Attrition

By Nicholas Gill

"In the aftermath of a failed financial coup d'etat in Kuwait the man known as George Liani, the intelligence world's most wanted terrorist, flees to safety in Iran. Once there he will be used by the extremist leadership to mount an even bigger attack against the hated west, the reach of which will be vast and the consequences of which will be appalling.
At the insistence of his financial conduit Najib Shawa, and to pander to the beliefs of his Iranian paymasters, this ruthless killer adopts a religious mantle. He is persuaded to use the guise of the ‘Da’i al Mutlaq’, the ‘Unrestricted Messenger,’ the one who will prepare the way for the emergence of the ‘Hidden Imam,’ ‘the Mahdi,’ of Shia Islam. As such, and backed with the resources of the Islamic Republic of Iran, his weapons will be nuclear and his method will be attritive.
Once again the veterans of the discreet Private Military Company ‘Fine Line Solutions,’ are called upon to go where no one else can. To go into the heart of a closed country, probing the depths of Iran's underground nuclear program, and locating the cutting edge of the knife at the throat of the west. When Mike Edge and Jim Savage find it is their old adversary George Liani at the hilt of the blade the chance to settle old scores becomes a bitter struggle. But will they discover the scale of the assault being launched on the West? And will they realize that it will be a war of attrition."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nicholas Gill
• Release date: Nov 28, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311330888

Nicholas Gill

Author Profile – Nicholas Gill.As a young man the author served in the Royal Marines Commandos seeing active service in Malaya, Borneo, Brunei, Sarawak and Aden. In between active service postings, specialist courses and training included arctic warfare training three hundred miles inside the Arctic Circle in northern Norway, and desert warfare exercises in Libya and Western Australia. On leaving the Royal Marines he went back to his roots in engineering and worked in the power industries on refinery and power station construction projects. This led to involvement in the onshore construction of jacket and modular units for the emerging North Sea oil industry. A natural follow on from this was to work offshore on the hook-up and commissioning of major production platform installations.Planning for retirement involved the purchase and renovation of a derelict farm in Wales and ultimately the purchase of twenty-seven thousand acres of the Black Mountain. This proved expensive and returning to the offshore oil industry the author spent a further twelve years on the development of a major North Sea Field for a large American Oil company.On the termination of his contract the author found that he had passed his sell by date and no one wanted or needed his years of experience. Having spent many years writing engineering procedures and specifications it occurred to him that he was perfectly suited to becoming a best selling author! "Retribution" is the first fruit of that idea, and is the first part of a planned trilogy; it is available FREE from Smashwords. The second part, "Sedition", is now published with Smashwords, and the third part, "Attrition", is complete and was published with Smashwords in the last quarter of 2013. Six more novels are planned in detail and will use many of the same characters in further adventures.Read and enjoy,Nicholas Gill.

Book preview

ATTRITION

By

Nicholas Gill.

Copyright 2013 by Nicholas Gill.

Smashwords edition.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Reproduction in any manner, except as authorized by the Copyright Act, is prohibited.

DEDICATION.

I dedicate this book with grateful thanks to my son Mark for his help and support in editing and formatting this manuscript and also to my wife Joy for her unfailing love and support at all times. Without their belief and encouragement this book would never have reached publication.

Nicholas Gill.

Quotes.

Attrition: - A process of making your enemy weaker by repeatedly attacking them: It was a war of attrition.

Oxford Advanced Learner’s Dictionary.

OUP 2003.

Man is a credulous animal, and must believe in something; in the absence of good grounds for belief, he will be satisfied with bad ones.

Bertrand Russell, 1872-1970.

There are a thousand hacking at the branches of evil to one who is striking at the root.

Henry David Thoreau, 1817-1862.

Table of contents

PROLOGUE.

CHAPTER ONE.

CHAPTER TWO.

CHAPTER THREE.

CHAPTER FOUR.

CHAPTER FIVE.

CHAPTER SIX.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

CHAPTER NINE.

