"Exposure"
21st April 2008 05.30hrs It should have been easy, he thought ruefully. Go in to the meeting point, initiate the contact, exchange the goods, beat a fast retreat. Only it hadn't worked out, quite as he had planned. The contact had been a tall, leggy redhead, for one moment, he had thought it had been her.. he felt the tension tighten in his abdomen. She had turned her head towards him, and her green eyes glinted, he had relaxed, it wasn't her. He had smiled and acknowledged her, he kissed her lightly on the cheek, she smelt overwhelmingly of an expensive perfume, too much he thought lightly. He took a seat opposite her, she had ordered for both of them. His coffee sat enticingly before him, the aroma of full flavour blue mountain, noir, competing with her perfume, he sipped from the cup before placing the copy of today's paper, The Guardian, on the table between them. Inserted into the paper, was a bankers bond for one million pounds sterling; her price for giving him the name of the dealer. She was good, barely glancing at him, as he placed the paper casually on the table, not giving anything away in her body language. Instead she drank her coffee, draining the cup dry, before standing and moving around the table, she kissed him lightly on the cheek, whispering `Alexis Karpoulounis, his yacht is moored at Knossos, the Enchanted Lady'. She swept the paper, along with the bond into her bag and walked out of the door. The banker's bond was a genuine bond, but the technical wizards in Q's department had fitted a retrograde marker, anyone, and everyone who came into skin contact with it, would be traceable. He went to pick up his cup, but due to the latex on his hands, it slipped and sent the cup flying, he bent trying to catch it and saw a red laser target marking him. He moved quickly, through to the rear of the café, towards the toilets and shelter, clutching at his stomach as though he were in need of relief. He glanced back as he allowed the door to shut behind him, the other customers were behaving as though nothing were wrong. His instincts told him to run, but he needed to know who was responsible, was his contact a double agent? Setting him up for a fall? He glanced about the room again, but nothing was out of place, he guessed at the line of fire, but his vision was impeded. Time was marching on, he needed to be moving out. He pushed at the door at the back past the toilets, labelled staff only, and found himself in an empty corridor. He strode swiftly towards the back, he took the gun out of the shoulder holster, and put it in his waistband, hiding it with his jacket. A fire door was the exit, he kicked out at the door, and rolled through it, into the alleyway at the rear of the café. As he had expected, he had company, and he heard the muffled shots of a silenced weapon hitting the wall nearby his head. He took cover, instincts taking over, the adrenaline flooding through his veins, he had to turn the tables. Whoever this was wanted him dead, not just a warning otherwise they would have left by now. Silently, he moved around the alley, seeking shelter, all the while improving his position. The shooter was positioned near the entrance, he managed to gain a safe position, but there was a open space between them now, no cover, no shelter. He took a deep breath and charged, directly towards the shooter, hoping to take them by surprise. He covered the ground in seconds, but it felt like minutes, all the time he kept expecting to be hit. He used his weapon as he covered the last few yards, and heard the shooter fall, but he kept up the pace. It had only been one shooter, a young man, of what appeared to be Eastern Mediterranean appearance, well dressed, and carrying a laser targeting weapon. His shots had taken the shooter down, not killing him outright, but he would soon be dead. Sean bent down, and looked into the shooter's eyes, "Who are you? Why were you trying to kill me?" the shooter simply smiled, and then had died in his arms. `Damn' he though, too much was at stake. He took out his telephone and dialled the office. When it was answered, he keyed in his security number and it was transferred through to the correct department. Isobel answered it, her soft highland tones belying an tough old cookie. "Isobel, it's Sean. The meet went sour, and I have some waste that needs removing." Isobel was good, she had the body picked up, the area sanitized and Sean into the office before 30 mins had passed. 07.45hrs Sean sat on the chair outside Andrea's office, she in the meantime was on the telephone to Gray Wellman of the SIA. He was still in the folds of the adrenaline rush, and sitting still on a bench waiting for Andrea was making him twitchy, he found it hard to stay motionless. Andrea had been furious with him, he needed to be active, she had promoted him to liaison officer, but he missed the excitement of the chase. When the opportunity of the meet had come up, he had pressured Roger into trading places with him, keen to keep his skills up. "Of all the stupid things you have done, this is quite possibly the most stupid to date." Andrea had raged at him, "not only have you managed to expose yourself, which you were forbidden to do", Sean fumed, being forbidden to do anything, was for him tantamount to a desire to do the absolute opposite., "but you have also managed to lose the messenger." Now he did feel ashamed of his actions, in the unfolding of events, he was supposed to have put a tracker on her, the bond carried some element of traceability, but he had an opportunity, which he failed to make use of. The teams outside, had followed her for as long as they could, but they lost her as she heading into a busy underground station. The name of the dealer, was not known, nor was a boat of that name registered. Although they were checking on that, the only piece of real evidence was that the shooter had been one, Mikhael Rostovic, a self employed shooter, you couldn't call him a hit man, he was second rate by anyone's judgement. He was Serbian, but more lately of Moscow, where he was known for being a bully boy for some of the small fry of the Moscow Mafiya. It all left many questions unanswered. Were the Mafiya involved? Who was the identity of the Greek? Was the meet a setup to kill the person meeting the contact? He groaned, the sifting of the information was put on his plate, a punishment for daring to step outside the boundary they had set. Andrea had warned him that his future was under discussion, if he were compromised, then he faced the real possibility that either he would have to become a grey man, forever inside these walls. Or worse still, that they would dispense with his services, pittance of a pension and a panic button in case of callers. He had no intentions of being a grey man, spending his life inside these walls, it was like a life sentence, all for one indiscretion. With his contacts on the outside, he could go into security, but it wouldn't be as interesting, nor would he consider becoming a mercenary, a paid soldier. He realised then, that he didn't have a life, no hobbies, no family, no ties apart from a deep abiding love for a woman, who didn't seem to care about him, and even that was uncertain as was his future. Return