Assassin: The True Story of One of America's Most Successful Assassins

By Robert J. Firth and Scott

This is a factual, no-nonsense book as told by a professional American assassin. The stories he tells are descriptions of true events with only a few names changed for obvious reasons. The author pulls no punches and never softens the story to make it more palatable. What you will read describes accurately the preparation, dedication, training and mind-set of a man and his associates who kill America's enemies for a living.

• Language: English
• Publisher: eBookIt.com
• Release date: Sep 28, 2017
• ISBN: 9781456629199

Book preview

Firth

CHAPTER 1

BOCA RATON FLORIDA, NOVEMBER, 2003

THE HUNTERS HOUSE

The dog was nervous- the house still, only the light rain and wind in the dark trees could be heard. Waking, I felt a primal fear, a not unfamiliar sense since my denunciation of Islam became public in my books. The silent vibrating alarm inserted into the mattress and, repeating on the black tactical wrist watch, dragged me from my troubled dreams at 04:30 this cold Wednesday morning.

Waking in the dark isn't a new experience. I slipped on the NVG's and, rolling to the floor beside the bed, pointed the silenced Swedish K toward the door. Guardie, my Sheppard, was staring intently, softly whining in anticipation of the kill. He had been highly trained to kill silently, no growling or barking, just a fast lunge to rip out the carotid artery.

The hidden battery powered monitors clearly showed three assassins lurking in the hall. I pushed the yellow button on the plywood panel under the bed... a silent gas flooded the hall. Almost instantly the intruders fell inert and noiselessly to the carpeted floor.

The alarm triggered the moment the infrared life forms were exposed. The exterior monitors showed another murderous Muslim beside the hedge in the back yard and one in the front drive next to a dark van. The hatch in the floor next to the bed opened into a tunnel that exited with a downward opening camouflaged hatch behind a small trailer in the west corner of the yard.

Sweedish K: Kulsprutepistol m/45 (Kpist m/45) also known as the Carl Gustav M/45 or the Swedish K SMG, is a 9 mm Swedish sub machine gun adopted in 1945 (hence the designation m/45) at the Carl Gustaf G-F facility in the city of Eskilstuna by Swedish weapons designer Gunnar Johnsson. The Swedish K was used by SOG teams early in the Vietnam War where Scott first used it. Because its origins were not in the US, so could be considered sterile for over the fence missions. The m/45 was the official sub machine gun of the Swedish Army after World War II. The m/45 was also used by U.S Special Forces in the Vietnam War, these weapons were devoid of markings. In U.S service it was known as K-Rifle or Swedish-K.

The greenish NVG light clearly exposed the killers head standing not 20 feet away. The flash suppressor subdued the noiseless 9 mil mercury filled sub-sonic rounds exploding his head. He fell on the grass without a sound! Guardie was disappointed that he didn't get the kill. We crept around to the front yard killing the fifth jihadist. We waited for 20 minutes without moving- there were no more.

Reentering through the back yard tunnel, I activated the gas removal vent fan system and opened the hermetically sealed heavy steel reinforced bedroom door. Moving the three sleeping Jihadist goons from the interior hall onto an old shower curtain in the garage, I wrapped their heads in heavy towels and slit their throats! I put the two in the back and front yard in a wheelbarrow and moved them into the garage. Not a sound did this all this make. It was over in 20 minutes. This was the third time they had tried. It wouldn't be the last!

My wife had moved into an apartment rented under her maiden name but I stayed in the house solely to lure in and kill as many of the crazed Islamists as I could. My precautions and little surprises were expensive. The escape tunnel alone was over twenty thousand. The noiseless gas dispensers were located in every room and operated from a panel under the bed. The front door was purposely left as a weak entrance point. An easily defeated lock made it irresistible to anyone trying to gain entry. I wanted them inside!

