“Maybe you`ve lost it yourself you senile old twat,” Ross emptied the glass, and then lost his grip on it. It tumbled into his lap and then rolled onto the floor in front of his wheelchair. His chin lolled onto his chest and his eyes seemed to roll back into his head. Drool ran from the corner of his mouth onto his jumper. Jim knew that he would get no sense from him today. The moment had past.

Jim stood up and picked up the empty bottle of scotch, placing into the waste paper bin next to the bed. He knew when the explosives had been stolen. Jim had identified the days when the explosives went missing by using his diary. He surmised that the thief needed him to be out of the house for at least an hour or so. He had narrowed it down it to just two possible days. One day he had gone to the pub to watch the football. He had returned three hours later worse for wear from the beer he had drunk during the match. The second day he had been at a rare visit to the doctor for a routine check up, which had taken him away from home most of the afternoon.

On the sideboard, opposite his son`s bed were his medical notes. They had to be filled in every time someone entered the room. Even the cleaners had to fill in the journal when they came and went. Jim flicked through the pages to the dates which fitted. He ran his finger down each day`s events, first one day and then the next. Jim sighed deeply and placed the notes back on the furniture. Ross had been in is room all day, both days. It couldn’t have been him even if he had had help.

Chapter Forty One

Vigilante

Sergeant Mel Hickey picked up his sports bag and slung it over his shoulder. He looked around his small living quarters and smiled sourly, thinking that he probably wouldn’t be back for a while, if at all. He opened the front door and looked out at a mocked up corridor, made to look like a street of terraced houses. Mel had always thought the idea was a terrible joke, not so bad if you were in the final throws of Parkinson`s disease, or Alzheimer’s, but not so convincing for those with all their mental facilities intact. He stepped out and closed the fake red front door behind him. The imitation brass knocker rattled as it closed, making him laugh.

“Hello Mel,” a voice said behind him, making him jump. His legs buckled a little as he shifted his weight. When he had first started to use them his balance was an issue but he was learning to adjust to them now. As long as he administered his pain relief on time he could stay on them for days at a time. Walking was still painful but it was when he removed them that he suffered the most.

“Hello Jim, have you been to see your Ross then?” Mel replied shocked at the sudden appearance of old Jim in the corridor. Jim was the last person that he wanted to see.

“Yes, I called in on the off chance that he would be sober, not much chance of that though, how are the bionic legs doing?” Jim looked bleary eyed, either tired or emotional, Mel didn’t much care. He needed to be away from old Jim rapidly.

“They take some getting used to, I`ll never be winning any races. Has he been at the whisky again,” Mel said cheerfully, trying to pass Jim in the corridor.

“Listen to me a minute Mel,” Jim grabbed his arm surprisingly hard for an old fellow. He leaned close to Mel`s ear.

“Has Ross said anything strange to any of you lads in here?”

“What do you mean Jim?” Mel pulled away from him, but the grip on his arm tightened.

“Has he mentioned anything about the Brigade having a weapons stash?” Jim was desperate. He was fishing for any sign of untruth in Mel`s eyes, but there was only anger and surprise there.

“Get your hands off me Jim or I`ll break your arm,” Mel spoke calmly but with enough venom to make the old man realise that he had crossed the line. He might have been a Para once, but that was a very long time ago. Mel would destroy the old man in seconds, legs or no legs.

“Sorry Mel, I`m upset, I need to know if he`s been talking to anyone about weapons and stuff belonging to the Brigade, has he said anything to you?” old Jim stepped back and tears welled in his watery eyes.

“Look Jim, everyone in here is fucked up, me included, Ross likes a whisky or two and when he drinks he talks shit, but I haven’t heard anything about any weapons,” Mel stared into the old man`s eyes cool as a cucumber, not even a flicker of deceit in his gaze. The old man`s body seemed to deflate, and he nodded his head as he turned and walked away.

“Jim,” Sergeant Mel Hickey called after him.

“What,” the old man said, half turned away.

“You take it easy Jim,” Mel said, and he saluted the old Para.

“I will, you too,” old Jim saluted back, and then walked off down the corridor staring at the carpet as he went.

Mel Hickey adjusted his weight and then walked in the opposite direction from Jim. The corridor stretched a hundred yards before he would reach a bank of elevators which would take him down to the reception. He had a hire car waiting for him in the car park. He`d blown up his last vehicle when he attacked the bank to draw Rashid Ahmed out of his home, and he hadn’t had time to replace it. He had killed the wrong target that time, but that didn’t matter now because he was about to redress the balance. He planned to use the six kilos of Semtex that he had stolen from the Brigade`s arsenal. Ross was very drunk the night he`d told him that there was explosives in the cellar belonging to old Jim.

In 2007 when he had opened fire in Nisour Square Mel genuinely believed that the convoy was about to be attacked by a mobile car bomb, which had broken down. The truth of the matter was that the mercenaries used by the American and British forces were constantly in fear of suicide bombers and that made them twitchy. Everyone was a suspect, and every vehicle was a potential hazard. When constant fear was combined with the heat and the dust then tempers became taught, and nerves were perched on a knife edge. The events of Nisour Square were covered up and brushed over, all the mercenary immunity clauses were invoked and evidence was manufactured to muddy the waters of the FBI`s investigation.

Sergeant Mel Hickey had been hauled in front of his superiors and identified as the instigator of the massacre. The Blackwater employees lost a huge cash bonus because of the incident. The bonus only applied if there was no loss of civilian life during their active term in Iraq. Although he was safe from prosecution he had caused his employers a huge amount of hassle, and they placed him on light duties. Mel was traumatised by the incident. The camaraderie that he had enjoyed in the British Army did not exist in the mercenary ranks, and he was routinely castigated by his peers, who had been penalised financially as a result of his actions. The fact that a dozen other mercenaries opened fire that afternoon seemed to be lost on everyone. All the fingers were pointing at Mel and the following days and weeks became almost unbearable.

Sergeant Mel Hickey was posted on sentry duty outside an Iraqi police recruiting station. The station was a primary target for insurgents. Over two hundred Iraqi policemen are either murdered or completely disappear every month, and even now it is the most dangerous profession in the nation. No one really knows how many are actually slaughtered, or how many run away for fear of being killed. Iraqi policemen are deemed as collaborators. They are trained by the Christian invaders and therefore their families become legitimate targets and are murdered wholesale every day.

Sentry duty was a laborious task, mainly because of the relentless heat. The desert sun beat down on them without mercy all day long. There were huge concrete blocks in the road, in front of the recruitment station, stopping suicide bombers from driving cars packed full of explosives into the compound itself. The compound was surrounded by a crooked brick wall which had been rendered with white plaster, as is the custom in the Middle East. The render has a two-fold effect, firstly it looks cleaner at first, and secondly it hides the shocking quality of the bricklayers` workmanship. Mel knew that a determined bomber could drive a vehicle straight through the fragile wall, in fact they often joked that they could ride a push bike through it. Another mercenary had quipped that they could be attacked by the first skateboard bomber in history, because the walls were so poorly constructed. The rendered walls were pockmarked with machinegun bullet holes from several drive-by shootings. There was a constant queue around the building, ambitious poor young men eager to feed their families, and progress up the social ladder by landing a responsible job as a policeman. They waited patiently for hours upon end for their turn to enlist. Standing in the recruitment line had cost over sixty men their lives already that year.

Two weeks into his posting local Iraqis had got wind that the men guarding the recruitment station were in some way connected to the massacre at Nisour Square. Mel was nearing the end of a twelve hour nightshift, which spanned midnight until midday. The queue of eager recruits was snaking around the compound as usual, despite the intense heat, which was creeping over a hundred degrees. Mel was incredibly fair skinned, almost an albino, and he suffered from the heat more than most. His hair, almost white, offered no protection to his sensitive pink scalp from the sun`s rays.

He was tired and hungry when a young Iraqi child approached him and his men. They were grouped together taking in some fresh water. They had to complete the required paperwork before handing the shift over to the incoming Sergeant. The night shift commanders were en route with a fresh troop of mercenaries. There was less than thirty minutes remaining before they could get out of the sun, eat and then get some well earned sleep. Mel noticed that the child appeared to be distressed, but there was something else which struck him. There was something different about her face.

It was unusual to see girls out alone even when they were young. They were rarely seen in public unaccompanied. This young girl was upset, crying and alone, and then it clicked. She was a Down syndrome child. Mel felt a wave of sympathy as he watched the little girl crying and walking toward them. He smiled, trying to calm her, and walked toward her. He offered her his bottle of water but her confused face showed no signs of understanding anything further than the fact that she was lost. It was obvious, what else would she be doing here on her own.

Mel heard a raised voice from the line of waiting men and he turned to see what the noise was all about. Some of the waiting men had started to run away from the approaching child. Mel turned back to the child and noticed her loose fitting smock had angular bulges beneath it, as if something had been strapped around her waist and chest. He realised too late that she had been taken from an asylum by insurgents, wrapped in explosive belts and then told to walk toward the soldiers. Mel looked around for the perpetrators who had sent the poor helpless girl to a dreadful death, but he never had chance to locate them. The explosive belts were remotely detonated from just fifty yards away, ripping the poor girl into bloody shreds. Because of his close proximity to her he was catapulted upwards away from the deadly shrapnel. His legs were blown off and couldn’t be recovered, but he`d survived the blast, unlike his entire troop who were shredded by a wave of ball bearings and nails.

Weeks turned into months, and then into years as his recovery went from one stage to the next. Now he was walking with the aid of Hi-Tec prosthetic legs. His upper body was powerfully built and his mind was as sharp as a razor. The war in Iraq was the reason for his injuries. His injuries and the resulting mental damage were the reasons why he had eventually lost his wife and children to another man. His anger and resentment at his plight had eventually driven his family away from him. The turmoil in Iraq and Afghanistan was being dragged out by the Muslim insurgents. The insurgents were his enemy, Rashid Ahmed had been sending arms to the Taliban, and now was the time to even things up a little. He slung his bag over his shoulder again and headed for the car park. It was a two and a half hour drive to Holyhead Mountain, and a long climb to North Stack. Chances were that the climb would be too much for him, and he would probably have to wait for Rashid to come down, but he could wait.

Chapter Forty Two

The Brigade

Jay checked the wing mirror again and saw the hatchback still following them. He reached for the cell phone in his pocket, and pressed the speed dial button.

“Jay, how did it go?” Terry Nick answered.

“I think they got the message, but I`ve picked up a tail,” Jay looked in the mirror again.

“How many of them?” Terry asked.

“There is only one of them, but he`s been on his mobile for the last fifteen minutes, probably drumming up some backup,” Jay explained.

“Keep him away from town. We don’t need any more hassle with the police. I`ve had London on the telephone giving me a polite warning that our public image could jeopardise our international contracts,” Terry didn’t want to court any more adverse publicity. The contracts in Iraq had been much more complicated than he had anticipated them to be. The events at Nisour Square had caused reverberations across the entire world. Deploying mercenary soldiers was lucrative, but people were always going to die, that`s what they do for a living. You just had to hope that they only killed the bad guys.

The situation in Iraq seemed to be coming to an end. The American public wanted their troops out of there immediately, and a British troop withdrawal was already underway. The situation was precarious to say the least. Buying weaponry and equipment was expensive, and when you consider that most of it stays in situ when the conflict is over, planning your purchases as a conflict comes to an end is a risky business. Terry Nick knew that there would be other conflicts and other governments that would need the services of his mercenaries, but he had to protect his domestic business too. Without the door security business everything else would implode. It supplied the cash flow to fund Brigade ventures overseas. His relationship with the gargantuan American mercenary company, called Blackwater Worldwide, was still intact. They welcomed the influx of highly trained British veterans into the fold with open arms, because they were the best.

Relationships at home were less cordial, and it seemed that the intelligence services kept blowing hot and cold with the Brigade, but they still had key primaries to protect. Rashid Ahmed was the priority right now, and the fact that his men had been ordered to reveal themselves complicated matters further. He needed to go to the remote safe house himself to assess the situation first hand. It was obvious that `persons unknown` had carried out a well planned attack on Ahmed, and people like that seldom go away unassisted. The Brigade couldn’t afford for their reputation to be tarnished any further by losing a primary. Rashid`s mountain residence could be a blessing in disguise because the remoteness of the area could offer the perfect location to dispose of his latest problem, Omar and the Yardies.

“I`m heading down to Holyhead, you should head there too and bring that tail with you, do you have enough fuel to make it there without stopping?” Terry asked. He didn’t want to offer any opportunities for the Yardies to attack Jay before they reached the mountain.

“We`ve got a full tank, are you already on the way?” Jay replied leaning over and looking at the fuel gauge.

