New Release
Droned
Sean James is a wanted man. In this military action thriller, he's is a witness to the highest of crimes: murder. When the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff orders an execution, Sean is supposed to die too. But when the veteran Navy SEAL survives the attack, the United States government wants him dead. Tracked by a CIA assassin and by the most advanced drones on the planet, Sean is hunted through the Appalachian wilderness. Unarmed and outnumbered, the SEAL commander of retirement age, developing an unlikely ally with an NSA spy, must use every skill he's learned to survive the onslaught and avoid being droned. Sean is running for his life. The flash drive around his neck may prove his innocence and restore his honor, if he survives.
Amazon Reviews
"Action-packed, adventure filled book that will have you not wanting to put it down."
"An excellent book, end-to-end, there is a nice balance of character development, scenery, plot development, and discussion of existing and speculative military tech. Clearly the author did his homework and has a knack for storytelling. If you like military action books, you'll love this! I'm looing forward to book number 2 from this author."
"Read the entire book in one sitting! Attention to detail is not always synonymous with fast paced thriller but Shipton manages to do both in this tightly crafted novel. Highly recommend adding this to your quarantine reading list"
A sample . . .
CHAPTER 10
THE PENTAGON
THERE WERE NO windows in the office of the
Chairman of the Joint Chief of Staff at the
Pentagon. Following 9/11 attacks, a corner office no
longer provided the security required for military
top brass.
Peter Lloyd had been subject to no fewer than
seven security checkpoints to sit in the ornate
suite where he now awaited the Chairman’s arrival.
The Chairman’s office was actually two offices
connected by sliding French doors, and Peter
waited in a spacious rounded foyer beside an
administrative assistant who was busy typing.
Plaques and photos adorned the circular space
and fake ferns guarded both sides of the door. A
beeping sound caused his administrative assistant
to pick up her landline phone.
“Yes sir.” She hung up.
“Chairman Mace has arrived and will be joining
you shortly, Mr. Lloyd.”
“Thank you.”
Back to her typing, the classy middle-aged
brunette reminded Peter of a secretary from an
era gone by. Dutiful, quiet, and professional; Peter
had no such person in his world. As a freelance
contractor, Fox Hunter kept his own calendar,
answered his own phone, and arranged his own
meetings. Peter smiled to himself when he realized
that he probably tripled what the Chairman
makes in a year, so maybe he didn’t need an
administrative assistant after all.
As the office door opened, both Peter and the
administrative assistant stood. The Chairman was
a big man, slick black hair, broad-shouldered, and
in full uniform. Piercing smart eyes, he gave a firm
handshake. And as he took off his hat, he spoke in
a low voice.
“Peter Lloyd. Good to meet you in person.”
Mace smiled.
“Chairman, the pleasure is mine.”
“Let’s talk, shall we?” The big man opened the
heavy smoked-glass French doors.
Peter walked into the second office where a
cherry desk as big as a tank sat in the room’s center
atop a blue paisley rug. Marble surrounded a faux
fireplace behind the desk, its mantle filled with
military honors.
Peter was trained to spot personal weakness
in friends and adversaries alike. Ascertaining their
kryptonite, he used that toxic cloud to create future
storms. As he glanced at the Chairman, reading
the room, his brain churned out exploits, ways to
buy leverage in this virgin relationship. Did this
military behemoth, the Chairman, harbor an
underbelly? Even Goliath had a soft spot.
“Have a seat, Peter.” The Chairman pulled on a
shiny chair, plush leather over a sturdy frame. The
big man emptied an ashtray and cut a new cigar
while Peter surveyed the place. This man exuded
power. And this office building, the largest in the
world, was surely designed to convey might; it
fulfilled that purpose.
Peter was a quick read of people, and with
scarcely a word said he knew he was in the office
of the most powerful man in the United States
military. Moving like a stud bull, the Chairman
trudged robotic around the space, expressionless.
He emanated power like a coal stove, and Peter
wanted to warm himself next to that stove.
This meeting could secure his retirement and
pay for the Berwick restoration if he played his
cards right. Uncharted territory now took the Fox
Hunter to the pinnacle of his career. This was his
power play, the king’s court; a meeting with the
Chairman represented the culmination of decade’s
worth of hard-knuckled networking. Peter deserved
this meeting, an honor he’d earned in the blood of
men now silent.
Peter looked at the Chairman the way two
powerful men do, sizing each other up, but
somehow, he felt smaller. I hope he doesn’t notice
my neck, Peter thought, painfully tightening tense
muscles, he straightened his neck as best he could.
Mace sat down, licked a cigar but didn’t light it.
“What can I do for you, sir?” Peter asked.
“You read the brief?”
“Yes sir. This is an operation in Afghanistan?”
“I’ve arranged for the death of Kip Jeffries,
marine, son of Senator Jeff Jeffries. Friendly fire
happens all the time.” The Chairman coughed and
shifted in his seat.
Peter tried hard not to blink. “Operation Wicked
Wind?”
“Yes. Bombing run, Paragon Valley near the
Chinese border. Tonight,” Lee Mace said looking at
Peter directly. “I’ll need you there.”
“I don’t follow?” Peter was confused.
“Truck convoy, the one carrying Kip Jeffries,
will be eliminated.” He smiled and licked his cigar.
“What about the other American troops?”
“Collateral damage,” Chairman replied, as if
he’d done this before. “The USS Ford is in the
Arabian Sea now and will execute Wicked Wind. A
scout team of Navy SEALs will be in the valley.
They’ll be bombed to shit too.”
“I see.” Peter said, dumfounded at the depth of
unfolding secrecy. Peter found himself in unfamiliar
territory: nervous. “How does this involve
me, sir?”
“I need an intelligence man, the Fox Hunter.”
Mace laughed.
“Who else knows of this operation?”
“Matthew Hastings is the ship’s skipper. He’s
running point, but Hastings is a simple man.”
He dangled the cigar from his lips and continued.
“There’re are so many moving parts here. People
are going to die, then there’s press coverage,
witnesses, and then we need to bury it, deep.
You handle this, these black contracts. And I
need someone who understands the intricacy,
the subtlety involved.”
“Yes sir.” Peter said, crossing his legs. “You
want me to spearhead Wicked Wind?”
“Yes.” The big man leaned over the great desk
and spoke to Peter in a forced whisper.
“Ten million dollars. That’s my offer.”
Peter blinked, involuntarily. But he didn’t
respond and let the Chairman finish.
“I need the Fox Hunter. Start to finish.” Mace
paused, flicked a lighter, and puffed hard, the
smoke engulfing Peter. He continued. “You take
complete control of this mission, bury what needs
buried, silence loose ends.”
“Can you get me aboard that aircraft carrier?”
Peter asked.
“Plane is waiting for you.”