

Chasing Shadows

A Distant Land

B T Coll

# Table of Contents

Author's Note

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

# Author's Note

#

A Distant Land is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are entirely fictitious.

2017 Copyright @ B T Coll

Smashwords Edition

All Rights Reserved

# Chapter One

#

The vibration from his cell phone, in his jacket pocket, made him jump. He was off duty for a few days and didn't expect to receive a call. Quickly pulling it from his pocket, he made a gesture to his wife that he had to step outside to take the call. He knew by the glare he received from her, that she was angry but so was he. All they wanted was some peace to spend time as a family and enjoy a short break. Now that peace was being broken. She shook her head and he quickly left his seat to make his way to the back door, to take the call and hoped upon hope that he wouldn't be sent on another mission.

They had only been in Fort Worth for two days and had planned to stay for a full week. Would this now be possible? He hoped that it would, otherwise his wife would blow a gasket and his life wouldn't be worth living. Before they had set off, he had assured her that they would have a whole week of family time with no interruptions. Why had he done that? Now standing outside the door of the Rodeo, he wished he hadn't made such a promise.

The shouting from the rodeo show inside made it impossible to hear the person on the other end of the phone. "Wait a sec. I can't hear you." he shouted, moving further and further away from the door. Even outside the noise was deafening. Fort Worth Stockyards was always a busy place and he cursed under his breath, as he looked around for somewhere quiet. Eventually finding a secluded corner, he lifted his cell phone to his ear and was surprised to find that the caller had not hung up but had waited for him to speak. "Hello. Carry on. I can hear you now." he said in a quiet hushed voice. He was stunned to discover that his next mission was outwith the United States. "Scotland!" he exclaimed. "Where the hell is that?"

After a few seconds of awkward silence the voice at the other end of the cell phone replied. "I will send the details by special delivery, as usual. You should receive them by tomorrow lunchtime." He was shocked. "Wait a sec. I'm not at home." he said. "Where the hell are you then?" the voice asked angrily. "I'm in Fort Worth and won't be back until Friday." he replied, unsure of how that statement would be received. "Friday. Are you bloody joking? We need you now, so get your ass back home and collect that package at lunchtime tomorrow. I will be in touch after you have had time to look at the mission." the voice replied sternly and the line suddenly went dead.

Returning to the rodeo, he took his seat again and purposely ignored his wife's glaring stares. He knew that she wouldn't be happy about cutting their holiday short but he would deal with that later. He watched as his six-year-old son Jesse, jumped up and down with delight at the cowboys who were trying to lasso a huge white bull. Soon the bull was on the ground and his son high-fived one of the cowboys, who had jumped from his horse and ran over to the crowd. "You having a good time?" he asked his son, who immediately informed him that he was going to be a cowboy and wanted a horse of his own. His wife laughed at such a ridiculous suggestion. "Where on earth would we keep it for goodness sake?" she replied shaking her head. "Oh, please mum. I love horses. If I get a horse then I will be a real cowboy." he pleaded. Jesse was the spitting image of his mother with his dark brown curly hair and brown eyes. "If Jesse is getting a horse I want one too." Amber, their 10-year-old daughter suddenly announced. Amber was more like her father with her blonde hair and blue eyes. "Don't be silly. How about some riding lessons?" their mother suggested as a compromise. "Ok then. But when I'm a good rider I want a horse." Jesse stated with determination in his voice.

Soon the rodeo show was over and as they joined the crowds of people leaving the show, his wife turned to him. "Do you have something to tell me?" she asked. "Not here honey. I'll tell you all about it later." he replied. "Let's get something to eat I'm starving. Who wants a hotdog?"

An hour later they were back at their hotel. As the children went off to bed, they settled down in front of the television with a glass of wine. He turned to his wife and by the look on her face, she knew exactly what he was about to say. "Sorry honey but we have to go back home tomorrow. I'm expecting a package." he told her. She took a deep sigh before replying. "Do you have to go away again? You promised we could have this week together as a family." He held her hand. "Sorry but it's work and you know that I would rather stay here with you. Listen, I have an idea, why don't you and the kids stay till the end of the week and I will go home alone." His wife jumped from the sofa. "We stay as a family. If you go home, we all go home." she announced, with determination in her dark brown eyes. Now I'm going to bed, all that shouting and screaming at the rodeo has given me a headache." she said, before making her way to the bedroom. He turned the television off and sat by himself drinking a glass of wine. For some reason, his wife didn't want to argue, which was unusual. Perhaps she really did have a headache.

His thoughts returned to his mission. Scotland, he knew was far away but exactly where it was, he wasn't quite sure. And what was he expected to do when he got there? He sighed, all would be revealed when the package was delivered tomorrow.

# Chapter Two

#

In the morning, the children moaned about having to cut short their holiday, as there was so much else they wanted to see. They had wanted to visit Houston and Dallas before returning home, so they were more than a little angry that this would now not happen. "Next time. I promise." he told them and cursed under his breath, when he realised that he had made another promise which he would probably be unable to keep. "Do we have to go straight home dad? Can't we go to Houston first? I really want to see the Space Centre?" his son Jesse asked him. "Sorry but we have to get straight home. Next time." he replied seeing the sadness in his young son's eyes. "We will go down and get breakfast first and maybe just maybe, we will have time for a quick swim in the swimming pool before we leave." he told him but his son shouted "NO!" before marching out of the room in a huff.

Just over an hour later they were in the car making their way home to Austin. It would take them nearly three hours to reach home and he knew it might take longer than that, as he would have to stop off here and there for the children to visit the restrooms. He hoped he would be home in time for the delivery of his package. In order for that to happen, he drove a little faster than usual, in an attempt to return home as quickly as possible. They had lived in Cedar Park, a suburb of Austin, for just over two years and they all loved it; having moved from Chicago. Their home was only 17 minutes from downtown Austin, which gave them the best of both worlds. Austin is the capital of Texas and is situated on the Colorado River. Its climate is subtropical with hot summers and mild winters. The mild winters were what they wanted, as in Chicago the temperature in the winter could often drop to –18 degrees. They moved about often and lived in many cities over the years but now they were settled in Austin and absolutely loved Cedar Park.

As soon as they arrived home, the children ran off to visit their friends along the road, to tell them about the rodeo and how they were going to take horse riding lessons. "I'm just going to unpack and put a washing on." his wife told him and he nodded as he glanced at his watch. He hoped that he hadn't missed the courier with the package and settled down on a chair beside the front window, to wait for it to arrive.

A short time later, when the parcel had arrived, he rushed upstairs to open it. Throwing the contents onto the bed, he quickly glanced through them to see what his new mission was going to be. Taking a closer look, he studied all the documents he had been sent and memorised the instructions.

When he was finished reading, he gathered up what he had to take with him and walked over to the wardrobe and pulled out his special travelling case. This case he had taken on every mission he had ever been sent on. This was his lucky case and looking at it saw that it was a bit the worst for wear. The blue case was now fraying at the edges and looked battered and worn. He placed his new passport, credit card, plane tickets and a few of the documents he needed to take with him, in his case. His new alias was William Dillon and as he would only be in Scotland for five days, he threw in a few items of clothing, including a few pullovers in case it was cold.

The rest of the documents he took to the shredder machine in the kitchen and destroyed them. Emptying the shredder, he placed the remains of the documents, into a brown paper bag and burned them in an old oil drum in the garage, to ensure that they were completely destroyed. He knew not to leave any evidence behind that could implicate him, if anything was to go wrong

# Chapter Three

#

His wife dropped him off at Houston's International Airport, two hours before his flight. "Be careful." she told him, as she kissed him on his cheek. "I always am, honey. Now don't you be fretting over me. You just take care of yourself and look after the children. I will be home in a few days." he told her and gave her a quick kiss, before leaving the car. He was dressed in a dark grey suit, white shirt and grey tie and could feel the sweat dripping from his forehead. He knew he had to look the part but the heat was intolerable and he quickly made a dash to get inside the building and cool down with its air conditioning. He already had his return tickets from Houston to Glasgow and had checked-in online before he left the house. He was staying for five days, as any less would arouse suspicion. And as he only had hand luggage, he was able to get through security fairly quickly before making his way to the airport lounge. He knew that he may look odd dressed in a suit, with a tattered old case but he didn't care. This was his lucky case that he took with him on every mission and he would be lost without it. This case was the only thing that he had left of his father and it felt like a family heirloom to him.

He had spent hours memorising his new name and date of birth on the new passport, just in case he was asked any questions. He had to be prepared. He was now William Dillon and according to his passport was 42 years of age, which was five years older than his actual age. His nationality was now Irish and had he had an Irish Passport to prove it. According to his papers he was a Systems Analyst for a large American IT company in Dublin, which had its headquarters in Houston. The company, which he hoped actually existed, also had an office in Glasgow, which gave him a perfect cover story, for his visit to Scotland. He was more than pleased to be flying Business Class as he was all of 6ft 3 ins in height and the seats in Economy were always too small for his long legs. On his own budget, he would never have been able to fly Business Class but this wasn't his money. This ticket was part of his job and as usual all his expenses would be paid and he would receive a huge bonus with his payment, when his mission was completed.

He sat in the airport lounge, sipping red wine and going over everything once again in his head. This had to be done to the letter and there could be no mistakes or there would be hell to pay. He wasn't stupid. If he were ever to be discovered or even caught, then his life would be over. This was a dangerous game he was playing but it was a lucrative game. The money he received from these missions, made his and his family's lives more comfortable, than if he had a regular 9-5 job. It helped him buy his current house and helped his wife stay at home and take care of his children. He even had money in his bank account for holidays and such like. That is, if he ever had the time off to enjoy a holiday.

He had enough savings now to stop what he was doing, or so his wife kept telling him. Truth be told, this would not be as easy as she thinks, due to the fact that she didn't really know what his work involved. He led her to believe that he worked secret missions for the CIA but the truth of what he really did, would shock her to the core, so he kept the true nature of his business to himself. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

He ordered a glass of red wine, in his fake Irish accent, that he had been practicing every night to try to get it as perfect as possible. He took a sip of wine and tried not to think of his wife at home, who believed that he was somehow keeping their country safe with his missions. If she really knew what he did for a living, she would be disgusted with him and he could never let that happen. His wife loved and respected him and if that ever changed, it would kill him. Without his family, he would be nothing and he could never go back to being a nothing again.

He had been living under an assumed name for decades and even his wife of twelve years, did not know his true identify. One day he may tell her but then again, there would never be any reason to tell her anything about his past and who he really was. She loved him for who he was now and not for the person that he once was. She would never love that person, so the best thing to do was keep it all hidden in the past. As long as she didn't discover who he was and what he did for a living, they would be happy but there was a part of him that was scared that everything could one day come tumbling out. There was only one person in the whole world that knew everything about him and that was his employer. This often made him feel uneasy and he cursed the day that he met him and was dragged into this whole deceptive lifestyle.

Just over an hour later he was boarding the airplane and was relieved that everything had gone so smoothly. He knew if he was discovered, he would be on his own and completely disowned by his employer. As usual he would not be able to relax until he was back home and knew that the next few days would be filled with anxiety. "Would you like something to drink sir?" an air steward asked just after the airplane had taken off. "Just some water please." he replied in a very polite Irish accent. He rummaged around and found a bag containing ear-plugs, an eye mask and blanket and settled down to sleep, as the flight was over 9 hours long.

He found himself thinking back to his childhood and his father who had brought him up after his mother had disappeared from their lives. He remembers how poor they were and the struggles that his father endured to put a roof over their heads and food on the table. Times were tough but he had happy memories despite that fact. He thought of his mother who had walked out to set up home with another man, when he was 10 years old, the same age as his daughter Amber.

He suddenly felt full of hatred and decided to dismiss any thoughts of her from his head. He couldn't remember her anyway but perhaps that was more to do with the trauma that was inflicted on him, the night she left. Without a thought for her son, she had just up and left and he remembers clinging to her and pleading for her not to go. He was of an age to understand what was happening but couldn't believe that his mother would leave him. He had cried for weeks after that and no amount of comforting words from his father, would appease him. In a short time, he had grown to hate the woman who called herself his mother and had never tried to find her. He had no mother. She was dead to him. He called for the air steward and ordered some red wine. A few moments later she handed him a small bottle of red wine and a glass. For some reason, he wanted to blot out memories of his mother and knew he was only thinking of her because of the anxiety he always felt before a mission. Perhaps the wine would be successful in making him think of more pleasant things, than how his heart had been broken by the woman who gave birth to him.

Looking at his wristwatch he realised that only an hour had passed since he boarded the plane and he decided to try and get some sleep. He put on the eye-mask and covered himself with the blanket provided and closed his eyes. The time would go faster if he could sleep for a few hours.

He dreamt of his father, who was a quiet and somewhat dull man. Perhaps that was why his mother had found excitement elsewhere. His father was called Big Jim Andy by everyone who knew him because he was 6ft 6ins tall and towered over everyone in the small town of Louisville, Colorado. His father's real name was James Anderson but his nickname stayed with him for the rest of his life. Everyone in the town loved his father, as he would help any of the townsfolk out, if they were ever in need of help. His father was always doing odd jobs around the town to help his neighbours and would often drag him along with him. This was something he resented, as he grew older. Part of him thought people were taking advantage of his father's good nature but his father would just keep giving and the townsfolk would just keep taking. Perhaps that was just him being cynical but his father was too good a man to be taken advantage of and as soon as he could, he left the town and joined the army. In hindsight, this was a bad mistake, as the path chosen when he was so young, led him to where he was today. His father had been so proud of him, for enlisting and he was glad that he had passed away before he found out how disastrous his army career had panned out.

When he had returned to Louisville, when his father had died, he was astonished at the amount of people who had turned up for his funeral. The whole town seemed to have turned out to honour his father and at that moment he knew that they had held him in high regard. The Mayor, Marshall Thomson, had shook his hand and told him that Big Jim Andy would be missed in Louisville and that a plaque would be erected in the town, in his honour. He was still to see that plaque, as he had never returned to Louisville since his father's death and truth be told, he had no intentions of ever doing so. He had moved on from that town and was now living a different kind of life.

He found himself tossing and turning, unable to sleep. He reached into his jacket pocket and took out his wallet. Inside a corner of the wallet, wrapped in tin foil, were two sleeping pills. He always carried a few sleeping pills with him for emergencies like this and knew after taking them, he would be fast asleep in no time.

When the flight landed at London's Heathrow Airport and he had to wait an hour for his connection flight to Glasgow. He felt fresh and alert and was grateful for the several hours sleep he managed to get on the flight. He thought of calling home but quickly realised that it would be the middle of the night, back home in Austin. So, he sat himself down at the departure gate and began to read a newspaper, that someone had thrust into his hand as he was leaving the airplane. He suddenly heard the familiar sound of his cell phone and reaching into his jacket pocket, pulled it out and found that he had a text.

Taxi waiting for you in Glasgow Airport to take you to hotel.