CHAPTER TEN.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

CHAPTERTWENTYFOUR.

EPILOGUE.

REPOSSESSION.

Author profile.

ATTRITION.

PROLOGUE

Tehran, Islamic Republic of Iran.

The meeting of senior clerics was becoming heated.

‘Our pronouncements against the Little Satan and against the Great Satan have no effect; our words fall on deaf ears.’ The speaker, a senior cleric, bearded, wearing gold-framed, bottle end spectacles, a black turban and grey robes, appeared extremely agitated. ‘The true Islam must be spread across the world; the arrival of the Hidden Imam is imminent, and yet we are not ready, what is to be done?’

A second senior cleric stood, a short man, bearded with a prominent pot belly. He defended the ruling elite’s position. ‘Assuredly our words are effective within the Islamic Republic; our first duty is to clean our house from within; no one doubts that we shall succeed in destroying the apostate Sunni here in Iran.’

‘This is truth, however mere words will not suffice to change belief outside the Republic; we must implement action to get the attention of the heretical nations.’ The chair of the meeting began steering the discussion in a direction he had been instructed to take.

‘What action can we take? The evil American presence in Iraq and Afghanistan is too powerful for us to challenge.’ The third cleric to speak voiced an uncomfortable truth.

The Chair of the meeting responded. ‘The American public is becoming sickened at their loss of life in those places. We need to sicken them some more, to strike a severe blow against them in their homeland. The attack on the twin towers shook them; we need to strike a greater blow against them and their Israeli lackeys.’

‘But how is this to be done? The blow against the twin towers was a great victory but it alerted them; their defenses are formidable,’ the first speaker objected.

‘We are building powerful weapons; these we will use against them.’ A new speaker, tall, thin with grey in his beard spoke for the first time.

‘But delivery is the problem, our rocket program will reach Israel but not America, and even if it could, both the Americans and the Israeli’s can track the missiles back to their launch point. Retaliation would be swift and devastating. We would all be killed.’ It was the first speaker again.

‘Exactly so,’ the chair of the meeting assured him, ‘therefore the delivery must be obscure, the source unknown and the targets many. We will win by a process of guile and attrition.’

CHAPTER ONE

The Grand Mosque, Kuwait City.

The entire security apparatus of the country was looking for him, and foreign agents wanted him dead. Two were getting very close; he knew, he had seen them. If you would be secret, do your business in a crowd. Bearing that maxim in mind the man now calling himself Kasim Arif spent a longer time than usual in prayer in the busy mosque. He repeatedly left the mosque and walked around in the great courtyard, blending into the crowds and returning to pray at a different place each time. From time to time he retired to the room set aside for meditation and sat flicking his prayer beads through his fingers and repeating the Tasbih of Fatima from memory. All the time his eyes watched carefully the comings and goings of the Mosque. This was a dangerous time for him, perhaps the most dangerous time of his life. He was waiting for darkness. As it began to fall he left the sanctuary of the mosque and made his way to the nearby Souk. At different shops he purchased a hand held GPS, a length of rope, a length of dun colored hessian sacking material, a large bottle of water, and a pair of bolt cutters.

Making his way to the beachfront he carefully approached the jet-ski franchise that had caught his interest some days earlier. No one was around. Using the bolt cutters it was the work of a few moments to snip the hasp on the door of the small concession’s office and then the chain looped through the jet-skis’. He chose one with a gold and black paint job and checking the number took the key from the board in the office. He took a can of fuel and lashed it, together with the large water bottle and the hessian, across the passenger seat. Starting the engine and being careful not to rev it too hard, he puttered slowly into the darkness away from the beach. The night was clear but dark, the moon not yet above the horizon. Across the mouth of Kuwait Bay he could see the red aircraft warning lights on the tall chimneys of the power station at Al Subaiah. Steering a course to the right of them, roughly north-northeast, would take him between the Al Subaiah peninsular and Failaka Island. Once far enough away from land he gunned the engine and headed out across the mouth of the bay.

