My untitled novel.

Raja lead the team around the edge of the clearing. Almost on the opposite side a small trodden path wound through the trees. The path itself wasn’t very wide, the trees either side had scratches and gouges knocked out of them, probably where equipment had been brought to and from the landing zone. After about a hundred metres, the path widened on to another clearing. Straight in front of them, on either side of a large, black metal gate were two guard towers. In each, a single solider dressed in full desert fatigues, black kevlar jackets, helmet and knee pads completed with sunglasses. Both were armed with M4A1 rifles instead of the standard issue M16, presumably to allow improved accuracy from their high vantage point. Just below the left hand tower was another guard post, this one manned by two soldiers, one of whom controlled the .50 calibre machine gun mounted behind the sandbags. The second came out to check their identification before radioing through his authorisation for the gate to be opened. The gate quickly rolled back revealing the base behind.
‘Most of these tents are empty,’ said Raja pointing to the rows of large green tents to their left. ‘Not too much goes on around here now. It only gets busy if the army or somebody needs to base out of here for a specific mission.’
Over on the right was a large parking area with a single 5-ton truck carelessly parked in the far corner. Beyond that was a white building which Raja explained was normally used as the local hospital. All in all, the base itself could cater for three hundred troops and all of the support equipment and vehicles hey needed. Right now there were thirty-five. The entire camp was surrounded by a large concrete wall which also had manned guard towers at each rear corner.
‘Here is where you will be able to set up,’ said Raja, pointing to another green tent next to the hospital building. ‘There are two desks and connections for you to access a secure network if you need to go online or anything.’
‘Thanks,’ said Kate. Arnold had already brought the relevant equipment they would need to use their field laptops and telephones, but she appreciated Raja’s willingness to accommodate them. She immediately went inside to claim her territory, setting her briefcase on the desk and holdall on the nearest bunk. Having been stuck up in planes and cars and helicopters for the last two days, she decided to take a walk around the base before they met Raja again to get some food. At around eight that evening, the three of them made their way back to the tent. After crossing all sorts of time zones, their body clocks were completely thrown out. Kate figured there could be a lot of waiting around over the next day or two and that until she had somewhere to start looking, there was not much point in going over her notes any more. She lay down on the stretcher like bed and fell asleep.

Arnold sat upright on his bed. Something had woken him abruptly and his eyes were blurry. He looked round to see if Kate or Forrest were moving around, however he could make out the blurred outline of them both laying on their beds. The dark tent suddenly lit up. Outside, there was a fizzing sound similar to a firework being launched. Arnold got up as his vision cleared and headed toward the door flap to see what was going outside. As he took hold of the rough material, all hell seemed to break loose. From the front of the tent, Arnold could see along the row of tents all the way to the guard towers at the gate. The whole camp was illuminated by a bright white flare that had been launched toward the entrance. From the tops of the guard towers, the bright muzzle flashes of the guards’ rifles were accompanied by various loud pops. Arnold guessed the guards rifles were being joined by the heavy machine gun at the gate and several others outside.
‘What the hell is going on?’ Kate shouted as she ran toward the tent flap. As she got in to the open, Raja appeared.
‘They are coming in,’ he shouted. ‘Take some cover, they will have to open the gate and the guys will be coming straight down the road ahead.’
Now also joined by Forrest, who seemed to have not quite worked out where he was or what was going on, Raja led them to a sandbagged building against the inside of the camp wall. Inside, there were already a few soldiers; two of them were working their radios.
‘Crazyhorse One Eight, this is Charlie One One. Are you Inbound, over?’
‘Charlie One One, this is Crazyhorse One Eight inbound, ETA thirty seconds, over.’
‘Charlie One One, roger that. Be advised enemy group is on south side of the approach road. Please clear before engaging. Over.’
‘Roger Charlie One One. Can we mark friendlies with infra-reds. Over?’
‘Crazyhorse One Eight, wait one.’
With that the operator turned to his colleague who was on the radio to the incoming team on the ground.

‘The guys are calling in some support; there was an Apache already in the air supporting an operation along the border south of here.’
‘What’s going on out there?’ asked Forrest.
‘The team came across some resistance when they approached the border just before they met up with Delta. If those guys hadn’t gone out I don’t think we’d be seeing them again. Well, maybe on Al-Jazeera TV being paraded by the Revolutionary Guard.’
‘Crazyhorse One Eight this is Charlie One One,’ the operator was back on to the Apache pilot. ‘Roger on the strobes, they are placing now, over.’
‘Charlie One One this is Crazyhorse One Eight, roger that. I am inbound now. Out.’
As the crackle ended the radio transmission, the helicopter appeared over the eastern wall and crossed the camp. The force of the air being displaced by the rotors shook the tents outside, blowing dirt across the enclosure. All three of the team were taken aback by its sudden arrival, the noise of its approach covered by the clamour going on outside. The second radio operator spoke.
‘Looks like some of the insurgents got frightened off by the chopper. The team are moving to the gate and have casualties.’
‘Alright, get ready to open the gate,’ the responding man was clearly the base commander. Outside, a number of troops were geared up and had prepared for whatever might follow the team through the gate.
The noise now seemed to be reaching a crescendo. With the team heading toward the gate, the insurgents were now concentrating their fire toward the base. Dents began to appear on the inside of the metal as rounds hit at supersonic speeds.
‘Charlie One One, this is Crazyhorse One Eight, targets and friendlies identified. Requesting permission to engage, over’.
The operator looked at his commanding officer who nodded.
‘Crazyhorse One Eight, engage, over.’
‘Charlie One One, roger, out.’
Kate had never heard anything like what was going on now and didn’t think it could get any louder until the rumble of the Apache’s 30mm chain gun opened up. As it did, the main gate rolled open. A few patches of dirt kicked up as the insurgents took pot-shots in the general direction. Kate’s eyes were fixed on the opening not quite sure what to expect coming through the door. She wasnt kept waiting for long as first two men came in with a third in between, his arms over their shoulders and feet dragging behind. The remaining two followed closely behind, one turning and dropping to a knee giving a last few shots at his attackers before the gate rolled shut. As the men headed towards the hospital building, a final clamour of noise came from over the wall as the Apache unloaded half a dozen high explosive rockets in to the trees before moving off to rearm back at base.
Soon, the only noise that could be heard was the sound of a small patrol being put together to ensure the immediate area was clear. Kate and her team spent the rest of the night sitting outside with Raja and some of the troops. All three were half shell shocked after their first experience of front line combat and there was no way they would get to sleep for a long while yet. It would be morning before they would be able to get to talk to the Special Activities guys that had come in, assuming that those that had information were still alive by then.

crikey you dont want to be in a tent in a gun battle, SCARY. nice work I am enjoying this a lot. Kates going to be needing some new brown pants.