“If I leave now, I`ll be thirty miles ahead of you, put your foot down and you`ll catch me up before the Conwy tunnel. If we can play this right then we can arrange a nice little welcome party for your friends, just keep him behind you,” Terry ordered. Most well trained military personnel were taught how to keep a tail close enough to entice them to keep following, but far enough away to stop them getting into striking distance. The FBI call it `following a suspect from the front`, they pretend that they don’t know they`re being followed, allowing the tail to grow in confidence while an ambush is organised.

Chapter Forty Three

Tank

The meeting in the subterranean bunker had been brought to an abrupt end by the Minister of Defence. The conventional law enforcement agencies had left, some reluctantly, and others indifferently. Tank knew that the idea of bringing MI5, MI6, military counter terrorist units, uniformed police chiefs, CI5 and the Terrorist Task Force was flawed, to say the least. The two worlds of conventional law keepers and covert agencies could never marry. The uniformed divisions spent all their time hunting murderers, kidnappers and burglars, while the covert agencies committed all three serious crimes on a weekly basis, without fear of prosecution. The intelligence world is a dangerous and cynical place to live in, and few people have long careers there, fewer still collect their pension.

The Minister was talking in hushed tones to the intelligence directors, while Tank and Major Timms waited impatiently.

“They`re obviously in disagreement about something,” Major Timms pointed his pen toward the Minister, as she appeared to be animated about something.

“Do MI5 ever agree with anyone about anything,” Tank laughed cynically.

“Rarely,” the Major agreed.

“What do you think the problem is?” Tank mused.

“The outstanding arms deal,” the Major speculated.

“That`s exactly what I think,” Tank agreed.

The Minister waved to them through the reinforced glass wall. The intelligence directors stood up and walked toward the glass; the door opened and they stormed between them without saying a word. Tank smiled and entered the room, twisting his huge shoulders slightly to fit through the doorframe. Although the bunker was state of the art, all the doors were very narrow and were designed to add strength to the overall structure of the excavation.

“We have a problem,” the Minister said, crossing her legs as she spoke.

“We have several from what we`ve heard today,” the Major replied.

“Quite,” she replied curtly.

“What are you going to do with the arms deal?” Tank asked saving her anymore embarrassment than was really necessary.

She looked at him and eyed him coolly, realising suddenly how transparent the situation really was.

“We are stumped frankly, if we don’t deliver the cache then the whole project with Rashid Ahmed is over, if we do deliver we`re risking the lives of another dozen Afghan soldiers,” she shrugged not finishing her analysis, and leaving the sentence open.

Tank and the Major remained silent, playing the game. She fidgeted uncomfortably before being forced to continue.

“We need the arms to go in but under your protection. Your taskforce is made up of the best people that we have,” she said abruptly, but not totally convincing anyone that she meant it.

Tank smiled and looked at the Major, shaking his head.

“The taskforce is the best covert strike force in the country, and I repeat the word `covert` Minister. Afghanistan is a war zone, and you need soldiers, SAS, SBS, commandoes. The list of assets that you can use is endless,” Tank said still smiling.

“You don’t know where the leak is coming from do you?” the Major asked.

“No, we don’t, but I know that it cannot be the taskforce because you have had no involvement so far,” she answered honestly.

“You`re talking to the wrong people Minister,” Tank said.

“What do you mean?”

“You need to ask Rashid Ahmed if he is still on side, or if he is leaking information to the Taliban,” Tank answered.

“What? Do you think he`s just going to tell us even if he is?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes, given the right incentive to do so,” Tank nodded.

“I don’t understand. If it was so easy why haven’t MI5 done that?”

“Because they`re always looking for the subtle way of doing things, like leaving his wife unprotected.”

“I don’t believe that was deliberate.”

“Then you`re a gullible fool and the intelligence agencies are hanging you out to dry Minister,” the Major interrupted.

She snapped her head toward him angrily at the affront, but her eyes registered that he had made a valid point. She was protecting the agency without questioning their role in the whole scenario. Their behaviour had been questionable at best, evil at worst.

“With all due respect there have been eleven ministers in your role while we have served in the taskforce, politicians come and go, and the intelligence director has probably seen another half dozen more than we have. They will play the game with you Minister, but only up to the point where it all goes tits up, and then it was all your decision making that was to blame,” Tank leaned against the desk and chewed the end of a pencil thoughtfully.

“Okay, I`ll accept the fact that their loyalty to any government is limited, but surely their agenda is the same as ours,” she asked.

Tank and the Major exchanged amused glances. The Minister had no idea of just how sinister the world of spooks and spies was.

“Do you recall your predecessor?” the Major asked innocently, Tank smiled recalling the man, and the scandal behind his departure.

“Of course I do, that was a terrible business. His suicide was most unexpected,” she seemed to be genuinely moved by the subject.

“How long had you worked with him?” Tank asked.

“I`m not sure, ten years, maybe more,” she replied.

“Did you know that he had a penchant for teenage boys?” the Major asked.

“What? Don’t be ridiculous, he was married with three children. His wife is a very close friend of mine, still heartbroken the poor woman,” Janet Walsh couldn’t see what was coming, but she knew that something nasty was on its way.

“I`m afraid it`s true, and more to the point he fell for the oldest trick in the book, just weeks into his first term as Defence Minister, after that he was literally their puppet,” the Major said.

“I don’t know what you`re talking about Major,” she seemed to sag visibly.

“He was caught in a honey trap Minister, lured into a seedy hotel room by two pretty young rent boys, where he proceeded to take cocaine and indulge in what can only be described as depraved sex with underage boys, and it was all on camera,” Tank continued with the story.

“It was a set up from the beginning to the end, all paid for by your friends at the intelligence agency. Having the Minister of Defence, responsible for allocating huge budgets, in your pocket for a few years is a priceless asset, however your colleague obviously couldn’t handle the thought of his wife and family one day finding out about his sordid pastime,” the Major finished off the tale.

“Your current personal secretary has a liking for white powder products too, and one of her dealers is on the payroll, she is passing information from your cabinet meetings straight back to the agency. They know what you are going to do before you do,” Tank added.

“What!!” the Minister put her face in her hands trying to hide from the shocking truth.

“The Prime Minister`s private aide has also strayed across the line into rent boys and drugs, needless to say they have quite a file on him already,” the Major added fuel to the flames.

“I don’t believe all this, how would you know what they are up to in such detail?”

“It`s our job to know,” the Major answered.

“Not everyone in the agency is in total agreement with their methods, and so we have informers on the inside that keep us up to date with what`s going on. We have to know who we can trust and who is leaking information, and that includes cabinet ministers,” Tank said.

“My god, spies spying on other spies, who can I trust?” she said bemused by the whole thing. The Minister looked like she was going to be sick, and the colour drained from her cheeks.

“Don`t trust anyone Minister, it`s really that simple,” Tank replied.

She seemed to gather her wits around her somewhat, and she breathed in deeply before she spoke.

“Okay, now that I know where I stand, how do we deal with this cache of arms?” she said confidently.

“The point is Minister that the agency and their mercenaries are guarding the only person that really knows if that arms cache is heading for another ambush or not, Rashid Ahmed,” Tank sat down opposite her and stared into her eyes. She nodded in agreement.

“What do you suggest Major,” the Minister steeled herself, regaining some of her composure.

“We need to bring him in immediately, and hold him under the counter terrorism legislation until we are happy that we know the truth. Rashid Ahmed wants to return to the Middle East immediately to bury his wife. We need him to think that his Muslim brothers are going to be made aware of his cooperation with the British government over the last few years. If we can rattle him then he might think twice about coming clean. We have to make him think that he is no longer being protected by Her Majesty`s secret service,” the Major said.

She nodded in agreement again, looking lost.

“I`ll have the director call you with his location immediately, and have him handed over to you for interrogation,” she swallowed hard trying to recover her air of authority, but she failed miserably.

“We know where he is Minister, and we have to take him from them,” the Major said.

“I don’t understand, how do you know where he is?” she looked out of her depth again.

“Like I said earlier, it`s our job to know.”

“Of course it is,” she said smiling nervously.

“No one must know that we are going to take him Minister, except you of course,” Tank said.

“We must consider the possibility that the leak has come from the agency itself. Therefore they must not know that we are taking him, it`s the only way to be certain,” the Major concurred with the scenario.

“I understand, what about the protection unit that he has, they`ll be armed won`t they?”

“We know that and we`ll take Rashid with minimal casualties, that`s the best we can say at this stage,” Tank said.

“I`ll set up a snatch unit straight away and pick him up,” Tank continued heading for the door. He could smell trouble a mile away, and he sensed that there was plenty waiting for them.

Chapter Forty Four

Omar

Omar overtook a large Japanese four wheel drive vehicle, which was pulling a caravan along the North Wales coast road. His English was very good now but he was still not accustomed to the names of Japanese trucks, and they all looked the same to him. The carriageway was four lanes wide separated down the middle by a low reinforced metal barrier. His headlights illuminated the dual carriageway which climbed gradually into the distance as it cut through the granite mountains at the edge of the Snowdon range. To his right was an inky black void where the land fell away steeply down to the River Dee four miles away, and in the far distance on the horizon the lights of Liverpool twinkled yellow against the night sky.

“Where are you?” the voice on his cell phone asked.

“Passing Holywell, init,” Omar answered glancing at the name of the town on a road sign as it flashed by in the darkness.

“We`re approaching Chester, about fifteen minutes behind you,” the voice said.

“Nice one man, how many soldiers you got with you?” Omar asked accelerating harder to keep the van he was following in sight. The brake lights brightened and disappeared around a bend in the distance.

“There are two cars, mine and another twenty minutes behind us.”

“Nice one, they`re cruising at sixty five, put your foot down and you`ll catch up to me. I`ll call if they change direction,” Omar clicked the phone off and turned the stereo up.

The previous days flashed by in his mind as he concentrated on following the distant rear lights of the Brigade vehicle. He shivered as he thought about his friend Lewis crucified to the wall in a tower block, thousands of miles from home. After everything they had been through in Mogadishu, it didn’t seem right for him to die that way, and someone would pay for that. Omar had no concept of the fact that he was responsible for starting the conflict with the Brigade in the first place. His memory took him to the alleyway where he`d used his knife to cut up the Brigade men. He`d cut them to send a message to the 18^th Brigade, an attempt to frighten them into handing over an area of the city to them, so that he could expand their drug business. It hadn’t worked. He had stirred up a hornet`s nest, woken a sleeping giant, and losing Lewis was the price he had to pay for his foray into the dangerous world of drugs and private security. Omar had underestimated the strength and depth of the gargantuan door security company, but it wasn’t the first time he had bitten off more than he could chew.

Three years earlier in the sun baked streets of Mogadishu, where reputations were built and maintained by the death toll a man had caused, Omar had made a similar mistake. He had stumbled across a drug deal being made on the outskirts of his neighbourhood. Mogadishu is carved up into blocks controlled by violent militias. Each militia protects their turf vehemently, to the point where straying into rival territory is a mistake that would cost you your life. The roads between rival blocks are counted as grey areas, where business deals could be conducted with impunity. Drugs arms and munitions were valuable currency, and the more a militia had, the more credibility they carried.

That particular day Omar and Lewis watched as a large amount of drugs was exchanged for money, eight Kalashnikov rifles and a box of bullets to match. He didn’t recognise the protagonists making the deal, and he wrongly assumed that there were only a few of them because they were from weak militias. The fact was they were from the two biggest militias in Somalia. The reason they had only a few soldiers with them was because no one with any sense would attack either of them. On impulse Omar killed six men with a burst of machinegun fire before they could even move. He stole the cache of weapons and all the drugs, but the repercussions were swift and violent. His militia was threatened with annihilation unless they handed him over. Omar and Lewis were forced to leave their homes and flee for their lives.

Three years later on he had once again repeated his mistake of underestimating his opposition. Omar had expected the Brigade to come looking for them in the pubs and clubs of Manchester, but not to come through the living room window of his woman`s fourth floor apartment. They had completely shocked him by crucifying his childhood friend to a wall. He wasn’t sure where the Brigade man he had seen leaving the tower block was headed, but he intended to follow him until he stopped, and then he would wish that he hadn’t hurt Lewis.

Chapter Forty Five

North Stack

Rashid heard the dull drone of an all terrain cycle and he walked toward the kitchen window. He looked out and saw two sets of headlights, belonging to quads, coming over the horizon. Miles away below the mountain, in the distance he could see the streetlights of Holyhead glowing yellow, and the powerful intermittent revolving beam of the Breakwater lighthouse, a mile and half out to sea. The huge bodyguards didn’t appear to be concerned about the approaching vehicles, and there had been some radio messages crackling earlier, which were almost inaudible to Rashid. Now he realised that they had been talking to whoever was now approaching his remote hideaway.

