Just wanted to put out the rewrite todate - hope you like it.

Roger Turner enjoyed coming home to meet Antonia, complete with brandy … it seemed to make his evening and define that break from work to mostly pleasure.

Roger always wondered whether he and Antonia were lovers or lodgers? They made love on a Saturday night like clockwork … the best way to describe it.

Antonia didn’t look at other men, she loved the house, the family and the freedom to live her own life. He was there if anything happened and on the end of a phone otherwise but something else was bothering her and she wouldn’t talk about it.

Sat out in the garden, away from everywhere he made his round of checking calls watching Antonia come towards him with large brandies talking the day away.

He’d met Antonia following her legal career meltdown. She was still emotionally raw and he understood; leaving her rawness to heal, which took a long time but he loved her and his business with the challenges both brought.

Something had arisen between them that was not just on a Saturday night although this was the only physical manifestation these days, “Antonia, you are a sweet relief from the week’s toils.”

“You are talking to the Brandies, Roger, I am up here.”

“Then come down here!” he said, opening his legs for her to sit on, “I am in need of sustenance and only you my love, can supply it.”

“In the shape of two large Brandies?”

“You are worth more than two large Brandies.”

“I doubt that on a Friday night but tomorrow, maybe?”

“It is good to have the worries of the week over.”

“But are they over, Roger?

He thought for a moment but his children were old enough to be to ignored now and he left Antonia, Albert and Cookie to run everything else so he just needed to earn money, enjoy life but the one in the woodpile were the troubles with the Hijackings.

Managing the oil tanker hijacks was just a bit of interest, with a healthy financial reward..

There were always problems with the team activities as the operation became more complex and given a choice he wouldn’t have involved incompetence of Algenald Matthews, the arrogance of Sasha Gomez with his Russian women, or for that matter Mark Stephens but he needed Alfred Stephens with his Nigerian corrupt contacts for the oil tankers and Mark is Alfred’s associated baggage, just as the women are Sasha’s baggage.

The worry for Roger however was Sasha targeting primarily US tankers thus attracting US interest which he could do without and the trouble he kept having with those Russian women which kept him in the Press. He should be targeting any tankers, not just American and not appearing in the Press with his Russian girls.

Simon Askew wondered what had propelled him into a career he didn’t want and put him into a Secret Prison which he could not speak about otherwise he was guilty of breaking International and UN Laws, not to mention UK ones.

Even this he could live with after his escape to Algenald Matthews’ office as his PA but Simon had a lot of opportunities in his life as it is fashionable to describe problems, and one of them was his friendship with a CIA Agent. Often mailing each other they were as most friends are, stupid in saying too much.

His friend emailed about a girl he fallen in love with and Simon as a friend offered up his ‘best wishes’ for the relationship whilst he ran checks as friends do on the girl, who immediately came up as a Chinese Agent involved with a ‘very Senior US Army General’.

Well what was a good friend to do?

He called his friend pointing out that he was happy for their relationship and would keep mum about it but in the spirit of co-operation what could his friend offer in return for his failing to do his duty and inform his bosses about it.

This began an enhanced friendship until one day a phone call came from his friend’s boss, “You’ve interfered in a CIA operation, caused the death of a double agent and destroyed a major flow of dis-information to China. You’ve wiped out years of planning and damaged this Agency. You have a choice Simon? You either pass information that we require to us or we destroy you!” Thus Simon was now a ‘double agent’ for the CIA and if Simon thought his life had gone bad he didn’t have the experience to really understand how bad it would become.

The last instructions to him from the CIA were to approach Parky who ran the Secret Team; get him to put a team together who would go to West Africa to stop the tanker piracy on the ground and this worried him as his boss did not want to be interested in affairs outside of his position and consistently told him to concentrate on the UK.

Simon rang Matthews asking for a word, “Sir, Sir Nicholas had rung asking for your assistance on something that is worrying the PM.”

“What is that, Simon?”

“Sir Nicholas said these attacks in West Africa are worrying the PM and Sir Nicholas who preferred his role isn’t known has told the PM he will asked you to create a Team to assist in solving the problem.”

This left Matthews in a quandary. He could not turn down the PM’s ear as it was the only part of the PM’s anatomy that actually functioned in respect of Matthews apart from the PM’s boot, “Simon. I must not be seen to be involved. Will you contact Parky, explain the situation and tell him it is authorised under ‘Vote XML’ and whatever sub-vote is appropriate. Tell him to do it as cheaply as possible so we show willing but risk little!”

“Yes, sir,” Simon went back to his office and ran Thomas Macguire, “Macguire here.”

