k part two again credit to lolits angel for the idea and bioware for such awsome fantasy games.
He went to a tavern and took a seat in a dark corner the fiery serving girl came over,
‘Can I get you any thing?’ he accent was loud and common
‘An ale will be fine, thank you.’ He tried to keep his voice calm the woman was irritating and reeked of cheap perfume and gin.
He sat back took off his cloak and weapons, careful to hide the quiver. The woman came back with the ale he thanked her and waited until she was far enough away and took out the statue.
The craftsmanship was amazing the detail of the god Emrill, his arms open waiting to embrace nothing. The statue was jade, its eyes two perfectly cut emeralds, the detail on the robes a myriad of different gems and precious stones.
It was truly breath taking, he couldn’t take his eyes off it; he had better be handsomely paid for this.
A thought came to him, why was it so easy? Yes there’d been guards and a pressure switch but just that for this. It showed he supposed the decline in people’s belief of the gods, but still this was a priceless artefact none the less, how very peculiar.
He hired a bed for the night and retired to his room. It was small and dirty and he could here rats scrabbling in the corners, but it was warm and kept the rain out, though by the look of the roof barely.
He woke next morning feeling refreshed he always did the day after a job he felt invincible. He paid for the room downstairs, declined breakfast and went to the public bath house. He had all morning; he wasn’t to meet the noble until after noon.
He left his clothes with and elderly woman but took the quiver and a knife with him the water in the main bath was hot and steam condensed on the stone walls making them drip as if they we’re weeping.
The bath house was strange unisex unlike those in the smarter parts of town, he looked about at the other bathers, the features obscured by the steam; he could see two burley men a short distance away and a middle aged couple. On the other side of the bath he could here a group of young women giggling among themselves, he considered going over but there was no time, he’d just enjoy the water.
He scooped handfuls of water on to his hair and washed the grease and the sweat from it, he left the main bath and moved to one of the cooler pools and eased him self in slowly the cold water a shock to his body after the heat. He spent a couple of hours in the bath house moving from pool to pool. Just before noon he went and redressed his black tunic and pantaloons had been washed and pressed so had his cloak and his leather armour oiled and the studs polished he paid the two laundry maids and left feeling clean and ready. The way to the noble’s house was short so he decided to walk, the stale hard air of the city filled his lungs but even this felt clean after the steam of the baths.
The house was large and near the government square and the great museum. Tristrum climbed the stairs and knocked the door.
Saturday, April 23, 2005
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Rebecca
K I've been in a self pitying mood recently which has produced this and a really depresing piece of music course work. To say the least its not my normal style but hey fuck you its my blog.
anyway l8r
TJFNW
Rebecca
Have you ever loved some one but never realised, oh you realise but too late. Always when you’ve lost contact or their dead or any other way you are no longer together that’s when it hits you.
That’s how I felt about her; I knew I loved her in that social dating way but never the soul tearing gut wrenching reality. The real love. Not until a lot later, when I‘d left it too late.
There’s a question, what is love?? Think about it before you read the rest of this, think of that person, either you’ve met or dreamt of, just think.
Before I actually write this you need to be told, this isn’t Rebecca in reality, it’s how I think of her now, how my mind has twisted and reshaped the past and her with it.
Here it is:
She was beautiful, not in the obvious glamour model way but in a real in depth beauty. She was petite, no taller than 5’ 6” her long brown hair flowed down her back, a river running through the contours of her back. He skin had a slight Mediterranean tan; she stood before the mirror, the light from behind her giving her an angelic quality. She looked at her self naked, her figure was plain, and no real curves but nothing unsightly. She cupped her breasts in her hands they were pert and firm admired them, her best feature, then moved to the bed and picked up the dress and looked at the clock. She had half an hour to get ready.
He was in his room guitar on his lap strumming random minor chords. A book fell from the shelf. He swore and went to pick it up then saw the photo, her…
She went to the wardrobe and got her shoes, the black strappy ones, where had she got these, him…
The thought passed away she moved to the dresser picked up the framed photo and kissed the image of her boyfriend and continued to dress.
He went back to his guitar but his head was full of her, the chords became more melancholy and darker. He played better than he ever had before. Why hadn’t he told her…? Why had he let her…? He swore pulled on his shoes, grabbed a jacket and left the house.