“Terry`s here,” the big Brigade man called down the stairs to his colleague.

“Good, ask him for a pay rise, I`m bored stupid up here,” the reply came.

“Signal the others to come in. He wants us all here to bring everyone up to date, and issue new briefs. I think something is going on.”

“I don’t like it when you think, and you think too much.”

“Roger that,” came the reply. More static could be heard on a coms unit somewhere. Rashid couldn’t see it but he could hear several voices acknowledging the message to rendezvous at the house. Rashid peered into the darkness, but he still couldn’t see anyone moving. He cupped his hands over his eyes to stop the lights reflecting off the window, and he peered into the night again. To the left about a hundred yards away across the headland, the undergrowth seemed to grow and move. A previously undetectable figure emerged from the deep foliage. He couldn’t distinguish the shape or form because the edges were blurred, but it turned and moved toward the house, carrying a rifle with a huge scope attached. Suddenly there was movement two hundred yards to the right, and another shadowy figure seemed to melt from the long heather, and then another directly in front of him, yet another far left, followed by two more to the right. Rashid was impressed. He felt much safer now having seen the extent of the firepower which had been deployed to protect him. It would have been impossible for an assassin to approach the house past all those snipers. Perhaps the intelligence agencies were taking his safety seriously at last; unfortunately it was too late for his young wife. His stomach seemed to clench as he thought about her terrible death. The pain inside him steeled him to the cause once more. He had to know what the agency was planning for him, but his contact was still not answering his calls.

The front door slammed shut disturbing his thoughts. He looked down into the courtyard and saw the Brigade men gathering in a rough circle. The snipers were draped in long green net ponchos, which had been weaved with ferns and heather foliage to make them invisible on the headland. Their faces were daubed black and green with camouflage face paints, only the whites of their eyes were visible, giving them an inhuman appearance. The two new arrivals seemed to be in charge of proceedings, one of them in particular was giving orders out whilst pointing to a map. The conversation was brief and professional from what Rashid could see. The map was folded into a pocket, and the snipers headed off across the headlands again. Rashid watched them fading into the darkness as they passed the outer range of the artificial lighting, where they were headed he didn’t know, but he felt more secure knowing that they were out there somewhere in the darkness.

The front door opened again, and he heard two sets of footsteps coming up the stairs. Rashid walked from the kitchen to greet them.

“We have a problem,” Terry Nick said.

“I`m sorry, who are you?” Rashid asked, trying to grasp some control over his situation. He was being treated like a valuable object rather than a person, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“All you need to know is that I`m in charge, and if you do as you`re told you`ll live, if you don’t then you won`t survive until the morning,” Terry brushed past him and looked out of the panoramic windows toward the cliffs and the ocean beyond.

“There is no access from the cliff face?” Terry quizzed the Brigade man.

“No, we`ve completed risk assessments three hundred and sixty degrees. There is a minimal risk from the south, across the mountain but the danger zone is at twelve o`clock, the path you used is the only feasible way to get up here.”

“Good, I want you to stay here with the primary, keep the radio to hand and the first sign of any shenanigans put him in to the panic room,” Terry Nick headed toward the stairs.

“Primary this, primary that, put him here, stick him there, I`m sick of being talked about as if I`m not here,” Rashid Ahmed shouted after the Brigade leader as he disappeared down the stairs. The heavy footsteps stopped on the staircase and there was a creaking sound as he turned and climbed back up them. Terry Nick stomped back into the first floor space and approached Rashid with an evil scowl on his face. He encroached his personal space and stared deep into his eyes, his nose was inches away from Rashid`s. He was so close that Rashid could smell cigarettes on his breath.

“Listen to me Mr Ahmed, and listen well. You gave up your right to be considered in anything the moment you asked for protection from the agency. Now they own your arse, and they pay me to keep it alive. If you are looking for sympathy, then look in the dictionary, it`s in between `Shit` and `Syphilis`.” The Brigade leader turned and headed for the stairs again. “If he gives you any problems cut his throat, we`ll blame the Yardies later on,” he said laughing as he stomped down the staircase.

Rashid walked back into the kitchen, his temper was reaching boiling point, but what else could he do. He was in mortal fear of his life. He couldn’t leave, but he didn’t want to stay either. He was beginning to think that he was as much in danger from the agency and its mercenary thugs as he was out in the general population. Despite the collapse of his financial institution Rashid had millions stashed. He could disappear if he needed to, but if he did that he would never be allowed to resurface. He would be assassinated for sure.

“I`m making some coffee, would you like some?” Rashid shouted to the remaining Brigade man, as he picked up the stainless steel kettle and filled it from the tap.

The Brigade man poked his head around the corner of the kitchen area and grinned widely. He was stroking the saw edged blade of a wide steel knife on his sleeve. Rashid looked at the glinting blade and made his mind up there and then. He looked the grinning mercenary in the eye.

“I have sold over a million machineguns to dangerous men in more countries than you could name. I have met many frightening men in my time, some of them could have killed me in the blink of an eye, trust me my friend when I tell you that I don’t frighten easily, so do you want some coffee or not,” Rashid held the big man`s gaze. The Brigade man seemed to be thinking about what Rashid had said, he could almost hear the cogs whirring in his brain.

“Coffee would be great thanks, any chance of a biscuit?” the huge soldier became human in an instant.

“Milk and sugar?” Rashid turned back to the kettle and switched it on. He walked across the marble tiles and reached up to open a cupboard door. He took the coffee jar down and grabbed a packet of digestives.

“Yes please, two sugars,” the bodyguard said. He walked over to Rashid and took the packet of biscuits from him. He ripped open the packet and stuffed three digestives into his mouth at once. Rashid frowned as a flurry of biscuit crumbs showered his polished marble floor.

“Are you hungry?” Rashid asked sarcastically. He opened the refrigerator and took out a carton of milk.

“Bloody starving, I`ve not eaten since this morning,” the Brigade man mumbled spraying more crumbs across the kitchen floor.

“Here, take your biscuits through to the lounge, and I`ll bring some sandwiches with your coffee,” Rashid took a loaf of bread from the breadbin and returned to the refrigerator. The Brigade man was starting to salivate at the thought of food coming. He was even more pleased when Rashid opened the massive Smeg refrigerator to reveal a veritable feast of cold meats, cheeses and smoked sausages. He took the biscuits into the living area and happily looked out across the dark headland to the crashing ocean hundreds of feet below. The white horses and foam seemed to glow in the darkness somehow reflecting what little light there was. He could hear Rashid opening and closing cupboards and the clinking of plates and cutlery. The smell of fresh coffee permeated into the room, adding to the anticipation of satiating his hunger. He had munched through half the digestives before Rashid appeared carrying a steaming cup of coffee and a plate piled high with sandwiches.

“Here you are, tuck in, if we`re going to be stuck up here then we may as well be civilised to one another,” Rashid said as he placed the plate on the low coffee table.

“Thanks, he was only joking about cutting your throat you know,” the Brigade man said biting into a smoked sausage and cheese sandwich that was two inches thick. He chewed it greedily and then slurped the hot coffee to wash it down.

“Like I said earlier, I don’t frighten easily,” Rashid smiled warmly, nodding like a wise old sage, who knew the secrets of the universe. Of course he didn’t know the secrets of the universe, but he did know that the Brigade man`s coffee and sandwiches were laced with enough diazepam to drop an elephant.

Chapter Forty Six

Sergeant Mel Hickey

Sergeant Hickey put his metal foot down and the Ford increased speed silently. The power in the engine was impressive for a small saloon car, and he indicated before moving into the outside lane, overtaking a long line of cars and caravans that were heading into the mountains of North Wales. A large Japanese four by four was struggling to pull its mobile domicile up a long steep gradient, and was causing a tailback behind it. He passed the caravan and looked left at group of three customised hatchbacks that were travelling convoy like in the slow lane. There were big bore exhausts fitted to each one. The rear vehicle was fully loaded with passengers all of them were black skinned. Mel thought that they were probably Africans at first glance.

The second vehicle was the same, and he could almost have been passing the same car twice, fully loaded, all black males. The driver was deep in conversation with a mobile phone pressed to his ear. The third vehicle had only a solitary male, also black African, and Mel instinctively knew that he was talking to the man in the car behind him. The driver glanced toward him as he passed by and Sergeant Hickey caught a glint of light from his face, gold teeth probably, very classy.

The dual carriageway levelled out for a half a mile or so before it turned gently to the left and then ran steeply down a mountain side, before following the natural path of a river valley which snaked sixty miles along the Welsh coastline toward the island of Anglesey.

He continued to overtake the slower vehicles and had almost forgotten the unusual convoy of hatchbacks, when he passed a panel van on the inside lane. The interior light was switched on and the passenger was reading a map and talking on his telephone. The driver was a large male, shaved head and he had a blue tattoo beneath his ear, probably a swastika. Mel looked again quickly before accelerating away from them. He recognised the passenger as an 18^th Brigade General, who had been in Iraq when he first arrived for his tour with the mercenary outfit. The Brigade General had only stayed in Iraq for two weeks of Sergeant Hickey`s first tour, before being recalled to the UK, where he now looked after the domestic security business in the Liverpool area. The driver wasn’t familiar to him but he fitted the bill as a Brigade employee. Mel had heard from his neighbour Ross, via old Jim that the Brigade had been having trouble with the Somali drug gangs from Manchester. He also knew that they had been involved in some heavy duty personal protection business domestically.

Past experiences had taught Sergeant Hickey that coincidences rarely existed in the theatre of conflict and espionage. He had a saying, if it walks like a duck, and looks like a duck, then the chances are that it is a duck. If the Brigade were protecting Rashid Ahmed then that was an unfortunate coincidence, but fore warned is fore armed. The fact that the Brigade van had a convoy of black Africans neatly tucked behind them, shadowing them at a discreet distance could also be a coincidence, but Sergeant Hickey didn’t think so. He was seventy miles away from the quarry at the foot of Holyhead Mountain, where the path led up to North Stack, and his target. He floored the accelerator with his prosthetic limb, if he pushed the Ford to its limit then he could arrive in time to study the quarry before any else arrived.

Chapter Forty Seven

The Quarry

Terry Nick shivered as a gust of icy wind travelling at sixty miles an hour blew across the exposed headland off the Irish Sea. He really didn’t need to be here right now babysitting Rashid Ahmed, a Saudi arms dealer who had turned `supergrass`. Although it was a very lucrative contract he had other problems to deal with. The Somali drug lords were following Jay along the Welsh coastline headed directly toward them. It was a stroke of luck that Rashid had a property in such a remote location. It could be just what they needed to be able to confront the Yardies and deal with them once and for all. A gun battle on the streets of Manchester would not go unnoticed, and the fallout could put the Brigade` security business under intense scrutiny and further threaten their core business interests. He could not allow that to happen.

The quad bike shuddered and slid precariously on the muddy headland, thick tyres spun freely in the mud spraying moss and fern into the air behind it. Terry shifted his considerable bulk into the skid and the quad righted itself onto the path again. The wind howled through his clothes, even the Kevlar vest he wore offered no protection from the icy blasts. To the left he could make out two inhuman shapes approaching the edge of the cliffs which encircled the quarry below them. His sharpshooters were taking up elevated positions overlooking the quarry and the path which led from it. Their camouflage ponchos made them look like bushes or boulders from a distance, even through binoculars they weren`t distinguishable as human.

The path narrowed and twisted steeply following a man made ledge carved into the rock face, and then zigzagged in a series of hairpin bends until it reached the quarry floor two hundred feet below him. The quarry hadn’t been active for nearly a hundred years. The rocks mined from the base of the mountain were used to build the one and a half miles of breakwater, which protected Holyhead`s marina and deep water harbour from the frequent violent storms that developed in the Irish Sea. Once the massive marine structure had been completed the quarry went out of business and the miners moved on to other parts of Wales to work. About the same time as the breakwater was completed miners at Dolgellau hit a gold lode and many of the miners from Holyhead headed there fuelled by gold fever.

The quarry was two miles from the port town, accessed by one narrow road which was once a railway track used for shunting gigantic cubes of granite to the breakwater. The old rail track road was carved into the surrounding landscape, and was bridged every few hundred yards by a series of red brick bridges which were built to appease angry local farmers whose land had been dissected by the railway. The railway road reached the quarry and then crossed three deep man made chasms which Mother Nature had filled with water. When the miners left the pumps stopped extracting water from the excavations and soon treacherously deep ponds were formed. The chasms were so deep the water was always bitterly cold and had a black sheen to it, almost as if they were filled with crude oil.

