

The Peter Blake Chronicles

Book Three - The Coriolis Effect

Timothy Newnes

Copyright Page

Copyright © 2019 Timothy Newnes

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.

Characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Table Of Contents

Dedication

Authors Note

Prologue

Chapter 1 - Andreas

Chapter 2 - Excursion to Hell

Chapter 3 - Nicosia

Chapter 4 - No Return

Chapter 5 - The Green Line

Chapter 6 - The Shot

Chapter 7 - Despair

Chapter 8 - Revelation

Chapter 9 - Varosha

Chapter 10 - Troodos

Chapter 11 - Prelude to War

Epilogue

Dedication

To my wife Patricia, always

To my Dad, rest peacefully, a real soldier

To my Mum

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank the following people for their hard work and contributions

My sons Gareth and Ryan for their endless contributions, artworks, maps and efforts to get this book series finished.

To my dear friend Jez, without whose technical and moral support the realism in these books would not have been possible.

My dear friend Rob whose content contributions and support is greatly appreciated.

To Bethany Votaw for your editing work, finessing and numerous suggestions on content. I highly recommend this freelance editor who can be found at www.votawproofread.com

I would also like to thank Heather, who has been a great help in developing the stories through her feedback.

Authors Note

The Coriolis Effect, Snipers and Sharpshooters

Melissa is portrayed in this book as a sharpshooter and not a sniper. Sniper skills go far beyond that of a sharpshooter and rely heavily on experience in individual fieldcraft. The ability of a sniper to infiltrate, conceal themselves, reconnoitre and stalk the enemy, report intelligence and take a crucial shot after days of being motionless is one that requires an enormous amount of experience, training and discipline. It would have been a disservice to those brave and capable men and women who have learned and practice the sniper discipline and so we chose that Melissa would be a sharpshooter.

It is important to understand the many factors that affect how a shot can be taken at 1,000 yards to appreciate the skill of the people who do so. The book 'The Coriolis Effect' exposes some (but not all) of that complexity so that you, the reader can enjoy the experience this book attempts to portray.

Any object moving horizontally on or near the earth's surface is deflected off course due to the spinning of the planet. The Coriolis effect impacts greatly on phenomena like hurricanes and other weather systems but has a lesser effect on small objects. If the object is a precisely aimed snipers' bullet then, if the bullet travels far enough there is some deviation from the visual aim.

Snipers and sharpshooters, factor dynamic conditions such as wind (direction and speed), humidity, temperature and barometric pressure into their shot calibration. In this book, a Kestrel ballistics calculator is used.

When a sniper or sharpshooter is aiming their shot at a human there is no margin for error. An example demonstrating the Coriolis effect cited that when firing a .308 175gr bullet at 2700fps muzzle velocity, from a latitude of 45° in the Northern Hemisphere, the deflection at 1000yds will be three inches to the right. While the Coriolis effect has an impact on the horizontal accuracy of the bullet, Eötvös Effect does the same thing to the vertical perspective of a shot through the exertion of centrifugal force.

The Coriolis Effect also applies to the combative relationship between Cyprus and its breakaway Turkish Republic of the North. The movement of a North and South influence in opposing directions geo-politically bears similarity to how the Coriolis Effect causes storms to swirl clockwise in the Southern Hemisphere and counterclockwise in the Northern Hemisphere.

Hopefully, this book will expose some of the truths about marksmanship and how snipers do what they do, the complexity of their task and the responsibility they carry on behalf of their country. One man or woman taking an aimed shot with a single bullet can impact the world for good or bad.

###  Prologue

Sam had departed the coffee shop hoping Peter would have a successful mission and return safely. She would have liked to stay longer and continue their conversation. Time was limited and she must focus attention on her own mission due to start the following day.

Sam arrived early. She hated the crush of traffic cramming into the small car park at Bisley during competition days. She loved going to the home of UK shooting; the National Rifle Association with its cheap burgers laced with boiled onions served from a caravan that would never move again washed down with the tar-like coffee from styrofoam cups. She was at Bisley to secure an asset for her mission, one who was competing for the F Class Long Range Competition at 1,200 yards on Stickledown Range.

Melissa was the daughter of Warrant Officer Class One Bill Simmonds, an Infantry man and former Master Sniper who finished his time with the British Army as Chief Instructor at The Specialist Weapons School Sniper Wing. His daughter, an only child, was raised on the ranges. While other fifteen-year-olds went to parties and the cinema, Melissa learned to adjust for wind and honed her marksmanship skills. The girl, turned woman recently graduated Oxford with a First in Law and, as a prominent member of the University Officer Training Corps (UOTC) was tipped to attend Sandhurst. Sam hoped to change that. She needed Melissa before the girl was 'on the books.'

Betting concluded the day before, there would be no crude wagering at Bisley. The bookies odds were on Melissa to walk with two trophies; such was her talent. The woman was perfect for Sam, who needed a female assassin immediately; she could think of nobody better.

"Well done, young lady." Sam stretched out a hand to congratulate the new 'Bisley Shot' on a double trophy haul as she rested in the changing rooms. It had been a long, wet day, but the champion shot looked ready to go again.

"Thank you." The reply was polite enough as Melissa studied the other woman carefully. "Dad said you would come for me." The statement took Sam by surprise. The young woman continued. "He said it would happen after Sandhurst but told me to expect someone like you. He warned me against accepting your offer."

"Someone like me?" Sam was genuinely surprised.

"With death following you." She held Sam's gaze; she wasn't afraid of staring competitions, like her dad she had unflinching confidence and resolve. "Shall we go then?" It was a simple question from Melissa who packed the rifle and stowed her trophies in their carrying cases, looking ready for a trip overseas.

"What about Dad?" said Sam.

"I won't tell if you don't." A mischievous smile and Sam knew she hooked her recruit.

"You look like you could do with two weeks in Cyprus," Sam said it as if she were a tour operator.
Chapter One - Andreas

Sam had no time to induct Melissa into 'The Network' as she had done with Peter; the young sharpshooter must hit the ground running; they had a mission to get on with. Events in Eastern Mediterranean moved quickly with an already tense political situation between the legitimate and recognised government in the south and its breakaway Turkish Republic of the north. The tension threatened to spill into world politics, the potential for war ever increasing.

Geo-political friction was associated with regional oil and gas exploration rights directly involving Egypt, Cyprus, Turkey, and Israel from a territorial perspective. Indirectly, the USA, Greece, Russia, Qatar, UK and others were invested financially or had the security of other regional assets in mind. Turkey, rightly in their view, asserted a claim to shared exploitation rights of the massive regional natural gas finds in the sea around Cyprus. The Aphrodite field and exploratory drilling block 12 were of particular interest, they represented the most lucrative opportunity.

"The potential for disaster is enormous," Melissa said it as she turned to Sam after reading the mission background briefing dossier provided to her as they boarded. They sat alone on a Hercules C-130 en route to RAF Akrotiri, Cyprus, the noise inside was deafening, the only respite was a set of passive ear defenders issued by the aircrew. Sam responded, "It's all to play for at the moment. Our mission supports international diplomatic efforts to de-escalate the situation." She had spent the six hours prior to take off bringing Melissa up to speed on the complexities of the mission, a mission with great potential for disaster in the form of conflict, should they fail. There wasn't time to explain the specifics of the target or mission. Cyprus was a complex environment at the best of times, these days it was a powder keg.

It was clear to Melissa even before the dossier was handed to her, that she was being recruited as the shooter for a UK government sanctioned assassination. Sam had to be certain the young sharpshooter had no qualms about killing before they boarded at Brize Norton. There were no such concerns; it seemed her father covered the subject in her own personal training. A sharpshooter must execute the will of their government without recourse to their own moral judgment.

Cyprus in late spring combined floral beauty with mild temperatures. Hovering around the early twenties Celsius there was enough rainfall at this time of the year to cause an explosion of wildflowers, disappearing in May with the arrival of intense heat. By June, the extreme heat of summer would turn the island into a desert.

RAF Akrotiri ground crew handed Sam keys to a black Land rover Discovery as they descended the back ramp of the Hercules aircraft on the mild Wednesday evening. They had until Saturday to be in a position overlooking Bellapais Abbey in TRNC to take the sanctioned shot. Melissa must be prepared by then.

Driving to Nicosia gave them views of migrating pelicans resting on salt lakes as they departed Royal Air Force Base Akrotiri in one of the British Sovereign Base Area. They would spend their time at a safe house in Nicosia.

Navigating the tiny alleys of Nicosia during evening was never enjoyable. Traffic in Cyprus was amorphous at the best of times, but the rush of families going out for dinner suspended driving laws in favour of chaos and arm waving, typical of the Mediterranean culture. Sam was at home in the chaos having been stationed with the UN in Cyprus for two years while serving in the British Army, she fit right in. Sam explained the potted history of Cyprus, warning that separation of the island between north and south was a passionate topic of discussion in every taverna, often evolving to violence even between friends.

The history of Cyprus was complex and something that could not be dealt with easily in a mission overview dossier. During the time of the Ottoman Empire, in the 16th Century, many Cypriots converted to Islam, then joined by Turkish settlers who were given land on arrival. The converts and settlers became known in subsequent generations as 'Turkish Cypriots', and were distinct from their former Cypriot cousins, partly by blood but mostly by choice of religion. Naturally, since Cyprus had an extensive history with Greece, those who did not convert were labelled 'Greek Cypriots'. The legitimate government of Cyprus claims to be one for all Cypriots and is independent of both Turkish and Greek states.

The establishment of the Turkish Republic of North Cyprus (TRNC) resulted from an invasion by Turkish Armed Forces in 1974. The Greek Junta ordered their national armed forces to stage a coup d'état in Cyprus five days earlier. The coup was deemed illegal by the United Nations.

