Morvicti Blood (A Morvicti Novel Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

searching, Bathry had finally found his enemies’ secret location. His excitement had bubbled up inside him. The culmination of his father’s dream.
    But then the reports in the newspapers had emptied out his sails. That abominable letter.
    Betrayed by his puppet. The bitterness of it sickened him. He had wanted to confront the man, letting him know who was really in charge. But he had bitten back his tongue. This last assignment’s importance surpassed the previous jobs. The delay was necessary.
    He would conclude his business with his associate this very morning.
    He glanced at the several portraits of Bathry leaders, including his father, along the wall. He’d placed them in the room as visual examples of the promised world the man could join once he completed his training and missions. None of the promises were true, of course, but affability seemed warranted.
    Standing in front of the most prominent portrait, Bathry studied his father’s firm expression. He had been a hard man, demanding absolute obedience. His father prized loyalty above all else.
    After having the highest responsibility for so many years for the Bathry Bloodline, he now understood the reason. During his own reign, he had to condemn two traitors himself. Though cousins who shared his Bathry blood, his wrath had been swift and final.
    Next to his father’s portrait was his own. Bathry did not think the artist quite captured his piercing blue eyes, but the painting was a fair enough representation. He shared the family traits of sandy brown hair and cleft chin. But his own tough countenance rivaled even his father’s.
    Bathry walked over to the cupboard and brought out two Waterford crystal tumblers. He opened the rare bottle of Scotch whisky, filling both glasses.
    Bringing out the vial of poison, he emptied its contents into the one meant for his friend. He then toasted the air with his own glass. To you, father .

2003
     
Iraq

CHAPTER 4
     
    Austin McCord quietly broke the surface of the Khawr Abd Allah water, removing his mask and snorkel.
    His scan of the western horizon revealed a thin ribbon of dark orange. Except in his childhood home of West Texas, he’d never seen more beautiful sunsets than in the Middle East.
    Pending war hung in the air. A little over a week ago, General Colin Powell presented the U.S.’s case against Saddam Hussein’s government to the United Nations. Iraq showed no sign of backing down. But Austin and his team weren’t here about the war. They were here to save a young man.
    Austin was grateful for tonight’s new moon; the additional darkness would provide another layer of cover. His heart thudded in his chest, like it always did during this kind of mission. Massive amounts of adrenaline flowed through his veins, not from fear but from anticipation.
    Straight ahead he spied one enemy soldier smoking a cigarette and carrying a Soviet RPK, clearly unaware of the men in the water below the docks.
    Though Austin had a healthy respect for the enemy’s weapons, he and the rest of the team were armed with M4A1s that had been modified for this specific mission, including sound suppressors, night vision sight mountings, and more, giving them the advantage.
    The team’s commander, Lieutenant Warren Davis, swam silently over to him.
    There wasn’t anyone he respected more than the lieutenant.
    The past twelve years since leaving basic training, Davis was the only commander he’d served under, which was not typical for the Navy. Though the lieutenant had never admitted to requesting him for his teams, Austin suspected he had. He knew Davis would protect his back and always lend an ear.
    Lieutenant Davis was only one of two people he’d ever told about his parents’ tragic deaths. His buddy, Remington, was the other.
    A year after the fire that killed Austin’s parents, Davis, who seemed to be able to read minds at times, asked what was troubling him. Talking to the lieutenant came easy, like asking the advice of an