Truly, the house was itself one large and ruthlessly efficient killing machine. The cameras and infrared sensing devices were carefully installed as to be absolutely invisible. The bedroom was, in fact, a SAFE ROOM which nothing short of 20 lbs of C4 could possibly force open. The electrical system was maintained by fool-proof alternate wiring powered by solar charged storage batteries that nothing could interrupt. The exposed outside wiring and phone connectors were dummies that the idiots never failed to cut.

In the early morning light my armored black ultra-quiet Suburban with the five dead Muslims wrapped in shower curtains rolled out of the dark garage on Wisconsin-Madison's Polymer non-pneumatic tire bullet proof tires. In thirty minutes I pulled up behind the American legion kitchen where a couple of our guys were waiting. We transferred the inert cargo- an hour later, wrapped in galvanized chains they were dumped in a deep water cavity in the everglades. They disappeared like the twenty or so who preceded them. Gator tid-bits!

Meanwhile, my book, The Battle of Tours, which had sold several million copies and was in its third printing, spread the ugly truth of the dark cancer of Islam across the non- Muslim world. I can't begin to count the number of fatwas the disenchanted mullahs had issued calling for my death. (A fatwa is a kind of legal finding by a half- baked so-called Islamic cleric)

It was my habit, and indeed a necessity, to keep a low profile never telegraphing my whereabouts. My business these days was the destruction of Islamic terror teams by killing as many of their insane adherents as possible. In the pursuit of this and other interesting and necessary business we had assembled over ninety reliable and highly experienced war fighters.

My job was to train them in the finer arts and techniques of silent and distant killing. We held endless classes in the clandestine methodology of killing and the study of all the areas of so-called 'wet work'! Most of these guys (no women, so far) were highly experienced themselves so our training sessions involved a lot of sharing and relearning. Most of our discussions and demonstrations were highly technical as we will show you in the coming chapters- really dry and repetitive, a lot of it intensely boring but- all very deadly if forgotten or ignored. In this business anything less than perfection often resulted in death-yours!

We knew that with over a worldwide population of over a billion plus Muslims, at least ten percent were wild-eyed murdering jihadists who would gladly slice your head off given the slightest chance. (They have done exactly that to quite a few westerners) That means, by the way, that there are then over one hundred million of these crazies roaming the world looking for infidels (that's us) to kill. Of course, they are, at present, somewhat disorganized and spread out across the world but- this is changing. With the emergence of ISIS, the Islamic State in Syria and Iraq, the true nature and goals of the beast are becoming clear to the world. They are coalescing and forming into a unified and organized killing machine. Here in America, in this year of 2014, we have some 4 to 7 million American Muslims, ( the figures are purposely fuzzy at the behest of the current administration) most of whom live peaceful lives not bothering anyone. However, the same ten percent or 400,000 to 700,000, depending on how may of these sickos actually live among us, are young, crazed zealot killers. (at a minimum, that's about 8,000 per state by the way) .

They are often encouraged by mad-mullahs in the thousands of mosques as well as many ISIS, Hezbollah and other radical 'sleepers' who have been allowed to infiltrate across our open borders. It is from these ranks that the five killers who visited my home this morning came. The Boston bombers are to be counted among this number as well as the several ISIS veterans who are today prowling our streets looking to sever the heads of innocent Americans. Across America, there are some 3000 mosques with more being built every year. The money to build these edifices of terror comes from you- every gallon of imported gas you buy pays for another brick. We are literally paying for the rope that will be used to hang us.

The absence of those who had been sent to my home will, of course, be noticed and a search will commence or perhaps already has when they failed to return with my head in the cooler they had in their vehicle. By the way, we left their van parked in front of a 7/11 in downtown Fort Lauderdale with the keys in the ignition. I'm sure it has long since disappeared.