Surely the point of having a creative corner is to get feedback opinions and encouragment, so I read everyones stuff, its only polite as its a real bummer when your stuff is ignored, its like why bother? I am sure even experts like some recognition for hard work, but if you are starting out, all the more reason to write in a safe environment, so hats off to you for having a go. Keep it up

Marshall had been walking for about five hours before the sun started to appear over the horizon. He had not heard anyone since he left McKnight earlier that night and was sure he had not been followed. As the land lit up around him, Marshall guessed he was somewhere to the north of Mombasa where the Hartland Hawkes’ offices were located. The area to the west, past Mombasa airport, was a lot more dry and dusty this time of the year due to the high temperatures and minimal rainfall. Farmland, however, covered most of the region up to the blue waters of the Indian Ocean, meaning he was likely north of the city. If he was correct one of the three main roads in to the city, the B8, lay along the coast and ran through the outskirts of the city, across the New Nyali Bridge and on to the island and centre of the city. He decided his best bet would be to head south east where he would eventually either meet the road or the coast and then follow either back south. If he was wrong about his location then walking any other direction would be just as useless. For now though, he needed to rest. Not only would the daylight provide less cover, but the hot African sun would soon dehydrate him and he did not know if there was a chance of finding water any time soon. There was a small tree with overhanging branches that would provide shade for most of the day.
Despite all that had happen and all he would later spend a long time thinking about, Marshall was soon asleep against the tree. When he woke up, the midday sun made even the most secluded spot feel like a sauna… just without the bucket of water to moisten the air. It was the wrong time to try and venture out to find some food or water, the sun was far too hot out in the open. He was also unsure of what of the local vegetation would be poisonous and any nearby farms would not likely have anything to bear at this part of the season. For now, it was best to try to keep whatever energy he had left until the sun began to set and he could go out while it was still light.
The wait seemed to last forever and with each passing hour he felt a little hungrier. He also began to think about what exactly had happened over the last few days.
How had his attackers known where they were and what cargo they had? Who had planned it and who gave them the information? Even he didn’t know the exact contents of the truck.
At last, the sun began to sit low in the sky and it had cooled enough to start walking. Marshall guessed he had travelled about fifteen or twenty miles overnight; a distance that could be covered quickly by anyone looking for him. While it was light, it was best not to cross open land. Most of the farmland was bordered by trees or ditches which would provide plenty of cover as he moved. It wasn’t long before he came across a small barn, probably just used for storing machinery. The particular field he was walking alongside looked very well irrigated which meant there must be water somewhere. A few hundred feet from the barn, a small clump of bushes gave him a place to hide while the sun went down. It didn’t look like anyone was near the building; however any attention would be unwanted while he was still so near the camp.

As evening came, the field was illuminated by a faint blue moonlight. The trees that bordered the farm cast eerie shadows that looked like pitch black voids. In one of the shadows Marshall noticed that a tree not far from the barn was being illuminated by a faint yellow light. If it weren’t for the depth of night everywhere else, he probably would not have noticed. As he walked toward the trees, the outline of a small farmhouse became evident. As he approached he looked through one of the windows where a small light flickered in a corner. It seemed someone was inside and had lit a small candle. Marshall moved around the back of the house where another, smaller barn stood. The door was old with rusty hinges that gave off a loud creak as he opened it. Still, no noise or movement came from the house. He went inside. The barn seemed mainly somewhere for the owner to store his work tools, however at the back was a small trough and two buckets full of slightly green water. While he was wary of drinking anything stagnant, the water itself smelt quite fresh and he was now far too thirsty to worry about what problems he may have from drinking it.
After taking his fill, Marshall continued his walk east toward the coast. Over the next few days he covered a good deal of farm and scrub land. A few small streams and unattended buildings satisfied his thirst and he managed to find a few unripe tomatoes growing in one of the fields. At last, he saw a large road winding ahead in the distance with the ocean beyond it. The sun had started to rise on his fourth day since the camp and he would now take some time to rest before he made for the road and hoped for a pickup down in to the city.
It was about three o’clock when he set off again. A few clouds had begun to roll in and were providing a little shade from the sun. Marshall figured it was about four or five miles to the road, it felt much longer. As the road appeared in front of him, it would then disappear behind a small hill, reappear a little later only to vanish behind the peak of another. Finally he reached the road which had a reasonably steady flow of traffic on it. He crossed to the other side where cars were heading south and began trying to flag down anyone he could.
Hitch hiking in Kenya turned out to be just as difficult as it is back in England. Nobody wanted to stop for a stranger, let alone a white one that looked like he had just been in a bar fight. It was about an hour before anyone pulled over. A young but frail looking man with short curly hair and a big smile pulled up. He was driving an old, decrepit 1984 Toyota Hilux pickup truck. The once white paint was showing its age with various yellow and brown stains and patches of rust. The interior, while showing its 1980’s styling, was very well kept.
‘Jambo! Habari yako raficki.’ he said.
‘Err, hello,’ Marshall stuttered,
‘Hello, sorry,’ said the man. English was often as natural to speak as the local dialect of Swahili to most Kenyans. ‘You don’t look so good my friend. Where are you heading?’
‘Down to Mombasa if I can get there.’
‘Then I am heading your way too. Get in!’ said the man still smiling.
‘The first bit of luck I have had in a while,’ said Marshall as he got in to the passenger seat.