The quarry yard opened up beyond the ponds and two buildings stood alone, one had a tall granite chimney built at one end of the gable. It was a renovated furnace, once the heart of the quarry but now a tourist information centre. The second building was a derelict roofless warehouse. It had been left dilapidated for the visitors to wonder at. One hundred yards beyond the buildings, a sheer rock face rose two hundred feet up to the mountain shoulder and the sloping headlands. The narrow manmade ledge which zigzagged up the cliff face was the only way from the quarry up to North Stack.

Terry approached the top of the rock trail and slowed the quad down as it dipped and started to descend. The wind dropped suddenly, as it was blocked by the huge quarry walls and Terry felt instantly better, warmer and more confident that things would work out for the better tonight. He had men positioned on the cliff tops, and more in the quarry yard. Once their visitors passed by the ponds there was no way out, they`d be trapped in a killing zone. All he had to do now was wait. In less than an hour the Manchester Yardies would be at the bottom of the quarry lakes too deep for even a technical diver to find their bodies, and then he could get back to running the Brigade business as usual.

Chapter Forty Eight

Tank

John Tankersley leaned forward on the bench seat to try and make himself heard. The enormous twin rotor blades of a military Chinook were starting to gyrate, preparing to take Tank and a snatch squad to RAF Valley, Anglesey. The airbase was six miles away from the bottom of Holyhead Mountain, and from there they would take trucks onto Holy Island. Tank had chosen to employ a six man team from `The Regiment`, better known as the SAS, to carry out the extraction. The plan was to transport the squad up the only drivable road, which would take them to the tourist area at South Stack Lighthouse. From there they would be at approximately the same altitude as Rashid Ahmed`s residence, although they would have to traverse over miles of rocky slopes to circumnavigate the mountain peak, they would eventually approach the building from the blind spot to the south. No one would anticipate an approach from that direction.

“The close protection squad are mercenaries, but don’t underestimate them. They will be covering this road here,” Tank said pointing out the old railway line on a detailed map. Camouflage faces, smeared green and black looked on as he explained the finer details of the extraction.

“The road is an old railway track, it`s flanked by steep banks and bridged by a series of cattle crossings.”

The elite troops could see a death trap if ever they saw one. The opportunity to be ambushed at any point along the quarry road was an obvious one to anyone with a modicum of military savvy.

“Things don’t get any better at the quarry yard. The entire area is almost completely encircled by the quarry walls, which are sheer cliff faces hundreds of feet high in places.”

The Regiment soldiers exchanged glances as he explained how well protected the approach to the mountain path was. It was impossible to breach. A handful of sharpshooters could defend the position against a thousand troops, and still repel them.

“We are going to deploy here at South Stack and traverse across the shoulder of the mountain, and hit the residence from the south side here where they will least expect it,” Tank pointed to the map and the Regiment men seemed to relax. The plan made perfect sense. The only way to attack a well defended position like this mountain location was from the direction the taskforce leader had highlighted.

“Piece of cake,” the Regiment commander said sarcastically.

“That`s why you`re here, because it`s too easy for us,” Tank replied laughing.

“How come you`re not sending your people in?” the SAS man asked, lowering his voice slightly.

“What, hiking across a mountain in the dark for miles, now that`s got your name written all over it,” Tank said. “Besides, some of your boys are looking a little sloppy, and a good walk will do them good,” they laughed, sharing the sarcasm.

“Seriously though, my people will be here, at South Stack,” he pointed to the map again to explain where the taskforce would be during the extraction. “I`ll be here with a unit covering any attempt to bring him out down the quarry road,” there was a derelict hotel perched on the end of the quarry road where it joined the breakwater service road, and also branched off to the town centre.

“If they see you coming somehow then my guess is they will have an escape plan, you`ll have no way of pursuing them from the mountain, so we`ll have to cut off this route here, it`s the only way in and out,” Tank sat back. The Regiment men followed suit as the huge flying machine lifted off the roof of the Canning Place police headquarters. The engine noise seemed to reach a new deafening level as it hovered over the River Mersey, and then lurched forward toward the Welsh Mountains.

Grace Farrington took the initiative realising that all further verbal communication was pointless until they arrived at the airbase. There would be a short briefing there, but they needed as much information between now and then as they could. She reached into a kit bag and handed out photocopies of the floor plans for Rashid`s residence. The eager troops studied them with professional interest, knowing where every door and closet was could save their lives. The drawings were relatively accurate although some of the later alterations hadn’t been added by the architect. The Chinook cleared the city`s airspace and accelerated to its full speed.

Chapter Forty Nine

The quarry

Sergeant Mel Hickey slowed the Ford down as he reached the bright lights of Holyhead town centre. His map showed a wide open grassy area which sloped down to the shore of the port`s yacht marina. It had a wide promenade road dissecting it. He studied the map as he reached the Newry Beach. He could clearly see the flotilla of yachts anchored in the marina, protected by the breakwater which was hidden by the darkness across the harbour. A lighthouse at the end of the breakwater flashed in the darkness. The promenade road appeared to be a dead end, as the road signs marked it as a `no through road`, but the map told him differently.

The map depicted a narrow service road which ran through a copse of trees, before splitting into two veins, the one on the right led to the breakwater, and the other to the left was the quarry access road. At the junction was an entrance, overgrown with bushes and small trees. There were tall stone gateposts barely visible in the dense foliage, beyond them was the derelict husk of the old Soldier`s Point Hotel. It was a castle like building with fortifications along its roof line. It had once been painted white and could be seen standing like a proud sentinel from the promenade. It was once the destination for the port`s rich Victorian visitors who championed it because of its coastal location and stunning views of the mountain and the sea.

He drove slowly down the twisting lane and killed the headlights as he approached the ruined hotel. It took a while for his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness. He thought about leaving his vehicle there and heading to the quarry on foot, but his prosthetic legs were not designed for trekking that far, plus his stumps would be a swollen mess by the time he reached the quarry. There was little choice but to drive on toward the quarry and try to gauge the lay of the land from nearer to the mountain. If his assumptions were correct then the 18^th Brigade were protecting Rashid Ahmed in a remote residence up the mountain, well beyond his reach. One of their Generals was behind him en route, being followed by Somali antagonists that they had been having a turf war with. Sergeant Mel Hickey had to assume that there would be some kind of violent engagement and his money was on the Brigade coming out of that as the victors. The imminent encounter would compromise the security at Rashid Ahmed`s mountain residence. News would leak out sooner or later and then they would have to move him to a new safe house. When they moved him Sergeant Hickey would be waiting for them with a few surprises. He engaged first gear and took the Ford at a slow crawl onto the pitch dark quarry road.

Chapter Fifty

Terry Nick

“A vehicle has just entered the quarry road, a new Ford, not what we were expecting,” a static clad voice spoke over the coms unit.

“Roger that, Can you see the occupants?” Terry Nick replied as he walked across the quarry yard toward the last footbridge before the lakes. He had two snipers positioned on the first bridge which was out of sight in the darkness, and two more were hidden on the bridge that he was approaching. The radio crackled but remained silent.

“Negative he`s too far away for the moment, it looks like there`s a single occupant,” the reply came.

The Brigade had the road well covered. There were men on every bridge and half a dozen snipers along the cliff tops overlooking the quarry. Their trap was set but the arrival of an unexpected vehicle was not part of the plan. It created a nuisance factor to say the very least. They needed the Somalis to follow Jay all the way down the narrow road into the yard for the plan to be foolproof. A rogue vehicle parked in the darkness could spook them at the last moment. The Brigade leader needed to get rid of the vehicle and its driver immediately.

“Terry. You`re not going to believe this,” the radio crackled to life.

“Don`t use names you bloody fool, what`s the matter with you, has the Welsh air made you forget basic procedures?” Terry Nick was becoming irritable. Ever since the Somalis poked their heads above the parapet of the drug world they had caused him nothing but headaches. He had to remove them as a threat and get on with business as usual.

“Sorry boss, I`ve just had a bit of a shock that`s all,” the voice on the coms unit said.

“Don`t keep us in suspense, please feel free to tell us what you`re talking about,” the Brigade leader sniped.

“The driver of the Ford is a white male, albino hair, I`m not one hundred percent sure but it looked like Mel Hickey,” the voice whispered over the coms unit.

Terry Nick thought about it for a few long seconds. Sergeant Hickey had fucked up in Nisour Square, causing an international incident of gargantuan proportions. There was talk of him being hung out to dry by the Iraqi government but before anyone could do anything he had been hit by insurgents who had used a child as a human bomb. The unit had been wiped out except for the unfortunate Sergeant. The Brigade leader had only seen him once since his return from Iraq, and that was once too often for his liking. The increase in international contracts supplying mercenaries to companies like Blackwater had seemed like a no brainer at the time, but casualties had been frequent. The money ex-service men could earn was phenomenal, but the hazards were becoming increasingly harder to avoid and the consequences were incredibly cruel. Few mercenaries wanted to return after completing one stint in Iraq. Most of them chose to work for the Brigade in the domestic security business instead.

The scenario of Sergeant Hickey being the mystery bomber began to take shape in the Brigade leader`s mind. It would make perfect sense. Hickey was aggrieved by his injuries and to compound the issue he was aggrieved by the response of his government. He had lost his legs, his career and then his wife and children to top it all off. Terry knew that the sergeant was well capable of making a roadside bomb. Planning to deploy it would be second nature to him. The only thing that confused him was the recovery he had made. He must be mobile, prosthetic legs maybe. The question was though, why was he here?

“Are you sure?” the Brigade boss asked.

“No, but I`m ninety percent sure.”

Terry realised that the sergeant had come to finish the job that he had started in Westbrook, he`d missed killing Ahmed and now he wanted to complete his mission and annihilate the target. The Brigade leader had no desire to kill Hickey; in fact he hadn’t been to see him because he had empathy with his situation. What had happened to him in Nisour Square could have happened to anyone in a civilian area during an armed conflict. He had opened fire though fear and even the toughest soldiers felt fear in a combat zone. There was no way of telling who was a potential suicide bomber and who wasn`t, in which case innocents died frequently.

“The driver is stopping the vehicle,” the voice said on the coms unit.

“How far down the track is he?”

“The next bridge away from your position.”

“Roger that, standby,” Terry walked over to his snipers and kneeled down looking down the quarry road into the darkness. The snipers had night scopes attached to them. Two high powered 7.62mm rifles were zoned in on the new arrival. The driver of the Ford was completely unaware that he was under the skilful aim of four sharpshooters already.

“Can you identify him yet,” Terry asked the snipers.

“Yes, he`s right, it`s Mel Hickey sir,” the sniper said without taking his eye from the scope.

“I don’t believe it, he`s tougher than I thought,” the Brigade leader whispered, almost impressed by the invalid veteran`s persistence.

“Do you want me to drop him,” the sniper turned the elevation dial above the scope, calibrating the shot.

“No, he`s no problem on his own. Have you got a shocker?” Terry reached over and grabbed a Remington 12-gaugue shotgun from the snipers bag. The snipers smiled at one another in the dark. Terry crouched low and headed down the footbridge and made his way along the top of the old railway bank which formed a natural flank to the quarry road.

He waited in the darkness for the invalid sergeant. The Brigade leader heard him before he could see him. The footsteps were irregular and heavy, almost a shuffle. Suddenly out of the darkness he could see a shadow emerging from the pitch blackness. The white hair had been covered with a dark woollen hat, and a scarf covered the lower part of the face.

Terry Nick stood up and chambered an EREMP round into the Remington`s breech chamber, the metal click carried in the darkness and the shuffling figure stopped.

Chapter Fifty One

Omar

Omar pressed his foot to the accelerator and the hatchback lurched forward, closing the gap between him and the Brigade van. The driver of the van had obviously realised the vehicle behind him was encroaching into the safety zone that he had mentally set for it. The van accelerated and re-established the gap, never allowing Omar to get any nearer to it. Omar had survived over two decades of violent civil war in Mogadishu, and no one achieved that life span without a heightened sense of awareness. Omar`s sense of self protection sent tingles down his spine and he smiled in the darkness of the car, a glow from the instrument panel reflected from his gold teeth.

“You know that I`m behind you don’t you,” Omar said out loud as he picked up his cell phone. He checked that his men were behind him and then took his foot off the accelerator, slowing his impromptu convoy down and allowing the Brigade van to increase the distance between them. The Brigade men were drawing them into a trap; that had become obvious now. Omar had used the technique of drawing rival militias into hostile territory in Mogadishu several times before with devastating results. He wasn’t about to drive straight into a trap.

The dual carriageway threaded through a series of road tunnels cut through the Welsh mountains, a hundred feet above the rough seas of the Menai Straits. The lights of a service stop glowed in the distance, petrol station, toilet facilities and a hideously expensive self service restaurant, which was affectionately known as the `little thief` because of its prices. Omar dialled the emergency number, 999.

