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Search and Destroy

A Cal Shepard Black Ops Thriller

JT Sawyer


Thank You


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

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

More Adventures to Come

Contact Information

Additional Titles by JT Sawyer

About the Author

Copyright April 2021, Search and Destroy, by JT Sawyer


Edited by Emily Nemchick

Cover art by ZamajK

No part of this book may be transmitted in any form whether electronic, recording, scanned, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction and the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, incidents, or events is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Thank You

Thank you for buying this book! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed researching and writing it.

Join my email list if you would like to receive notifications on future releases or a FREE copy of the Cal Shepard short story, Lethal Conduct, which recounts Cal’s harrowing mission in North Africa with his former search & destroy unit.


Bethesda, Maryland

The high-end security system, video surveillance cameras and three bodyguards at Ian Landis’ two-story home on the northern edge of the city would be enough to deter anyone who was unwelcome. It would even enable Landis to quickly scurry into the panic room with the steel door in the back bedroom in the event that someone was brazen enough to breach his layered security protocols. There he could wait safely, clutching his .357 revolver, until the police arrived within their eight-minute response time.

These things had entered Cal Shepard’s mind during the past few days of planning, and he knew that eliminating a target like Landis would require reverse-engineering a solution, beginning with the panic room, whose vault-like door required a sufficient amount of energy to open and close.

All panic room designs depended on a numeric keypad that in turn depended on electricity still flowing to the house. Even the pricey panic rooms that were built by specialty contracting firms like the one Landis had used or the type that Cal had penetrated before in Middle-Eastern palaces employed a dedicated hardline independent from the home’s main power source and circuit breakers.

The weak link in each case was always the electrical conduit leading into the house from a subterranean cable linked to a hidden service box buried in the ground near the utility line, which the contracting company tapped into.

No juice, no numeric keypad, and no access to the $50,000 panic room.

Cal scanned his phone one more time, examining the blueprint image for the layout of Landis’ house coupled with the copious notes he had taken during the past three nights of physical surveillance around the property with a tiny drone obtained from a colleague at Langley.

For several hours since sunset, he’d remained hidden in the thick tangle of scrub oak at a nature preserve a quarter-mile distant from Landis’ home, peering through his binoculars at the two Colombian bodyguards casually strolling near the back porch while the third man was on the second-floor balcony, which overlooked the country club grounds to the east.

The forested hillside in this valley was peppered with large mansions with liver-shaped pools amid neatly manicured lawns just like this, giving the illusion that you were out in the country when in fact you were never more than thirty minutes from the city center.

Though Landis divided his time between his home, DC and Texas, he spent most of his nights here, out of the spotlight, so his sexual habits didn’t draw attention to him and sully his image as an upstanding businessman and oil lobbyist in political circles on the Hill.

Cal watched the black four-door Crown Victoria turn into the driveway then head up the hill towards the house, stopping briefly to deposit a young woman in a sleek black dress and heels.

The bodyguard nearest the swimming pool walked towards her, opening the front door and motioning for her to go inside after letting his eyes linger on her figure. Cal briefly saw Landis in the foyer, his face paler than usual and his eyes darting nervously beyond the woman towards the driveway before the guard closed the door.

The man had good reason to be nervous, since he was one of the principal architects behind framing Shepard for the murder of his wife and friends.

And now your day of reckoning has come.

Cal had shown up at the natural area an hour before sunset for much of this week, blending in with the other joggers and hikers as he trotted along the web of trails, eventually making his way to the eastern flank of the property, which overlooked the luxurious homes across the two-lane road. There he would wait until night descended before secreting himself into the cluster of oak scrub to monitor his target.

Unlike other outings, tonight he was armed with a daypack that contained a windbreaker, trauma kit, binoculars, a suppressed Glock 19 with a red-dot scope, three spare mags, a lock-pick set and a small specialized shape charge with a detonator. And unlike any other recon mission he’d been on, this time he was also equipped with four bricks of cocaine.

Shepard sat perched like a wildlife biologist intent on studying a particular animal.

Only this one is feral…a traitor to its own kind.

Shepard would study him like he had each of his intended targets during the past sixteen years of working in clandestine ops with the Special Activities Division.

Only Landis was special, and this job was unsanctioned.

It was personal on a level Shepard had never felt before.

Ian Landis normally would not have been able

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