‘Yes, it looks that way. I think you have had a little too much sun. Have a drink.’ He pointed to a small crate with some bottles of water in. Although a little warm, the water tasted sweet compared to what he had been used to recently. At last he felt he could relax for a moment.
‘My name is Peter; I live in Mombasa and come out this way to deliver tools to the farms. I don’t get much company on the drive though.’
To Marshall, Peter looked like the stereotypical African man. Short, curly black hair framed his skinny, chiselled facial features. An oversized white shirt exacerbated what would already be skinny looking arms and bony hands. Baggy white trousers made from a thin fabric were finished off with brown, open toe sandals. The picture was competed by the vehicle and occupation that most Westerners would think typifies every one of the billion or so people living on the African continent.
‘I’m sure I’m not the greatest company that you have ever had Peter.’
‘Well, I once had to drop a farmer’s daughter in to the city. She didn’t say much but it was the best drive I have had. You and she are it though so you come in a close second.’
Marshall laughed.
‘I can’t argue with losing out to that’ he said.
‘So, do you have a name?’
‘Yeah, sorry. It’s Marshall.’
‘What would an English man be doing trying to pick up a ride in the middle of nowhere? I’m guessing that isn’t plum juice mixed in with the dirt on your trousers.’
Marshall hadn’t noticed McKnight’s blood down his right leg. His moment away from reality had just come to a sudden halt and the expression on his face changed.
‘Just doing a little safari while I’m here,’ he said.
‘Okay, okay. That’s your business. I will not ask any more. Can I ask where you are heading in Mombasa? A hotel or something? I will speak to them about their advice on safaris I think.’
Marshall grinned.
‘My company is based there just on the other side of the bridge.’
‘Who are they; I live in that area so can drop you nearby if you want?’
‘A little company called Hartland Hawkes. They have not been there long so I would be surprised if you knew where they were.’
‘I know them. They were in the papers about a week or two ago yes? Some of the directors were killed on a safari, like yours I think.’
On a safari? Either there were some extremely bad journalists in Kenya or someone was trying to cover up what had happened. No doubt whoever had originally planned this was involved to try and conceal their tracks.
‘I wasn’t with them,’ said Marshall, trying to avoid the comment. ‘What else did the papers say?’
‘Not much really, only that they were here to support the government in modernising our police or something and that the deal has been put on hold. I think some of them managed to get out and have gone back home’
At least they had got one piece right, that is what they were there for. It was also good to know that some of them had managed to get out, presumably Eddington and those in his vehicle.
‘I’m sure they will fill me in on the exact details when I get there.’
‘So not the first bit of luck you have had recently then eh? You chose a different safari.’
There was more than a little hint that Peter guessed he was involved somehow but other than that, he did not mention it any more. Later that evening, they arrived on the outskirts of the city. As they passed over the bridge on to the island, Marshall felt a great sense of relief. At last, he was back somewhere he was familiar with and it wouldn’t be long before he was home where he could find out from the other guys exactly what had happened. That, however, would need to wait until tomorrow. Peter pulled up outside the office and Marshall went to the door. It was now closed for the day and nobody was left inside.

‘Hey Marshall, they all gone?’ Peter shouted from the truck.
‘Yeah, I’ll have to see if I can find a phone or something and call someone,’ he replied.
‘You need somewhere to stay? You can come back with me, I am only down the road and my wife makes great bread and butter.’
‘No, you have been enough help already.’
‘Come on Marshall. You would do the same if you saw someone that needed some help.’
Although Marshall knew that he wouldn’t have helped someone he saw by the side of the road, he also knew that any kind of food and a place to stay was very welcome.
‘Alright,’ he said. ‘Sure your wife won’t mind?’
‘No, no. She likes a bit of company too.’
With that, Marshall got in the car and headed to Peter’s house which was a small, four roomed building five minutes drive from the office. There, Peter’s wife Margaret greeted them with a similar smile to her husband.
‘Hey, why don’t you go and clean yourself up a little while we get some food?’ said Peter pointing to a door at the back of the main living area. Inside was a small bathroom. Above the sink was a mirror. Marshall almost took a step back when he saw his own reflection. He now had quite a beard growing on what was usually a clean shaven face. His hair was ragged and face looked like it had been dragged through a field. His clothes were also very shabby. The security team had been given some new attire before they came out and had looked almost like they were in the army with desert fatigues and boots. Even the steel toe capped boots were almost in pieces. He cleaned up as best he could before returning to the main room.
‘Does that feel a little better?’ asked Margaret.
‘Much, thank you,’ he replied.
‘Sit, please,’ she said. ‘I will bring you some food.’
Marshall sat down on a small cushioned seat in the corner of the room. He felt like he could sleep for a week but was also desperately hungry. As he struggled to keep his eyes open, Peter came back in to the room with a steaming bowl of soup and some bread.
‘I’m sorry that we couldn’t come up with anything better,’ he said, handing over the bowl.
‘It smells delightful,’ Marshall replied. ‘Thank you.’
Soon, Peter and Margaret both joined him and watched as he devoured his meal. When they were all done, Margaret took the empty dishes and disappeared in to another room.
‘Now we will leave you to rest. Margaret will bring out some covers for you.’
‘Peter, thank you. I’m not sure what I can do to repay you both.’
Peter laughed as he turned walked out.
‘I was just looking for some conversation in the car.’
Margaret brought out some sheets and said goodnight. For a brief moment, he wondered what would come of tomorrow. Why had the assault been reported as a safari accident? How someone knew they were there to plan it in the first place? The moment, however, was very brief and he was soon asleep on the floor.