“Hello emergency, which service do you require?”

“Police please, quickly the man has a gun,” Omar faked panic in his voice as he indicated to turn off the carriageway into the service station. The Brigade van carried on its way and its red tail lights faded into the distance.

“I`m putting you through to the police sir, please remain on the line until you`re connected.”

“Please hurry up, they`re getting away,” Omar cried, still smiling as he brought the hatchback to a stop on the `little thief` car park.

“Hello, police emergency.”

“Hello. I`ve seen two men with a gun, they`ve threatened a man at the service station near Abergele,” Omar read the sign post and tried to pronounce the Welsh town as best as he could.

“Has anyone been shot sir?”

“They fired the gun, but missed the man, init.”

“Did you see their vehicle sir?”

“Yes, it`s a black panel van, unmarked, registration MP3 NNY, they`re headed in the direction of Anglesey,” Omar wound his window down and waved to his men as they pulled into the parking bays next to him. He pointed to the cafe and made a cup sign, indicating that he wanted some coffee. His men looked a little confused at the unscheduled stop, but knew better than to question their psychotic leader.

“How many men did you see sir?”

“There were two of them, both big built men with shaven heads, bald you know, and they had tattoos under their ears, please hurry, my battery is running out on my cell,” Omar cut the police operator off the line and laughed out loud. His gold teeth glinted in the darkness and he opened the door and stepped out of the little hatchback.

“Hey Omar what`s happening, init?” two of the Yardies were leaning against their vehicle, smoking a joint. Their boss swaggered toward them grinning from ear to ear.

“We`re having a quick smoke break my friends, and then we`re going to be picking up our new van,” Omar laughed.

He looked across the dual carriageway into the darkness, and he could see the tips of white horses crashing onto the wide beach beyond it. The Menai Straits widens out into the Irish Sea at that point creating vicious riptides and swirling currents. Two miles across the dark stretch of sea the streetlights of a castle town on Anglesey, called Beaumaris, twinkled in the blackness. Omar liked the sea, it calmed him. There was a different feeling to world when he was stood by the sea, and his thoughts drifted to the bullet scared buildings of his home in Somalia. The entire city of Mogadishu is pockmarked with shell holes, and every wall is riddled with bullet holes. It`s such a stark contrast to the golden sands that meet the Indian Ocean just a stone`s throw away.

“Here boss man, hot coffee,” the Yardies voice pierced his thoughts. He turned toward him and grinned as he took the cup from him.

“I like this place, I think I might buy somewhere here so that we can come here and chill out,” Omar said in his exaggerated accent. The group laughed in unison, which was a wise thing to do when Omar was holding court.

“What are waiting for Omar, are we letting them get away?” one of the braver Somalis asked.

“Have faith in me my brother, have a little faith,” Omar took a sip of his coffee.

The sound of two loud police sirens approaching stopped the conversation. Two armed response vehicles roared past the service station with blue lights spinning on their roofs. Omar nodded his head and lit a cigarette, smiling from ear to ear.

Chapter Fifty Two

Jay Blythe

Jay didn’t wear the title General well at all, as it conjured up the image of a stuffy ex-public school boy with an ornamental moustache. Jay had been a true commissioned officer in the British Army for a short period. He had been a snotty nosed lieutenant when he`d left the regular army, sick and tired of the military institution and its prejudices. Promotion up the ranks was never achieved by talent alone. The candidate`s hereditary blood line and place of graduation were far more important than natural leadership ability. He had been overlooked for promotion several times before he finally couldn’t stomach anymore.

Jay went back to civilian life with a spring in his step, full of ambition and optimism for the future. He was genuinely excited about starting a real career, although he wasn’t really sure what form that would take. It didn’t take long to realise that life outside of the service wasn’t much different to the army; prejudice, racism and corruption ran through every big institution. Jobs were hard to come by and once his army pension had been eaten away by bills he was soon forced to take a job as a bouncer working on the door of a night club in Liverpool. His sheer size made it a natural step, and the pay wasn’t too bad.

Word soon reached the senior hierarchy of the Brigade that he once had been a commissioned officer in the British army. Terry Nick took him under his wing and offered him a six month tour of Iraq, taking charge of two units of Brigade men who were being subcontracted by the American mercenary giant, Blackwater. The money was too good to turn down and he was back in Iraq as a mercenary before he`d had time to think.

One tour was his swan song as far as Iraq was concerned. During his tour he had grown in stature within the 18^th Brigade and the position of running the domestic business in his home city of Liverpool seemed to be the ideal role for him. He was happy within the Brigade structure, plus the money was three times what his army salary had been. The domestic business was seedy and sordid to say the least, taxing money from franchised drug dealers and pimps. They organised the hijack and disposal of dozens of articulated lorries and their precious cargos as they left the Liverpool docks.

While their activities seemed to be highly illegal, (mirroring the Italian Mafioso in America), careful planning and military style execution left the law enforcement agencies baffled as to who was responsible. The business with the Somalis was just another day in the office for Jay. They weren`t the first small time crime gang to rattle the 18^th Brigade, and they wouldn’t be the last.

Jay was staring into the wing mirror trying to work out why the Somalis had pulled into the services.

“They must be out of fuel,” Jay said to the driver wearily.

“I`ll slow down a little, they`ll catch up when they`re done fuelling up, that`s if they want to,” the driver replied yawning.

“Don`t make it too obvious,” Jay warned him, yawning too. The day`s events were beginning to catch up with them, tiredness was creeping up. Travelling as a passenger at night on a long journey always made him dead tired.

“I won`t make it too obvious, but I`ll have to slow down,” the driver replied. “What`s in store when we get to the quarry?”

Jay looked at the driver in the darkness, and the dashboard lights gave his face an eerie glow. He turned back to the windscreen in silence, and never answered the question. His eyelids were heavy and he couldn’t be bothered to answer a stupid question. The Yardies were as good as dead, but they didn’t know it yet. Sleep was starting to take hold of him when the blue lights of two speeding police interceptors lit up the interior of the van.

“Shit,” the driver said, looking in the rear view mirror. The two approaching vehicles were travelling at high speed toward them.

“What is it?” Jay mumbled from his doze, trying to recover his composure. He looked in the wing mirror and saw two vehicles travelling full pelt behind them. They seemed to be in pursuit of someone. They pulled into the fast lane as if they were heading somewhere further down the expressway.

“They`re going past,” the driver said.

“I`m not so sure,” Jay reached for his cell phone. If there was a problem then he had to alert the Brigade men on the island.

The first police car roared past them in the outside lane. Jay thought it was passing them because of the speed it was doing, but as the vehicle cleared the van it swerved violently in front of them and slammed on its brakes. The Brigade man stamped on the brake pedal in an attempt to avoid hitting the police car but he was travelling too fast. They were thrown forward like a pair of ragdolls as the tyres screeched and the van fishtailed along the carriageway. The police car was now stationary and the skilful driver had handbrake turned it across both lanes. The Brigade van driver snatched the wheel hard left to avoid the imminent collision, and the van skidded across the hard shoulder, onto the grass bank before stopping in a flurry of burnt rubber and flying grassy sods.

Jay hit the dashboard hard. He`d loosened the seatbelt slightly while he was in a doze, and the force of the impact had propelled him forward, cracking his head on the hard plastic dash. The driver had been bent double by the crash, hitting his head on the steering wheel, micro-seconds before the airbag was deployed breaking his nose. Jay groaned and tried to regain his senses, but everything was a blur. He looked toward the driver, who was comatose in his seat, his head was hanging backward at an awkward angle with his mouth wide open, and blood was running freely down his face.

The passenger door opened and the cold night air swept over him clearing his fuddled mind for a second. His head hurt. Jay fumbled about on the seat looking for his cell phone, as instinct told him he had to contact the Brigade.

“Armed police! Put your hands above your head or we will shoot you, do it now!” the policemen were surrounding the vehicle, one at each door and two pointing Glock-17 automatics through the windscreen. Jay tried to put his hands up in the air, but they wouldn’t move. He was still facing the driver, although he knew that he needed to look at the policemen, he couldn’t move his neck.

“Move and I`ll spray your brains all over that windshield,” the closest policeman snarled. He fastened a steel handcuff around Jay`s left wrist. Jay was too dizzy to resist. He felt a warm trickle of blood running from his forehead into his eyes.

“Get your hand over here,” the policeman shouted and roughly shook Jay. Jay felt wobbly and nauseous. His body slid down slightly and his head rocked backward onto the headrest. He was now facing the windscreen and could see the armed policeman to his left out of the corner of his eye. The policeman stared at him and lowered his gun.

“Keep very still,” the policeman said. Jay detected a change in the policeman`s tone, but it didn’t register why. He isn’t shouting anymore, he thought.

His right hand was cuffed to the left one in front of him. They flopped in his lap when the policeman let go of them. Jay was aware of a warm wet sensation around his groin area as urine soaked into his trousers. He knew that he was pissing himself but couldn’t do anything about it. Jay wanted to move his hands but he couldn’t. The policemen pulled the driver from the van and held him face down in the grass. Jay could hear harsh directions being shouted to him as he was cuffed and then searched. The policeman next to Jay opened the glove box.

“There`s a nine millimetre in the glove box serge,” Jay heard the policeman shout. He tried to focus on the gun but his head felt strange.

“Keep still mate, don’t try and move,” the policeman said.

Jay was aware of several bodies being close by to him, coming and going. He thought he`d heard someone being sick, a distinct retching sound and then vomit splattering on the grass. The urine on his trousers was starting to cool, making him feel uncomfortable and cold. The Welsh mountain air had a bite to it. Jay wanted to turn the heater. He wanted the radio on too, but he was feeling concussed.

He wanted to speak but couldn’t. Jay felt more blood soaking into his eyebrows, and it felt like something lumpy was sliding over his skin. Like rice pudding he thought, strange because the sensation made him feel hungry too.

“There`s an ambulance on the way,” a voice said. Jay wondered who was hurt, probably the driver.

“Better get one of our boys to give it an escort, he`s in trouble,” another voice said.

“There`s identification in his wallet, his name is Jay Blythe, he`s an officer in the 18^th Brigade, a mercenary.”

Jay knew his wallet had been in the front pocket of his trousers. He thought it was funny that he hadn’t felt them take it out. A blob of something gooey plopped onto his cheek and he tried to look at it. His hands wouldn’t move and he was straining his eyes to look at the greyish blob on his cheek.

“You better find out where that ambulance is,” a voice close by said.

“Fucking hell, take it out,” someone else said.

“Don`t touch it, you`ll kill him,” another voice said anxiously.

Jay wondered who they were concerned about, and he wondered why they hadn’t pulled him out of the van yet. The driver had been dragged away kicking and shouting. One of the police cars sped away from the scene with its lights flashing. The blue strobe light lit up the interior of the van momentarily. He thought it was odd when he saw his reflection in the glass. It looked like there was a man with a mobile phone stuck in his forehead. Grey brain matter oozed around the handset and dripped down his face. Poor man, Jay thought as he died.

Chapter Fifty Three

RAF Valley/ Anglesey

The Chinook bumped on to the helicopter landing pad at RAF Valley and the engine noise started to subside as the pilots slowed the rotors ready to stop. The airbase was the home of advanced flying instructors of 208-squadron, and tactical weapons experts in 19-squadron. It was also less than ten miles by road to both South Stack and the old quarry leading up to North Stack. The big doors slid open and the Regiment men stood to disembark. Waiting on the tarmac were the data analysts from the Terrorist Task Force, Chen, and their information guru, David Bell, affectionately known as the fat controller.

Brief greetings were exchanged as the crisis unit were ushered into a low roofed building close by. Inside the building was lit by harsh fluorescent tubes. There were two lines of plastic chairs set out into semi-circles, facing a tripod which held a large flipchart. The Regiment soldiers and Task Force members took their seats in silence, as everyone was feeling the pre-mission nerves which kick in before any big operation.

The fat controller walked to the flipchart and turned the first page. Beneath it was a blow up section of an ordinance survey map of the mountain. He was wearing his trademark suit and tie, which made him stick out like a sore thumb amongst all the combat clothing. His trousers were altered to fit his round figure, and they were pulled up well above his bellybutton in an attempt to appear slimmer. He took off his spectacles and polished the lenses with his tie before replacing them.

“I`ll keep this brief as time is of the essence,” he began. “Satellite information shows us that as of an hour ago there were two people in the target building.” He pointed to Rashid Ahmed`s mountain residence.

“There were five x-rays positioned along this cliff line, we`re assuming that they`re sharpshooters, and half a dozen or so x-rays below the cliffs on or around this access road.”

“So there`s no one monitoring an incursion across the mountain itself?” the SAS leader asked.

