Project Reaper
Page 5
The search group of eight arrived at the front door, the leader spoke, “have you found our two missing guests?”
One of the group replied, “There is no trace of them Ajaz, and all of the water sports equipment is still
there.”
“Right, maybe we will have better luck when its daylight,
go and post guards to keep watch on the water sports equipment.”
Max had seen enough, he quickly made his way back to the beach and moved quietly back into the sea, just as the rain stopped.
Ruth felt the boat creak as Max lifted his body weight from the water onto the decking; he had been gone fifty minutes.
“So what are we up against this time Max?”
Max lay back against the boat, “I counted twenty of them, all armed and they look like they mean business.”
“Any idea who they are?”
“There all of Asian origin, if I was to guess it would be Tamil Tigers; we are in the right geographical area.”
Ruth looked at him with concern, “great; we come away on holiday for a break and we cannot get away from work, what are we going to do Max?”
“Time to see if Vince’s satellite Codetta works?”
‘ICIS’ Saltbox Hill Biggin Hill Kent
Lat = 51 degrees, 19.7 minutes North
Long = 0 degrees, 1.2 minutes East
Wednesday 21st December 1988.
Twenty-twenty five hours GMT
Situated within a disused gasholder station off Saltbox Hill near Biggin Hill, the Intelligence Collating Information Services ICIS was the OSC’s global eyes and ears headed up by Vince Edwards; whom when you looked at him looked like a science teacher from the fifty’s with collar length silver hair; yet he was only thirty-two,
with a British Mensa I.Q of 191.
When Strayker set up the OSC, he found this place and together with Vince Edwards created a high tech information gathering and analysis unit, all under the guise of a disused gas holding station.
On level two there was a strange tube of vertical light similar to a fluorescent tube with a diameter of six feet.
Within this area of light, a three-dimensional hologram of a beautiful female head was visible.
This was GAIL; Global Analysis Information Link that can tap into and access any computer system, Coms and radio systems including CCTV in the world; she does this
covertly without the host knowing anything
about it, FBI CIA, Israeli, French and many more intelligence networks, also linked into all the CCTV systems at all the world’s major airports and shipping ports and other transportation areas, together with access to British immigration and passport services.
Vince had spent twelve years researching and working on her; she has been operational now for eight months.
GAIL immediately picked up Max’s incoming communication that sounded like a high pitch shrill sound that had been routed through a military satellite.
The transmission was cloaked via a complex encoded enigma, and was only able to be translated at ICIS.
“Hello Max; I thought you were on holiday with the lovely Ruth on Baros Island?”
“That’s right GAIL; however our break in paradise has been interrupted by terrorists, can you put me through to Major Strayker?”
Gail’s system was showing that Major General Strayker was at his home and immediately transferred the call,
Bentley answered the call, “Good evening; Strayker residence.”
“Good evening Bentley I have an urgent call from Colonel Storm for the Major.”
Bentley immediately recognised the female synthesised
voice as GAIL, Bentley transferred the call to Strayker
in his study, “sir I have a call from GAIL.”
“Thank you Bentley.”
Bentley replaced his phone and Strayker spoke, “good evening Max are you calling because you are missing us?”
“I wish it was as simple as that sir,” Max replied.
“So what’s this about Max?”
Max spent the next few minutes advising Strayker of the events of the last couple of hours on the island.
Strayker listened intently and then spoke, “it looks like we have both had an eventful evening of sorts,” he then brought Max up to speed with the explosion aboard flight
PA-107A.
As Strayker finished Max spoke, “you were very lucky not to be on that flight sir.”
“Yes Max,” replied Strayker, “now what are we going to do about you little problem Max?”
Vince Edwards at ICIS had been alerted to Max’s call by GAIL and was now listening in, he intervened, “gentlemen we have a match on the terrorist leader Ajaz Ahmed.”
“Let’s have it Vince.”
“He was born in Sri Lanka twenty-five years ago, educated at Oxford University gaining degrees in politics, economics and philosophy, when he returned home ten
months ago he started to become heavily involved with the
Tamil Tigers, however he has not been known to have
actively been involved with any terrorist acts.”
“Until now,” Max replied.
Strayker spoke, “Max; what’s your estimate of the hostage numbers and how many are English?”
“Excluding Ruth and me; I would say no more than two dozen and around half a dozen are Brits sir.”
“Okay Max, I want you and Ruth to stay safe and provide live Intel, Vince; I want a satellite overhead ASAP, I am going to speak to the PM.”
Max curtailed the call at his end, Ruth had been listening to the one-way conversation, “so what’s the plan dear?”
“We are to sit tight, looks like the terrorists will be having an encounter with our boys in the very near future, honey.”
