Prologue

      JACKSON WAS ALIVE. At least that much he could determine from the excruciating pain in his ribs every time he tried to breathe. Testing his arms and legs. He was relieved when he could move them.

       Well, there’s that.

      As the fuzziness cleared from his brain, he remembered exactly when everything went to hell. The moment he walked into Vladimir’s office at Club Loi in Rayong he had known his cover was blown. The gunrunner greeted him without his smarmy smile, a sign that all was not well. Vlad hadn’t said a word, only motioned to his men.

      Jackson fought, but he was one unarmed man against eight with assault weapons. Still he’d been able to take down three of them before someone had coldcocked him from the left with the butt of an XM8. That was the last thing he remembered.

      His fingers found the large egg-shaped bump on his temple and he winced. Hope I at least threw a punch as I went down.

      Forcing his eyes open, Jackson tried to survey the room. It took a minute to focus. Paint peeled off the ceiling and the room smelled of dirty socks. He wasn’t at the Ritz.

      Moving slowly, he sat up on the edge of the bed. From the stiffness and bruising it seemed like every part of his body had been pummeled. Jackson pushed the pain aside. He forced himself to move. Stumbling to the dirty window, he opened it and was assailed by the smell of dead fish. Bits and pieces of a conversation between two fighting fishermen, and a flashing neon light announcing nude girls, told him all he needed to know.

      “How the hell did I get to Bangkok?” The words came out in a harsh whisper. Turning toward the sink, he stared at himself in the mirror. His cheek was swollen, lip busted, but he’d looked worse. The bloodied clothes would be a problem. Rolling his neck to loosen the tension, he glanced around the room for something he could use.

      He noticed a pile of