Chapter 9


It was around 11am before Kate was finally able to speak to anyone. Sergeant Cliff Burton and Captain John Willis were the two delta operators that had gone out to provide some cover for the incoming CIA agents. They had spent the best part of the morning in a debriefing with their unit commander via video link. The three CIA agents were still in the medical tent. Although she felt bad ambushing the delta guys before they had even had some hot food, she was now at the point where any new information would be something she could use to keep her occupied for a while.
‘Hey guys, I’m Catherine Anderson. You got a few minutes for me?’
‘Hell, why not,’ replied the tall, massively built Sergeant as he brushed a hand through the long black mop covering his head. Delta prided themselves on being different from the rest of the army and not only was this one way of showing it, but it also helped them blend in to a crowd better than the generic army buzz cut. ‘We just spent the last two hours getting our ass kicked by the boss anyway. What can we do you for?’
‘What happened out there? I thought that the other team had five agents?’
‘They did,’ said Captain Willis, the slightly shorter of the two. ‘Four of us went out a couple of days back after getting word that you guys might need some help exfiltrating from Iran off the back of some kind of operation. We knew roughly where they would be coming in from after the last piece of comm traffic saying they were thirty miles east of Rayat. They also said they thought they were being followed but had made contact with any hostiles. Our team split up in two groups to cover a little more ground and hopefully find them on their way back in, or at least take out anyone that might be following them.’
‘It wasn’t too hard to find them once we were over,’ continued Sergeant Burton. ‘Must have been about thirteen hours in all hell broke loose about a mile south of where we were. It wasn’t hard to tell by the sound of the weapon fire who was who. The Iranians had cut off their exit route and had pinned them down on a small hill. If they had planned it a little better we wouldn’t have got there in time to help out. We flanked the Iranian position and took out about nine guys before getting on the short range radio and identifying ourselves. By that time though, your team had already lost a guy. The rest of our team had seen what was going on and had made their way around the other side and came in to contact with more hostiles, from what we could tell, most of them were insurgents from all over the place, not Iranian soldiers, but there were being co-ordinated by a couple of Al-Quds guys.’
‘Iranian special forces,’ said Kate with a nod.
‘Yeah, so they were as well organised as a band of cowboys could be. It wasn’t too long before we made contact again.’
‘They hit us quite quickly so we did the best we could to strip your guy of any I.D and hide the body.’ Captain Willis didn’t look comfortable with that fact. ‘Generally we would do what we could to get everyone out dead or alive, but there was no way we could risk it or the lot of us would have gone down.’
‘That’s understandable,’ Kate replied reassuringly.
‘Maybe. We took a little fire as we pulled out but then everything went quiet. We guessed that wouldn’t be the last we heard of them so we got the other team to provide some cover about half a mile south while we made for the border and, as you know, that is when we took some more fire.’

‘I’m guessing that is when the other agent went down?’ Kate asked.
‘Yeah,’ Sergeant Burton spoke again. ‘Team two radioed some movement in between our two units and went to engage. That’s the nice thing about the dark, we are kitted out to deal with it so we could see them as they tried to sneak around and cut us off.’
‘The other team engaged to create a distraction to let us get out,’ Captain Willis’ huge arms motioned out a flanking manoeuvre that Kate presumed team two had used. ‘They had taken their suppressors off to create some noise which caught the attention of the Al-Quds guys that were still hanging around. They pretty much passed right through us from the north. We gave ‘em hell for about ten minutes before your other guy went down and then decided to call it a day.’
‘Was that who followed you here last night?’
‘Nah, those guys weren’t crazy enough to risk getting caught across the border. They fell back after realising they weren’t gonna win the fight. The guys outside were insurgents from who knows where.’
‘They tend to like getting themselves killed stupidly,’ laughed Burton.
‘Did you get to hide the other body and strip any I.D?’ Kate asked. She didn’t like those sorts of questions but knew any links to the U.S government was give the Iranians some ammunition in their ongoing feud with the Western world.
‘Yeah, the body is clean and as hidden is it can be out there,’ replied Willis.
Out the corner of her eye, Kate had seen some movement from the medical tent as the two uninjured agents came out. After so many days with nothing to go on, she suddenly felt a little excitement.
‘Well, you guys must be starving. Go get yourselves something to eat and chill out. You deserve it.’ Her attempt at cutting the conversation short while still being thankful worked.

‘Thanks. If you need anything else, we’re not going anywhere for a few more days.’
Kate threw them a smile and headed for the tent.
‘Catherine Anderson,’ said one of the men. ‘What in the hell are you doing out here?’
The voice was of Special Agent Tom Bradbury.
‘Jesus Tom,’ she replied. ‘I didn’t recognise you there. You look terrible.’
‘Yeah thanks,’ he said looking down at his muddy clothes. ‘At least I have an excuse. What’s yours?’
‘Touche Tom,’ she answered with a laugh. ‘So, what’s that story?’
‘Oh, you are the one who is trying to dig up information on where all these fancy guns are coming in from?’
‘Don’t they tell you anything?’
‘Not when we are four hundred miles from home they don’t. Pretty much go in and then get told when we need to come back out.’
‘Sounds fun. How about we go get you a decent drink and then you can fill me in?’
‘Wouldn’t be my first choice right now, but I know how desperate you get when someone else knows something you don’t.’
‘In ten years, I haven’t changed a bit.’

‘So, what you got for me Tom?’ she said from behind her brown, weather beaten desk. Tom was sitting on a small, plastic fold away chair that Kate has not so politely commandeered from Arnold before kicking him out of their tent. Her persona had now changed from an old friend that of a professional, by the book CIA agent.
‘We tracked a number of shipments of weapons coming through the country via a variety of sources. Mainly Russian and Chinese as you would expect, but there were also a few large movements of Western made weapons and bits of equipment.’
‘What sort of stuff are we talking about here?’
‘You name it. US made M-16s, British SA-80s, French FAMASs. Light anti tank weapons, Stinger anti air missiles, all sorts of mines, grenades, claymores.’ Kate scribbled on her notepad as he continued. ‘Then there were all sorts of other bits. Night vision goggles, Kevlar jackets, radio equipment, flash bang grenades, GPS systems.’
‘No wonder this year saw the most coalition troop casualties. They seem to be evening up the odds with all the stuff.’
‘Yeah, and it’s not just the odd piece here and there. You could have fully kitted up a good two, maybe three hundred guys with all that stuff.’
‘How many shipments?’
‘Of what we saw, two came through a small barracks just outside Tehran. They didn’t come in military convoys, all unmarked trucks. We followed one out of the city and one of our guys got chatting to the driver when he stopped for fuel. He managed to find out that he picked up his unknown cargo from a port on the Gulf of Oman.’

