Read The Betrayed Series: Ultimate Omnibus Collection With EXCLUSIVE Post-Shiva Short Story Online
Authors: Carolyn McCray
Tags: #The Betrayed Series
The Betrayed Series: Ultimate Omnibus Collection With EXCLUSIVE Post-Shiva Short Story
From the #1 bestselling War/Action Adventure/Men's Adventure/Techno-thriller author, Carolyn McCray comes the blockbuster nearly ½ million word, ultimate Betrayed Omnibus collection. Containing all of the Betrayed series from the first prequel short story to the post-
Shiva
exclusive short story,
Mayhem
, you can read the extremely controversial historical thriller saga in one place!
***Warning*** These books compile an extremely controversial religious/historical thriller. Too controversial to be published in hardback. Please do NOT purchase this book if you were at all disturbed by DaVinci's revelations. However if you like your fiction to challenge historical events, read on…
Praise for
The Betrayed Series
…
“Carolyn McCray’s 30 Pieces of Silver proves that Dan Brown’s crown is up for grabs. Part minefield and all roller-coaster ride, here is a story as controversial as it is thrilling. Hunker down for a long night, because once you start reading this book, you won’t be putting it down.”
NYT Top Ten Best Seller
“Even as I write this, I find I can’t do justice to the scope and breadth of 30 PIECES OF SILVER… The last three pages of the story rank as one of the most shocking and unexpected conclusions I have ever experienced. I just didn’t see the ending coming. I was speechless—and I can’t think of any better praise to give than that.”
Book Reviewer
The Word Zombie
“30 PIECES OF SILVER blends action, science, romance, history, and geography all into a fascinating thriller reminiscent of James Rollins, Steve Berry, or Dan Brown. It has everything any reader would want and, perhaps the best thing is, there is already a follow-up on the way continuing the exploits of Monroe, Brandt, Lopez, and the rest.”
Book Reviewer
MrNeil98
Thrillers Rock Twitter
Main Menu
The Betrayed Series
A Short Story Prequel to
30 Pieces of Silver
An Extremely Controversial Historical Thriller
A
30 Pieces
to
Havoc
Bridge Short Story
The sequel to 30 Pieces of Silver
A Targeted to Shiva Bridge Short Story
The shocking conclusion to the Betrayed series
The EXCLUSIVE post-Shiva short story
AMBUSH
CHAPTER 1
══════════════════
Four kilometers outside the town of Xphil
Campeche Region, Mexico
Crunch.
Sergeant Vincent Brandt froze as a twig snapped underfoot. The rest of his team pulled to a stop, paused, waiting. The wilderness surrounding them seemed to draw in a breath, as well.
The multitude of insects stopped their persistent pre–dusk buzzing. Only a light breeze rustled the large leaves of the mahogany trees. Then even that died down. Brandt glanced up to find a toucan with its striped bill staring at him, cocking its head from side to side. Apparently, the gaily–colored bird was trying to figure out why in hell anyone would approach this close to a Los Zetas cartel’s campsite.
Brandt was beginning to wonder that himself.
It wasn’t the fact that a well–placed CIA asset’s cover had been blown. No, it was that the CIA hadn’t bothered to tell anyone about it. Not the DEA, not the DoD—hell, not even the Red Cross. The agency had gone all trigger–happy and mounted their own rescue mission of their asset. Which of course meant Brandt and his men now had to go rescue those captured CIA operatives, plus apparently a foreign operative who had wound up in the mix.
So here were Brandt and his team, deep in the Mexican jungle, missing the bulk of their leave, trying to avoid the cartel’s patrols and ending up another drug war statistic. They should have been in the Florida Keys pretending to fish, but really just having a moment to take a load off. “Blowing off steam” was what the head docs called it. Brandt called it second survival.
Out here in the jungle you stuffed it all down. The fear. The nerves. The fact that none of them had a successful relationship. Brandt’s mother was all about getting grandkids, however unless he stumbled onto some smart, funny, hot chick in the middle of the jungle, that was not very likely to happen.
The tension of all that had to go somewhere. Hence the fishing—priming the pump for the next mission. But no, instead they were in Mexican drug cartel–filled jungle. Awesome.
Svengurd, the team’s tall point man, swiveled his head from side to side, making sure that no one else had heard the snap of that branch. Finally, Svengurd moved them forward again, pushing further into the jungle, following his GPS signal, since there weren’t any trails leading to the Zetas’ back door.
Brandt waited until Lopez followed Svengurd. Usually the corporal was their vehicle procurement officer, or, as Lopez liked to call it, their “get, get, getaway driver.” Brandt had, of course, squashed that nickname.
Today they needed Lopez’s gun in the mix. If they couldn’t quickly and quietly get the hostages out of this makeshift camp, a getaway car wasn’t going to do them any good.