“Simon Askew, Thomas. Mr Matthews wants Parky to arrange something but does not want to be seen to be involved. It has come down from on high that the PM through Peres wants a team to be sent out to West Africa … something about the Piracy out there but unofficially. Matthews wants it cheap, cheerful and through ‘Vote XML’ and whatever sub-vote is appropriate he said.”

“I’ll arrange it, Simon.”

“Thanks, Thomas,” Simon rang off. It should keep the CIA happy.

Parky put the phone down after the call from Tom.

The Vote number was the agreed code with Matthews, when his instructions did not come direct. He rang Bishop who Parky used as an unofficial link with ex-Special Services people, “Yes, Parky.”

“Matthews wants a team put together to go to West Africa. Anyone come to mind?”

“As you won’t let me sort the Major and Scooter out, take them. They’re no loss. A friend of mine knows of a couple of others living rough who are on the lists so they can go. One is a lorry driver called Benny who let a load get lifted … a Gang Bosses’ daughter’s wedding and house stuff and he is in hiding. There is also an Irish guy…. virtually a wreck these days but he is still being hunted and living rough down on Camberwell Green along with the driver. That makes 4. To show willing, you need 5. Whatever you do don’t tell them the truth or none will go. Fob them off with something. Give them pennies, ship them out, and leave them to die.”

“You do like a grudge, Bishop but penny pinching will stuff it up from the beginning. ￡3000 a head should do it with Matthews wasting more than that on his tea a month. I’ll get Gris to do the recruiting; your ugly face around the Major and Scooter will raise alarm bells. We can feed them one story to start with; change it the further they are away. Telling them the truth when we know they can’t get out easily seems the best idea but most of them are ‘lunch’ anyway so they don’t have a choice but we need another dead-beat … pick some young innocent.”

“OK, Parky.”

Parky stopped for a moment to consider the rest of his team.

Gris was working freelance in Ireland and enjoying her work.

Prilloch was as usual kept in harness for those quick jobs but Bishop was causing him trouble over wanting to kill people because of history. If they started doing that, they would never stop.

Bishop and Ralf were still there in the early morning when suddenly the owners came in to check if the Orthodox guy had started yet. He wasn’t there but we were which did not initially go down very well as they also wondered why and with the drinks safe open. Bishop explained the problems with the solution, leaving the Owners happy enough but still wondering about the drinks safe that Bishop had opened.

They were staying to wait for their guy an hour later so diplomatically we left for home before the trouble started.

I eventually got back to the house to find a long tirade on the table, accusing me of everything including the death of Christ, but luckily there wasn’t anything to strip from the house since paying for it had left me unable to buy anything else and she hadn’t bought anything to put there in the first place.

I found some pre-packed Indian meals, a couple of beers and a bottle of vodka she had missed in the cleaning cupboard … my emergency rations as she never went there and celebrated my new freedom by turning on the electric blanket to burn the sheets by the time I went to bed.

I came in the next day…. nothing seemed untoward and Bishop suggested a late afternoon, finish early after last night, and we joined up at the “Coughing Parrot” for a couple of beers.

Bishop got the round in and said, “Owners rang this morning, they want you gone. They don’t want anyone around who knows how bad things are. I’m OK, having worked for Israeli firms before but you were on a knife’s edge despite my backing and John the Lloyd’s Broker put the final knife twist in to get you out!”

“John had me thrown out because I know too much?”

“I can help, Boy, as I feel a bit guilty about it. I know someone who needs a job done … First Aider in Africa?”

“What are you talking about Bishop?”

“It’s a Private Job, Boy … Government deal actually … payment and no questions … you just go on holiday between jobs and you take the money. I recommended you for it Boy … it is a piece of cake! All you have to do is join the team, keep your nose clean and ￡3000 is yours and I can get you a job on my next project with another Insurance Broker.”

“You agreed this before you spoke to me, Bishop?”

“How much do you earn, Boy?”

“So what Bishop…. I’m alive and not in anything dodgy!”

“It’s three grand tax free and I’ll get you on the next job. In three months there are no problems, you have good references and you just took a long break to travel. All kids do it!”

“Bishop … I want to pay the mortgage next month!”

“I’ll arrange it, Boy. It will be a picnic and you’ll get a tan as well!”

“Boy, I’d better make a move, I’m meeting Jessica in Kensington and she doesn’t like standing on her own in a street … makes her look like a whore, she says. I’ll give you a call tomorrow with the meet details.”

Paid off, thrown out and in a bar to drink my sorrows down … not a happy state of mind if I could find one!