The time passed slowly for him but eventually he boarded the flight to Glasgow International Airport. The flight only took an hour and he soon found himself standing in the Arrivals Lounge, scanning for his taxi driver. He noticed his name on a placard carried by a very fat, bald man dressed in a dirty grey t-shirt and jeans. He walked over to the man and opened his mouth to speak but before he could say anything, the man spoke to him in a very gruff Glaswegian accent "Mr Dillon, my name is Pat, follow me." He quickly followed behind him and was soon sitting in the back of the black Hackney taxi.

On the short journey to his hotel, the driver tried to engage him in conversation but he found it hard to understand his strong accent. "First time here in Glasgow mate?" the taxi driver asked. "Yes." he replied not wanting to engage in a conversation with him but trying hard to be polite. He sat in the back of the taxi and opened his newspaper again, hoping that by pretending to read the driver would not want to disturb him. "Business or pleasure?" the driver asked looking at him from his rear-view mirror. He couldn't understand what he was being asked, so he just nodded and smiled. With this the driver knew instinctively that it was a waste of time trying to talk to him. Businessmen kept themselves to themselves and by the way he was dressed, he knew he was in Glasgow on business. "You Irish then? What part of Ireland are you from? My parents are Irish." the driver said and he found himself panicking for a moment. He had never been to Ireland in his life and didn't want to get into a conversation about a country that he didn't know anything about. Thinking quickly, he said. "Dublin but if you don't mind I am rather busy." he replied taking out his cell phone and pretending to dial a number. The driver glared at him and cursed quietly under his breath. There was something odd about this passenger. For an Irishman, he was not very friendly and not very chatty. But then again, he thought, all businessmen, no matter what nationality, were all distant and downright rude. The remainder of the journey was spent in silence.

He sat in the back of the taxi whispering into his cell phone pretending that he was talking to someone, to stop the driver asking any more awkward questions. Twenty minutes later he had arrived at the White Gold Hotel, which was located in George Square and straight across from the Glasgow City Chambers, were his mission was to be completed, in only a few day's time. On leaving the taxi he smiled at the driver and handed him £40 and told him to keep the change. The driver smiled back and nodded at him before driving off again. Now walking into the hotel, he knew that his mission had begun.

After checking in and receiving his room key, he picked up a few leaflets about Glasgow and decided that he would read these in bed that night. His room was on the fifth floor, Room 505 and he gave the receptionist a big grin, before making his way to the elevator.

As soon as he closed his hotel room door behind him, he scanned his bedroom and was quite pleased to see that it was more upmarket than the usual rooms, that he was forced to stay in. For some reason, his employer was really pulling out all the stops, by putting him up in a 4* hotel. He laughed, at least he would have a very comfortable stay in Glasgow, for the few days that he would be here. Walking over to the window, he looked out and could see the City Chambers and knew that his room was not just chosen at random. At this window, he would be able to see all the comings and goings in George Square and tomorrow he would familiarise himself with the area. Tonight however, he was tired and hungry. It was too late for dinner, so he ordered room service and was more than ready for his meal by the time it arrived.

The waiter brought his food and tried to engage him in some friendly conversation but he was having none of it. He was determined to keep a low profile, so he thanked the waiter and gave him a £20 note as a tip and quickly ushered him out of the room. He was starving and had ordered a flame-grilled 14oz T-bone steak with onions, mushrooms and grilled tomatoes. He found his mouth watering, as he looked down at the delicious meal in front of him.

He was disappointed at the meal and only ate half of it, as his steak was overcooked. They don't cook steak like this in Texas, he thought and the coffee that he was given was just disgusting, like tar. He left the tray of half-eaten food outside his door and hung the do not disturb sign, on the door handle as he was suddenly overcome with tiredness and needed to get to bed. He felt sweaty and decided to have a quick shower before bed, as he knew that it would make him feel more comfortable and aid his sleep.

After showering he pulled on the bathrobe and slippers that the hotel had provided and looking at his watch, saw that it was a good time to call his wife, back home. He yawned and felt overcome with tiredness after the long journey and decided to send his wife a short text instead, to let her know that he had arrived safely. She replied to his text telling him to call her the next day and he replied stating that he would. He yawned again and felt his eyelids getting heavy, so he threw off his bathrobe and slippers and slid under the duvet to sleep. He had a lot of planning to do over the next few days and needed to keep a clear head, so a good long sleep was in order. Tomorrow he would stake out the area, in order to be ready to complete his mission on Friday, when his target would attend a function in his honour, at the City Chambers. Why he was a target was of no interest to him but obviously was of interest to whoever hired him.

Tossing and turning, he cursed at the fact that he found it impossible to fall asleep and that he had no more sleeping pills with him. He was so tired, yet could not drop off, so he sat up in bed and took the bundle of leaflets from the bedside table, that he had picked up at reception and decided to read them. He needed to learn as much about Glasgow as he could. Every little detail could be important to his mission. According to the leaflets Glasgow is the largest city in Scotland, is situated on the River Clyde and the residents of Glasgow were referred to as Glaswegians. He read about the various theatres in the city such as, the Pavilion, the Tron and the King's Theatre. But he wasn't here for the theatres. He read about the various art galleries and the transport museum and thought he might be able to give them a visit, seeing that he was already in the city, if he had some spare time. He read that Glasgow also has various music venues such as the Royal Concert Hall and the SECC, which host various music from rock, country to jazz and opera and of course all the popular pop bands. He was not here for music, so he didn't even look at who was playing on the days that he was staying in the city. He read that Glasgow also has several universities such as, Glasgow University, Strathclyde University, Glasgow Caledonian University and the famous Glasgow School of Art. He read about Charles Rennie Mackintosh, the Scottish architect and designer and his association with the Glasgow School of Art, having attended evening classes there. He read that he had also worked in interior design, furniture and textiles. In later life, he worked as a water colourist and painted numerous landscapes. He found it all fairly interesting but he wasn't here to be enlightened to the many features of the City of Glasgow.

He was here for a specific mission so he closed the leaflets and tossed them to the bottom of his bed. He suddenly felt his eyes becoming heavy and wondered if he should try to sleep again. He thought about it and shook his head and decided to try to stay awake for as long as possible. That way when he did fall asleep he wouldn't toss and turn. He reached out and picked up one of the leaflets from his bed again, as he knew that reading would make him sleepy. He would educate himself about the City of Glasgow, just in case he was ever asked to return one day, on another mission. At least he would know everything about Glasgow, if that was ever to happen.

He opened the leaflet and continued reading. He discovered that most of Scotland's national arts organsiations such as Scottish Opera, Scottish Ballet, Scottish Youth Theatre and the Royal Scottish National Orchestra are based in Glasgow. He read about George Square and how it was named after King George III and how it had a collection of statues and monuments such as Robert Burns, James Watt, Sir Robert Peel and Sir Walter Scott. On the east of the square sits Glasgow City Chambers, the headquarters of Glasgow City Council and his target would be there come Friday. He read that the building was constructed in the 1800's by William Young and is an example of Victorian architecture. St Mungo, Glasgow's patron saint is reflected in the mosaic coat of arms on the floor of the entrance hall of the City Chambers. Inside beside the staircases are pillars of marble and granite and the ceiling is decorated in gold leaf.

He flicked through the pages as he wasn't particularly interested in the décor of the place. He reached the description of the Banqueting Hall, in which Nelson Mandela received his Freedom of the City in 1993. His target was due to attend a banquet, in his honour on Friday and he wanted to get more information on the place. His eyes lit up when he came across a paragraph in the leaflet, which told him about daily tours of the City Chambers. This was of interest to him and he continued reading with new-found interest. The tours were free of charge and were conducted twice a day for tourists. This was something that was of immense interest to him and he lay down to sleep, determined to take part in the tour. He liked to be thorough in his work and even though his task would take place outside the City Chambers, he was intrigued to get a good look inside.

# Chapter Four

#

Unable to sleep he got out of bed and took some water before turning on the television on the wall before moving over to his hotel room window. As darkness descended on the City of Glasgow, he stood surveying his surroundings. In just a few days his target would be just across the street from him and he had better not miss. The equipment that he would need, would be delivered soon so tomorrow he would need to make a start on formulating his plans.

His thoughts were interrupted, by the familiar ring of his cell phone and he instinctively knew that it was his wife. "Hello honey." he said, only for his boss to answer. "I take it you have arrived at your destination?" he asked in a gruff voice. "Sorry I thought you were the wife.' he told him. "I know but you get me instead. Everything sorted?" he asked. "Yes boss." he replied trying to keep his voice upbeat, as not to let him know that he hadn't even started planning yet. "Good, I will call you tomorrow at the same time. Need I remind you what to do with a certain Sim Card when your job is done?" He found himself tutting at such a stupid question. "No Boss. Understood." he replied. Of course, he knew he had to destroy the Sim Card. He was a professional after all and not a green recruit. The cell phone went dead and he immediately called his wife. "Hello Honey." he said and discovered that she was driving her car and couldn't talk to him at that moment. "Ok honey. I will call you back in an hour." he told her. "Bye." she replied, a little too quickly for his liking. What was she up to? Why was she so abrupt with him? He shook his head and chastised himself for being so paranoid. She was driving and probably had the children in the car with her. He would speak to her in an hour, that is if he could stay awake that long. He was so tired but his body would not go to sleep. His brain was so overactive and he knew why. His anxiety was returning and he wished he was a calmer person, as anxiety and his line of work didn't mix.

He settled down on the sofa and flicked through the channels until he found and American programme to watch. The programme was about deer hunting in Minnesota and included a discussion on the rifles used by the hunters. He found it very interesting as he had several rifles of his own, in his collection at home. The Savage 111 Hunter was described as an accurate, durable and dependable rifle. He laughed at this suggestion. It was a fairly cheap rifle, at just over $500 and he personally wouldn't give it the time of day. They discussed the CVA Accura V2 209 Magnum Muzzleloader, which he himself possessed as some states like Illinois, don't allow deer hunting with a centre-fire rifle. So, he had bought this rifle when he was living in Chicago.

Then there was the Marlin 189G which was both powerful and easy to handle. The men discussing the rifles were all dressed in green camouflage suits and once again he laughed at the suggestion that these suits would stop deer from recognising them as predators. As an accomplished deer hunter himself, he knew that deer were a lot smarter than what some people gave them credit for. Then there was the more expensive Hill Country Rifles – Harvester, which the hunter went on to explain would not fit the average deer hunter's pockets as it was so expensive. He nodded at that comment. Next, they discussed the Ruger M77 Hawkeye Compact Deer rifles retail at $900 and is a small and light rifle weighing just 6 pounds. He shook his head at this rifle, as it was too small and light in his opinion. It wasn't one that he would be interested in owning. The Luxus Arms Model 11 was his own next dream rifle. It is sleek, simple and very classy and he would buy one of these as soon as he returned home. They didn't mention how much it cost but when he got paid, the cost would be no issue. He wanted desperately to add this rifle to his own collection.

Another rifle that he really wanted for his collection was the Echols Legend Sporter but the best rifle that he ever had and was his prize possession was the Remington 700. His eyes began to droop even though the programme was interesting and something that he really wanted to watch until the end. In order to keep awake and be able to call his wife, he went into the bathroom and splashed cold water onto his face. Reaching out he found a towel and dried his face. Staring into the mirror in front of him, he found it hard to recognise himself these days. He wasn't the young green recruit that he once was and he sighed when he saw more than a few grey hairs on his head. Staring at his reflection, he saw that he was getting more and more like his father with each passing day. He had his father's blue eyes and blond hair, which was now beginning to go grey at the sides. He even had his father's nose, which was noble, as he would call it but others would call it a roman nose. The person in the mirror looking back at him was a younger looking version of his father. At least no-one could call him dull, like his father, so that was something unique about him. He was far from dull and his father would never have taken up the profession that he was now so professional at. He stared into the mirror to try and see if there was anything from his mother that he could have inherited. He saw nothing of her in his reflection, which he was more than grateful for.

Walking back into his room, he turned off the television as the programme that he had been watching, was now finished. He jumped into bed and reaching out to the beside cabinet for his cell phone, called his wife. "Hiya honey. It's only me." he said and he could hear his wife laughing. "Sorry I couldn't speak to you earlier but you know me I can't concentrate on driving, if I have to speak on the cell phone." she told him and now it was he who was laughing. "I know Honey. One thing at a time with you." he said. "Anyway, how are y'all doing over there, are you missing me? I miss y'all so much." he told her and he meant every word. Being away from his family was killing him but he knew he had to bring home the money.

"We're all fine. We miss you like mad but don't worry about us. How are things over there? she asked him. "Boring as hell but I'll be home in a few days. Now I won't be able to call you for a few days honey but I will call you from the airport, as soon as I arrive back home." he told her. "I know Babe, you are very busy. Oh, by the way my parents are visiting for a few days." she told him and heard him sighing. "I know but I promise they will be gone by the time you get home." she told him knowing fine well that he was far from pleased. "That's ok honey. At least they will keep you company until I get back. Anyway, got to go now. Give my love to the children." he told her. "By babe. See you soon." she replied and the conversation was finished.

He lay back on his pillow and closed his eyes. He was pleased that her parents were visiting and he was more than pleased that they would be gone by the time he returned home. Her father Joseph and her mother Mary Ellen didn't like him one bit and didn't even try to disguise their dislike for him. Or was he being paranoid again. He wasn't sure. Perhaps he thought they didn't like him but he had trust issues, ever since he was a child since his mother deserted him.

He tried very hard to hide his distrust of people but now and again it would surface. Sometimes he didn't even trust his wife, which was something that he kept hidden within him, as he didn't want his emotional baggage and trust issues to affect his marriage. He had been very successful in doing so but now and again he would have his doubts as to his wife's fidelity. This was all because of his mother and he wondered how his father coped with it all. He had never spoken about her after she left them and this confused him greatly as a child. It was as if she was dead. Now as an adult he knew why his father didn't want to talk of his mother, it hurt.

He closed his eyes, willing his brain to fall asleep. He had so many things to do in the next few days and he wanted to be as alert as he could be. He tried emptying his mind of all thoughts but it didn't work, he was still wide-awake. He lay all night staring at the ceiling and he knew that come morning he would not have had one wink of sleep. Never mind, he told himself, tomorrow was another day and he would cope with his insomnia, just as he always did.

# Chapter Five

#

DI Mike Watson had just arrived at his desk in Pitt Street Police Station, when his telephone rang and he was summoned to DCI Grant McGregor's office. The new DCI had been transferred from Dundee, when the police forces were merged into Police Scotland, just over a year ago. An act of the Scottish parliament, the Police and Fire Reform (Scotland) Act 2012 created a single Police Service in Scotland. The Act merged the eight regional police forces, together with the Scottish Crime and Drug Enforcement Agency into one force, which now covers the whole of Scotland.

