Before The Storm (The Hunters: Origins Book 1) Read online

  A Note About

  THE HUNTERS: ORIGINS

  The Hunters series opens in the middle of a daring heist as four strangers attempt to steal an important relic from Russian mobsters. Jack Cobb, Sarah Ellis, Josh McNutt, and Hector Garcia prove their worth by breaking into a heavily guarded compound in Brooklyn’s Brighton Beach while being attacked by an army of goons and chased by the FBI. Based on the team’s success, Jean-Marc Papineau hires them to find something far more valuable than a single artifact: a treasure train filled with Romanian gold.

  If you’ve read THE HUNTERS, THE FORBIDDEN TOMB, and THE PRISONER’S GOLD, you know what happens next. But have you ever wondered what the team members were doing before the first heist? If so, I’ve got some great news for you. Over the course of several short novellas, THE HUNTERS: ORIGINS will delve into the history of the major characters in the series while providing clues and insight into THE HUNTERS movie and future books.

  The first story is called BEFORE THE STORM, and it focuses on the team leader of the Hunters. After his unexpected discharge from the U.S. Army, Jack Cobb finds it difficult to adjust to civilian life. Thankfully, two of his closest friends (Jonathon Payne and David Jones) come to his rescue in the oppressive heat of Florida. But their tales of adventure do more than cheer him up. They open Cobb’s eyes to an opportunity that will change his life forever.

  Praise for The Hunters

  The Daily Mail (UK)—

  “THE HUNTERS is taut and fierce…. It feels like the draft of a movie, and it could just be Kuzneski’s breakthrough novel. In fact, it deserves to be.”

  Herald Sun (Australia)—

  “THE HUNTERS is Mission: Impossible on steroids…. Kuzneski brings together a super-expert crew of renegades to track down a long-lost treasure, sent into hiding in 1916 and never seen again. It’s all about the action, which never stops. Half the fun is imagining the all-star cast for the movie that was clearly in Kuzneski’s mind. Final verdict: Thrill Ride.”

  Steve Berry, #1 international bestselling author—

  “Kuzneski does it again with another terrific tale, filled with action and deception, bringing the unimaginable to life. Definitely my kind of story!”

  Scott Mariani, #1 international bestselling author—

  “THE HUNTERS kicks off a brilliant new series from Chris Kuzneski. Adventure, history, mystery, and more—everything you’d want in a thriller!”

  Boyd Morrison, #1 international bestselling author—

  “If Indiana Jones joined the crew of Mission: Impossible, you’d get the action, history, and wicked sense of humor in THE HUNTERS. With a thrill ride that pins you to your seat until the very last page, Kuzneski sets a new standard for adventure.”

  Graham Brown, #1 international bestselling author—

  “The Prisoner’s Gold hits like a hammer with intense action, suspense, and intrigue that echo to the very last page and beyond. Fantastic!”

  Praise for Chris Kuzneski

  James Patterson, #1 international bestselling author—

  “Chris Kuzneski’s writing has the same raw power as the early Stephen King.”

  Clive Cussler, #1 international bestselling author—

  “Chris Kuzneski writes as forcefully as his tough characters act.”

  Nelson DeMille, #1 international bestselling author—

  “Chris Kuzneski is a remarkable new writer, who completely understands what makes for a good story: action, sex, suspense, humor, and great characters.”

  Vince Flynn, #1 international bestselling author—

  “Chris Kuzneski is a master in the making.”

  James Rollins, #1 international bestselling author—

  “Chris Kuzneski writes with an energy that is contagious! Action, suspense, mystery, and a biting thread of humor…. What more can you ask from a novel?”

  Lisa Gardner, #1 international bestselling author—

  “Chris Kuzneski has mastered the art of the quest novel, bringing to life lost treasures, exotic locales, and fresh conspiracies.”

  Douglas Preston, #1 international bestselling author—

  “Chris Kuzneski is a monster storyteller who never disappoints.”

  Works by Chris Kuzneski

  Payne & Jones Series

  The Plantation

  Sign of the Cross

  Sword of God

  The Lost Throne

  The Prophecy

  The Secret Crown

  The Death Relic

  The Einstein Pursuit

  The Hunters Series

  The Hunters

  The Forbidden Tomb

  The Prisoner’s Gold (*** Thriller Award Winner ***)

  The Hunters: Origins

  Before the Storm

  CHRIS

  KUZNESKI

  _____________________________________

  BEFORE

  THE STORM

  THE HUNTERS:

  ORIGINS #1

  Before the Storm

  The Hunters: Origins #1

  All Rights Reserved © 2016 by Chris Kuzneski, Inc.

  No part of this novella may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.

