Murray McDonald - Assassin

“Track down any students related to any of the other leaders. We need to find out what the hell operation David is and quick.”

“OK. But two more things. We tracked down the number on that business card and are sifting through the phone calls made. There are a few to the law firm which made the offer to buy Alba, they’ve obviously been involved for some time. I’ve managed to call in a few favours, I have an operation to raid their offices tonight. I’ll let you know what we find.”

“Excellent and the other thing?” asked Tom.

“That thing you gave me. My guys almost missed it, it was so obvious, it reads ‘ We’ll be back’. ” Tom almost dropped the phone as he heard the words, it couldn’t be, it wasn’t possible.

The tower at Grantley Adams International Airport interrupted his chain of thought as he began entering the final approach. He looked at his fuel, it was going to be very close, he knew he should have flown a little slower. He could not believe it when they gave him the longest approach run, landing in an easterly direction. He would have to swing out and come back on himself before landing.

“This is going to be very close,” whispered Kisho. Warning bells had started to ring ten minutes earlier. The intermittent beeping had now become a continuous tone as the plane pleaded to land.

“Just made it,” said Tom as the wheels touched down in Barbados. “Don’t know what the panic was,” he said just before they lost all power.

They tried to use as much of their landing speed as possible to get them to the terminal but they fell just short. All momentum was lost on the taxiway and with no engines, they had the indignity of having to wait for a small truck, more commonly used for pushing large jets, to come and rescue them.

“Hmm, I think next time we’ll have a refuelling stop,” suggested Tom as they sat stranded, it had been just a little too close for comfort.

Once they reached the terminal, it took them 5 minutes to clear customs. It was 2.00 a.m. local time and the airport was deserted.

“What now?” asked Lela, looking for a taxi or anything which would get them to a bed.

Tom smiled as he watched the stretch limo approach.

“Tacky but perfect. People, your chariot awaits,” announced Tom to the group showing them to the limo.

“Where are we going?” asked Tristan.

“Zach, I thought I told you to explain things to him,” said Tom, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

“He did, I understand perfectly what’s happening.” Tristan did not find it funny.

“Well you know where we’re going then,” replied Tom.

“You can’t have, they are no rooms available, they’re fully booked,” said Zach.

“Not a room per se, the villa at Sandy Lane, 7,500 sq ft of unadulterated luxury.”

“How did you manage that?” asked Lela.

“Money, we need to be where the action is so I just offered more and more until they couldn’t refuse. They had to kick out some rock star, I think, to get us in.”

Thirty minutes later, they checked into their luxury villa.

The Chairman checked his bedside clock. It was 3.00 a.m., who the hell was ringing him at that time? He answered and waited to hear who it was. If it were that idiot Beaumont, he would just hang up.

“Sir, it’s Williams. We have a problem, well actually we have two problems.”

“Go ahead,” said The Chairman who had been very impressed with Williams since his promotion.

“The first is a problem with the General Powers mission. It appears that our men got in, put three bullets in him but that he pulled a gun from under his pillow and shot our men dead.”

“Is he still alive?”

“Yes, he’s in hospital and unconscious but stable and will make it.”

“Jesus, he really is a tough old bastard. Sleeps with a gun under his pillow, probably had his boots on as well!” joked The Chairman. “That’s not too disastrous, he’s out of the way for a few days, we’ll deal with him after David, at least he won’t be around to interfere with that.”

“True, he’ll be in hospital for at least a couple of weeks. The next problem is confusing me somewhat.”

“What is it? Just spit it out,” said The Chairman.

“One of my guys just radioed me to tell me that Tom Kennedy and entourage just checked into the hotel.”

“The Sandy Lane?” The Chairman sat bolt upright in his bed.

“Yes.”

“Who’s in the entourage?”

“His sister, a couple of other boys and some sort of Asian looking guys,” replied Williams.

The Chairman took one second to make his decision.

“Go!! Now!! Hit the Prime Ministers, the Kennedys and their entourage right now! Hit them with everything you’ve got. You hear me?? Kill them all and quick,” he demanded before hanging up.

The Chairman then hit a speed dial button. The phone answered. He didn’t wait for a hello before screaming down the phone.

“BEAUMONT START TALKING AND DON’T GIVE ME ANY BULLSHIT!!! I AM SO NOT IN THE MOOD. WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED!!!!”

Williams sat with three of his lieutenants. The operation had just changed dramatically. The initial operation was to have involved an attack on a convoy due to take the UK and Australian Prime Ministers to a cricket match the following day in Bridgetown. They now had to assault the hotel which meant penetrating two suites, each containing a PM and the villa containing Tom and his entourage.

Three target zones, three teams of ten, five snipers and five men waiting as back-up should they be needed. They would hit the three locations simultaneously and with overwhelming force. In order to make the most of the darkness, the teams had to rush, sunrise was a 5.51 a.m. Williams wanted to go in at 4.45 a.m. and be gone long before the first rays of sunlight.

Williams organised his men brilliantly and with ten minutes to spare, everybody was on station and ready to go. He checked in with his lieutenants and got their good-to-go responses.

A few seconds later, he gave the signal to the snipers. Four guards at the entrance to the hotel dropped before his eyes, each killed instantly with head shots. As the bodies slumped to the floor, the three teams were up and running.

A man, dressed in black, watched from the bushes as the three teams had formed up. Three targets he thought. He had to hand it to them, they were very good. They had reacted quickly to the surprise guests and altered their plans accordingly. He had been as surprised as they had when the limo turned up and disgorged its passengers. How did they know where to come? But he didn’t have much time, there were too many, he needed help and fast.

The Chairman listened to Beaumont whine on pitifully for ten minutes. He was bored.

“Stop,” he commanded. “Enough, so what you’re saying is that Jones had her but that she somehow she got away and he’s dead?”

“Yes.”

“OK. I didn’t like the sneaky little turd but he was a damn good soldier. Just what the hell are we up against?”

Beaumont could see a chink of hope, he may not be dead just yet.

“I’m trying to work that out. They had her on a boat in the middle of the ocean. Ten men and her.”

“You’re sure?”

“Definitely. But one thing sticks in my mind. There’s a note in the file, written by that Reaper guy, the guy the President used last year. He made reference to some fancy martial art the girl and her father practised. He seemed quite impressed by it,” said Beaumont.

“Come on, that girl is fifteen and small for her age. What, she attacked ten grown men?” He pondered the possibility and it seemed extremely unlikely, if not impossible.