‘Which port? Did you get down there?’
‘No idea,’ Kate sighed in disapproval. ‘It was hard enough getting that out of him without arising any suspicion. Plus you guys decided to call us out before we could get any further.’
‘Alright. Well at least we have some kind of lead.’
‘We have more than that,’ Tom’s face lit up. He had been holding his best information until last. ‘It seems that the shipments all go through Iran, but that don’t all get in via the sea?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We spent about three days in some hole of a building about half a mile from that barracks near Tehran. We managed to tap in to their extremely poorly hidden telephone system. They are expecting a shipment to come in via the Gulf in three days.’
‘Where?’ Kate knew this could be the first major piece of information she could use.
‘The port of Umm Qasr, Iraq,’ he replied as he leant back in the chair, clearly impressed with his own work.
‘Right under our noses. We gotta get some people down there.’
With the rush of adrenaline that comes with a vital breakthrough, Kate got up to go and brief her team on their next move.
‘What, no thank you?’ said Tom.
‘Sorry Tom,’ she said as she walked passed his chair. ‘Great work, you and your team.’ She suddenly remembered that two of the team had lost their life getting that information. ‘I’ll make sure we put this to good use and maybe save a few lives.’

I am interested to know how Marshall and Kates story will develop, there is probably a thread of connection between the 'bad guys' on two different continents, probably organized terror cells? but I am not sure yet. cool.

...and then what happened? I hope the esteemed Anon Author will continue the story. and tell us who he/she it is.

Marshall woke up early. Although he wanted to get up and out to the office, he didn’t want to interrupt Peter and Margaret whom he already thought had done far too much for somebody they had only met the day before. Had sat up on one of the chairs, again running through everything he wanted answers to and what would happen once he was in contact with his company again. After about twenty minutes, he started to become restless. As he was about to get up, Margaret came out of the back room.
‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘We didn’t want to disturb you. Peter has already gone out to get something for breakfast for us. There wasn’t much in the cupboard.’
Evidently, Peter and Margaret had been up and about for a while and it was Marshall that was again being waited on.
‘He didn’t need to do that. You guys have done far too much already,’ he said.
‘We would do the same for anybody that needed our help. What little we have we are happy to share with someone that needs it.’
Kenya was an interesting mix of people, from the Muslim communities that lived mainly on the coasts, traditional African families that were part of the local clan to products of the Christian missionaries from the 1800’s. This household was the latter. They both took pride in spreading the word of Christianity through helping anyone in any way they could. This was a far cry from some of those that had used religion as an excuse to incite violence for their own means.
It wasn’t too long before Peter returned, and he and Margaret prepared breakfast. They chatted idly about the goings on since Marshall had last been in the city and how he came to be at the side of the road when Peter had pulled over the day before. About an hour later and after a quick freshen up, Marshall was ready to head off. Peter again volunteered to take him and wait while Marshall found out what was going on and what would happen next. They both figured he would soon be on his way back to the U.K. As they left, Marshall thanked Margaret again and jumped in to the truck with Peter.

They arrived outside the front of the office a few minutes later. Marshall took a deep breath.
‘You are look nervous my friend,’ said Peter. ‘I thought you would be excited.’
‘I’m not sure how I feel actually,’ said Marshall. ‘Everything seems a little strange, I just want to find out what is going on and get home.’
‘Well, I will be waiting out here until you come and tell me to go home.’
‘Hopefully it will all be fine and I will be back out in ten minutes to let you go look after your wife!’
Marshall got out of the car and went in to the office. The office was located on the second floor of a small, white washed building. Inside, a small, badly lit corridor that led up some stairs and to a glass door with ‘Hartland Hawkes’ in gold vinyl lettering. As he went in, he began to look for someone that he had spoken to a few weeks before. The office was open plan with desks arranged either side. Each desk was kitted out with a desktop computer, each with an old, bulky CRT monitor attached. On both sides, large windows let in the early morning sun. The fact that there were only six or seven employees should have made things easy, however Marshall could not see anyone he recognised. There had been a high turnover of staff since the day it had opened and the only regular, Thomas Ndlovu, was in the front of the car with Marshall when they had been attacked. Marshall was still wearing the same shabby clothes and it was not long before someone noticed him.
‘Hello, can I help you?’ asked a man behind a desk on his right, leaning around his monitor to be able to see clearly.
‘I’m not sure,’ replied Marshall as he approached the desk. ‘I work for Hartland Hawkes from the London office. I was here about two weeks ago but don’t see anyone I know.’
‘I’m sorry; can I have your name please? We had some visitors from England about the same time you mention but they went home after an accident.’
‘Accident?’ asked Marshall, unsure if they were referring to what he had been through or the ‘safari accident’ Peter had mentioned.
‘Yes, I would expect you would have know. I’m sorry, can I please have your name and I will speak to the London office to see if they can help us.’ The man’s voice had quickly changed from a helpful inquisitive to suspicious inquisitive.
‘Yes, Danny Marshall.’
‘Thank you; I will give them a call now. Please, sit down.’
The man pointed to a small sitting area by the door. Marshall sat on one of the brown fabric seats and watched the man make the phone call.
‘Hello, this is John from the liaison office in Mombasa,’
Liaison office? Interesting new name.
‘I have someone here who says he works for the office there and was with a group of you that came here two weeks ago.’
Marshall could quite easily read the scepticism in John’s voice. He had obviously been led to believe that everyone was accounted for after the ‘accident’.
‘Yes, I can hold.’

About a minute later he got transferred through to a second person, repeated his previous brief conversation and was put on hold, again. This time, however, he was not put through to somebody else. As his listened, he gave several glances in Marshall’s direction.
‘Yes, I understand. Thank you,’ he said before hanging putting the receiver back in its place.
‘Mr Marshall,’ he said, ‘I have not been able to speak to anybody properly yet. I have been asked to call back in a few minutes.’
‘Who did you talk to?’ Marshall asked.
‘Mr Marshall, as I do not yet have any information I cannot speak to you about anything. I will come back to you as soon as I know.’
‘Are you joking?’ said Marshall, beginning to lose patience.
‘I am sorry, I cannot help you if I do not know how I can help.’
‘Ok, well if you can’t find anyone, speak to Serah Milton. She is secretary to the board and she organised the trip out here.’
‘Thank you.’ The man turned back to his desk, but instead of going to the phone, he picked up a pen and pad and walked down the office and through a door at the back. The waiting area was set out like most, a small wooden table between the chairs with a few of the daily newspapers, Coastweek, the East African Standard, the Daily Nation. A couple of the chairs had the customary waiting room holes exposing the yellow foam underneath. A brownish stain on the patterned blue carpet revealed the location of a previously spilled coffee.
‘Mr Marshall.’ John’s voice resonated from across the office as the short man appeared from the door again. ‘Unfortunately I could not find any information for you and I must ask you to leave.’
Marshall stood for a second. This was not what he had expected to hear at all and did not quite know how to respond.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Am I missing something here? Who did you speak to? Did you find Serah?’
‘I am sorry, I spoke to the London office and they assured me that everyone who came here two weeks ago is accounted for and they do not know your name.’
They did not know his name?