“As of an hour ago it was unguarded,” the fat controller kept caution in his voice, an hour was a long time when you were surveying a possible target, and assumptions got people killed in this line of work.

“That`s excellent, any joy with the acquisition of a Unimog?” Tank asked. The Unimog was a military vehicle that looked like a cross between a tractor, a dump truck and a troop carrier. The wheels are six feet tall and have tyres that look like they could climb up a building. The huge ground clearance beneath the truck meant that it was equally at home up mountains as it was crossing deserts or ploughing through jungles and rain forests. They also run almost silently, and are the state of the art vehicle for transporting Special Forces close to their targets when helicopters couldn’t be used.

“Our friends in the Royal Air Force have donated us two of theirs, on the assumption that we return them undamaged of course,” the fat controller joked.

“Of course, we wouldn’t want to upset the Ruperts would we,” Tank said laughing. Rupert was the not so flattering nickname used by soldiers for air force officers.

“Okay, that puts Grace Farrington and her team here at South Stack, covering the Regiment`s withdrawal, should anyone be persuing you back across the mountain,” the fat controller carried on the briefing in a light hearted vein, last minute nerves often materialised as humour.

“My team will be here covering the exit from the quarry, and that`s where we will remain unless we see muzzle flashes coming from below the cliff line, in which case we`ll presume that you are in trouble, and we`ll move into the quarry flanking the railway embankments,” Tank ran his finger down the old railway line. He didn’t envisage having to move into the quarry. To do so would definitely result in the loss of life. It was clear that Brigade snipers were covering that area in order to protect their primary. It was a standard close protection technique to surround your primary with a ring of steel, or in this case a ring of 7.62 millimetre high velocity sniper rifles. The plan to extract Rashid Ahmed revolved around sneaking in the back door across the mountain and taking him from under their noses.

“Don`t underestimate the Brigade men, they`re no mugs, but I`m expecting to be in and out in no time, without alerting those snipers. It appears they`re positioned to defend against an incursion up the mountain, not across it,” Chen added pointing to the cliff line.

“That`s it, any questions before we leave?” Tank asked. The room stayed silent and the soldiers stood in unison ready for action.

Chapter Fifty Four

Omar

Constable Thomas shivered as a blast of wind came off the Menai Straits and chilled him to the bone. He swore under his breath as he carried a triangular traffic warning sign down the dual carriageway and placed it fifty yards behind the Brigade van. The van had been left on the grass verge where it stopped when the police interceptors forced it from the road. Constable Thomas arrived at the scene to coordinate the traffic, and was caught up in a maelstrom of different law enforcement agencies that were tripping over one another to take charge.

The armed response units were trying to maintain control because someone had been killed during their operation, and because weapons had been retrieved. Internal affairs were sniffing around because a civilian death had been caused by the armed response unit running a vehicle off the road, armed or not, a fatality was a potential media nightmare for the police force. The crime scene investigator on call that night had taken a quick look over the scene and decided that nothing could be done until first light. The traffic police were there to ensure that the coast road remained open, and no further accidents were caused by the police activity.

The chaotic scene that confronted him when he arrived had soon been transformed into an abandoned van, some flashing lights and one lowly police Constable left to oversee it until the morning.

“How the fucking hell did I get to draw this duty?” Constable Thomas asked himself. The wind blasted again freezing him to the core. He blew into his hands trying to warm them up, and rubbed them together vigorously.

“I`ll tell you why you got this duty shall I, because you breathalysed the Mayor, that`s why. You bloody idiot, you could have let him go, given him a lift home so that he wasn’t a danger to anyone else, but oh no, not Constable Thomas, he knows best doesn’t he. Let`s nick the Mayor and see what happens to your career,” he answered his own question and began to remonstrate himself out loud. There was a role of yellow crime scene tape stuffed into his pocket, and he removed it and began to tape off the area to prevent unwanted intruders contaminating it.

“The crime scene team will be there first thing in the morning officer Thomas, can`t do anything in the dark can they, so you`ll be responsible for the vehicle until they arrive Constable. Well thanks a fucking bunch sergeant sir, responsible for an abandoned van up on the coast road, in the middle of bloody nowhere, fucking marvellous,” the policeman ranted at himself in the darkness, only the flashing warning lights offered any illumination.

He stuck a five yard length of yellow tape between two striped traffic cones, and then snapped the tape with his teeth. The headlights of a vehicle twinkled in the distance. It was heading in his direction. The incident with the Brigade van had closed the dual carriageway down to just one lane.

Constable Thomas had parked his police car behind the van, leaving the blue lights flashing as a warning to approaching traffic. The last thing he needed now was someone running up the arse of his vehicle in the dark. He was in enough trouble as it was since he had inadvertently arrested the local Mayor for drinking and driving. The Mayor was related by marriage to the Chief Constable, who had taken great pleasure in making sure that he got every shitty job that there was to do, and some.

The oncoming vehicle slowed as it approached. The driver and his passenger were swan necking the accident as they passed. They waved at the lonely Constable before speeding off into the darkness.

“Goodbye, had a fucking good look have you? Why don’t you stop and take a fucking picture? Pity you weren’t here earlier there was some poor bloke with a mobile phone stuck in his head, you could have had a good look at that couldn’t you?” Constable Thomas shouted after the vehicle, knowing full well that they couldn’t hear him anyway, but venting his anger made him feel better.

“I`m Constable Thomas by the way, once a fucking Constable always a fucking Constable, that`s who I am. Responsible for this entire crime scene I am, instead of catching criminals I`m catching a fucking cold,” he kicked the base of a traffic cone hard, only to find that it was full of heavy sandbags. He stubbed his toe painfully which led to another tirade of abuse being hurled across the dark lonely coast road. The constable hopped to his vehicle and opened the door. He needed to climb inside out of the piercing wind for a while. Headlights lit up the interior of his car as he slammed the door closed and reached for his cigarettes. The vehicles slowed as they approached, and one seemed to stop just for a moment. He lit his cigarette and drew in deeply on the comforting smoke. One of the vehicles passed at a crawl and two black males stared into his vehicle. One of them nodded and grinned at him. The constable grinned back bitterly and waved.

“Hello, and fuck off,” he said still smiling. The hatchback indicated to move left and pulled over on to the hard shoulder twenty yards in front of the abandoned Brigade van.

“What are you playing at you silly fuckers?” he said under his breath as he reached for his hat. Now he was pissed off. He couldn’t even finish a cigarette in peace and quiet. Constable Thomas opened the door of his police car and climbed out of the vehicle. He put on his hat and angrily tossed the burning cigarette away, red sparks flickered from the end of it as it landed on the dark tarmac and the wind hurtled it across the road. A second vehicle passed at a crawl, and the policeman noted the occupants were black too. He was about to become concerned when a crushing blow to the back of his head ended his torment.

Chapter Fifty Five

The Quarry

“Hello Sergeant,” Terry Nick said as he cocked the Remington.

“Terry?” Mel Hickey said straining to see in the darkness.

“What brings you all the way down here Sergeant?” Terry asked sarcastically.

“Oh, I don’t know, I`ve always liked the sea, and the mountains. I can`t say I`ve come to stretch my legs now can I, because I lost them working for you. What about you Terry, are you here on business or pleasure?”

“I think you know why I`m here Melvin, and you left your legs in Iraq because you let your guard down didn’t you Sergeant. You came home Melvin but your men didn’t, so whatever it is you think you`re going to achieve here you need to forget it, turn around and go home,” Terry stepped closer to the white haired veteran, still pointing the shotgun at his chest.

“I don’t know what you mean Terry, how could I be of any harm to anyone?” he tapped his metal legs.

“You did a lot of damage with your little stunt at Westbrook Sergeant, pity you killed his missus instead of him though. Just another Sergeant Hickey fuck up to add to all the others really, Nisour Square, and then losing all your men along with your legs, and to top it all you blew up the wrong person with an improvised roadside device, well done. You`ve caused me no end of trouble. Did you think you`d start a war on Islam all by yourself, a one man crime wave evening things up and settling a few scores?”

“Like I said before, I don’t know what you mean. I wanted to see you about some compensation that`s all,” Mel said with an acid tone.

“Of course you did Sergeant. Well here is your compensation,” Terry shook the shotgun for effect. “Now get back into your car and go back to the funny farm until you calm down. You have no idea what you`re stepping into.”

“What, after I`ve driven all this way, that`s not very nice is it Sir?”

“Last chance Sergeant, leave now. I don’t have the time to fuck about with you right now,” Terry stepped closer still.

“I wouldn’t come any closer to me if I were you, or you could end up with a pair of legs like mine if you`re not careful,” Mel took his hands from his pockets and revealed an electric key fob. A tiny red light glowed in the darkness.

Terry Nick stepped back instinctively, realising that Sergeant Mel Hickey had wired his vehicle up to explode at the press of a button. The snipers behind had been watching events closely and one of them tried to buy the Brigade leader a few seconds. He flashed a powerful laser sight directly into the albino Sergeant`s very sensitive eyes. Mel Hickey cried out in pain and instinctively put his hands to his eyes to protect them from the piercing laser. At the same time Terry Nick pulled the trigger and the Remington roared. The EREMP round smashed into the sergeant`s chest, knocking him clean off his prosthetic feet.

Chapter Fifty Six

Constable Thomas

Constable Thomas thought about his estranged wife for the first time in years. He hated the bitch, or that`s what he had convinced himself that he thought. The truth was very different. They had married when he was just a few years into the job, a young and enthusiastic policeman with great expectations. His ambition then was to become a sergeant in the uniformed division, earning his stripes and the respect of his peers through hard work and determination. The next step would be a secondment into the Criminal Investigation Department before becoming a full time plain clothes detective.

Unfortunately for Constable Thomas he was impatient. He also had a shallow nasty personality. He was always the first to shun teamwork and he was also prone to progressing his own career at the expense of someone else`s. Thomas was two faced and reported his fellow officers for breaching procedure at every opportunity that he could, in a vain attempt to enhance his own reputation as a forthright law enforcement officer. All he achieved was to gain the deep mistrust of his fellow officers, and a reputation as a backstabbing trouble maker from his senior officers. The icing on the cake was stopping the local Mayor in his car just a mile from his home and breathalysing him. The unfortunate Mayor tested positive by the slimmest margin. Once again Constable Thomas put his own ambitions to the fore, and he took the Mayor into the police station to be charged, thinking this high profile collar would lead to his promotion. He couldn’t have been more wrong. He soon realised that his career was dead in the water and he turned to a bottle of whisky at night for solace, his wife however turned to his younger brother for solace, amongst other things, and the marriage spiralled into a bitter divorce. His family was torn apart by the affair, most of them siding with his brother and ex-wife.

Now as he looked over the crash barrier into the deep dark waters of the Menai Straits he realised that he still loved her deeply. He still loved his younger brother too, and he couldn’t really blame her for running off with him, after all he had behaved like a chauvinist pig. Thomas was naked and the bitter wind was mind numbingly cold. His recollection of what happened after he had been hit over the head was hazy at best, but it was coming back to him in flashes. Blood was rushing to his head and his face felt like it would explode if he didn’t get himself upright soon.

Constable Thomas remembered a sickening blow to the back of his head, and then the sensation of being dragged across the rough tarmac naked, and being handcuffed. Somewhere in between he had been stripped of his uniform and his hands had been cuffed behind his back. He heard men laughing and remembered seeing a black man dressed in his police uniform, parading around the Brigade van with the hat tilted at a silly angle. There was another burst of laughter when black ski masks were found in the Brigade van. The policeman could vaguely remember two men coming over to him with the ski masks pulled over their faces. The first one had spat in his face, and then the second man kicked him hard in the testicles.

Constable Thomas had keeled over and vomited on the grass, sickened by the pain which spread from his groin to his abdomen. There was more laughter from the men as he writhed in agony on the floor. He remembered hearing the Brigade van being started, and thinking that they must have hotwired the vehicle. Then they started his police car and switched the sirens on and off, only stopping when an approaching vehicle slowed down as it drove by. The men hid behind the van until the vehicle was well out of sight, and its brake lights had faded into the darkness. The men seemed to be organising themselves into pairs, so the van and police car could be driven away with the three hatchbacks. The talking and laughing stopped when they discussed what they should do with Constable Thomas. He realised that his life was in mortal danger, and that was when he started to think about his wife, and the love that he had lost.

