Autobiography of an Assassin:: The Family

by M. T. Hallgarth

  The timer had been no more than just a cheap simple alarm clock. Removed from its casing, the alarm mechanism had also been removed, along with the minute and second hands. Into the plastic face of the clock had been threaded a small domed headed screw, positioned precisely by the numerals for twelve o’clock, with a red covered wire attached to it. Set at the one o’clock position, the solitary hour hand had a length of blue plastic covered wire running from the central spindle, up to a tiny metal clamp, fastened at its tip. When activated, the hour hand would sweep from its starting position up to where it would make a positive contact with the domed screw, set at twelve o’clock. An electrical connection would be made and a close circuit formed. Where the two wires had emerged from the rear of the clock mechanism; the blue, from the central spindle; and the red, attached to the domed screw, they had been neatly bound with black insulation tape for a length of about twenty centimetres, with the remaining ten centimetres left intentionally unwrapped. At the very end of the wires, the plastic insulation had been removed, exposing their stranded brass cores. Carl had carefully unwound a few centimetres of the black insulation tape. Cutting away the outer plastic covering from the cables, and using a strip of silver paper from a cigarette carton, he had formed a crude but effective electrical connection between the two wires. Without needing to be activated by the timing mechanism – the clock – as soon as the two wires had been connected, one to the battery and the other to the detonator, a closed circuit would have been made – causing the bomb to explode instantly! With even greater care, Carl had rewound the insulation tape over the splice that he had made, and had re-placed the homemade timing mechanism back on to its hook, on the rear panel of the grandmother clock – before pushing the clock back up against the wall.

  ***

  We had all been back at the Ribera del Duero estate, settling into a barbeque of steak, chicken and shrimp, when the school teacher had inadvertently decorated his kitchen with copious amounts of his bodily fluids, pureed internal organs and mangled body parts.

  Hey ho, those who live by the sword, die by the sword…in a manner of speaking – Tick Tock!

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  The majority of Carl’s current cliental base is predominantly from the Middle East, including his ex-employer, Mossad.

  Specialising in small personal devices such as lap tops and key boards; and of course, cell phones – personal explosive devices are but one of Carl’s many specialties. However, in the early nineties, when cell phones had begun to shrink in size, they had become so diminutive that they had no longer represented enough viable capacity to deliver a lethal package. But this had been quickly resolved with the introduction of ‘Blackberries’, and then iPhones – the new phones giving greatly enhanced internal capacity to pack out with Semtex.

  Carl’s next speciality is the use of a suppressed .22 Long Rifle pistol to perform assassinations. Using either a Ruger Mk II, with an integrated built-in metal sound suppressor, where concealment is not a problem – or a Beretta 71, where concealment is. As well as playing duets of classical Baroque music with John-Luke – John-Luke on the mandolin and Carl on the flute – the pair often undertake duets where work is involved. On these occasions they refer to it as ‘tap dancing’, where the two of them will use .22 Long Rifle automatics to carry out the assassination, both emptying full clips into the Candidate – hence the expression; ‘tap dancing’.

  Carl’s next tool of choice is his ‘bisl fraynd’, his ‘little friend’ – a narrow bladed lock knife. About twelve centimetres in length, it is a single edged blade, no more than a centimetre at its widest, tapering down to a stiletto point. Made from surgical steel, the blade is honed to absolute sharpness. The knife can easily penetrate between the ribs into the chest cavity, puncturing heart or lungs; or directly through the temple, into the brain; or into the base of the skull, piercing the Cerebellum, which controls motor coordination. Carl also uses his ‘little friend’ to neutralise sentries. Here, instead of cutting straight across the throat, or stabbing directly into the trachea and then slicing through the windpipe and arteries, Carl inserts the narrow blade of his ’little friend’ directly between the vertebrae and trachea, and then slices outwards, severing the windpipe and carotid and subclavian arteries in one clean movement. He used this particular technique a lot in Bosnia – but Bosnia is another story.

  It should be noted, that slitting someone’s throat is not the silent kill that everyone makes it out to be. Far from it – it is anything but silent. Unless stunned by a blow to the thorax, with the hilt of the knife; or stabbed in the kidneys, to temporality immobilise the victim…it can be a messy, noisy affair, with a lot of thrashing around, gurgling and gushing – until the brain finally runs out of oxygen.

  From time to time, Carl assists Nicky with interviews and interrogations – playing the ‘good cop’ against her ‘very, very bad cop’!

  Carl is a much accomplished musician of the Baroque classical flute; a well reputed clock and automaton restorer; and a respected academic, in Middle Eastern Studies – he is also a first rate assassin.

  ‘Tick – Tock’.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  Nicky – the ‘Bag Lady’.