Marshall’s confusion was now turning to anger. He took a deep breath and spoke slowly.
‘I’m going to ask again. Did you speak to Serah? If not who did you speak to?’
‘Mr Marshall, I need to ask you to leave.’
‘I can’t leave! You guys have my passport, my clothes… all my fucking stuff locked up somewhere. What am I supposed to do if you can’t even work out between you who the fuck I am?’
Marshall had now begun to shout and several of the office workers had come to help out their colleague.
‘I’m sorry Mr Marshall. I cannot help you and we do not have your items here.’
Marshall put his hands on his head. After his last few weeks he did not want another fight.
‘What am I supposed to do?’ he asked.
‘If you do not have your papers, you must go to the embassy in Nairobi and they can help you.’
‘Nairobi?’ he said with a bemused laugh. ‘Right, Nairobi. I don’t suppose you have some money so I can get there, or should I just hand myself in to the police?’
‘I have just enough money for my family to eat and I would not go to the police if I were you. These days, if you have no identity you are treated as a nobody or as someone who can be used to make money.’
Marshall had had enough. It was clear that he wasn’t going to get any help from these people, either through what he felt was their own incompetence or otherwise. It was best to try and contact the London office directly himself or if not, somehow get to the embassy in Nairobi. He turned and left the man and his colleagues to discuss what had just taken place. As he wandered out of the office he considered what had just happened and was surprised that the mention of his name to someone in London would not have prompted someone to want to speak to him. Maybe the man just did not understand what was going on and had not really understood what he was calling them for. He was very new to the company and did not know Marshall or probably any of the team that had come to Kenya a few weeks before. Although Marshall had convinced himself that this was the most likely answer, it still did not help the fact that he was no closer to getting back to the U.K. In fact, he felt further away than he had the day before waiting by the road for a ride in to Mombasa.
He walked out of the front door and realized the sun was now quite high in the sky. He had been in the office for quite a while and was very surprised to see Peter still waiting by his truck. He had managed to get in to a conversation with a local and hadn’t noticed Marshall come out. At first, Marshall considered just walking the other way. He had already been such a burden to Peter and his family that telling him what had just taken place would only add further pressure that he was sure they could do without. However, he knew that Peter would be waiting outside all day if Marshall did not at least let him know he has left. After all Peter had done over the last day, leaving him waiting outside for somebody that would never come is something Marshall could not do.

‘Peter,’ he called as he approached the car.
‘Ahh, Marshall,’ he replied with his signature smile. He said goodbye to the man he was chatting with and came around to meet him.
‘I thought you would have left by now,’ said Marshall.
‘I would have if I wasn’t looking forward to hearing the end of this,’ laughed Peter. ‘So, when are you going home? I bet they were excited to hear you survived the lions on your own.’
Marshall sighed.
‘I have to go to Nairobi, they didn’t have my passport or any of my things so I need to get to the British Embassy there.’
‘Nairobi? That will be a little challenging to get to. Are your company going to get you some tickets or something?’
‘I didn’t manage to speak to them. I don’t think the guy in the office really knew what was going on, even after a couple of phone calls to London.’
‘That is not good news. Well, you aren’t going to be able to get anywhere today. Come back to my house and we can try and work out what we are going to do with you.’
‘Peter, you and your wife have done far too much for me already. I can’t ask you to do that.’
‘I don’t think you did ask,’ replied Peter. ‘And I have told you before we are happy to help someone who needs it so please do not feel bad.’
Reluctantly, Marshall agreed. They both got in the car and headed back to the house. When they arrived, Peter disappeared to find Margaret. After a while the both returned. Margaret had prepared a small basket of food which looked ready to be taken out.
‘Since it is a nice day again, Margaret suggested we go to the beach and thought you may want to come with us,’ said Peter. ‘There is not point being stuck inside, come out and relax for a little while.’
Marshall hadn’t been on a holiday abroad for the last few years and so quickly accepted the offer.
‘You will have to ride in the back of the truck though. It is not far.’
Margaret gave him a pair of Peter’s shorts and a baggy T-Shirt, taking the clothes he had been wearing for the last two weeks out to the back room. When she returned, the three of them left the house and headed off of the island. After about twenty minutes they reached the coastline and pulled over. As Marshall sat down in the fine white sand, he looked out over the Indian Ocean and, for the first time in what felt like forever, he felt relaxed.

Chapter 11

The boss was pleased. Behind his suit and glasses, his usually unmoved face let out a wry smile as his operators opened their quarry.
‘Three hundred 30mm depleted uranium shells,’ said one of the men. All eight were dressed in black and wore balaclavas.
The man in the glasses turned and walked away.
‘Ok guys,’ said the same man, the leader of the team. ‘Let’s get this stuff loaded and get out of here. I don’t want to see the same incompetence as Kenya.’
He walked over to the unmarked, white Mercedes truck in front of him. Inside the hold, stacks of metal boxes held their radioactive cargo. A painful moan came from the cab in front. As he walked over, the short Korean driver opened the door and managed to slide out on to the floor. The right leg of his olive green, Korean army issue trousers was torn and bloody.
The driver had not been wearing his seatbelt and had learnt an excruciating lesson as to their use. In front of his truck, another vehicle sat in the road. The black Nissan truck had driven across the central reservation and thrown itself in the path of the oncoming traffic. The frightened Korean driver instinctively slammed his brake and swerved, the momentum throwing him out of his seat. Somehow, his right leg had trapped itself under the trucks black, plastic dashboard, the force of the movement hyper extending and subsequently rupturing the muscles and ligaments. The blood had come from a section of skin that had been penetrated by his slender right fibula as it found the easiest exit point from his leg.
He briefly looked up to see the man standing over him before a new form of pain attacked his already failing body. The metallic taste in his mouth was now joined by the taste of dirt and rubber of the road as his face was pressed against the asphalt, the pressure of a heavy boot against the back of his head.
‘What do we do with this one?’ A voice with a strong Dutch accent asked. The direction of the speech suggested it came from whoever was above him.
‘You know the drill,’ said the leader of the group. No matter what the Korean soldier may have seen, heard or known about what had just happened, any information was more than the boss would tolerate getting out. He turned and walked to inspect the tucks cabin before they left. A short, sharp thud came from behind, the sound of silenced pistol unloading its deadly contents. He took a quick search of the cabin to see if there were any items of interest. An empty, green can of Chilsung Cider and several packs of Saewookkang shrimp crackers were all that littered the small space.
The rest of the team had continued their clean up. All of them knew that while response rates in the cities were normally very fast, the white, blue and yellow cars of Korea’s police forces wouldn’t arrive this far out of town in a hurry.
‘We are ready,’ the group’s leader said to his employer. ‘We have left the cargo in the specified place for pickup. The area has been sanitized, no witnesses.’
The man in the glasses nodded and walked towards his car. In the five operations they had been on, he had never heard the boss talk. All directives had been sent via highly encrypted emails or secure telephone calls with others in the organisation. The boss did, however, always accompany them on each mission. Maybe it was because he didn’t trust this band of mercenaries or maybe he just enjoyed seeing his money at work.
The team loaded themselves into their vehicles and headed to their safe house. The other thing that was never explained is who exactly was picking up all of this gear. So long as they were paid enough, he and his team never asked.