The Turkish government didn't wait for a diplomatic solution, years of alleged civil rights abuses inflicted on ethnic Turks and Turkish Cypriots by the Cypriot government and their Greek mother state had frustrated them long enough. The invasion came from the Turkish mainland who used overwhelming military force to sweep aside the legitimate forces of the Cypriot government and those of the illegal Greek Coup. The island had been carved up. The United Nations deployed to what is referred to today as 'The Green Line', a buffer zone of 'no man's land', abandoned and desolate with minefields and razor wire, separating warring factions. Cyprus remains a divided island.

Accusations from both sides of genocide, property and land ownership violations, and arguments over what may be the biggest untapped liquid gas supply in the world continue to frustrate diplomacy. The Aphrodite gas field is just one issue that divides people over raw materials in the region. Drilling rigs from Italy are blocked or detained by Turkish naval forces while Turkish drilling partners explore disputed territory, causing more tension.

They parked outside the safe house, transferring the gear stowed in the vehicle boot, gifts from Auntie, the woman in charge. Neither wanted to review the inventory, preferring to shower, change, and head off for dinner at Zanetto's Taverna.

A table weighed down by meze of seasoned, grilled and fried potato, meats, vegetables and rice waited at the famous traditional local eatery. Zanetto's was a place tourists could share the same space as and break bread with local insurrectionists and bandits. It was a great way to acclimate to Cyprus and learn its secrets. Stiff from the flight, the two women stretched their legs, walking through town, talking as tourists would on a pleasant evening.

Melissa was surprisingly calm, taking things in her stride, lapping up the atmosphere of a beautiful old Mediterranean town. She had yearned for an adventure, being an officer cadet had not provided the stimulus she needed. Having grown up in a military family it wasn't only on the ranges her father schooled her. Melissa had skied, canoed, climbed Mont Blanc, gone canyoning and most weekends was Mountain Biking. She needed an adventure, this looked like it would be one. She felt exhilarated, her heart elevated and her brain awash with imagined thoughts of what could happen next.

A group of young men gathered at the crossroads of cobbled street alleys. They lounged on moped saddles, smoking, chattering loudly, also enjoying the mild evening. Old men straddled short wooden stools outside their neighbours houses on narrow pavements playing backgammon and sneaking brandy to each other while women looked on, complaining to one another about the laziness of their husbands and the foolishness of youth. This was Nicosia, and it was normal.

The old town of Nicosia, famed for secrecy and espionage since the 1960s had unusually large embassies, in particular, Russia, USA and UK. The island was a playground for spies, its strategic importance was all too clear to the global community. Cyprus was a political, geographical, ethnic and religious meeting place for all points of the compass.

Since passing the crossroads someone had been tailing them. Sam chose not to warn her rookie colleague. She didn't want to alert their tail by an amateurish reaction. They continued talking as Sam made more frequent turns to buffer the tail they had picked up. She carried a Glock 26, a 9mm Pistol small enough to conceal under loose-fitting summer clothing and with enough power to drop an assailant, it was a reliable weapon.

Sam made a sharp right turn stopping immediately and motioned for the younger woman to continue, she was pleased when Melissa reacted quickly, unfazed by the situation, she simply carried on walking and talking to herself. Sam waited for their pursuer to round the corner. He must have been eighteen and clueless. Sam tripped the young man and punched him in the solar plexus, he crumpled forward, unable to breathe. On his knees he gasped, cradling his ribs and staring down Sam's 9 mm barrel. He looked scared, terrified; she observed the young man for a minute while he struggled to regain composure.

"Madam, why do you do this to me?" His English was good but not perfect. He sat recovering, his knees pulled up to his torso, leaning back against an old stone wall. There were no passers-by, the street remained undisturbed and Sam was in no hurry to move on.

"Why are you following us?" Sam questioned aiming her pistol.

"Andreas told me to make sure nobody interrupts your journey to Zanetto's."

Sam laughed, holstering her pistol, offering a hand to help the young man to his feet. "Please don't tell my father you knocked me down. I have a reputation if I don't get you to Zanetto's safely I shall be shamed."

Andreas was a local gangster, a boss, his reputation was fearsome among the criminal and general community's where strange ethics placed honour and loyalty above all. His organisation would never get involved in drugs, prostitution or people trafficking, instead preferring the traditional underworld of nightclubs, gambling, alcohol and tobacco smuggling. The Russian crime syndicates stayed away from Andreas and his people for fear of a trip to the bottom of the sea wearing an anchor. His job supplemented Andreas' life as a crime lord and provided unique access for him to the 'Green Line'. Working for the United Nations at the abandoned Nicosia International Airport, he was responsible for the diesel power station at Blue Beret Camp. He was free to travel the 'Green Line' as far as the power station fed the UN outposts. There were rumours Andreas had secret paths through the minefields separating north and south. Sam and the old man became friends during her two-year tour of duty at the British Army contingent to the UN. He'd kept the lights on since 1974 and Sam was his line manager.

"Take me to him." Sam smiled wryly, ordering the young man to his feet.

"He is already waiting at Zanetto's," replied an embarrassed young man.

### Chapter Two \- Excursion to Hell

"Who is Andreas?" Melissa regained her composure quickly. It was an unusual and intoxicating mix of emotions that hit her when for the first time in her life she saw a pistol drawn and cocked in anger. The last few minutes were thrilling, adrenaline coursing through her veins, heightening her senses and awareness.

Sam was still smiling. "He's an old friend, a very connected and dear old friend, and I wonder how he knows we're here."

Nicos introduced himself as they walked, new to the family business having recently turned 18, his father started his boy as a runner a few weeks earlier. Sam noted he was a respectful young man referring to them often as Madam, he opened the door at Zanetto's politely stepping aside to allow them passage. She expected nothing else from Andreas.

The walls were plastered with photographs of the great and good of the Greek entertainment industry providing an endless source of conversation topics. Andreas leapt from his chair as he saw them, beaming as only a Cypriot does when presented with a long-lost friend. He wrapped Sam in a bear hug. "It's been too long Captain. Is it still Captain?"

Sam, genuinely happy to see Andreas squeezed the old rogue back "I think you have been eating here too much of late dear friend." She replied cheekily, letting the matter of her rank slip.

"It's the winter nights dear, it has been so cold this past six months but now we are almost in summer it will disappear. It's nice to see you, let's sit and eat." Sam wanted to know how the man found out she was in Cyprus but feared asking would portray her as defensive. She motioned for Melissa to sit with her at the table. Old Cypriot men and young women were an incendiary combination.

Keo wine was distributed liberally and food arrived and would continue to be delivered until they begged it to stop, small plates and big conversations was the Cypriot meze style among friends. She excused herself heading for the washrooms. "If the old boy touches you tell him you have a gun." It was the final advice she could offer her young charge as she left the table.

Sam looked in the mirror seeing exhaustion in her eyes, even the mottled stain on dirty glass couldn't hide the tiredness. It had been hard lately, perhaps she pushed too much and for too long. Recruiting Peter, Crimea and now Melissa with various mission preparations and now this, her new role at 'The Hub' was taking a toll. She shook off the tiredness, looked in the mirror once more, glimpsing a shadow behind her just before she sank into darkness.

His mission was simple, render Sam unconscious and deliver her to his paymasters outside, unnoticed. He dragged the unconscious woman by her ankles, not caring how many times the back of her skull cracked along the floor. She woke to a metallic taste in her mouth. Everything was black, and she had an excruciating pain in her shoulders. She tried to open her eyes; they were too heavy, and she descended back to the darkness, the pain was too intense to endure and her body unprepared to confront it yet.

She woke again, it might have been hours or only minutes, but the bucket of cold water sharpened her mind, awareness refocussed on the acute pain in her shoulders. She could see her wrists were tied and suspended from a pipe that ran the length of what must be a cell. Consciousness returned in stages, the pounding in her head consistent, and she became aware of her feet floating just above the floor, hence the shoulder pain, thought Sam. What is going on? Surely the mission isn't compromised, not already. How could it be?

"Who are you?" A Slavic voice spoke slowly and gently from a darkened corner of the cell. Sam squinted for a better view. A man emerged, wearing a balaclava, a professional, Russian, possibly SVR RF, the Foreign Intelligence Service known formerly as KGB. Whoever this guy was, his Director reported to Putin every day and had him on speed dial.

"The problem with Westerners is that you all wait too long before talking. By the time I get what I want, my subject has lost irreplaceable parts of their anatomy. I cut and cut but still they maintain a stubborn silence, well, they scream, naturally, but I'm sure you understand. Fingers, toes and whole limbs must be cauterised to keep you alive, once I do that the separated parts cannot be reattached. You are disfigured, scarred internally and ugly on the outside. Then there's the smell, have you ever smelled these wounds while they heal? It's rancid,"

The man circled around Sam, balaclava still covering his face, he had a gentle, almost soothing voice. "Once, I took so many body parts I had an entire surgery team in the room to ensure the woman stayed alive, we had blood transfusion, intravenous fluids, stitches, closure of veins and arteries, and she managed without anaesthesia, she had to be kept alert you see. She was very courageous." He chuckled gently reminiscing. He paused, nodding his head "I still got it, the information, I always get it."

He turned to face Sam, drawing closer. "I patched her up, and we dumped her at the German Embassy...she was alive, she was crying like a baby. I discovered she killed herself two weeks later, pills, she couldn't lift a gun to go out like a hero."

He laughed a hearty laugh, raising his voice until he shouted. "Stupid bitch had no fucking arms!" More laughter and his voice became quiet. "I hear she paid for someone to administer the pills, so pathetic and so unnecessary." He walked toward the corner of the cell again. The man returned with a broom shaft in his hand; she noticed a slight limp as he walked. "What are you doing in Cyprus?" As he asked the question, he beat Sam on the ribs and stomach. The pain was overpowering. He stopped long enough to move around her body and the beating continued on her back.

