Trigger Warning
Look for these heart-pounding thrillers
by William W. Johnstone,
writing with J. A. Johnstone,
available wherever books are sold.
THE DOOMSDAY BUNKER
BLACK FRIDAY
TYRANNY
STAND YOUR GROUND
SUICIDE MISSION
THE BLEEDING EDGE
THE BLOOD OF PATRIOTS
HOME INVASION
JACKKNIFE
REMEMBER THE ALAMO
INVASION USA
INVASION USA: BORDER WAR
VENGEANCE IS MINE
PHOENIX RISING
PHOENIX RISING: FIREBASE FREEDOM
PHOENIX RISING: DAY OF JUDGMENT
TRIGGER WARNING
WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE
with J. A. Johnstone
PINNACLE BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
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
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
PINNACLE BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2018 J. A. Johnstone
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
Following the death of William W.Johnstone, the Johnstone family is working with a carefully selected writer to organize and complete Mr. Johnstone’s outlines and many unfinished manuscripts to create additional novels in all of his series like The Last Gunfighter, Mountain Man, and Eagles, among others. This novel was inspired by Mr. Johnstone’s superb storytelling.
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
PINNACLE BOOKS and the Pinnacle logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-0-7860-4050-6
ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-4051-3
ISBN-10: 0-7860-4051-3
CHAPTER 1
A short, sharp cry in the night made Jake Rivers look up from the book he was reading.
To be honest, he was glad for the distraction. He was on the verge of throwing the book against the wall of his dorm room in disgust. Since it was a hard copy, a thick trade paperback he had bought in the university bookstore for an outrageous price, and not something he was reading on his phone or tablet, he could have done that without breaking anything. Although the book was heavy enough it might have dented the Sheetrock.
The window next to Jake’s desk was open to let in the warm autumn air. Olmsted Hall had been built more than seventy years earlier, before air-conditioning, and updated and remodeled many times, but the windows still opened, which Jake liked. He dropped the book on the desk, switched off the lamp he’d been using for light, and stood up to move closer to the window.
From here on the second floor, he had a good view of Nafziger Plaza, the large, park-like area in the center of Kelton College’s campus. Three residence halls—Pearsol, Olmsted, and Colohan, running north to south—bordered the western side of the plaza. The administration building was at the northern end, the main science building, Terrill Hall, to the south. The big Burr Memorial Library was directly across from where Jake looked out the window. He could see the lights along the front of it through the trees.
He spotted movement in the shadows under those trees. Someone ran toward the dorms along one of the concrete walks. But another figure pursued and caught the first one, grabbing an arm to sling the fleeing person to the ground. Another cry. Definitely female.
Jake had some more reading to do for class—as much as he despised the book he had just tossed onto the desk—but it could wait. He headed for the door of his room.
He wasn’t really aware of it, but he was smiling as he went out.
It didn’t take him long to get down the stairs. A group of students was sitting in the lobby talking about something—he heard the words “microaggression” and “privilege” and “cisnormative”—but Jake didn’t even glance at them as he went by, and none of them called out to him. He didn’t have any friends here, and whatever the subject under discussion, none of them wanted his opinion on it.
He was just a big, dumb brute, after all.
As he strode quickly out into the night, keen eyes searched the area under the trees where he had seen the two figures a couple of minutes earlier. At first he didn’t see anything, but then he spotted movement again. There.
“Damn it, Annie, just be reasonable! I’m not going to let go of you until you start thinking straight.”
“Stop, Craig, just stop.” The words gasped out as the woman clearly fought to hold back sobs. “I told you it was over.”
Jake was still moving toward them, but he stopped as he heard what the woman said. A grimace tugged at his mouth. Lovers’ quarrel. None of his business. That was an old-fashioned attitude, and he knew it. But almost everything about him was old-fashioned, including his dislike of a woman being mistreated.
Of course, if he did step in to help her, more than likely she would stick up for her boyfriend and turn on him instead, accusing him of perpetuating the patriarchy and the myth of women needing to be rescued. He already got enough of that crap every day. He started to turn away . . .
Then the son of a bitch had to go and slap her.
