PROLOGUE 

The explosives detonated simultaneously.  With a loud bang, the oversized front door blew inward, spraying glass and shards of wood and metal in violence that I had not seen since my days with SWAT.  We could hear, through our earpieces, the group of men in the back and on the roof doing the same thing.  We had thoroughly planned this incursion over the past twenty-four hours. 

Harry and I entered the front of the house silently.  Using thermal imaging, we knew exactly where the bad guys were and their terrified hostage.  With precision, my team of six well-trained operatives took out the first four bad guys.  One shot, one kill.  Everything was going per plan as Harry and I entered the back office, where the last two kidnappers and the young child that they were holding against his will were hunkered down.   

“Upstairs is clear,” Billy Washington spoke into my ear, “we’re heading down to you.”  Billy was one of two former SWAT teammates that had eagerly agreed to help Harry and myself for this off-the-books mission.  He was upstairs with Ron Brighton; the former Boston College linebacker turned Army Ranger turned SWAT veteran.  Ron, Billy, and I had joined the Boston Police Department Special Weapons and Tactics squad within a year of each other.  Six years ago, I had been promoted to detective and been working homicide ever since.  The two men entering through the back of the house, John and Jeremy Lyons, were twins from Brighton who had joined the squad a year after I had left.  Like Billy and Ron, they were well-trained, extremely loyal and disciplined.  Jeremy ran all the reconnaissance equipment that we had used to survey the house and surrounding property.  Thanks to his technical knowledge, we knew what was waiting for us.  Proper planning made all the difference between life and death in operations such as this. 

“Roger that,” I said, “we are approaching the back room.” 

I felt a tap on my shoulder and glanced behind me.  John, like the rest of us, was dressed in black from head to toe.  Unlike everyone else, he was wearing a black bandana around his shaved bald head.  He held his M4 Carbine assault rifle with his left hand and gave me thumbs up with his right.  I nodded.  He and his twin brother had finished clearing the back area of the house.  Jeremy was staying in the back in case anyone tried to run out or enter from that direction of the large Tudor-style house. 

“Goggles on,” I said, pulling out a smoke canister.  I put my hand on the tab and nodded in Harry’s direction. 

Harry stood to the left of the closed door.  He held up three fingers with his gloved left hand.  Two fingers.  The five of us donned our goggles.  I pulled the tab from the smoke canister.  Harry grabbed his 9mm H&K assault rifle and with one smooth motion kicked the door open.  I threw the smoke grenade into the room.  We heard voices yelling.  Through our goggles, we could see the hostage strapped to a chair in the middle of the room, one figure standing on either side of him.  Before they could move, Harry and John each raised their weapons and with deadly accuracy took both men down.  With a rapid scan of the room, I ran in and grabbed the chair that the boy was strapped to and pulled him out of the smoke into the larger living area outside of the small back room.  His little face looked up at me, the fear that had been there just moments before was replaced with relief. 

“Hey Chris,” I said with a smile through the black-out makeup smeared across my face, “You have been so tough.  Your mom and dad asked us to bring you home.” 

I set the chair down and untied his arms and legs.  Apparently, he had been tied up in the chair throughout the forty-eight hours that he had been away from his family.  It took him a few minutes to be able to stand up on his own, and he smelled as if they had not even let him loose to use the bathroom.  How anyone could treat a seven-year-old like that was beyond me. 

Once he had regained the strength to stand, he looked up at me with a shaky smile.  “Uncle Ace, I want to see my mom,” he said.  

I nodded.  “That’s where we are going, Chris,” I told him.  “You have been so brave!”  Into my earpiece, I said, “We have Clark Kent, rendezvous at the extraction point.” 

