Falcon: Ashanti: Falcon, #2

By Paul Le May

Falcon returns. This time in Africa trying to stop a plot to create a new Empire run by criminal warlords. Again assisted by MI6 he faces down a murderous foe intent on bringing death to the streets of Britain, Europe and the US using stolen drone technologies. All the while tracked and watched by Russian agents who want their secrets back. 

Book 2 of 3. Although enjoyable as a stand alone story this book is the second in a series with an underlying thread. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: PLM Publishing
• Release date: Nov 10, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386971405

Book preview

Falcon: Ashanti

Falcon returns. This time in Africa trying to stop a plot to create a new Empire run by criminal warlords. Again assisted by MI6 he faces down a murderous foe intent on bringing death to the streets of Britain, Europe and the US using stolen drone technologies. All the while tracked and watched by Russian agents who want their secrets back.

Falcon

Ashanti

Falcon, Volume Two

Paul Le May

Published by PLM Publishing

First Edition 2018

Second Edition 2023

Disclaimer

This ebook is a work of fiction and any similarities to persons living or dead, places or events is coincidental.

––––––––

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

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

Epilogue

Other Books in the Series

Prologue

This had been her father's home. A retreat away from cities and crowds, a tranquillity that reminded him of his ancestry, of the Ashanti Empire that had once ruled across West Africa. He had built it with his own hands in his younger days before life had led him in a different direction. Palatial, the house represented his subconscious dreams for the future. Now it was hers and she would continue the dream.

Abena presented herself for impact. She knew she was beautiful, like a princess. Dark ebony skin on a statuesque frame. Smooth long legs, a toned physique and small pert breasts. The flowing dress she chose accentuated it all. The hem swept the floor as she walked, pulling open the slit that rose to her crotch. The silky material clung to her naked body beneath, hugging her breasts, and highlighting the pierced erect nipples.

She walked barefoot slowly through the hall, her hall, she reminded herself. She knew the warlords assembled were staring, feasting their eyes at every provocative flash of her thighs. She didn't care. Her body was a tool, to be used for the greater need. She would flaunt her physical assets in the same way she would use her wealth. Like a carpenter would use a chisel or a chemist would use his knowledge. God and good genes had given her this body and she would use it if that achieved her goals.

The chair stood like a throne at the end of the hall, exactly as she had intended. She knew they would be secretly laughing. The foolish daughter who thought she could run a kingdom. They didn't take her seriously, thinking only of her as a child. But that would not last for very long.

Abena took a remote and flicked on the TV screen, selecting CNN News. She kept the sound down. A few of the waiting men glanced questioning at it but said nothing.

She turned and surveyed them. Stood against the long full-height glass walls the afternoon African sun beat down, defeating the air conditioning. Beads of sweat trickled down their faces and stains could be seen on their shirts. Around twenty of them, each looking little more than street life, except for their weapons. Like her father, full of their importance but lacking any culture or refinement. They needed a leader, someone to bring their bands of thugs and terrorists together with a single purpose.

You all doubt me. Abena began quietly.

You call yourself Clan Leaders. But you squabble over petty issues. You steal and embezzle for your own benefit, whilst our enemies strip the resources of our countries, impose tariffs on our goods, make us pay for access to their markets, and keep our peoples dependent on charity.

You are not your father. One shouted back.

Find a man and stay out of our business. Another grumbled as the others murmured support.

"Why did you call us here?

You waste our time." Yet another.

Abena lifted her voice.

Is it a waste to want fair trade? A waste to want what is ours back from the Europeans and their collaborators?

What is ours is in Ghana. But you hide here. In the swamps. Kofi said with strength.

I do not hide.

Kofi saw the first flash of steel in her eyes and realised the woman should not be underestimated.

Mensa Oduro listened intently. This woman was alluring, and he could foresee that something immense was about to reveal itself.

Paris was busy. Although still not warm enough to abandon coats and scarves, dry spring weather had arrived early after the unusually cold, snowy winter. And with it had come an advanced flurry of tourists into the city before the Easter rush. English and other Europeans mingled with the native French along the Champs Elysee, heading either to the Place De la Concorde or the Arc de Triomphe. Others were looking to visit The Louvre, The Centre Pompidou or any of the myriad of attractions that the French Capital offered.