"Don't worry my dear." He'd circled behind, close enough to whisper in her ear, close enough so she could smell his breath. "I like real pain, blood and screaming. By screaming I don't mean the screams of a rape struggle. No dear, I mean the screams of someone with their head in a clamp, eyes forced open, watching as I carve off each finger before slicing off the wrist, then elbow and finally..." He was in front now and made a slicing motion along his rotator cuff at the shoulder.

The man pulled on thick rubber gloves that reached his elbows, carrying on with the psychological torture. "I love this job. It's the only job I know where I can do anything I want." He walked back to Sam now. "The point is, in this room, there is only you and me, I am your whole universe. Nothing outside this door exists for you. I have the power and can do whatever I want." He swung a punch, connecting with Sam's rib cage, driving the air from her lungs. As she dipped forward the man smashed two punches into the side of her head, they weren't full punches, he knew the difference between punching hard enough to cause death and enough to cause pain. Another punch to the front and her bottom lip burst as it smashed into the solid enamel of her teeth, blood pouring to the floor. "That's better," the man stood back, admiring his work and removing the gloves.

He returned to the bed to collect the broom handle. The beating started and this time Sam passed out. The darkness enveloped her like a blanket shielding the pain.

She had no idea how long she was out when she woke on the floor of another cell. As she gathered her senses the door of the cell opened, she feigned unconsciousness. Two guards entered, laughing. "Igor done her good." One said to the other. They left water and departed, closing the heavy cell door behind them.

Igor...she knew Igor. Sam was trying to remember through the pounding in her head from early stage concussion. It was Igor, an Assassin, she had read his file years ago. He was attributed with the poisoning of Litvinenko in 2006. Her blood ran cold, the man's reputation was hideous.

Sam got to her feet, picked up the cup and smelled the water. She walked to the bed carefully pouring and making sure the mattress soaked up the liquid, retaining one mouthful in the cup. She knew the drink was drugged, probably to ensure her compliance, make her easier to move around, easier to manage. She lay on the floor, holding the metal cup in her hand as if she had drunk from it. Once satisfied she had staged her scene to feign unconsciousness the cup was gently tipped, and the mouthful of water spilled to the floor. The scene was perfect.

After ten minutes Sam heard the observation slide of the door open. Someone watched for a minute, "She is sleeping, let's get her out." The guards opened the cell door with weapons slung across their backs, each took an ankle and they dragged Sam across the cell floor and along the corridor. She could see a blood trail made by her face as they trailed her dead weight.

The men dumped her on a platform in a parking garage, the platform up to which small vans must reverse to unload. She remained completely still. The guards spoke to each other in Russian, one was going to get Igor while the other maintained watch. She continued to wait; her opportunity was approaching.

The guard came closer, so close Sam could reach him. She sprang into action with lightning speed, the fog in her brain dropped, pushed aside by the adrenaline coursing through her. She pulled the guards leg causing him to fall backwards to the floor and was on him instantly, smashing a boot heel into his throat, he was dead in three strikes. She looked down; he was only a boy.

Sam launched herself off the platform hitting the ground running toward the vehicle roller doors. It was a mechanical garage entrance with a control switch somewhere to open it. She couldn't find the control switch so tried the handle of the smaller door beside it, the handle turned, and the door opened. She staggered into the night, looking around to figure out where she was, it was vaguely familiar, but she couldn't be sure so picked a direction and ran down the street, away from her nightmare.

### Chapter Three - Nicosia

"Where's Sam?" Melissa was disconcerted, not lacking confidence, but processing new experiences while learning how to react to them was disorienting. It was like being in a stage production without a script. She searched for her mentor starting with the washrooms, no sign of Sam there, nothing outside or in front of the building, she dialed the burner phone, it was dead. Returning to the Taverna, she addressed the others.

"Something's happened to Sam. She wouldn't leave the restaurant without telling us and she isn't inside or anywhere nearby." This was all so real, the raw emotions overwhelming, fear was palpable, causing her heart to quicken. "The phone is off." she said, in conclusion, concealing her true fear.

Andreas was on his feet. "Nicos...car!" He tossed the keys to his nephew turning to Melissa. "We go now!" The young man drove his father's battered E Class Mercedes like a rally driver. Passing Nicosia city limits, the car halted away from the dual carriageway, its driver repeatedly cutting the headlights and scanning for signs of pursuit. They swung off the main road joining a farmer's track leading into a vineyard. They slowed to avoid damage to their vehicle, grinding to a halt at a gravel crossroads stopped by an explosion of light transforming night into day. There were at least thirty armed men encircling the Mercedes, weapons pointed directly at them.

Andreas exited the car and walked to a man standing in front who appeared to be the leader. They shook hands and had a heated debate for a few minutes, each man gesticulating wildly. The armed men, now friendly, escorted Melissa and Nicos to a battered pickup. "Pambos will have our people on the streets in an hour to find out who took Sam, he says for sure we were not followed, he has people watching the roads in and out of Nicosia. We will find her."

Melissa felt the phone in her pocket vibrate. "It's Auntie, listen to me carefully. I trust the man you are with; he's an old friend. I know Sam is missing, and I can tell you she was close to the Russian Embassy on Archbishop Macarios when the tracker was disabled. Do not pursue Sam, is that clear?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Errr, yes ma'am?"

The line was silent.

"Yes, Auntie?" it was a question rather than an answer.

"Good, I like quick learners, now return to the safe house and wait. Let's hope Sam can escape but if not, they will try to get her out of the country, in which case we will intercept. Tell Andreas to remain with you." The phone went dead.

Andreas was looking at Melissa and he spoke reverently. "Auntie isn't to be defied, not by you and not by me. What did she tell you?"

"She said we are to wait at the safe house." Melissa felt like Alice emerging from the rabbit hole.

The short return journey to Nicosia passed without incident. They abandoned the Pickup two streets away, its keys stowed in the glove compartment, doors unlocked and the three walked to the safe house. Nicos went directly to the kitchen followed by the sound of a kettle being filled and switched on. "Anyone for a cup of tea?"

Sam stumbled at first, unsteady and disoriented. Gradually, her strength returned, straightening and speeding up her run as she disappeared around a corner out of sight of the building from which she had escaped. It was difficult to get exacting bearings. Nicosia old town was a labyrinth of cobbled streets dotted with Taverna that looked the same everywhere.

She reached a street corner with signs high on the building. Committing Vasileos Konstantinou to memory, she slowed to a walk, mingling with tourists at the end of their night out. Fortunately, the foreigners were drunk or might have wondered why she was such a mess. Vasileos Konstantinou, Sam kept repeating it, pushing away the fog of the concussion, trying hard to recall the map of Nicosia she studied during mission preparation. Focus, woman, she said it to herself, annoyed. She spoke aloud suddenly realising where she had been held "Christ, that's close to the Russian Embassy, the brassy bastards took me to their sanctum."

Reaching the end of the side street Sam confirmed her location before joining the main road. More comfortable in familiar territory, she knew entering the Asty Hotel nearby would be a mistake in her current state. There was an alcove beside her in the building, it had steps leading down and along the back of the buildings she stood beside. She sat gently down on the floor, comfortable in the shadows, waiting to see if she had been pursued and to buy some time to recover. She needed to sleep, the adrenaline subsiding, causing a wave of fatigue to come over her.

She knew staying too long would lead her to losing consciousness again. She struggled to her feet and walked into the main street turning left and past the Asty Hotel. People noticed her blood coated clothes and she knew she had to get off the main road. Another left turn, on the shadowed side of the road and a few hundred metres later she disappeared again, away from the nightlife of Nicosia and its obvious hazards.

A large black car screamed to a halt in front and four got out, as they did Sam wasn't waiting for them to get their bearings. She ran and kicked the first in the head as he rose from the car door, there was a resounding thump as the man's skull cracked off the door panel, one down and three to go.

The next wasn't so easy, abandoning her pistol in favour of a quick punch at Sam, knocking her backwards, the agent reached for her pistol, not realising it was a mistake. Sam launched herself back toward the woman and, leaping in the air she performed a drop kick to her head that a Premier League football player would be proud of. She heard the neck snap and the woman slumped to the floor.

Sam felt the 9 mm hit her arm before hearing the gunfire. Turning, she raised her hands, lucky it was only a nick she thought looking up at her arm. "Don't move." Damn Russians, she was left wondering how they had tracked her.

The two remaining Russians dropped to the floor, mouths open, one foaming blood, both dead. Sam heard two shots, silenced but still audible. Two men, wearing black combat gear, balaclavas and silenced pistols emerged from the shadows. "Hello Colonel, Auntie thought you might appreciate some backup."

"Indeed, Auntie knows her stuff, right guys?" Sam grinned, relieved, at the two men and watched their Range Rover coming slowly down the street with a van closely following.

"Car is for you Ma'am, the van is for these four, the soldier waved his hand indicating the bodies lying on the floor. Sam gave a mock salute. "Thanks very much."

"Sam, what happened?" it was Auntie and her voice was projecting through a 16 speaker Bose media system on board the vehicle, causing Sam's headache to pound harder.

"I don't know." It was an honest response. "I was in Zanetto's one minute and the next I was in a room with Igor the Assassin at, what I believe to be the Russian Embassy. I have no idea why, I don't know how the mission was compromised, I don't know how much they know, if anything at all." Sam was struggling to recollect the evening.

"Check the arm rest Sam, there's a bandage for your wound".

"Can you see me?" Sam said it incredulously.

"Well of course, it's my bloody car. Now get the bandage and have a swig of the whisky in there too but only one. I'm sending you back to the others at the safe house where I have despatched a medical team to look after you." Auntie was not to be argued with.

The whisky felt good.

"Sam, are you sure it was Igor?"

"I can't be certain, he wore a balaclava, but he fits the profile, one evil bastard, six foot two, not to mention the guards referring to him as Igor."