I heard five voices say, “Roger that,” and followed Harry, who had point.  He led us towards the front door.  John and Jeremy reported that they were outside.  Harry walked out the front door.  I had Chris walking right in front of me, as I scanned in every direction for any sign of movement.  I thought I saw a flash of something behind me towards the smoked-out room.  When I turned to look, I saw a flash and was thrown up from my feet and into the air.  I felt the wind knocked out of me as my body hit the wall to the right of the door.  “Run, Chris, run!” I shouted at the little boy.  He did.  Within seconds he was safely outside of the house.  I heard Harry say in my ear, “I’ve got Clark Kent, heading to the rendezvous point.”   

As soon as I knew the boy was safe, I stood up.  I felt a little shaky on my feet, but I forced myself to push the feeling out of my body.  I looked in the direction of the flash and saw a tall man in a dark hoody, his face covered in shadows.  I raised my weapon, my military training kicking in, and pulled the trigger.  I shot twice and watched as the man went down hard.  Without thinking, I ran out the front door to rendezvous with my team.  I did not look behind me, so I did not see the man stand up after receiving two shots to the chest.  I did not see him lower his hood.  I did not see his grin as he watched me run out the door.  And I did not hear him say, with a laugh, “Welcome to the war, Ace Cooper.”   

Thirty minutes later, our two blacked-out Yukons pulled up in front of the Mayor’s mansion.  Words cannot express the happiness and relief that we saw in the faces of Mayor Dan Donnelly and his wife, Priscilla when we pulled up, and their seven-year-old son Chris ran into their arms.  I had grown up with both in nearby Revolution, Massachusetts.  I had played middle and high school football with Dan.  After high school, I had attended Tufts University, and Dan had received a football scholarship to nearby Boston College.  Following in his father’s footsteps, Dan had political aspirations starting at a very young age.  He studied political science at Boston College and then he had earned his law degree from the same school.  After ten years in law, he made his father proud and became the second Donnelly to be elected mayor of Boston.   

I finished my undergraduate degree at Tufts, in nearby Medford, and joined the elite Navy SEAL community.  After ten years, obtaining the rank of Commander, I left the Navy and returned to Massachusetts to follow in my own father’s footsteps.  I joined the Boston Police Department, where my father had worked his way up to Chief of Police by the time I had graduated college. After two years as a beat cop, I was quickly recruited into the elite Special Weapons and Tactics team.  After six years with S.W.A.T., I had taken and passed the detective exam and worked homicide. 

Throughout it all, Dan and I had stayed close.  Even though he was my boss’ boss, outside of work, we were good friends.  When his wife had called Dan, and said that she could not find their son, who had been sleeping in his bedroom in the large mansion, he had called me, personally. 

Less than an hour later he had received the phone call that they head been dreading.  Their son had been kidnapped.  The Donellys were told that their son would survive only if the Dan had used his political weight to release a man that had been convicted three years before on multiple counts of murder.  The boy would also not survive if the Mayor had involved the authorities in any way. 

I was standing in their living room with them when they had received the call.  Dan looked up at me, after hanging up the phone, his hands shaking uncontrollably, and begged me to help.  “You don’t even need to ask,” I had said, “you are family.  I still have friends I can count on.  We will get your son back to you safely.”   

Priscilla was sobbing uncontrollably into her husband’s chest.  Dan, to his credit, held his composure.  “Thank you, Ace,” he had said.  Tears were coming, but Dan was holding them at bay.  He would cry, but not until he knew his son was safe. 

Two days later, the three of them were reunited.  Tears were shed again, but this time they were tears of joy.  They were tears of release.  The mayor invited my team to the mansion, a place where I had spent more than a little time since he had been elected and I had returned to Massachusetts ten years before. 