The black men had dragged him across four lanes of the carriageway and then picked him up. They tried to toss him over the coast road barriers into the sea, but he`d become entangled in the wire mesh that prevented the cliffs from being eroded by the elements and stopped landslides. Now he was hanging upside down from the cliff top. Seventy feet below him the sea was pounding the rocks, white foam sprayed high into the air as each wave crashed over the last one. His head was becoming increasingly more painful as the blood flowed to it, and gravity prevented it from leaving. His body was numb with the cold. The muscles and tendons in his legs and ankles were at snapping point as they struggled to support his weight. He could feel the heel of his right foot being sliced by a thin filament of the wire cage that encased the exposed mountain slopes. The pain was becoming unbearable to the point where he was desperate to free the injured foot, even though he knew that by doing so he would crash to his death on the jagged rocks below. His mind was weak, as was his will power, and he couldn’t stand the pain any longer. There was little to be gained from prolonging the inevitable, passing traffic couldn’t see him and the police would not return until the morning, by which time he would either die from burst blood vessels in his brain or freeze to death. Constable Thomas took a deep breath of cold Welsh air and thrashed his body against the mountain. The wire mesh sliced through what remained of the fleshy part of his heel and he thought about his wife again as he plummeted toward the cruel rocks below.

Chapter Fifty Seven

The Quarry

Omar pulled the stolen police car over to the kerb. He picked up the map that he had found on the floor of the Brigade van and looked at the markings that someone had made on it. He followed the promenade road on the map with his bony finger, and then traced the line of the quarry access road to its conclusion at the base of the mountain. He looked across the marina toward the breakwater and then back at the map. Beyond the breakwater was the Irish Sea and total blackness. To the left was the looming shadow of Holyhead Mountain. It somehow seemed to be darker than the night that surrounded it. In between the mountain and the breakwater were a copse of trees and the ruins of a building. Behind that ruin was the entrance to the quarry road, and that`s where it appeared the Brigade men were heading before he had scuppered their plan.

“We follow this promenade to the end, init, and then we are going to drive down this track here. We`ll see what happens when we get there. They`re going to be expecting their men in that van and they definitely won`t be expecting the law to be behind them, init,” Omar put the police hat on and laughed. His gold teeth glinted in the glare of the yellow streetlights.

“What are the Brigade doing down there in that quarry man, there isn’t nothing down there on this map.”

“They don’t do anything for free, that`s a fact, anyway that`s not important. They came through my Gemma`s window man, that`s not cricket. It`s payback time man, we`re going to give them the fright of their lives,” Omar gunned the engine and banged his hand on the door. “Let`s go, put those ski masks on and drive in front of me. When I flash my headlights come out shooting at anything that moves.”

All bar one of the Yardies climbed into the Brigade van, and the other sat in the passenger seat of the police car next to Omar. The three hatchbacks had been dumped in a twenty four hour supermarket car park further up the coast. Omar checked his appearance in the mirror and he winked at his reflection and grinned. The gold teeth glinted in the darkness like two jewels surrounded by decay. He switched on the flashing blue light and pulled away from the kerb, following the Brigade van closely.

As the stolen police car reached the end of the promenade, and drove into the copse two military Land Rovers rounded the bend five hundred yards behind them. Tank was sitting in the passenger seat of the first vehicle.

“What the fuck is plod doing here?” Tank said as he watched the police car heading toward the quarry road with its blue light flashing.

“I`m assuming that the local uniformed division were informed that we have an operation underway here,” Chen asked. Chen was part advisor and part agent, although he spent more time advising than Tank cared for these days.

“If you haven’t got anything sensible to say then just shut up,” Tank said reaching for the coms unit and passing it to Chen. “Pull over here, we need to see where they`re going, Chen find out from the Major if either the police or the Security Services are messing about in our operation.” The van disappeared into the tree line and the police car followed it, only the blue flashing light betrayed its position. They waited in silence as Chen relayed the information to headquarters and waited for a reply. The uniformed police divisions were always suspicious of the counter terrorist units operating on their turf, especially when they were ordered directly to avoid the area at all costs. The Security Services, MI5 and MI6 were a law unto themselves, and in this instance were not aware that the Terrorist Task Force were about to snatch one of their informers from underneath their noses.

“Pilgrim one,” the coms unit crackled.

“Roger, we`re receiving,” Chen replied to the call.

“We are negative for any uniformed traffic units in that area,” the Major`s voice informed them. Chen looked at Tank and they both mulled over the possible scenarios.

“It wouldn’t be the first time a police car was somewhere it shouldn’t be,” Chen said.

“Ask the Major if all their units are accounted for,” Tank frowned.

“Pilgrim one, are all the police units accounted for?”

“Roger that, they`re all on trackers now, they know where every unit is at any time.”

“Well that can only mean one thing then,” Chen said nodding sagely.

“Go on, share your wisdom with me,” Tank said dryly.

“Either that isn’t a police car at all, or it`s not from this uniformed division, and it has come from further afield,” Chen shrugged.

“We need to stick to the plan and cover that exit from the quarry, we`ll find out what they`re up to soon enough,” Tank wrapped his knuckles on the dashboard as he spoke. The driver selected first gear and the two Military Land Rovers followed at a safe distance behind the mysterious police car.

Chapter Fifty Eight

The Brigade

Two Brigade men dragged Sergeant Hickey`s limp body up a footpath and dumped him in the long grass that grew prolifically along the old railway embankments. His prosthetic legs clattered together as his body hit the ground. They would have to deal with him later on. He wasn’t a priority right now. Terry Nick picked up the key fob and thought about moving the sergeant`s vehicle. He had to think about the mental state of the sergeant, and when he did he realised that anything could happen. If it was rigged to explode on the touch of a button then it was probably booby trapped. It could be wired to a digital timer that would trigger the bomb after a stipulated period of time if the device`s creator didn’t return to it. He was debating what to do with it when a hushed whisper came over their coms.

“Two vehicles are approaching the first bridge.”

Terry ran up the footpath and ducked behind the footbridge wall next to the two snipers.

“Roger that, can you identify them?”

“Roger that, we could have an issue. The first vehicle is plated as one of ours, but the second is a traffic cop.”

“What?”

“You heard me correctly, our van is being followed by a traffic cop, blue lights flashing and the works,” the voice said.

Terry looked over the wall into the darkness. Sure enough he could see two sets of headlights and the silhouette of a van, and behind it he could see the blue flashing strobe of a law enforcement vehicle.

“What do you want me to do? Do I let them pass as planned or take them out now?” the voice crackled.

“Don`t shoot you bloody idiot, we`re not in the business of killing our brave boys in blue, shut up and let me think,” Terry hissed in reply. The Brigade couldn’t risk any further encounters with the police. It would jeopardise their credibility and attract unwanted attention upon the organisation. The slightest controversy could compromise any further foreign contract tenders.

“Are there any other vehicles behind them?” Terry looked over the wall again and tried to see the vehicles, but they were covered by the series of footbridges. All he could make out were the lights.

“Negative, there are no other vehicles on the quarry road.”

“Where are they exactly?” Terry was debating stopping them before they reached the quarry yard.

“They`re approaching bridge three,” a different voice answered this time. “When did you last speak to Jay or the driver?”

“It was a while ago, but he did say that his cell phone battery had gone flat. Why what`s the problem?” Terry was curious.

“Something isn’t right here boss, I`m looking at our men in the van through my scope, and they`re both wearing combat ski masks,” the sniper on Bridge three reported.

“What? Why would they be wearing them?” Terry asked out loud.

“Look at the traffic police man,” Terry hissed down the coms unit.

“Roger that, got him.”

“What colour is he?” Terry asked.

“He`s a black traffic cop, what`s the problem?”

“He`s not a traffic cop, that`s the problem, and that isn’t Jay in the van either,” Terry alerted his men. The snipers next to him chambered rounds into the breach.

“Hold your fire, I repeat don`t open fire,” Terry hurried the order. The two vehicles passed beneath the third bridge and motored steadily toward the quarry unhindered.

Chapter Fifty Nine

The Regiment

The SAS men approached the remote mountain residence like ghosts. The Unimog had managed to traverse the shoulder of the mountain undetected in less than half an hour, which was well ahead of schedule. They deployed the unit half a mile away from Rashid Ahmed`s hideaway, and crawled silently through the thick foliage without incident. Each man knew his role inside out and back to front. Each man in the unit could have pulled off the extraction mission on their own without giving it a second thought. The combined strength of the men in the Regiment unit made them almost indestructible. When it came to Special Forces the SAS were the best in the world, bar none.

The unit approached the mountain residence with the cliffs and the Irish Sea behind them. Their view of the building from the headland was through the wide panoramic windows which wrapped around the first floor. It was clear that there was no one moving around inside the living room or the kitchen area beyond. It was also clear that the 18^th Brigade snipers were positioned six hundred yards across the headland above the quarry walls. There were no Brigade personnel paying any attention to the rear flank, which gave the Regiment unhindered access to the building.

The snatch squad prepared to enter the dwelling. One man covered the living room with a rifle from the headland, ready to drop anyone presenting a clear and present danger to either the primary or their unit. Two more men set up a `v` shaped field of covering fire, which incorporated the entire headland in front of the house. It would be impossible for anything but an armoured division to encroach the building without being cut down as soon as they were in range.

The set up was prepared and the rest of the unit entered the unlocked front door of the residence unchallenged. The men moved like one slick well oiled machine, taking up covering positions and overtaking the man in front. Once each section was deemed safe they began the process again until all the ground floor bedrooms were cleared. There was still no sign of life in the living room. They moved up the stairs in complete silence and swept the living room and kitchen areas.

“One x-ray located but there is no sign of the primary,” the unit leader whispered hoarsely into the coms unit.

They stood gathered around the unconscious body of a Brigade man. He was lolled across an armchair like a giant baby. His eyes were open but unfocused and they rolled back into his skull when a Regiment man flipped his eyelids, looking for any sign of intelligent response. There was none. The Brigade man opened his mouth wide and his tongue dangled out dripping saliva onto his chin.

“This guy has been slipped a Mickey Finn,” the unit leader said using military colloquialism for an incapacitating drug.

“He`s no use to us, leave him there. We`re out of here. Alert the taskforce that the primary may have been moved down the mountain,” the unit leader ordered.

The Regiment were about to melt back into the undergrowth and exit the mountain the same way that they came in. Suddenly the sky lit up with a red glow, and the deafening sound of a huge explosion rocked the mountain. They looked toward the headland where the snipers were positioned. From the top of the quarry walls they could see the muzzle flashes of at least six sniper positions. The explosion had prompted the Brigade sharpshooters to open fire on the quarry below.

Chapter Sixty

The Quarry

Omar kept the police car close to the back of the Brigade van. The old railway track was cut deep into a narrow embankment, and there were passing areas built at regular intervals to accommodate tourist traffic through the busy summer months. The passing areas were lay-bys just big enough to fit one car, which would allow any oncoming vehicles to pass. They drove beneath a series of brick built foot bridges as they progressed toward the mountain. The brake lights of the van illuminated brightly and the vehicle slowed. Omar couldn`t see any reason why. His passenger had a better view of the scene from his side of the police car.

“There`s a car parked in a lay-by. I can`t see anyone inside it,” the passenger said.

“Check it out and then catch up. We`re only a few hundred yards from the quarry,” Omar said.

His passenger clicked the safety of his Mach-10 machinegun and opened the door of the police car as it slowed to a crawl.

“Later,” he said as he closed the door. He ran to the back of the Brigade van and banged on the back doors. He yanked open the door and barked orders at the Yardies inside. Two of the Somalis jumped out of the van and ran toward the abandoned vehicle. The Brigade van and the police car trundled on down the access road.

“There`s no one here, it`s been left,” the first Somali said.

“Is there anything inside worth taking,” said another. He opened the driver`s door and the vehicle exploded in a huge fireball.

Sergeant Mel Hickey had wired the vehicle to blow. He`d used the six kilos of Semtex that he had stolen from old Jim, and packed gas canisters around it. Taped to the gas tanks were twelve kilos of six inch nails. When the Somali opened the door he triggered the device. The resulting explosion was a pyrotechnic bonanza. The vehicle was catapulted twenty yards into the air, and was ripped apart by the force of the blast.

The gas canisters ignited and were propelled hundreds of yards in every direction, turning the six inch nails into an Omni-directional shrapnel shower. Nails and metal shards were launched high into the night sky, glowing red against the darkness. The car wreck arced through the air and crashed onto the footbridge where Terry Nick was taking cover. The vehicle smashed the brick structure to pieces and it collapsed onto the road below in a huge plume of smoke and flames. The Brigade leader knew little of his fate. The initial impact crushed him, and his two snipers, breaking their bones and smashing internal organs to pulp. Seconds later their bodies were incinerated in the firestorm that followed. When the brick structure collapsed their remains were squashed beyond all recognition beneath tons of burning debris.

The Brigade leader was dead, and the situation was still unclear to the rest of the 18^th Brigade troop. None of them were one hundred percent sure whether the police car was the genuine article or not. Without their leader the Brigade was transformed into a group of individuals that reacted to violence with more violence, and the snipers opened fire on the vehicles below.