Reaching DCI Wilson's office, he knocked and waited to be invited inside. "Enter." DCI McGregor's gruff voice shouted and Mike opened the door, wondering why he had been summoned to his office. As he walked into the room he saw that two men, dressed in dark suits, white shirts and ties were sitting at the DCI's large oak table. "DI Watson do come in and take a seat." DCI McGregor told him. Mike immediately obeyed his superior and sat at the chair furthest away from the men. He wondered who they were, as he had never seen them at the station before. They looked official and he wondered what they wanted with him. He was soon to find out. "DI Watson this is Mr Smith and Mr Jones. Gentlemen this is Detective Inspector Mike Watson." the DCI said introducing everyone. "Agents Smith and Jones, to give us our correct titles." the older of the two men told them. "Sorry gentlemen I wasn't sure if you wanted to be addressed as agents." DCI McGregor said apologising for his faux pas. "Agents, what kind of agents?" Mike asked, wondering who on earth these two men were. "I am from MI5 and my friend beside me is from MI6." the older agent, Agent Jones told him and Mike was astounded. He had never met government agents before and now he was meeting two of them from two different agencies. "Secret Service." Mike said out loud and both men nodded. He wondered what was going on and why they wanted to speak to him. Obviously, something big was happening in the area. He didn't think that the two agencies ever worked together, as they were two separate intelligence agencies. MI5 is the Security Service that deals with domestic threats and answers to the Home Secretary while MI6 is the Secret Intelligence Service, who deals with threats from overseas and answers to the Foreign Secretary. He was intrigued and was desperate to hear more. He did not have to wait long.

"I'm afraid DI Watson we have a security breach." DCI McGregor told him. "Sorry." Mike said, not quite understanding what he was talking about. "Perhaps the agents would like to take over and explain." the DCI said, staring over at the two men in front of him. "DI Watson." Agent Smith said with a look in his eyes that told Mike that he felt uncomfortable disclosing information to someone who was not an agent. "Em, we have an important visitor to Glasgow on Friday." he said glancing at Agent Jones who nodded for him to continue. "Yes, I know." Mike told him. "There is a function being held to honour our special guest in the City Chambers." Agent Smith continued, forever glancing over at the other agent and seemed somewhat nervous for some reason. "Yes, I know." Mike told him and received a look as if to say, he was to keep quiet and stop interrupting him. Mike did just that and decided to keep his mouth shut until asked to respond. "President Mustafa Ould Mubarakas of Comora is stopping off in Glasgow, before flying to London to meet the Queen." Agent Smith told him. He paused as if waiting for Mike to speak. On discovering that he had got the hint to keep quiet, he continued. "President Mubarakas is not much loved in his country and there have been several attempts on his life over the past five years, ever since he became President. He insists the elections that put him in power, were legitimate but that is debatable." Agent Smith told him. Mike remembered reading something about the President in the newspaper a few days ago. Something about an uprising to oust him from power, that was overturned with the use of excessive force. Mike didn't know much about the President or his country but he knew that there was more than one uprising that had been reported in the media, over the last several years. "The last attempt on his life was just over a year ago, when he visited France to meet the French President. I hate to say but it was sheer luck that he managed to escape being killed that day. We cannot and will not allow, an assassination in this country." Agent Smith told him with a determination in his voice, which Mike found very commendable. He was a man on a mission and that mission was to prevent an assassination here in Scotland. The President visiting Scotland and England must be a complete nightmare for the security forces, Mike thought, and perhaps that was why MI5 and MI6 were working together.

"I thought you said something about a security breach?" Mike asked, still none the wiser as to why he had been called to the DCI's office. This time it was Agent Jones who spoke. "We have information that someone at this station has been leaking President Mubarakas' exact itinerary to undesirables." Mike gave him a quizzical look before speaking. "Undesirables. Like who?" Agent Jones shook his head. "That is for us to know detective. We want you to try and discover who is leaking this information." Mike stared at him. "I don't mean to be flippant but does it really matter?" he asked. The two agents glared at him. "It's just that he will follow the itinerary and you know fine well that the newspapers and T.V. crews will be filming his every move. So, does it really matter?" Mike repeated. DCI McGregor gasped. "Yes, it bloody well matter. You don't seem to grasp the situation DI Watson." Agent Smith said and Agent Jones nodded his head and said, "I don't think he is the man for the job after all." Mike suddenly became flustered by their comments. "Wait a minute. Perhaps I'm a bit thick but could you explain it to me again please." Mike said trying to ease the now tense atmosphere in the room.

"Six times we have changed his itinerary. Six times." Agent Jones said. "The thing is we can't keep changing things about all the time. We need to make an itinerary and stick to it." DCI McGregor huffed and puffed and shook his head at Mike. "Why do you think it's someone at this station, that is passing this information to these undesirables, as you call them?" Mike asked. "We don't think detective, we know." Agent Jones told him. "And what would these undesirables want with this information?" Mike asked becoming confused by the whole conversation. "The President's life is in danger. He barely leaves his home these days. Now these people may just be planning some sort of protest but we can't take the chance. Rebel forces in his country, want him dead and they are backed, by some very influential people. A price has been put on his head and our intelligence tells us that something is going to happen here in Glasgow." Agent Smith told him and looked towards Agent Jones to confirm what he had just said. Agent Jones nodded in agreement. "What do you want me to do?" Mike asked them. "Find the source, feed him false information and see where it leads. It may be a civilian working at this station." Agent Smith told him. DCI McGregor looked somewhat perturbed. "It must be one of the civilians. None of my police officers would be party to any kind of untoward activity." The DCI said with concern in his voice. Agent Jones laughed before speaking to the DCI. "We know everything there is to know about your police officers and I can assure you that they are not whiter than white." Mike was shocked by this revelation. Not by his comment that the police officers were not whiter than white but by the fact that these agents knew everything about everyone at the station. Agent Jones turned to Mike. "We have to be thorough detective. But you are here, DI Watson because you are whiter than white. We couldn't find anything incriminating about you and believe me we have looked." Mike didn't know whether to be pleased at his statement or not. It was evident by what they were saying, that he had been investigated. He felt somehow soiled and very uncomfortable. DCI McGregor stared down at the table and Mike saw his face beginning to redden and wondered what little secret he was trying to hide. Whatever it was, Mike was sure that these agents knew everything about it.

"It's a bit unusual for MI5 and MI6 to work together, isn't it?" Mike asked. "We do work together from time to time but as you say detective, it is rather unusual I have to agree with you on that matter." Agent Jones told him. "Well that's all for now detective. We will be in touch shortly." Mike knew when he was being dismissed and he rose from his chair and walked towards the door. Before opening the door, he turned to look at the agents. "Perhaps I can give you my personal mobile number, in case I'm not in the office." Mike suggested and was amazed when the agents shook their heads. It was Agent Jones who spoke. "No need detective." he said and Mike looked at him with a puzzled expression on his face. "We already have it." Agent Jones told him and with that Mike left the room. "Of course, you already have it." Mike said before closing the door behind him. "I bet you have my bloody shoe size too."

As he walked along the corridor his mobile phone rang. "Detective Inspector Watson." The voice said and Mike replied. "Yes." There were a few seconds of silence before the voice spoke again. "Keep our conversation to yourself for the time being. Just go about your normal business until we contact you again." Mike recognised the voice of Agent Jones. So, they did have his mobile number after all.

# Chapter Six

#

That night, at home after supper, Mike went over to his computer and deciding to look up Comora and President Mubarakas, to find out some background on the country and its President. He only knew that Comora was somewhere in Africa and that was about it. So, he wanted to educate himself about the country and its people. So, he opened his computer and using his search engine began to read all about the country, its people, its President and its troubles. He read that the President had declared himself as such, when his father had died. Not very democratic, Mike thought to himself. No election at the time but with international pressure, he held an election five years later. With allegations of vote rigging the election was called a farce by different factions within the country and unrest among the people, soon surfaced. Reading more into the election Mike came to the same conclusion as the rest of the world, that it was most probably rigged.

Scrolling down his computer screen, he began to read about the assassination attempts on President Mubarakas' life. The President called on the United Nations for help in stabilising his country and to a certain extent, help was given but not enough to satisfy the President. He employed personal security guards and sent his children, all sixteen of them, off to a neighbouring country to keep them safe. His wives stayed by him and he made his home into an impenetrable fortress. Mike thought about that fact. Susan, his wife, would not be happy if he sent off his three sons to another country to be brought up by strangers. He wondered what the President's wives thought about the situation. He had six wives and was about to take another young girl as his bride in just a few months' time. Mike raised his eyebrows. So many wives and so many children. The man must have the patience of a saint or he was a complete lunatic. Perhaps the young women had been forced to marry him, or perhaps they were so poor that they thought it an honour to be chosen as his bride. Mike shrugged his shoulders. He knew nothing really about other countries cultures. He knew nothing about assassination of leaders either, so it intrigued him that the President who had three attempts, so far on his life, would ever leave the safety of his home. Why would he do that?

On reading he discovered that the President wanted to embrace the West. He saw himself as some sort of saint that would lift his people out of poverty, so why did his people hate him. Because he was not their choice and the country was not democratic. Reading further he read that the people's choice had been a quiet, soft-spoken man called Ahmed Mombasa, who had been campaigning for a more equal society for decades. His country was not poor but in his country, Comora, the rich got richer and the poor starved to death. With diamonds, rubies, emeralds and other precious stones mined in his country, he and others thought that the poor would be lifted out of their poverty but this didn't happen.

President Mubarakas and his men made sure that they had the wealth and poverty and disease ravaged his country and the people were sick of it and wanted a change. So, thought Mike, the greedy fat cats were taking all the wealth for themselves. No wonder his people hated him. He read about the assassination attempts in France, Germany and South Africa. Somehow, he had managed to evade death but for how much longer, Mike thought. Now he was bringing his troubles to Scotland and to Mike's home, his beloved Glasgow. Why on earth was he invited to Glasgow in the first place? Why didn't he just fly directly to London? Why on earth was he meeting the Queen? Mike hated politics and the whole thing seemed very political. He was sure that there must be other things going on behind the scenes that he was not privy to and wondered what they could be.

"Are you coming to bed Mike? You've been on that computer for hours." his wife Susan shouted from the bedroom. "Soon. I'll just be a few more minutes." he answered. Continuing to read the information on his computer he discovered that there were at least three factions against the President in Comora. They all had different political agenda but they all had one common goal that they all agreed on and that was to get rid of President Mubarakas and hold free elections.

Feeling that he had learned enough, he closed the computer down. He intended to go for a quick shower before bed and making his way out of the room he stopped, when he suddenly heard the familiar ring of his mobile phone. Rushing over to the table he picked up his mobile. "Hello." he said, wondering who would be calling him so late in the evening. "DI Watson. You have a meeting tomorrow at 9am at Govan Police Station. Please do not be late." the voice said and he immediately recognised the voice of Agent Jones. He opened his mouth to reply but the mobile went dead. Agent Jones had hung up on him. "Who was that, at this hour?" Susan asked him, shouting from the bedroom. "Just work." he replied. "You don't have to go out at this hour, do you?" she shouted. "No. I have a meeting tomorrow morning. I'm just having a quick shower and will to be bed in a minute." he replied.

# Chapter Seven

#

He walked around George Square and its surrounding area, with his camera hanging around his neck. Every now and again he took a photograph. It was cold but at least the rain had stopped and scanning the area, he saw quite a few tourists with their cameras, which pleased him as he was blending in with the others. He took photographs of the City Chambers and its various entrances and exits. Tonight, he would formulate his plan and the next night his plan would be executed. He did not have much time to prepare for this new mission but as always, he would be professional in its execution.

Tourists were feeding bread to the hundreds of pigeons walking around the square and he grimaced. For some reason, he always hated birds and looking around at their dropping, he knew why. The buildings and statues around George Square, along with several benches were covered in bird shit. He shuddered. Dirty, filthy, birds he thought. Spying a subway in the nearby street, he made a beeline for it. He was quite puckish at that moment and a Subway sandwich would do him just fine.

An hour later he was back in his hotel room. A telephone call from the receptionist informed him that a package had arrived at the front desk for him. He was asked if he wanted it to be delivered to his room but he declined. He knew exactly what the package contained and he informed the receptionist that he would collect it himself. The young receptionist stared at him as he lifted the large cardboard box. He gave her a wink before carrying it to the lift and soon he was back in his room. Ripping the cardboard, he saw that it was indeed the package that he was expecting. He saw a high-powered rifle, scope and bullets. After examining it, he placed it at the back of his wardrobe. He would use this tomorrow night.

He heard his cell phone ring and immediately answered it. He knew exactly who was calling him. "Has the package arrived?" the man asked. "Yes." he replied. "Good I will not call again until you are back in the States. I hope you remembered to pack the new Sim Card." the man said. "Yes, I did." he replied and the cell went dead.

He stood with the cell phone in his hand and felt himself becoming angry at the unnecessary way that the man had spoken to him. He was a professional and as such knew exactly how this worked. He would remove and destroy the Sim Card and insert the new card after he arrived in the US. Just as he always did, so why on earth did he keep checking up on him? The next time he spoke to him, there would be a few choice words exchanged.

He had been doing these missions for years now and had never once slipped up, so a little bit of trust in him would not go amiss. He threw his cell phone onto the bed and went downstairs to the bar for a few drinks. He needed to calm himself down and knew that he should not let this pencil-pushing idiot annoy him. When had the pencil-pusher ever seen real action? He had never been a soldier. He spent his days behind a desk filling out forms and dishing out orders. How dare he double-check everything every time he was sent on a mission. He was the professional and deserved respect and he will tell him this, the next time they spoke.

# Chapter Eight

#

DI Mike Watson arrived early at Govan Police Station. He knew why the meeting was being held at that particular police station. Special Terrorist Units and Major Incident Teams were based Govan. He knew exactly where he was going, as the station was his old stomping ground before he was transferred to Pitt Street Police Station, over five years ago.

He signed in at the front desk and was told to go to Room STU 101. Outside the door was a sign stating that a meeting was in progress and he knocked the door before entering. "Come in DI Watson we have been waiting for you." Agent Jones told him as he waved for him to enter and pointed to an empty chair. Mike scanned the room and saw Agent Smith who gave him a quick nod and a not particularly friendly smile. He noticed two men dressed in t-shirts and denims sitting at the table and wondered who they were? He had put on a smart black suit that morning and wore and shirt and tie, to make himself look more official. He now realised that he shouldn't have bothered and could have worn casual clothes. Only he, Agent Smith and Agent Jones wore shirts and ties.

When the two casually dressed men greeted him he realised that they were American and wondered why they were involved in all of this. Something was going on and he was determined that he would not leave this room, until he discovered the true facts of what he was involved in.

Agent Jones introduced the two men as Duane and Marcus and told him that they were FBI and CIA, which only intrigued Mike further. Why were all these security forces here in Glasgow and why did they want him to be part of whatever was going on? He was no security agent, he was just a plain old detective and had no experience in terrorists or assassins. What the hell was he doing here? "Please take a seat DI Watson." one of the American agents told him and he sat at the chair nearest to the door. The fact that this stranger knew his name infuriated him. It was obvious to him that they had been discussing him before he arrived. "Right as everyone is here, let's get down to business." Agent Jones said and Mike felt that this man was the one in charge. He had an air of authority about him unlike the younger Agent Smith, who always seemed to look for approval from the older agent.