Passing between Failaka Island and the smaller island to its north-western tip he continued past the opening to the channel separating Boubyan Island from the mainland, and followed closely the empty shoreline. Halfway along that deserted beach he heard the unmistakable poketa-poketa-poketa sound of helicopter rotor blades. He pulled into the beach to refuel and, covering the jet-ski and himself with the hessian sacking, lay down on the sand to rest. The helicopter was black with US Navy markings; it flew a search pattern just off the coast, systematically clearing areas and moving towards Kuwait Bay. It was searching for him, he had no doubt.

After two hours he checked his watch and forced himself onto his feet. Nothing moved, the flat landscape merged imperceptibly with the horizon, and the new sickle moon was rising but giving very little light. Keeping close to the beach any heat signature from his body or the jet-ski would be lost in the heat rising from the sands of the island. He would be invisible to infrared binoculars or cameras on helicopters or vessels out at sea. The lights of the oil and gas terminals on the Faw peninsular came into view and soon he was crossing the second Boubyan channel that led to the inland port of Um Qasr. He was approaching the most dangerous area to cross. The oil and gas facilities and loading jetties on the tip of the Faw peninsular were close to the border with Iran and were constantly patrolled. He allowed the current from the channel mouth to push him out away from the coast keeping the engine revs to a minimum. With the lights of Faw far enough away in the distance he revved the engine of the jet-ski and made a dash across the mouth of the Arvand River. In minutes he was in Iranian territorial waters and turning towards the coast he entered the broad Arvand estuary on the Iranian side of the border. He felt safer now but was not yet completely in the clear.

Turning to the right up a narrow side channel he drove the jet-ski for two kilometers between walls of tall reeds, their feathery tops silver in the pale moonlight. Checking constantly with his hand held GPS he found what he was looking for; a hundred meters ahead was the road bridge crossing the channel. Abandoning the jet-ski without any attempt to hide it he climbed the earth bank and walked to the road. After a while he scrambled back down the bank to the jet-ski and retrieved the hessian sheet and the plastic water bottle. Sweating profusely at the physical effort he clambered back to the road and bending down some reeds he spread the hessian over them to make a patch of shade. Even in the shade the temperature would be over fifty degrees Celsius. Settling into the small patch of shade he checked his GPS; he was on the road from Qasemiye to Arvand Kenar. Kasim Arif, better known as George Liani to those who had hunted him for so long, was safely out of Kuwait.

Saan’a, Republic of Yemen.

The Emirates flight from Zurich to Saan’a in Yemen bounced around in the rising thermals and updrafts caused by the surrounding mountains on approach to El Rahaba Airport, causing Najib Shawa to grip the seat arms with sweating palms and white knuckles. Never a confident flyer he was glad when the wheels hit the tarmac of the runway.

A driver and a car awaited him outside the arrivals exit, and he was taken into the city through the narrow winding streets to the Hotel Burj al Salam. It, like every other building he had passed, was sepia colored and old. Built with mud and stone, and ornately decorated with white plaster the buildings of the city reflected a culture opposed to change. Najib realized that the outlook in this backwater of the Ummah, the Islamic world, was medieval; he would need to bear this in mind during his negotiations.

A local Emir was waiting in a private room. A devout Shia, his interest was to gain funding from Iran; his aim to use the money to gain personal power, his pitch that he could expand Shia influence inside the Republic of Yemen. He greeted Najib Shawa effusively, seeing him as a conduit to the money needed to fuel his ambitions. Najib for his part had two objectives: to further increase his standing with his Iranian paymasters, and to siphon off as much cash as he could into his own pockets.

This financial wrangling took Najib three days to complete; then, satisfied that he had achieved both his objectives, he hired a car and a driver and made the long exhausting trek across country to the port of Aden. After a two hour wait and an hour’s delay at Aden International Airport at Khormaksar he boarded a Qatar Airways flight to Imam Khomeini Airport, the international airport serving Tehran.

