Michael Reagan - The Devil's Handshake

“So are we going to push it along Boss?” asked Pete.

“I think so… let’s get Reza on the horn and just ‘up’ the time table a little,” Navjot answered. His mind already processing that if they didn’t get the ball moving then SAD options were going be limited as it was clear that Litchfield intended to remove him from the picture with a bullet.

“Pete; can you find out what Andrew Martin is up to?” Navjot then asked.

“Xerulla?” Clara replied using the name of Martin’s security business somewhat surprised. For although they had used him in Iraq to provide contracted support he was pretty much small fry compared to the firms of Tim Spicer’s AEGIS and Prince’s Academi, the consultants the Agency traditionally used for private security operations.

“Yeah… We going to need some technical support for Wasir, and it cannot be directly linked to us,” Navjot countered, answering her question.

Earlier Ali and Navjot had discussed the fact the GSG were going to need to put some “contractors” on the ground to provide support for any effort Wasir made to take over the country or a scapegoat if the operation was scrapped, as had happened in Simon Mann’s attempt to take over Equatorial Guinea, they had narrowed the list to a couple of firms that would fit with an ambitious Indian.

Andrew Martin, a former Lieutenant Colonel of the Welsh Guards, represented one such individual out of the original list of about twenty.

They finally settled on Martin because unlike Princes Academi or Spicer AEGIS that had won the principal contracts in Iraq, his company had bounced along the bottom.

Martin’s firm was originally formed to provide law enforcement training, logistics, close quarter training, and security services to legally recognized governments in the late 1990s. Over the years, the former Lt. Colonel’s company had held contracts with multinational corporations and small carpetbaggers engaged in the extraction of natural resources around the world. But lately, as the world through improved satellite communications and exponentially improved iPhone technology, the use of Twitter, and YouTube, had become aware of some of more dubious techniques these firms and employed. Consequently, Martin’s traditional client base had set about trying to change their images to protect their brand.

A casualty of this change of policy was the employment of Mercenaries in the mold of Martin. As a consequence, he had struggled badly.

With a couple of ex-wives, four children, not to mention a country estate to maintain back in England, together with the fact that the various mining companies he held stakes in were running out of money; both Ali and Navjot had reckoned that former Guardsman would jump at the chance to work for a wealthy Indian diamond merchant looking to secure his new oil-gas assets in crisis-torn East Africa.

“See if you can find somebody who has links with him so we can use them as a back door access to recruit him,” offered Navjot thinking that the classic false flag strategy would work well.

“Sure, Boss. I will get on it straight away,” Pete answered.

London, Two Months Later

On reaching passport control having arrived at Heathrow on the “red eye” from Washington, a smiling Navjot presented his NOC Gouramangi Singh British Passport to the officer on Passport Control desk.

Despite being a proud American through and through, the SAD operative up to the age of thirteen had been brought up in Reading, England and as such, he had never lost his English accent. So much so that when he went to Peary, the famous Farm located in Williamsburg, Virginia on being selected for NOC work, his trainers recommended that his cover identities, if possible, were to be always linked back to a British education.

This meant as far as the British Intelligence Services were concerned he was undeclared asset on their soil and by definition ‘illegal.’

Passing through the control without incident, he walked out of the Arrivals Hall to the pick-up location.

Met by his driver, they joined the early morning traffic and headed for central London.

The “legend,” is the slang for a NOC background was an expensive operation to maintain because it was also a fully-fledged diamond trading business not just a front.

Initially, from a standing start both he and his blonde, blue-eyed wife Lori, whom he had met at the Farm and then married, had created the retail business from scratch by buying and reselling diamonds in Mumbai and Dubai. Then once the reputation of the business was established they had entered the Indian community of Dubai. There, they had set about building the brand of the business, through placements into the society magazines of the area, sponsorships of various events ranging from cricket to fashion shows and the establishment of glossy retail stores in the Five Star Hotels that were being built on money borrowed against the sands owned by the ruling families, before finally moving on to Mumbai three years later to establish their reputations well and truly below and above the line.

Yet it wasn’t until just before the end of the decade that the company had started to become noticed on the world stage and in the process had become far bigger than either they or the Agency had ever originally imagined and all achieved by an astute investment into an Alaskan diamond production business.

As to how that had come about was all down to David Young who was at that time a Deputy Director of the Agency.

Taking opportunity to upgrade the Legend he ensured that the CIA’s Private Equity firms and key oversight committees steered the Alaskan State Government in the direction the GSG.

To a director like Young, who had internally supported the view with an argument that the world’s next Cold War would be fought over resources like water, oil, and gas and rare metals used in advanced technologies, it made sense. With Al Qaeda all but defeated, he ordered Navjot and his team reassigned with a plan for them to act as the United States’ point in this new battle.

On reaching the Carlton Tower Hotel in Knightsbridge at seven thirty in the morning, Navjot got out of the Mercedes, walked briskly through the hotel, and right into the famous Rib Room to join his newly hired Head of Security, Tony Wilson.

He had chosen the dining room for the meeting as it was his alter-ego Mr. Singh’s local restaurant of choice when in London because it was near Mr. Singh’s townhouse in Walton Row.

A former Major in the UAE Defense Forces and prior to that an Regimental Sergeant Major (RSM) in the Welsh Guards, the stiffed backed man of over six-foot-three-inches had been over the moon when a recruitment agent rang him out of the blue at his Thailand home informing him he had got him an interview with a rich Indian who was looking to bump up his security for his expanding business in Africa.

With an ex-wife in England, a young Thai wife, plus two families to support, Wilson had thought when he looked GSG up on the web that his Christmas had come early. Even more so when he found it came with a package of £120,000/- per year plus all the fringe benefits. Consequently it hadn’t taken him long to confirm he would take the job after his first meeting with Mr. Singh.

Apart from the making sure the security at the shops and transportation was all spot on, a job he could do in his sleep, Tony thought his life was on the up.

That had quickly changed, however, when his new employer had asked him to look at bringing onboard some technical consultants for the group’s new investment interests they were intending to build.

Not wanting to show his contacts in the world of former “Ruperts” were limited, he had approached his former Commanding Officer Lt. Colonel Andrew Martin. Of course, Tony was completely unaware that was the only reason he had been hired in the first place.