The Bose went silent for a moment and Auntie spoke again. "We have a mole somewhere; I don't know what's been leaked but I will find out and deal with it. The mission is still on unless I tell you otherwise. I'm going to move a special team from 'the Hub' to my secondary location and isolate this mission from everyone else. I want you to rest tomorrow and mount the op as planned on Friday evening." There was a pause. "Well done Sam, everything will be fine, confirm you understand my instructions please."

"Confirmed." The car had pulled in front of the safe house as Auntie disconnected the line. Andreas was waiting to help her from the car.

### Chapter Four \- No Return

She ate muesli, Andreas sat opposite her smiling through yellowed teeth while Nicos made them their fourth cup of tea that morning. Although he must be in his late sixties Melissa noted the youthfulness in the man who moved quickly and was very alert. He must have been handsome when younger, still maintained a fit physique and had a beautiful mop of black hair streaked by some grey that added to his distinguished look. At six foot he was a man to be reckoned with.

Melissa was pensive and chewed noisily, Sam had arrived the night before, the medics taking over as soon as she walked in. They sedated her to speed recovery from the concussion and she slept, most of the other injuries were superficial, including the bullet wound which had only glanced her.

There were thirty-six hours until the mission was due to begin, and the sharpshooter began to feel ill prepared, struggling with the enormity of their situation. She carried on chewing her muesli. "Why are we still doing this?" she aimed the question at a medic.

The medic shot a withering look that told her to be quiet. "Each of us play a part, the parts are separate for a reason. I have my job and you have yours. Don't mess with the order of things, pull yourself together and do your job." The medic went to check on her patient.

Harsh. Melissa kept her thoughts to herself. This was a different world to the one she left yesterday. The emotional roller coaster ride was difficult to process and contain. She didn't feel ready for it; drifting off into childhood and remembering what her father taught her, "panic will not help you, anxiety is your friend, warning you when danger is present, learn to listen to it but always stay in control."

"Easier said than done, Dad." She hadn't realised she said it aloud, the others looked at her briefly before returning to their own business. Melissa spent the day preparing her equipment. She'd selected Accuracy International AXMC, a multi calibre sniper rifle capable of three configurations by changing barrel, bolt, and magazine. She requested the .300 calibre for its superior range; it had the same bullet head but larger cartridge than the .308 she used in target shooting. She packed the chronograph and Kestrel ballistics calculator in a daypack and Nicos drove her to a 100 metre range Andreas cleared at his farm for her to 'zero' and to confirm accuracy.

She settled into position. First, selecting a specific point of aim on the target she set elevation and windage to zero and fired five rounds to group. Then, relaxing the weapon she used its scope to check group size. Pleased with an 18 mm grouping, she adjusted the drums to move the group onto the correct 'point of aim'. At 100 metres and 18 mm group would deliver 180 mm at 1000 metres, well within the margin for error on a centre of mass shot.

She reloaded the rifle, chambering a round by hand and attaching a magazine with a further two rounds. Three rounds were fired at the 'point of aim' confirming she was zeroed. Finally, five more rounds were fired with the chronograph fitted to check the muzzle velocity.

The sharpshooter rolled to one side, weapon still on its bipod and pointed at the target. She removed the Kestrel ballistics calculator from her daypack and input data: average muzzle velocity, ammunition grain and type, barrel length, scope height, and zero distance. She was ready.

Andreas's wife visited the safe house; setting out a feast in the kitchen, typically Greek and with enough food to feed three times as many people as it was catered for. The old man refused to leave having slept on the couch. Melissa was convinced he'd deployed half the Cypriot community in Nicosia to keep watch for suspicious activity; no Russian could move that day without being followed. The street outside the safe house was eerily silent; perhaps Andreas designated it a temporary no-go area.

Sam woke on the morning of the operation was mounting. It was 9AM and hours earlier medics started an intravenous drip to wake her up and ensure she was hydrated. Entering the kitchen she hugged Andreas taking the seat next to Melissa and smiling as if nothing had happened. "Are you okay?" She looked at her recruit.

"Am I okay? Am I okay? I don't know what to say Sam, it's confusing, honestly I'd rather you told us how you are and what happened." Melissa was genuinely concerned.

"I feel okay, still a headache but I've felt worse. It's like the day after Sovereigns Parade, Sandhurst, too much alcohol and then even more on top." She tried to laugh but stopped when her head began thumping. "As for what happened, I think it's best we get on a call to Auntie and have that discussion. I'm not sure what happened or why and I don't know how it affects the mission so let's find out in an hour. Is your gear prepared?"

"Yes, there are no issues. I checked zero, and it's all good, batteries are on charge and I packed the kit."

"Can you still do this?" Sam asked her through her cracked lip.

"Yes, definitely."

Sam turned to Andreas. "I think we need to talk old friend. I don't understand how you knew I was here. I didn't want to ask but considering what happened these past two days I hope you don't mind having this discussion."

Andreas looked at Sam, he knew this moment was coming. Melissa knew it too. How in the hell did the old Greek Mafia boss know Auntie? Andreas looked uncomfortable; things were about to get interesting.

"He knows Auntie." Melissa thought getting that out first might make the conversation easier.

Sam shot a look at Andreas. "Is this true?"

"Yes, I have known her fifty years. We met in 1969 before the troubles in 1974, she was here a great deal for ten years." Andreas looked uncomfortable.

Sam pressed. "So how did you know I was here? Were you tasked by Auntie?"

Andreas again with a one-word answer. "Yes."

"Look Andreas, you can either talk now or I can get Auntie on the line and ask her with you in the room. I need to understand the situation; it might have been okay to keep secrets before the Russians descended on us but we have a serious problem that demands we are all on the same page." Sam eyeballed Andreas waiting for a response.

"Hmmm...okay...so, I arranged this safe house, I arranged your gear, I arrange your insertion, exfiltration, medics, I watch for your safety, I follow you from Sovereign Base Area, I keep watch on every street, I listen for gossip in every Taverna. It is my job to keep you safe and, well, I failed.

"Are you saying you work for Auntie?" Sam was incredulous.

"Of course I do, how do you think 'The Hub' operates around the world, Auntie has people everywhere. She doesn't tell you what you don't need to know, I was tasked weeks ago. In fact," Andreas was warming to the story now, "I told her about you when you served here with the United Nations, I put you on Aunties bloody radar screen."

Sam was speechless. Andreas went on describing his role. Stories about his organised criminality were exaggerated and contrived by Auntie as a smokescreen for him to operate in the shadows. Andreas was an underworld facilitator and every task that came was vetted and controlled by Auntie. If she decided someone should be followed or arrested then it was so, if she didn't, the person would disappear under the masquerade of an execution. The new asset would be harvested for intelligence and provided with a new identity.

"Auntie runs Cyprus."

Sam sat stunned. Melissa had been stunned for two days so this was just top-up for her. Sam thought for a few minutes before she asked her next question. She looked Andreas directly in the eye again looking for the slightest 'tell'. "Why does Auntie trust you?"

"Because we were married, 1971 to 1974". The room fell silent, it was Auntie's voice and it came over the intercom fitted to the wall, one supposedly connected to the front door.

"Sam, you are too curious for words." There was silence while the statement sank in.

"You don't need to know any more and it's probably best not to. Andreas and his people are trusted absolutely and are key to completing this mission. First the good news Sam, I thought you might like to know, Peter has been successful in Malaysia and will fly home tomorrow."

Sam was pleased. "And the bad news?"

"There is a link between Peter's mission and your own. It's 'The Lodge' again, or so it seems. They have been on our radar for three years, very shadowy and anonymous, can't seem to find the head of this snake or I could have it cut off. I think 'The Lodge' took you to the Russian Embassy, they found you through a mole somewhere in our organisational eco system. I don't think it was us, but I suspect it was one of the 'member' organisations. I have a team running with it now and hope to track down the culprit soon. Rest assured the mission is not compromised; all the leak got was your travel detail. From there they found you and the rest you know better than I."

"How did they get past you?" Sam directed her question at Andreas.

"No idea but I have closed down the circle of involvement and influence from my people in relation to this mission, only three including myself and Nicos know you are here and why." Andreas looked certain.

"Who is the third?" Sam asked the obvious question.

"His second wife." Auntie answered.

"How does all of this connect to the mission?" Sam asked, hiding her surprise.

Auntie was slow to respond, considering her answer carefully. "At the moment we know the Turkish Government is alienated. Regional oil rights were carved up between Cyprus, Israel, Egypt and Syria. We also know these countries are separately and, jointly supported by EU, USA, Russia, Qatar and Greece, specifically the latter because of its obvious ethnic connection. We think the Turks are trying to create leverage and 'The Lodge' are a means to that end."

"It was the Russians who had me, why would they come after us when our interests are aligned." Sam was confused.

"It wasn't the Russians who had you, it was 'The Lodge'. It might have been a Russian team but nothing to do with SVR RF or any other Russian Agency, in fact they are trying to find out who commandeered their Embassy and used it to interrogate you, we suspect it links to the Turkish Government. If the Turks need help to disrupt solidarity against them, they will stop at nothing and work with anyone that advances their cause. They must insert themselves in the mix to claim what they believe is rightly theirs before the oil and gas start flowing. Anybody who partners them, in this case 'The Lodge' stands to benefit from massive potential revenues."

Andreas added, "We don't know what the Turks plan to do or how capturing you helps their objectives. It's shaken them to learn you are here."

Auntie took over again. "We believe questioning you was speculative; they know they are being hunted after Peter took down Roger Cross and a major source of funding coming from there. They are nervous and whoever our mole is, they leaked our Cyprus activities in outline but without detail. I'm certain they don't know the nature of your mission and we have already started feeding misinformation into a wider framework covering your trail and to flush this person out."

"So, we are proceeding as planned?"

"Yes. Andreas has been briefed on the mission and is your means to infiltrate and exfiltrate the north. We will continue researching what is motivating 'The Lodge' and disrupt them any way possible. It may be that some mission parameters change later but for now we proceed with the plan. Everything you need has been prepared so, good luck." The intercom clicked.