Chapter 12


Karim Faisal was a middle aged man. He had lived in the port city of Umm Qasr since his parents were relocated following the first Gulf War. The city itself had been a small fishing village up to the late 1950’s and had grown significantly in the last twenty years. Karim’s house was a small residence in the South Indian Camp neighbourhood. He lived there with his wife and two young children and spent most of his days working long hours as a crane operator to earn enough money to feed his family and try and save enough so that they could eventually move to somewhere a little quieter, maybe even out of the country. It was the middle of the day and Karim had just watched a small container ship he had just helped load sail out in to the brown waters of the Shatt al-Arab waterway. It would be a few hours before the next container ship would berth, plenty of time for something to eat. Karim’s wife, Nahida, prepared him lunch every morning; today’s being a lamb shawarma. He also had the luxury of a newspaper; a friend had brought a copy of the Al-Manarah from Basra the previous day. As he read through the articles on reconstruction and resultant power outages, local governors trying to promote themselves and the latest US backed policing initiatives across the city, Karim noticed some movement down below. From the vantage point offered by the hanging cab on the rusty, grey Panamax container crane, he could see most of the immediate dock area.
Down below, a small convoy of cars and trucks had pulled up close to the dockside. Several men climbed out of the cars and began to disperse, each of them were carrying a weapon. Karim had been in the city during the 2003 invasion and had often seen Western coalition troops moving around the city. These were not part of any official force; even the Iraqi army and police wore uniforms that made them easily identifiable. Off to the right, a small ship was heading toward the docks. Although he was sure there were no scheduled ships due in to any of the berths for the next hour or two, Karim checked the cargo schedule attached to the clipboard next to him. As he already knew, this boat was not on the list. He sat for a moment, guessing that whatever was to happen next, he did not want to be in the middle of it. The question was, would he be better trying to stay out of sight in his cab, or should he try and get out of harms way all together. The base of the crane was set some way back from the dockside where the men had stationed themselves and he may be able to slip out unnoticed. A cold chill ran down his spine. Any story he had read involving the sort of people he was now looking at had involved someone getting killed. Normally an innocent bystander that didn’t have the sense to get out when the chance arose. He couldn’t let that happen to him. He couldn’t let Nahida bring up their children on her own with no money to support them. He had to move and he had to move now. Unfortunately, now was too late. He had not noticed the click of the cab door as it opened. As he turned round to get out, he felt the cold, hard metal of a gun barrel poke in to the side of his head.
‘Do not make any foolish moves,’ a deep voice spoke to him in Arabic, although not in a local dialect or accent. ‘You see the boat coming to the dock?’
‘Yes,’ Karim replied in his native tongue as a bead of sweat ran down his forehead.
‘You will unload the two containers next to the trucks.’
‘Yes,’ almost paralysed with fear, Karim took the controls of the crane and prepared to unload as the ships crew and the men on the dock berthed the small vessel. Only two red containers sat on the deck. As he started to move the trolley along the cranes boom, a small explosion came from behind them. Men on the dock began dropping on the floor, as if suddenly passing out.

‘Carry on,’ shouted the man, jabbing he rifle in to Karim’s back. Karim lowered the large metal spreader on to the container and latched on.

***

Catherine and her team were sat on a small gantry overlooking a small forest of multi-coloured containers. About two hundred metres in front of them, the dockside slipped in to the murky waters of the Shatt al-Arab waterway. Grey cranes of various shapes and sizes lined the waterside. A light breeze carried the faint noise of the city through the air, mixing with the rhythmic lapping of waves against the quay.
About an hour ago, a container ship had been loaded and had departed on its way, according
to the various manifests and schedules in front of her, apparently taking forty two empty containers back to the deep water port in Rotterdam. A lot of cargo came in to Iraq, however not too much went out. The next ship was not due to arrive for a few more hours. On the intelligence Tom and his team had gathered, some kind of shipment was due to come in to the port today and based on what they had seen in Iran, the shipment would be picked up immediately. Intelligence earned with blood normally turned out to be correct.
With her team of three, Kate had known that she would not be able to do much about any large show of force from a well organised insurgent or terrorist group, should an illegal shipment be found. On the trip across country from the north on yet another helicopter, she had managed to get through the various channels at Langley, the National Security Agency and the Department of Defence culminating in a platoon of sixteen US Navy SEALs being placed under her command, much to the disdain of the SEAL unit commander. They had been deployed aboard the USS Harry S Truman aircraft carrier, currently in the Persian Gulf, to support operations in the Middle East at short notice.
The SEAL team had been placed in strategic positions around the docks and out of sight, ready to move on any target on her order. Two sniper teams sat on a gantry off to her right hand side were all she could identify, even knowing where the rest were waiting.
‘Anybody see anything?’ she said, depressing the switch on her MBITR radio. The SEALs had brought their own equipment and were constantly in touch with each other via personal headsets and accompanying radios. The teams’ radio operator had given Kate and her team a set each and hooked them up to the secure frequency.
‘This is team one,’ came the crackling, digitalised voice of the SEAL platoons commander, Lieutenant Gordon Carter. ‘No movement here, rest assured we will let you know if there is Agent Anderson.’
Lieutenant Carter was not the sort of person to hide his frustrations and despite the orders coming direct from the Pentagon, he was still unhappy about being under the command of an inexperienced civilian, Agency or not. These were the kind of situations that his team trained for and had taken part in more times than Catherine and her team had even been out of the United States. This was their speciality, their job and those were his men and his responsibility. Now they were at the mercy of some pen pushing Washington desk jockey, where time critical decision making, composure and experience would key to coming out of the situation with minimum damage and attaining their objective.
‘Positions two through four, status update.’ Kate ignored the Lieutenants less than subtle tones and moved on. The same reports came back in much the same, defiant tone. As she resolved herself for another few hours of waiting, the static burst of an incoming transmission preceded another voice.