Jake heard the crack of open hand on flesh and stopped in his tracks. He swung around, took several more steps until he could see the two of them fairly well in some stray beams of light filtering through the trees from the library. Couldn’t make out too many details because the light wasn’t that good. But she was petite and blond while the guy was good-sized, with dark hair and a short beard. Something was odd about the shape of his head, and after a second, Jake got it. The guy’s hair was long enough that he’d pulled it up into a bun on the top of his head.
Jake ran his left hand over his own buzz cut. He’d had fairly long hair once, h
alf a dozen years earlier, but he had never worn it in a bun. And if he ever grew it back out, he still wouldn’t.
The guy started tugging on the woman, who was actually crying now. Jake said, “That’s enough, Craig. Let her go.”
Both of them jumped a little in surprise. Jake moved pretty quietly all the time, without thinking about it anymore. More than once people had accused him of sneaking up on them, when all he was doing was going about his business.
“Hell, man, don’t do that. Do I know you?”
“Nope. I just heard you from my window up there.”
Jake gestured vaguely toward Olmsted Hall.
“What, you’ve got super-hearing or something? We weren’t being that loud. Sorry if we bothered you, man. We’ll keep it down. Anyway, we’re on our way back to our place. Be gone in just a second—”
“It’s not our place,” the woman said. Annie, that was what Craig had called her. “It’s my apartment. You need to get your stuff and leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Craig snapped. “That Julika girl’s been filling your head full of crap. Anyway, she just wants you for herself, you know that, don’t you?”
He still had hold of Annie’s arm. Jake said, “You haven’t let go of her.”
Craig looked around at him and said in an annoyed tone, “Are you still here? This is none of your business, man.” He paused. “Are you one of the football players?” Kelton College had a football team, but it hadn’t won a game in three years. “You’re big enough, but Olmsted’s not the athletic dorm—”
“I’m not a football player, and you need to let go of the lady.”
“You don’t have to call me a lady,” Annie said. Just as Jake had expected, she sounded halfway offended.
“I’m trying to help you—”
“That’s no excuse for perpetuating stereotypes and spreading toxic masculinity.”
Jake couldn’t hold back a sigh. Even scared and in trouble, Annie couldn’t stop herself from parroting some of the garbage that had been forced into her head. Not for the first time in the past half-dozen years since he’d enlisted, Jake found himself wondering if the people he fought to defend really deserved it.
He’d always concluded that they did, but sometimes it wasn’t easy to convince himself.
Craig said, “All right, we’re going.” He turned and tried to pull Annie along with him.
“No!” she said. “Let me go!”
“You heard her,” Jake said as he stepped closer.
Craig finally released Annie’s arm, but only so he could ball that hand into a fist. He twisted toward Jake and threw a punch. Jake moved his head out of the way and said, “Stop it, man, while you still can.”
“I’m not scared of you!” Craig shouted. “I don’t care how big you are! I know Krav Maga!”
He had just started some sort of fancy martial arts move when Jake hit him with a left hook to the belly. Craig’s eyes got so wide Jake could see the whites of them even in the bad light. As he started to double over, Jake swung a right cross to the jaw that snapped Craig’s head over. Craig went down hard, pounding his face against the concrete walk.
“You killed him!” Annie screeched.
“No. I could have, but I just knocked him out. Didn’t even break his jaw. He’ll be all right.”
She came at him, hissing and spitting. Jake didn’t know many cops, but he had known some MPs and they felt the same as their civilian counterparts about handling domestic disturbances. Those calls were the worst, and this encounter was a living example of it. All he’d tried to do was help this woman, and now she wanted to claw his eyes out because he’d hit her boyfriend.
He should have stayed with that weighty tome about how capitalism was the worst economic system and America was the most evil country in the world. Instead he had to raise his arm and fend off the punches she was throwing at him. Although the blows were ineffective enough, he probably could have just stood there and taken them without any harm being done.
“You . . . you fascist!” she screamed. “You oppressor!”
“Hell, lady,” Jake said, knowing the word would get under her skin again, “how’d you know I used to be in the army?”
He decided he might as well turn and walk away and let her do her worst. He was about to do that when Craig groaned. The sound made Annie break off her attack and drop to her knees beside him. She lifted him into a half-sitting position and held him against her. He seemed like he was still too groggy to know what was going on.