Bishop did get me a reasonable ‘knowing too much deal; no overtime though and standard hours’ pay off but enough to get me through the month plus the references that did happen but it was money in the wallet except I needed it in the Bank and I later stood there praying the deposit slips worked so there would be a flat for when I got back.

I met the team in a bar near Marlow. The Major was an old relic from a war with a bottle and the bottle had won thus taken him prisoner.

Irish watched like a short-changed Belfast Fishwife; carried a light automatic and would probably shoot himself if he didn’t relax.

Benny was as thick as two short planks and an ex Lorry Driver who has lost one lorry too many,

Scooter ran the errands hence the Scooter nickname when he was in hearing and duck’s arse when he wasn’t. The standard joke was, “where’s the duck’s arse?” and the answer as always was, “on his scooter!”

We headed out into the Garden as Irish, Scooter and Benny stank the place out and the Major shouted it out. It made you wonder where they had been hiding and how?

“Pay attention rasped the Major,” spitting beer over us, “This is an informal job for Government so there won’t be any problems,” as he spoke he reminded me of an Economics Lecturer formerly a Coal Miner who switched from boring in the mine to boring in the classroom as I nudged the guy alongside who was snoring.

My ears shut down and I drifted off, lulled to sleep by his deafening voice. I finally woke to, “Benny – the driving, Scooter – odds and ends, Boy – ministering little cuts and bruises. Tuesday we travel as a team. No wondering off or talking to anyone,” and I drifted off again.

The plan in short was to meet up at Chelmsford Station so we had to coax money from the Major who thought we should hitch-hike before we saw a penny. Scooter in the end managed to get us ￡500 each,after explaining to the Major that if we didn’t turn up all the money he had would have to be returned and he wouldn’t get any of it.

Another problem was that Benny apart from being brainless was a nice guy and one of those immediately attractive to women. Benny would go into a Bar and within minutes be well established with some local ladyand then drifting off with her from the Bar to somewhere else but with one small problem on his return as he usually returned with his trousers on minus his underpants indicating how he had left his assignation.

There might be no flies on Benny, but there were no drawers either. It got so bad in the end we bought him the most diabolical colours and shades of pants you could think of on the assumption there was more chance of him finding them in the dark as he hurriedly left. He kept us out of the trouble though as Irish and Scooter caused it virtually everywhere we went once they had both a drink with the travelling money.

We did finally make the rendezvous after what seemed a lifetime and then found ourselves stuck in Bed and Breakfasts across the town and ganging up on the Major who had already liberated a fair degree of the money to judge by his rosy red complexion and slurred speech, “Major, we are still staying around in B&Bs as nothing seemed to be happening. When and what is going to happen?”

“We need to get you bunch to Africa, but if it comes to what I feel will happen I want to see your feet move so fast that they see sparks fly with your arse blazing at them as you run. Don’t play the bloody hero if it goes wrong, just get out, anyway you can. No-one will know what eventually happens to us and the reason you are there! Don’t think of things like loyalty we know we are all for the Knackers Yard anyway so if we get there and it goes wrong, get out and don’t look back!” and he walked away after that outburst.

It stayed quiet for a few days after that until completely out of the blue the Major suddenly said to me, “there is a change of plan, we need to lie even lower then we’ll go over via Harwich to the Hook of Holland and drive up from there.”

I must have looked like the local Vicar, because I then got Irish who had overheard the conversation, saying, “Boy! If I had a get out, I wouldn’t be here in the first place. None of us have any get outs no matter what the crap. We are stuck with this shower of ‘bollocks’ even if we don’t like it. No way out … ‘Alive’, we are Lunch!”

Algenald Matthews enjoyed the glitzy wallpaper, the low cut dresses of the courtiers controlling the tables. The splendour of the walls, tables and the tingle that once Suzanne had given him before she resumed the arrogant, middle class snobbish habits that she now epitomised while training his daughter Zeta accordingly.

His companion was Monica who enjoyed food, drink and being waited on hand on foot. Monica … the daughter of an old associate he could never stand was her usual self in the ‘Debbie’ season seeking an early set of bed-springs he guessed but from the way she kept swinging her hips she had already managed a few.

He reached for another drink he didn’t need to try and hide the feeling that he felt he would need yet another as the losses of Monica continued to strip his bank balances. The drink and losses were even wiping out the balances on his hidden accounts aided of course by his wife who had more pretensions that a penniless Spanish Duchess. Her father had become rich as money flowed to him in his political career profiting from the swings and roundabouts of political choice but he was as tight as a duck’s arse and that made Monica available with a few drinks.