  Cover by Jeremy Robinson

  Edited by Ian Harper

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9909256-1-3

  ISBN-10: 0-9909256-1-7

  Table of Contents

  A Note About THE HUNTERS: ORIGINS

  Praise for The Hunters

  Praise for Chris Kuzneski

  Works by Chris Kuzneski

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  About the Author

  Connect with Chris

  Chapter 1

  Tuesday, August 14

  Clearwater Beach, Florida

  (23 miles west of Tampa)

  Jack Cobb wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone.

  Not the hostess, not the locals, and certainly not the shirtless tourists who whooped with glee as they drank their piña coladas while listening to a white guy with dreadlocks play a reggae version of Margaritaville.

  Cobb rolled his eyes and gulped his beer.

  Another fucking day in paradise.

  Prior to his trip to Florida, he could tolerate Jimmy Buffett, but his beach songs were played so often—and so poorly—at the bars and restaurants around town, Cobb was tempted to pull his gun and shoot the wannabe Rastafarian before he could inflict more damage to the public’s eardrums. With the liberal gun laws in the Sunshine State, Cobb was ninety percent sure he could plead self-defense and get away with it.

  The thought of violence made him smile.

  It was the first time he had smiled that day.

  With its stifling heat, Florida is miserable in August. While the winter months are heaven on earth, summer is closer to hell. According to a plastic thermometer behind the bar, the temperature was ninety-five—and so was the humidity. It was so hot even the seagulls were cranky. They shrieked obnoxiously as they searched for food on the wooden deck overlooking the wide white beach and the vast turquoise sea.

  From his stool at the end of the ba
r, Cobb watched the birds fight for scraps. The imagery pissed him off because it made him think of his current ordeal. He had come to the Palm Pavilion, a popular beachfront hangout on Clearwater Beach, to take his mind off things, but the place was having the opposite effect.

  Everyone around him was loose and having fun.

  Meanwhile, he was coiled and ready to strike.

  People sensed it, too.

  The place was packed, but the stools next to him were empty.

  His icy gray stare kept people away.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance like gunfire in the Middle East. The locals were so used to the threat they paid it no mind. Along this part of the Gulf Coast, it rains almost every day in the summer, normally in the middle of the afternoon. The showers were often quick but powerful. With more thunderstorms than just about anywhere on the planet, this region proudly calls itself the lightning capital of the world.

  Cobb glanced at his watch. It was 1:37 PM.

  He guessed he had ninety minutes until it started to rain.

  He raised his hand and ordered a pitcher of beer.

  It was time to pick up his pace.

  * * *

  For a man like Cobb, this was rock bottom.

  After graduating from West Point, he had joined the United States Army’s 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment and thrived. Nicknamed the Night Stalkers, the 160th SOAR is a Special Operations force that provides helicopter aviation support for assaults, attacks, and reconnaissance. Its missions are usually conducted at night, at high speeds, at low altitudes, and on short notice.

  Simply put, the Night Stalkers are badasses.

  And Cobb had been their alpha dog for many years.

  Whether on the base or in the field, people naturally looked up to Cobb. Not only the soldiers under his command, but also the officers above him. As if everyone sensed he would someday be in charge of the whole damn army. Some called it charisma; others called it leadership. Whatever it was, the quality was palpable with Cobb.

  It didn’t hurt that his father—a Brigadier General in the U.S. Marines—was on the shortlist to be the next Secretary of Defense. Bloodlines mattered in the military, even if the two Cobbs didn’t get along. Recently their fracture had widened to a massive chasm when Jack was dishonorably discharged for killing a high-level terrorist who was supposed to be captured, tortured, and used as a political pawn.

  At least that was the rumor.

  Few people knew what actually had happened.

  The details of Cobb’s court martial were so heavily redacted it would have been more efficient to dump a bucket of black paint on the transcript than to go in by hand and conceal the confidential information in the 512-page report. About the only words that weren’t crossed out were prepositions.

  Despite the incident, Cobb had somehow avoided prison.

  But that didn’t mean he hadn’t been punished by the Army.

  The military was his life, and it had been taken from him.

  And so had his reputation.

  * * *

  Cobb had come to Florida to visit MacDill Air Force Base.

  Located four miles from downtown Tampa, MacDill serves as headquarters for U.S. Central Command (CENTCOM), Special Operations Command (SOCOM), Marine Forces Special Command (MARCENT), and several other units. In total, there are twenty-eight mission partners based at MacDill, which makes it the most critical military hub in the United States outside of the Pentagon.

  Over the years, Cobb had spent a lot of time at MacDill and had hoped one of his contacts would throw him a lifeline—whether it was a job at a military gun range or a teaching position overseas. But word had spread quickly amongst the ranks that he was off limits. Simply put, anyone seen talking to and/or helping Cobb would be blacklisted by the military.

