Shadow zero, p.1
SHADOW ZERO, page 1
S H A D O W Z E R O
(AN AGENT ZERO SPY THRILLER—BOOK 13)
J A C K M A R S
Jack Mars
USA Today and #1 bestselling author Jack Mars is the author of numerous thriller series, including Luke Stone, Troy Stark, Spy Game, and Jake Mercer series. Jack’s latest releases are the Lara King, Grant Valor, and Axel Strike series.
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Copyright © 2025 by Jack Mars. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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SERIES BY JACK MARS
AXEL STRIKE
GRANT VALOR
LARA KING
TYLER WOLF
JAKE MERCER
THE SPY GAME
TROY STARK
LUKE STONE
THE FORGING OF LUKE STONE
AGENT ZERO
Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
Commander Bakari Masai of the Waswahili Liberation Front stepped to the lip of the crater and peered down. The object at the bottom was no longer on fire, but acrid smoke—white tinged with yellow—still rose into the air as the last of its fuel evaporated.
The fire had incinerated the vegetation within the crater, leaving a gray-black coating of ash on top of the soil. The vegetation surrounding the crater was still unharmed. That was good. The mountain acacias and sausage trees packed densely for miles on all sides would shield the crater from view. The smoke would be assumed to come from a forest fire, as this was the dry season. The only way someone could see the object would be to fly directly overhead at a reasonably low altitude and happen to look down at exactly the right moment.
Around him, the younger men muttered anxiously to each other. Quite a few of them whispered the word “djinn” to each other as they regarded the smoke rising from the wreckage.
Bakari resisted the urge to snap at them for their foolishness. One paradoxical aspect of the Western world’s encroachment on Waswahili culture was that his people sometimes had less of an understanding of technology than those who had assimilated into the Western way of life. The older men—those who had fought against American imperialism for many years—were well aware of the natural origins of the object they were looking at.
Perhaps it wasn’t so paradoxical. After all, the easiest way to subjugate a people was to keep them in ignorance. When the scales fell from their eyes, as it were, his people would see the plight into which America and its allies had forced them, and they would understand the need to shake off that yoke.
He smiled slightly to himself at his use of the Christian metaphor. Even he wasn’t immune to the poison of the invaders.
All the more reason to use their poison against them.
“Commander?” a voice to his right said.
Bakari turned to the timid young man staring not quite into his eyes with wide orbs of his own. “Yes, my son?”
The young man swallowed. Bakari noticed the slight tremor in his limbs. He noticed also the group of men standing a few yards away, watching warily as their comrade approached the leader of their Liberation Front. Apparently this poor boy had drawn the short straw and must now inform their commander of the concerns shared by all.
“Commander,” the young man began again. “Forgive me, but some of the others were wondering—”
“Were you also wondering?” Bakari asked with a benign smile.
The young man swallowed again. “I… yes, Commander.”
“Then don’t give others the credit for your bravery. You came to me, not them. You hold the strength of your own convictions, yes?”
The tremor in the poor boy’s limbs became more noticeable. “Yes, Commander.”
“Then why give to others the spoils your actions will earn?”
A whimper started to escape the boy’s lips, but he cut it off quickly. “Yes, Commander. They… I am wondering, sir, if it is wise to disturb the resting… to disturb the object.”
“The resting what, young man?”
The boy’s shoulders slumped. Bakari imagined he was desperately wishing he hadn’t been the one chosen to speak to his leaders. “The resting place of the djinn.”
“The djinn?” Bakari asked innocently. “What djinn?”
“The… the spirit that inhabits the vessel below. The men… I… have heard rumors that those who disturb a djinn’s rest will receive rewards, but those rewards are only lies that will lead to the recipient’s downfall.”
Bakari looked down at the object. The smoke was thinning. In a few minutes, it would be safe to send his men down there. He turned his attention back to the young man. “What is your name, son?”
The boy swallowed once more. “Haki, sir.”
“Haki. Truth. It’s a good name.” Bakari turned toward Haki so his hips and shoulders were square. The six-foot-nine, two-hundred-eighty-pound Bakari towered over the younger man. “Tell the truth, Haki. Do you believe in djinn?”
Haki started to look back at his companions, but Bakari interrupted, “Don’t look at them, Haki. Be a man. Stand tall and tell me the truth. Do you believe in djinn?”
Haki’s voice was barely a whisper. “Yes, sir.”
Bakari nodded. He laid a massive hand on Haki’s thin shoulder. Haki flinched but didn’t pull away. “Thank you for being honest, Haki. You have lived up to your name. That is good. Had you lied to me, I would have executed you and all of the cowards who call themselves your friends.”