She’d looked to move in on an acceptable Politician expecting the same backhanders and he was so much to the left of the Tories in his early days he could either have been SDP, centre left wing Labour or just admissible at Central Labour Dinner Parties as charity.

For the Coalition of course ‘he would do nicely’ as the ‘Vicar of Bray’.

He didn’t gamble at cards as he was never a poker faced man unless looking at his wife when he was sorely tempted to use the poker he had picked up but it was the only aspect of an open fire that interested him.

He turned his attention back to the tables again and moved to Roulette.

He tended to ration himself generally although Monica had really got him going the other night.

Still if a Defence Minister starved, it was his own fault providing of course he didn’t have Suzanne and Monica wrecking his accounts before he could.

His real problem with politics was that he was not left enough for the Liberals, nor right enough for the Tories and like most of the Coalition Policies had a centralised compromise meaning his career stability had the substance of whipped cream in a sandstorm.

His office was now based off Horseferry Road, whilst the EU and Africa Minister had taken over his old offices as the Coalition did not regard defence as something to sully their hands with; the EU and UN providing future employment for when they lost office.

In Suzanne’s eyes as she complained bitterly there was no movement in upper circles which meant no photo opportunities meaning no reason to justify the money she would spend on clothes although she spent it just the same.

Her favourite tirade was, “When Daddy was in office,” as she scorned; “Politicians and Unionists fell over themselves to obtain his wisdom,” he held court in his country manor and Algenald knew there were more brown envelopes than a sex mail order store or the Revenue on a targeted hunt for IT Consultants but all she got these days was an open cheque book and an account automatically replenished as she spent it and she wanted to have someone react to her and not the Accountants.

She’d kept going on about ponies to Algenald and at first Algenald thought she wanted ￡50 notes until he realised she was talking bigger money than ￡50 notes – she wanted a live pony.

What would they do with a pony.

They lived in Wandsworth, damn it … where was anyone going to put the pony although he was sorely tempted to tell the pair of them where he felt they could put them, and that wasn’t the only problem.

Defence was about arms, procurement and influence … all of which he knew. He shouldn’t have been forced to take over a Secret Team, a Secret Prison and now needed a Security cleared PA.

His PA preferably female in her early 20s at his side or preferably on his lap was what he needed not a guy who needed two fingers to type and would crush his kneecap if he sat on it.

This was the Defence Ministry … not a cross between the Security Service and the Klu Klux Klan and it should have a female PA to sit on his knee … after all the shit the Defence Ministry did why was that too much for the Defence Minister?

He started attending night sittings or plays as they were known in the ‘House’ and now ‘rooted’ his dealing’s correspondence to his Accountants and associates.

He often heard rumours about her late night activities, but they never made the papers to her chagrin so he chose to ignore them until they became problems. Politicians do not panic was his mantra although in truth that was because they didn’t know what was going on as they outsourced everything.

He was sick of his wife beating his eardrums on the phone at work and then carrying on when he got home.

If she was not beating something else younger than him somewhere else into submission.

Sir Nicholas Peres had appeared completely out of a blue sky, landing like a shark in oily water after the last coalition Government failed with the Politicians falling out from the preserved bolt-holes in the UN, Europe and with the Liberals desperately needing money to challenge for seats while the outgoing Government poured into the US, UN and Europe for their turn at the trough.

Sir Nicholas however, opened his moneybags, donating largesse and allowing Sir Nicholas’ ‘oil-ways’ to grease influence across the floor with money flowing from every pore.

He lived in a house by the Thames at Mortlake and with the PM’s left wing hatred of anything in Security passed full judgements to the PM when his own Security Chief told him there was no information available.

Sir Nicholas could do no wrong with the PM and with failed operations in Security the PM was not prepared to listen to anyone criticising a major backer of his Party, and considered it ‘jealous and unprofessional’ for Security to attack a valued associate, especially when raising questions about Sir Nicholas’ background which he preferred to not be investigated.

Sir Nicholas, who knew his background better than anyone else, chose only to speak of Spanish history thus allowing his sallow complexion, political connections and Spanish arrogance to keep comment to a minimum.

Sir Nicholas however also found himself closely allied to Sebastian Rommel in Security who then supplied information that Lance Jagodzinski and Carmella Salters never knew about when they spoke to him although he had played a major part in their promotions, on the advice of Rommel to Head and Deputy Head of the Security Service following some major failures in operations and a general belief amongst the Coalition that the previous incumbents were anti-coalition Labour appointees.

Sir Nicholas was also expanding his business contacts amongst the top people in London and was especially interested in Alfred Stephens, a former UN Ambassador in West Africa with very extensive connections but his attempts to pass further into this circle were thwarted by Roger and Antonia Turner who seemed to have an unusual sway over the group involved.