Agent Jones or whatever his real names was, appeared to be in his late fifties and quite athletic looking, with short black well-groomed hair, which was greying at the sides. Agent Smith, in comparison, was much younger around early thirties but Mike couldn't be sure of that, as the poor man's face was covered in potholes from a bad acne condition. He could be younger but it was not as if Mike really cared about such things. Agent Smith was also grossly overweight and probably had never been to a gym in his life and seemed to sweat rather too much. His short fair hair was cropped into his scalp, which did nothing for his fat round face and double chin. "DI Watson are you with us?" Agent Jones shouted and Mike suddenly realised that he was daydreaming and not listening to what was being said. "Sorry. I'm listening, please continue." he replied.

The two American agents sniggered and Mike glared at them. Duane was in his late thirties and looked more like a bodybuilder with his bulging biceps and skin tight t-shirt. He had blond hair and freckles across his face and when he smiled his bright pearly white teeth shone up the room.

His colleague Marcus, was slightly older, Mike thought, with darker skin and had and Italian look about him. He was quite skinny and puny looking in comparison to the huge muscular Duane.

"President Mubarakas will be here in Glasgow on Friday and will stay overnight at the Regents Royal Hotel before travelling by plane to London." Agent Jones informed them. "His security in London has been taken care of and it has nothing to do with us. We are only concerned with his safety in Glasgow. He will arrive on Friday morning after flying to Heathrow and travelling on a connecting flight to Glasgow. The airport is very secure, so we have no worries there. Also, the security in the hotel is well taken care of, so it is only the City Chambers that we have to make sure is as tight as it should be." Agent Smith said suddenly finding his voice. "Is he travelling with his wives?" Mike asked and then suddenly wondered why he was asking such a question. "We don't have to worry about his wives but yes they will be with him." Agent Smith told him.

"I have prepared a false itinerary for you DI Watson." Agent Jones said, as he handed him a piece of paper. "Have this lying around your office. Tell a few people and make a big deal about it. You know the thing. How you have better things to do than babysit this President." Mike looked at Agent Jones and shook his head before glancing at the itinerary in his hand. He felt unable to ask why American secret service were involved and soon the meeting was over. Mike came out of the meeting knowing little more than when he went in. Nothing new had been talked about and he felt very uneasy about the whole thing. Something didn't add up and as a detective he knew when information was being withheld.

He went to bed that night determined to see DCI McGregor first thing in the morning, to voice his concerns. He was an experienced detective and had better things to do with his time, than participate in all of this nonsense. He would ask if someone else could take his place, as it seemed to him that he was being used somehow. Was he being made a fallguy for something or was he really just overthinking the situation? Whatever it was, he wanted out.

# Chapter Nine

#

First thing in the morning Mike arrived at Pitt Street Police Station and immediately went to DCI McGregor's office and knocked on his door. The DCI was not alone and Mike was surprised to see that Agent Jones was also in the room. "Sorry Gov. I will come back later." he said turning but Agent Jones called him back. "Please come in DI Watson." Mike reluctantly went into the room and the DCI indicated for him to take a seat. "I will come back later Gov as I was wanting to have a private word with you." Mike told him. DCI McGregor nodded but Agent Jones stood up and told them to go ahead, as he needed to make a telephone call.

Once he had left and closed the door behind him, Mike sat down on the chair across from the DCI. "What can I do for you DI Watson?" the DCI asked. Mike decided to get to the point straight away. "Look Gov. What is this all really about? My cases have been taken from me and I'm left out on a limb. Why on earth was I brought into this? I don't understand any of it." he asked.

Mike had thought about this all night and still didn't come up with any credible answer. "DI Watson, you know as much as I do. Just because I am your superior doesn't mean that they tell me anything more, than the told you." the DCI answered shaking his head. "But why me?" Mike asked unprepared for the answer. "They asked for you especially." DCI McGregor told him. "They did what!" exclaimed Mike. "All I can tell you is that your name was given to them by a higher authority." he said. "Who?" Mike asked but the DCI shook his head. "Sorry I cannot divulge that information DI Watson." the DCI told him. Mike was not in the mood for all of this confidential rubbish that he had to deal with. "But this is all complete and utter rubbish. I mean all this about someone at the station leaking information. I can smell a rat. I don't know what is really going on but I want no part of it Gov. Please withdraw my name and get me back to my real cases." Mike told him, now finding himself very angry. DCI McGregor once again shook his head. "I'm sorry I can't help you. Perhaps you should speak to Agent Jones." he suggested trying to pacify him. "As if he would tell me anything." Mike replied

Agent Jones knocked on the door and entered the room. He immediately sat down beside Mike. "Have you finished your private chat?" he asked sarcastically. Mike laughed. "You know fine well what we were discussing. You probably have the room or perhaps the whole police station bugged." Mike told him with anger in his eyes. Agent Jones laughed, which infuriated Mike even further. "Perhaps DI Watson but that is confidential." Agent Jones told him with a smirk on his face. Mike immediately stood up to confront this arrogant agent, who was now getting on his nerves and making him angry. "I demand. Yes, you heard me, demand you tell me what this is all about and stop fobbing me off with stupid stories about itineraries." he told him in a very angry tone that meant business.

Agent Jones was taken aback by how forthright DI Watson was and decided that he would have to have a word with him in private. "Do you mind if I speak to DI Watson in private?" Agent Jones asked DCI McGregor. The DCI nodded but remained seated. "Perhaps you don't understand. Can you please leave us for a few moments?" Agent Jones told him and the DCI suddenly looked flustered and Mike observed, angry at the same time. "Can't you go somewhere else? I have a lot of work do get through today." DCI McGregor stuttered, not looking directly at the agent in front of him. There were a few moments of silence. It looked like a standoff, Mike thought and he wondered who would win. Agent Jones broke the silence. "Very well I will inform my superiors that you are putting obstacle in the way of this security task." Mike saw the shock in the DCI's face. "Hey just a minute. There is no need for that." the DCI said, now feeling somewhat intimidated. He slowly stood up and made his way towards the door. "Thank you, DCI McGregor." Agent Jones said and the DCI suddenly stopped in his tracks. Mike wondered if he would say something but he resumed walking and soon disappeared out of the room, slamming the door loudly behind him.

"What is this really all about and why did you choose me for this task?" Mike asked, getting straight to the point. "I didn't get to Detective Inspector by being stupid. I know when something isn't right." Agent Jones stared at him but didn't reply. Was he mulling over what he had just said, Mike wondered, as he waiting for him to reply? Eventually Agent Jones replied. "Very well. It seems your Chief Constable was correct about you. We asked for a very astute detective, who could keep his mouth shut. He gave us your name and after a considerable amount, of let us say discussion, we agreed that you were the one we wanted. You have shown today that we were right, DI Watson." Agent Jones told him with a smile on his face. Mike thought about this. "You are trying to butter me up. All this rubbish you have just sprouted, is just that, absolute rubbish." he replied angrily, now feeling that at any minute, he would completely loose his patience with this pathetic, annoying, arrogant swine of a man.

Agent Jones saw how angry he was becoming and thought that perhaps he was not the man they needed after all. They needed a calm, organised and competent detective, that would keep calm under pressure. DI Watson, at that moment, was far from calm. "Perhaps we were wrong about you detective. We were assured that you were always calm under pressure." Agent Jones told him. Mike opened his mouth to speak but the agent put his hand up to stop him. "Let me stop you right there. I know you are becoming frustrated at the lack of information, that you are able to receive. You have so many questions and at this moment in time, it is not possible to answer any of them. However, give me a few hours and I will see about getting you security clearance and then DI Watson we will discuss everything." Mike looked at him suspiciously, wondering if he was just trying to palm him off with another excuse.

Just then DCI McGregor came marching into the room without knocking. "I need my office back." he demanded in an angry voice. "We are finished now." Agent Jones told him rising from his chair. Mike was about to follow him when the DCI indicated with his hand that he was to remain sitting.

When Agent Jones left the room, the DCI exploded. "Who does that little shit think he is? How dare he throw me out of my own office." Mike didn't say a word. He just listened to the him ranting and raving like a madman. When he had finished, DCI McGregor took a deep breath and sat down at his desk.

"Well did you get anymore information out of him?" he asked and Mike shook his head. "Something to do with security clearance. Listen can I just walk away and tell them to get stuffed Gov?" Mike asked and the DCI laughed before replying. "If only but I have a feeling that if you or I told them to get lost, our jobs would be on the line."

Mike sighed. He never thought of that but he knew that the DCI was probably right. "Off you go detective. I have work to be getting on with." he told him. "And if you hear anything keep me informed." Mike nodded and left the office. His stomach suddenly rumbled and he made a beeline for the canteen for something to eat. As usual he had rushed out of the house that morning without breakfast.

Walking along the corridor towards the canteen, he heard his mobile ring. "Detective Inspector Watson. Anything we discuss is between us and no-one else. Not even DCI McGregor. Do you understand?" Agent Jones asked. Mike recognised his voice and at that moment, knew for certain that the room was bugged. "Of course." Mike replied and the conversation ended.

The next morning Mike was called to Govan Police station again for another meeting and when he entered the room, he saw the same four agents. Agent Jones pointed to a chair and Mike immediately sat where he was told. Once again Agent Jones seemed to be in charge and once again Agent Smith was sitting at his side. "Well it seems gentlemen, that DI Watson is inquisitive and rightly so. He has now been given security clearance, so we can freely discuss our mission with him." Agent Jones announced. Mike felt all the agent's eyes boring into him and he stared down at the table. Agent Jones cleared his throat before speaking. "As you know President Mubarakas is attending a function in the City Chambers on Friday. Now as DI Watson rightly deduced, this is really of no interest to use." Mike's eyes widened "I think Duane here should explain." Agent Jones said and gave the American agent a nod. Duane, if that was his real name and Mike was sure that it wasn't, had a strong American accent but his accent was clear and easily understood. Mike wondered why the Americans were working with MI5 and MI6. He was about to find out.

# Chapter Ten

#

"We are taking this opportunity to capture and detain, one of the most prolific assassins of our era. His name is Peter Anderson, known to us as codename Chameleon, which is self-explanatory. He is ex-military and trained in the use of firearms. We have been trying to catch him for the last 10 years and nearly did so in Germany, a few months ago." Duane told them and saw a confused expression on Mike's face. "Sorry detective. I forgot that you weren't here at the beginning. Perhaps I should explain. The Chameleon is American and is single-handedly responsible for the assassination of many influential individuals over the last decade." Mike opened his mouth to speak. "If you know who he is, can you tell me how you have not captured him in all this time. Do you have a photograph of him? Is Interpol helping you? Surely 10 years is a very long time for someone to be on the run, without being caught." Mike said finding himself confused at the lack of power that he thought the security services had. How could this man still be roaming free after 10 years? Mike found it hard to understand.

Duane nodded before replying. "Believe me detective, we have been hunting for him all this time and don't think for one minute that he is the only one out there that is roaming free." Marcus tapped the table hard with his pen and Mike instinctively knew that Duane had revealed way too much. With a glare from his counterpart Duane continued. "Anyway, we are just concerned with Peter Anderson, the Chameleon."

"Do you have a photograph?" Mike asked again. "No." Duane replied. "Surely you must have a description of him at least?" Mike asked and this time Duane nodded. "Not much of a description. Dark hair, brown eyes. Not much to go on." Duane replied. Mike was confused. "But you said he was in the armed forces. Surely they have a photograph and a more detailed description of him in his records?" Mike asked and Duane shook his head. "His files are missing." he replied and Mike raised his eyebrows at this statement. Why would a soldier's records go missing? Something wasn't right. "A bit strange that." Mike said out loud but no-one responded to his statement, or even batted an eyelid.

"You mentioned his name." Mike said and now it was the turn of Marcus, the other American to speak. His accent was more of a southern drawl and he was very soft spoken and Mike had to strain his ears to try to hear what he was saying. "Yes, but that is his real name. He has used many aliases. "Any living relatives you can contact?" Mike asked. Marcus laughed. "Ah detective you are really thorough. Now I know why your name was put forward to work with us." Mike wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic.

"We have been very thorough and I'm afraid he has no living relatives. His father died about 14 years ago, just after he joined the Army. His Mother left the family home when he was around 10 years of age and he has no brothers or sisters." Marcus told him. "What about his mother, have you spoken to her?" Mike asked and suddenly felt silly for asking such an obvious question. These people were security agents, not rookies that had just joined the police force. Marcus paused before replying. "Can't I'm afraid. She was murdered, over 12 years ago, by the man she left her family for and he did a really good job on her too. Cut her into tiny bits and burned her in the back yard. It was the smell of her burning flesh that alerted the neighbours and at this very moment he is sitting on death row and due to be executed any day now." Mike gasped at how some people could be so evil. He wasn't surprised just saddened. "I forgot Texas still has the death penalty." Mike said out loud to no-one in particular. "We may be lacking credible information on the Chameleon but what we do have is his next target, President Mubarakas." Marcus told him and Mike knew then why the American and British security forces were working together. They were trying to capture this illusive assassin called the Chameleon. "Shouldn't I be writing all of this down?" Mike asked. "Oh No detective. No written evidence of our conversations must ever come to light. This discussion is only between us in this room and must not be discussed with anyone else." Agent Jones told him. Mike nodded, indicating that he understood and cursing himself for asking yet another stupid question. "This assassin was responsible for the murder of Richard Cameron an American/Australian businessman, Carlos Rivero, an American/Spanish businessman, Stefan Albrech an American/French businessman and James Zucherburgh an American/German businessman, to name a few. The list is endless but through various sources we have discovered that he was about to come to Glasgow for his next target." Marcus told him.

Mike thought for a moment before speaking. "There is a recurring theme here. All the men are businessmen and part American. So why would he come here to assassinate an African President?" Mike asked. "Yes, we asked ourselves that very question but the President does have links to the US. His country has an abundance of diamonds, rubies, emeralds and other precious stones, that are imported to the US. So, we think that this fact is paramount on the assassin going after him." Marcus told him. "But why?" Mike asked and watched as Marcus shrugged his shoulders. "Does he work alone?" Mike asked. "Yes." Marcus replied. "Are you sure that he is responsible for all those murders?" Mike asked. "Yes, detective we are sure." Marcus replied. Mike wondered how they could be so sure of all of this. He was about to find out.

It was now Duane's turn to speak. "He has a special signature on the bullets he uses. I can't say what it is just yet, as its highly confidential but it tells us when someone is murdered that he is the assassin responsible." Mike thought about what he had just been told. An assassin, using a signature, just as some serial killers often did. It was evident that he was goading the security forces and daring them to catch him. By using a signature, he probably wanted to be famous and end up on the FBI's Most Wanted List. Mike was sure that the Americans would never acknowledge this assassin, even after they captured or killed him. He would be like a ghost and his actions would never be fully publicised for the general public to see. "I thought I had security clearance. Is that not right Agent Jones?" Mike asked and Agent Jones nodded. "I think it is only right that DI Watson has all the facts." Agent Jones told the American agents. Duane looked to Marcus who seemed to be thinking for a moment before he gave him a nod. "The Chameleon puts a notch on the bullet before he uses it so that we know it is him." Duane told him. "What kind of notch?" Mike asked finding himself becoming curious about this assassin. Duane once again looked at Marcus. "He carves a number into the bullet." Marcus told him. Mike thought about it. "I see so he marks all of his assassinations and when someone is murdered you can look at the bullet and see if it is this man." Mike replied and the agents nodded. "So, what was his last number then?" Mike asked. "I don't think that is relevant detective." Agent Jones said but Marcus told him anyway. "43." Mike was shocked by this disclosure.