There was a knock on the door she went to answer it, but he wasn’t due for 10 minutes…
He’d walked for ten minutes but now he was here
She opened the door…
He sat on the bench lost in his thoughts…
He was early she smiled and let him in.
anyway l8r
TJFNW
Rebecca
Have you ever loved some one but never realised, oh you realise but too late. Always when you’ve lost contact or their dead or any other way you are no longer together that’s when it hits you.
That’s how I felt about her; I knew I loved her in that social dating way but never the soul tearing gut wrenching reality. The real love. Not until a lot later, when I‘d left it too late.
There’s a question, what is love?? Think about it before you read the rest of this, think of that person, either you’ve met or dreamt of, just think.
Before I actually write this you need to be told, this isn’t Rebecca in reality, it’s how I think of her now, how my mind has twisted and reshaped the past and her with it.
Here it is:
She was beautiful, not in the obvious glamour model way but in a real in depth beauty. She was petite, no taller than 5’ 6” her long brown hair flowed down her back, a river running through the contours of her back. He skin had a slight Mediterranean tan; she stood before the mirror, the light from behind her giving her an angelic quality. She looked at her self naked, her figure was plain, and no real curves but nothing unsightly. She cupped her breasts in her hands they were pert and firm admired them, her best feature, then moved to the bed and picked up the dress and looked at the clock. She had half an hour to get ready.
He was in his room guitar on his lap strumming random minor chords. A book fell from the shelf. He swore and went to pick it up then saw the photo, her…
She went to the wardrobe and got her shoes, the black strappy ones, where had she got these, him…
The thought passed away she moved to the dresser picked up the framed photo and kissed the image of her boyfriend and continued to dress.
He went back to his guitar but his head was full of her, the chords became more melancholy and darker. He played better than he ever had before. Why hadn’t he told her…? Why had he let her…? He swore pulled on his shoes, grabbed a jacket and left the house.
There was a knock on the door she went to answer it, but he wasn’t due for 10 minutes…
He’d walked for ten minutes but now he was here
She opened the door…
He sat on the bench lost in his thoughts…
He was early she smiled and let him in.
Sunday, April 17, 2005
The statue of Emrill
Ok credit for the idea of this needs to go to lolita's angel and Kell.
He was finished now. He stood ready, sword in hand, his bow on his back and three daggers secreted on his person. The city guards faced him, four large men, well armed and armoured. He could probably take two before they took him out, their broad swords slicing through the leather of his armour.
He took a step back, his foot hit the wall of the keep, decision time over he had to fight.
All this for a statue, admittedly a statue worth more than most of the country’s taxes for the year but a statue none the less. It was in his quiver, they’d need to kill him to get it, which by their faces was the plan.
He’d been hired for the job by a noble in the court, he didn’t know or care why the noble wanted the statue as long as he got paid. A though came to him, he threw his sword at the guards, a stupid, wild throw then drew the two knives from his boots threw both in to the closest guards throats, drew his third and rolled toward the third guard stabbed up into his groin and leapt up to face the fourth. He’d been lucky he knew it, the guards had watched the sword and it had slowed their reactions, but this one was ready he reversed his grip on the knife so he was holding the tip and threw it into the man’s thigh, a miss.
The guard fell clutching his leg the thief ran forward pulled his knife from the first guards throat and delivered a killing strike to the jugular of each man.
He collected his knives and sword then looked for a way out. He’d come in through the kitchen but the guard would have changed by now meaning the kitchen would be full of the last watch.
He swore and started running, he ran straight down the corridor toward a window covered his face with his arms and dived through.
He hit the ground and rolled spreading the impact over his body. He got up and continued to run. People all round stared as they came out of houses and taverns to them a man had just fallen out the sky Tristrum looked back and smiled the city watch would get at least ten different accounts of what happened, each one more unreal than the last.
To be continued
TJFNW
He was finished now. He stood ready, sword in hand, his bow on his back and three daggers secreted on his person. The city guards faced him, four large men, well armed and armoured. He could probably take two before they took him out, their broad swords slicing through the leather of his armour.
He took a step back, his foot hit the wall of the keep, decision time over he had to fight.
All this for a statue, admittedly a statue worth more than most of the country’s taxes for the year but a statue none the less. It was in his quiver, they’d need to kill him to get it, which by their faces was the plan.