Alfred’s interests in oil exploration were also of especial interest, with the US more and more interested in the exploring offshore of Sierra Leone, Liberia, Ivory Coast and Ghana where the fields were rich sweet oil and easily transportable straight into US ports with no problems apart from the tanker hijackings, instability and the colonials still embedded in the countries before the US could move in.

Sir Nicholas Peres had just put down the phone from Rommel Sebastian when he picked it up again to ring Jacob Christie, the EU and Africa Minister, “Jacob, Sir Nicholas!”

“Yes, Sir Nicholas.”

“I’ve an update from a Security Contact and Matthews has put a team together to go through France and down to Africa. My contact doesn’t know where they are at the moment but thinks they are still in the UK but heading for France.”

“Anything more, Sir Nicholas?”

“It’s very hazy at the moment but they are on their way. I don’t know what Matthews is playing at but I can’t think of him doing this on his own authority.”

“He has no authority there but without disclosing your source, I have no proof that he is doing anything. Who is your contact?”

“Unfortunately, if I disclose the contact he will be useless in the future and could refuse to confirm the information. Possibly a meeting between your Aide and Matthews’ Aide might be a way forward?”

“Godfrey is an ‘old pro’, he should be able to swing it. I’ll get him to arrange a meeting with Simon Askew and see what comes out of it.”

“Thank you Jacob. I’ll look forward to this escapade being stopped before it causes any more trouble!”

Jacob Christie rang Godfrey Devel, his Aide, “Godfrey, I just had Sir Nicholas Peres on. Matthews has started some hair-brained scheme and has been found out but Sir Nicholas cannot disclose the source of his information so we can act. Can you arrange a meeting with Simon Askew and see what you can get out of him.”

“I’ll arrange that immediately, sir. Simon isn’t really one of us and he has been dumped on Matthews. I’ll arrange for next Monday. Nothing is likely to happen before then.”

Next Monday and Simon Askew arrived at Godfrey Derval’s office.

“Tea?” Simon.

“No sugar please,” Godfrey.

“What is this about Africa, Simon?”

“How did the information get to your Minister, Godfrey?”

“I assume from your Ministry, Simon. Now I think it is time you stopped wasting my time.”

“It is always nice to know where corruption rises from?”

“I don’t think my Minister needs comments from a Junior Security Officer!” Simon.

“My, my Godfrey, you are sensitive this morning, Minister a little frenetic perhaps?”

“Simon, I do not need some Security jackass telling me what my Minister is doing or how he is. It is about time you concentrated on this country and your job.”

“Godfrey, if your Minister concentrated on this country and his job he would not keep updating the French Secret Service as I am sure we would not have so many Security failures if he did stop but Security are getting interested as these failed operations were set up at Sir Nicholas Peres’ behest who is closely associated with your Minister.”

“The question however, Simon is what does your Minister think he is up to? He is planning to unleashed this bunch of idiots into my Minister’s Territory without even the courtesy of a phone call. He has set back our relationship with the French to the ‘De Gaulle’ times with this ‘ill thought out’ action and my Minister demands you recall them immediately! My Minister is not prepared to tolerate this intrusion into his areas of interest and the fact that it has occurred is the final judgement on your job which you have now failed to do, on numerous occasions.”

“I didn’t fail to do my job Godfrey; your Minister leaks like his bladder had burst which is a normal state for him, wetting himself, whilst I keep my Minister under control and stop him reacting to the stupidity of your Minister,who seems to have completely lost it in his desire for his next job in Brussels and well away from here, thank God.”

“I not prepared to tolerate your ridiculous comments about my Minister, Simon. He has done a magnificent job in stopping your ‘feeble minded’ Minister, from destroying our foreign policy in respect of Africa. My Minister has already contacted the PM, who has spoken to his counter-part in the US and the CIA now considers this exercise closed and will not be offering any support to it.”

“Since you have once again demonstrated an arrogant belief that your Minister decides Defence issues my Minister will no doubt be onto the PM as soon as I get back. Has your Minister informed the French of where these people are in a complete breach, yet again, of Security?”

“I will not divulge information to you Simon so that is of no concern to you who my Minister chooses to talk to!”

“For someone who is supposed to know what his Minister is doing, you are a dismal, troublemaking fool, Godfrey and I see no point in holding further meetings with you since they are one way and I will so inform my Minister. I suggest you stop wasting my time to boost your ego, waste someone else’s time, somewhere else!”

“You forget yourself, Simon, you are a Junior Security Officer, I have far years more seniority that you.”