"So, the President would be number 44." Mike said out loud to no-one in particular and gave a low whistle. He wondered how on earth this man could get away with murdering so many without ever being caught. It was just so unbelievable. His thoughts were interrupted. "I know what you are thinking detective." Marcus told him and Mike thought that he probably did. "Take it from us detective. We have all the details we can have about this man. Now that we know who his next target is, our job is to capture him. And capture him we will." Mike hoped that this was true.

Was this assassin really working alone or was someone pulling his strings? Mike thought and how was it that the agents seemed to know who his next target was. He decided to keep these thought to himself. Agent Jones now spoke. "On Friday, we will have men positioned in various locations around George Square. DI Watson, I want you to visit all the offices and shops in the location. Find out if anyone knew has started working there in the last few weeks. Also give me a list of everyone staying in the hotels nearby and I will check them out." Mike nodded but was disappointed. This was a job for a less experience police officer. "I see the look of disappointment on your face detective. We could have had the whole of Police Scotland involved but we didn't, as we need to keep this low key. You detective have been chosen from all the detectives in Scotland, to be the help us. You DI Watson are the One." Agent Jones told him. All the men around the table burst into laughter. All, except Mike.

"Now let's be serious." Agent Jones said. "Keep an eye out, investigate and report back to me. Please remember, he could be in disguise. You are the best detective for the job, so we have been told, so do your best that's all we ask." Mike nodded. "Can I ask? What was all that about the itinerary?" he asked and Agent Jones smiled. "Oh, that was for your DCI's benefit. I want you to ask for a few days holiday, so you can work in peace without him knowing what you are up to." Agent Jones told him. "He won't agree to that." Mike said shaking his head. "I had to inform him that you were working with us but the itinerary thing was just to let him think that you are trivial in our task. Anyway, that's all for today folk." Agent Jones told them and everyone filed out of the room. Mike too got up to leave but was stopped by Agent Jones. "I just want to remind you of our last conversation. This is just between you and me and if you discover anything, you report back to me and only me." he told him and Mike gave him a nod to indicate that he understood. As he was leaving he turned to Agent Jones to ask him a question that had been going around in his head since the first time they had met. "The DCI's office. It is bugged, isn't it?" Agent Jones laughed. He laughed so much he nearly chocked. He quickly composed himself. "That information, DI Watson, is classified." he replied giving him a wink.

# Chapter Eleven

"Hey Mike." DS Peterson shouted from across the room, as soon as he saw him coming through the door. "There's a rumour going around that you are on some secret case. Is that true? Are you working with the secret service Mike? You can tell us we won't say a word." The other detectives in the room laughed. "I wish." Mike replied. "Then why has your cases been given to us?" DC Thomson asked with a glint in his eyes. "If you must know you nosey detectives. I have a few days annual leave to take." Mike replied moving over to his desk and tidying up the mess that the other detectives always seemed to leave. "Hey which one of you has left these chocolate wrappers all over my desk?" he asked but the room was silent. He picked them up and walked over to the wastepaper bin just a few yards from his desk. "See this rubbish, it goes into this bin." he told them as he threw the wrappers into the bin. "My desk might be beside the bin but it is not the bin." he said laughing but being very serious.

"Going somewhere nice then Mike?" DI Williams asked him. "No. I just need a few days off. I need a rest as my nerves are shattered working here with you lot." he replied and the other detective laughed. He tidied the rest of his desk and walked along the corridor to speak to DCI McGregor. He knocked on the DCI's door and waited to be called inside. "Enter." the DCI shouted and Mike opened the door and saw Agent Jones sitting in the room. He was shocked to see him there and wondered why he was always hanging around. Everywhere he went these days, Agent Jones, was always around. "Sorry Gov. I will come back later." Mike told the DCI. "What do you want DI Watson?" the DCI asked, only to grateful for the interruption. Agent Jones got on his nerves and any excuse not to speak with him most welcome. "I was just going to ask for a few days annual leave." Mike told him, as he stood beside the door. The DCI did not tell him to sit down, so he remained standing. "Well really detective. I don't think that's appropriate at the moment." the DCI told him as he glanced at Agent Jones. "That's fine with me. If the detective wants a holiday, then he can have a holiday." Agent Jones said and the DCI became somewhat confused. "But I thought he was helping you with security issues." the DCI said and Agent Jones shook his head. "We don't need him now. Everything is covered." Agent Jones replied, much to the DCI' amazement. "I see. Very well DI Watson, complete the necessary forms." the DCI told him shrugging his shoulders. "Thank you, Gov.," Mike replied opening the door. Agent Jones gave him a wink as he left. Mike needed the holiday cover story, so that he could do the task that he had been assigned. He quickly made his way out of the station and jumped into his car. His mobile phone rang and he answered it. He had an inkling that he knew exactly who would be at the other end of the line and he was right. "Detective good call. You will have a bonus in your pay this month. That should cover all of your expenses." Agent Jones told him. "Well that is good to know." Mike replied and the line went dead.

# Chapter Twelve

#

Mike arrived at George Square, the next morning, with a notebook and pen. He visited the City Chambers and made some inquiries as to any new workers that had started in the last few weeks. There were none. Easy enough, Mike thought. Perhaps this was going to be a piece of cake. Next, he visited some offices, cafes and shops around the square. All the employees seemed to have been working there for several years. Mike noted all of this down on his notepad. Feeling a little peckish he bought a Subway sandwich and sat on a bench in the square to eat.

As soon as he sat down, a dozen or more pigeons descended on him, trying to get some of his sandwich. He shooed them away but they didn't move very far and were soon back pecking the ground around his feet. Some of them even had the cheek to jump onto the bench beside him. He shooed them away again and was contemplating moving away himself, when he saw someone at the top of the square throwing down some bread. The man called on them and soon they dispersed from his bench and rushed over to the breadcrumbs on the ground. The man walked towards Mike. "Thanks for that. I thought for a second that they were going to eat me as well as my sandwich." Mike told him laughing. "No problem." the man replied with a broad Irish accent.

Mike watched the man as he continued on his way. He was very tall and was dressed in blue denims and a black woolen jacket. He had a camera hanging around his neck and Mike watched as he made his way toward the White Gold Hotel and quickly disappeared inside. He finished his sandwich and washed it down with a bottle of still water. He sat on the bench watching the throngs of tourists taking photographs. A group of Chinese tourists seemed to love the pigeons and threw bread down for them, before taking their photographs. He sat watching as more and more tourists descended on the square and it seemed that they all wanted to feed the pigeons. He had a thought. His man could be among them at that very moment, disguised as a tourist and he wouldn't be able to tell him apart from the rest.

He decided to mingle with the tourists. He heard a French tourist telling his friends about the tour of the City Chambers that was about to start, in a few minutes. His French was pretty rusty but he understood most of what was being said. He decided that it would be a good idea to join the tour and keep a look out for any suspicious characters. He was casually dressed in a blue checked shirt and denims and rather a thick blue woolen jumper and hoped that he would blend in with the others, even though he didn't have a camera hanging around his neck. If he kept his mouth shut, then the others would not know that he was actually Scottish and would assume he was a tourist like them.

Around twenty tourists made their way towards the City Chambers for the tour, which as far as he knew was free of charge. He had never been inside the building even though he had seen it many times. Now he had the chance to go inside and have a look around. He stood at the back of the crowd and tried to listen to the conversations. Most of the tourists were Chinese, a few French and the rest he could only guess at, as he couldn't identify their accents. "When does the tour start?" an Irish voice asked him. It was the man from the square earlier. Mike smiled at him. "Any moment now." he replied in a broad Scottish accent.

"You a local then?" the Irishman asked him. "Yes, but believe it or not I've never been in the City Chambers before and I have lived here all my life." Both men laughed. "Isn't that always the way of it." the Irishman said. "You never go to see the interesting things in your own country. I don't know why that is but that's what happens." Mike nodded in agreement. "You here long?" Mike asked. "Not long. Just a few days holiday to unwind." the Irishman replied smiling. Mike noticed how tall he was and guessed that he was well over 6 feet in height. "Were in Ireland are you from?" Mike asked him. "Can you not tell by my accent? Dublin" he replied. "Never been myself but I intend to visit sometime in the near future." Mike told him. "You won't be disappointed." the Irishman replied. "My names' Mike. Mike Watson." he told him putting out his hand and the two men shook hands. The Irishman was about to speak when the guide announced that the tour was about to begin and everyone moved forward. Mike was impressed with the lavish décor of the City Chambers. He turned to talk to the Irishman but saw that he was nowhere to be seen. He shrugged his shoulders and followed the others.

# Chapter Thirteen

He decided at the last minute to abandon his plans to tour the City Chambers. It was really not of any interest to him and he didn't really want to get into any conversation with the locals.

He walked around the streets beside George Square planning his getaway. The President would be shot from Room 505, his room and he would need to escape quickly afterwards. He was sure that they would not take long to pin point where the fatal shot was fired from, so he had to make a quick getaway. Once they reached Room 505, they would find a dead man with a rifle and who that dead man was to be, he had not yet decided on. He would escape the hotel and fly back home, under another identify, that had already been decided for him. This time he would be using a US Passport under the name of James Fitzsimmons and he would be able to drop his Irish accent and revert back to his true American accent, which he was very proud of.

Would he be able lure a hotel guest to his room or perhaps one of the tourists to complete his plan? He wasn't sure yet but he had to formulate the plan quickly, as time was running out.

# Chapter Fourteen

#

The next day Mike visited the hotels around George Square and also several other hotels within a 3-mile radius and noted down all the names of the guests in his notepad. He returned to Govan Police Station and handed them over to Agent Jones, who was now temporarily based at Govan. He immediately took the list from Mike's hand and rushed out of the room to check out the names. Less than twenty minutes later he returned and told him that all the names checked out. "Some of the names you gave me of hotel guests were our security men and the rest checked out. So that means we are no further forwards to finding the Chameleon." Agent Jones told him. "Well I'm doing my best." Mike informed him. "I'm sure you are DI Watson but tomorrow is Friday. My men will be stationed all around George Square tomorrow night but they will be out of sight. I'm sure that he will not show his face until the very last minute and when he does we will have him." Agent Jones said with glee in his voice.

Mike thought him very premature at being so happy, after all the Chameleon had evaded capture for over a decade. To evade capture for such a long time meant that he was a very clever man and not easily trapped. He wondered why Agent Jones was so confident of capturing him tomorrow night. "We will find him as soon as he makes his first shot." Agent Jones told him. "But the Present will be dead by then." Mike replied. Agent Jones casually shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose so but I wouldn't be too sure of that detective." he said giving him a wink. Mike wondered what he meant. "If he's wears a bullet proof vest, then that's not going to work if he aims for the head." Mike told him. "Look DI Watson. I wouldn't be too concerned about President Mubarakas as he has his own security guards and he has been made aware of the situation. That's all I have to say on the matter." Agent Jones told him and Mike knew that he was being dismissed, so he turned on his heels.

# Chapter Fifteen

#

On Friday morning Mike sat in George Square and found himself shivering, even though he had a heavy black woolen jacket on. He really had done everything that was expected of him, so all he could do now was sit in the cold and keep his eyes wide open for anything or anyone unusual. "It's a bit cold to be sitting out here don't you think?" a strong Irish accent asked him. Mike turned his head to see who was speaking to him. "Oh, hello again." he said, when he saw that it was the Irish tourist that he had spoken to before. The man sat down on the bench beside him. "You're not a tourist, so why are you sitting here so early in the morning? Don't you have a job to go to?" the Irishman asked. Mike thought for a moment before answering. "I have a day off and was supposed to meet my girlfriend here. It seems that I have been stood up." he told him and the Irishman laughed. "Women. They are always late. Don't worry I'm sure she will turn up. What would you say to a drink in the hotel over there, to keep you warm, while you wait? You can see the square from the hotel bar and if she turns up, then you will be able to see her. Beats sitting out here in the cold." Mike stared at the man beside him. The man noticed his hesitation. "Hey, I'm just, being friendly. I'm not trying to pick you up or anything like that. I'm a happily married man, I'll have you know." he told him and Mike laughed. "An Irishman likes company when he drinks." the man said with a great big grin on his face. "Well why not? It's early though, barely 11am." Mike told him. "And." he replied laughing. "I'm talking about a drink to warm us up. I'm going on the Glasgow bus tour in an hour and I'm sure it's going to be darn cold." the man told him. "I'm staying in the hotel over there and one or even two drinks is not going to kill us." Mike laughed again and soon the two men were walking through the square, on their way to the hotel. The man smiled to himself. He had found the right man and would slip some rohypnol into his drink, when he had the chance. The rest would be easy.

As they neared the White Gold Hotel, Mike's mobile phone rang. "Sorry about that." he said slipping his hand inside his jacket to retrieve his phone. The male voice on the other end of the phone told him that his Superintendent wanted to speak to him at the station and he was to come right away. "Right. On my way." Mike said, before turning to his new friend and giving him his apologies, telling him that there was an emergency at work and he was called in to deal with it. The Irishman shrugged his shoulders and gave him a smile. "Maybe another time."

He stood at the hotel door watching Mike rushing along the street. He was furious. Now he would have to find someone else and quick. Time was of the essence.

Mike arrived at Pitt Street Police Station and rushed to the DCI's office, expecting the Superintendent to be in the office waiting to speak to him. It wasn't very often that he was summoned to speak to the Superintendent but when he was, DCI McGregor was always present. To his surprise the room was empty so he rushed back to the front desk and asked the Sergeant if he knew when the Superintendent would arrive. The Sergeant on the front desk shook his head, shrugged his shoulders and gave him a blank stare. "Have you seen the DCI McGregor leaving the building?" Mike asked and was told that he had left over an hour ago. When he asked if he knew where he was going, the Sergeant shook his head, before returning to his paperwork. Mike was confused. Perhaps he was to meet him at Govan Police Station, so he gave them a call. He was informed that the Superintendent was not there and that DCI McGregor was in a meeting and couldn't be disturbed. He immediately asked to speak with Agent Jones but was told that there was no-one of that name based there.

Mike was now more confused than ever but quickly realised that the Secret Service would keep incognito and not divulge their presence unless absolutely necessary. He looked through his mobile to see if he could find the number that Agent Jones had called him from but to no avail. He shrugged his shoulders. There was nothing that he could do now but wait for another telephone call. Surely when he failed to turn up for the meeting with the Superintendent, someone would call him. He decided to wait for the call in the canteen, as his stomach was beginning to grumble. He had done everything that was expected of him and as far as he was concerned, he was finished with his part in the task to find the Chameleon. It was all down to the Secret Service from here on in.

