Relentless Wake (Jason Wake Book 3) Read online

  Copyright © 2021 by Matthew Rief

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Ryan Schwarz of The Cover Designer

  Line and Copy Editing by Sarah Flores of Write Down the Line, LLC

  Interior Design and Typesetting by Colleen Sheehan of Ampersand Book Interiors

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Also By Matthew Rief

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Also By Matthew Rief

  About the Author

  Also by

  MATTHEW RIEF

  Florida Keys Adventure Series:

  Featuring Logan Dodge

  Gold in the Keys

  Hunted in the Keys

  Revenge in the Keys

  Betrayed in the Keys

  Redemption in the Keys

  Corruption in the Keys

  Predator in the Keys

  Legend in the Keys

  Abducted in the Keys

  Showdown in the Keys

  Avenged in the Keys

  Broken in the Keys

  Payback in the Keys

  Jason Wake Novels

  Caribbean Wake

  Surging Wake

  Relentless Wake

  Join the Adventure!

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  matthewrief.com

  ONE

  Lake Manyara Lodge

  Tanzania

  Nikolai Reznikov sauntered into the five-star hotel’s dimly lit lounge, his polished ivory cane striking the stone floor with every step. The gray-haired Russian wore a crisp, dark-blue suit, and moved with the strength and arrogance of a man much younger than his sixty years. Stopping and leaning against the ebony bar counter, he ordered a shot of Stoli, then let his piercing brown eyes scan the space.

  Elegant African décor, with stone-embossed walls, mahogany rafters, and ornate crystal chandeliers decorated the room. Traditional artwork garnished the scene, including a colorful, eight-foot Tingatinga painting of a herd of elephants roaming the plains.

  Sweeping his eyes over the mostly empty leather chairs arranged around antique end and coffee tables, Reznikov stopped at his desired objective. Plopped down in one of the middle seats was a lanky, middle-aged man wearing a beige safari suit, and a matching pith helmet rested on the table beside him. The patron sat with his legs crossed and held a weathered first edition of Hemingway’s Green Hills of Africa out in front of him.

  Reznikov grinned, snatched the fluted shot glass from the counter, and splashed the spirit down his throat in one quick pull. Setting the glass back onto the waxed hardwood, he wiped his mustache and roamed toward the center of the room. To his right, a series of windows and glass-paned double doors provided glimpses of the veranda and a half-moon kindling the night sky. During the day, the lodge offered breathtaking views of the lake and Great Rift Valley beyond.

  Reznikov stopped casually in the middle of the lounge and turned on his heels. “Julien Lestrange?” he said, feigning surprise as he pointed his cane at the seated man, who peered intelligent eyes over his book, then let out a short sigh. “Why, that is you,” Reznikov said, chuckling as he dropped into a plush chair across from him.

  Lestrange glanced back into the pages of his book. “I thought I caught a whiff of your revolting stench, Nikolai,” he said in a posh French accent.

  “Ah, Lestrange, still patching your fragile manhood by gunning down gazelle from afar?” Reznikov’s lips formed a pretentious smile.

  “Actually, it was a leopard today. What about you, Nikolai? What endangered creature have you targeted with your frail limbs and lackluster aim recently?”

  Considered the crown jewel of African hunting countries, Tanzania had seen some of the most notorious hunters to ever pick up a weapon trek its plains in hopes of testing their mettle. The Russian had been hunting in Africa since he was a boy but took no offense to the jab.

  “I’m surprised to see you here at all,” Lestrange added. “Thought you’d be taking shelter with the other poachers in the restricted zones.”

  Reznikov cleared his throat. “If you must know, I’ve been testing myself against game that would make you cower in fear. In fact, I just returned from a four-day rhinoceros hunt in the shadow of the great Kili.” He leaned back into his chair and took a gander around the room. “Thought I’d step down and mingle with the beginners for a change. Maybe teach you a thing or two. Perhaps you will join me in the big boys club one day. Provided your skills vastly improve.”

  “Not every man can poach an endangered species and sleep easy at night, Nikolai.”

  Reznikov broke into laughter, then narrowed his intense gaze. “Taking down a charging African white rhino with the snows of Kilimanjaro glistening in the sun at the beast’s back is a rush that few men will ever have the guts to experience. And . . . that kind of primal standoff takes a breed of fearlessness that I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

  “You’re a sick and twisted man.” Lestrange grabbed his drink, set his book on the table, and rose. “In fact, I believe the devil himself will shudder when you join him in the lake of fire.”

  “He’ll be lucky if I let him stay.” Reznikov tapped his cane against Lestrange’s knee as the man flattened his shirt. “Leaving so soon?”

  “I find myself feeling suddenly nauseated,” Lestrange said. “And tired.”

