LITMIR.BIZ

      Dr. Catt Alborak

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Epilogue

      Chapter One

      “Sit down, Ty, I’ve got some very bad news for you.” Morgan Trayhern scowled and placed his hand on the back of his chair, his fingers tightening perceptibly on the dark brown leather. He had asked Ty to join him here in the war room, hidden deep below an innocuous-looking turn-of-the-century Victorian on the outskirts of Philipsburg, Montana. Morgan saw the wary look the tall, tightly muscled ex-marine officer gave him as he quickly closed the door to the inner office where all planning took place for Perseus missions.

      “That bad?” One corner of Ty’s mouth lifted derisively, in more of a pained expression than a smile. He noted that Morgan looked very tired; there were shadows beneath the older man’s eyes, and his mouth was tightly set against the emotions he was clearly holding back. Although Morgan was dressed casually in a pair of jeans, cowboy boots and a long-sleeved white shirt, nothing could hide his military background. Ty was glad he’d been in the Marine Corps, too. It was something they shared, something good and solid, something that could be counted on. Ty knew that if anyone could be trusted, it was Morgan.

      Morgan pursed his lips as Ty took the rustic pine chair in front of his desk. The leather seat cushion creaked as he sat down.

      “Two words I hoped I’d never have to utter,” Morgan admitted with a sigh as he walked around his own chair and sat. Resting his arms on top of the highly polished red cedar desk, he ran his fingers through his short black hair, now peppered with white strands.

      Ty frowned. “Which two words? I can think of a lot of bad things that start with two words.” When Ty saw the various top-secret faxes, e-mails and courier service information scattered atop the desk, he realized why Morgan looked so tired. He obviously hadn’t been doing much sleeping. As haggard as Morgan appeared, Ty saw a glint in his eyes. He recognized that look. It was the look of a predator on the trail of his quarry. At heart, Morgan was the ultimate hunter-warrior, and a planner and catalyst to boot. It was one of many reasons Ty was glad he’d left the Marine Corps and come to work for Perseus, the covert government agency Morgan ran. Maybe, as Ty’s younger brother, Reid, once said, all the men at Perseus were throwbacks to the era of cavemen, true hunter-warriors who knew instinctively how to track, hunt and kill their quarry.

      In the case of Perseus, the quarry was always a dangerous criminal element somewhere in the world. Heaven knew, there were plenty of evil men who wanted to bring harm to people, communities, or even countries. It didn’t bother Ty that he was a hunter-warrior. He lived for it, thrived on the danger, just like his three brothers, who also worked for Perseus, did.

      “Black Dawn?” Ty wondered aloud as he watched Morgan sort haphazardly through the missives on his desk.

      “You’re damned close. How about biological attack?”

      Ty’s straight, dark brown brows dipped instantly and his hands came to rest on the arms of the pine chair, his fingers automatically curling around the warm wood. “What?” The word came out as a harsh whisper tinged with disbelief.

      “You heard right,” Morgan muttered, pulling out a couple of papers and thrusting them across the desk in Ty’s direction. “We think that Black Dawn has chosen what they consider a ‘safe’ target to test out their goods before they assault a much larger city. Take a look at this. It’s from the Brazilian government.”

      Ty rapidly scanned the report Morgan handed him. It was in Portuguese, the official language of Brazil. Luckily, he was proficient in it. “This is a handwritten report from a backwoodsman by the name of Rafe Antonio, who works for that government,” he said as he slowly tried to make sense of the scrawl. “He’s saying that people in one of the villages he has responsibility for, of the Juma tribe, have suddenly come down with a mysterious illness. It’s killing them off within forty-eight to seventy-two hours of infection. He’s asking for…” Ty looked up at Morgan “…your help? Not the Brazilian government’s? What’s this all about?”

      Morgan grunted and sat back in his chair, which creaked in protest. “We’ve got moles all over the world, wherever we suspect things can go very badly wrong in a very short time. Brazil is one of them. Their government is trying its best, but they’ve got their problems, too,” he continued wearily. “Unbeknownst to the Brazilians, Rafe is our operative and mole. He also works for the CIA. From time to time, if he ferrets out anything interesting, he passes it on to Perseus. His report came in yesterday.” Rubbing his face tiredly, Morgan rasped, “I suspect Black Dawn used an airplane, flew over that village, dropped a load of some deadly biological material and is monitoring to see if it worked and how well.”

      “Rafe suspects Black Dawn?” Ty asked, rapidly perusing the rest of the report.

      “No, I do. All Rafe knows is that the natives of one of the villages he’s taken care of for years are suddenly dropping dead like flies. He’s been in the Manaus region for ten years. He knows the area and its inhabitants better than anyone. Actually, he’s been keeping tabs for the CIA on the cocaine plantations that are springing up all over the Amazon basin. The CIA then informs the Brazilian government, which does nothing about them because they just don’t have the logistical support and trained manpower to go after them.”

      “So, Antonio functions as your eyes and ears out there on the rapidly growing drug trade?”

      “Among other things, yes. Because Rafe works for the city of Manaus in that state of Brazil, he’s in a very valuable position. He’s alarmed that the Juma are dying like this. That second report came in hours ago from him. Right now he’s heading down the Amazon River from Manaus with a load of antibiotics he got from a local hospital, to try and save some lives. You can see where he mentions that the chief of the village told him a plane flew very low and slowly over the village and ‘spit upon them.’ That was the old chief’s word, spit. I think it was an aerosol spray that was released.”

      Ty’s brow wrinkled as he sat there and read through the second, even more

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