“A pity that you did not learn from your years of seniority, Godfrey because you seem to have learn nothing!”

With the final exchange of insults, 2 very uncivil servants returned to their Masters.

The low place the Major had selected for us was low indeed. A Pub in the middle of 2 lanes of carriageway bisecting it on both sides. It’s trade and entertainment were Gay Punk with the Old Queen holding Court in the Bar lashing a tongue like a razor if crossed and as the main boarders were builders it was the kind of place where you brought your own sleeping bag and ear plugs. There was more cruising in the Bar however than on the Carriageways but it did not bother with trinkets upstairs such as beds, cupboards or wardrobes and you just dossed down on the floor in a sleeping bag, but it was cheap did a really good breakfast and anyone banging away on their pleasures would give up with kneecap splinters so we tended to have peace after midnight when the bands stopped unless someone went on top for sex but it still stayed quiet until they became excited and then we got the screaming with the foundations and the Pub moving in rhythm to a variety of traffic.

If they carried on long enough they would probably move us all to the Hook of Holland which would be a bit of luck as paying for a ferry seemed to be beyond us with the Major managing the money. I was seriously realising that with this bunch of no-hopers there was no way to bail out apart from the saliva from the Major’s teeth which could float us anywhere.

The Major who was really getting fed up with our comments finally rang a friend in the army in Colchester and we now had a van for ￡1000 with all the army trappings and as akin to a decent car as a Dolphin 3 wheeler is to a Green Painted Fire Engine.

At least we could get some new plates and registration courtesy of the Major’s contacts and another couple of weeks delay while more money disappeared but we needed the spray job for the car from green to blue as if that was anything better – I thought the whole bunch of us could do with servicing - plus of course a new gearbox, new tires and a complete removal of the lights from the top of it and a new vest for the Major which would strip the remains of the cash we had.

I asked Benny at this point, “where are we Benny?”

“Sorry Boy, only routes I ever did were London to Manchester…. up the Motorways. We aren’t far from Chelmsford, but that is about it and we are heading for Harwich then cut across via Luxembourg, France and the Payee roads up to Marseilles. It would have been cheaper and easier to fly but my guess is someone is looking for us or we wouldn’t be in this rat hole otherwise and they must be serious people but Irish and I both have serious people looking for us so we have to put up with it.”

The Major however seemed to treat me like some wayward prodigal son who had finally returned to the fold and would often just sit there and talk to me about his life which was as interesting as my ex-girlfriend in bed. At one time he started to tell me he had been in a Singapore army jail.

I asked him, “how does a Major end up in jail?”.

He didn’t leave the Army as a Major … his drink problem had led to a lot of money going missing and he said, “that put me in jail and out of the forces!”

I asked him, “how much” and he said, “enough.”

“How did you find Singapore,” I wondered.

“I didn’t need to look for it,” he said, “they stick you on these things that fly and when you get off you’ve arrived wherever they’ve sent you!”

I did however get one answer to, “why did you ever get involved in this?”

“Parky has a lot of people in the shadows and often where they would prefer to stay but they undertake work he wants done, ex-forces answering to his call and once he has you, you are never free hence the joke about Hell where Parky has the only free seat as you come in and approaching the Lord for dispensation is a bad decision as Parky employs him dead or alive and supplied the nails for the Cross … by the way we are moving out on Sunday night,” said the Major.

We caught the overnight ferry arriving at 7.30 am but Benny had a little sting in his tail which became apparent after we emerged from the Docks in Holland and found ourselves at a set of traffic lights with the rest of the traffic on the opposite side, facing us!

We could still have been there in a small smashed up heap if the Major had not managed to penetrate Benny’s mind with the idea that facing traffic coming directly at you when the lights changed was not a good idea and turning the van around was an intelligent move,as Benny had managed to drive up the road in the wrong direction, leading to the Major’s question, “I prefer you don’t answer now Benny,” concentrate on the road, “but I am curious as to why we were on the wrong side of the road facing traffic going the opposite way? Perhaps when we stop you might like to explain how that happened, as an experienced continental driver!”

Benny we knew came from an Italian family who had moved to London when he was 6, and he was Italian. The bit we were looking for was that he was a Continental Lorry Driver but Benny it turned out had never gone further than the UK and his only remembrance of driving on the Continent was of listening to his father who had driven in the EU with Benny thinking he could work from that and then you remembered the old adage ‘once a crook, always a crook’. Given Benny’s lack of experience we decided that cutting through Germany was out and decided to aim for Antwerp hoping Benny wouldn’t miss it and head from there across to Maastricht, Luxembourg; drop down to Dijon and then on to Lyon and Marseilles and by which time all of us were looking out of every window and screaming.

