United States Senator John Stockwall of Texas is kidnaped on the doorstep of his house in McLean, Virginia. That's just the beginning of a conspiracy hatched to shake America to its very foundations. The trail of the kidnapers leads Nick McQueen, who is a CIA hit man and a fugitive from the authorities, to a brutal murder on the casino-lined, neon playgrounds of Las Vegas. The al-Qaeda kidnapers plan to broadcast live on national TV a show stage-managed to humiliate and terrorize the American public. Publicized on Facebook, Twitter, and other social media on the Internet, the kidnapers' final horrific act performed for their "Theater of Terrorism" aims to wreak havoc, kill thousands of Americans, and precipitate economic collapse in the United States.
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"The Anaconda Complex is a unique and much recommended pick for thriller readers."--Midwest Book Review
From the Author
CHAPTER ONE
From a stand of oak trees the two men in black balaclavas lurked and watched United States Senator John Stockwall of Texas stroll on the flagstone path from his winding asphalt driveway to the front door of his Tudor-style mansion in McLean, Virginia. It was a twenty-minute drive from DC. He had avoided the daily ritual of traffic congestion due to the lateness of the hour.
It was dark, the cool fall air crisp. The moon hung low in the sky.
Stockwall fished his keys from his trouser pocket as he approached the door. His three-acre yard was surrounded by a spiked, black, wrought-iron fence that had an electronically operated gate at the driveway's entrance. He had no reason to suspect that intruders had breached his security.
The two men clad in black tracksuits stole through the trees toward Stockwall, his back to them. He inserted the key into the front door's lock. He opened the door. He had sixty seconds to deactivate the programed security alarm in the foyer. He walked toward the alarm, the door ajar behind him. He knew his wife would not be here. She was at some meeting or other. She was always at some meeting or other.
The two men stood in the doorway. One had a suppressed H&K MP5 in his hands. The other held a roll of duct tape in one hand and a sap in the other. The two men waited for Stockwall to disarm the alarm. Stockwall punched in the code with his forefinger, unaware of the intruders' presence. He punched in the last number and lowered his arm.
That was when the man with the duct tape lunged at him. The man brought the metal and leather sap down hard on the back of Stockwall's head.
Stockwall staggered to his knees, reaching for his head, his face a mask of pain.
The man dropped the sap. In economical, fluid movements, he tore off a length of the grey duct tape and secured it around Stockwall's mouth. He tore off another strip and bound Stockwall's hands in front of him. He bound Stockwall's legs at the ankles.
The man with the MP5 led the way out the front door. Following him, his accomplice frog-marched Stockwall.
The two men did not speak. MP5 motioned with a twisting of his black leather-gloved hand toward Duct Tape. Duct Tape understood. He dredged the senator's SUV keys from the senator's trouser pocket. He flipped the keys to MP5.
Unable to make the catch, MP5 bobbled the keys. He cursed, leaned over, and inspected the lawn in front of him for the set of keys. He found them, snagged them, and made for Stockwall's silver SUV parked in the driveway.
The senator seized his opportunity. He bolted free from Duct Tape and slammed him in the head with his bound hands. Duct Tape reeled backward but did not go down. Stockwall tried to hop on his bound legs across the lawn into the impenetrable darkness of the trees.
Duct Tape ran him down with ease. Duct Tape spun Stockwall around and hammered Stockwall's face with a right cross that decked the senator.
MP5 tapped his suppressor impatiently against the SUV's driver's side door to signal to Duct Tape to step on it.
Duct Tape glared at Stockwall and kicked him in the stomach. Groaning, Stockwall writhed on the cold grass.
MP5 tapped his machine pistol's suppressor again, harder this time, against the SUV's metal door. He waved at Duct Tape.
Duct Tape took note. He kicked Stockwall in the stomach again, then yanked him to his feet and propelled him toward the SUV.
MP5 opened the tailgate door of the SUV. Duct Tape shoved Stockwall into the vehicle. Duct Tape climbed in after him. Duct Tape unwound more tape. He tore off a strip. He wrapped it around Stockwall's eyes.
Duct Tape tried to close the rear door behind him. It would not shut. Looking back he realized Stockwall's feet were protruding over the tailgate. Duct Tape hauled Stockwall farther into the vehicle and shut the door.
MP5 fired the ignition. He turned the SUV around in the driveway's apron in front of the garage. He headed for the security gate. Slowing down at the gate, he opened the SUV's console and withdrew a remote control device. He pressed the red button on the black plastic remote.
The wrought-iron gate swung open electronically.
MP5 sped out onto the street.
Stockwall started writhing around and kicking the tailgate as the SUV accelerated. Duct Tape elbowed him in the face then dredged out a plastic case not much bigger than a deck of cards from his rear tracksuit pocket. Duct Tape flipped open the case and removed a hypodermic needle. Holding the needle upward, he pressed the plunger with his thumb and watched as fluid squirted out of the tip.
Satisfied there was no air in the hypo, Duct Tape injected the sedative into Stockwall's jugular. Emir Azam had told him if the serum had an air bubble in it, Stockwall would die from an embolism.
Duct Tape removed the needle from Stockwall's jugular. At least Duct Tape thought it was the jugular. It could have been the carotid artery for all he knew. He had no medical training. He was simply carrying our orders. In any case, he knew the drug would knock Stockwall out.
In fact, Stockwall's kicks were losing their clout already.
In another minute Stockwall lay motionless. Duct Tape chucked the senator's cheek and smiled.
"He's out cold," said Duct Tape.
The driver, Tariq, nodded and removed his balaclava. He was five foot eleven, thirtyish, and had a swarthy complexion. He sported a short black beard, more stubble than beard, really.