# Chapter Sixteen

#

He settled down, after dinner, to watch the television. He still had not received any calls from the Superintendent or his staff, which confused him. "Where are David and Daniel?" he asked his wife. He was informed that his two eldest sons, Daniel who was 12 years old and soon to be a teenager and David 9 years old, were out with their friends at football practice and wouldn't be home for hours. "Is Aaron sleeping again Susan? I thought we agreed to try to keep him awake for as long as possible." he asked his wife feeling very frustrated at the fact that she let his young son sleep so much, during the day. His youngest son Aaron, who was approaching his fourth birthday kept them awake most nights, which was beginning to take its toll on his parents. The doctors had suggested that he may be Autistic but Susan, his wife, would not listen to them. She was furious that they were intent on diagnosing him when he was still so young but Mike felt that the doctors could be right with their diagnosis and had told her that on many occasions. Still she refused to listen.

He sat on the sofa feeling extremely washed out with only about an hour's sleep the night before. "I don't think it's a good idea to let Aaron sleep at this time. We will be up all night with him again." he told his wife. "He was exhausted, what was I supposed to do, for goodness sake?" she told him with angry in her voice. "Well don't let him sleep too long." he told her and she nodded. "I will wake him up in an hour or so and try to tire him out. By the way he starts nursery on Monday." she informed him. "Good things might change when he starts nursery." Susan nodded and hoped that he was correct in his assumption. "You seem to be so busy these days." she said snuggling up to him on the sofa. "I'll take a holiday soon. I was thinking we could book up a log cabin up in Oban, for a long weekend. What do you think?" he asked her. "I'd rather go somewhere hot. How about Majorca?" she suggested but he shook his head. "I'm only due a few days." he told her and she pursed her lips. "Try and get a week off. I think you deserve it. You've been working so hard this last year." she told him and he had to agree with her on that point. The past year had been horrendous. All of the more experience detectives had been moved to other stations, since the police forces had merged together and became one force called Police Scotland. "Well I will ask but I can't promise anything but we have this weekend off. So, get your thinking cap on and come up with activities for us to do, as a family." he told her knowing fine well that she would do just that.

Just then his mobile rang. He jumped from the sofa and ran into the hallway to retrieve his mobile from his jacket pocket. "Yes." he said suddenly looking at his watch and seeing that it was 7.30pm. He had forgotten all about the President and his function and now he wondered if this was news about that very thing. "DI Watson can you come down here please." Agent Jones said and Mike heard the urgency in his voice. "Exactly where am I supposed to go?" Mike asked. "The White Gold Hotel. Room 505." And the mobile went dead. "Sorry Susan. I have to go." he shouted to his wife from the hallway. "What at this time of night." she shouted back at him. "Sorry. Back soon." He grabbed his jacked and rushed out of the front door. He was sure that something dreadful had happed in George Square that very night.

Mike arrived at the hotel and took the lift up to the fifth floor. The hotel was now full of police and Secret Service men and he had to show his ID card at least a dozen times before he reached Room 505. As soon as he was allowed entry to the room he saw Agent Jones and Agent Smith standing beside an open window. When his eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, he saw that there was a body on the floor.

"What happened?" Mike asked. Agent Smith stood shaking his head but didn't speak. "The Chameleon has struck again but we got him. One of the marksmen shot him as soon as he fired his first and only shot." Agent Jones told him. "Is that him?" Mike asked bending down to get a closer look at the assassin, who had been clever enough to outwit all the US security forces for over 10 years. "It sure is." Agent Jones told him. "Not very impressive, is he?" Mike looked at the dead man lying on the floor. He was dressed in blue and white stripped pajamas and blood was oozing out of a hole in his chest. "Why was he dressed in pajamas?" Mike asked finding it strange. "Surely he would have escaped as soon as he fired the shot." Agent Jones stared at him. "Look there is the rifle that he used and I'm sure that when we check the bullet it will have his signature on it. He was just too darn cocky this time." Agent Jones told him. Mike suddenly thought of the President. "Is the President dead?" he asked. "Of course not." Agent Smith said from the window. Mike was perplexed. "I don't understand. You said he shot at the president and your men shot at him. So, he must have shot him." Mike said and Agent Jones laughed. "He thought he shot the President but in fact he shot one of his security guards dressed as him." Agent Jones told him. "I told you President Mubarakas knew about the threat, so obviously he had one of his men dress as him in order to stop himself from being assassinated." Mike was shocked. "Is the security guard dead?" he asked. "Of course. The Chameleon never misses." Agent Jones told him, with a couldn't care less attitude which disgusted Mike.

"Well DI Watson I think that our job is done here. Now we only have to worry about London now. Even if the Chameleon is no longer viable, there are other people who want to see President Mubarakas dead. Go home detective and enjoy your weekend and thanks for your help." Agent Jones told him. Mike looked down at the dead assassin. Something just didn't seem right to him and if he could see it then Agents Smith and Jones could see it. Perhaps that's why Agent Smith stood staring out of the window with a worried expression on his face. Mike shrugged his shoulders. It was nothing to do with him anymore.

When he arrived home, he was met at the door by an irate Susan. "The boys haven't come back from football practice yet and it's very dark outside." she told him with panic in her voice. "Who was picking them up?" he asked, expecting her to say one of their friend's fathers. "It was your turn tonight but I called them and told them to make their way home before it was dark." she told him becoming more than a little frantic. "I tried to call you on your mobile but it went straight to answer machine."

He searched his jacket for his mobile phone but couldn't find it. "Sorry love I seem to have misplace it." he told her, trying to think when he last used it. He remembered looking at it in the car and suddenly realised that he must have dropped it while he was driving. "Look love I will go out now and find them. They will get a telling off from me when I see them." he told her rushing out the door again.

He was just about to jump into his car when he saw his two sons David and Daniel, rushing up the street towards him. "Where the hell have you two been? Your mother told you to come home before it was dark?" he asked them. "We got a lift dad." his oldest son, David told him. "Right in the house this minute. You too Daniel." he said marching the boys into the house to see their mother. "Come inside immediately." Susan said, ushering them into the living room. Susan and Mike stood in front of them demanding answers. "How did you get home? Was it one of your friend's fathers and if so which one?" Mike asked. "We started walking home and then one of dad's friends picked us up in his car and dropped us off at the bottom of the street." David told them. "One of my friends. Who was it?" Mike asked. David thought for a moment. "I can't remember his name but he says he works with you at the police station."

Mike raised his eyebrows. "Are you two telling me that you got into a stranger's car?" he suddenly found himself yelling. "Not a stranger dad." Daniel told him. "Yes, a bloody stranger. Have you seen him before? I bet you haven't." Mike screamed. The two boys looked at each other and tears started to weal up in the eyes of the younger one. "Describe him." Mike yelled. "Dark hair, brown eyes I think." Daniel told him. "Is that it?" Mike screamed. "No, he had and funny accent. I think it was American." David told him. "No silly he had an Irish accent." Daniel said, contradicting what his younger brother had just said and Mike's mouth fell open in surprise. There was no-one at the station with an Irish accent. "What did he say? I want to know everything." he asked grabbing his eldest son Daniel's arm. "Dad you're hurting me." Daniel cried out to him in pain and Mike let go of his arm. "Tell me." Mike screamed. "He told us that you sent him to pick us up because you were busy. He asked where we lived and I told him and he dropped us off at the end of the street." Daniel told him rubbing his now painful arm. "Anything else?" Mike asked now beginning to panic. "He said that he was sorry you couldn't have a drink with him today and that he would see you soon."

Mike turned away from the boys. His insides were screaming. Could that have been the man that he talked to in George Square and if so what did this mean? Of course it was the Irishman but was he really Irish. One of his sons thought he had an American accent. "Is everything all right Mike." Susan asked, noticing that he was acting rather strange. Mike composed himself before turning to look at his wife. "Yes everything is fine." he replied, trying to remain calm, even when his insides were shaking. "You know him then?" she asked and he nodded. "Right I'll make you boys something to eat." she said walking into the kitchen. "Listen boys if you ever see that man again you have to run. Do you understand." he whispered, so that his wife would not be able to hear. "Why dad?" David asked. "I can't explain just now but trust me boys. He is a bad man and he just wants to make dad angry. Ok. I want you to promise me that you will run if he ever comes near you again." he told them in a stern voice. "I promise dad," David said. "Me too dad." Daniel told him. "Promise." Mike told him sternly. "I promise." Daniel said wrinkling up his face. Mike patted them both on the head. "Now go and get cleaned up. And don't tell mum what I just told you." The boys nodded their head and disappeared into the bathroom to wash. "Just stepping out to look for my mobile babe. I think it fell in the car." he shouted to his wife. "Ok." she replied from the kitchen.

Mike searched his car and couldn't find his mobile anywhere. Was it missing or was it stolen? Could he have stolen it? Mike suddenly found himself beginning to panic. His mobile had the telephone numbers of everyone he knew on it. There was nothing he could do but call DCI McGregor, so he returned to use the house phone.

Susan and the boys were now sitting in the kitchen so he quietly closed the living room door so that they would not hear him. He called the station and was told that the DCI had gone straight home after his meeting. "Give me his home number." Mike asked and received a gasp of horror as a reply. "I'm afraid DI Watson that I cannot do that." The Sergeant told him in no uncertain manner. "Look here. It's a matter of life or death and I need to contact him right now." Mike practically shouted down the phone to him. "If you need police officers, I can dispatch a unit to your home." the Sergeant told him in a calm and official voice, which only made Mike angry. "What the fuck! I need to speak to DCI McGregor right now so get him on the fucking telephone." he practically screamed at him. He couldn't believe that this Sergeant was being so laid back and condescending towards him.

"Can your police officers save me and my family from a crazed assassin, who has been on the run from the FBI for over 10 years. Well can they?" Mike asked him. The phone line went silent. "You know who I am Sergeant Lafferty and I will take full responsibility for this but you must help me." Mike told him. The phone line was still silent. "Are you there?" Mike now whispered as he heard his wife and son's moving into the living room. "Yes DI Watson. I cannot give you his home telephone number but I can transfer your call if it is that urgent. Please hold the line." Mike breathed a sigh of relief. A few moments later he was connected to the DCI. "Hello DI Watson." DCI McGregor said. "What on earth is the meaning of this? It had better be life or death, to call me at my home." Mike took a deep breath before telling him everything that had occurred.

# Chapter Seventeen

#

Mike arrived at the DCI's home, in Bearsden, ready to attend the urgent meeting that he had requested. DCI McGregor opened his door and quickly ushered him inside. "The agents are in the living room DI Watson. I have told them everything that you told me." he said and when Mike walked into the living room, he saw that they were all sitting waiting for him. Agent Jones was dressed casually in brown cords and a checked brown shirt while Agent Smith wore denims and black jumper. Duane and Marcus were sitting on the sofa across from the other two agents. They all looked up when he entered the room.

"Take a seat." DCI McGregor told Mike and he dutifully obeyed. The DCI himself remained standing. "Before we start I want to say that the man that we found in Room 505 was not the Chameleon. He was a Canadian businessman here on business." Agent Jones told him. "Yeh, he checked out so it looks like he was killed and left there for our benefit." Marcus told him. "So, the Chameleon is still at large? Is that what you are telling me." Mike practically screamed at them. "And when the hell were you going to tell me? When my family are murdered by this barbarian?" The men in the room fell silent and stared at him in astonishment. Mike sat on the sofa with clenched fists unable to contain his anger. "Look DI Watson. Are you sure about what you told DCI McGregor? You met an Irish tourist who may be the man we are looking for?" Marcus asked him. "I don't know. Hey, wait a minute." Mike said suddenly remembering. "He wanted to have a drink with me. Then I was called away to meet the Superintendent. Hey, maybe he was trying to lure me to the room to kill me like the Canadian." The agents stared at him.

"We might be on the wrong track here DI Watson." the DCI suddenly said and noticed Agent Jones shaking his head. "Room 505 was occupied by an Irish businessman. He had been in that room for the last four days and hasn't been seen since. DI Watson met this man who then offered to buy him a drink on Friday, the same day as the President was shot. I'm afraid, DCI McGregor I do think that DI Watson is right in his assumption. It looks like this man is in fact the Chameleon." Agent Jones said and Mike gasped in horror. "Wait a minute. You said that you were called to a meeting with the Superintendent earlier today." DCI McGregor said. "Yes. I was called on my mobile and told that he wanted to see me but when I went to the station to meet with him he wasn't there." Mike told him wondering why he was asking such a trivial question, when his sons had just been in the car with the Chameleon. Mike had a thought. "Oh my God. He knows where I live." he shouted. "Now, now DI Watson. We have taken all necessary precautions. Agents are outside your house, at this very moment, so don't distress yourself. We will move your family to a safe house tomorrow." Agent Smith told him.

"I think there is something odd here." DCI McGregor said with a confused look in his face. "What time did you get the call to see the Superintendent?" he asked Mike who shook his head. "It was in the morning. I was just about to go to the hotel bar with the Irishman, that I know was the Chameleon, when I got the call. Why?" Mike replied. "It's just that the Superintendent has been down in London for the past week. He is still there because I spoke to him less than an hour ago." the DCI told him. Mike raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I don't understand." he replied, now feeling more confused than ever.

"It's just that he wouldn't have asked to come to the station to meet him because he wasn't there?' the DCI told him. Mike looked at the other men and saw that they were whispering to each other. "Someone called me. I'm telling you." he said. "Why are you whispering?" Marcus stood up and stared down at him. "I'm afraid DI Watson you will need to come back to headquarters with us." he told him. "Govan at this time of night?" Mike asked. "No detective I'm talking about Langley, Virginia." Mike was shocked. "Are you talking about the US?" he asked and Marcus nodded. "I can't do that. Gov tell them. Agent Smith, Agent Jones." Mike said looking from one to the other. "DI Watson you are the only one that saw or spoke to the Chameleon, of course they want you to go back to the US. You can give then a photo-fit of him and any other details that you can remember." Agent Jones said and Mike shook his head. "I can do that here. My family. I'm not leaving my family." Mike told him with determination in his voice. "Don't worry about your family we will move them to a safe house, until we are confident the danger has passed." Agent Jones told him.

Mike didn't know what to think. What on earth was going on? "I must call my wife and tell her." Mike said. "I'm afraid not." Marcus told him. "Why?" he asked am I under arrest?" Marcus looked at Duane. "Not quite but we have questions and you are the only one that can answer." Mike stared at him. "Like what?" Mike asked. "Like why have you been talking to the assassin for the last few days and why did you to have a drink with him?" Marcus replied staring straight into his eyes. "But I didn't have a drink. I was called away." Mike told him. "Can you prove that detective?" Marcus asked him. "Sure." Mike replied searching his jacket for his mobile which would have the number stored.

He suddenly remembered that he no longer had his mobile. "Oh. I lost my mobile." he told them. "When?" Marcus asked him. "Tonight, some time." he replied. "I see, very convenient. So, you can't prove anything." Marcus said with a raised eyebrow. "Look DI Watson, all we know is that the Chameleon is still out there. You have been up close and personal with him and we want to investigate that little friendship." Marcus said staring into his eyes.