  I had first met Nicky in Gibraltar in 1988, when she had been attached to an SAS unit, during ‘Operation Flavius’. A Corporal, in the Counter Intelligence Branch of the British Army Intelligence Corps, I had been introduced to her by Tina, who at that time had been an MI5 operative. Operation Flavius had been an SAS mission to intercept a Provisional IRA unit which, based on MI5 intelligence, had been believed to be planning a bomb attack in the colony. The Spanish National Intelligence Centre, the CNI, had been keeping watch on a three ‘man’ Provisional IRA Active Service Unit – two men and a woman. This Provisional IRA Unit had also been kept under constant surveillance by numerous British intelligence officers – including Tina. From their combined observation and intelligence gathering, there had been convincing evidence that this IRA unit had been planning to launch a bomb attack, on a British military band parade, in Gibraltar. And Tina had reported back, as such, to her superiors who, in turn, had sanctioned Operation Flavius. Nicky had been attached to the SAS unit that had been sent to Gibraltar, to provide them with close communications and intelligence support.

  I had also been in Gibraltar, with Carlos, Joshua and John-Luke. We had been there to ensure that no member of the Provisional IRA Unit had made it back to mainland Spain, should the SAS have failed in their intercept mission. Patrick would have normally accompanied us but, such had been his intense hatred of anything IRA, we had prudently decided to leave him at home – he would have slaughtered the IRA Unit on sight! As it was, they had ended up getting slaughtered, anyway! All three of them had been shot dead by the SAS when they had ‘purportedly’ reached for weapons or detonators. Purportedly, as no weapons or explosive devices had been subsequently found on any of the dead Provo’s, or in the vehicle that they had been driving. Purportedly, as the SAS are not normally sent in to arrest and detain. Take the Iranian Embassy siege; when five of the six militants had been killed by the SAS, and the sixth, posing as a hostage, would also have been shot dead if it had not have been pointed out to the SAS that the world’s media had been watching. Purportedly, because we had been involved – and we don’t take prisoners either!

  Despite a car full of explosives, which had been directly linked to the three Provisional IRA members, being eventually found on the Spanish mainland – their deaths had been seen by many as the summary execution of unarmed terrorists, carried out by the SAS, on orders of the British Government. Censured by unilateral worldwide indignation, the halls of Whitehall had needed a scapegoat – and Tina, despite being only a Junior Intelligence officer in MI5, had been sacked over the debacle. Nicky, on the other hand, had continued to be deployed on attachment with various SAS Special Projects Teams, up until 1990, when she had left the Army and been recruited into Section 9.

  ***

 
Footnote: After her dismissal from MI5, Tina then came to work for me, taking over the running of the ‘London’ House, with her sister Helen.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  Nicky had been born in Dagenham, in 1967.

  Her father had been an unskilled track fitter, working at the Ford Dagenham Assembly Plant – her mother, a part time officer cleaner at the same factory. All of which had made Nicky a true ‘Dagenham Girl’. As a young girl, she had been a bit of a tomboy, much preferring to play with toy guns than dolls, and hang out with the boys rather than play with the girls. At the age of fifteen, a local gang had tried to molest Nicky as she had walked through an underpass, on her way back home from visiting her grandmother. She had hospitalised four of her would be assailants: two with suspected concussion; one with a shattered knee cap; and the fourth requiring surgery to restore the blood flow to his right testicle. A Judge had thrown out and dismissed the four charges of: Assault, Occasioning Actual Bodily Harm, brought against her. The defendant in the dock had been a demure, attractive young girl, defending her virtue. He had praised Nicky for her bravery and courage – little knowing that she would do something very similar, six months later. So, when Nicky had declared her intention to join the Army, on leaving school, it had come as something of a relief to her troubled parents.

  After completing her basic soldier training, Nicky had gone on to undertake specialist skill training as a Communication Systems Operator, with the Royal Signals, specialising in Intelligence IT and Communications – leading on to her becoming an IT and Communication Systems Engineer. It had not been long before she had come to the attention of her senior officers. Nicky was extremely bright and intelligent, with a flair for the complexities of IT, and a comprehensive understanding of the intricacies of the associated Intelligence Systems. This, coupled with glowing reports from her NCO’s and senior officers, had resulted in her being considered for a more demanding role, within the British Army – one that would fully expand her capabilities and exploit her potential. After successfully undergoing an intensely demanding selection process, Nicky had been selected and transferred into the Intelligence Corps, as an Intelligence Analyst – later being promoted to the rank of Corporal, in Counter Intelligence, in 1987.