Duct Tape removed his balaclava as well. His name was Ramirez. In his late twenties, smooth-shaven, Ramirez was an inch shorter than Tariq but had a heavier build.
Tariq drove the SUV onto Dolley Madison Boulevard. A mile or so onto it he pulled over onto a tree-lined turnout. He got out of the SUV, circled around to the back, and lifted a jack out of a well near the tailgate.
He jacked up the left rear tire a few inches to make it look like he was in the process of changing the tire. He stepped to the tailgate, pulled a screwdriver and a Pennsylvania license plate out of his tracksuit, and switched license plates on Stockwall's SUV.
Tariq repaired to the front of the SUV and switched license plates there, too.
He tossed the jack back in the rear well, closed the tailgate door, returned to the driver's seat, and pulled back into traffic. He steered the SUV onto the George Washington Memorial Parkway and followed the Potomac River down to Ronald Reagan National Airport.
In twenty-odd minutes Tariq arrived at the airport's long-term parking lot. He pulled into a parking space beside a beat-up white van in the dim-lit lot. He got out of the SUV and scanned the lot for witnesses. He did not see anyone.
He unlocked the side door of the van, while Ramirez pulled open the side door of the SUV. Tariq and Ramirez hauled the unconscious Stockwall out of the SUV and into the van.
Ramirez locked up the SUV. Then he and Tariq piled into the front of the van. Tariq drove out of the airport.
A half hour later he pulled the van over to the side of the road and switched its Virginia plates with Massachusetts ones.
In a matter of minutes he fired the van's ignition and headed west.
Copyright 2011 by Bryan Cassiday. All rights reserved.
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More About the Author
Bryan Cassiday graduated from UCLA with a BA degree in English. He lives in California.
He wrote the CIA spy thrillers "The Anaconda Complex," "The Kill Option," and "Fete of Death."
For horror fans, he wrote "Zombie Maelstrom," "Helter Skelter," and "Blood Moon: Thrillers and Tales of Terror."
His sequel to "Zombie Maelstrom" is being published in 2012.
Visit his Web site at www.BryanCassiday.com.
He wrote the CIA spy thrillers "The Anaconda Complex," "The Kill Option," and "Fete of Death."
For horror fans, he wrote "Zombie Maelstrom," "Helter Skelter," and "Blood Moon: Thrillers and Tales of Terror."
His sequel to "Zombie Maelstrom" is being published in 2012.
Visit his Web site at www.BryanCassiday.com.
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
3 of 3 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Slam-bang Thriller,
By
Amazon Verified Purchase(What's this?)
This review is from: The Anaconda Complex (Paperback)
You will probably think my review is prejudiced since I wrote "The Anaconda Complex." However, Amazon requested I review my book, so I will describe it.
In light of recent events, such as Osama Bin Laden's death at the hands of Navy SEALS working for the CIA, there are some who think al-Qaeda is dead. Al-Qaeda is not dead yet. They are still a force to be reckoned with. That being said, they are seriously wounded. Osama Bin Laden's death was a severe blow to al-Qaeda. Al-Qaeda terrorists figure into my thriller "The Anaconda Complex." These fanatic and monomaniacal terrorists launch an attack on American soil. Only black ops agent Nick McQueen who works for the CIA's National Clandestine Service can stop them. Because of his past and his profession as a hit man, McQueen is disliked and opposed by several factions in the CIA, thus complicating his job. Not only that, he is on somebody's hit list. Without going into too much detail, suffice it to say that "The Anaconda Complex" is a CIA thriller that should appeal to fans of Vince Flynn, Brad Thor, and Tom Clancy. After all, the works of these three authors appeal to me and I'm the author of "The Anaconda Complex."
2 of 2 people found the following review helpful:
1.0 out of 5 stars
Glad this was free - convoluted and unbelievable plot,
By Suncoast Reader "Suncoast Reader" (Sunshine Coast Australia) - See all my reviews
Amazon Verified Purchase(What's this?)
This review is from: The Anaconda Complex (Kindle Edition)
This book really doesn't get to one star on my ratings. It has a convoluted and absolutely unbelievable plot. Al Qaeda terrorists kidnap a US Senator and put him in a wooden crate and are able to transport him with powerful explosives and weapons down to the turbine room at the foot of the Hoover Dam! And the Al Qaeda operations were bankrolled by the Russians! Mixed in was a beautiful female freelance assassin hired by a senior CIA administrator to kill the CIA assassin so that he could get promoted. Her signature was dressing up with a mask of a very old woman. Oh dear....
1 of 1 people found the following review helpful:
4.0 out of 5 stars
Thriller with zing,
Amazon Verified Purchase(What's this?)
This review is from: The Anaconda Complex (Paperback)
Nick McQueen, out of work journalist, fugitive from justice, and part-time hit man, accepts an assignment from the CIA in The Anaconda Complex by Bryan Cassiday. When an assassin is needed McQueen is at the top of the list. The mission is an undercover, at-your-own-risk, urgent job: find the abducted U.S. Senator and take out his kidnappers. Risks are plentiful. Right off a shot is fired at McQueen. His two associates are brutally murdered. The Agency fears a sinking public image --"image like a snake, or worm," if the Senator is not recovered ASAP. In tracking the kidnappers, a plan of terrorism is uncovered. McQueen pursues the social-media-crazed terrorists through a maze to forestall their destruction of a famous landmark. All the while he feels threatened and senses someone is programmed to pounce. If you like fast paced suspense with zing, Cassiday's thriller makes an enticing summer read.
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