Haki stood as rigid as a piece of steel. No doubt he was afraid to say anything else that might incur his commander’s wrath.
“You are not a liar, Haki,” Bakari continued. “But you are a fool.”
He paused. After a few seconds, Haki stammered, “Y… yes, sir.”
Bakari nodded again. “That’s all right. You are young. So are your companions. You are all poisoned by the lies of the Western invaders. You can’t be blamed for ignorance when all around you the enemies of our people feed you ignorance.”
He cupped Haki’s chin and turned the young man’s face up to meet his eyes. Haki resisted for a moment. Making eye contact with one’s superior was extremely rude and arrogant. But Bakari persisted, and Haki soon determined that his commander intended him to break that social rule for the moment.
When Haki was staring at his face, Bakari said, “You may no longer believe their lies. Djinn do not exist. Gods do not exist, not the Western god, nor the god of the Arabs who arrived before them. If you must believe in something, believe in me. Believe in us. Do you understand, Haki?”
Haki’s head bobbed up and down in the affirmative. “Yes, Commander.”
“Good.”
Bakari held Haki’s gaze a moment longer, then released Haki’s chin. Haki sighed with relief when he was able to avert his eyes once more.
Bakari looked down at the wreckage. No more smoke emanated from the twisted metal below.
He turned back to Haki and smiled. “You have learned a very important lesson today, yes?”
“Yes, Commander.”
“You are wiser than you were a moment ago, yes?”
“Yes, Commander.”
Bakari clapped Haki on the shoulder. Haki winced but didn’t pull away this time. Good. There was hope for the young fool yet. “Congratulations, Corporal Haki.”
Haki frowned. He blinked and started to look up at Bakari, then thought better of it and dropped his eyes. “Corporal, sir?”
“Yes.” Bakari pointed at Haki’s companions, who continued to watch from afar. Those are your subordinates, Corporal Haki. They are responsible for dismantling the machine below and retrieving any items of value. You will lead them.”
Haki snapped his eyes up to Bakari’s, his fright temporarily overwhelming his judgment. “Us? But—”
Bakari clapped his shoulder more firmly. Haki winced again. “Thank you, Haki, for passing along your newfound wisdom to your subordinates.” His smile disappeared, and when he spoke again, his voice was cold. “I expect the machine to be taken apart within the hour. Everything of value is to be brought to me. If you don’t know if an item is valuable, ask. Go!”
Haki looked miserable, but he was not so much a fool that he believed defying his commander was less dangerous than pissing off a minor god. He marched back to his companions and informed them of Bakari’s instructions. Bakari chuckled as the men protested, casting terrified glances his way. He waited for Haki to respond. When Haki drew himself up and issued his instructions in a strong, clear voice, Bakari smiled. Perhaps there was hope for him yet.
The men reluctantly proceeded down the mouth of the tunnel and began to dig through the wreckage. Bakari remained where he was, watching others slowly gain their courage and join Haki’s team. A few of the more senior commanders hung back and approached their leader.
“What do you think this is, sir?” Captain Zawadi asked.
“It’s a satellite,” Bakari replied.
Zawadi lifted an eyebrow. “I see. I thought satellites were bigger.”
“Some are.”
“Do you think we’ll find anything valuable from the wreckage?”
“Assuredly,” Bakari said. “If nothing else, the platinum, gold, and other rare metals we can harvest will bring some money. If this satellite turns out to be one of the CIA’s spy satellites, then we will make far more.”
No sooner had Bakari said this than Haki called back to him. Bakari’s heartbeat quickened as he watched two of Haki’s men lift a dull gray brick from the wreckage.
He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Bring that to me!”
Haki saluted and barked the order at his men. His two former equals struggled as they hefted the object up the crater.
“What is that?” Zawadi asked.
Bakari grinned at his lieutenant. “That, my friend, is enough money to finance a real revolution.”
Zawadi frowned. “Is that some sort of spy instrument?”
“Better,” Bakari replied. “That, my friend, is a hard drive.”
Zawadi’s eyes widened. The old warhorse had survived long enough to understand that the most valuable commodity in the entire world was information. Bakari now had information that, in the right hands, could spell disaster for the Western world.
And he had an idea exactly who might have use for that information. People who would pay a princely sum to obtain it.
He turned his face to Heaven, spread his arms and laughed. He didn’t believe in gods, but if they existed, they smiled on him today.