Algenald hearing his Aide’s heavy footsteps almost limp past his door gave Simon just enough time to reach his desk before he picked up the phone to summons him.

“Yes sir,” was the answer from Simon, “I’ve just had a meeting with Godfrey Derval, sir.”

“My office please, Simon ... now!”

His door finally open admitting Simon, “You took your time and the PM has just got off the phone.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“So I am informed. Please tell me ‘what the hell’ I think I am doing in Africa as it has nothing to do with Defence and any connection is with the Foreign Office and the EU and Africa Minister as I need a reply to give the PM?”

“British Defence interests, sir.”

“The PM wants in no uncertain terms to have this operation quashed. I pointed out to him that he and Peres had asked me to start it and he virtually called me liar and said I was playing Politics to cause trouble in the Coalition. Now I’ve had my Leader telling me as strongly as I have ever heard him put anything to stop this ill thought out and half-baked activity.”

“We’re implementing their Policies, sir.”

“What you are implementing, Simon … I have no idea. The CIA have been told to stop all support for this operation and my job is on the line here and I would suggest everything you hold dear is as well if you don’t stop it.”

“Sir, you are funding this.”

“I might be, but that stops now! I don’t know why I agreed in the first place. The PM insisted that I ring the EU and Africa Minister to bridge build in his terms and your bonus will build in reverse terms as someone will pay for that call. Now what did you think you were doing?”

“My understanding sir was Sir Nicholas was passing a message from the PM asking for this to be set up. I told you and you authorised it providing it could not be tracked back to you so he created this trouble and how did they know at EU?”

“You had better check more than that Simon or you are back in Kensington and this time inside the cells. Do that whilst I ring the EU Minister!”

The Defence Minister rang his counterpart in the EU and Africa Ministry.

“Ah Jacob, so pleased I managed to catch you before you left for the afternoon.”

“I am usually here until late, Algenald as you well know. I think it is time you reeled in your aide, he obviously does not know how to behave in Civilised Society!”

“Just a few rough edges I think, Jacob these Security types tend to have them … must be all this running about chasing spies they do but of course with your French connections you would be aware of that.”

“Well he doesn’t seem to have caught many recently and I would expect that your team be caught before they cause any more embarrassment!”

“The instructions are being passed on as we speak. I was requested to start this operation although now the people concerned deny ever making the request … par for the course, I think.”

“Good and I hope this is the last of these little escapades!”

“Goodbye Jacob and I hope you don’t leak this conversation to the French as well!”

Algenald slammed the phone down cursing his aide and wondered whether to speak to Parky directly.

It was something he preferred not to do when the issues were moving to the boundary thus allowing himself plausible deniability but he decided to leave it to Simon who had received his bollocking and should behave now.

Simon sat at his desk wondering what to do. If he crossed the CIA, they were perfectly capable of double crossing him with a call to Security of his activities in interfering with CIA operations and betraying a double agent causing her death plus the Army General being uncovered in more ways than one as she cavorted with him whilst he talked in his sleep.

He could not cancel the operation and just claim he had but someone in Security had obviously leaked information to Peres who leaked it to Jacob Christie and when the operation continued he would be in even more trouble but if the CIA were told of his activities he would be in even more trouble with both the CIA and the Security Service.

Heading towards France we successfully manoeuvred through Holland, Belgium and back into the Netherlands again; eventually around Luxembourg before finally hitting France and heading South by some freak and the van which was by now leaking more than us as it waddled its way across Europe.

The Major had decided to sail now and just to confuse the hell out of Benny as Benny was driving carefully down the E15, looking for the E714 to Marseilles, the Major suddenly said to Benny, “stay on the E15 and head for Montpelier taking the A9 to Sete. We are going to Tangier as our destination has been changed!” The look on our faces, showed it should have been our underwear that had been changed instead and that part of our undercover activity was to hide the ever increasing stains!

“Guys, Sete has a direct sea route to Tangier,” said the Major, “and we need to stay out of major ports and airports in France and very few people even know Sete has a port or a direct route to Tangier,” which obviously included us, “I was told to alter the plans so you guys come in via Holland and then out from Sete to Tangier but not to tell you until we were near. They are paying and those are the orders. I get the same treatment you do so we go to Sete! We’ve hidden the real targets from you because we have more leaks than a water board.”

“So if we now believe you, Major we are taking a van to Tangier. Do we sail it down the coast as well? Major you have run out of lies!”