Nicolas had come in from Saumur with his girlfriend. Staying at a hotel near the Gare Du Noir metro station they had four days in which to see the sights. More importantly, Nicolas had four days to find the right moment to ask Lucie to be his bride. And as they headed arm in arm towards the Eiffel Tower he could feel the quiver of anticipation in his stomach. This was to be the moment.

They talked as normal on the walk. Nicolas keeping his intentions secret, while all the time keeping a reassuring grasp of the small box hidden in his coat pocket. He wanted it to be a surprise.

They rose skyward in the lift through the ironwork and Nicolas tried to put his queasiness of heights to one side, wanting to appear bold and brave to Lucie. The elevator passed the lower platforms and he avoided looking out any more.

Arriving at the third platform nine hundred feet above Paris he strode out to the barriers to take in the breathtaking view. It was an act. He would sooner have stayed near the centre.

Here in the open Nicolas had a real sense of height and his knees trembled. He wasn't sure he liked it, but Lucie was fine and he wouldn't look wimpy in front of her. Instead, he gripped the railing and forced himself to look confident.

Around the two lovers, a few other couples gasped at the same visage or tried to look straight down at the tiny dots moving about at the base.

Nicolas kept his eyes ahead, trying to avoid seeing the drop. Paris stretched out in a tapestry of grey buildings. Closer, the Champs de Mars was a rich green, as though someone had taken a brush and swept green paint through the grey.

This early in the morning it was still relatively quiet and Nicolas started to relax. Unstressed by not having large amounts of people around he saw his moment and turned to Lucie.

What are you doing? She asked with a laugh as he bent down on one knee.

Nicolas looked up at her beautiful face framed by her long dark hair. Gentle features on her face with large, dark eyes that sparkled in the spring sunshine. Her lips were turned up in a smile with the white of perfect teeth just visible. His eyes portrayed her confusion, though there was just a hint that Lucie was beginning to grasp his intentions.

Lucie. He began. His stomach did a flip as nerves took hold again.  He swallowed and went to speak again, but then the dark shadow in the distance caught his eye over her shoulder.

Yes? Lucie had the look of anticipation. Now she knew what he wanted to say, wanted him to get on with it. But he had taken to looking past her. For a moment she feared he would back out.

Lucie. He said again. His eyes narrowed on the strange cloud. It was becoming more defined, breaking into individual units.

Lucie lost her smile, becoming annoyed with his distraction. She looked round to see the source. By now it was becoming clearer and others around them began to look and point.

They're drones. Lucie heard Nicolas say quietly as he stood. He had lost the moment.

She could see them herself now. Maybe a hundred small, toy-like machines, less than two feet across, each with four rotors keeping them airborne.

"The British took our lands, exiled our leaders. And today the Ashanti are subsumed into Ghana as little more than a province. We are impoverished.

I want a better future and I will bring that future about."

She lowered her voice and continued.

The Ashanti have always sought advancement. Abena eyed them carefully as she spoke.

We were the first in Africa to adopt European weaponry, the first to use advanced strategy in warfare. Now, the time has come to once again embrace new ideas.

She could see the assembled group losing interest in her words. Without a demonstration, they would fall back into squabbling and petty crime. That was not what her father had set out to achieve. And although he had been unable to rise above the label of mere terrorist, Abena had greater ideas. Only Kofi and Mensa still watched her with interest.

Lucie leant back into Nicolas as he embraced her with his arms. She could feel his comforting body warmth even through the half-length coat.

They have cameras. She said pointing with a gloved hand. She could hear the hum of motors as they got closer.

Look, you can see the lens...

The first silent bullets cut through Lucie’s throat exiting out into Nicolas. They toppled as one onto the towers wrought iron decking still in their embrace. More bullets came, cutting into other sightseers. They ran, screaming as the small aerial vehicles hunted them down. Like a swarm of wasps, they manoeuvred around the tight lattice structure releasing shot after shot, into the people as they fought to escape through the restricted staircase. Each was perfectly on target as onboard computers reacted in milliseconds.