He was met at the airport and taken to the headquarters of Vezarat-e Ettela’at va Amniyat-e Keshvar, known more familiarly as VEVAK, the Ministry of Intelligence and National Security of the Islamic Republic of Iran. There he was shown into a meeting room and asked to wait. After an hour he was offered coffee, and after another hour two men entered the room. Najib recognized them immediately; they had been present in meetings he had attended at the Island Hotel in Kilchberg, on the shores of the Zurichsee. Beyond a perfunctory greeting neither man said anything and the atmosphere in the room felt strained. Najib began to sweat. Shortly thereafter two more men entered the room; these two Najib did not know, but they had been George Liani’s contacts in Kuwait.

The elder of the original pair to enter cleared his throat and began to speak. ‘The recent service you have done for us in the Republic of Yemen has been competent. We have no fault with your financial services.’

Najib breathed a silent prayer of thanks.

The senior Interior Ministry official continued, indicating the second pair of arrivals with a gesture of his hand as he spoke, ‘More importantly our representatives recently returned from Kuwait give us news of a weakened state where we have the opportunity to motivate the populace towards a change of government; indeed a change in the way that whole region is governed.’

Najib nodded enthusiastically.

‘In no small measure this was achieved by the Da’i al Mutlaq, the unrestricted missionary. The Grand Ayatollah and our President wish to help the Da’i al Mutlaq in his holy work to prepare the way for the coming of the Mahdi; accordingly they will put the resources of the State at his disposal.’

Najib drew in a sharp breath; he had not seen this coming, his mind went into overdrive. The possibilities here were limitless.

The official continued, ‘He must destroy the two Satan’s, the Great Satan and the Small.’

Najib’s delight at the opportunity before him was lost; it was as if he had been douched with ice cold water. ‘The Da’i al Mutlaq will enter this country shortly in the south; I will go south to meet him. It is arranged,’ he stated quickly, covering his surprise.

‘We can send someone to collect him.’

‘No, that will not do. The Da’i al Mutlaq is expecting to meet me. He does not like unforeseen changes to the plans.’ Najib was not at all pleased with the idea of facing George Liani again, but knew that if he was to make profit from this he had to keep him onside. ‘I know him and can recognize him. He knows me and will recognize me; it is fitting. I will fly south tomorrow.’

The Grand Mosque, Kuwait City.

As soon as it was realized that the man Jim Savage had shot at the Kuwait Investment Office was not George Liani, Andrew alerted the watchers on loan from Ben Levy, the head of Israeli Military Intelligence. Ben Levy’s operative at the Grand Mosque did not know that all the other resources were deployed looking for Liani elsewhere, so he continued as before when his former object of interest reappeared in the middle of the afternoon. He observed without appearing to do so and when Liani left the Mosque he followed, saw him make his few purchases, and head for the beach. Hidden between two sheeted stacks of sun loungers he saw Liani break and enter the concession and steal a jet ski. He sent a report to Ben Levy immediately.

Ben was in discussion with John Henderson when the text message arrived.

‘Shit and damnation, the bugger has given us the slip again!’ Ben swore bitterly.

‘Who’s given who the slip?’ John had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

‘Liani, Arif, whatever his bloody name is, just walked onto the beach and stole a jet ski.’

‘I’ll alert the Navy, they’ll intercept him.’

‘Yes, do that, but we’re too late, it’s only eighty kilometers to the Iran border. He’ll be in Iranian waters by the time they get organized.’

‘They can do a helicopter search; put out a distress call, make it look like an air-sea rescue operation.’

‘I doubt they’ll ever find him; there are hundreds of square miles of marshes, dozens of river mouths, hundreds of irrigation and drainage channels. The whole delta is an absolute maze.’

‘So, it’s back to the drawing board then?’

‘Yeah, I hate to admit it but the bugger has outwitted us again.’