Mike jumped to his feet "Don't you dare speak to me like that you little shit." he screamed at him. "And you can forget it. I'm not going anywhere with you or your little friend." DCI McGregor gasped. "Keep a hold of yourself DI Watson. There is no need for that kind of display." he said, feeling very embarrassed that one of his detectives would behave in such a fashion. "You have no choice but to come with us detective. You can come peacefully or we can drag you all the way back to the US if we need to." Duane told him standing up and flexing his huge biceps so that Mike knew that he meant business. "Go with them DI Watson. Don't worry about a thing. I will look after your family and you will be back home as quickly as possible." Agent Jones told him. Mike looked over at the DCI who nodded his head to indicate that he was to do as he was instructed.

Agent Jones excused himself to make a telephone call. When he returned he had some news. "We found the calls that were made from your mobile DI Watson." Agent Jones told him. "Good you can verify everything for me." Mike said feeling somewhat relieved that at last he could prove that what he said was the truth.

"Yes, an unknown number did call you at precisely 11.08am. But." Agent Jones told him. "Since 7.23pm tonight, several calls have been made to various numbers around the world, from your mobile. Some calls only lasting a minute or two but a few lasting longer." Agent Jones said and noticed the surprised look on Mike's face. "I didn't make those calls." Mike said shaking his head. "Someone must have found my mobile and used it. Or maybe it was stolen." Mike told him. "Who did he call?" Marcus asked and Agent Jones went over to show him the text that he had received on his mobile.

Marcus recognised some of the names and called Duane over to have a look. Duane nodded at and stared over at Mike. "Yup. We know most of these people. Gunrunners, drug dealers and few others that I recognise. You sure know a lot of unsavoury characters detective." Duane told him. "I never made those calls. You have to believe me." Mike insisted. "Prove it." Marcus said looking over at Agent Jones. "Look." DCI McGregor said. "I know DI Watson and he is one of the most conscientious detectives I have ever met. If he says his mobile was used by someone else, then I believe him." Agent Jones nodded. "Look I believe you too DI Watson but I know why our American counterparts are so nervous. You are the only one to get so close to this Chameleon. So just go along with what they are suggesting. Go to Langley with them and I will contact whomever I need to contact, to get this sorted out. It will only be for a day or to I promise." Agent Jones told him. Mike looked at Marcus and Duane and had to concede that he had no choice in this matter. Duane looked as if she could take him in down in a matter of seconds, if he tried to make a run for it. "Gov, please make sure they take care of my family." Mike said and the DCI nodded. "Don't worry I will." he replied with concern in his eyes.

Mike left with the two American agents and was soon boarding a plane for Heathrow and then a connection flight to Richmond International Airport. Once landed they then had a long 74 mile car drive to the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA headquarters in Langley Virginia. All the way he pleaded with them to take him serious. Something strange was going on, he told them but they smiled and stared out of the window. They did not seem to want to talk with him, which Mike found strange. Perhaps they were following orders, he thought. He was soon escorted into a room with a large mirror on one of the walls. This was an interrogation room. Why where they interrogating him? Did they think he was in cahoots with the Chameleon? He was left to sit in the room, by himself, for well over an hour.

Eventually the door opened and a large built, suited up man, carrying a folder, came into the room, followed by Duane and Marcus. They all pulled chairs from the corner of the room and gathered around him at the table. "DI Watson I am Agent Donovan of the CIA. I believe you have already met my two colleagues. Mike nodded. His head was about to burst with everything that was going around and around his brain. He just couldn't understand what was going on and he cursed the day that he ever became involved in all this.

"Sorry to scare you but we had to get you out of the UK and over here to us, otherwise your life would be in danger. Mike gasped. "What about my family?" he asked with deep concern in his voice. Duane looked at Marcus who nodded as if giving him permission to speak. "They are at a safe house." Duane eventually told him, rather too slowly for Mike's satisfaction. "In Scotland?" he asked and immediately saw Duane shaking his head. "No detective they will be placed at a safe house over here. They boarded the first plane after us and will land in an hour or two." Duane replied. "What about Agent Jones and the DCI? Do they know about this?" Mike asked. There were a few moments of silence before Duane replied to his question. "Well they know we are protecting them but don't know that they are in the US." Duane looked over at Agent Donovan, who unlike them was dressed more formally in a dark blue suit, pale blue shirt and dark blue tie. He looked at least ten years older than the other agents and with his greying hair and silver-framed glasses, he looked more like a lawyer, than a secret service agent. "The less people who know where they are, the safer they will be." Agent Donovan told him. "Don't worry about your family detective. They will be safe with us." Mike tried to feel confident about that fact but he couldn't help but be apprehensive. Could he trust them?

Agent Donovan opened the brown manila folder that was lying on the table. "DI Watson we seem to have a conundrum and maybe you can help solve it." he said and once again mike was confused. "Who me? I haven't a clue what is going on here." Mike told him. "We believe that you have met and have spoken to, who we believe is the Chameleon." Agent Donovan said and Mike nodded. "Later I will ask you to give a photo-sketch description, so that it can be circulate among our various agencies. In the meantime, I want you to tell me everything. Start from the beginning." Agent Donovan told him.

Mike took a deep breath. He told them how he met the two British Agents in DCI McGregor's office and how they wanted him to try to discover the identify of someone who was leaking President Mubarakas' itinerary but that it had all been a cover story for him. He told then how Agent Jones wanted him to go around George Square and scan for anyone suspicious. How he took the names of everyone staying in hotels around the area and how he gave the list to Agent Jones. Agent Jones had checked out the names on the list and everything was fine, as far as he was concerned.

Agent Donovan gave a surprised look. "Are you sure that he said every name on that list checked out?" he asked and Mike nodded. "Did he tell you to report back to him and only him?" Agent Donovan asked. "Yes exactly. Why? What is going on here?" Mike asked him. "It's just that the alias the Chameleon was using, was not exactly kosher. In fact, the name he was using was of someone who had died several years ago." he replied. Mike was stunned by this information but didn't quite understand his meaning. "I mean detective that, if Agent Jones had truly run this name through the computer as he said he did, he would have discovered that it was the name of a dead man." Agent Donovan replied. "So, he made a mistake." Mike said and Agent Donovan shook his head. "What are you trying to say?" Mike asked him. Agent Donovan looked at Duane and Marcus before answering. "The thing is." he said glancing down at the paper in front of him. "Agent Jones is somewhat none to us. Believe it or not, wherever the Chameleon turns up we have to deal with Agent Jones or whatever name he is using at the time." Mike was shocked. "Over the last 10 years with every investigation we have done, Agent Jones, or whoever he happens to be at that moment, keeps popping up." Agent Donovan told him.

"Yes because he is MI5 or MI6. Obviously, he keeps changing his name, so that he can find this assassin. Agents always use assumed names." Mike said and Duane let out a snigger and received a nudge in the stomach from Marcus. "Did he tell you that he worked for the secret service?" Agent Donovan asked and Mike thought about it. "Well no. I don't think he actually said. I just assumed. What about Agent Smith?" he asked. "Well he is a new name to us." Agent Donovan replied. "Have you contacted UK Intelligence? They would be able to confirm their identities." Mike asked him and saw him raise his eyebrows. "That's the thing detective. They told us confidentially, that Agent Smith works for MI5 but deny all knowledge of Agent Jones. He does not work for them, trust me on that." Mike was shocked by this revelation. Who was he, if he wasn't Secret Service? "But he and Agent Smith were together nearly every time I met them." Mike said. "Did you ever meet Agent Jones by yourself?" Agent Donovan asked and Mike nodded his head. "Did you ever have telephone conversations with Agent Jones?" and once again Mike nodded his head. We have spoken to Agent Smith and he, like you, was convinced that Agent Jones was MI6 but the thing is detective, he isn't anything to do with the intelligence agency. The first time Agent Smith met him was at DCI McGregor's office and he presumed that all necessary checks had already been done by your DCI. Which was not the case." Agent Donovan told him. "Can you please just tell me what is going on." he pleaded.

He felt that he was having an information overload and that his head was about to burst. "Just get straight to the point please." he said and Agent Donovan nodded before continuing. "We are looking for two men now detective. The Chameleon and Agent Jones. We believe that they are working together and have been for the best part of a decade." Mike found it all hard to believe. Agent Jones had been so convincing. "Duane and Marcus here met Agent Jones a good few times. Why did they not check him out?" Mike asked and watched as Duane and Marcus hung their heads as if in shame. "They live everyone else detective, thought that he had already been giving clearance. They like you and everyone else was duped. He is a very clever and devious individual." Agent Donovan replied, staring at his two agents and shaking his head. "It just doesn't add up. Duane and Marcus here are trained agents and as you just pointed out, you have all known about this man for over a decade. Why didn't they realise who he was? It's all very strange to me." Mike told him.

"Well there is no point in going around and around in circles. Let's get down more important business." Agent Donovan told him. "Now you said you received a telephone call on your cell phone to tell you to meet someone." Mike sat back in his chair and stared at him before replying. "Yes my Superintendent." "But that wasn't exactly true. There was no meeting arranged." Agent Donovan said. "No someone wanted me away from who I thought was an Irish tourist." Mike told him, now getting tired of trying to explain himself over and over again. "Yes. Did you recognise the voice?" Agent Donovan asked him. "No it was muffled. But it was definitely male." Mike told him. "We think that it was Agent Jones. We think that you were getting too close to the Chameleon." Mike knew that the telephone call had saved his life and although it had caused such a fuss, he was grateful that he was called away in the nick of time. "If I didn't leave, I'm sure I would have ended up dead just like the Canadian." he told them.

"That is true but I would think that it was just pure coincidental. Don't think for one minute that Agent Jones was saving your life. Obviously, he had alterative motives for wanting you gone." Agent Donovan told him and Mike had to agree. "This man has his own agenda for working with the Chameleon and we are sure that it's money. He gets paid to assassinated people and he in turn pays men, like the Chameleon to do the job for him." Mike once again had to agree with the agent's assumption.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Agent Donovan rose from his chair and flung open the door. "I think we can move to a more comfortable room now detective. Follow me." Mike immediately followed Agent Donovan and was soon sitting in an office that was decked out in red leather sofas and beautiful paintings on the walls. "Please take a seat detective. This is Agent Stone. He will take the description from you. He said pointing to the very skinny and very young black haired man standing behind him. "After that I will take you to your family." Agent Donovan told him and Mike gave a sigh of relief. "I'm afraid they are in another state. So I have put you up in one of the hotels nearby and we can set off first thing in the morning." Mike felt so relieved at finally being able to see his wife and sons. "Thank you so much." Mike said with relief. His nightmare was now over. "Sorry for the delay in putting you straight detective but we had to check you out." Agent Donovan told him. "Just as you should have done with Agent Jones." Mike reminded him. "Exactly." Agent Donovan replied with a smile on his face. "We try not to make the same mistake twice." he said giving him a wink, which unnerved Mike for a moment. Agent Jones would often give him a wink. Did this mean anything? Were they all working together, as one great big conspiracy? He shook his head, trying to dispel these thoughts from his brain. He was becoming paranoid.

# Chapter Eighteen

#

He settled down in his hotel room and decided to go straight to bed, as he couldn't wait until the morning to see his wife and sons. He wondered what they must be thinking? His wife, Susan would probably hit the roof when she saw him, for getting their family mixed up in all of this. But it wasn't his fault.

Feeling peckish he ordered some food from room service and when he was finished, he had a shower before bed. He soon fell asleep. He had been on a long journey and hoped that he would be able to resume normal life quite soon.

Sometime later he awoke to find a man standing over him, with a gun pointed directly at his head. He opened his mouth to speak but the man shook his head and he knew that at any second he could pull the trigger. He noticed that the gun had a long silencer on it and he was engulfed in what only could be described as pure terror. The room was dark and it took him some time to focus his eyes on the intruder's face. When he did he saw that it was the Irishman better known as the Chameleon. "Not a word or I'll blow your head clean off your shoulders." he whispered in a strong Irish accent. "Now I know Mike that you will be wondering what I am doing here in your hotel room at 2am in the morning." he said smirking. "It's like this mate, you're asking too many questions and making too many waves." he told him Mike tried to push himself up to a sitting position in the bed but the man pushed the barrel of the gun further into his forehead. "Stay exactly where you are." he told him and Mike lay bad down again. Is this how he was going to die? He felt his insides beginning to shake. "I know all about you. So, you can drop that Irish accent for a start." Mike told him. "I know you are American." The man laughed. "Yes, you do detective." the man said in a southern American accent. "And I know all about you too Mike. I could kill you right now, without a second thought." he said. "Well what's stopping you?" Mike suddenly found himself asking. "I don't really know." he replied shaking his head. "I think it's because I don't kill, unless I have to. Is that a funny statement Mike?" he replied.

Mike looked into his menacing eyes and instinctively knew that this was no deranged killer, he was a very calculating killer and not what the CIA had suggested. Something was going on here and he knew he hadn't been told the whole truth. "It's like this Mike. You leave today and fly back home and we will say no more about it. How does that sound?" he said. Mike thought for a moment. What could he say or do to get out of this dangerous situation? After a few second he nodded. "What you saying Mike? You agree to go home?" he asked. "Yes." Mike answered. "No, no, no Mike. You answered too quickly.' he said laughing. "I'm going to put the gun away, so that we can talk. Don't even think of trying anything. I'm fully trained to snap your neck if I have to. So, are you going to be civil about this?" he asked and Mike nodded. He watched as he tucked his gun down the back of his denims.

He sat down on the bottom of his bed and indicated that Mike could sit up. "How are your boys? You know Mike you really should tell them not to get into cars with strangers. It's a dangerous world out there." he said. "Why did you do that anyway? You must have known I would have guessed who you were." Mike asked, confused by his seemingly lack of judgment. "Oh, Mike my boy. You are so naive. I was just following orders." he replied with a smile on his face. A smiling assassin sitting on his bed unnerved him. He pulled himself up and sat upright on the bed. "Have you orders to kill me? Is that why you are here?" the man laughed. "Mike, I don't want to kill you. I simply want to talk with you." Mike was confused. "Don't get me wrong I will kill you if you try to overpower me or try to escape. I wouldn't recommend anyone of them." he told him but Mike had no intentions of trying to fight his way out of this. He would try the more diplomat approach. "If I killed you now Mike, it would cause such a fuss." he told him. "You're a mercenary then. A paid assassin." Mike said and once again the man laughed. "Strong words Mike. I prefer to say that I do my duty. Do you think I am a gun for hire, just like in the old westerns?" Mike stared into his eyes. "I think you are a cold-blooded murderer with no conscious and only interested in the blood money that you can earn." The man immediately jumped to his feet and seemed agitated. He started pacing up and down the room without ever taking his eyes away from Mike, who was now feeling really stupid for being so forthright in his views of the man in front of him. "You haven't got a clue. Its men like me who keep the world safe." The man said and now it was Mike who laughed. "Yeh sure. I feel really safe right now. Do you want to be known as the Chameleon or by your birth name, Peter Anderson?"