  As he strode away, Reznikov raised his voice a peg. “Have you given any more thought to my proposal?”

  Lestrange stopped, snickered, and peered over his shoulder. “As I’ve said again and again, Nikolai, I will not part with any piece of my collection. You’re wasting your time, I’m afraid.”

  Reznikov shoved his seat back, sprang to his feet, and stomped over to the Frenchman. “It’s a faded old t
rinket. Nearly worthless.”

  Lestrange smiled, then raised an eyebrow. “Not to those who know of the legend, it isn’t.” He held up his glass of brandy and took a slow sip, savoring the flavor as well as the anger brewing on the Russian’s face. “I heard a rumor that you were getting close, Nikolai. Your obsession is finally paying off, I see. But . . . I’m afraid you will never find what you are looking for. Best to go back to scamming the masses.” He patted Reznikov on the shoulder, then turned for the exit again.

  His face contorted with anger, Reznikov snatched Lestrange’s wrist and jerked him back. Lestrange didn’t back down or skip a beat as the Russian forced him back, and he placed a hand on a holstered revolver.

  The men stared intensely at each other for a moment before Lestrange said, “The only way for you to get even one piece of my collection, Nikolai, is over my dead body.”

  The Russian took in a slow, exaggerated breath as he shot Lestrange a scheming look and let go of the man’s wrist, then wiped his own scarred chin.

  As Lestrange stormed off, Reznikov set his sights toward the exit and said, “So be it.”

  The Russian stayed put, watching as the gentleman took two steps beyond the lounge before being grabbed by two men and dragged stealthily into the shadows. They knocked the Frenchman unconscious with a blow to his head, then each wrapped an arm under his shoulders to carry him out. Reznikov strode in front of the men as they exited the lodge via a side door, and a valet on his smoke break stared as they loaded Lestrange into the back seat of a parked Toyota Land Cruiser.

  “My friends had a little too much to drink,” Reznikov said to the young man, who was watching them intently, his mouth agape. After slamming the back door, Reznikov climbed into the passenger seat and shot the valet an evil side glare. “Say a word, and you’re dead, boy.”

  The driver hit the gas, cruising them out of the lodge’s parking lot. They drove deep into the rolling mountains, winding along a barely noticeable dirt road for over an hour before coming to a stop at a plateau. All around them, the tree-riddled landscape dropped off instantly to a ravine below.

  The driver cut the engine and headlights, and Reznikov and his men climbed out. The night was calm and humid, the scene blanketed by a massive sea of stars set in inky blackness. The sounds of the African plains filled the air, with the roar of distant lions, arguing baboons, and scurrying critters in the surrounding brush.

  The two men grabbed Lestrange and dragged him onto the grass. Reznikov splashed a bottle of ice-cold water on him, and Lestrange woke up panting as he looked around frantically.

  “Where are we?” The Frenchman looked up, and his eyes adjusted until he saw Reznikov’s face. “What the hell are you doing, Nikolai?”

  When the Russian didn’t respond, Lestrange reached for his hip.

  “I’ll say one thing about you,” Reznikov said, inspecting Lestrange’s classic Modèle revolver. “You have good taste in firearms.”

  Slowly, Reznikov adjusted the weapon, aiming the barrel straight at Lestrange.

  “You’re not gonna kill me,” Lestrange spat.

  One of Reznikov’s men opened the back of the Land Cruiser and grabbed a slab of meat from a cooler. Lestrange watched, confused, as the guy stomped past him, stopped on the edge of the cliff, then turned back to Reznikov, who gave him a nod. Rearing the meat back, the brute hurled it over the edge, the slab striking a smooth rock face and tumbling to a stop fifty feet down.

  “Why kill you . . .”—Reznikov strode slowly toward the Frenchman—“ . . . when I can let Mother Nature deal the blow.” The sounds of growls and pattering paws echoed from the dark ravine, accentuating his words.

  Still gripping the pistol, Reznikov grabbed Lestrange by his shirt, forced the guy to his feet, and shoved him toward the edge. “I am a reasonable man, Lestrange. I do not ask for much. I want the artifact. Give it to me, and I will take you back to the lodge, where we can drink to our agreement.”

  Lestrange jerked himself away. “Go to hell, Nikolai.”

  The Russian shook his head. “Perhaps I will meet you there.”

  With the pistol still aimed at the Frenchman, Reznikov planted his left leg, then struck his right heel into Lestrange’s chest. The man groaned as his body flew back, the air knocked from his lungs. The blow flung him over the edge, and the experienced outdoorsman spun his body to do everything he could to stop his fall. But the rock face was too steep, and he swiftly picked up speed, smashing against jagged edges of rock before pummeling to the dirt at the bottom of the gorge. His right leg cracked from the force, and he yelled out in pain.