Sam turned to Melissa "It's our job to assassinate a Ukrainian oligarch during a public event in North Cyprus tomorrow late afternoon. The Ukrainian plans to arm a terror cell based in TRNC committed to causing maximum disruption in the north/south relationship. If the Ukrainian can force and control peace negotiations, he can ensure oil and gas is on the table for discussion. His company is aligned to TRNC government and stands to benefit if an agreement is reached. It's a simple plot, many will die if he succeeds and the Island will be plunged into terror for a long time during protracted negotiations. He won't care because once the deal is complete it's worth billions to him.

Melissa looked calm, she had created scenarios for taking shot in her mind and now the mission was clear she was more focussed. Sam had deliberately left out the name of the Ukrainian to ensure the sharpshooter remained as emotionally detached as possible.

They were due to move out before midnight and be in position for the shot at 12:30 the following day, a Saturday. The target would arrive at 14:30 and become available on a raised podium from 15:00 with a window of sixteen minutes.

Chapter Five - The Green Line

Andreas took the keys to the Landrover and told the two girls he would wait in the vehicle with Nicos once they loaded the gear. They packed light since there was an eight-mile hike through mountains close to the Abbey. They would approach from the East, climbing up to the ridge from a tourist car park. Following the ridge would bring them to the planned position overlooking Bellapais Abbey.

They drove from the safe house toward the United Nations base at the abandoned Nicosia International Airport, this was the disputed territory. They passed through a checkpoint manned by Argentinians wearing the renown blue beret, Andreas waving an Identity card as they drove. They followed the main road that cut through land owned by UK Government on the right and the UN Blue Beret Camp on the left. They passed a NAAFI retail concession shop, turning right after the All Saints Church which was part of the old British Community there.

The lights dropped as they pulled into a car park for what was once a British Primary School, now an administrative area for the remaining British Contingent staff, a gym where Sam played volleyball while serving here and the Sergeants' Mess.

"Vince will take you the rest of the way, he is a good man, I trust him, you will be okay." Andreas embraced the two women, helped cross-load their two rucksacks to the waiting vehicle and he left.

The vehicle bore the registration UNF 45 which Sam knew as 'United Nations Force 45'. Vince was a Warrant Officer, regularly travelling the Green Line conducting inspections and audits. They were travelling from south to north courtesy of the UN. Sam thought most probably without official sanction.

Vince was not talkative, he had good reason to be quiet, the less he knew about his passengers the more he could plead ignorance if things went wrong. Andreas called him the week prior, asking a favour and he could not refuse. This 'favour', late at night and driving the Green Line was highly irregular and could risk Vince's pension should things go awry. He spoke to mates at the British Contingent in Sector Two, explaining he had a couple of friends from UK and wanted them to have a great tourist experience of the Green line. His passage was arranged under the radar by his contacts and the Warrant Officer on duty that evening was briefed. Sector Two covered thirty kilometres from Mammari in the west to Kaimakli in the east cutting through central Nicosia.

"Are the Toyotas still there?" Sam tried to make casual conversation.

"Oh yes, still there, it's just the pigeon shit gets deeper every year. I go count them once every six months."

Sam referred to an underground garage, part of a car dealership with more than thirty cars, technically brand new but abandoned since 1974 during the Turkish invasion and subsequent evacuation of the area. The cars now inside the disputed territory of the Green Line, could not be touched by their owners. The collection of Corolla's and Celica's all had thirty-seven delivery miles on the clock and had been vandalised by youth's sneaking into the buffer zone over the years.

They drove past Cypriot Checkpoints on the right and TRNC minefields and their observation posts on the left. Opposing forces were separated by a buffer zone that fluctuated between a hundred and five hundred metres wide here. This section of the buffer zone had British Army manned UN checkpoints in the middle of 'no man's land'. They approached the UN barrier at Ledra; Vince flashed his lights for them to be waved through.

"Not many people get to see this part of the Green Line." Sam directed her comment at Melissa.

They crossed the base re-entering the Green line through another UN barrier on the opposite side. They travelled through narrow streets separating the heart of Nicosia, one of the last borders in Europe and certainly, after the Berlin Wall the last disputed territory of its kind. The going was slow, the streets and poorly maintained buildings either side had only UN patrol traffic in more than fifty years. The area was crumbling, a dangerous time capsule.

They crawled along, Vince stopped momentarily to allow his passengers to look left and right at the narrowest point where Cypriot and TRNC soldiers faced one another from opposite sides of the street, separated by a three-metre gap. It was the strangest sight to Melissa who noticed the United Nations Soldier standing watch five metres away. All three soldiers armed, two prepared to kill each other, vowed enemies and the other, separating them.

"Discipline in the TRNC Army is brutal," Vince explained, "In 1985 I was on a NATO Exercise in Turkey and we were told the Officers could beat and even summarily execute their soldiers, they had a quota for it. I was never sure if it was a true story, quite often these tales are urban myth and legend. Anyway, ladies, it has been a pleasure, but this is where I say goodbye."

They were alone, in the Green Line and an eerie silence settled as the engine sound disappeared with the taillights of UNF 45 around another tight corner. Andreas explained he'd arranged CCTV shutdown on this stretch, apparently controlling the contract to maintain surveillance equipment too. He instructed them to stay put until someone came for them.

After five minutes, noise came from a house on the opposite side of the alley, a back door opened, a flashlight summoned them. Sam had one hand on her holstered Glock and she knew the stiletto was strapped to her left thigh if she needed stealth. She smiled, recalling the look on Peter's face when she sunk her knife into the Russian's neck at the Submarine Base saving his life. He looked shocked and terrified at the same time. She had that effect on people.

They entered an old house, abandoned since the invasion with dinner plates still on the table. Whatever food was in the house in 1974 it was gone now; rodents and cockroaches would have devoured that in a few days. Sam saw a fridge and curiosity overcame her, so she opened it; inside was a 1974 trademark glass bottle of coke, cap firmly fixed although the colour of the labels and contents had faded over time, next to this was a bottle of Zivania. She looked to see where their guide was and surreptitiously removed the distilled grape pomace alcohol highly prized by the Greeks, tucking it into her rucksack with Andreas in mind.

The woman was a Turkish Cypriot, another one of Aunties network and owner of a kebab shop in North Nicosia's main commercial centre. She led them through the house and out the front door where they climbed into a pickup truck, the doors held open by a Turkish Soldier carrying an MPT-76 rifle. The woman kissed the soldier briefly on the lips, thanking him before shutting the truck door and driving off. She laughed as they drove away "Men are so easy to manipulate." Sam and Melissa only smiled.

They drove two miles deeper into the north of the city, past Haydar Pasha Mosque, formerly St Catherine's church before the invasion. The 14th Century gothic style Christian church had been augmented since the invasion with minarets and bolted on architecture to facilitate Islam.

They pulled up outside the woman's kebab shop, it had closed, the street was silent as it should be at 3 AM. The woman led them inside and turned on the lights of a back room to the restaurant. "We have four hours before you must leave." They ate an early breakfast of eggs, toast and some spicy beef sausage. Since it would be a long day there was no way to know when the next meal would come so they ate everything offered to them. After food, they rested, already packed and prepared for the mission.

They lay on the cool floor in the kitchen with cushions to prop their heads up. Melissa couldn't sleep, the adrenaline would not stop flowing, her excitement at fever pitch and her senses too heightened. Sam, a veteran of these situations fell into a light sleep still repairing from the beating at Igor's hands.

At 7AM two battered pickup trucks arrived and they were back on the road dressed in hiker clothing. With the rucksacks, one of which concealed the folded down rifle, they appeared to be a couple of tourists hiking the mountains. The trucks would drop them at Taskent Genclik Park renown for two massive flags painted on the south slope of Besparmaklar Mountain facing the Cypriots. The massive Turkish and TRNC flags are accompanied by the words "how happy is the one who says 'I am a Turk'". The tourist attraction offered perfect cover for their mission and it would be a simple matter to slip away from the tourists, cross the ridge to the north facing slope and get to their planned vantage point over Bellapais Abbey.

They were dropped at 9AM with two hours remaining for the hike and a further hour to set up the shot. One of the pickup trucks would remain in the tourist car park and Sam was handed its keys. Ahmet, the leader of the group was a man of few words. "We will be in the local village five miles from here, any trouble, we come back. You get in car when finished...drive the way we came, we find you." He smiled a toothless grin, bowed, touching his forehead as a sign of respect and walked to the second pickup truck.

Sam felt it was time to offer more detail on the mission, she handed a photograph of the target to Melissa as they talked and walked. She explained that 'The Network' recommended two women for the mission. They would be unlikely suspects of assassination by long range sniper rifle, it was a discipline dominated by men. Added to that was the fact that Sam had unique knowledge of the area, its people and history over the past fifty years. 'The Network assessed Melissa had the benefit of being completely anonymous and far too young to be an assassin. As long they had no mission specific gear on them, a routine stop, and search would conclude they were a couple of tourists who simply got lost. If the authorities traced Sam they might identify her as a serving British Officer and therefore a NATO member just like Turkey.

"What do we do with the gear?" Melissa asked all the right questions.

"If we are spotted before the shot, we dump it as best we can and pray deniability and my connection with British Military and UN will be enough for the Turkish authorities to avoid a confrontation beyond simple questioning. After the shot I have coordinates for a small cave only five minutes away where we leave everything military by nature for it to be collected later by some friends. Then we extract using our cover, two tourists, lost in the mountains."

"And if we get captured with the gear?" Melissa looked at Sam expecting a solution.

"Then we're screwed, will have to fight, escape or we disappear to a place even SIS won't find us." Sam shrugged "Sorry, no way to sugar coat that."

Melissa thought for a moment "Best not get caught then."