He’d been hired for the job by a noble in the court, he didn’t know or care why the noble wanted the statue as long as he got paid. A though came to him, he threw his sword at the guards, a stupid, wild throw then drew the two knives from his boots threw both in to the closest guards throats, drew his third and rolled toward the third guard stabbed up into his groin and leapt up to face the fourth. He’d been lucky he knew it, the guards had watched the sword and it had slowed their reactions, but this one was ready he reversed his grip on the knife so he was holding the tip and threw it into the man’s thigh, a miss.
The guard fell clutching his leg the thief ran forward pulled his knife from the first guards throat and delivered a killing strike to the jugular of each man.
He collected his knives and sword then looked for a way out. He’d come in through the kitchen but the guard would have changed by now meaning the kitchen would be full of the last watch.
He swore and started running, he ran straight down the corridor toward a window covered his face with his arms and dived through.
He hit the ground and rolled spreading the impact over his body. He got up and continued to run. People all round stared as they came out of houses and taverns to them a man had just fallen out the sky Tristrum looked back and smiled the city watch would get at least ten different accounts of what happened, each one more unreal than the last.
To be continued
TJFNW
Monday, April 11, 2005
short story: the pit
ok then Korean encounter is on hold until I read more tom clancy for ideas. So heres this instead, feed back would be nice.
He stood in the ring, his sword heavy in his hand. the bullseye lantern swung over head casting erratic shadows all about. He circled his opponent, the movement stirred up dust from the sand covered floor, as well as the stench of dry sweat and blood.
His own sweat was trickling down his chest, his heart beat faster and his muscles tensed. His first strike was quick, a thrust to the other mans foot, it was parried and the return slash only just misse dhis head, they returned to stance.
Adrenaline filled his body he could no longer feel the quick, heavy thumds of his heart or the blood rushing through his vains. A slash from his opponent met his blade square, jarring his arm, leaving it to shaken to respond.
He felt sick and a strange euphoria came over him, this wasn it, it had sunk it; he could die here.
Lost in his thoughts he only saw the thrust at the last second and he jumped out the way, lost his footing and fell face down in the dust.
He rolled over quickly and sent a wild slash at the others ankles, but his reach was too short. He scrambled to his feet and readied him self.
He swung a blow, it was parried, he side stepped the riposte and back handed the man in the thigh. This was easy he could do it he could win, he could live.
More adrenaline, more sweat, more effort.
His opponent limped forward, his eyes were burning, rage building within him, he gripped his sword in two hands and swung.
He blocked but the power of the blow forced him to his knees, his opponent moved quickly, stepped forward and revesed his sword so it was pointing down in his grip and sent it into the back of his kneck.
He collapsed to the floor blood bubbling up his throat, he still couldn't feel anything. he started to laugh uncontrolably but all that came out was more blood, it pour out his mouth and his wound and sank into the sandy floor.
He last thought was a shock of realisation; he was dying...
TJFNW
He stood in the ring, his sword heavy in his hand. the bullseye lantern swung over head casting erratic shadows all about. He circled his opponent, the movement stirred up dust from the sand covered floor, as well as the stench of dry sweat and blood.
His own sweat was trickling down his chest, his heart beat faster and his muscles tensed. His first strike was quick, a thrust to the other mans foot, it was parried and the return slash only just misse dhis head, they returned to stance.
Adrenaline filled his body he could no longer feel the quick, heavy thumds of his heart or the blood rushing through his vains. A slash from his opponent met his blade square, jarring his arm, leaving it to shaken to respond.
He felt sick and a strange euphoria came over him, this wasn it, it had sunk it; he could die here.
Lost in his thoughts he only saw the thrust at the last second and he jumped out the way, lost his footing and fell face down in the dust.
He rolled over quickly and sent a wild slash at the others ankles, but his reach was too short. He scrambled to his feet and readied him self.
He swung a blow, it was parried, he side stepped the riposte and back handed the man in the thigh. This was easy he could do it he could win, he could live.
More adrenaline, more sweat, more effort.
His opponent limped forward, his eyes were burning, rage building within him, he gripped his sword in two hands and swung.
He blocked but the power of the blow forced him to his knees, his opponent moved quickly, stepped forward and revesed his sword so it was pointing down in his grip and sent it into the back of his kneck.
