by Ray Christie
Knowing Trevor’s capabilities, she shudders to think what would happen to causal observers of this operation that got too close. “Right let’s get this straight, five men, Paris, names and aliases, all soft biometric traits, recent photos, habits, demeanour, gaits, sexual preferences, dietary requirements, military background records, marital status, criminal records and what else can you give me?” throwing her hand up to attract the waiter for more vodka Émilie is feeling the much-loved adrenaline that comes with danger.
“Five hundred grand for each man, I give you five men Émilie, that makes it a very tasty two and a half million, enough for you to walk away from this life Émilie.”
“You really think I am dealing with amateurs Trevor? the last time I heard figures such as those we were dealing with cyber nerds who were armed with a handful of USB flash drives.” The vodka arrives and abruptly Émilie waves off the waiter with a warming smile before turning to Trevor and pushing her price. “What we are dealing with here is something much more dangerous, breaking the back of France with the potential to cause further widespread propaganda and recruitment for Islamic Terrorism, you know it and so do I, the price is consistent with those on the deck of cards where we picked off the high values around the Middle East and elsewhere for you and the Americans”, Émilie waits in silence watching Trevor, knowing she is holding a respectable straight flush in this tournament with her British opponent. Trevor too watches her, trying to read her thoughts, wondering what she would do with this money, could she become a liability, would she come after him to cut ties, could she develop a conscience? When someone begins to falter and strays from this dark side his job is to remove them, that is a cost which needs to be accounted for. Regardless of this, he knows she will only have a short amount of time with the money until he arranges her own death. Judging her intelligence and experience despite her age Trevor agrees.
“Once I hand over what I have I don’t want to hear from you, no updates, no requests for assistance and no problems, is that clear?” Trevor enquires.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, costs Trevor, I have huge costs in doing this using the best people, if I am going after the best then I need the best manpower, these people don’t come cheap, not in Paris,” taking a long sip of vodka Émilie waits for her puppy to sit and follow her commands.
“Rightly so, you do need the best, and you may need to close certain accounts after the five men are dealt with, I think you understand what I mean, this means you can run free and that nothing comes across the English Channel to haunt me”, Trevor drums his fingers on the table and thinks for a moment and announces his price. “Ten million pounds sterling is more than enough for you to do this, only because it’s you Émilie, we worked together in the past, I could have this done at half the price using a few disgruntled tier one guys from the US, but this is much more pleasant.”
Ten million she gasps in her mind, ‘wow, this is it, this is the big one, my last one.’ Émilie works hard not to show a delighted and grateful face, knowing she can finally disappear and live her life in peace, leaving behind the exciting world to concentrate on one of fortune and elegance one of sun, sand, and love.
“Very well, I can manage this, it will take me a few days to get the team assembled, briefed, ready and into position.”
“A few days isn’t an option Émilie” replies Trevor.
“I understand that” retorts Émilie. “Once I send in a reconnaissance team we will understand if they are close to the advanced stage of an attack. Leave it to me, Trevor.”
“It would speed things up if you provided the equipment and have hard cash left for me, the rest you can divide into the crypto wallet and bank accounts which I’ll provide you now.”
As Trevor takes a Conway Stewart Churchill Heritage fountain pen from his top pocket and slides it across the table for Émilie to write the details he notices a smile across her face. ‘Pity I have to kill her soon,’ thought Trevor.
Émilie wrote down a list of numbers for the money to be transferred into and handed back the list to Trevor and playfully placed the pen into her handbag. Trevor too smiled and accepted the list placing it into his top pocket minus his pen. From his jacket pocket, he now produced a Blackberry phone, “Within one hour you will receive a message confirming the transfer and location of things you will need in Paris. After you receive this message remove the SIM destroy it and the phone. You won’t hear from me again and I wish you the best of luck for you and your country Émilie.”
With that Trevor rose to his feet, with a casual peck on the cheek and a simple smile on her face Émilie turned and exited the bar out onto a cold London street.
The sounds of the cello distant from memory now replaced by the busy traffic. Unaware she has just walked past the transit van in which a team of Albanian hitmen had not been summoned upon this night, she now heads towards her own rendezvous point.
Trevor makes the necessary calls before settling the bill in cash leaving a large tip, he casually notices the music has stopped while they change entertainment. The Cello player moves unceremoniously in the background towards the exit.
EIGHT
Paris, France
The wheels touch down at the civilian airstrip at Paris airport Le Bourget. Jack grabs his little belongings and walks confidently through the casually manned passport desk dressed in the co-pilot uniform. Using his new passport, he is quickly ushered outside. A short five-minute walk to the hire car office he takes in the light crisp air whilst allowing his eyes to scan for threats, upon arrival he fittingly selects the Mercedes Class E Automatique to blend in with his destination. Driving out the gate on his twenty-minute trip to the 16th Arrondissement of Paris he selects the BBC World Service on the entertainment control. The episode in London will soon be yesterday’s news, investigators would add it to their list of confusing incidents, all the while being hampered by the intelligence agencies. His focus is now on today’s work, he views a mental map in his head, thinking about his team who should be on their way to conduct their counter-surveillance techniques around the Arrondissement.
