‘Special Forces training, my brother.’
There was a pause as the wash of a jet ski caused the launch to rock. Khalid looked the man in the eye. ‘This is an interesting proposal.’
‘One that you should accept.’
‘How is it that you came to know of my beliefs?’ Khalid was still not completely trusting of this Chechen. He could have accessed his handler’s file to entrap him, part of the Christian crusaders’ war against the true believers.
‘Alexander Williamovich wanted me to say “my love for my country is as pure as the vodka that has replaced the love of my wife”.’
Khalid grunted, reassured. The odd sentence was confirmation that this man had indeed come from, or had the blessing of, his former Soviet handler. An amateurish and clichéd device which was effective for that very reason.
‘How is the vodka-soaked fool?’
‘Dead. He was murdered by the very Russians he served. Did you know that his grandfather was also Chechen?’
Khalid was saddened. It had been this man who had recruited him out of Oxford, masquerading as a fellow undergraduate. ‘My brother, I should like to accept your kind offer of assistance.’
The Chechen nodded and smiled briefly. ‘We can make immediate preparations, my brother. I have a list of targets that I assume you would want to attack.’
‘I have my own target list.’ Khalid frowned. He didn’t like taking orders and wanted to make it quite clear that he, even if funded by this man and his people, would be in charge.
The Chechen had expected this. The Arabs were a proud race, much like the Russians, he mused, but both were easy to lead, if hard to control. ‘I assure you, my brother, that I only suggest my targets because I have intelligence on them and it could be that some of our targets are the same.’
‘Perhaps then we should compare lists?’
‘I see you have already targeted the Al Kabir family.’
Khalid’s eyebrow twitched with surprise. ‘An unfortunate mistake caused the girl to be rescued.’
‘I am here to prevent unfortunate mistakes. Next time we may meet in Dubai, in a more fitting environment.’
‘Insha’Allah’
Shoreham Beach, UK
A shiny green Mini Cooper, plastered with company decals, pulled up outside Fox’s house and the driver got out.
‘Mr McDonald?’ The estate agent was young, suited, and eager.
‘Aye, that’s me.’ Fox, now wearing a baseball cap, shook with his right hand, a small carrier bag of shopping swaying gently in his left.
‘John, John Edgar.’
‘Thanks for coming at such short notice, John.’ Fox had made his accent thicker than normal.
‘That’s no problem at all, Mr McDonald.’ Edgar twiddled the keys on his finger nervously. ‘Well, as you can see, it’s a nice, quiet street. What brings you to the area?’
‘I’m looking for somewhere nearer to my work.’
Edgar nodded, to show his understanding. ‘Good. Well, it’s a new development, just over three years old, I believe. Shall we go inside?’
‘Let’s.’
The man from Andrews & Son opened the front door and stepped back to let Fox inside. As Fox passed, he swiped the keys from the door.
‘Thanks. I’ll take it.’
Edgar was confused but smiled nevertheless until the door closed and he was locked out. Fox winked at himself in the hall mirror as he made for the kitchen, ignoring the doorbell, which the bemused estate agent now rang. Reaching under the sink he turned the water back on then opened the understairs cupboard and did the same with the electricity supply. The doorbell had stopped ringing. Fox filled the kettle with water. Edgar’s face appeared at the back window; Fox held up the kettle and gave a ‘thumbs up’ before lowering the roller blind.
Tracey had really done a number on him. The house was bare except for the odd items that had been left strategically to ‘sell it’. The kettle in the kitchen, expensive cooking utensils hanging on their pegs, and magazines, of the type they never read, on the coffee table in the lounge. Luckily, both the TV and three-piece suite had also been used for staging.
A thought suddenly occurred to Fox. He moved quickly to the internal garage door and opened it. There she was, his beloved Porsche, stubbornly standing stock-still and refusing to move until she had been fully restored. She was where he had left her but was now surrounded by boxes. Fox opened the nearest one to find it full of clothes – his. He was relieved; at least she hadn’t thrown them away. Picking up the box he made his way upstairs and took a shower, again ignoring the front door, and now his mobile.
Riyadh, Kingdom of Saudi Arabia
Khalid stared at the desert. Was there no greater example of Allah’s greatness? He was doing His work on earth, carrying out His divine will. It was time to start the new jihad against the infidels, who, in league with the corrupt royals, would defile the house of Islam.
Khalid had received a target list from ‘the Chechen’ and some suggestions. He had found them most acceptable. His men had been instructed and soon, Insha’Allah, the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia would be cleansed of the infidel plague and become the true house of Islam.
Wellness Fitness Club, Brighton Marina, UK
The three ‘meats’ were in again, pumping themselves up to ridiculous proportions. Fox shook his head. What a trio of tits! Each in their early twenties, one was well over six foot, the second just under, while the third – who Fox had nicknamed ‘mini-meat’ – was scraping five. As they passed, Fox kept his eyes on the monitor in front of his treadmill and the main report on Sky News, some sort of demonstration in Ukraine. Looking down again he saw that the two larger meats were now loading up the leg press machine for ‘mini-meat’, who as usual was making grunting noises as he pushed the plates away from his body under the ever-increasing pressure.
The guy really was comical, thought Fox. He was square. His shoulders were broader than Fox’s and his chest fuller; the sad thing was that this actually made him look shorter. Meat One and Meat Two egged him on and threw him a bottle of water when he had finished his set.
Fox had seen all sorts in his time, from the wiry types who were happy to run all day to the meatheads who thought they were invincible. These were usually Paras, huge, hulking men who ran into bullets like they were rain but died none the less. Strength was a great thing to have but flexibility and speed were just as important. Fox reached the five-mile mark and slowed down the machine before stepping off.
At forty-five he was in as fine a shape as he had been at twenty-five, or so he claimed. Not for him the beer belly and saggy skin. True, his joints ached more now, but he took a perverse pleasure in confronting the pain and battling through it. He drank greedily at the water fountain before heading for the pull-up bar directly in front of