“We won’t be taking the van to Tangier. We’ll use the railway from Tangier Med to Tangier Old Port in the city when we arrive.”

We eventually sampled the ‘Venice of Lanquedoc’ and tasted moules frites (mussels and chips) which were excellent in ‘Quai Maximun Liacciardi’ and really a pleasure so after a pleasant day we met the ferry with tickets already booked, making us nervous again.

The Major was so relaxed now you would think he was on holiday as if nothing we had discussed mattered and that was all we had from our noble conniving leader.

We were travelling by Grandi Navi Veloci Ferries and the ferry came with air-conditioned rooms, TV, en-suite, air conditioning and a mini-bar with self-service, a la carte and even a snack bar. The only downside was it would dock at Tangier Med as opposed to the old Tangier Ferry Port but apparently it took 45 minutes to get to Tangier Ville, so all we had to do was pick up the next train at Tangier Med and head for Tangier itself.

If anything was needed to make it better Irish and Scooter seemed to be trying to be clean and honest which was frightening but nobody was going to recognise them clean and that gave us a chance to unwind and discuss how they discovered soap before we started the next trip in earnest.

The Ferry finally docked and within 50 minutes we were at Tangier Station. The Major hired the 2 Petit Taxis … one for him and Scooter and one for myself, Benny and Irish. We arrived at the hotel and left the Major still arguing with his Taxi driver while our driver virtually threw us out; roaring off at speed. We were staying at the Hotel Royal … Budget Hotel but clean and just down the hill were the Port Gates so it seemed a fair exchange. The Major once we had dumped our gear decided we needed a drink in the Medina.

Having got us all safely ensconced around some drinks, the Major said, “Now that we are in Tangier I can really tell you what is going on,” making a point of ignoring my face, “We are not going to Freetown, we are not going to Liberia, and at that point we got up and walked away leaving the Major talking to Scooter.

As the Major had only paid for one night we had no choice but to join him and Scooter and leave the hotel the following morning and walk down the hill and through the gates, “Picking our boat up,” said the Major as we walked through heading towards the outer harbour walls until we found ourselves facing a dhow moored just behind a small cruise liner, “There’s the boat,” said the Major looking at the dhow, “Benny knows engines and can drive virtually anything; Boy knows Computer Systems so he can work the dhow; Irish is lethal with guns providing they are automatic with no problem in killing people and I am here because I am a good planner who will do as he is told and so will Scooter.”

“I think I preferred it when you just lied, Major,” I said, “You telling the truth sounds more like ‘Snow White’ on cocaine and us as the singing dwarfs.”

“I have already forgotten half of what he said,” remarked Irish, “and apart from Boy and myself, I don’t trust anyone?” continued Irish. “No-one calls a boat ‘Sam Buck Who’; you might as well call it ‘The Lady Joon Wrong’.”

Sam Buck or Lady Joon was a Jalibut or Jelbut type Dhow, derived and enlarged from Shu’ai type Dhow with a fairly broad bottom and was about 35 meters long, with the traditional high area at the stem, sweeping low towards the bow and with the wide stern of the Shu’ai type design rather than the Boum with the lateen sail already secured fore and aft but the high section at the stern gave us a steering area and some crew space in the cabin underneath the top covering. I had never seen anything like it but it seemed a fairly simple craft to sail.

There were hatches in the deck and some effort had been made to make the boat liveable although I could see us just dossing down on the deck in a sleeping bag in the heat.

The Major now produced a Chinese guy called Mr Hoo like a conjurer producing a rabbit!

“Welcome to the ‘Sam Buck Who’,” said Mr Hoo.

“We prefer to call her ‘The Lady Joon Wrong’,” said Irish.

So now we had Hoo Wong and Joon Wrong with a general impression amongst us that this was all ‘Wrong’ and we were all a bunch of Wronkers which was probably true.

“Mr Hoo’s speciality,” said the Major, “is teaching people to fight.”

“Who runs the boat then Major, Bruce Lee?”

“I don’t know how much diesel is under these hatch covers,” said the Major ignoring my comments as usual, “but somewhere on this boat is also Semtex, armaments, fresh water and a whole host of gear, so please don’t mistake the Semtex for Toilet Cleaner although it works under water!”

“They are called Heads, Major on a boat,” exclaimed Mr Hoo who was already dripping saliva.

“You can call them ‘Tales’ for all I care Mr Hoo, and Captain Boy can join you for those long technical conversations of an evening. Mr Hoo has said there are showers here but with you lot we should be ‘OK’ as most of you will do without them and settle for a dip in the morning.”

“The first going in is likely to be you, Major if you don’t shut up,” said Benny.