Light of the Sun: They always make a mistake and when they do, we kill them...

by David Costa

  ‘I’m sorry Anna. May I introduce Geoff Middleton, a Captain in the SAS. His team are working with us on this job. Geoff, this is Anna one of our Mossad friends.’

  Both shook hands across the table and Reece couldn’t help but notice both smiled a little bit longer than the requisite time expected for such an introduction.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Anna. I bet you’re finding the weather here a little bit colder than where you come from.’

  ‘If you mean Tel Aviv. Yes, but I work all over. Have you ever been to Israel?’

  ‘Yes, on a few occasions on joint training exercises with the IDF and Sayeret Maktal. Or the Unit as you might call them.’

  ‘Our Special Forces. I know them by both names, you must be good then.’ She smiled once more.

  ‘Oh, I’m very good.’ He laughed.

  Harrison came back with the coffees and placed them in front of the right people.

  ‘Well David how is Joe? I heard he was lucky last night. Are you sure it was our man?’ asked Middleton.

  ‘A few broken ribs, but he’ll be all right. We were not sure if it was the Arab when we first spotted him, but he started to take precautions right from the off. It was obvious he had done this before and knew what to look for. Joe was ahead of us when he followed him into another street. We heard the three shots. Joe said one missed his head but the other two hit him square in the chest. Lucky for him he had decided to wear his vest, or we would be talking about a dead agent today.’

  ‘Thanks be to God he did. What’s the plan now?’

  ‘Have you been updated?’

  ‘Yes, we’ve been told to get to know this area and remain on standby ready to go at a moment’s notice.’

  ‘Well, that’s the plan. We are doing the same. We believe they’re hold up within this two-mile radius and it’s now a game of find them before they do anything, which we now believe will be tomorrow.’

  Just then the mobile phone in Reece’s pocket buzzed. It was a text from Mary.

  ‘In Belfast. Call me when you can. XX’

  ‘If you will excuse me, I need to make a call. Steve, give me the car keys where did you park?’

  Harrison handed over the keys.

  ‘Parked up in the next street down on the left.’

  ‘Wait here. I won’t be long.’

  Reece found the car and pressed in Mary’s name. He heard the phone ring twice before Mary answered.

  ‘I didn’t expect you to call me that quickly.’ She spoke.

  ‘You know me, you shout, and I come running. How’s things?’

  ‘Mum has had a fall and she’s in the city hospital.’

  ‘Is she OK?’ He thought he could hear a sadness in her voice.

  ‘She broke her hip. They are going to operate later today.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, everything will be all right. She’s in the right place for now.’

  ‘I know, I needed to let you know and to hear your voice. You know they don’t allow people to use phones in hospitals. I didn’t want you to worry if you couldn’t get me if my phone was switched off.’

  ‘Don’t switch it off, keep it on silent. That way you will be able to read my messages or that I called.’

  ‘How are you David, how are things going?’

  It was one of the things he loved about her. She would always want him to be safe.

  ‘Don’t worry about me. You have enough on your plate. Everything is going well here. I should be finished here tomorrow and with you on Saturday.’

  He could hear her voice change to one of relief.

  ‘That makes me feel better. I’m heading for the hospital now. Please take care.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll see you on Saturday. Love you.’

  ‘Love you too.’ she answered before ending the call.