Chapter Six - The Shot

Hiking to the vantage point overlooking Bellapais Abbey was simple and they arrived ten minutes ahead of time. Sam used satellite and aerial photography to select the right position from which to take the shot. They overlooked the Abbey which was about 800 metres away. Melissa had decided a head shot was too risky given the distance so she would be aiming at the centre of mass. The distance from target would help in their extraction, any closer might risk compromise.

The Ukrainian businessman would be attending a ceremony at the Abbey to memorialise three dead Turkish Airmen who crashed their helicopter nearby months earlier. The great and good of the TRNC would attend a service at which the President would be the key speaker. There was a window of at least five minutes during speeches when they would get a clear shot of Vladimir Chechenko, the Ukrainian Oligarch.

Melissa set up her rifle out of sight, they were nestled among large boulders, she rested the weapon on its bipod and removed the Kestrel confirming the remaining ballistic information: temperature - 26 degrees, barometric pressure 1024 bar and altitude 275 metres. The Leica Vectors told her she was 814 metres to target area. She fitted a suppressor and crawled forward to prepare her position leaving the rifle out of sight.

She needed to be comfortable and moved smaller rocks at the firing position shaping the ground to her body. She tried the position for a few minutes and satisfied brought out the Leupold spotting scope. She was surveying the target now, ensuring she could acquire, track and make the shot given her angle, distance and perspective. The final thing she did was to identify foliage and flags which along with the Kestrel would allow her to judge wind speed and direction.

It was nearing time and Sam joined Melissa to 'spot' through the Leupold, Sam would give Melissa a green light to take the shot when she was satisfied that a kill was possible and there would be no collateral damage. Kyrenia town was in the distance and few farms sat between. A stray bullet would cause a severe diplomatic incident.

They watched VIPs arrive and assemble in the courtyard. A row of flags partially obliterated Melissa's view but given the window it would be possible to get the shot away. The wind was light so she dialled in one click of the scope deflection drum to establish a start point, she could adjust more later depending on the behaviour of the wind.

"I see him, exiting a black limo now." Melissa began tracking her target as he emerged from a vehicle, aiming always at his centre of mass. She waited for a green light from Sam.

"Confirmed, it's definitely him." Sam concurred

Vladimir walked up the stairs to the VIP seating podium, he was directly behind the President.

They waited.

The VIPs mingled on the stage, still no clear path to the target and now more than four people were in the sight picture. Melissa cursed, "the flags are moving, wind is picking up." She was nervous now, the fact that she was about to end someone's life had become very real in the last few hours, that she could miss and kill someone else was a terrifying notion. Melissa had started to think about the person as a human, with family, children, grandchildren even. It was exactly what her father told her would happen. She remembered her father recalling his own memories as a sniper. He would always say it wasn't him killing them, he was just a finger on a trigger, the bullet is killing for the person who ordered him to take the shot. He always said, "Maintain discipline and emotionally detach yourself."

She dialed in a further two clicks on the deflection drum to account for the increased wind strength. She breathed, it was Sam's responsibility, she ordered her to take the shot, they signed a document releasing Melissa from responsibility at Brize Norton. The Foreign Secretary signed it too, Melissa saw the name of the man they were killing on the document. She worried she didn't have a copy of the document, but Sam assured her that its existence would not be denied should the matter come to court.

Sam also said they would be disavowed if captured. She started questioning, justifying and her imagination ran wild - if the lawyers came after her in UK and the government denied they sanctioned the shot, she would spend the rest of her life in prison.

"Oh shit." It was Melissa and Sam could tell she was panicking.

"Calm down." The stern tone in Sam's voice surprised Melissa. "How you feel is completely normal, it's time to get your head in the game. If I have to take that shot it could be a disaster, at least if you take it, we have an almost certain chance of killing a man who is about to finance a murder spree."

"Is he really though?" Melissa sounded desperate now.

"Get a grip, Melissa, of course he is. Look, if you are questioning what you are doing then I am fine with it but it's my finger on that trigger not yours, this is my responsibility and my call. Are we clear?"

"Okay."

"Now, take the bloody shot."

Melissa settled back down, remembering her father and his lessons at Bisley. She focussed, gathering all her concentration, the scope was set to 15x magnification which was enough without risking movement affecting sight picture. She was in a bubble now, no noise, no movement and she felt no discomfort. As she exhaled there was a natural pause in her breathing and the crosshairs settled on her point of aim.

"On."

Sam watched through the Leupold. "Standby."

"Standby."

"Send it."

The shot was released, the man fell to the ground, it was a kill. The shot reverberated around the mountain, echoing, the wind had dropped, silence followed, below the scene was frozen in time.

Melissa had her finger on the trigger and was about to pull when she heard the shot, her cross hairs were on the target, but he didn't drop. It was the President that dropped instead.

"Christ, what happened?" Sam asked as she watched the President of TRNC hit the ground with half his head missing.

"It wasn't us, someone else just took out the President." Melissa was in a blind panic.

"Calm down, you haven't killed anyone." Sam reassured her.

She reached for the Leica's with a wider field of view than the Leupold and scanned either side of their position. She was looking for another sniper. Someone had taken the shot; someone just took out the President and she needed to find them now. She focussed, there was something unusual about five hundred metres from their location, something white contrasting with the rocky background.

Sam took the Leupold again and trained it on the white spot. It was a man and the white was his T-Shirt barely visible through an open combat jacket. He was hiding behind rocks so wouldn't be seen from the Abbey, Sam could see him only because they were at an oblique angle.

The assassin looked like a Cypriot and had the sniper rifle in hand, he wasn't panicking and appeared to be waiting. Two men helped him to his feet and lifting his equipment, one looked like a Turk, she couldn't see the other. The Turk picked up a rucksack and in doing so caught sight of Sam. They camouflaged their frontage but were exposed either side to observers, the man was pointing to their position. The assassin was led away, the Turk was picking his way through the boulder field toward them. Sam could see he carried a sub-machine gun and wore a hunter's jacket. It would take him less than three minutes to get to them.

"Melissa, I need you to stop that man and force him into cover, but do not hit him." They must avoid becoming implicated in the assassination of the President and needed to minimise the forensic and ballistic evidence that they were here. Killing or injuring the Turk might leave a useful bullet head to be swapped with the slug in the Presidents head later leading back to a UK sanctioned hit.

It took one shot, a few inches from the man's foot to send him scurrying behind a rock formation. Melissa sent two more in his direction ricocheting close enough, warning him not to stick any part of his body out.

"Pack up and follow me." Sam drew her Glock, passing a second one to Melissa as the sharpshooter dismantled the rifle, carefully packing it into her rucksack. "Get that down the back of your trousers, like in the movies and tighten the belt, there is no safety catch. Can't have you shooting your own arse." It wasn't time for humour, but Melissa smiled to herself, feeling confident in the presence of her mentor, the adrenaline was flooding her bloodstream, a familiar and welcome feeling.

They hit the trail headed for the ridge that was nine hundred and fifty metres away. Sam looked back at the Abbey but without the benefit of a scope or binoculars all she could see was the pandemonium of police sirens and people running in all directions. They had to run, out of the corner of her eye Sam could see the assassin and his team making their way up the same slope five hundred metres away to their left. They needed to get clear and figure out what the hell was going on. Something about one the assistants felt familiar; he didn't look Turkish.

They reached the ridge line crossing a rough farm trail running its length. Looking left again Sam could see the two men joined by a third colleague who must have summoned the courage to run from the position Melissa had pinned him down in. They got into a pickup on the trail and drove at speed toward the women.

Sam knew they couldn't have seen them; she had carefully picked a route with cover so they must be making their escape. She shouted for Melissa to take cover and took a vantage point three metres high on a rocky outcrop overlooking the track.

Sam took out her cell phone Bluetooth pairing with the Iridium sat phone to acquire a data signal, there was no way to use standard GSM; it would reveal their position to the authorities when reviewing cell tower data later. She hit speed dial for 'The Hub' on the sat phone and waited while the lines connected.

Sam waited a couple of minutes till the pickup was close enough. She stood and took as many snaps as she could using the thirteen megapixel phone camera, 'The Hub' would crop and enhance the images later. She had a plain view of the two front passengers, one of who she recognised as the assassin and as it drew level, she hoped got the man in the rear but didn't have sight of him.

The driver saw her and the vehicle came to a sudden halt. Sam drew the Glock and emptied a full magazine into the cargo area of the vehicle, still reluctant to kill anyone until she understood what the hell was going on. The pickup truck accelerated again spinning down the track and drifting through the bend, the occupants needing to avoid confrontation to maintain their own cover.

Sam stashed both phones in the rucksack, there would be time to review the images later once 'The Hub' had analysed them. They picked through a boulder field on the south facing side of the Mountain getting closer to the top end of the massive painted flags, Sam insisted they slow to hiking pace and avoid drawing attention to themselves. They made their way steadily downwards looking just like tourists.

The helicopter thundered across the ridge line. The engine and rotor noise were masked on the other side of the mountain now roared in the open. It was Turkish Army surveillance; Sam could see the underslung camera systems 'live feeding' their operations centre. The TRNC Army backed by the Turkish Armed Forces would be mobilised now and gathering information to help the police track the assassin. The women were in the area and therefore already 'persons of interest'.

The helicopter co-pilot spotted the two women and circled approximately a hundred metres away, making sure to get a clear picture for their operations centre. Sam knew hiding or obscuring their faces would compound the problem and while the helicopter couldn't land in the boulder field they would find a way to intercept them if necessary.

It was a calculated risk and Sam based it on knowing the camera system already had their faces and would be running recognition algorithms. She stood on a rock in the open and gave the best tourist wave to the pilots she could muster. The pilot and co-pilot watched for a moment, waved back without smiling and the helicopter swung away to continue its patrol.

"They've been told to capture as much video and images as they can, focussing on vehicles, faces, and anything that moves. They've gone because they don't suspect us yet and have to gather more intelligence before its shelf life runs out. I would give us ten minutes before they pull my military service record and we make it onto the list for follow up."