***
Cherbourg, France
The catamaran docks without incident in Cherbourg and Mark and Gordon are amongst the last pedestrians leaving the vessel. “Do you think the seagulls sound different in France?” Ignoring him Gordon grabs a local accommodation brochure from a newsstand and flicks through it, copying what the other holidaymakers were doing also. Blending in Gordon casually makes his way to a hire car office while Mark conducts counter-surveillance tactics around this part of town. Gordon checks the email draft folder before leaving Cherbourg, the message simply read ‘Au Petit Bistrot d'Auteuil – secure location’. Removing the SIM card and disposing of it as he walks across the car yard to collect his Audi A8 Quattro rental. Driving into the Esso service station he purchases some coffee, a couple of spare phones and SIM cards plus food, by the time he returns Mark is walking casually towards the passenger seat. “You get me anything nice for being good?” quips Mark.
“Get in and direct us, we will get out of here quickly, grab your coffee.” Burning his fingers from the ill-fitting plastic lid Mark jumps in the passenger seat and adjusts his seat for the drive towards Paris. “Ok captain fire up this beast and let’s get some distance carved up,” with that Gordon exits onto Voie Portuaire to take the four-hour trip to Paris.
***
Paris, France
Straight off the train and into the concourse Ben and Sam fall into line behind the weary red-eyed commuters, all looking to get their heads down. Just past eleven pm, they decide to grab a hotel around the corner. Knowing Gordon, the ‘pathfinder’ will recce the meet point for the rest of the team a good night’s sleep will be perfect. Walking up the street it is now Sam’s turn to get the hotel room while Ben conducts counter-surveillance on the two of them. Standing in the cold pretending to be in an intimate phone conversation Ben studies every vehicle and person in the vicinity. Not far from his loca
tion Sam enters the Haussmanian building, the Carlton Hotel built in the nineteen twenties will be suitable for the two elegant businessmen who have just arrived from London. Sam orders two junior suites with a view of both the Sacré Cœur and Dôme des Invalides, he collects the room keys and makes his way to the lounge to watch Ben enter. Once they are both in the lounge a new SIM is inserted to the burner phone and Ben logs in to the team’s email. He reads and updates the team with the draft message system. This is how al Qaeda members communicated with each other, the signal intel contractors had been searching for sent and received emails across the world, frustratingly though unknown email accounts with shared login details never sent any emails. Simply prepare a draft, save it, and log out, then the other team member can log in, read and delete. Simple for this operation, a new email account is set up every time only for the basic purposes of regrouping without using the agencies other systems. Some decent late-night food, a couple of glasses of Michel Couvreur Whisky then up for a shower and sleep, they both had a feeling they would not get much in the days to come, best to make the most of it.
***
Coming up from the South East Gordon and Mark were making good progress, soon to be arriving on the outskirts of Paris. Before moving into the 16th arrondissement to conduct their recce one extra stop was required, Jack asked them to quickly resupply for the days ahead. This meant visiting a storage facility on the way to the sixteenth to get their firearms and other equipment, they also used this opportunity to take with them the cash and the dozen slabs of gold bullion. The fortunes and high-tech equipment were stolen, unaccounted for, acquired or any other terms which can be used. Simply put, it was removed from the bad guys during years of operations and stored around various countries for purposes such as off the record operations. Gordon stuck to a planned surveillance detection route to his destination, once there he conducts an anti-surveillance move then pulls up next to the keypad in Chambourcy, the black gate slides across and the Audi makes the short drive to the storage unit.
Gordon quickly retrieved the black holdalls which were located deep within the storage unit. The team had rented this a few years back, stocking it with old desks, tables and various recycled wood from a disused school located not far, the items did not appear out of place when the roller door was open. Mark was in charge of surveillance within and outside the storage facility. A non-smoker he now moves outside the gate and puffs on a cigarette nonetheless, careful to avoid choking he carefully inspects the occupants of each car driving past. Making a mental note of each when he drifts his eyes over an approaching vehicle, two male occupants, ‘IC2 males, something not right’. Looking through their windscreen in a flash so as not to give their detection away he considers them to be East European. Not highly unusual in Paris, not many in this area though, and the fact that they are remaining within the car and possibly watching him is enough to change their plans. They might be using a covert remote-controlled camera linked to a small screen. This allows them to monitor all around them and zoom in, take photos or videos without looking in the subject’s direction. Calmly he finishes his cigarette, watches the birds quarrel for territory for a brief moment then walks back to Gordon to give him his assessment.
“We have two IC2 males in a black BMW opposite the exit, just arrived, we might have to shake them down or lose them.” Mark eyes Gordon for his guidance. Always clear-eyed in the trickiest situation Gordon remarks with assurance, “We will take them with us, can they see this unit?”
“No direct line of sight just arrived and likely laying out their maps, we need to be quick.” With that Mark moved one bag into the boot of the car and removed a handgun, shoving it between his belt and waist he then retrieved a silencer with a couple of magazines and stuffed these into his pocket.