The man rushed over to him and pulling out his gun pointed it at Mike. "You think you know me? You know nothing." he told him with anger in his voice. "Have you ever asked yourself why the CIA have never caught me? Come on Mike you're a detective, think about it." he said and Mike did just that. Something was really odd about the whole situation. "They know about you." he said and the man nodded. "They are not really trying to catch you." he said and once again the man nodded before returning the gun to the back of his denim waistline. "Do you work for them?" Mike asked. "Not exactly. I can't tell you who I work for or I would need to kill you." He replied laughing. Mike was worried, as his moods seemed to change by the minute. Perhaps he was mentally unstable and if so, then he knew that he was dealing with a very dangerous man. "Where are your family Mike." He suddenly asked and Mike was surprised by his question. "I'm not telling you. They are safe." he replied. "Are they?" he asked. Mike was worried by this comment. "What do you mean?" he asked him. "Let's see. Agent Donovan told you that your family are in the US somewhere and are safe. Am I right?" he asked him. Mike did not reply. "He also put you up in this hotel and told you that you would leave first thing in the morning, to see your family. Correct again Mike?" he said and Mike nodded, wondering how he could have known this. "Mike my man. I don't know why I like you but I do. Maybe it's because you're a detective and always trying to get the bad guys. But the bad guys can sometimes be those that you perceive as good. Get my drift?" he asked Mike didn't have a clue what he was talking about.

"Do you think it's the ramblings of a madman?" he asked. "Plain English. I don't know what you are trying to get at." Mike said. "Your family, are not in the US. They are still in Glasgow. They aren't in any danger, trust me. It is you Mike that is in trouble." he said. "Trust you. Are you kidding? "Mike. I am the only one you can trust. I know it all sounds mad but hear me out. You were brought here and someone will come to kill you tonight and it is not me." Mike wondered why he was telling him all of this. Was he trying to mess with his head? Was this some kind of cat and mouse game?

"Agent Donovan has arranged for you to be killed in this very bed, Mike. So, if I was you I would quickly get dressed. You don't want to die in your undies, do you?" he told him but Mike didn't believe a word of what he was saying. "You're completely nuts. The CIA are not trying to kill me." he replied wondering how he was going to get himself out of this situation. Just then they both heard someone turning the door handle and trying to get into the room. "Shhhhhh." the Chameleon said moving into the shadows. Mike tried to get out of bed but he indicated with his hand that he was to stay down. "But." Mike whispered. "Stay down. I will deal with this." he told him pushing his body against the wall to hide from the intruder. Mike lay back down in the bed, wondering why he was putting his trust into this trained assassin.

When the door opened, Mike heard two muffled shots and a body fell to the floor. The door slammed shut and the light went on. "What the hell!" exclaimed Mike, as he stared down at the body of Agent Jones on the floor. He was holding a gun in his hand. "Agent Jones." Mike exclaimed. "Who?" the other man asked.

"But I don't understand. He was coming here to shoot me?" Mike asked trying hard to understand what had just happened but failing miserably. "Of course he was. I told you." he said but Mike was confused. "But I thought he worked with you." He watched him shaking his head. "Me. I work alone Mike. Now get dressed and come with me. There may be others." he told him. Mike stared at him. "Why are you helping me?" He smiled at him. "It's because of your boys Mike. I have a son near enough the same age as yours. Let's just say, fathers should stick together." He replied and now Mike found himself completely confused. Nothing made any sense to him.

Soon he was out in the streets. "Where are we going?" Mike asked. "Into the woods." he replied. "What!" exclaimed Mike. "Get into the car." he told him, opening the door. "There could be more of them out here." Mike did as he was told and soon they were driving down the dark country roads. "I don't understand. Who was Agent Jones? I thought he worked for MI5 or MI6 but no. I thought he worked with you but no. So who the hell is he?" Mike asked thinking that he may have the answer for him. "I couldn't tell you." he replied. "I don't know everything." Mike was surprised. "But you knew about him coming to the hotel to kill me." He said and watched him shaking his head. "I didn't know him. I just knew someone was coming to the hotel to kill you." he replied and Mike couldn't quite get his head round the face that someone wanted him dead. "Why kill me? I don't know anything." Mike asked him and watched him laugh. "They don't know that. They think you know too much." he replied glancing over at him.

"What happens now?" Mike asked feeling more than a little nervous of his driving companion. "Look wait until we arrive at Sanctuary." he told him. That is the name I give my log cabin in the woods. It's a place I go to for peace and quiet and you will be safe there. We both will." the Chameleon told him. Mike thought about his wife and sons. "My family how do I know they are safe?" he asked frantically. "They moved into your DCI's home with him." he replied but Mike didn't think that this could be true. DCI McGregor would never allow such a thing to happen as there were procedures to follow in such a case. "How can I trust you?" Mike asked him. "Have I not proved myself to you yet Mike? Did I or did I not save your life tonight. Who set you up at that hotel in that particular room? Think about it Mike." the Chameleon told him and he did.

Agent Donovan arranged everything. He told him that his family was in the US but were they really? He was confused as to who to trust. "You are unsure aren't you Mike. You don't know who to trust, do you?" he asked as he pulled out his cell phone from his trouser pocket. "Well give them a call." he said handing the cell phone to Mike. "Just scroll down until you see the CIA at Langley's telephone number. Call him. Tell him that Agent Jones came to the hotel to kill you and see what he says." Mike held the cell phone in his hand. "Don't worry." he said. "It can't be traced." A few moments later Mike was connected to the CIA headquarters and asked the operator to put him through Agent Donovan. "Hello Agent Donovan." Mike looked over at the Chameleon. "It's him." he whispered. "Well talk to him and see who is telling you the truth." he replied driving over a very large iron bridge before turning down a very dark country road.

"It's DI Watson." he told him. "Well hello. You do know it is 3am in the morning." Agent Donovan replied. "Yes and you are still at the office, why?" Mike asked him. "Things to do, detective. And how can I help you?" he replied. Mike wondered if their conversation was being taped and he was sure that it would be. "Agent Jones came to my hotel room to shoot me. You will find his body there right now." Mike told him waiting for his reply. There were a few moments of silence before Agent Donovan spoke to him. "You killed him?" The Chameleon nudged his elbow and Mike looked over at him. "Tell him you're with me and see what he says." he told Mike. "No. I didn't kill him it was the Chameleon. I'm with him at this very moment. He saved my life." Mike told Agent Donovan. "Where are you DI Watson. You're in a very dangerous situation?" he asked. "Bet he asked you where you are. Don't tell him anything otherwise they will be here in minutes and both of us would be dead." The Chameleon told him and Mike nodded his head.

"Mike are you still there? You don't need to answer but please listen to me. He is very dangerous. Do not listen to a word that he says because it will be all lies. Try to escape as quickly as you can." Agent Donovan told him and Mike could hear desperation in his voice. "My family, are safe in the US?" Mike asked. "Yes of course they are. Why do you ask? Is he telling you a cock and bull story, which is designed to confuse you? Do not trust him. He is a trained killer." Agent Donovan told him and Mike thought he would test him and see how he reacted with his next question.

"You tried to have me killed tonight. Didn't you?" The Chameleon in the seat beside him chuckled. "No Mike. That is simply not true. Why on earth would I want you dead? You are important to us Mike. Don't you understand that he is playing games with you? Don't let him take you anywhere seclude or you will be a dead man. Get outta there quickly." Agent Donovan told him but Mike knew that it was too late, that ship had sailed.

The Chameleon took the cell phone from Mike's hands. "Hello Agent Donovan. Nice to hear from you again." he said laughing. "Let him go." Agent Donovan told him with anger in his voice. "Why so you kill both of us? No we are going into hiding and I will be in touch as soon as I have figured out what to do." he told him and Agent Donovan was confused. "What the hell are you talking about? You are trying to mess with his head you son of a bitch." he replied and the Chameleon laughed before throwing the cell phone out of the window.

"What did he say?" Mike asked. "He said that he is going to hunt us down like dogs and kill us. That's what he said Mike. I told you that you were too naive and trusted the wrong person. I am your friend Mike and I will be the one that keeps you safe. Trust me." Mike nodded but he didn't trust him one bit. The only way he would survive that night was to pretend that he believed him. Agent Donovan was correct when he said that mind games were being played. He knew exactly what he must do. When the opportunity arose he would make a run for it.

They pulled up at an old log cabin surrounded by trees. "Here we are." he told him. "Come on in and make yourself comfortable. There is plenty to eat in the cupboards help yourself." Mike followed him into the cabin. He felt uneasy about being in such a confined space with the assassin, who could pounce on him at any moment. The lights went on and Mike looked around the cabin and notice that it was quite sparse. An old grey sofa that was tattered and torn, sat beside the dead fire. An old cooker sat in the corner of the room, beside an old tin sink and the shelves on the cupboards doors were hanging from their hinges. The cabin smelled of damp and as far as Mike deduced, the place hadn't been lived in for a very long time.

"Take a seat Mike. I'm just nipping out for some logs to get the fire going. It gets quite chilly around here at night." Mike sat down on the sofa. The Chameleon was speaking to him as if he was a friend. The man was completely deranged or was that he wanted him to think. He could not be sure about anything these days. "Be a pal Mike. Stick the kettle on. I'm just dying for a coffee." Mike nodded and went over to the sink to fill the kettle. Mike watched as he went out and slammed the old wooden door behind him. When he was sure that it was safe, he tiptoed to the door and looking outside saw that he was walking towards a small shed. Mike followed him. He tiptoed as quietly as he could, not knowing why he was doing this. He stood on a twig and it cracked in the darkness and for a moment he thought his heart would stop beating. As he reached the small shed he heard voices and creeping up to the side of the shed put his ear to the wood. He was talking on another mobile phone. So he must have had two phones with him, Mike thought. Why would he have two?

"Yes it's all taken care off."

"He's dead. I promise you."

"Yeh. I have him."

"Yeh. He believes me."

"Just for tonight. I will get rid of him in the morning. Let me have my fun."

Suddenly he laughed and Mike's blood ran cold.

"Yeh I know he isn't dead. Was that my bloody fault? Did I know the President was going to switch with one of his bodyguards? I'll try another time. Got to go now I have left my mate having coffee. Speak to you soon."

The conversation ended and without a thought Mike took to his heels. He ran as fast as he could through the woods into the darkness, only guided by the full-moon in the sky shining brightly above him. He hadn't a clue where he was going but he knew he had to keep going. His life depended on him being able to outrun this assassin and he kept on running, going further and further into the woods.

He stopped by a tree for a breath but suddenly started running again when he heard twigs breaking in the distance. He was after him. He was sure he was running deeper and deeper into the woods when suddenly he felt the ground beneath break away. He stared down at his feet and found that he was at the edge of a ravine. The adrenaline was pumping through his body but he didn't know which way to turn. Should he go right? Should he go left? He chose right and ran as fast as his feet would carry him. The Chameleon killed Agent Jones because he was told to but why? Agent Donovan was right when he told him that the man was playing games with him. And he knew that if he ever caught up with him he would be a dead man. He had to keep running until he had no breath left in his body. It was the only way that he would survive the night.

As the tree branches hit his face, he tried not to make a sound. He could feel the blood dripping down his face but at least he was alive. He stopped for a moment to listen to hear if he was following him but it was silent and he took a deep breath. Perhaps he had outrun him. Stooping to rest he leaned against a tree but immediately the Chameleon stepped out in front of him and he was holding a gun. "Mike my friend. Why are you making this so difficult? Take it like a man." he said laughing. With adrenaline rushing through his body, Mike jumped on him and wrestled him to the ground. Moments later the gun went off.

# Epilogue

#

After what seemed like an unending journey, his plane had landed and he would soon be reunited with his wife and children. He called his wife as soon as he landed. "Hi honey. It's me." His wife was excited to hear his voice. "I'm at the airport and on my way home now. I will see you soon." he told her. He had only seen his wife and family for just a few moments, before they had boarded the flight back to the UK. Agent Donovan had taken him to see them before his debriefing. Now all of that was all over with and he was home in Glasgow again.

Sitting in the taxi on his way home, he thought of all that had happened to him and was glad that it was he who had survived that night. He had overpowered the Chameleon but it was luck that saved him. Luck that had ensured that it was not he that was shot that night. For a moment in the darkness when the gun had gone off, he thought he had been shot. He was covered in blood but it was not his, it was the Chameleon's blood that was splattered all over him. When he had recovered enough from the shock, he had searched the man's trousers and used his mobile to call 911.

Agents Donovan, Duane, Marcus and a bunch of other people that he didn't know, arrived within 30 minutes. While waiting for help to arrive, he had stared down at the dead man and felt nothing. He didn't hate him nor loathed him but he didn't feel sorry for him either. The man lying dead beside him, had made his choices and lived the life that he wanted to live and all for the love of money. He remembered that he prodded him several times with his foot, just to make sure that he was really dead, after all he could have been pretending. But he was most certainly dead and of no threat to him and his family anymore. He was thankful for that.

Agent Donovan had taken Mike back to Langley and had given him clothes to change into, as forensics needed his clothes for examination. Mike washed and changed and handed him back the clothes, in a blue plastic bag. Agent Donovan took him to meet his wife and sons. Susan had ran to him immediately and had clung to him, never wanting to let go. "Its ok. I'm fine." he had told her as he wiped the tears from her eyes. He patted his two older children on the head and lifted his youngest Aaron into his arms and held him tightly. They only had a few minutes together before Agent Donovan told him that he had to go. His family was flying home before him but he told them that he would be home the next day and not to worry.

Back at Langley he told them everything that had happened. Agent Donovan told him that they thought that Agent Jones had indeed been working with or for the Chameleon and that somehow, he had crossed someone and that someone had wanted him dead.

Mike looked out of the taxi window. He was never so glad to see his hometown so much in all of his life. Glasgow looked very good to him that day even though it was raining, as usual. The nightmare was over and he and his family had survived. The Chameleon was dead. He still wondered about who he had been speaking to on that night. Whoever he was speaking to was calling all the shots and he knew that there were more assassins out there ready to take his place.

His thoughts were interrupted, by the taxi driver. "Been anywhere nice?" he asked in his strong Glaswegian accent. "The US." Mike told him. "Never been there myself. Did you have a nice time?" he asked and Mike laughed. "Yes, but I'm glad to be back on Scottish soil." he replied. "My name's Pat by the way." the taxi driver told him. "Nice to meet you Pat. I'm Mike."

The taxi stopped at traffic lights. "Hey, do you want today's newspaper?" Pat the taxi driver asked, as he turned and handed it to him. "Thanks." Mike replied taking it from him. He looked at the front page and gasped as he saw the headlines.

President Mustafa Ould Mubarakas of Comora assassinated.

Mike began to read the article that described how the President was shot dead, when he landed at Comora, on his return from London and his visit with the Queen. The reporter stated that a lone gunman, thought to be an American Citizen, was thought to be responsible for the assassination. A CIA spokesperson told the reporter that the gunman was someone that they had been looking to capture for over 10 years. The assassin was called the Chameleon.

The End

