Asset Seven Read online

  ASSET SEVEN

  James E Mack

  Contents

  About the Author

  Untitled

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  THANKS

  Untitled

  Only The Dead

  Fear Of The Dark

  The Killing Agent

  Sins Of The Fathers

  Links

  About the Author

  James E Mack was born in Scotland but spent much of his childhood abroad, gaining a love of nature, the outdoors and wildlife. He became a Commando in the late 1980s and a member of a Special Operations unit, with a 22-year career serving in many of the world’s troubled hotspots. James subsequently specialised as a Counter-Terrorism adviser and assisted in capacity building operations in support of UK and US Government initiatives.

  His passion for wildlife led James to assist in the development of counter-poaching programs in Africa. This passion remains and James spends much of his leisure time photographing the very animals that he strives to protect.

  When time allowed, James began writing novels based upon his experiences in Special Operations and conflict zones around the globe. His first novel, Only the Dead, was very well-received and attracted interest from several screenwriters.

  James lives in Northern Scotland where he enjoys the surfing and the mountains nearby.

  Copyright © 2020 James E Mack

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Published by Achnacarry Press

  Once again, my heartfelt gratitude to those who support my writing, be you readers, friends or family. Without this support, none of my books would be possible and the dream I had as a young man reading Frederick Forsyth, Gerald Seymour and Jack Higgins, to one day follow in their footsteps would still only be a dream. And as always, my deepest thanks to my biggest supporter in every sense of the word; my amazing partner for her wise counsel and constant faith in me.

  James E Mack

  ‘By the time we got him, Osama Bin Laden was little more than a boogeyman; someone to scare the children with. There were other, far more effective terrorists we just couldn’t reach out and touch….’

  ‘John’, CIA Officer, Syria 2019

  1

  NORTH-WEST IRAN

  He watched in his rear-view mirror as the vehicle behind did its best to avoid drawing attention to the fact that it was following him. Which it undoubtedly was. Though whoever was driving it had been trained. They backed off on the long, straight stretches of road but closed up as they approached junctions. Kept back just enough to always have his car in sight without making it obvious that they were tailing him. They had been trained well. But not well enough.

  As he changed gears and slowed down in anticipation of the junction, Karim wondered briefly if it was just routine surveillance: His turn to be followed to ensure that he wasn’t doing anything he shouldn’t, meeting anyone that he had no right to be with. Slowing to a halt at the junction, this forlorn hope was immediately crushed as he spotted the dark saloon parked under the shade of the pine trees further up the road. His mouth felt dry and he could feel the beads of perspiration on his forehead as he negotiated the junction and accelerated along the road. The car that had been following him since Negel took the other direction from the junction and again, for a brief moment, Karim’s hopes were raised that he had been mistaken. That his paranoia had made him see things that simply weren’t there. As he watched however, he saw the dark saloon pull out from its shaded position and begin following him along his route. He shivered as his suspected predicament became unassailably real:

  They know.

  Like the other vehicle, this one contained the silhouettes of two men; a driver and a passenger. Karim wondered if he would know the occupants, if he’d worked with them or even met them before. He doubted it. They were usually careful about who they sent to follow those they suspected. Deploying men from outside the Unit that were completely unknown to the target. It was a good strategy, ensuring that there were no connections between hunted and hunters that could be exploited for sympathetic gain while having the added benefit of retaining the followers’ anonymity. But Karim didn’t need to see their faces to know exactly who they were. Or why they were following him.

  They know.

  He wound down his window and welcomed the blast of air. Cool enough at this time of year to be refreshing, carrying with it the scent of the mountain trees and shrubs. Glancing up at the mirror he saw the black saloon had dropped back some distance, barely keeping him in sight. Not that there was any need to be closer as they would be well aware that there was nowhere Karim could turn off for at least another ten kilometers or so. He wondered what they knew and how they’d found out about it. They couldn’t know everything, otherwise he would have been taken well before now. Would not have been allowed the potential to escape. No. They knew something, something that they wanted to confirm, and that was why he was being followed. But how had they found out? He’d been careful. Always. Only communicating when necessary and only through the secure channels that had been set up for him. Betrayed? Highly unlikely. He was in a circle of two people and that other person wouldn’t do anything that might attract attention, let alone harm, to Karim.