He collapsed to the floor blood bubbling up his throat, he still couldn't feel anything. he started to laugh uncontrolably but all that came out was more blood, it pour out his mouth and his wound and sank into the sandy floor.
He last thought was a shock of realisation; he was dying...
TJFNW
Thursday, April 07, 2005
the korean encounter: part II
For the two of you who i know have read it and the thousands of others who just want to remain silent. Heres the second chapter, the second chapter in the first part is actually the last chapter in the story(to sort out confusion, or add to it).
any way here it is
TJFNW
Chapter 2
It was a cool night and Sam was glad he’d drawn the blinds before he left. He walked to the fridge took out a bottle of water and drank
The apartment felt strange, he still wasn’t feeling comfortable there, he never did, he never allowed him self to.
He went to the bed room took off his shirt and grabbed a towel, then went to the on suit and showered, changed his shirt and went down stairs.
The bar was quiet and filled with the usual locals. The bar it’s self wasn’t any thing special, it wasn’t like the banging clubs down town or the quiet tourists restaurants, it was more a working mans club where local workers met up. Sam preferred it like that no one to be curious.
He went to the bar,
“The usual Jean,”
“Oui monsieur.”
“How’s business?” Sam sat on a stool at the bar, “any new faces?”
“Let me think,” Jean struggled with the unfamiliar language, his accent the typical French stereotype, “non, not really. A couple of tourists”
“Good, good” Sam was barely concentrating on the bar tenders words he took the scotch and sat at a table under an awning in the street.
He watched the people traffic; Sam was always amused when he thought about how he spent his leisure time, a complete contrast to his job. Sam liked people, not talking to them, but watching them. He sat at this table for hours before; he liked to watch how other people interacted, the party groups, and the couples. The way people reacted to different situations how the human mind reacted was interesting to him and useful in his job.
From where he sat he could see two couples, the first a young couple embraced in each others arms, the women was very attractive long blonde hair designed clothes nice body, not Sam’s type but he could see the attraction, her boyfriend was what you’d expect average height and build with gelled blonde hair. Sam could see from their body language and the look in their eyes how passionately in love they were, that love that is more about physical attraction and lust though. The second couple were middle aged and it wasn’t lust for them, that mad passionate embrace and the sexual contact but they still looked happy, they looked comfortable they’d found comfort in each other. Sam wondered what had happened to this couple, how long had it taken and what had happened to them to go from young love to comfort?
Sam was always jealous of couples he’d never experienced love of someone else, he’d loved women but never really felt loved … Rebecca …, never felt….
He broke from his thoughts downed the rest of his drink and went back to the apartment, he’d prepare for tomorrow then have an early night.
any way here it is
TJFNW
Chapter 2
It was a cool night and Sam was glad he’d drawn the blinds before he left. He walked to the fridge took out a bottle of water and drank
The apartment felt strange, he still wasn’t feeling comfortable there, he never did, he never allowed him self to.
He went to the bed room took off his shirt and grabbed a towel, then went to the on suit and showered, changed his shirt and went down stairs.
The bar was quiet and filled with the usual locals. The bar it’s self wasn’t any thing special, it wasn’t like the banging clubs down town or the quiet tourists restaurants, it was more a working mans club where local workers met up. Sam preferred it like that no one to be curious.
He went to the bar,
“The usual Jean,”
“Oui monsieur.”
“How’s business?” Sam sat on a stool at the bar, “any new faces?”
“Let me think,” Jean struggled with the unfamiliar language, his accent the typical French stereotype, “non, not really. A couple of tourists”
“Good, good” Sam was barely concentrating on the bar tenders words he took the scotch and sat at a table under an awning in the street.
He watched the people traffic; Sam was always amused when he thought about how he spent his leisure time, a complete contrast to his job. Sam liked people, not talking to them, but watching them. He sat at this table for hours before; he liked to watch how other people interacted, the party groups, and the couples. The way people reacted to different situations how the human mind reacted was interesting to him and useful in his job.
From where he sat he could see two couples, the first a young couple embraced in each others arms, the women was very attractive long blonde hair designed clothes nice body, not Sam’s type but he could see the attraction, her boyfriend was what you’d expect average height and build with gelled blonde hair. Sam could see from their body language and the look in their eyes how passionately in love they were, that love that is more about physical attraction and lust though. The second couple were middle aged and it wasn’t lust for them, that mad passionate embrace and the sexual contact but they still looked happy, they looked comfortable they’d found comfort in each other. Sam wondered what had happened to this couple, how long had it taken and what had happened to them to go from young love to comfort?