  To active personnel, he was persona non grata.

  Hell, they wouldn’t even let him on the base.

  As cruel as it sounded, the military took its code of conduct quite seriously, and Cobb’s dishonorable discharge was such a stunning fall from grace that no one at MacDill was willing to risk his career for a man who had screwed up so badly that even his high-ranking father couldn’t save him.

  It was the Army’s equivalent of the scarlet letter.

  Even worse, private military companies like Academi (formerly known as Blackwater) and Aegis were forced to back away as well. Normally there would have been a bidding war for someone like Cobb, who could be dropped anywhere in the world to lead an entire platoon of mercenaries, but private contractors were so dependent on military money they couldn’t risk upsetting anyone at CENTCOM, particularly a Brigadier General who may become the Secretary of Defense.

  After several days of rejection, Cobb realized he was screwed.

  He had come to Florida for a second chance.

  But was forced to settle for another beer.

  Chapter 2

  Cobb was halfway through his pitcher when his phone started to ring. He glanced at the caller ID and saw a name from his past.

  He smiled for the second time that day.

  Maybe he wasn’t screwed after all.

  Cobb took a deep breath before answering. “Well, I’ll be damned. You must’ve read my mind. I was thinking about giving you a call.”

  “Really?” the man said. “Why didn’t you?”

  “I wasn’t sure your secretary would put me through.”

  The caller laughed. “You have my cell number, not my work number. Besides, I’m not in the office. I’m on vacation.”

  “Me, too,” said Cobb as he struggled to hear. He covered his left ear with his free hand, but the torturous wails of the white Bob Marley were echoing in his head. “But I bet you’re somewhere fancier than I am—like Malta or the Amalfi Coast. Meanwhile, I’m melting in Florida.”

  “Really? I’m in Florida, too.”

  “Which part?”

  “Beats me. Everything looks the same.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  “Plus it’s, like, three hundred degrees. It’s so damn hot I just saw a squirrel blowing on his nuts.”

  Cobb laughed. “What are you doing down here?”

  “Visiting a friend. And you?”

  “Drinking my ass off.”

  “Alone?”

  “What can I say? It’s been one of those weeks.”

  The caller nodded knowingly. He was well connected at MacDill and had heard about Cobb’s situation from a number of people. All of them wanted to help but couldn’t risk involvement. “In that case, maybe we should meet up.”

  Cobb’s smile grew wider. “That would be great. Just tell me when and where, and I’d be happy to make the drive. My schedule is pretty wide open at the moment.”

  “I’m not sure driving is a good idea—particularly if you finish that pitcher.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “I’m always right.”

  Cobb paused. “Wait. Who said anything about a pitcher?”

  “No one had to. We’ve gone drinking before. I know your MO.”

  Cobb shook his head and glanced around the Palm Pavilion. He suddenly realized his friend was nearby. “No way. I’m not buying it.”

  “Well, I’m sure as hell not buying it. You ordered it before I got here.”

  Cobb stood and spotted his buddy near the entrance.

  He was even bigger than Cobb remembered.

  Dressed in a black T-shirt that showed off his physique, Jonathon Payne moved through the crowd with ease. People sensed his presence and got out of his way—and those that didn’t were sidestepped easily by the agile giant. Unlike most men his size, he was blessed with the dexterity of an Olympian. That rare combination of strength and grace allowed him to letter in football and basketball at the U.S. Naval Academy.

  It had also paid dividends in his military career.

  Prior to his retirement, Payne had led a Special Forces unit known as the MANIACs, an elite counterinsurgency team comprised of the top s
oldiers the Marines, Army, Navy, Intelligence, Air Force, and Coast Guard could find. His position included final say on all personnel decisions, which was how the two soldiers had met long ago.

  Like most officers with his security clearance, Payne was fully aware of Cobb’s track record with the 160th SOAR and felt Cobb would be a perfect addition to his squad. To make that happen, Payne had flown to Fort Campbell, Kentucky—where the Night Stalkers were based—in order to convince Cobb to join the MANIACs.

  His recruiting pitch had included beer, food, and a lot of laughs.

  Although they had never served together, they quickly realized they were kindred spirits—men from prestigious families who took great pride in molding a squad of elite soldiers into a well-oiled fighting machine. Unfortunately, despite their admiration for each other, it was obvious their similarities would prevent them from working together.

  To put it simply, both men were born to lead.

  And two leaders wouldn’t work well on the same team.

  Nevertheless, they had grown close over the years.

  * * *

  On his own, Cobb was an intimidating guy.

  Chiseled, but not bulky, he was a shade over six feet tall with a handsome face and a stare so icy it could freeze water. People often underestimated Cobb’s strength until they saw the muscular definition of his arms and legs and six-pack abs.