  He sighed and rested his elbow on the ledge of the open window as he considered his options. As it stood, he was certain that they suspected him but either didn’t have enough evidence or wanted to observe him for some time to see if he led them to anything significant. If he was right, this at least gave him some breathing space with which to manoeuvre. Pushing his fear to one side, he reverted to his training, calming his mind and exploring possibilities that might help him escape. There was a checkpoint just before the junction to the dam and, if he got through it, he knew he had a fighting chance. If he could make it to his apartment there was the possibility that he could trigger his extraction plan into motion. It was a small chance but a chance, nonetheless. His home would have been searched by now and probably bugged, along with his phones. He would also be covered by a team to make sure he was under complete surveillance. Could safely assume that his car was fitted with a tracker in the event that if his followers lost him, they would be able to pick him up again easily. But his extraction plan had taken much of this into account, making sure that he only relied upon elements that were unknown to his masters.

  He hoped.

  As he rounded the bend, Karim slowed the car in anticipation of the checkpoint ahea
d. He watched as bored soldiers extinguished cigarettes and shouldered their rifles properly before taking up their positions around the barrier. Karim’s heart began beating faster and he could hear the blood pounding in his ears. Just stay calm, watch how they behave. You know the signs. As he brought the car to a halt, he reached into his back pocket and retrieved his identity documents. When he looked up, one of the soldiers was at his window holding out his hand. He took the documents from Karim, glanced at him briefly, then walked over to the checkpoint building where he passed the papers in through a window. Karim felt sweat begin trickling from his armpits and down his side as the heat in the car built up now that he was stationary. The soldier who had taken his papers slouched against the wall beside the window but straightened suddenly and adjusted his beret. Karim swore under his breath but then saw the black saloon approaching slowly behind him. He realised that the soldier had recognised the saloon as an official vehicle and had reacted as such. Karim knew that if they were going to take him it would be now, while they had him blocked and with the support of the soldiers. He tried not to look in his mirror and feigned boredom, resting his head on his hand and closing his eyes. Hearing footsteps, he looked up to see the soldier returning with his documents. Without fanfare or dialogue, his papers were thrust back in his window and he accepted them, returning them to his pocket as the soldier nodded back at the building. The barrier was raised and Karim put his car into gear and crept forward, rigid in anticipation of being ordered to stop. But the order never came and he was soon through the checkpoint and on the other side, accelerating away and letting out a breath he’d been unaware he was holding.

  He didn’t see the black saloon for several minutes but then, as he approached the long straight leading into Dankash, he caught sight of it a few hundred feet behind him. But he didn’t feel the panic that he had before. He had a plan now and needed to be one hundred percent focussed on its execution. Otherwise his own execution, after a lengthy and brutal series of torture sessions, was inevitable. Dropping his speed as he approached the village, Karim looked for any obvious signs of surveillance in the streets. His throat tickled as the dust from the poorly maintained road entered the car. He was rolling his window up against the intrusion when he saw Sayed the baker glance at him, look away, then turn back with wide eyes before rushing back inside his decrepit store. Karim nodded.

  They’re here.

  As he turned into the small street where his apartment was, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing out-with the normal pattern of life of the sleepy little town that he’d chosen for his home for the last six months he’d been based at the Facility. But then, this was VAJA he was dealing with, his country’s most formidable intelligence organisation. Until they wanted Karim to see them, he wouldn’t. Or at least shouldn’t. As a Quds Force operative, they would take more care with their surveillance of Karim, conscious of his own training and abilities. Well aware that Karim was regarded as one of the best with many international successes under his belt. But VAJA were not without weakness. Their arrogance and pride, particularly when working within their area of expertise, were standard behaviours. Karim was banking on this to assist him in his escape plan.

  He turned the engine off and exited the vehicle, grabbing his bag from the boot before locking the car and heading into the building. Entering the stairwell, he noted that it was quieter than usual, the Ghorbani kids nowhere to be seen, their mother’s shrill calls absent from the silent entranceway. Climbing the stairs to his apartment he noticed a cigarette butt that had been carelessly tossed into the corner of the landing. Nobody who lived in this small block would dare desecrate the pristine cleanliness that the widow Aria maintained, with such an act. Only a visitor, an arrogant one with no regard for consequence, would commit such an offence. And Karim was under no illusion as to who this visitor would have been.

