A bagman’s gambit? Or something more sinister?
Those in control realise just how little they have as ruthless plans unfold across multiple continents.
Clare, Bigsy and Jake get the call they half expected but a thrill ride they certainly didn’t.
Going viral isn’t cool
Book 2 of the Triangle Trilogy
Normally £5.99 – on this Members site £2.99
Members’ Offer eBook (identical to the one sourced via Amazon download) is delivered via email and Bookfunnel to provide widest choice of formats.
Paypal and card payment accepted.
About The Book
Several taxis parked in a row. He climbed into the first one and asked for the airport. It was an old car, no air-conditioning and wind-down windows in the back. He felt the heat from the seats and opened the windows to force in more air. Cairo blurred past. James was only thinking back to the scene at the cafe, of Karen, and whether he was now in danger.
James knew he needed to make himself invisible. He couldn’t risk going back to the U.K. or even back to Paris. So much for this being a routine pickup and exchange. He should have known that there could be trouble when he was quoted the high fee for the work. He knew that he provided extra trustworthy insulation between the goods and their eventual recipient, but not that there would be determined forces in pursuit.
Now, he could hear a shrill electronic sound and he realised that the helicopter was locking on to his Subaru and was planning to vaporise it in the same way as the truck. He buried himself in the sand rather than attempting to run. That way, if the chopper was looking for vehicles, it may not spot a lone person hidden by the scratchy dune grass.
In the far distance he saw a momentary flash from the ground and a black line crossing the sky. Someone had launched a surface-to-air missile. The black trail slid through the air towards the helicopter. He heard the Apache’s engine squeal as it banked first left and then right in an attempt at evasion. It was ejecting what looked like hot metal strips. But it was too late. It was still too low.
The SAM made contact with the helicopter and in a much yellower fireball than the truck’s explosion he watched the helicopter drop to the desert floor. He lay low for longer in case there were any more surprises, but no, a few minutes later he was preparing his escape in the Subaru, alert to the thought that whoever fired the surface-to-air may head his way.
As he climbed into the car, he scratched his arm, remembering the grass, but as he looked down, he noticed that his arm was bright red as if scalded and that the hairs on his arm looked as if they had been shaved. At least one blast had been close enough to have scorched him. He felt his hair and noticed that part was matted, also from the blast. It had been a close thing. He floored the pedal, skittering back onto the road, heading away from the direction of the surface missile.
“Buy it to protect your nerves”
“Leaps over star ratings”
“Ideal read for self-isolation”
“Finally a sequence to The Triangle”
Box of Daylight
The corruption of Bernard Driscoll
When we fall asleep
Time for Stetsons
Gerald took a look in the van. Not to steal – it was too close to his doorstep, just to know more about the two guys. Maybe it was cigarettes, booze or maybe even drugs?
He climbed over the low wall and edged to the back of the van; whose doors were still open. He felt the adrenalin as he peered around the rear doors and spotted two aluminium briefcases in the whole rear compartment.
Next, he slipped onto the back flooring of the van. He reached towards the nearest case and flicked the lock. To his surprise, the little silver clasp pinged upward. Then he tried the second clasp. The same thing happened. He could open the case.
Gerald looked around and listened. He could hear his breathing sounded loud in the back of the van. Gerald was used to the area around the squat and the noises of people moving.
He could tell if anyone was close by. No sounds. He stood a little further back from the case – now at arm’s length and then, carefully, he raised its lid.
Envelopes – the case contained envelopes. Not slim white ones, but thick orange-brown padded bags. He estimated there were about ten in the case. So he slipped one into his raincoat, hurriedly closed the case and made his way back to his own side of the wall.
He could hear his blood pumping in his head as he squatted down. He had taken a risk with these two guys. They were better fed and fitter than him. If they wanted to hurt him, it would be easy for them.
Gerald decided he would go further away before he opened the envelope. He did not want to be caught red-handed. Instead, he would go to another spot, just along the road. Not good as the squat, but a great hide-away. He crept out of his part of the squat and started walking along the road. He knew he was a well-known sighting in the area, so if he behaved then no-one would think anything of it.
Ten minutes later he was in his other hideaway. He pulled the envelope from his pocket. It was about the size of a half sheet of office paper. He fingered the top where it was sealed. There was nothing special about the way it had been closed.
He opened it in a way that would allow him to re-seal it if needed. This took a couple of minutes, and at the end he could pull the flap open with no tears or creases in the envelope.
He peered inside. There was a small metal container inside. It looked like it was made of machined steel, and had a rather unusual clasp at the top, which looked as if it needed a special machine to open it. He felt the weight in his hand. For its size, it was heavy, and he assumed the metal was thick. There was a small glass bulge at the top, like an indicator light, although it was not switched on. He wondered what would happen if he pressed it like a button but thought better of it.
He noticed some small writing. A serial number and the inscription “вольфрам” on the bottom of the container. He decided it was Russian but was too difficult to decipher.
Then, on the side of the container, he noticed another small inscription. It was a symbol and a number 4. He recognised the symbol from back when he played school-time computer games. It was just like the logo for a game called Bioshock.
Gerald lost his nerve to delve any further with the container. It looked expensive, well-machined and indestructible. He wondered if the glass button was a control. Would it unlock the container, or worse, would it arm it?
The hospital looked very realistic. Karen watched the three Arabs being escorted in and then being moved to individual rooms, close together. The cameras and sound were already running and within minutes they had started to talk to one another about what they needed to do. They spoke Arabic to one another, but the SI6 facility had already provided translators.
“This is not good”, said one of the three. He was wearing a suit and looked very smart. “I agree”, said the second, “I think they were Mossad. We need to get out of here fast.”
The third Arab spoke. “We still have the rendezvous in Ashford, tomorrow”.
The first Arab spoke again. “We must just leave here. Because of the car chase, we will be detained for questions, but because we are the victims, we should be able to negotiate our way out fast. My preference is to tell them we are shaken up and that we would rather answer questions tomorrow. That gives us a chance to completely leave the country.”
So, we were looking at the scope of intelligence activities in target countries through the prism of the FSB's own communist belief system. This seemed ironic in the modern and increasingly corrupt Russia as the gangster classes were moving into the positions of influence.
The FSB could study and identify a capitalist system. The major monopolists or a conservative government hostile to the Soviet Union and/or socialism; maybe a population influenced by capitalist-controlled media distrustful of communists will all conspire to make the work of agents much harder.
I thought some of the Academy's teachings were outdated. It was like watching a TV show in black-and-white. It accidentally emphasised the new order thugs taking power in the Federation.
About the author.
Ed Adams was born, raised and educated in London but has travelled widely and to areas causing some of his friends to suspect him of a double life.
Of course, that would be an oversimplification. His time in Europe, the Middle East, Africa, Russia and North America influences his story-telling.
His novel-writing developed as part of a NaNoWriMo project, for which he has been a winner several times.
Nowadays based in Exeter (Topsham) but frequently in London, Ed has a good selection of backpacks and rugged ballistic nylon luggage with large wheels.
The Triangle Trilogy
Now the Science
Earth reaches out to Ganymede, a planet of Jupiter to robotically mine magnetite – a new energy source.
But why do the alarms keep triggering?
Check out the main ed adams web site for other Reader List information