  Reece sat back in the seat and thought about his day so far. He thought how Anna and Middleton had seemed to hit it off and compared it in his mind to the many meetings over coffee with Mary and the danger when she was his agent, code name Mike in Northern Ireland. He did not like her being there without him. There may be a so-called peace process, and the terrorists were supposed to have handed in their weapons. But the one thing that had kept him alive on many occasions, was never to trust anyone, and he certainly didn’t trust the gunmen and bombers who tried to convince the world their terror was over. Reece could never believe them. They may have stopped killing for now but given the chance; because of the damage he had done to them through agents like Mike; he knew he would still be a prime target with old scores to settle. Much of this damage to the terrorist organisations was with the help of the SAS. He thought back to his close links with men such as Geoff Middleton. In his RUC Special Branch days, Reece had the job of travelling to the home base of the 22nd SAS Regiment in Hereford which had at first been named Stirling Lines after the regiments founder Colonel David Stirling. The name had then been changed to Bradbury Lines but Reece always preferred Stirling Lines. Being an Ulster man himself he had also thought they could have named the Headquarters after one of the regiment’s most famous officers Colonel Robert Blair Mayne another Ulster man. He would travel to the base for a few days every six months. His job was to update the incoming Squadron taking over from the current one in Northern Ireland. He would be picked up and dropped back at Birmingham airport. Over the next few days, he would stay in accommodation provided for him in the Officers Mess. He remembered the long corridor, with bedrooms on each side. The walls were filled with the plaques showing the badges of the different regiments and agencies throughout the world, who had visited the base and worked with the famous regiment. One of the plaques showed the harp and crown badge of the Royal Ulster Constabulary and had been presented to the regiment by himself. At the end of the corridor was the Officer’s Mess, itself with a bar where, if no one was available to serve, officers and visitors could serve themselves and sign a chit which would be presented to them for their bar bill at the end of their stay. Reece had had a few beers in the mess with some of the SAS team and signed his chit, only to find at the end of his visit, he was presented with a receipt showing the regiment’s crest of the winged dagger and the bill marked as paid with thanks. Above the bar there was two AK47 rifles presented to the mess by Major Mike Keeley. These were a souvenir from one of the most famous battles in the regiment’s history. Keeley himself had fought against the communist backed guerrillas in the battle at Mirbat during the Dhofar Rebellion in Oman in July 1972.

  Keeley had died from hypothermia during an exercise on the Brecon Beacons in Wales. Reece had a photo of himself standing at the bar with the rifles above him.

  He would brief the incoming team in a type of theatre classroom on the current threat and intelligence in Northern Ireland using visual displays as well as answering questions. He would work with many of the men in the future months, and he would always remember the drinking session with them that evening after the briefing. The SAS men also took the time to show Reece around the main training areas of the base including the famous killing house, where the men would practise their close quarter combat firearm skills and hostage rescue. Reece had done most of his specialist firearms training and anti-ambush escape and evasion drills at a secret location in Northern Ireland. Over several days, he would fire every weapon under the sun; most of them captured from the terrorist organisations he was working against. Everything from Armalite and AK47 rifles to Thompson Sub machine guns. They would enter and clear buildings, engaging cardboard full size human silhouette targets. The last two days of the course included anti-ambush training that simulated the agent’s car being attacked. He was taught how to fire and reload while still inside the car. Then the instructors brought in the bomb disposal officer (ATO) who would detonate a small charge in front of the vehicle to simulate disabling it. He had to get out of the car and moving up a narrow pathway that they nicknamed the Ho Chi Minh trail, engage more cardboard targets to the right and left taking cover to reload. It was as realisti
c as they could make it and after the course Reece felt a little like John Wayne in that he was confident he could draw his pistol and hit the target in the centre of the body every time. When he had joined SG9, his MI6 bosses sent him once more to Hereford to receive more specialist training. The SAS training was tough. They taught him the unarmed tactic of Krav Maga, a self-defence fighting style use by Special Forces the world over. They taught him that rather than back off in a fight it was better to engage quickly with your opponent to give you the element of surprise, especially if you don’t have a weapon to hand. Reece ended up a qualified marksman with the handgun and could handle himself in a close combat fight, either with a weapon or his bare hands.

  One of the main lessons he learnt was ‘You are not John Wayne,’ if you must take out your gun, you shoot to kill, two in the chest one in the head. If necessary, you keep shooting at the target until it’s eliminated and no longer a threat. Lessons he would never forget.

  Reece headed back to the café where he found Harrison standing outside.

  ‘Are they all right in there?’ he asked.

  ‘Getting on famously. Two’s company three’s a crowd if you know what I mean. I was the gooseberry.’ smiled Harrison.

  ‘That good eh, lets break them up. We have work to do.’ Reece handed Harrison the car keys. ‘You head back to the car we will do another hour then head back to base to see how the other teams are doing.’

  When Reece entered the café Anna and Middleton were laughing and leaning close across the table their hands almost touching.

  ‘Right, you two, let’s keep this professional; we have work to do. Geoff, I’m staying in the Plaza Westminster Hotel. I’m sure Anna would like to join us there for dinner tonight, say eight? Are you up for that, provided nothing happens in between of course?’

  Sitting up straight in the chair with his eyes still on Anna.

  ‘Sounds like a great plan. I look forward to it. See you both later then.’ Middleton stood and turned left out the door to move in the direction Reece had first seen him.

  ‘I’ve told Steve to shadow us in the car for an hour and then we can head back to HQ unless you have other plans?’