London 10 Downing Street
Lat = 51 degrees, 30.2 minutes North
Long = 0 degrees, 7.7 minutes West
Thursday 22nd December 1988
Zero-twenty-seven hours GMT
One hour after Strayker’s call to the Prime Minister the Everest committee was in meeting at number 10 Downing Street, Jonathan Troy head of MI5, Pierce Evans head of MI6, Sir Richard Evans head of the British army, Admiral Sir Robert Fox head of the Royal Navy and Sir Toby Percival Head of the Royal Air force.
The Everest group was for all intent and purposes the reins that held onto Strayker’s OSC teams. They met on a monthly basis to share Intel and review the OSC’s
progress.
Strayker had brought them all up to speed with the events on Baros Island.
The Prime Minister stood up and spoke, “gentlemen at the moment no one outside the island is aware of the current situation. I have spoken with the Maldivian President and advised him of this situation, you will also be aware last month a coup took place against the President. You will also know it as operation Thorn; this was put down by the Indian military, and however what is not public knowledge is our special services were involved.”
Some of the people there turned and nodded at each other, showing their knowledge of the events. The Prime minister continued, “The Maldivian President has agreed to our use of the OSC to reconcile this issue, gentlemen do you agree?”
There were no objections to the PM’s request.
“Thank you gentlemen, we will leave everything to Major Strayker, now unless there are any questions; I believe we should retire back to our homes.
697 Carrera 30 Bucaramanga
Colombia
Lat = 7 degrees, 7.9 minutes North
Long = 73 degrees, 7.0 minutes West
Wednesday 21st December 1988.
Eighteen thirty-four hour’s local time
The home of Sergio Santiago was in an apartment bui
lding, directly off the main road.
Sunset had occurred fifty minutes ago and the temperature was seventy degrees with rain pouring down, the humidity was around sixty-five percent.
Sam Winnet had driven non-stop along the Pan American highway to Santiago’s address and he had now been sitting up across the road from the apartment block for twenty minutes.
His rental car blended in well with the other vehicles parked up on the side of the road; he checked his side arm a brand new marketed Walther P-88 named after the year of manufacture; its main feature was a high-capacity double-stacked magazine of 9x19mm Parabellum cartridges.
Sam stepped out of his car and made his way across the road dodging the light traffic.
On the front of the building the apartment numbers were listed, Sam quickly scanned the list and located 697 on the third floor; the lift was the obvious choice, however
having been seated for nearly four hours he decided the walk up the stairs would loosen him up.
Sam soon found the door to 697, the hallway was clear and he pressed his era to the door, he could hear the sound of a television or radio, “someone’s at home,” he thought.
He checked the door handle at to his surprise found it opened the door, he poked his head aroid the door and observed a corridor about ten feet long leading to a room at the end where the sounds were coming from. Stealthily he approached the room and looked inside; the television was on broadcasting a football match. Lounging on the sofa was Sergio Santiago with a can of beer in his hand; the room also had a kitchen built in it and a bedroom.
Sam moved quickly knocking the can of beer out of Sergio’s hand and placing the barrel of his Walther to his head.
Sergio nearly wet himself at the violent interruption, the stranger spoke, “you better speak English Sergio?”
Sergio looked around at the stranger, he was white and European and he knew my name, Sergio replied, “Si; I mean yes.”
“Good, now turn onto your stomach, I’m going to cuff you.”
“What are you Police or something,” replied Sergio.
“Or something, now turn over, make no mistake Sergio you have a chance of coming out of this alive, but I will kill you without hesitation.”
Sergio rolled over and was cuffed by Sam.
Sam roughly pulled him around to a seated position and holstered his weapon.
He produced a photo from his inside pocket, “you were involved in killing this man, and I want to know who ordered the killing?”
Sergio’s mind was racing fast; how had this man linked him to the killing of Professor Thompson?
“Senior I don’t know this man; I think you have made a terrible mistake.”
Sam put the photo of Professor Thompson down and pulled out a wallet from his jacket pocket; he flipped it open and pulled out Sergio’s driving licence, “okay you piece of shit, I found this on the roof where Professor Thompson was killed, look at the driving licence photo.”
Sam pushed it in front of Sergio’s face.
“So what have you to say know?”
Sergio was taken aback by this revelation, he had realised his wallet had gone missing, but had not worked out exactly where.
“You had better start talking or things are going to get
messy around here.”
“Senior I lost my wallet a few days ago, maybe someone picked it up and left it where you said.”
“Good try mate.”
Sam walked over to the kitchen and quickly found what he wanted.
Sergio realised he was dealing with a professional, probably a mercenary, however he was not going to talk anything this Gringo could inflict on him Toledo Verdugo would double it.
Sam approached Sergio with a plastic small bin liner he had taken from the kitchen waste bin, “now my friend this is your last chance; tell me what I want to know; or you will realise how precious oxygen is.”
Sergio spat at Sam, “go to hell gringo.”
Sam moved forward and quickly placed the clear plastic bag of Sergio’s head and face holding it tight around the neck.
