The CleanSweep Counterstrike

Matt had a world-class hangover. He had hoped for a free day, no appointments nor commitments. Matt wanted to be left alone with his panic as he opened the door at the Beanery. He needed his go-to hangover cure, a robust Sumatra blend and three extra-strength pain tablets.

The crowded coffeehouse was noisy, the aroma thick and curative. The barista handed Matt his coffee. He noticed a couple leaving and walked to the empty table. He powered on his laptop. He took a deep breath as he faced the blank screen. Matt felt his skull throbbing. He lowered his chin, rotating his head to ease the pain.

“That’s him.” Matt heard a young woman at the next table whisper to her companion. 

Shit, Matt thought. He wanted privacy. He looked at them until they turned back their conversation.

Matt looked at his computer screen. It’s no use, he thought. Who can focus on writing with a hangover like this? He wanted to go back to the way it was, hiding behind his computer. He knew the clock couldn’t be turned back. Matt’s life changed forever when he helped blow the whistle on Operation CleanSweep.

“Why am I afraid? Matt thought. Charles Claussen, the man behind CleanSweep, somehow eluded capture. Claussen’s a coiled snake, ready to strike without the warning rattle.

Matt knew it wasn’t his imagination. With Claussen on the loose, I’m not safe. He’s after revenge. He has the resources to carry out his threat, he thought.

His phone vibrated and skidded toward the edge of the table. He grabbed it before it dropped to the floor. Matt opened the text message and stifled a scream. He looked at the photo. “My face. A sniper’s target superimposed, the bullseye centered on my nose, between the eyes.

Matt shuddered at the words. “I’m coming for you.”

"Damn!" He slammed his phone onto the table. Coffee sloshed over the rim of the cup, covering the table and the back of his computer.