CHAPTER ONE
If Maya Lawson had learned one thing from her time with the CIA’s Executive Operations Team, it was the importance of using the right tool for the right job. If she’d learned one more thing, it was the importance of mastering every single tool in her arsenal. You never knew what sort of job you would be called to next.
Still, even after two years with the EOT and a year before that operating as a sort-of rogue agent combating terrorists and treasonous elements within the CIA itself, Maya found herself struggling with certain tools from time to time.
At the moment, the tool she struggled with was a thin, flat blade of plastic designed to seamlessly insert between two surfaces and allow manipulation of small objects without breaking them. That, for some reason, was far harder than it sounded.
“Come on,” she whispered. “Don’t break. Don’t break.”
She took a deep breath. On her exhale, she flipped the spatula. The egg landed with a barely audible plop and a slightly more audible hiss as the uncooked side hit the butter. She held another breath, and when no yolk bled through some unseen crack in the egg white, she released it in a sigh of relief.
She grinned and nodded approvingly at this egg and the other two. All three eggs had been flipped perfectly with no damage to the yolks. This was the first time Maya had seen such success with breakfast.
She waited for one minute, then carefully used the spatula to lift the over easy eggs from the skillet and set them on a plate in front of three strips of crisp bacon and a perfectly browned portion of seasoned potatoes.
She almost made it. As she slid the spatula underneath the last egg, a hand smacked her butt and a loud voice said, “Morning, sexy.”
She flinched, only slightly but enough to tear through the thin shield of egg white and split the yolk. She sighed as she watched the yellow run through the tear and sizzle on the butter underneath.
“Oops,” the loud voice said. “Sorry.”
Maya glared at her partner—both romantic and professional—and snapped. “This is your plate, Trent.”
Trent Coleman grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, that’s fair.”
Maya rolled her eyes and shook her head as she folded the destroyed egg and resigned herself to coming up one short of a perfect breakfast. “Honestly, I don’t know why I put up with you.”
Trent’s grin turned mischievous. He wrapped his arms around her waist and said, “I can think of one reason. Or was it four reasons last night? I lost count.”
“Hmm, well, if you’d like to retain use of two of those reasons, you’ll remove them from my waist before I hold them against the burner and turn the heat up to maximum.”
She blushed as she said that, though. One of the most wonderful and most annoying things about Trent was that even after two years of living together she was still head over heels for him. It was frustratingly stereotypical to fall in love with the tall, athletic all-American boy with sun-kissed brown hair and striking gray-green eyes, but Maya couldn’t help herself. In addition to being unfairly handsome, Trent was goofy and clumsy in all of the ways she found adorable.
And he really was good in bed. Not that it was that important. That’s not what love was about, anyway.
She scooped the scrambled egg on top of the two over easy eggs and handed it to Trent. “There. Go away.”
Trent took the plate and bowed deeply. As he did, one of the strips of bacon started to slide off of the plate.
“Trent!” Maya cried, quickly pushing the plate up before the bacon could fall. “God! Pay attention!”
“Oh,” Trent said, grinning sheepishly again. “Sorry. I’m just so distracted by your beaut—”
“Go!”
“Right.”
Trent finally took his food from the kitchen and gave Maya five seconds of flipping peace. She chuckled and rolled her eyes again. “What am I gonna do with that boy?”
His voice echoed in her head. I can think of a few things.
She giggled, then looked at her reflection in the microwave over the stove and forced her expression to return to normal. Mischa was more tolerant of Maya’s affection with Trent than Sara had been, but she still didn’t approve of what she called “mushy stuff.” Maya tried to keep it to a minimum when the three of them were home together.
She turned the stove off and picked up the other two plates resting on the counter, then joined Trent in the dining room. “Mischa! Breakfast!”
“Coming!” a voice called in a slight Russian accent.
A moment later, the owner of that accent—a fifteen-year-old girl with long blonde hair and soft green eyes—bounded down the stairs. She wore a pink t-shirt with an image of a cartoon unicorn on it and a caption that read, MAKE YOUR DAY SPARKLE! It was an odd choice for a girl who Maya had personally seen disarm and disable multiple armed men with less effort than it took her to tie her shoes.
Maya regarded her adopted sister with some pensiveness as Mischa sat at the table. At fifteen years old, she still had the lean, coltish look of youth—exacerbated somewhat by a growth spurt that had taken place over the summer and left her five inches taller than the year before—but she was beginning to fill out in her chest and her hips. Her lips looked fuller too. It hit Maya with a disconcerting shock that Mischa was becoming beautiful.