‘This is sniper position one,’ Kate and the team instinctively looked over to the gantry away to their right, as if a field of vision would somehow allow them to hear more clearly. ‘I’ve got movement coming in from the North. Looks like a convoy of five…. make that six vehicles.’
Kate’s intended reply was interrupted by the voice of Lieutenant Carter.
‘Teams, keep your eyes open for any other movement. Gary, are they headed this direction or passing by?’
‘Definitely heading this way, sir, the road they are on only comes this direction. We have three trucks and three SUVs. Looks like the SUV’s are loaded with guys.’ Gary Hammond was one of the sniper team spotters and had a clear view of the surroundings from his vantage point.
‘Are they armed?’ Kate asked, managing to get a word in before the lieutenant.
‘Yes ma’am. And they ain’t dressed like IPS or Army so I’m guessing these are your bad guys.’
‘The Iraqi police and army don’t have any patrols around here so this is definitely them. Nobody is to engage until MY command,’ she replied. Within a few seconds, the rumble of diesel engines rose above the ambient noise of the docks and the convoy came in to Kate’s view. The six vehicles made their way through the corrugated metal canyons of the containers and storage areas and on under the crane gantries to the dock side. As they pulled up, the armed men quickly exited their vehicles and took up improvised defensive positions around one of the berthing areas.
‘This is team three; we have a small container ship coming in this direction. Safe bet that it’s heading to one of these berths.’
‘Great. Lieutenant Carter, you know your team best. I want this shipment seized but I don’t want to draw any attention to us. Can we do this quietly?’
‘That’s why they asked us and not some regular army schmuks to drop artillery on them.’
‘Okay. Organise your team as you see fit and then wait for my command.’
‘Sure thing,’ the Lieutenant was obviously pleased that his temporary commander had left it to the professionals to get the job done. He quickly began designating primary and secondary targets for each team.
‘Someone is climbing up the crane ladders,’ said Arnold who had been preoccupied with his binoculars. ‘They are heading over to the cabin, I’m guessing to commandeer for unloading.’
‘Yeah, Carter picked him up as a target already.’
‘But did they pay attention to what he was doing? I’m guessing he can’t operate the crane himself as he now has the crane driver at gun point.’
‘Okay, I’ll let the guys know.’
Unlike the situation the previous day which had exploded around them, this time she was in control. Somehow, the anticipation of what was to happen next was almost as unsettling as the confusion and chaos she had recently experienced. She knew the team around her were all poised to strike on her command. Sixteen or so men, plus whatever numbers would emerge from the ship would likely be experiencing their final few minutes and she would be giving the order to end them. No matter to what end these means were going justify, it didn’t make things any easier when you had time to think instead of react in self defence.

The light blue hull and white deck of the boat came alongside the dock, a pair of red containers sitting onboard. Two of the boat crew threw thick ropes out to their colleagues who tied them to the mooring points along the quay. As the boat came to a stop, the high pitch screech of metal upon metal pierced the air as the crane began to move. This was the moment. Most of the men below had been distracted by the noise and were even less attentive than they had been before.
‘Ok guys, let’s do it,’ said Kate over the combat-net radio, her mind now clear and resolved. Almost instantly, the men on the ground began to crumble as they were hit by the precise fire of the Navy SEALs strike team. Other than the odd crack of a supersonic bullet, she was amazed at how much firepower could be unleashed with some little noise. Even the customised M40 and SR-25 sniper rifles could not be heard as they unloaded their 7.62mm ammunition in to their unsuspecting targets. To Forrest, it seemed almost like a puppet master cutting the strings of his puppets, leaving them to fall in tangled heaps on the floor. If this wasn’t a remarkable enough show of force, one of the snipers had landed a perfect shot on the man in the crane cabin. The round pierced the safety glass window, hitting the target in the back of the head, shattering his skull and turning most of the occipital and parietal lobes in to nothing more than a mush. From that angle, a centimetre in any other direction would have just left a hole in the glass, giving the man time to hide behind his hostage and fight back.
The entire sequence of events was over in no more than forty-five seconds. As the CIA team looked on, the SEAL teams on the ground systematically moved in and cleared the area under cover of their sniper colleagues. Two teams of men boarded the boat as the lieutenant came back on the radio, finally breaking the silence of what had been almost a surreal experience to witness.
‘Ok everyone, the dock is clear. We are moving inside the boat to make sure there is nobody left, but it’s safe to come down here.’
‘Good job,’ replied Kate. Although impressed by how quickly and efficiently they had completed the job, she still did not want to drop any comments that may inflate Carter’s ego more than it already clearly seemed to be.
They all knew that the capture of the shipment would be another big part of the increasingly complicated case they were working on. Any weapons or equipment that had been made in the U.S. or Europe would be traceable to its manufacturer and then on to any company that had bought and subsequently sold each item. If all went according to plan, they would be led right to whoever was supplying these weapons.
But when did anything ever go according to plan?

wow this is like reading Tom Clancy, I like what you did with Marshall in the office, I think I wouldnt have left that office unless I felt under real threat, like an armed guard making me leave. I would have probably made a scene shouting for someone to listen to me until they physically threw me out, or just ignored me, which is probably worse.