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Authors: D C Stansfield
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at the large writing table with a big cup of coffee and thought the
problem through. As an enforcer, his job
was pretty simple. It was a lot of
intimidation, threats and occasional violence. Mainly it was fronting John Sea’s organisation and that with his height, build and reputation was enough to ensure most
villains complied with whatever he wanted. Only a few times in his career had he killed anyone and those he had
done with his bare hands. He had done a
stint in the army so had familiarity with weapons but in the last ten years had
not had cause to carry one nor did he like them. Not to mention the fact that anyone in the UK
found in possession of a firearm would face prison so it was normally not worth
the risk.
He went through his assets. His
overall command was a small army of thugs and petty criminals but this job was
too specialised for most of them. He then worked through his close team, his
day to day support, ticking them off one by one, all good guys, big and tough
and ready to do what was asked of them.
He had two guys that John Sea had recommended a few years ago that
had never let him down. Ex-spooks, these
were the watchers and information gathers and were an easy slot to scope out The
Assassin and The Surgeon.
Dispensing with The Surgeon, he felt was easy. An over-the-hill tough guy should not be too
hard to stop no matter what his reputation was. There were two brothers, born in Russia but who spoke perfect English
and worked on this kind of thing. Big
and powerful, individually they were highly dangerous, together they were
unbeatable. They normally worked with a
little Scottish guy who was great with a knife. As a team they were very reliable.
“These three for one middle-aged has-been was more than enough,”
thought Keith.
For The Assassin it was a little more complex. He was undoubtedly armed and it could get
very dangerous. Keith knew a couple of
guys who freelanced, ex- terrorists who liked money more than the cause. He would put feelers out tomorrow. They lived in Marseille, France. They could fly in, do the job and disappear.
The biggest worry was The Grey Man. Storming a house with all guns blazing was a difficult thing, even
though it looked easy in the movies. The
chances of shooting and killing each other were high. It had to be mercenaries and they were not
easy to find, especially ones willing to work in the UK, also time was not on
his side.
He first called on the ex-spooks, both men in their early thirties
who had worked for MI6, both were too young to have worked with Surge and
neither had met Collins. They were small,
quiet men and went by the names of Ian and Damien. Ian was fit, five foot seven inches tall,
dressed in jeans, sweatshirt and trainers with blonde hair in a modern haircut
which was short and flicked up. Damien
was overweight, five foot five inches, balding, dressed in a shiny grey suit
with an open collar on what looked to be a slightly dirty white shirt.
Keith gave them the brief. “Look,”
he said. “I do not want a full twenty
four hour surveillance. What I need is
times in the day when we know where these guys will be so we can take them out. I suggest you take a target each and then
swap. These are highly experienced
marks, if you stay around too long they will spot you, so after a few hours in,
change place. Okay?”
“No problem,” said Ian and Damien almost in sync.
“The boy was no problem,” Keith thought. He worked in the shop all day. No need for surveillance. Keith would turn up with another big man and
together they would walk him to the car. Easy.
Chapter 11
Eyes on
Surge was pulling pints in his pub which is what he did most nights. The regular customers had got used to him,
probably the least talkative landlord in England, but he smiled and nodded and
served a good pint and
problem through. As an enforcer, his job
was pretty simple. It was a lot of
intimidation, threats and occasional violence. Mainly it was fronting John Sea’s organisation and that with his height, build and reputation was enough to ensure most
villains complied with whatever he wanted. Only a few times in his career had he killed anyone and those he had
done with his bare hands. He had done a
stint in the army so had familiarity with weapons but in the last ten years had
not had cause to carry one nor did he like them. Not to mention the fact that anyone in the UK
found in possession of a firearm would face prison so it was normally not worth
the risk.
He went through his assets. His
overall command was a small army of thugs and petty criminals but this job was
too specialised for most of them. He then worked through his close team, his
day to day support, ticking them off one by one, all good guys, big and tough
and ready to do what was asked of them.
He had two guys that John Sea had recommended a few years ago that
had never let him down. Ex-spooks, these
were the watchers and information gathers and were an easy slot to scope out The
Assassin and The Surgeon.
Dispensing with The Surgeon, he felt was easy. An over-the-hill tough guy should not be too
hard to stop no matter what his reputation was. There were two brothers, born in Russia but who spoke perfect English
and worked on this kind of thing. Big
and powerful, individually they were highly dangerous, together they were
unbeatable. They normally worked with a
little Scottish guy who was great with a knife. As a team they were very reliable.
“These three for one middle-aged has-been was more than enough,”
thought Keith.
For The Assassin it was a little more complex. He was undoubtedly armed and it could get
very dangerous. Keith knew a couple of
guys who freelanced, ex- terrorists who liked money more than the cause. He would put feelers out tomorrow. They lived in Marseille, France. They could fly in, do the job and disappear.
The biggest worry was The Grey Man. Storming a house with all guns blazing was a difficult thing, even
though it looked easy in the movies. The
chances of shooting and killing each other were high. It had to be mercenaries and they were not
easy to find, especially ones willing to work in the UK, also time was not on
his side.
He first called on the ex-spooks, both men in their early thirties
who had worked for MI6, both were too young to have worked with Surge and
neither had met Collins. They were small,
quiet men and went by the names of Ian and Damien. Ian was fit, five foot seven inches tall,
dressed in jeans, sweatshirt and trainers with blonde hair in a modern haircut
which was short and flicked up. Damien
was overweight, five foot five inches, balding, dressed in a shiny grey suit
with an open collar on what looked to be a slightly dirty white shirt.
Keith gave them the brief. “Look,”
he said. “I do not want a full twenty
four hour surveillance. What I need is
times in the day when we know where these guys will be so we can take them out. I suggest you take a target each and then
swap. These are highly experienced
marks, if you stay around too long they will spot you, so after a few hours in,
change place. Okay?”
“No problem,” said Ian and Damien almost in sync.
“The boy was no problem,” Keith thought. He worked in the shop all day. No need for surveillance. Keith would turn up with another big man and
together they would walk him to the car. Easy.
Chapter 11
Eyes on
Surge was pulling pints in his pub which is what he did most nights. The regular customers had got used to him,
probably the least talkative landlord in England, but he smiled and nodded and
served a good pint and
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