  ‘No, none for now, or for dinner at eight.’ She smiled.

  Chapter 26

  In a small hotel in Kensington the Deputy First Secretary of the Iranian Embassy was enjoying his second bottle of champagne in his bedroom. The woman he had just had sex with was showering in the bathroom. When it came to breaking Islamic law, he knew he would be hanged if his bosses in Tehran knew he was drinking alcohol and having afternoon sex with a woman who was not his wife. He had met her not long after becoming the new London Embassy Deputy six months ago. He had been out for a morning jogging session in Hyde Park when he spotted her. She had been jogging in front of him and he had noticed the firm shape of her body and her bouncing blonde ponytail hairstyle before he saw her take a bad tumble falling a few yards in front of him. As there was no one else around, he stopped to help her to her feet enquiring if she was all right. She had said her ankle was sore, and he could see a small amount of blood coming through a tear in her tight Lycra training tights.

  She rested her hands on his shoulders as she got to her feet and he helped her through the park to the main road, where he flagged down a taxi to take her to the hospital. She smiled and thanked him for his help. Her accent was English, and she was softly spoken and educated. All he could think about the few days after was how stupid he had been not get her name or contact details or even introduce himself. It was to be three weeks later, when jogging the same route at the same time of day, that he saw her once more in front of him. Quickly catching up he had called out hello. She stopped, and turning, she seemed to recognise him so smiled and said hello back. He asked how she was, and she reassured him she’d made a full recovery. The ankle was twisted and the cut on her knee was only a scrape. She had felt foolish and when she thought about it afterwards, she was embarrassed that she’d not asked him for his name or told him hers. With everything now mended she had started back in her jogging routine only that day. He thought this must be fate. Fate had brought them together twice and he intended to make the most of it. He asked for her contact details and if he could take her out to lunch or a coffee. She had hesitated for just a few seconds then smiling agreed to lunch later that week. The lunch went well. He did not tell the Embassy security or the ambassador that he had met this beautiful woman. He had not told his wife either, she’d gotten fat from eating too much at the Embassy events. Sex with her was a chore and they hardly spoke anymore with more shouting arguments than talking. He had decided to keep this woman to himself, and he found the secret liaisons made the love making even more exciting. It had started with the lunch date where he had found himself laughing with the woman. He enjoyed having a glass or two of wine in the afternoon and over the weeks they’d met up when jogging, going for a coffee afterwards. The lunch dates had led to dinner dates and eventually, after about four weeks, to a hotel room and bed. There was no comparison between the young woman and his wife, her body was slim and fit. She was a single businesswoman, with the intelligent mind that went with it. She made love to him the way he wanted her to, he would tell her what he liked, and she obliged, seeming to know how to bring him to a special height of passion. He liked to think he pleased her, and he always felt relaxed in the time afterwards, when they lay in each other’s arms and spoke openly about the world and their lives.

  The woman in the bathroom was indeed beautiful. She looked in the mirror applying a little lipstick, just enough to keep a man interested, but not enough that he could get it on his clothes and give the game away. To her it was a game, ever since she’d been a girl of seventeen and realised that men liked how she looked and were willing to pay to be with her. She was twenty-six now and she’d made a small living from letting men enjoy the experience of spending a short time with her. That was until two months ago when she was having her end of the week glass of her favourite white wine in the Grosvenor Hotel in Mayfair. A man had sat at her table and asked if he could join her and buy another bottle of wine to share with her. She had been approached by men offering to buy her a drink many times but for some reason this time it was different. The man, tall and of athletic build clean shaven with dark brown eyes and hair, he was not the kind who needed to pick up women. If anything, she’d thought, women would flock to him. His open white shirt and dark grey suit were made of expensive material and design and his accent was foreign, although she couldn’t place it.

  He introduced himself as Ari and she readily invited him to stay while he ordered the wine. She was intrigued, and for the rest of that afternoon enjoyed the conversation finding he could make her laugh easily with his beautiful smile enhancing his appearance. It was when he had poured the last glass from the bottle that the conversation changed, he said he had a business proposition to put to her. He said his company were interested in the oil industry in Iran and hoped to complete contracts worth billions of pounds. Through business contacts he had been given her name and where to find her when she visited the hotel for her favourite glass of wine. He had given her a plain white business card with the words Eastern Oil and a mobile telephone number.