"What if they Google me and find out about Bisley?" It was a fair question.

"It was your first time, not much on you, Auntie has deleted everything."

"Seriously? You mean the results?" Melissa was offended.

"Yes, everything, even gave you different parents, we couldn't have you traced back to your real father. Anyone looking into you will just see a University Graduate travelling Europe"

The anonymity was comforting, especially the connection to Bisley and its inference that she was a marksman. On the other hand, it felt strange to have her life deleted.

"Don't worry, its temporary, you can have it all back when we get home, unless you want to stay in this profession. Something to consider rather than worry about what happens if we are captured."

"What happens if we get caught." Melissa looked worried.

"Don't worry, we won't." Sam was sure she could work out for herself what might happen to two women captured by Turkish forces and suspected of assassinating a State leader. There was no point worrying Melissa with honesty that added no value.

They were almost at the bottom of the flags and nearing the first group of tourists walking around the perimeter, Sam bid them good-day, hoping the pickup truck Ahmet left them would start, thumbing the keys nervously in her pocket. Sam looked back toward the ridge and watched hundreds of soldiers descending the mountain, they had fanned out across the slope, walking slowly, and were searching for evidence.

They got into the pickup which started first time, they stowed the gear in a compartment below the rear bench seat that Ahmet had shown them. Sam kept one rucksack making sure it contained civilian gear, their map, compass, water and some spare shirts for changing.

They drove along the rough trails leading away from the car park taking the same route as Ahmet brought them. It was downhill with Nicosia in the distant background. They rounded a corner and drove into a police and military checkpoint; they were in it with no chance to reverse or turn back.

"Shit." Melissa was falling apart. "What do we do?"

"We maintain our cover and keep smiling." Sam responded a little too curtly given the lack of the other woman's experience. She had no time for people who panicked, being of the view it wasn't going to improve the situation.

"Hi Officer." Sam was flirting now. "What's going on?"

"Passports please." The Officer, a Major, was serious, had a job to do and wasn't going to be distracted.

"Don't have them here Sir." Sam was telling the truth. "We are staying at the Savoy hotel in Kyrenia, guests of the owner. Our husbands are here for gambling at the casino and we just borrowed a vehicle to come here and look around."

"The guard looked suspiciously at the two women. Who is the owner?" He asked the question and Sam realised instantly that the officer must know who it was.

"It's Ahmet, or, to his friends 'Rocky'. I used to stay years ago at the Pine Bay Club further down the coast, before he started building the Savoy, I have been a friend of the family for, oooooh ten years at least."

The Officer laughed, "Arsenal fan" he looked at the women, investigated the back seat and stood to the side to let them pass. "Please carry your passports for the next few days." He said it as Sam pulled away.

They heard the sonic boom and looked up to the sky, recognising the F-16 Fighting Falcon immediately. There were at least fifty of the aircraft streaking overhead heading for the border. She watched the aircraft cross into Cypriot airspace. It was a prelude to war, the Turks were pissed and clearly believed the Cypriots were behind the whole issue. The aircraft were gone at least 7 minutes before appearing again passing over the old Nicosia Airport, home of the UN.

### Chapter Seven - Despair

Sam returned to the driver's seat and continued driving toward the village Ahmet described, expecting to rendezvous soon and exfiltrate to the south. They rounded a corner a mile from the meeting place and saw a police car blocking the road, the officers were out of the vehicle and, on recognising Sam and Melissa both drew pistols.

"Shit, we have just become suspects." Sam looked at Melissa and shouted. "Brace for impact."

Sam gunned the pickup toward the police officers hoping they would get out of the way. One was shooting wildly, inexperience and panic causing his aim to be scattered and ineffective. The Officer dropped his pistol and was glued to the spot, unable to move. Sam swerved at the last moment and the car hit the officer who slid off the bonnet, landing in a nearby field. The impact didn't kill him, but he wouldn't be walking for a few days. The second officer, quick witted managed to dive out of the way as the escaping pickup slammed into the front side of the police vehicle spinning it as it slid by. The force of the shunt deployed both airbags in the pickup truck and driver with passenger had their faces blasted by the explosion, their visibility gone. Sam knew they were clear of the checkpoint but without visibility she couldn't guide the vehicle and it slammed into a wall.

Sam was out, ripping up the rear seat compartment and retrieving their gear Melissa only half a step behind her mentor. They were running while struggling to get their arms into the rucksack straps which they tightened, racing for the village. There was no pursuit, yet, the officer that avoided their pickup had got to his feet and was checking his colleague. The women kept running, the village in sight.

Sam looked right and could see a convoy of four police vehicles coming into view, they were on an intercept course along the road and would meet them at the crossroads ahead. There was no margin for error, they had to get through the crossroads or be cut off from the village and the safety of Ahmet and his team. They picked up the pace, sprinting, trying to outrun the police cars. A farm truck was approaching from the opposite direction to the police, meandering, its body rolling from the load it carried. More pickup trucks were racing up the hill from the village. Everyone would meet at the crossroads.

The two women, feet barely hitting the ground, used the downhill to their advantage and with four hundred metres to go. It was going to be close.

Police sirens were blaring as the convoy of Seat patrol cars, engines labouring were closing fast. The lead driver could see that the women would arrive at the crossroads roughly the same time he did and was determined to cut them off. The rear of the car was smashing into bushes and sections of fencing, the driver didn't care and was getting every bit of power out of the vehicle. He had three hundred metres to go to reach the crossroads. The women were still a hundred metres away, the farm truck and pickups were closing the gap.

Both women were exceptionally fit, not just gym fit but, hard as nails, carrying weight, fit. With twenty metres to go Sam knew they would make it but once the police turned the corner, they would have a clear run to catch them before they reached the pickup trucks that she hoped was Ahmet.

They sprinted over the crossroads; police cars were on them as the farm truck came from the opposite direction slamming the lead car backwards. The farm truck was mangled. The women continued their run toward the pickup trucks approaching from the village, Sam could now see the lead vehicle was driven by Ahmet.

There was no way through the crossroads by vehicle, but some police officers were attempting to climb over the bonnets and roofs of the accident scene to continue the chase on foot. As they got to Ahmet there was gunfire and the bullets were ricocheting around them. Sam looked back and watched as two officers were jumping from the roof of the farm truck that was now on fire, they were heading toward them, pistols waving and screaming like mad men. Sam and Melissa threw their gear into the truck and dived in as it turned.

Demir, the front seat passenger, had leaped out of the vehicle returning fire, trying to cover while Ahmet turned in the tight lane, the other trucks reversed the way they had come. Ahmet couldn't reverse, his truck had no wing mirrors and the carry-boy canopy roof on the back had a blacked out rear window. He had to turn and was vulnerable in doing so. The front passenger door was open and Demir tried to enter as Ahmet completed his turn. Sam heard automatic machine gun fire and watched the man fall beside the car before he could get in, she exited the vehicle immediately and began firing in the direction of the police officers making sure not to target them.

She shouted above the noise of the gun fight, changing magazine as she did. "Melissa, get him in the car."

Melissa had already exited and was crawling to where the man lay. She dragged his considerable weight slowly to the door. Ahmet climbed onto the back seat and grabbed Demir by his jacket lapels, hauling him into the vehicle. She felt for a pulse, it was weak but the man was still alive. Melissa ripped open his jacket looking for the wounds. The two bullets embedded in his right shoulder would not be a problem but the one in the man's gut would kill him if they didn't get him to a hospital quickly.

Sam opened up with a fresh magazine, aiming for the fuel tank at the back of the Farm Truck. If she could hit that it would add accelerant to the flames at the front of the vehicle even if the bullet didn't ignite the contents itself. She changed magazine again, dropping the expended one from its housing onto the floor, one hand on the pistol grip and the other steadying her aim at the bottom of the magazine housing. The police had taken cover, her suppression fire had been effective. She emptied the magazine carefully into the Farm Truck, from fifty metres, she needed some luck if she was to be successful.

But luck was on her side and a river of fuel was leaking from the tank, it wouldn't take long to reach the flames. Sam ran for the front passenger's seat and joined Ahmet still firing up the road out of the window to keep the police officers' heads low.

Ahmet gunned them toward the village and behind them the farm truck exploded, scattering people in all directions. There were two more explosions, probably the other vehicles. They made their escape. Sam looked to the back seat and the carnage of Melissa, covered in blood trying to stop the abdomen wound from bleeding, all the while the young woman was talking to Demir, reassuring him. The bullet must have nicked an artery because the flow of bright red, oxygenated blood wouldn't stop despite the pressure of bandages she pressed down. Sam leaned back and checked for a pulse. She looked at Melissa who was holding the man and shook her head. He was dead and with no hope of resuscitation, he had bled out and there was nothing anyone could have done.

Sam looked at her young charge, she didn't cry, continuing to cradle the man who was roughly the same age as her own father. Sam passed a jacket from her rucksack so Melissa could cover him. She carried on holding the dead man.

Ahmet drove for The East Coast. He eventually pulled off the road and drove into a small village stopping at a farm on the opposite side. He never said a word, left the car and knocked the front door. A man, roughly late thirties answered the door and the two spoke for a minute or more. The man sank to his knees, crying and holding Ahmet's legs, it was the dead man's brother.

The pickup with Ahmet's men following them had got out and removed their caps as they made their way to collect their fallen comrade. Melissa sat cradling the dead man, regret painted on her face. A woman ran from the farm, screaming, crying, and looked at Melissa, who shook her head in sadness tears welling in her eyes. The woman buried her face into her husband's legs as he lay in the car, she cried for a few minutes before Ahmet and his men gently carried her back into the house.

Ahmet and the man's brother returned to take the dead man from Melissa. At first, she didn't want to let go, in a state of shock having seen the widow's grief. Sam spoke gently. "They need to bury him by morning Melissa, it's their way. They have to prepare him; you did everything you could."