Finding, identifying and killing dangerous Muslims is a nasty but necessary business that unfortunately, has no end in sight. The numbers we kill can't begin to match the fecundity of the Arab female. For every one we dump in the glades two or three turn 17 and pick up where the dead one left off. Clearly, killing them, as satisfying as that may be, isn't any kind of long term answer. To meaningfully pull the fangs of Islam one has to change the rhetoric and teachings of their Manual of Arms, the Quran. So far, for over 1500 years, this hasn't proved possible. As per the insane mullahs and so-called Islamic scholars, not a single word can ever be changed- nothing! As long as that's the case, we will be fighting them forever- a long slog" as McNamara prophetically said!

Yesterday, a repeat of the Itamar massacre in Israel occurred where the Fogel family was butchered while sleeping. In Plantation Florida, an entire family of normal Americans was murdered in their home. The three children, twin boys of ten and their sister who was four, were found decapitated in their beds. Their severed heads discovered the next morning stuck on poles along with those of their parents in the front yard. A woman walking her kids to the school bus found them. She and her children are being treated for hysteria at Holy Cross. They will never truly recover! Why isn't this grotesque crime on the evening news? Because we don't want it to be. Out teams recorded the call directly from the officer who got to the place first. No police radios were used. The cell call was monitored by our dispatcher. Before anyone saw this horrible scene it was cleaned up. The relatives were informed of the incident as a disappearance.

Since 9/11, over eight hundred Americans in Florida have been similarly murdered. The police never found any of the killers. We know radical Muslims are doing the killing but, so far, except for those we took care of none have been found or arrested. Federal and local police covering the mosques are watching the likely crazies but, without much success. The Islamic terror cells involved in the killing of Jews and Christians are well hidden and operate with considerable discipline, never going anywhere near mosques or other Muslims. We, of course, have not been sitting still all these years. Our BC (body count) tops 1500 during the same time period averaging 10 or so a month- nowhere near as many as are being recruited but, at least something.

As you know, In Iraq and southern Syria, the American and EU military, with the Peshmerga and elements of Iraqi and other military organizations opposed to the new Caliphate have been killing hundreds of whacked out ISIS fighters for months. The day Western aircraft started bombing, threats against Americans and Europeans were issued and attacks were being carried out across the civilized world. These guys love killing but then again, so do we! Not, however, in the same way and not for the same reasons. Our work is done to create a brake and jam up terrorists networks. We try to balance the books and make it real dangerous to be a terrorist. Because of our efforts we know that thousands who might have been tempted to sign up for Jihad have wisely decided that 72 naked virgins, as tempting that that may be, are just not worth it- at least not yet!

CHAPTER 2

SAIGON, 1966

KILLING A SNAKE USUALLY MEANS CUTTING ITS HEAD OFF

My entry and education into the killing business began in Vietnam in 1966. I learned from experienced war fighters how to take out top cong officials and officers. I spent months learning Vietnamese until no native could tell I wasn't born to the language. Sitting for month after month at the Monterey Defense Language Institute Foreign Language Center (DLIFLCM), occupying a sound proof booth, wearing a headset and listening to the strange oriental vowel and coincident sounds, I repeated and memorized them until they became second nature. Thankfully, French Priests decades before had changed the oriental pictographs to roman letters so learning to read and write the language was far easier than it might otherwise have been.

We used phone locators and radio taps to pinpoint our targets locations. We had over 100 well trained and well rewarded spies helping so learning who to kill and where the victim was at a particular moment wasn't too difficult. The guys we wanted had to have communications and that's what led us to them.

Our offices moved around a lot. We rented space in several cities and had a headquarters unit aboard a navy ship stationed offshore. The sophisticated devices we used to locate targets were tapped into local phones systems. No one could make a call that we couldn't listen to. Of course, back then there were no cell phones. We had dozens of sensitive receiving antennas picking up any and every frequency that anyone using a transmitter anywhere in Vietnam or any of the surrounding countries could possibly send voice or coded signal on. We broke every code the enemy had and could read their traffic within minutes. Of course, today we have a thousand times better surveillance equipment and the ubiquitous cell phones are too easy to track and crack! NSA has you in the crosshairs and if you're our enemy so do we! So watch your step or you might be next!!