‘Yeah, and I hate to think what mischief he could get up to in Iran.’

‘Don’t,’ Ben groaned, ‘it doesn’t bear thinking about!’

Al Jahra Hospital, Kuwait.

‘I’m going after the bastard.’ Jim Savage’s reaction to the news was instant and uncompromising; he had an old and bitter score to settle with the man known as George Liani.

‘Not by your self you’re not.’ Big John Digger Trench growled, ‘I’ll come with you.’

‘Yez’ll nae leave me oot ’uv ra fun,’ Wee Willy Anderson wasn’t going to be left out of the action no matter what. Both Digger and Willy knew from past experience what a dangerous bastard George Liani was.

‘How?’ Andrew Cunningham, their boss at Fine Line Solutions was more practical.

‘Just get me a ridged raider, I’ll find the bugger.’ Jim looked defiantly at Andrew.

‘That’s not a difficult item to provide,’ Andrew said, ‘but finding him might be more difficult than you think; there’s hundreds of square miles of marshes, it’s a bloody maze.’

‘There will be a limited number of routes he could take; if I check out the obvious ones it narrows the search considerably.’

‘He may have someone meeting him, then what?’

‘He may not; he may have to lie up and wait. Remember he took off on a jet ski, an impromptu move in my book. He may not have had time to plan ahead.’

‘Okay, it’s worth a shot,’ Andrew said, ‘I’ll work the oracle and get us a fast ridged raider and a detailed map, I’m coming too.’ Even though he was the boss of a very specialized Private Military Company, Andrew Cunningham could not resist the excitement of immanent action.

*

The small black raider crossed Kuwait Bay at a rapid rate of knots. Wearing black coveralls, and with faces smeared with boot polish, the four occupants kept low against the rubber flotation cells forming the sides of the craft. The route they followed was the only logical one and copied Liani’s route almost exactly. They skirted the Faw peninsular carefully and allowed the flow of the Arvand River to push them out away from the coast exactly as he had done. Then quietly with low revs and muffled exhausts they entered Iranian waters creeping slowly up the estuary of the Arvand River. They began to probe the side tributaries, moving quietly between the banks topped with tall feathery reeds. It was in the third tributary that they found what they were looking for.

Khuzestan, Southern Iran.

Always the manipulator of appearances, a showman, and a master of deception, Najib Shawa’s first action was to take a taxi down the Tehran-Qom freeway to the Tomb of Imam Khomeini at Behesht-e-Zara. Entering the magnificent Shrine surrounded by its four tall minarets he carried out the ritual washing, went in to pray and to pay his respects.

The VEVAK agents who followed his every move put this demonstration of his devotion into their report, as he knew they would.

It was only a short drive from the tomb to Firuzabad Airport where he took an internal flight south to Abadan. There he hired a car and drove further south heading for the port city of Arvand Kenar. At Arvand Kenar he turned east on the road to Qasemiye. His cell phone rang.

‘Aywah?’

‘Where are you?’

‘On the road to Qasemiye.’

‘Good, what car are you driving?’

‘A silver Toyota.’

‘Go to the nearest barracks and bring a section of troops.’

‘What for?’

‘To set a trap in case I’m followed.’

‘Do you think that is likely?’Najib sounded alarmed.

‘There are some determined agents after me. I will take no chances.’

‘Where will I bring them?’

‘To me. I’ll wait by the side of the road. I’m sure you will recognize me!’ The man Najib knew as George Liani, alias Kasim Arif, ended the call. Although no names had been used Liani had a sardonic smile on his lips; he knew Najib Shawa well and enjoyed his discomfort. On his upper lip, Najib had beads of sweat.

The Qasemiye Road, Khuzestan, Iran.