The driver of the Brigade van felt the back end of the vehicle lifted slightly by the force of the blast wave. The rear windows shattered as a maelstrom of red hot six inch nails sliced through the cold night air. One of the Somalis screamed from the rear of the van as two searing nails pierced the side of his skull just above the left ear. His colleague next to him grabbed the head and shaft of the deepest nail, trying to yank it out, and the skin on his fingers sizzled like a sausage on a griddle. He yelped and pulled his scorched digits away. The man with the nails in his skull bounced off the interior of the van desperately trying to remove the burning metal from his brain. The driver caught sight of his hideous injuries and panicked. He floored the accelerator. The van lurched forward tossing its occupants around like a paper bag in a wind tunnel.

Omar had ducked as the concussion wave shattered the rear window of the police car. Red hot nails were embedded in the headrests and dashboard of the vehicle, glowing in the dark, and causing the plastic to melt. The acrid smell of burning acrylics filled the vehicle instantly. The Brigade van launched into a wheel spin as the driver reacted to the explosion behind them, and took evasive action. Gravel and dirt splattered the police car as the van accelerated away from the explosion. Omar followed suit and stamped on the accelerator. The powerful police car roared as it sped forward behind the Brigade van. Omar whooped with glee as the vehicle fishtailed toward the quarry. His celebrations were brought to an abrupt end when the first high velocity bullet exploded through the windshield, spraying shards of shattered glass through the interior of the vehicle, slicing long cuts across his face.

Chapter Sixty One

Tank

Tank had lifted his night sight binoculars and focused them on the quarry access road. He still wasn’t sure if the vehicles that had entered the quarry were a part of another agencies operation, or if they had stumbled into the scene by accident. Whatever the outcome was, they had to secure the only escape route. If the 18^th Brigade were spooked into bringing the primary down from the mountain then Tank and his team would be ready to intercept them.

The mystery vehicles passed beneath the first footbridge and the blue strobe light illuminated the area as it progressed. Tank could see a sniper positioned on the bridge. He shifted his position as the vehicles drove underneath, and appeared to be talking into a coms unit.

“The Brigade are expecting company, all the bridges are covered by their men,” Tank said as he followed the action through the field glasses.

“I can see men positioned on every bridge,” Chen concurred, as he looked through his binoculars.

“You had better alert the snatch unit that the Brigade are expecting trouble, and they may have been tipped off about our operation,” Tank said.

Chen picked up the coms unit and was about to contact the Regiment on the mountain when the set crackled into life.

“Pilgrim one,” the SAS leader said.

“Roger that, we`re receiving,” Chen answered.

“The primary has been moved, the residence is empty, over,” the snatch unit reported.

Chen was about to reply when Tank grabbed his arm and put his finger to his lips to hush him. He pointed toward the two vehicles. The police car had slowed down to a crawl and the passenger got out. He was joined by two more men from the van and they seemed to be approaching a lay-by which was hidden from Tank`s view. Two seconds later a fireball exploded into the air. Five seconds later the cliff tops above the quarry lit up sporadically.

“Muzzle flashes,” Tank said. “Who are they firing at?”

“Whoever was driving those vehicles,” Chen said as the van and the police car sped down the quarry road away from the explosion.

“We have to assume that they are firing on the police force,” Tank said. “Order the Regiment to take those snipers out,”

“Pilgrim one,” Chen said into the coms.

“Roger, receiving.”

“Can you take those snipers out from your position?”

“We`re already on it,” the reply came followed by silence.

Tank pointed the binoculars up toward the quarry walls. The muzzle flashes stopped almost simultaneously. There was one persistent sniper at the far edge of the cliff wall, and his muzzle flash continued for a few second longer than his affiliates had. Eventually it too was extinguished.

“Pilgrim one, the situation has been neutralised,” the Regiment leader reported nonchalantly.

“I guess they met the Regiment then,” Tank smiled.

Chapter Sixty Two

Omar

The van swerved violently as it reached the quarry yard. The back doors were flailing open as the vehicle rocked unsteadily, and Omar could see his men being tossed around like ragdolls in the back. He braked hard trying to avoid smashing into the rear of it. Bullets smashed into the bonnet of the police car ripping huge rents in the metal hood. A torrent of steam hissed from the engine block through the bullet holes and Omar knew that the vehicle was on its last legs. The van hit a low wall with its back wheel, launching the rear end of the vehicle high into the air. The body of a Somali was catapulted out of the back doors, and it landed across the bonnet of the police car. Dead eyes stared at Omar accusingly, and he winced when he saw two nails embedded deep in the man`s skull. Omar slammed the vehicle into reverse and floored the accelerator pedal. The police car raced backward screeching its tyres as it tried to gain purchase on the gravel. Bullets pinged off the road as he reversed at speed, and the dead Somali was tossed clear.

The driver of the van opened his door and jumped clear of the vehicle. A tyre exploded as a high velocity bullet punctured it, before another ripped through the body of the vehicle and penetrated the floor plan. It pierced the fuel tank and the van exploded in flames. Two Somalis spilled out of the back doors and staggered across the quarry yard with their hair and clothes alight. One of them fell to his knees as the flames engulfed him completely. The second ran toward the dark waters of the quarry lake and hurled himself over the low stone wall. There was a huge splash and smoke hung on the water where the Yardie had entered. The black water smoothed over but the Somali never resurfaced.

Omar thrust the vehicle into first gear and the police car sprang forward. The van driver cocked his Mach-10 and sprayed the cliffs with nine millimetre bullets. Sparks flew all along the quarry walls as huge chunks of stone were blasted off the cliffs. The driver didn’t stop shooting until the machinegun clicked empty. Omar felt blood trickling down his face as he waited for the snipers to return fire, but none was forthcoming. The cliff tops remained dark and silent. The van diver looked at his machinegun in amazement, thinking that he had silenced the sharpshooters with a single burst from his Mach-10. The police car rattled and the engine started knocking noisily. Smoke and steam billowed from beneath the bonnet, and then the engine died completely.

Omar sat holding the steering wheel tightly; his knuckles were almost white with pressure. The van driver staggered toward him, his legs were weak with fear. He was still clutching the machinegun despite the fact that it was empty. He was shaking his head and smiling, delighted and surprised to be alive. Omar smiled back at him and his gold teeth glinted in the dark. He relaxed his grip on the steering wheel a little.

A single shot rang out from behind them somewhere. The van driver`s face was hit by a fat .50mm high velocity bullet. It punched a ragged hole the size of a walnut beneath his left eye on entry, and removed back of his head on exit. He looked shocked as he toppled over face first onto the gravel. His dead eyes were full of blame as they drilled into Omar.

Chapter Sixty Three

Tank

Tank and his team mopped up the remaining Brigade men without any further loss of life. They were not bad men; they were mercenary soldiers being paid to do a job. Once it had been established that Tank and his men were British forces they relinquished their weapons without any resistance. Uniformed police divisions were called in to secure the area from further intrusions, while the situation was assessed.

Omar had been found sat in the driver`s seat of the police car, dressed in a police constable`s uniform. He was staring at the remains of his friend`s brains which had been sprayed over the front of his car. The Taskforce men laughed as he was led away in handcuffs because he`d soiled his trousers. The fear of being taken out by a sniper had forced him to stay in the car, even when the shooting had stopped. Something had finally snapped in his mind. The stolen police uniform that he wore was used as evidence to prosecute him for the murder of Constable Thomas. He`d been found guilty and was sent to a high security facility for the criminally insane, with a recommendation that he was never to be released.

When daylight arrived the true carnage was plain for all to see. What had started as a turf war had ended in multiple deaths. The figureheads of both organisations had been killed. There were always others who would be eager to take their place though. A daylight sweep of the house and the interrogation of the Brigade men didn’t reveal what had happened to Rashid Ahmed. He had simply disappeared.

Chapter Sixty Four

Rashid Ahmed

Rashid estimated that twelve hours had gone by. He had been hiding in the panic room while all the action went on around him. The Brigade man that he drugged had been hauled off with everyone else for interrogation. Rashid released himself from the panic room and then scanned the headland. There were no police and no Brigade men. He had dressed in a ski jacket and jeans, before he pulled on a woolly hat to help conceal him. He walked down the mountain path and greeted the odd tourist ramblers that he met along the way. The area was popular with walkers and bird watchers alike. The quarry yard was busy as police forensic scientists tried to protect and gather evidence. There were several areas cordoned off with yellow tape, but it was impossible to stop tourists from entering the reserve completely. Press teams and tourists were ambling around the quarry, some looking for a story, others for a rare sea bird or two.

Rashid decided to skirt the edge of the quarry lakes which would take him behind the railway embankment and into the nature reserve footpaths which crisscrossed the coastline. He was quite sure that he wouldn’t be recognised by the general public, but not sure about the police. Rashid reached the black lake and skirted the edge away from the quarry. He was home and dry. The most perilous part of his journey was the path down the mountain, but no one had challenged him. He didn’t look out of place amongst the sprinkling of hill walkers. As he walked along the quarry lake he noticed a blond man walking toward him from the opposite direction, but didn’t think much of it. He had a strange limp.

“Hello Rashid,” Sergeant Mel Hickey said. Rashid was surprised. The blond man grabbed him in a vice like bear hug. Rashid struggled but he couldn’t break the man`s grip.

Mel had been stopped dead in his tracks when Terry Nick fired at him with the shotgun round. The makers of the Taser stun guns had developed an `Extended Range Electron Muscular Projectile` round, which could be fired from a shotgun. It would stop an elephant in its tracks. The sergeant had no idea how long he had been unconscious, but when he woke it looked like all hell had broken loose. His chest was black and blue were the paralysing round had hit him, but otherwise he was fine. There was activity all over the quarry yard but no sign of any Brigade men. There was a set of field glasses in the long grass near him, and he used them to look up the mountain. He had spotted Rashid walking down the mountain path, and made up his mind in an instant. This time he was taking his target down permanently, and no mistakes.

He held Rashid in a vice like grip and walked toward the edge of the deep black lake. There wasn’t even a flicker of doubt in his mind as he stepped off the edge. Sergeant Hickey and Rashid plummeted through the icy black waters. The freezing temperature of the lake sent their bodies into shock, forcing the air from their lungs. The sergeant`s metal legs acted as a dead weight, dragging them down faster and deeper. In reality Sergeant Hickey wished that he had died in Nisour Square, at least as he died now he felt that he had redressed the balance of justice. He could hear Rashid Ahmed scream, which turned into a gurgle, and then the sergeant, was finally at peace with himself. A small raft of bubbles formed on the surface of the lake, and then the dark unforgiving water was still once again.

Chapter Sixty Five

Echoes

Tank and the Taskforce informed the Minister of Defence that Rashid Ahmed was in the wind. His bank accounts were eventually traced and there was never any activity reported. Two years later he was finally recorded as missing presumed dead. The final arms deal with the Taliban was cancelled, and the directors of the security services were severely reprimanded for working with Rashid Ahmed at all. The investigation into the fire fight in the quarry was handed over to the uniformed divisions, and smoothed over as part of a turf war for the club land of Manchester.

The 18^th Brigade were removed from the government`s preferred supplier list, and they never deployed mercenaries on their behalf again. They did however deploy mercenaries through other giant security companies across the globe. Nothing had changed except uniform.

Omar was confined to a psychiatric ward where he continued to convince the doctors that he was mad. He had planned to continue the pretence until the time when security around him would be relaxed, and the opportunity escape arose. Unfortunately after a prolonged series of chest infections he was eventually diagnosed with full blown aids. Like millions of his African cousins he had carried the virus undetected for decades. Six months after the diagnosis he died from chronic pneumonia. His girlfriend Gemma never saw him again after the night at her flat. He had thrown her out of the hatchback onto the pavement, which to her was unforgivable. She claimed criminal injuries for the damage to her apartment and was awarded thousands of pounds in compensation. Gemma slipped back into her party girl lifestyle and she lived well for the next five years, although the advancing wrinkles and the increasing number of grey hairs were a constant worry. It was only when one of her many sexual partners spotted odd looking black growths on her spine that she went to her general practitioner to be checked over. The results confirmed that she had contracted the HIV virus from Omar, and that it had turned into full blown aids. Recording the details of her sexual history had raised a few eyebrows. The information then had to be investigated to track the possible infection of her sexual partners. The whole investigation took a considerable length of time, and destroyed a number of marriages. The echoes of Omar`s life resounded through her present. She died alone a year later.

The Terrorist Task Force were put on red alert the same day, because MI5 had uncovered a safe house belonging to a right wing extremist cell. Paperwork and maps found in the dwelling indicated that a possible chemical terrorist attack was being contemplated. It looked like there was more trouble on the way.