They crossed the street of the suburban neighborhood to the large colonial house where the FBI agent and State Senator lived. The big man walked up the steps onto the porch and then waited patiently at the door. The shorter man lingered at the foot of the stairway reached into his coat taking out a gun and fitted it with a sound suppressor.***Darrin Davenport awoke as he always had, promptly at five a.m. He slipped out of bed without disturbing his wife, Colette. Entering the bathroom, he glanced back at his image in the large mirror mounted on the back of the door.Not bad for forty , he thought.Potbellies and turkey wattles drooping underneath the chin were the burdens afflicting his associates. He kept himself as fit as a twenty-year old sprinter and was proud of himself for keeping at it all these years. He kept a regular regimen of exercise and ate a healthy diet, thus avoiding the pitfalls of aging endured by his friends.Colette he remembered had called him anal on many occasions. He gave an inward grin and then turned away from the reflection. Throwing on his jogging suit, he reentered the bedroom, noticed the contours of Colette's body beneath the blanket and smiled. Five years of marriage and she was as sexy as ever.They met the year before they married, during a city council campaign rally—her rally in fact. She was running against the incumbent, Becky Shettler. Darrin, an FBI Special Agent, always had a desire to go into politics, but never followed through on his dream. He felt compelled to find a candidate to support. And did he ever--when he locked gazes with Colette for the very first time. The energy instantly resonated between them. They dated--he helped her run a successful campaign--they made passionate love and a year later, they were married.In their time together, both had prospered in their respective careers: Colette, a senator and he a Special Agent in Charge with the FBI. Darrin knew he had flown through the ranks with the agency because of Colette's influence. It did not bother him one bit. In fact, he would have chosen to use her political power to an even greater extent for his career if she had not frowned upon it.He could hear Toby, his German shepherd, nails clattering on the tile as he entered the hallway. They ran together each morning and the dog waited patiently at the foot of the stairs. After descending the stairway, Darrin greeted Toby by rubbing his hand through the dog's fur and patting him.“Good boy, right on time.”Toby licked his master's hand as though in agreement.Darrin crossed the foyer to the front entrance with the dog trailing diligently behind him. At the door, Toby stopped, taking a protecting posture and began to growl. He stared at the dog curiously.“What's wrong, boy?” He asked concern in his voice. The German shepherd slowly backed away from the door. Reaching for the dog's collar he tried to steady Toby. “It's all right, boy. Everything's going to be okay.”The German shepherd's eyes remained fixed at the door.Darrin turned in the direction of the entry. A light tapping sounded on the door, twice. The dog's growls grew. He wondered, who would knock on the door at this hour , he knew it was no one with good news.Releasing Toby's collar, he crossed into the living room and retrieved a pistol he had hidden beneath the fireplace poker holder. He had concealed guns throughout the house on every floor unbeknownst to Colette. She always thought weapons did more harm than good. For years, she'd been an advocate for greater gun control laws and often took on opposing members of the senate. It was a wonder she ever married a man whose job required him to carry one.Two raps came at the door again. Stuffing the pistol underneath the folds of his sweat jacket, he walked over to it as another two raps sounded, this time louder. Whoever it was grew impatient.“Who is it?” Darrin called out.No answer.He dug a hand into his sweat jacket, taking hold of the pistol. His other hand held onto the doorknob.It wasn't the fact the knocks came at his door at such an early hour or the rashness of the pounding that unnerved him so; it was his dog. He'd never reacted this way before. Toby moved to his master's side ready to attack.“Good, boy,” he whispered.As he turned the door handle, he half expected the person on the other end to have a shoulder pressed against the door trying to force his way in. No such action came about. Where he had anticipated staring into a face, he instead gaped into a barreled chest. He saw that in the entryway stood a large dark figure of a man.“Can I help you?” He asked uneasily.The stranger had not offered any type of hospitality or even tried to explain why he even stood at the door. He simply showed the whites of his teeth as he put on a mirthless smirk.When the stranger took a step forward without so much as a word, Darrin drew the gun from his jacket and aimed it at the man's chest.“Who the hell are you and what do you want?”Lightning fast, the man's arm struck out of nowhere. The movement betrayed his size. A powerful palm folded over Darrin's gun hand and began squeezing, gripping it like a vice. Dropping to a knee, winching in pain, the pistol tumbled to the floor. With his free hand, Darrin punched his fist into the large man's crotch.The smirk disappeared from his face, replaced with a heated scowl.With fangs showing, Toby hurled himself at the big man. The man was ready. He stepped aside quickly with his captive in tow, letting the dog fly beyond the doorway and into the view of a smaller man standing on the walkway just outside the porch.Gun in hand, sound suppressor attached to its tip, the second man fired once. The weapon barely made a noise. Toby yelped as the hot metal punched through his flesh. The German shepherd's body, flinched, lost its momentum and dropped hard from the air, falling to one side on the porch.Clamping his free hand on his captive's shoulder, the giant yanked the other man's arm, drawing him up and in as easily as an adult pulling on a small child. Releasing his iron grip, he moved his grasp to the FBI agent's other shoulder, immobilizing him. He was defenseless against the strength of the larger man. The last thing he saw before his world went dark was the man thrusting his forehead toward his own.
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