George Liani sat by the roadside in the baking heat, the sky a cloudless blue. The fierce sun was directly overhead giving no shade. The road stretched away straight and empty in both directions, bordered by tall reeds, their heads white in the bright sunlight. He cursed Najib Shawa, his parents and all his relatives, born and yet to be born. The water in his bottle was hot from the sun but better than nothing. He drank, moistening his dry mouth and throat, and cursed Najib some more. The road shimmered in the heat; nothing moved. After another long hour had passed he began to wonder if he was in the right place. He pulled out the hand held GPS and checked the co-ordinates again. Everything matched; he checked his watch. Was Najib lost? Then in the distance he heard the sound of engines. Standing he peered down the road, squinting and shading his eyes against the sun’s glare; a cloud of dust in the distance had in it glints of bright metal that winked in the heat haze. The glints grew into a metallic silver Toyota Fortuner closely followed by an army truck.

The car pulled up and the passenger door opened to reveal Najib Shawa smirking shiftily. ‘Get in; get in quickly, the heat is too much.’

‘Don’t tell me how hot it is! I’ve been sitting in it for hours waiting on you! Where have you been?’ George Liani pulled from his robe a wicked looking antique stiletto. He pressed the point against Najib Shawa’s throat.

‘I- I’ve been driving as fast as possible, the roads are bad, the signs are poor and few, and I had to go back for the soldiers…’

‘Don’t give me your lies, if it were not for Allah’s work I would kill you now!’

‘N-no, no, I mean yes, the work we do, that is the thing; we have important work to do here.

‘Yes, I must deploy these troops; turn the car whilst I do so.’ George Liani spoke with the officer commanding the detachment and pointed out the Jet-ski. ‘That will attract them, use it as the bait in the trap and set your men accordingly.’

The officer, a veteran of the Iran-Iraq war nodded; he knew exactly what to do.

The Qasemiye Road, Khuzestan, Iran.

The small black craft eased round a bend in the side channel, the occupants searching the banks and the reeds for signs of recent disturbance. Willy saw it first; his hand shot up in the universal sign for stop. ‘Haw, ther’s ra jet-ski, Jim lad,’ he hissed. Digger cut the throttles and the engines stopped.

Jim grabbed a paddle; ‘Back up, back round the bend, we keep the raider out of sight.’

The others needed no second bidding; four paddles expertly dipped and thrust the ridged raider back to a safe position. Leaving Andrew to hold the boat the other three quietly scaled the bank and moved forward towards the abandoned jet-ski.

*

The soldiers of the detachment Najib had co-opted were conscripts, poorly trained and not well disciplined. Wilting in the fierce heat most were nodding on the edge of sleep. Only the officer was alert. He thought he heard an outboard engine; then it abruptly stopped. He raised himself to look down the channel. He saw no boat but there were muddy swirls at the first bend.

‘Stand to, hold your fire.’ He hissed the order to his troops.

Half asleep and nervous, one conscript saw the reeds move and loosed off a shot.

‘Hold your fire! Damn you hold your fire!’

It was too late, the detachment machine gunner let rip, and the riflemen joined in.

*

The first shot was wild, zipping through the reeds above and to their right but it served as a warning. Jim, Digger and Willy hit the ground and lay flat.

‘Ahm reet glad ahm no a lumpen great target like you,’ Willy whispered in Digger’s ear.

‘Aye well, there’s not enough of you for me to hide behind, that’s for sure,’ Digger managed to hiss back as the rounds zipped and clattered through the reeds overhead.

‘Shit, we’re out gunned and out numbered, let’s get the hell back to the boat,’ Jim said quietly.

They belly crawled back the way they had come not attempting to return fire with their light weapons.

‘What happened?’ Andrew asked in an urgent whisper as Jim reached the boat.

‘The bastard out maneuvered us again; had a small bloody army waiting for us to turn up.’

‘Can we take them out?’

‘Not with pistols against machine guns.’

‘Yeah right, but I hate to leave without having a crack back at ’em.’

‘They didn’t see any of us, I’m sure of that. One of them went off half cocked, nerves probably, and the rest joined in the fun. I heard the officer yelling hold your fire. Pretty green troops I’d guess. Better we withdraw and leave them guessing too.’