  The proposal was simple and would bring her the kind of wealth that would make her immediate future financially secure. She was intrigued and invited him to tell her more, without asking anymore questions until he had finished speaking. The man ordered another bottle of wine and talked for the next hour. What it came down to he had said, was that his company needed inside information, and she was in an ideal position to get it for them. What they wanted her to do, was contact one of the Iranian Embassy staff in London, get to know him and let them know whatever he told her. He then told her if she could do this, they would be grateful and to show their thanks they would give her an apartment overlooking Hyde Park and pay her handsomely enough that she wouldn’t need to have any other clients and she could concentrate on just the one.<
br />
  When she told him she was interested but wondered how she could contact such an Iranian without raising his suspicions, he had the answer to that question as well. He would provide her with all the details and how to make such an approach without raising suspicion. It did not take her long to decide before the second bottle of wine was empty, she agreed that she was interested but would need to hear more and see the apartment he promised before she signed on the dotted line. She had asked him would it be dangerous, was she going to be a spy? The question she thought was a sensible one and one she needed the answer to or there would be no deal. Once again, he calmed her fears. She would be doing what she’d been doing for many years, seducing men to like her and give her what she wanted. In this case the money would be coming from his company at a larger rate than her usual fee. She would only have one client, the Iranian, who wouldn’t know she was working for his company. She would always have his phone contact details on speed dial if she should need him and they would meet after every date she had with the Iranian. Over the following weeks she’d moved into the Hyde Park apartment and met with Ari. He had provided her with the answer to the questions that she’d asked at that first meeting. She would go jogging in Hyde Park at a specific time on a specific day. He showed her photographs of the man they wanted her to get to know. They agreed she would instigate the meeting by falling. Before she would go on her run, she would tear her training trousers at the knee, and he would provide her with a small vial of blood to pour over the knee area. She was to pretend to be injured and allow the man to get her a taxi but not give him any information, just to thank him and leave in the taxi, which she should take back to her apartment where Ari would brief her further. It had all seemed a bit melodramatic, but she was intrigued, and if she admitted it, a bit excited at being involved in a new experience, where her talents were being used for reasons other than just for sex.

  On the day she’d fallen in front of the Iranian everything went just as Ari had said and he was waiting for her when she’d returned to the apartment. She had done wonderfully well he said. Now that the first part of the plan had been completed, he gave her a bank card. He explained they’d opened a bank account for her in a new name which she was to use from now on so that the Iranian would never find out who she really was in case she wanted to call off the deal for any reason and go back to her previous way of working. From that day she was to be known as Martha Fleming. Ari had made her day complete when he told her there would be £5,000 per month in the account but not to go mad as lavish spending would bring unwanted attention to her. She was to say she’d received an endowment from her dead parents, and she’d worked in the travel industry thereby showing her interest in anything foreign. She was currently out of a job and was enjoying some time off. She knew this was a good cover as she loved to travel and had visited most countries in the Mediterranean, including Egypt and had travelled to New York. She had to wait for three weeks before Ari would tell her to go jogging again. The plan had worked just as he had told her it would and as she had dried herself down in the bathroom, she knew the man in the bedroom had believed everything she’d said and accepted the invented story of her past life as fact. He was like most middle-aged married men she knew. A little flattery and a glimpse of her cleavage and she could have most of them eating out of the palm of her hand. Over the weeks he had started talking a little more each time they met. He talked about his work, a little about his family and how living in London compared with his home in Iran. She had been an enthusiastic listener. It was his work that Ari was interested in, and he had told her to let the Iranian bring the conversation up and not to question him just to let him lead the way. It did not take many meetings before she found the Iranian beginning to talk freely about his work and his life. He was not happy with his work and was angry that he was only the Deputy Secretary at the Embassy. He believed he would be better at the senior job than his boss. Today she’d tried to get him to talk about the Iranian oil business with the intention of impressing Ari, but to her surprise the Iranian said he did not know much about it instead asking her why she wanted to know about oil. She was thrown for a few a seconds before replying that she was thinking of investing some money in the oil industry on the stock exchange. It was then that the Iranian told her he had a secret. When she innocently asked him what it was, he would only reply that he had recently met with an important man who had advised him that the financial district of London was about to experience some difficulty and it wouldn’t be sensible to invest in a stock exchange that might not be there tomorrow. She pretended not to hear and replied I need a shower, but I’ll be back soon so keep the bed warm. This seemed to please him. She knew that Ari would need to hear about the stock market and how the oil industry might be affected.