Sergio quickly began struggling against the grip and was surprised at how quickly the oxygen content depleted within the bag.
He was nearly losing consciousness when the bag was removed, “are you ready to talk?”
Sergio’s mouth was open gasping for air; it took several breaths to allow him to answer, “go ahead and kill me you
bastard, I’m saying nothing.”
“Now that’s interesting; a minute ago you had nothing to say,” replied Sam
The bag went back over Sergio’s head and the oxygen starvation appeared to come much faster this time, Sergio began nodding his head fast.
Sam removed the bag, “ready to talk now?”
Sergio began his recovery again, however his mind was rapidly thinking, maybe if I let this gringo know, he would be no match for the Verdugo cartel.
Ten minutes later Sam had all he needed from Sergio.
“Right you can come with me and show me where this Toledo Verdugo lives.”
Five minutes later Sam had Sergio in the rear right passenger seat cuffed through the roof grab handle, the rain was still trouncing down, he looked at his watch; nineteen fifty five hours, “how far is this ranch?”
“No more than twenty minutes,” replied Sergio.
Sam fired the engine up and flicked the lights and wipers on, “which way?”
“Turn the car around and take the left at the end onto Avenida Quebrada Seca; route 66.”
Sam waited for a gap in the traffic before turning the car around.
Washington Hilton Hotel
1919 Connecticut Avenue Washington
Lat = 38 degrees, 55.0 minutes North
Long = 77 degrees, 2.7 minutes West
On route to
Bucaramanga Palo Negro airport South America.
Thursday 22nd December 1988
Eleven hundred hours local time
Ramón had been in the hotel reception for ten minutes when Professor Hooke came out of the lift carrying his bag.
The professor saw Ramón and walked over to him.
“I hope you had a satisfying night with your family Professor?”
“I have had better reunions.”
“Come and follow me, we are heading back to the airport our flight is in ninety minutes.
On the journey to the airport, Professor Hooke was wondering whether he would ever see his family again.
At Baltimore airport, they boarded the same aircraft they had arrived in.
Charlie Papa 89 Hotel was cleared for take-off on runway
fifteen-Romeo, initial heading 174.8 degrees south,
The two thousand three hundred and sixty-four miles
to Bucaramanga Palo Negro airport would take five hours
and fifty-nine minutes.
The Lear jet had a range of one thousand eight hundred and seventy-seven miles and would require a fuel stop
one thousand four hundred and forty-one miles on route
in Kingston Jamaica.
Baros Island Maldives
Lat = 4 degrees, 16.4 minutes North
Long = 73 degrees, 26.2 minutes East
Thursday 22nd December 1998
Nineteen forty-three hour’s local time
Max and Ruth had kept watch of the island throughout the day from their wrecked boat haven; Max had been informed that four units of OSC had been dispatched from RAF Lyneham UK fourteen hours ago, sunset had arrived at seventeen fifty-nine hours, the codetta came alive, “Eagle four to eagle three over.”
Max recognised the voice and call sign assigned to Roy Smith, “Three to four receiving over.”
“We are ten minutes
out three, coming in on your south westerly direction.”
“Roger that four I’ll use my torch to guide you to us.”
The OSC units had been dropped on a nearby island seven miles to the west of Baros Island, the Hercules unique capability of being able to land on short unprepared ground was ideal for the landing on the small-uninhabited island.
The units had quickly deployed their four Rigid Raider
crafts and were now hurtling along at thirty knots on
full throttle.
The OSC were in their unique assault uniform with a disruption camouflage pattern or DCP, consisting of three colour’s; the base colour was dark slate grey inter spaced with a lighter grey known as sea storm and a light blue known as blue chalk, this had been custom created for OSC.
Their preferred weapon was the Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun chambered for the 9 mm Parabellum cartridge that each man had on a shoulder harness; each weapon had a noise suppressor fitted.
Each man also was wearing the Personal Armour System for
Ground Troops, pronounced pass-get; that covered their upper torso along with combat helmet, with an integrated communications system.
Max’s acute hearing could just pick up the familiar sound in the distance of the 115 bhp Mariner Optimax outboard motors from the R.R’s, he then heard the engines being cut standard practice as they neared the target area, they would paddle the remaining distance.
Max picked up his torch and flashed it several times in the direction of the R.R’s.
Roy Smith picked up the torch flash and quickly measured it with his compass.
Roy’s voice came over the Codetta, Eagle four to three I have you bearing sixty-three degrees northeast of our location.
Ninety seconds later, the four R.R’s were alongside the wrecked boat.
Roy smiled at Max, “you’re a magnet for trouble Max.” “Tell me about it Roy,” replied Max.
Roy Smith’s code name was eagle four, he was five-foot eight inches tall with broad shoulders, his light coloured hair was shaven to a number one cut and he spoke with a Geordie accent.