‘Hmm, I suppose you’re right; we don’t know what else that slippery bugger has lined up to cover his tracks either do we?’

‘No, we slip quietly out of the channels then blast across to Iraq before we run into a gun boat, that’s my take on it.’

Digger and Willy slithered into the boat covered in sweat and dust.

‘Okay, man the paddles, lets get out of here,’ Andrew whispered quietly.

*

Jim’s assessment of the situation was pretty accurate. None of the soldiers had seen anything definite. The ambush was blown by the outburst of firing and without sending out a patrol the officer withdrew as dusk descended. He did however need to cover his ass so he made sure to report in, and got his superior officer to send a message for the coastal patrol gunboats to be on alert.

It was one of these gunboats that picked up the white wake of a fast moving craft heading out of the Arvand estuary and making a break for the Iraqi shore. They fired warning shots across the bow but the craft did not stop. Instead it jinked and dodged and turned directly for the Faw peninsular putting itself between Faw and its refineries and the oil and gas loading facilities. The gun boat skipper was obliged to cease firing or risk an international incident for shooting into a refinery. That he correctly reasoned would not enhance his prospects for promotion.

J W Marriot Hotel, Kuwait City.

‘We have to do something about this asshole; we can’t just let him get away with all the goddam trouble he’s caused!’ John Henderson paced his hotel room, angry, frustrated and unable to settle.

‘Not to mention the goddam trouble he might still be fomenting.’ Ben Levy, calmer but no less frustrated, was in complete agreement with John. ‘The problem is getting to him; he’s extremely difficult to nail, as we know to our cost, and now he’s in a country that is difficult to penetrate.’

‘Yeah, we need a plan; we have to think this through very carefully.’ John uncoiled his long length into the chair opposite Ben. ‘We have people with the right motivation to go in after him. What we need is a reason to go in legally and a bomb-proof, fire-proof, and shit-proof cover story.’

‘Some inside help wouldn’t go amiss either,’ Ben mused.

‘You have any assets in Iran?’ John asked.

‘Some, not many, and they are strategically placed. They couldn’t be used for this, what they do is too important to risk them being compromised.’

‘Hmm, keeping an eye on nuclear weapons progress?’John lifted an enquiring eyebrow.

Ben said nothing.

‘Okay, ’nuff said.’

‘There are some in Iran who are opposed to the Khomenist regime,’ Ben offered.

‘Yeah there are expatriate groups, back home in the US, who hate that regime too.’

‘Right, in the UK and in Europe also; they all must have contacts inside Iran.’

John looked thoughtful. ‘I bet they could use a little help, financial or otherwise?’

‘I think you’re on to something; let’s do some research and then talk to our vengeful friends.’

‘Mike and Co?’

‘Yeah, you think they’d be up for it?’

‘Oh yeah; give them the means and all the devils from hell wouldn’t stop them.’

‘Speaking of devils from hell, we must not forget VEVAK; they are smart, organized and everywhere inside Iran.’

‘Yeah, I know. This ain’t gonna be no piece of cake.’

‘For sure;’ Ben was looking thoughtful, ‘I wonder...?’

‘Wonder what?’

‘Sanctions.’

‘Yeah, and...?’

‘Maybe that could help us here.’

‘How? Explain...’

‘Sanctions don’t just apply to goods; services and information are restricted too, are they not?’

‘Yes, of course.’ John began to get the direction of Ben’s thinking.

‘What if we set Mike up as a sanction buster?’

‘As a representative of Technology Today?’

‘No, they’re too respectable, but a software company of some sort; one not too scrupulous about who they deal with.’

‘And then VEVAK would be very helpful as opposed to being very obstructive.’

‘Exactly; but we’d have to offer them something they badly want and can’t get.’

‘We need to talk to Mike.’

‘We do, but he’s already back in California.’

‘If it’s to have a crack at our friend Liani he’ll come for a meeting anytime.’