  Between 1987 and 1990, Nicky had found herself frequently seconded to SAS Special Projects Teams. Attached in close support to these SAS operational units, Nicky had provided the intelligence and communications for these operations – which had been frequently covert. At first, there had been a certain amount of derision directed towards Nicky by her male SAS colleagues. But this had totally evaporated when she had insisted on going on their exhaustive training programmes, with them. SAS training is always ongoing: always extremely hard and rigorously severe; and always physically and mentally demanding – and Nicky had survived all of it. As such, she had trained in close quarter battle techniques, including unarmed combat; weapons and sniper training; hostage rescue and terrorist ‘neutralisation’ – and had excelled in everything. Nicky had more than proven herself capable in training; no matter how arduous or tough it had got – she had always bounced back, fighting. And this had earned her the grudging admiration and respect of her SAS colleagues. During the next three years, Nicky had accompanied several SAS Special Project Teams on active and covert operations – Operation Flavius, being just one of many. Her part in all these operations had been closely watched by senior British military officers – but others had been watching, too.

  In 1990, on leaving the British Army, Nicky had been recruited directly into Section 9, by Sir Barry K…, nominally as a Counter Terrorism Intelligence Officer, with responsibility for IT and Communications. However, her real role within Section 9 had been of a more explicit, clandestine nature.

  Since the Gibraltar debacle, in 1988, and the pillorying of some senior British military officers over the affair, by government ministers – Army Chiefs had unilaterally withdrawn the use of the SAS in all civilian affairs and matters, other than hostage situations. This had meant that the British Secret Intelligence Service, MI5 and MI6 could no longer rely on the SAS to carry out liquidations for them. Despite urban myths to the contrary, it had been considered to be totally unacceptable to ask an organisation, such as CO19, the Specialist Firearm Command Branch of the Metropolitan Police Service, to carry out ‘dodgy dealings’, as Sir Barry had put it – targeted killings.

  But life and the affairs of the State must go on – and must be protected. And Nicky had been recruited into Section 9 strictly for that one purpose – to compromise designated targets or, failing that, eliminate them.

  I had often met Nicky in the course of my normal day to day dealings with Section 9 when, in her cover role within the Department as an IT and Communications Intelligence Officer, she had supplied us with various levels of intelligence. I had also seen Nicky on a few other occasions away from the Embankment Office, when we had been shadowing her, providing a ‘second kill’ capability, in case she had ever failed in carrying out her primary function.

  You have to appreciate that with simple straight forward low value ‘targets’, it had been far more cost effective to use a salaried employee, such as Nicky, to carry out a liquidation, rather than hire in our considerably more expensive services.

  Always bubbly and cheerful, it had come as a bit of a surprise to me one Monday morning, in May ‘95, when visiting Nicky in her Embankment Office, to find her close to tears. I had obviously asked what the matter was and if there had been anything that I could do to help. At first, her response had been just to bite her bottom lip, but it was clear that she had been dreadfully upset over some thing.

  “Whatever is the matter?” I had asked again, taking hold of both her hands in mine.

  “I’m pregnant!” she had suddenly blurted out, her eyes welling up with tears.

  That had taken me back slightly – I hadn’t been expecting that. “Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?” I had naively asked.

  Nicky had paused before replying, drawing in some deep breaths in an attempt to regain composure. “Martin – my hormones may be all over the place, and I may be teary,” she had confessed. “And this pregnancy may be totally unplanned, but I know that I really want this baby.”

  “So, what exactly is the problem? If you are happy and really want the baby – what’s making you so upset?”

  “Darth Vader,” had come the swift reply.

  Just twelve months earlier, Sir Barry K…had retired as head of Section 9 and Sir Richard I…had taken over. As different as chalk and cheese, Sir Barry the ex ‘fly boy’, flamboyant, gregarious and popular – Sir Richard the complete opposite. Cambridge educated and a career diplomat, he had been dour and humourless, by comparison. I had always got on quite well with him. Blunt and to the point, his directives had always been unambiguously clear and perfectly succinct. Nevertheless, others had found him cold and uncaring, results driven: ‘Whatever it takes’ – hence his nickname, ‘Darth Vader’.

  “I know he can be a bit of an old woman, at times – but that’s not affected you before. So, why now?”

  “He’s firing me!”

  “He can’t – not just because you’re pregnant…can he?”

  “He’s taking me off Active Service Ops,” Nicky had sobbed.

  “He’s not exactly firing you then,” I had pointed out.

  ‘Active Service Ops’ had been Section 9’s politically correct euphemism for ‘dodgy dealings’, as Sir Barry would say!

  “Because of your condition, he’s just taking you off Active Service, while your pregnant,” I had added, as an afterthought – can’t have a heavily pregnant expectant mom going round liquidating people – can you?

  “No – it’s permanent.” The tears had been flowing again. “I’m so sorry for being a silly girly,” she had suddenly apologised, wiping her eyes and giving her nose a delicate blow. Composure recovered, Nicky had continued: “Sir Richard’s told me that I’m off Active Service, permanently – even if I r
eturn back after the birth. The patronising bastard says that he can’t risk having an agent in the field who, because they are a ‘mother’, can’t possibly have any control over their emotional feelings. He says that I would be a liability, not only to myself, but to others as well.”