Sam was always jealous of couples he’d never experienced love of someone else, he’d loved women but never really felt loved … Rebecca …, never felt….
He broke from his thoughts downed the rest of his drink and went back to the apartment, he’d prepare for tomorrow then have an early night.
Sunday, April 03, 2005
The Korean Encounter
I wrote this before the last american election so the John Kerry reference is bolllocks
It's a novel i'm working on i'd really like feed back.
The Korean Encounter.
Background:
It is 2005; John Kerry has just started his first term of presidency. He is already putting into action his plan to combat terrorism without going to war. A British special ops has been hired to assassinate the North Korean president Kim Jong II.
Prologue
It was warm, too warm for late spring and the sweat trickled down his forehead. He crouched behind the ledge at the edge of the roof, far below restaurants were closing for the night. He unslung the small backpack he wore, and took his rifle from his shoulder. He opened the bag and took from it the silencer and sight; he set about screwing the silencer to the barrel. The sight, he discovered when it was attached was out of focus.
He looked at his watch cursed and began to readjust the sight faster. He knew that he was running put of time and the president would be leaving the meeting soon. He finally got the focus right and trained his view to the eighth floor window where a presidential consultation was taking place.
With the sight he could see every thing inside the room, it was plain with little decoration, painted an off white, and typical of the tall glass building where it lay which contrasted strongly, with the little of the country he’d already seen. There was a table in the corner with various decanters of spirits, every one around the conference table look merry.
The sniper held his breath, steadying his aim, and positioned his cross hair on the presidents left pupil. Gently he squeezed the trigger; he felt the stiff spring push against his force. A senator moved to shake the presidents hand, stepped into his sight blocking the view. He released his pressure. He knew the president was due on a plane in 15 minutes so speed was imperative. The senator moved but was followed to the door by the president; he cursed again changing his aim following the president’s head. He had to do it now; sharply he brought his right index finger down on the trigger.
The recoil was no existent due to the precision and excellence the rifle had been made and customised. He grabbed his bag and slung his rifle and prepared to leave. Inside the building the president’s blood was soaking the royal blue carpet and had left a large stain on the wall. The senators not in shock were busy vomiting or phoning the police.
The sniper detached the rappel line from his belt and ran into the night.
Chapter 1
Three weeks had passed since Sam Carter had shot Kim Jong. He now sat in a small French Café, stirring a lukewarm cup of coffee; he’d been sitting here for two hours now, watching the waitress. He’d come to the café for his debriefing but his contact was late, he was just about to leave when he saw the waitress.
She was petite, about 5’6” with shoulder length dark hair, through the thin cotton of her white blouse he could see the shape of her pert breasts.
His musings were interrupted by the door opening, he turned to see a group of middle aged business men, he turned back to catch sight of the waitress bending over, her short black skirt stretching over her firm buttocks.
Sam’s view was blocked by a large man, who sat down opposite him,
“You’re late,” said Sam, leaning slightly to be able to see the waitress
“Sorry I’m still on Hong Kong time,” the large man followed Sam’s eyes to the waitress,”nice”
“Thanks.”
“Have you…?” he said with a nod toward the waitress
“Not yet,” Sam let a smile creep to the corner of his mouth, “what’s happening about Jong?”
“The Koreans haven’t announced his death yet, but he’s made no appearances on Korean TV since last month. Kerry’s counting it a success.”
“What’s next?”
“You’re familiar with CIA, yes?”
“I may have heard of them.” Sam’s tone was sarcastic,
“Well it appears that they have a pest problem,”
“Pest?”
“A mole.”
“Ah.”
“It seems that the Russians and the Iranians have been receiving information about top secret American weapons. The Russians have even been improving and using them, did you know that the have improved the patriot missiles for ground use, as well as anti air,”
“Impressive.”
“I know.”
“And the Americans are pissed?”
“You got it, they want some one to go in and pretend to be a new recruit, go in and befriend the mole.”
“How?”
“They’ll find you. The last 6 new recruits have all left the CIA with a hell of a lot of info, and a hell of a lot of cash. This is on top of stuff that the moles leaking through special transmissions. This is big for the Americans; this is their biggest security leak ever.