‘Okay, let’s get the research done first; get all our ducks in a row, then you can contact him.’

‘Good plan. I’d almost forgotten how much I enjoy working with you!’ John chuckled.

‘So, it’s not just the good coffee?’

‘Well, that helps; call room service, it’ll help me think. In fact now that I think of it I might just go over to California and put this to Mike in person.’

‘Hmm, it might be a good idea for me to come with you,’ Ben murmured.

CHAPTER TWO

Fine Line Solutions Base, Al Jahra, Kuwait.

‘Right guys, listen up!’ Back in the Al Jahra house the hubbub of multiple conversations died down as Andrew Cunningham called for attention. ‘Okay, we tried to follow Liani and failed. That doesn’t take anything away from our work here in Kuwait. Good Job! That’s the first thing. Everyone here is very pleased with the security provisions we made...’

‘Not tae mention savin’ ra life o’ ra Emir eh?’ The crack came from Willy Anderson as usual. Jim Savage dug him in the ribs from one side, big John Digger Trench from the other. ‘Whisht yer gob wee man,’ Digger hissed.

‘Exactly,’ Andrew was unfazed, he was quite used to Willy’s brand of acid humor, ‘from the Emir down everyone is very pleased with our performance, and we are back at the top of the Kuwaiti preferred list of security contractors.’

Willy’s, ‘I should think so tae,’ was drowned out in the general applause.

‘And as a gesture of thanks and good will both the Emir and our employer Sheik Ibrahim have given bloody great bonuses for everyone!’

A great cheer went up and everyone began back slapping and talking at once.

‘Waahey, now yer talkin’,’ Willy pumped Jim’s hand and then Digger’s. ‘But hang on the noo, jist how big is bloody great?’

‘Fifty thousand US per man.’

Another great cheer went up.

‘Mike and Jim get more, one hundred thousand each, for saving the Emir and the Sheik’s lives.’

‘Aye well, tha’s fair enough,’ Willy admitted grudgingly.

‘But,’ Andrew continued, Mike has thrown his hundred thousand back in the pot to be divided equally between all of you.’

‘Bloody marvelous,’ Digger said quietly, ‘I’ve a mind to fly over to California to see Fay.’

‘Aye, I’ll come tae...’ Digger scowled at Willy who hastily added ... ‘tae see Cathy, o’ course. How’s about you Jim lad?’

‘Yeah, Shana’s been texting me’ Jim said, ‘I’m in, let’s check the flights, there’s sure to be direct flights from here, or from Iraq next door.’

‘There are plenty from Iraq, I’ve already checked,’ Digger said.

‘Aye, an’ ah’m gonna go first class.’

Digger’s huge hand clamped down on Willy’s shoulder. ‘Steady Willy lad, you’re not a millionaire yet.’

‘Well, we could all afford to go business class eh? Willy quickly amended.’

‘So, we’re almost finished here,’ Andrew continued, ‘the situation is relatively stable, the Al Quds provocateurs have largely been arrested; those that haven't been arrested fled back to Iran. All we have to do now is tidy up a few loose ends. Who’s up for a spot of leave?’

Three hands shot up immediately; Jim, Digger and Willy.

Andrew grinned. ‘So, California, is it? I’m coming too, can’t wait to see Joy again!’

Red-X Inspection Services, Huston, Texas, USA.

Red Thibadeaux stared at the two documents on his desk. Ruin was staring him in the face. He checked the document number on the specification yet again willing it to be different from the specification in the second document; the contract. It remained the same. He read the non-destructive testing procedure requirements again. In clear print, in black on white it specified the levels of non-destructive testing that must be applied to the contract. In addition to the requirement for radiographic testing there was a whole two pages on magnetic particle inspection and dye penitrant testing. How the hell had that been missed? He knew that it had not been allowed for in the contract price. The contract was fixed; there was a small amount of padding for contingency but nowhere near enough to cover the extra man hours needed to meet these specifications.

He reached for