Jake heard a sudden rush of footsteps behind him and turned to see several black-clad figures charging him. He couldn’t make out their faces, and when they yelled, “Fascist! Fascist!” and the words were muffled, he knew why.
They were wearing hoods over their heads.
Then they were on him, swinging bicycle chains with locks on them, metal pipes, and other objects turned into clubs, and this peaceful night on the small, elite college campus turned into a fight for his life.
CHAPTER 2
Jake had battled against superior odds many times, but usually he’d been heavily armed and hadn’t been forced to take his enemies on bare-handed.
The thing to do in a situation like that was to take an opponent’s weapon away from him. Which was what Jake did when one of the black-clad attackers swung a pipe at his head. He ducked, let the pipe go over his head, and then came up with his left forearm under the guy’s chin, forcing his head back sharply.
Not sharply enough to break the idiot’s neck, though. These were kids. Arrogant, small-minded bullies, but still kids. They didn’t deserve to die for being stupid enough to believe the pack of lies they had been fed by their teachers, the media, Hollywood, and more than half of Washington, D.C.
Jake reached up, closed his right hand around the pipe, and wrenched it free of the attacker’s grip. He twirled it, jabbed the end into the kid’s stomach, and sent him staggering backward, gagging and retching. Moving too fast to see in the shadows, Jake let his instincts and a faintly heard sound guide him. He lifted the pipe as another of the figures slashed at him with a chain. The chain wrapped around the pipe, and Jake used it to jerk the guy toward him. Jake’s left fist shot out in a straight jab that popped the cartilage in the guy’s nose. He howled in pain.
Jake pivoted, swung pipe and chain, and coiled the chain around another attacker’s ankle. A quick tug yanked the guy’s legs out from under him and dropped him hard on his back on the concrete. That knocked all the breath out of him and left him gasping for air.
A second later, somebody landed on Jake’s back and wrapped wiry arms and legs around him.
“I got him!” a female voice yelled. “Kill the fascist! Down with oppressors! Kill him!”
The pipe and chain clattered on the walk as Jake dropped them. He reached up and back, got hold of the attacker clinging to his back like a spider monkey, and tore her loose. She didn’t weigh much. He bent forward, swung her over his head, and tossed her onto the ground, being careful to make sure she didn’t land on the concrete or hit a tree. She screeched, “Rape! Rape!” as she rolled over on the grass, and he wished for a second that he hadn’t been quite so careful.
“An-ti-fa! An-ti-fa!”
The chanting made him look around. He frowned as he saw that the commotion had attracted several dozen students. His frown deepened as he realized they were cheering on the black-clad attackers.
“Wait a minute!” he shouted, knowing he was wasting his time but too angry right now to care. “I didn’t do anything wrong! I was just trying to help a woman—”
“Toxic! Toxic!”
“Racist!”
“Nazi! Nazi!”
The whole world had gone freakin’ crazy, he thought.
The black suits were on their feet again and regrouping. As they got ready to charge him, Jake flashed back for an instant to things he had seen in the past: men in black hoods spouting Arabic as they held a Western journalist and sawed his head off with a big knife;
more black-hooded figures forcing a scared child with a bomb strapped to him down a street while they threatened to kill his mother if he didn’t blow up himself and some American soldiers; those same evil men or others just like them shooting at him and his buddies . . .
Then the memories went back even further to old, grainy, historical newsreel footage he had seen, row upon row of young men in spiffy uniforms and high black boots marching through the streets of a city, lifting their arms in a salute to the madman in front of whom they passed in review, on their way to wipe out anyone who didn’t think exactly the same way they did. They had disarmed the citizenry, taken over all the newspapers and radio and colleges and universities and made it a crime punishable by death to say or even think anything they disagreed with . . .
And the mass graves and the smoke rising from the crematoriums and later an even worse evil rising in the East, with more millions dead for no reason other than opposing what the party leaders said and did . . . The starvation, the booted marchers coming down the street, the knock on the door in the night followed by wails of grief and anguish . . .
And these people surrounding him now, the bullies in their black hoods and the ones who chanted for them, believed in and supported that hideous evil, all while calling him a Nazi and a fascist . . .
They kept using those words, Jake thought wryly as all that flashed through his mind, but he didn’t believe the words meant what these people thought they did.
Then they charged him again.