Once we had the targets location a few of us would infiltrate the area, village, town or hamlet. We carried authentic North Vietnamese letters of identification. Those of us, like myself, who were obviously not locals, presented ourselves as Russian and, of course, I had learned perfect Russian years before. We used local radio to advise the targets staff that we might be in their area- when we showed up, we didn't surprise anyone.

It was 1967 when I made my first kill. We were meeting a local Viet Cong propaganda leader. Let's just call him Nuygen Van Tran (not his real name) at his home in Cholon, a suburb of Saigon, (now called Ho Chi Mihn city). A messenger passed a note to his guards telling him we wanted to meet and- on a rainy and dark Tuesday evening about 7 pm we were greeted at his back door. Our team took the guards out immediately we were inside. Sitting with the target was his wife and two kids. He dismissed them but, before they even got up, I shot him in both eyes with a silenced Makarov pistol or PM (Russian: Пистолет Макарова, Pistolet Makarova), literally Makarov's Pistol) a Russian semi-automatic pistol. My companion, a local, at that same instant, shot the wife and kids. We dumped kerosene throughout the house and setting a timed fuse left.

I think I had better include a few things I want you to think about before adjudicating me nothing but a cold blooded hired killer. Consider carefully and then decide. Tran had written and published hundreds of communist propaganda pamphlets and broadcast thousands of hours of commie crap on local VC radio imploring the loyal followers of Ho to kill Americans by any means. He handed out potassium cyanide syringes to kids to stab into the legs of GI's and, in this way, had murdered over a dozen or our soldiers. We had him cold and he disserved to die. The wife and kids were regrettable collateral damage, dying only because they had seen us and, because they remained with this monster.

Over the next two years our teams repeated this kind of thing at least five hundred times taking out over two thousand top communists and fellow travelers. Did we make a difference? Probably, but truth be told, not much! Do I have a guilty conscience for my role in all this dirty work? No! I learned how to efficiently dispatch America's enemies and for me that was enough. Today, as we do the same to the mad Muslims, I am thankful that I had this kind of education and experience. I landed in Saigon after training in Taiwan and Thailand when I was 26 as a young and dumb civil engineer and pilot with a talent for language mayhem and intrigue! My Government instructors must have noticed something was different about me from the very first.

Ten of us were given a survival vest and told to run and hide and the chasers would try to find us after two hours. This was E&E training (escape and evasion). We had listened to our instructors in Bangkok droning on in the hot classrooms for hours about what to do if we were forced down over enemy territory. We were next to Vung Tao, an Australian air base about 50 miles from Saigon. I let the guys run far ahead of me. When they were out of sight along with the instructors behind me, I turned hard right and ran down the south perimeter road to the west side of the field.

I found a bunch of Aussie soldiers kicking back on the sunny beach. Sitting down beside them said I had a couple of days to kill and asked if they had a BOQ or someplace I could bunk. Two days later, rested well fed and tan, I trotted over to the east side where the old Marine sergeant had search parties combing the swamps looking for my sorry ass for 48 hours. I had a clean Aussie T shirt, a wide brimmed Aussie bush hat, sunglasses and a can of fosters in my hand.

The old guy was fit to be tied! (@#%&&@@XXX)- he screamed curses at me for 30 minutes in languages even I couldn't understand. He frothed and got red faced jumping up and down and carrying on terribly. I stood there quietly. When he finally ran out of air, I said, Look Sergeant, we were distinctly told in class to blend in with the locals if possible. That's exactly what I did, didn't I? What could he say? He was with our small bunch in Bangkok and heard the same thing! The others were dirty, mosquito bitten, covered with leach bites and look horrible- of course they hated me!! Too funny...

After that stunt, my life changed. I went through a dozen schools all over the world and learned things that no one in their right mind would believe! Being remarkably strong and fast, I excelled in personal defense and, within a few weeks could best any of my trainers. This, of course, royally pissed them off and I was constantly being challenged. This, I was, like any dumb show- off kid, quite fond of. Until I met Sergey! Sergey was smaller than me by a head but at least as strong as I was.

