Alphas and Omegas Book Seven
The end is near. Someone is demanding the death of Michael Washington. That very same someone is assassinating super people throughout the world. And Michael would figure out how, except that Lincolnshire won’t let him. In the final Alphas and Omegas novel, Michael must face the choice: save lives by breaking the rules, or sit idly by while other people die in his name.
Excerpt from Super Omega
“That’s not the issue,” General Simms went on. He looked at General Anderton, then at Zhelyevich. Michael had long ago figured out he didn’t like Thompson.
Mrs. Zhelyevich cleared her throat. “Several weeks ago a letter was delivered.”
The letter appeared on the monitor set into the table just in front of him. It was one of those serial killer notes: the letters were cut out of magazines or books… only these were backwards. Still, it didn’t take him long to read what it said backwards.
KILL MICHAEL WASHINGTON
TWO WEEKS
Michael felt a chill roll down his scalp, then his back, and finish at his toes.
“What—”
“There’s another one,” Simms said. “We got the first one a month ago.”
The screen blinked, and different letters appeared, still backwards, still the same words, only cut out of different magazines.
KILL MICHAEL WASHINGTON
OR ELSE. ONE WEEK.
Michael’s stomach lurched. Deep breaths were necessary to keep his lunch down.
“Who sent this?” he asked.
“We have been running various scans on the paper, the inks used to print the letters, and we have been attempting to trace the senders, but we got nothing back. The paper is plain printer paper, A4 size, you could buy anywhere really. We use eight by ten in the US, but A4 is on sale at basically any office supply store. The letters were printed off on a standard inkjet printer, nothing special about those either. We assume these people—”
“Or this person,” General Anderton put in.
“Whoever did this photographed the letters with a tablet, reversed them with imaging software, and printed them out. They’re glued with a standard white glue. No fingerprints, nothing traceable via the postal service. Dead ends. The forensic team has been over this every single way imaginable.”
“Show him the last one,” Zhelyevich said.
This one was harder to read. The letters were bunched together, and still backwards.
MICHAEL WASHINGTON IS A THREAT TO EVERY HUMAN BEING, ACTIVE OR OTHERWISE. THE RIGHT TO PRIVACY IS SACROSANCT AND SHALL NOT BE INFRINGED. MICHAEL WASHINGTON MUST DIE, OR THERE WILL BE SEVERE CONSEQUENCES. ONE DAY.
This was two weeks ago?
“Why would they put the letters backwards?” he asked, but he knew. Kind of. With Grandpa off limits, for the time being, he would have to ask Brian. The trouble with that was the non-disclosure agreements. Legally, he wasn’t supposed to get into any of this stuff outside this building. Not even with his mother, and not with his father.
Which was weird. ‘How was work, son?’
‘Oh, okay. What’d you get up to?’
‘Classified. You?’
‘Classified. Anyway, nice pot pie, Mom.’
But this was two weeks ago. Michael shut down that train of thought but put it in the train yard for further wry, dark amusement.
“Okay, so I’m still alive, so since you didn’t kill me, what happened?”
They all traded looks.
Thompson picked this one up, “Before we go into that, you have to know that you are a valued asset here, and we do not negotiate with terrorists, do you understand? Nobody here has entertained the idea of handing you over dead.”
“Uh… thanks?”
Plus his father was the Alphas team leader, one of the team leaders anyhow.
“A week ago Jessamine Mallory came home unexpectedly from an assignment recruiting out in southern Russia and the Ukraine. Specifically Abkhazia. You’re familiar with her security detail, yes?”
“Alyssa?”
“She was found dead of multiple gunshot wounds.”