  Fighting through the agony, the Frenchman looked up as the sound of growling carnivores filled the shadows around him. Even a starving spotted hyena would think twice before engaging a full-grown man, but in a pack, and with Lestrange injured from the fall, the hungry predators advanced.

  His leg broken, Lestrange yelled as loud as he could manage and clawed desperately for nearby stones, chucking them toward the beasts. The horde of meat eaters growled back, saliva dripping from their rows of teeth as they closed in. Lestrange let out a shrill cry as a hyena lunged forward and chomped on his right calf. He managed to shake the creature off, but two more took its place, biting his shoulder and left hand. The remaining predators swarmed, gnawing at Lestrange’s flesh as he howled cries that echoed for miles across the savannah.

  Reznikov watched the gruesome scene unfold from his perch on the rock face above, his lips forming a crude smile.

  Only now does the fool realize his folly. Only now does he understand the consequences of facing off against me.

  Reznikov stood at the edge until the suffering subsided and the hyenas dragged and feasted on their portions of the kill. Turning around, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a satellite phone, and thumbed in a number. When a man answered, Reznikov said, “Sadly, Monsieur Lestrange has fallen victim to a tragic hunting accident.”

  “That’s terrible news.”

  “Simply tragic,” Reznikov said, peeking back down into the ravine. “And now that he is gone, I will take possession of the item I seek.”

  The man on the other end cleared his throat. “Per Lestrange’s will, all items in his collection must be auctioned off and the funds donated to charities of his prior choosing.”

  Reznikov clenched his teeth. “You assured me that the artifact would be mine. You—”

  “And it will. The artifact you seek is of little value. I have no doubt that you will claim it at auction with minimal effect on your pocketbook.” There was a moment’s pause, then the man added, “It will be yours, Nikolai. I can assure you of that.”

  Reznikov gripped the phone so tightly he nearly broke it. This wasn’t the agreement, and he vowed to deal with this smart-mouthed lawyer in time. But first, he needed to claim the item that had been his obsession for the past twenty years.

  Reznikov cleared his throat. “When and where is this auction?”

  TWO

  The Following Day

  Anegada, British Virgin Islands

  Jason Wake descended through the crystalline Caribbean, finning along the edge of a colorful reef sprawling with marine life. Streamlining his body, he kicked smoothly and kept his eyes peeled as a school of spooked fish dispersed around him.

  A glimpse at his dive computer told him he was twenty feet down. Turning his body around, he exhaled a trail of bubbles from his regulator and eyed his dive buddy, who was staring at a waterproof tablet and floating just above the sandy seafloor.

  “How we looking, Finn?” Jason said through the full face mask radio.

  The short Venezuelan peered up from the tablet, then pointed a finger forward. “Another hundred yards to the site.”

  Jason turned back forward and continued on his course. “Roger that.”

  Gazing at the underwater wonders around him, Jason couldn’t help adm
iring the sheer beauty of the tropical paradise. At eighteen miles long, Horseshoe Reef is the fourth largest barrier coral reef in the world. Locals estimate that Horseshoe has claimed over three hundred vessels throughout the years, many of which were Spanish and British galleons and American privateers. The natural beauty, combined with the abundant variety of marine life and wreck sites, made the waters off Anegada one of the best places to dive on Earth.

  But Jason and Finn weren’t there to take in the sights.

  After dealing an explosive and fatal blow to the leader of a human trafficking ring in Jamaica, Jason and the crew of the Valiant set their course for the northwestern fringes of the Leeward Islands to investigate reports of blast fishing. The reports clustered along Horseshoe Reef, an infamous shoal that nearly surrounds the island of Anegada. The severity of the explosions had been too great for Jason and his team of covert operatives to ignore, and they wanted to catch whoever was responsible before greater blows were dealt to the ecosystem.

  Jason descended along an overhang. With little of the late afternoon sun trickling that deep, he flicked on his dive light for a better look through the deep blue. Shining the beam along the coral-coated limestone, he kicked through a narrow opening, rounded a corner, then spotted a massive crater in the rock.

  His heart ticked up at the sight. An entire section of the subaquatic environment had been decimated, leaving behind a grim, barren landscape covered in sediment. Angling the beam of his dive light forward, he gasped a train of bubbles as his blue eyes focused on a row of three more craters trailing off into the distance along the reef.

  “Finn, you read me?”

  “Loud and clear, Jase.”

  Jason paused and turned away from the damage. He’d looked over the blast sites via aerial footage from their drone, but witnessing the scene firsthand hit him like a fist to the gut.

  “I’ve reached the site.”

  Jason cocked his head back as Finn closed in from behind, navigating the same narrow opening.

  The Venezuelan kicked until he laid eyes on the damage, then froze, clearly having a hard time believing what he was seeing. “Holy crap.”