A week after our mission, I was invited back to their home.  My team had disbanded again, happy that the mission had been successful and ready to return to their regular duties.  All of them except Harry.  Harry, who had grown up in nearby Lowell, had been three classes behind me in Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL school, the intense six-month training program held in Coronado, California.  He had left the Navy a year after I had, obtaining the rank of Lieutenant.  Harry had been one of my best squad leaders and a man who I trusted with my life.  He had returned to Massachusetts and had planned on taking over his father’s plumbing business but became bored.  Harry had left the family business to start his own security company.  The company was not doing as well as he had hoped.  Harry had struggled to find clients.  I knew that he wanted to do something more with his post-Navy life and I wished that I could help him.  Several times I had tried to talk him into joining the police department, but he always laughed it off saying that he wanted to make it on his own.         

The mission that we had just pulled off had reminded Harry of what we had done in the SEALs, and it had ignited a fire in him to get back into the operator’s life.   He wanted to be an action hero.  Harry and I had discussed going into business for ourselves, but it had almost always been after a night of drinking and reminiscing, and always ended with us going back to our regular lives the next morning.   After my dinner with the mayor, though, that had changed.  

“Ace,” Dan said as he greeted me at the front door of his home, “thank you so much for accepting our invitation.  It means the world to all three of us.”  He extended his big hand, and I shook it. 

“Oh, you know I couldn’t turn down a dinner cooked by Priscilla,” I said, with a smile. 

Dan laughed.  Something I had not seen him do since before his son was taken.  It was nice.  “Actually buddy,” he said, “she didn’t cook.  But it’s going to be great.  We ordered in from Luigi’s.” 

I knew Luigi’s.  The owner’s sister was married to one of my best friends, Peter Connor.  It was home-cooked Italian food.  “Sounds great,” I said, following him inside their large home. 

Priscilla and Chris were sitting in their oversized living room, on a plush leather couch.  They were watching some cartoon I had never seen.  That did not really narrow it down.  My long-term girlfriend, Nicole, and I barely watched television anymore.  Between my job in law enforcement and hers as a district attorney, we rarely found the time to even turn the tube on. 

The little blond boy looked up as we walked in and, with a huge grin on his face, ran over and threw his arms around me.  “Uncle Ace,” he squealed happily, “you’re here!” 

I could not help but smile.  “Yes, Sir,” I said, “just where I wanted to be all day!” 

Priscilla stood up and gave me a hug.  “Thank you so much for everything, Ace,” she said, with a tearful smile.  “You were really amazing.”  She looked down at Chris.  “I probably wouldn’t have survived if anything happened to my baby boy.”  Tears flowed down her flushed cheeks. 

I smiled.  “I’m just glad I could help,” I said to Priscilla. 

“Come on,” she said, holding Chris’ hand and leading him into their formal dining room, a smaller, well-lit room adjacent to the living room.  “We don’t want the dinner getting cold.” 

Dan and I followed them into the dining room.  Their elegant brown wood table was decorated with a royal purple tablecloth.  On the table were five large carry-out aluminum containers of food.  Glass plates, cloth napkins, and silverware were already set at each place.  “They brought us a little bit of everything,” she said, “spaghetti, lasagna, ravioli,” she pointed to three of the containers, “and of course desserts,” she pointed to the other two containers. 

We all sat down; Chris in between his parents, I was told to sit down next to Dan.  “Before we begin,” Dan said, “may we say a brief blessing?” 

I nodded.  “Of course,” I said.  I was not much into the whole religious thing, myself, but I knew Dan had been a devout Catholic since birth.  He blessed just about everything. 

We all held our hands up and closed our eyes as Dan spoke, “Lord, we thank you for this delicious meal and for Luigi’s.  And a special thank you for bringing our boy back safe and sound.  Please keep all of us safe, and bless Ace in his future endeavors.  In the Lord’s name, Amen.” 

We all repeated “amen.”  Priscilla started opening the food, and each container was passed around.  The meal, as expected, was delicious and was accompanied by small talk and banter.  An hour later, after all the food had been devoured, Dan looked at me and asked if I would join him in his office down the hall.  He said he had something he wanted to discuss. 