Svengurd’s fist clenched. Brandt stopped mid–stride. Had the point man spotted a sentry, or the camp itself? Glancing down, he checked his GPS monitor. They were still a good two hundred feet from the coordinates the CIA had given them. But then again, this was the same agency that had gotten at least two of their men killed and another two captured.
He would trust Svengurd’s instincts over any coordinates.
Confirming Brandt’s suspicions, the point man flashed fingers from his eyes towards a figure, no, make that two figures, in the jungle. Make that two
young
figures. Boys, really. Boys of no more than thirteen who carried M4 carbine machine guns with grenade launchers attached.
Brandt had discretion, of course. They could shoot the enemy combatants down without a warning. It galled Brandt, though. It wasn’t these kids’ fault they had been born in one of the poorest regions of the world and had been taken advantage of by the cartels for cheap, disposable security.
Svengurd and Lopez were set up to take the shot, but Brandt gave a sharp shake of his head. Despite their age and circumstance, the team still couldn’t have the child soldiers raising any alarms. There had to be a way to achieve a silent entry without harming the boys. He nodded at them to go east, around the guards.
The sounds of a
jai alai
game blasted from an old transistor radio. Clearly the boys’ team was winning, as they listened intently, whooping at each score. Just as well. The more distraction the better. Circling around, they approached from the boys’ backs.
As Svengurd kept watch, Lopez and Brandt slung their weapons and, step by step, came up behind the boys. They needed to be perfectly synchronized, or there would be blood on their hands.
Brandt counted down with blinks.
Three. He took his final step to the child soldier.
Two. His hands came up into position.
One. Brandt’s arm lashed out, grabbing the boy in front of him around the neck, lifting him from his feet. His gun clattered against the small metal table, knocking the radio onto the ground. The commentator’s words muffled by the dirt.
The boy flailed in his grip, fingernails raking down Brandt’s sleeve.
It’s way better than death
, Brandt thought, but knew the kid wouldn’t understand. Silently he kept his hold, closing off the sentry’s windpipe until the child slumped in his arms.
Lopez had been equally successful. As his guard’s eyelids fluttered, the corporal whispered, “
Cuando te despiertas
.
Ejectar.
” Lopez tucked several hundred dollar bills into the boy’s pocket.
The money had been meant for bribing any local official a little too interested in the foursome of American men. Brandt agreed. The cash was better spent here. He nodded as Lopez did the same for Brandt’s boy. Hopefully the kids would find the money and get the hell out of Campeche. Start a new life that didn’t involve killing innocents to keep the drug cartels profitable.
Movement from the side brought Brandt’s gun up, but it was only Svengurd. Lopez handed the point man a fistful of dirt. The tall Swede looked confused until the corporal rubbed a bit of earth onto his own head.
Svengurd’s platinum blond hair, even shaved down to a half inch, stood out against the mottled jungle. They all wore camouflage face paint, but keeping the point man’s towhead under control seemed to be a bit more of a problem.
Taking a deep breath, Brandt gave the signal to move into the final stage of this operation. Breach and extract. It sounded so simple.
Yeah. Right.
Wordlessly, they broke formation, splitting off to surround the nearest building. Actually, “shack” would be a generous term for what stood in front of them. The CIA insisted the hostages were being kept there. Which gave them about a fifty–fifty shot they were actually there. But beyond playing paper, rock, scissors, it was the best shot they had.
Cautiously, Brandt made his way to the north side of the wooden structure. The walls bowed and the ceiling sagged. The rest of the buildings didn’t look much better. This wasn’t a resort. It was an outpost. One that moved every few days. One of the reasons why his team had to strike now. Today. Before they moved the hostages.
The guard at the door wasn’t much more attentive than the boys had been. He had an ear bud in that leaked the
jai alai
game. It must have been a championship match or something. An unfiltered cigarette drooped from the guard’s lips.
Even though his men were out of line of sight, Brandt counted down, trusting that they were doing the same. At exactly sixty seconds from the moment they split off, Brandt pulled his knife out, sliding it across the man’s neck. This guy had had a choice and he chose the cartels. Brandt didn’t mind the hot blood spilling across his hand. One less Zetas to terrorize the countryside. Pulling the man out of sight of the rest of the village, Brandt tested the door.
Locked.
Quickly, he searched the dead guard’s pockets and came up with the key. Right on time, Svengurd turned the corner, Lopez behind him. They gave a curt nod. Their guards had been dispatched, as well.
Sliding the metal key into the lock, Brandt twisted it. Once he felt the clunk of the lock giving way, Brandt backed to the side, his hand on the doorknob. Carefully, he turned it, then shoved it inward.
Svengurd burst into the dimly lit room. Brandt followed Lopez as Svengurd sank his knife into the gut of the inside guard. The man slumped over without a sound. Several figures scrambled back, cowed, frightened of the danger that rode into the room.
“Are you American?” one of them asked.
Brandt put his fingers to his lips, then signaled to the small group to follow.