Everything loaded and the unit is locked once more, Gordon composes a draft email while Mark sets a small camera with multiple lenses on the rear-view mirror. He checks that it is operational and adjusts the brightness on his handheld screen. “Ok, roll out Gordon and don’t look for these guys, follow the GPS to the Bidonvilles, we can deal with them there.”
“Copy that,” Gordon replies as he drives towards the exit. The black BMW remains stationary until there are three cars between them. Mark watches as the BMW follows behind accepting each street turn and maintaining a safe distance. “No sign of a second vehicle just yet,” Mark continues to provide updates to Gordon, but mainly letting him drive to Nanterre, an area with a higher immigration population. This route will take them well past their rendezvous point with the rest of the team.
Mark considers a perfect surveillance team from the DGSE would have at least a couple of cars and a motorbike. That way the cars and bike could cover each possible road if they were unsure of the subject’s intended direction. The motorbike could be used if the subject vehicle got too far ahead in a traffic jam.
“Gordon, these blokes are not Government, that I’m sure off, didn’t think they were, a couple of gangsters, hired by who!”
“Hopefully, they will tell us if we ask them nicely, where are we taking these idiots?” Gordon enquires.
“A few months ago a housing block was due for demolition, the work should have started, it’s a series of narrow streets, alleys and has a number of drug dealers based out of the housing blocks nearby,” Mark checks on the location of the BMW and takes a clear shot from the camera.
“Sweet, my kind of place, ETA seven, let’s do this quickly.” The adrenal glands start to release the hormone adrenaline into both operators, they live for this lifestyle. Back to their natural instincts and loaded with years of training, both professionals will know the perfect place, time and method without much communication required. They will work as precise and efficiently as any finely tuned machine. The car follows carefully at a distant as Gordon uses a simple route to the destination, eliminating needless backstreets so as not to cause suspicion with the followers. “Ok, this looks like a great place, I’ll slow, just tell me when you are ready,” says Gordon as he enters the mixed construction and densely populated area. Turning left into an alley running behind a block of apartments Mark asks Gordon to slow. He then sneaks out of the car and takes up position behind a row of bins. Gordon drives towards a block of apartments giving the impression this is his destination. The surveillance team would take up position exactly where Mark wanted them to be, knowing their most likely cover spot is where he plans his next move.
The black BMW stops next to a row of bins and reverses off the road onto a disused entrance to the construction site. Mark peels around the back of the bins and sidles up against the driver’s side. With aggression and speed, he opens the driver’s door and fires a round into the man’s right leg then he jams the gun into his neck. “Who are you working for?”
Screaming in pain the driver was in no mood for discussions, Marks eyes were fixed on the passenger, Albanian looking man wearing a black leather jacket and black denim jeans. Holding in his hand was a number of small photographs. Two mobile phones lay in the footwell. A handgun was protruding from under his hip. “Fuck you dog” snarled the passenger. As he went for his gun a round exploded in his temple sending blood and body matter over the side window.
“Wrong answer, your turn if you want to live, one chance only, who sent you?” The gun back against the driver’s neck.
“I don’t know, I don’t know, I just received a message to go to the port and follow you, fuck you, I can’t drive you shot me you dog.”
Another round enters the man’s left leg, followed by more screaming. “It’s only a flesh wound you girl, who sent you?” demanded Mark.
“Arghh, you dog, I don’t know, I got a message from someone we do work for, we only run drugs and prostitutes, they asked us to follow you and report back to them, some dumb French bitch, one of our own is all I know, we never deal with anyone outside our family, this is fucked…” The next round delivered into his neck up through his brain and stopped all conversation, the driver
slumped forward onto the steering wheel. Quickly gathering the photos and two mobile phones he checked the car for any video surveillance devices. Finding nothing he patted down the Albanians, finding no identification he quickly snaps a couple of gruesome photos of their now contorted and distressed faces. Closing the door, he strolls back to Gordon who is discreetly looking for any bystanders. Within seconds the two were driving towards Au Petit Bistrot d'Auteuil so they can scout it out and call in the rest of the team before moving to their safe house.
***
After an hour of surveillance, Place de l'Église d'Auteui is decided as safe by Gordon and Mark then their team leader Jack is given the go-ahead to meet up.
Alert and confident happy reunion hugs and handshakes were put to the side when the three met, Jack got straight to the point. “We lost Johnston and I got out as quickly thereafter, what do you guys think happened,” enquired Jack about their previous operation in London.
Gordon replied first “Unable to answer that just yet, we just disposed of those two Albanians over at Nanterre, they had all our photos except for Johnston, a French female hired them to watch us.”
“Is that it? no idea who she is? why would they hire Albanians and not their own?”
Jumping in on this Mark quickly responded, “We only had seconds to get answers and get out of there, didn’t have time to interview them old school style, it could be a DGSE operation, not wanting to get their hands dirty, using crims to make this look like a turf war, saving some taxpayer euros at the same time.”