Let me explain here that self-defense has a hell of a lot to do with ones physicality. The ability to grab a person's wrist exerting enough force to crush flat the opponent's tendons, making the hand useless, is important. Then to hit the sternum with ones other hand or foot with enough force to incapacitate a horse is very useful- believe me, superior strength and speed is enormously important.

In out first match Sergey presented me with a smile followed by a totally unexpected brutal kick to my solar plexus. Why the solar plexus instead of trying to knock my head off? There are several good things about this strike. The first is that it is hard to see coming. If you keep your eyes on your opponent, they will probably be expecting you to swing for their face as this is more common. You can drop a solar plexus strike in without much range and under their eye line so they won't see it coming. I certainly didn't.

The second is that if you get it right it's extremely painful (it was) and stops the opponent in their tracks (it didn't in my case) as they won't be able to breathe. During this time, when they're doubled over, you can either hit them a few more times to finish them off, leg it, or do both. I managed to keep my breath and was hurt but not out.

Thirdly, you're not likely to cause any lasting damage to your hand or foot (important), or them (less important but still worth bearing in mind). Hands, fingers and knuckles break easily when you hit people on hard surfaces like their face. The solar plexus strike won't damage either hand or foot.

The nice thing about hitting the solar plexus is there a lot of nerves there and the diaphragm that helps you breathe is behind. He knew that and so did I. When you hit the diaphragm spasms, the person can't breathe and is in a lot of pain. Even muscular guys can get taken down with this easily as even if they're bodybuilders they can't develop muscle over that area. In fact if they're lean it's ideal as they won't have any fat there to protect them either. Since Sergey's demonstration, I've seen a 'muay thai' fighter get knocked out cold with a solar plexus strike- he had to be carried out of the ring unconscious, which was a good demonstration of its effectiveness.

I dropped to the deck with his leg trapped under my arm pulling him down beside me. He snapped a fist at my throat which I blocked and then, faster than the eye could see or I could react, he wrapped his arm around my neck from the back shutting off the blood to my head. When I woke up after a minute, he helped me up and showed me exactly what happened. Turned out he had been flown in to finish my training because the local instructors had shown me all they could.

I spent the next 4 weeks with Sergey working out three to five hours daily. To hit effectively you need to transfer your weight through the target. Let me tell you something about this kind of training. For one thing, you practice the same move hundreds of times. I learned the solar plexus strikes until it was just and automatic reflex whenever the opponent presented an opening. You can skip the following if this bores you but this is what such training is really like. You are there to learn to kill, incapacitate and kill- nothing more and certainly nothing less. Never leave the opponent alive- Why? because your life depends on it.

If you just hit the solar plexus without weight transfer, your strike will probably bounce off, maybe surprise them a bit, but nothing more. The best way to practice weight transfer is to practice the strike against a bag and then against someone, ideally a willing training partner. We did, over and over and then over again... The idea is to build instinctive muscle memory - you can't fight effectively if you have to think about what you're doing.

Get the opponent to stand there and start with a push on his solar plexus. The solar plexus is located at the top of the abs (or where the abs should be if you're not a sit-up person) and just below the centre point of your nipples. If you poke your finger onto the sternum (the breastbone) then go down a bit, then you'll find there is an area that's extremely unpleasant to poke. That's where you want to hit- hard!

Start with just stepping forward and pushing that area. The idea is that your bodyweight is transferred through the opponent, so keep your arm relaxed and push through as if you're pushing through to their spine. You want to do it so you step and your front foot hits the deck as you hit, so your body weight drops into your strike. This is extremely important so don't skip this step, make sure that you are stepping forward properly and pushing your body weight through, as if you leave your feet behind and try and extend your arm to hit, you're greatly limiting the power of your strike.

If you keep