Abena felt pride in herself as the large screen took the men's attention. Shakey footage of her drones as they circled one of Europe's iconic symbols.  Another view taken from a high-powered television camera showed the body of a man hanging limply on the second stage railings. Then more smartphone camera shots of people lying along the Avenue Gustav Eiffel.

What is this? Akwesi asked incredulously.

The future. Abena said quietly from her throne-like chair.

As she saw them watch her demonstration unfold on live TV she felt like the Queen she intended to be.

"Today you stop being warlords and become Generals.

I will lead you to victory."

Kwasi stood back, alone in being unimpressed.

That is just murder without aim. Where is the profit in this? He asked, his voice tinted with anger. He would follow no woman with silly toys.

Abena fixed him with a stare that was hard to fathom from someone so beautiful. Kwasi almost withered under it. For the first time, the little girl he had seen grow up and thought little of, other than as a child frightened him.

This, Kwasi, is how we make our oppressors back away. We bring them fear. True horror to their streets, to their people.

"No Abena.

You will bring the Americans, the British and the French to our lands as the Arabs brought them to theirs."

Abena could see some of the others looking at him, listening to his words. They thought small. Another demonstration was needed.

She rose from her seat sweeping the loose dress back behind her and walked slowly towards him, swaying her body in distraction as she did so.

Kwasi.  I have known you all my life as you have me. You watched me grow, you were there the day I left for America and again for England to be educated. I have never known you to show fear.

It is not fear you see. It is realism.

Abena shook her head slowly as she reached him, stopping just inches from his sun-baked face. It portrayed every one of his fifty-something years, but his body was still that of a powerful man. She reached a finger out to stroke the bare patch of his chest just above the opening of his shirt where an amulet hung.

Why do you wear this? She asked as she played with it in her fingers. 

To protect against evil. It is the way of our ancestors and I respect the tradition.

Kwasi became distracted, his eyes flitting between the softness of her lips and the pertness of her breasts beneath the almost translucent material. He could feel his emotions being played with as her perfume assaulted his nostrils. For the first time, he felt an attraction to the little girl he had watched run barefoot, playing childish games in this very compound. He struggled to reconcile the two visions.

She moved in closer, her breath on his face as he could not help but stare into her eyes. They stared back, unblinking. Despite his bulk, he suddenly felt very small in the presence of this slight woman.

Then the sharp blade of a small knife sunk deep into the soft flesh of his throat and he staggered back in shock. He had not seen it coming, had not expected it. He reached up feeling the handle where it protruded, unsure whether to pull it out. His mind panicked as he struggled to breathe. His lungs filled with his blood with each laboured breath, slowly drowning him in his own life fluid. Then the pain came in a tidal flood and he tried to scream, only to force more blood to gurgle around the hilt. Tiny droplets sprayed away from the wound, almost but not quite reaching Abena as if she knew the exact distance to stand. She looked on without emotion.

The others watched as Kwasi dropped to his knees. He pulled the blade free in desperation and blood flowed profusely with each bubbling gulp of air. For a moment it appeared as if he would scrabble back to his feet. Then the rasping stopped and the man's face visibly sagged and dulled. A moment later his bulk toppled forward to the polished stone floor. The knife fell from his hand with a gentle rattle against the tiles.

Abena stood for a moment looking down at the still body of the man she had once seen as an uncle. Behind her the others were quiet but she could feel their eyes on her. She knew that when she turned they would either follow her, or they would kill her. This was her moment of danger.

Abena braced herself and turned to walk unhurriedly back to the ‘throne’ for that was how she would think of it from now on. Their eyes remained on her but no one else challenged. She had won.

Today the Ashanti rise again.

In Paris, the police had arrived in minutes. A deafening scream of sirens and flashing lights sent passers-by running.

National Gendarmerie Intervention Group took the lead. An elite anti-terrorist police unit supported by RAID officers cordoned off the area and took up positions.

They were purposefully intimidating, dressed in back, balaclavas hiding their faces, and heavily armed.

A ring of steel was in place in moments, weapons aimed skyward, ready for an assault.

But the skies were clear. The attacking drones had vanished as