  He drew his keys from his pocket and unlocked the door, stepping inside and closing it behind him. For the benefit of any cameras watching, Karim dropped his bag on the floor and walked over to the small fridge, removing a bottle of pomegranate juice and taking several deep swigs. As he replaced the bottle, he saw that the cover on the interior light was hanging at an odd angle, different from when he had left it yesterday morning. Closing the fridge door, he yawned as he walked towards his bedroom and began undressing. As he threw his clothes into the basket at the bottom of the bed, he took the opportunity to study another tell he had left. The rim on the base of the basket had been moved from the place where Karim had placed it. The rattan curve no longer dissecting the space between the two circles on the rug below. He felt a brief surge of anger at the sloppiness of the search team but reminded himself that their arrogance would not allow them to believe for a second that they were anything less than the best in their field. Which was fine when you were dealing with one of the regime’s ever-increasing number of dissenters, but not with a front-line operator like Karim.

  Naked, he made his way to the shower and turned on the tap, the feeble trickle telling him that the pump was playing up again. Stepping into the small cubicle, he gasped at the initial shock of the cold water, turning quickly away but studying the toilet cistern as he scrubbed himself. There too, was proof positive that a search had been carried out. Karim had rigged the lid of the cistern to sit at a slightly different angle if it was moved and not replaced in the exact manner that he had designed. Rinsing the shampoo from his hair, he turned the shower off and grabbed a towel from the rail, drying himself with vigorous strokes to warm up after the cold water. He returned to the room and dressed in clean clothes, again, noting that some of his tells had been disturbed. No matter. There was nothing here for them to find. He looked out the window and saw that it was starting to get dark and thought about what he had to do next.

  They wouldn’t come for him yet. They were waiting for something and he could only guess that it was for him to make a mistake and give them evidence of their suspicions. He knew that eventually they would tire of this inactivity and he would be lifted and taken for interrogation. And then he’d talk. Everybody talked. It was a simple matter of biology. A human being can only experience so much pain before the brain takes over and gives up whatever it believes will cease the assault on its body. But Karim didn’t intend to let it get that far. He looked outside again and nodded with satisfaction at the deepening of the night. The darkness would be his only ally tonight. An ally he would rely on to give him the slimmest of chances but at least a chance. Reminding himself to appear as normal as possible for any cameras, he wandered over to the TV and turned on the set, lowering the volume as the familiar presenters of Alkawthar chaired a discussion about the illegal sanctions the USA was implementing against Iran. As he sat, to all intents and purposes riveted by the debate, Karim began running his plan through his mind, visualising each element and the potential for it to go wrong.

  He was sure that any cameras that they’d installed would not be of a high specification, with little, if any, night-viewing capabilities. No, he knew the routine here: A camera to record his waking activities and a physical team to watch his home throughout the night. They would be covering every door and window through which Karim could escape, with a team of thugs from Hefazat, the Security Investigation Unit, ready to run him to ground. But Karim, months before, had already prepared for this eventuality. His insider knowledge of the workings of the unit informing his planning and preparation. All for a day that, if he was being honest with himself, he’d never really believed would arrive. But it had. Today.

  The building was still unnaturally quiet as Karim headed back to the bedroom and undressed. He climbed into bed and turned off the small table lamp, the room now in complete darkness. He’d had the heavy, black shutters made to block out the ambient light and help him sleep better but tonight they served another purpose: To help cover his initial escape. He lay still, pretending to be asleep for several hours before taking a deep breath and holding it for a few seconds. As he released it
, he slipped out of bed and opened the bottom drawer of his wardrobe. He didn’t need any light to see what he was picking out; everything in this drawer, while appearing nothing more than a general selection of clothing, had been carefully placed. He donned the dark cargo-pants and sweater before pulling the tactical boots from underneath his bed and putting them on. He worked in silence and darkness, not an unusual set of circumstances for him, while he maintained a vigilance for any unusual sounds that might indicate he had been noticed.

  Karim stood and waited for several minutes before moving. There were no sounds of any note save the distant mewl of a cat in the street. He moved across the room and opened the small cupboard door, quietly removing the cardboard boxes and outdoor jackets that he kept there before placing these contents on the bed behind him. Next, he removed the shelves, taking care not to make any undue noise, and slid them under the bed. With the cupboard empty, the back wall was now exposed and Karim laid the palms of his hands flat against it. He closed his eyes, took another breath, then pushed firmly against the wall. There was a soft click and one edge of the wall moved away, opening up a small doorway. Karim continued to push until the aperture was at its widest. He waited for several seconds, listening for any sounds, before crawling on his hands and knees into the dark space.