The man got up, “A car will be sent to your flat tomorrow morning, for now go home, get some sleep and I’ll see you when you’re done.”
He left; Sam downed his coffee, shuddered at the foul of the cold liquid. He contemplated another cup, but decided against it, took on last look at the waitress and left.
Sam had a small flat in Central Toulouse in an area full of restaurants and bars; it wasn’t hard to get a taxi there. He arrived home about six, most of the restaurants were in the middle of their first sitting, and the area was full with tourists and parties. He unlocked the door to his flat, he lived on the first floor, the ground floor being a small bar used mainly by locals, he got to his flat via a small flight of stair to the side of the bar.
He pushed open the door and felt by his right shoulder for the light switch. He flicked it.
Chapter ?
I had come to this; this was why he’d nearly been killed twice, why he’d innocent people, why he’d toppled a regime and why one of his friends was dead.
Sam’s fist shot into Al’s chin, caught off balance Al fell heavily into a bookcase, making it rain Wordsworth and Tension and any thing else the fat man in front of him thought would impress visitors to his office. Al got up from the floor, and felt his bleeding lip with two fingers,
“With Saddam and Jong out of the picture the future is bright happy democratic one,”
“Where, with the treaty with Russia America has no threats, and total power.” He spat.
“I don’t know why you’re so angry, because of your services the president you’re going to be made an honorary American citizen and your every wish granted.” another blow, this time to Al’s ample belly Sam picked up the letter opener from the desk, “Listen you fat American Bastard, there is no bloody way I’ll let your paltry country rule the world,” he was making his accent overly British.
“I’ve killed presidents before, what makes yours so special? And he trusts me now so I could pick my way of killing him.” Carter moved to the corner, and took the long black case that contained his rifle, “bye,” the letter opener flicked across Al’s neck; he gagged, cofed up blood and fell to the floor. His blood began to soak the pile of books on to which he fell.
Sam left the room, walked back to the clean white reception with its pretence of art, informed the PA Al was having a nap and told her to wake him in a few hours.
The president was in New York today, and a couple of hours was more than enough time, he’d told Lei that his idle was Lee Harvey Oswald, and he would succeed where Oswald failed. He walked through the swing door, knocking the head from one of the flowers sitting in the decorative tubs by the door. It lay on the white marble floor, its purple petals curled slightly at the edge.
Carter laughed to himself as he bleeped the Porsche open, and set off for time square.
It's a novel i'm working on i'd really like feed back.
The Korean Encounter.
Background:
It is 2005; John Kerry has just started his first term of presidency. He is already putting into action his plan to combat terrorism without going to war. A British special ops has been hired to assassinate the North Korean president Kim Jong II.
Prologue
It was warm, too warm for late spring and the sweat trickled down his forehead. He crouched behind the ledge at the edge of the roof, far below restaurants were closing for the night. He unslung the small backpack he wore, and took his rifle from his shoulder. He opened the bag and took from it the silencer and sight; he set about screwing the silencer to the barrel. The sight, he discovered when it was attached was out of focus.
He looked at his watch cursed and began to readjust the sight faster. He knew that he was running put of time and the president would be leaving the meeting soon. He finally got the focus right and trained his view to the eighth floor window where a presidential consultation was taking place.
With the sight he could see every thing inside the room, it was plain with little decoration, painted an off white, and typical of the tall glass building where it lay which contrasted strongly, with the little of the country he’d already seen. There was a table in the corner with various decanters of spirits, every one around the conference table look merry.
The sniper held his breath, steadying his aim, and positioned his cross hair on the presidents left pupil. Gently he squeezed the trigger; he felt the stiff spring push against his force. A senator moved to shake the presidents hand, stepped into his sight blocking the view. He released his pressure. He knew the president was due on a plane in 15 minutes so speed was imperative. The senator moved but was followed to the door by the president; he cursed again changing his aim following the president’s head. He had to do it now; sharply he brought his right index finger down on the trigger.
The recoil was no existent due to the precision and excellence the rifle had been made and customised. He grabbed his bag and slung his rifle and prepared to leave. Inside the building the president’s blood was soaking the royal blue carpet and had left a large stain on the wall. The senators not in shock were busy vomiting or phoning the police.
The sniper detached the rappel line from his belt and ran into the night.