Priscilla took Chris upstairs for his bath and to get ready for bed.  We walked into the office through the double glass doors.  Inside was a small oak desk, and two comfortable office chairs.  He sat down behind his desk and offered me the seat opposite him. 

He donned his mayoral personality as he spoke.  “What you guys did the other night was nothing short of amazing,” he began.  “If I had gone through the usual channels, I have no doubt that the outcome would have been entirely different.” 

I nodded in agreement.  “While I have nothing but respect for the guys in the SWAT unit,” I said, “there would still have been too many things that could have gone wrong.  Too many people vying for the position of top dog.” 

“Exactly,” Dan said, “which is why I have a proposition for you to think about.” 

“I’m listening,” I said. 

“Have you ever thought of going private?” he asked. 

I looked at him.  “Like be a private investigator?” 

He nodded.  “Something along those lines,” he said, “but with more authority.  To be able to actually get things done without the usual red tape.” 

I smiled.  “It’s funny,” I said, “but that is really the thing that bothers me the most about being in law enforcement.  It seems like we can never help victims.  I mean, we can give them justice after the fact.  But, in the homicide department anyway, they are already dead before I can do anything.” 

“Exactly,” he said, “and what would you say if I threw my support at you to get things done before it gets there.  I could give you access to whatever you need.  And you, and Mr. Gittleman, and whoever else you need, you just go out and help people.  Call yourself a private investigator or whatever you like.  I would unofficially sanction you.” 

The idea appealed to me, but I was not totally sure how it would work. “The idea sounds good,” I said, “I would, of course, have to discuss it with a few people.” 

“Of course,” he said, “I wasn’t expecting an answer right now.  But you will think about it and let me know.”  It was a statement, not a question. 

“Yes, boss,” I said, “I will.” 

He reached across the desk, and I shook his hand.  “Good,” he said, with a smile.  “Because I have a suspicion that the idea intrigues you and I think it will be a good thing for both you and your men and the citizens of our beautiful city.” 

“So, will we be officially sanctioned by the Mayor of Boston?” I asked, still trying to figure out exactly how it would work. 

His smile transformed into a more serious expression.  “Not exactly,” he said, “and you will not be confined to the city limits, as I see it.  However, you will have anything that you need from me.”  The smile reasserted itself on his face.  “And…I have a far reach and a lot of friends in critical places.” 

I stood and told him that I would discuss it with Nicole and Harry.  I had to admit, I really liked the idea.  Carte blanche ability to do what we could to make a difference.  I liked the idea a lot.  I said goodnight to Priscilla and Chris, who was half asleep in bed.  Dan walked me to the door.  “I hope to hear an answer from you sooner, rather than later,” he said, as I walked out the front door and into the brisk night air. 

I nodded.  “You will,” I said, shaking Dan’s extended hand again.  With that, I turned and walked down the long path to where my car was parked in his large circular driveway.   

I was already in my car and heading towards the apartment that Nicole and I shared in Davis Square when the large mustached figure emerged from the shadows.  “Well done, Mayor,” the figure said in a deep voice.  “We need him on our side, and the seed that you just put in his mind will lead to that eventuality.” 

Dan nodded.  “Yes,” he said, “it is only a matter of time now.  I’ve known him for almost my entire life, and I could see the eagerness in his eyes.  And if he is as special as you say, he will be a vital addition to your organization.” 

The figure laughed, a deep guttural sound.  “We have known him longer than you.  You are correct in your assessment.”  He paused.  “It is imperative, though, that he join us before The Corporation does.” 

Dan nodded.  “I agree,” he said, “but I think when he learns the truth he will choose your side, anyway.  I understand that not everything is black and white, but there is no gray area in this case.” 

The large man slapped Dan on the shoulder.  “You are wise beyond your years, Daniel,” he said.  With that, the man was gone.  Dan looked over to the corner where the large figure had just been standing.  He was still not entirely used to the new reality he had been thrust into.  He shook his head and walked up the broad steps to where his wife was waiting for him in bed.