Chapter 1
Three weeks had passed since Sam Carter had shot Kim Jong. He now sat in a small French Café, stirring a lukewarm cup of coffee; he’d been sitting here for two hours now, watching the waitress. He’d come to the café for his debriefing but his contact was late, he was just about to leave when he saw the waitress.
She was petite, about 5’6” with shoulder length dark hair, through the thin cotton of her white blouse he could see the shape of her pert breasts.
His musings were interrupted by the door opening, he turned to see a group of middle aged business men, he turned back to catch sight of the waitress bending over, her short black skirt stretching over her firm buttocks.
Sam’s view was blocked by a large man, who sat down opposite him,
“You’re late,” said Sam, leaning slightly to be able to see the waitress
“Sorry I’m still on Hong Kong time,” the large man followed Sam’s eyes to the waitress,”nice”
“Thanks.”
“Have you…?” he said with a nod toward the waitress
“Not yet,” Sam let a smile creep to the corner of his mouth, “what’s happening about Jong?”
“The Koreans haven’t announced his death yet, but he’s made no appearances on Korean TV since last month. Kerry’s counting it a success.”
“What’s next?”
“You’re familiar with CIA, yes?”
“I may have heard of them.” Sam’s tone was sarcastic,
“Well it appears that they have a pest problem,”
“Pest?”
“A mole.”
“Ah.”
“It seems that the Russians and the Iranians have been receiving information about top secret American weapons. The Russians have even been improving and using them, did you know that the have improved the patriot missiles for ground use, as well as anti air,”
“Impressive.”
“I know.”
“And the Americans are pissed?”
“You got it, they want some one to go in and pretend to be a new recruit, go in and befriend the mole.”
“How?”
“They’ll find you. The last 6 new recruits have all left the CIA with a hell of a lot of info, and a hell of a lot of cash. This is on top of stuff that the moles leaking through special transmissions. This is big for the Americans; this is their biggest security leak ever.
The man got up, “A car will be sent to your flat tomorrow morning, for now go home, get some sleep and I’ll see you when you’re done.”
He left; Sam downed his coffee, shuddered at the foul of the cold liquid. He contemplated another cup, but decided against it, took on last look at the waitress and left.
Sam had a small flat in Central Toulouse in an area full of restaurants and bars; it wasn’t hard to get a taxi there. He arrived home about six, most of the restaurants were in the middle of their first sitting, and the area was full with tourists and parties. He unlocked the door to his flat, he lived on the first floor, the ground floor being a small bar used mainly by locals, he got to his flat via a small flight of stair to the side of the bar.
He pushed open the door and felt by his right shoulder for the light switch. He flicked it.
Chapter ?
I had come to this; this was why he’d nearly been killed twice, why he’d innocent people, why he’d toppled a regime and why one of his friends was dead.
Sam’s fist shot into Al’s chin, caught off balance Al fell heavily into a bookcase, making it rain Wordsworth and Tension and any thing else the fat man in front of him thought would impress visitors to his office. Al got up from the floor, and felt his bleeding lip with two fingers,
“With Saddam and Jong out of the picture the future is bright happy democratic one,”
“Where, with the treaty with Russia America has no threats, and total power.” He spat.
“I don’t know why you’re so angry, because of your services the president you’re going to be made an honorary American citizen and your every wish granted.” another blow, this time to Al’s ample belly Sam picked up the letter opener from the desk, “Listen you fat American Bastard, there is no bloody way I’ll let your paltry country rule the world,” he was making his accent overly British.
“I’ve killed presidents before, what makes yours so special? And he trusts me now so I could pick my way of killing him.” Carter moved to the corner, and took the long black case that contained his rifle, “bye,” the letter opener flicked across Al’s neck; he gagged, cofed up blood and fell to the floor. His blood began to soak the pile of books on to which he fell.
Sam left the room, walked back to the clean white reception with its pretence of art, informed the PA Al was having a nap and told her to wake him in a few hours.
The president was in New York today, and a couple of hours was more than enough time, he’d told Lei that his idle was Lee Harvey Oswald, and he would succeed where Oswald failed. He walked through the swing door, knocking the head from one of the flowers sitting in the decorative tubs by the door. It lay on the white marble floor, its purple petals curled slightly at the edge.
Carter laughed to himself as he bleeped the Porsche open, and set off for time square.
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