The widow came out of the farm, she was still crying when she spoke to Ahmet. He pointed and the woman approached Melissa. She hugged the younger woman both weeping, the widow spoke and kissed her cheek before going back into the house.

They got back into the pickup without speaking and drove off, the three of them maintaining silence for half an hour before Sam finally asked what the widow had said to Melissa.

"She thanked me for trying to save her husband and comforting him at the end." Her voice trailed off, she was done crying, all that remained was sadness as she stared out of the window at the night passing by.

Ahmet recovered and started talking "We cannot go to the Sovereign Base Area or United Nations. It's too dangerous, checkpoints everywhere, they have your description and picture all over the place...hers too." Ahmet pointed at Melissa. "I have been told to get you to safe house and wait further instructions from some angry woman who I don't like too much" Ahmet looked pissed "I can tell you, she speak to me like I am an idiot and she threatened me also."

He was referring to Auntie, they both knew it.

Ahmet's phone rang. "Yes Ma'am, I have them, I said I would not fail, Ahmet does not fail, when he say he do a thin......" He was cut short.

"Yes Ma'am." He paused. "Yes Ma'am...Ok Ma'am." He looked at Sam, "Here, she wants to speak with you."

Auntie's voice was calm, "Who took that shot?"

"It was another team, I sent you images."

"Running them through diagnostics, should have something in ten minutes, destroy your cell phone, anything with a signal in that area will be tracked, destroy the iridium sat phone too, do it now. I will catch up with you later - Oh, and Sam?"

"Yes Auntie?"

"Good job so far, but this is a total disaster from a UK and regional political perspective, it's not of our making although you might think it was to hear the spineless toe-rags in Westminster running for the hills. Let's sort this mess out and get you both home. How's Melissa?"

"She's a professional." Melissa couldn't hear Auntie but knew she was the point of discussion, she felt proud, no longer afraid but the sadness wouldn't lift.

Sam took out the Glock, smashed both phones with the butt, removing the sim cards which she bent back and forth till they snapped across the gold chip. Ahmet stopped the vehicle at her request and she fed the broken parts into a storm drain listening to make sure they hit water at the bottom.

The safe house was an impressive luxury home, a huge villa with electric gates that swung open as they approached, a two hundred meter drive obscured the buildings from the road. As they entered the courtyard a set of garage doors opened and they drove in, the doors shut, and they were invisible.

There was food waiting but first they had to shower, it had been a bloody, long, hot, and dirty day.

### Chapter Eight - Revelation

It was dark and long after midnight. The man walked alone wearing a trenchcoat even though summer was on its way he still felt cold especially at this time of the morning. His home in the Bosphorus would be much warmer by now, he would never acclimate to the UK's damp and cold weather. He walked beside the Canal at its closest point to Regent's Park, it was the only place his asset would meet. He disliked using the same rendezvous for every meeting, it was unprofessional but there was no choice; he was unable to make demands until he had greater leverage. He was annoyed, things would change and when they did Paul would finally know his place and they would meet somewhere else.

He arrived early, it was normal for there to be nobody around at this hour, even the Police didn't come down here through the night. The canal boats were moored in their officially sanctioned places, well away from the meeting venue and so this stretch of Regents Canal was as lonely as you could get for Central London at any time of the day. He lit a cigarette, waiting impatiently for his asset to arrive. When he did, it was obviously Paul, his familiar footsteps had a metallic scraping from the heel and toe protectors that reduced wear on the leather soles. It was old fashioned, pretentious and it annoyed the hell out of Nick, who could always hear him coming before he saw him.

They greeted one another with a handshake.

"Nick, it's good to see you."

"Good to see you too, Paul."

Nick dropped his cigarette butt, squashing it with the toe of his right shoe to extinguish the embers. He looked at his asset, "Why were those two women there?"

"I didn't know until after it went down, my information assumed someone was tracking 'your lot' and were in Cyprus. I only heard rumours after the Blake operation in Malaysia but nothing that is consistent with this scenario. They weren't taking down your shooter, in fact, from what I hear from the current intelligence picture, they were taking out Vladimir Chechenko."

"Why?"

"I don't know but I think he's planning to arm Turkish Cypriots, the same ones wanting Cyprus to remain divided."

Nick considered this for a moment. "Vladimir must have got in the way of something serious for UK Government to sanction a kill. It's suspicious that both hits coincided like they did."

"Gentlemen...good morning." It was a woman's voice, stepping from the shadows and pointing a pistol squarely at Nick. A surprise entrance always added an element of drama to the moment when you drew a weapon on someone, at least this was Auntie's view and it seemed to impress the two men, their hands raised.

"Paul Jones, SIS, I've heard about you, nothing good I'm afraid...bit of a sycophant. Is that correct Simon?"

Simon Collins walked from the shadows with three agents. They wore black plain clothes. "He's a traitor now as well, he's all yours."

She smiled "You hear that Paul? Your boss just offered me a gift. Any idea what that means for you?" Auntie walked slowly forward and stood less than a metre from Paul pointing her pistol at his forehead.

"You can take this one Simon." She nodded at Nick "You will be disappearing, but I am sure we will hear about your adventure." Nick was sweating, he knew what this meant.

"I have you Paul. I usually sit back and let others take out their own trash. This time...it's personal." Auntie walked around Paul, his fear was rising, and she could sense it. "Your boss disavowed you, until a few minutes ago you were SIS, now you don't exist."

"I want a lawyer."

Auntie chuckled, long enough to amplify the terror in Paul's mind. "You don't need a lawyer. I already checked, you signed a last will and testament five years ago, even as we speak the police are visiting your wife with the sad, sad news of your death Tomorrow your Will becomes public record and your wife will grieve and move on, for the sake of the children."

Auntie pursed her lips and moved closer to his face, gun still pointed.

"A few years from now, Sarah and Joshua will have a new daddy, a real man, not a traitor like you. The pain of loss will become bearable over time and eventually...if you are lucky, you might just get a mention at Christmas."

"You can't do this. There are laws protecting me from you." He was shaking with fear now. "Please..." he pleaded.

"Please?" Auntie snarled, "You...coke head, never been in the field, jeopardising agents to fund your addiction...and you say, 'Please'." Auntie circled him again. "I don't lose my temper much but you touched my one and only nerve. I am so pissed off with you Paul." She spat his name.

She waited, "I'm going to offer you two options. Option one, that I send you from here to a place deep underground in the Embankment, once there some friends of mine will join you. My doctor will be first and he will pump you with so many drugs, ecstasy and terror will fight for control over your brain. It will feel like every nightmare you ever had hitting you constantly. I think you might like it." She walked closer now, Paul was sobbing, any thought of reaching for the gun dissolved with his trembling hands. "Shhhhh, let me finish." She straightened.

"After a few hours of that I'll introduce you to an Iranian friend who worked for the Shah, I got him out of Tehran in 1984, he was being tortured, had a great deal of experience. He'll make what Igor did to Sam look like beauty therapy and a day at the spa. Once he finishes his work the best anthropologist won't recognise you as human being. Don't worry though Paul, you won't die." She carried on circling like a shark circling its prey.

Paul bowed his head. "Can I take Option 2 please?"

"Clever boy, I knew you would see it my way." She walked away leaving Paul to be picked up from the floor by her agents.

Her voice faded, "They always show respect in the end."

Chapter Nine - Varosha

Sam, Melissa and Ahmet sat around the dining table; it had been a lengthy conference call with 'The Hub' planning next steps. Auntie wanted to speak to them with updates from the interrogation of the mole and his handler.

"Let me summarise then." It was Auntie and she had people in her office. "The situation is worse than before; we have a dead head of state and despite our having nothing to do with it, the PM thinks we should have stopped the assassination. The Turkish Armed Forces are mobilising en mass and, judging by their rhetoric, this time they will not be seeking a fair slice of territory for the TRNC - they want everything, fully intending to remove all Cypriots from the island, sending them to Greece. They are talking about a Guantanamo style relationship with the UK at the SBAs." She went quiet.

"This means a fifty year nightmare in the Eastern Mediterranean, to say nothing of its political, economic and security implications for the EU and NATO. We will have to fix this, and I believe we can."

The intelligence picture was still developing but emerging evidence from the mole and his handler suggested an alliance between 'The Lodge' and Turkish Secret Service was responsible. TRNC is believed not to be involved; it wasn't clear whether the Turkish Government had sanctioned the mission. It was entirely likely that the Secret Service was 'off the reservation'. The assassin being a former Cypriot National Guard sniper implicated the country of his birth by association. The implication would be impossible to refute if Igor succeeded getting the assassin back to his home village and arrested in Cyprus with planted evidence that he did not act alone.

DNA at the scene, fingerprints on the weapon, in the possession of his handlers all led back to the Cypriot. Auntie came back on the line, taking command of the situation. "We believe the Cypriot government are investigating two ministers and several high-ranking members of the military. Those people have offshore bank accounts in their names all over the world and payments were made into each regularly over the last three months, the payments originate from the Cyprus sovereign wealth fund."

"Is it a set up?" A question from Sam.

"Almost certainly but the kicker is that two of those people have payments from their bank accounts to one belonging to the assassin. The bank account is in Greece and has a balance of Euro 1.8 million. It's somewhat academic, long before an investigation can discover the truth the region will be at war and the Turks will be occupying the whole Island."

Auntie finished with a final statement. "It all hinges on getting the assassin to tell his side of the story and exposing the Turks and Igor while they are in Cyprus."

To make the frame-up work Igor would have to get the man to his home, in Troodos. The evidence would be made public by TRNC Authorities not realising its fabrication. The Cypriot government would go into meltdown and, at the very least, arrest their citizen. The best case scenario would see maximum embarrassment followed by a public trial and outpouring of sympathy from world leaders toward the cause of the TRNC. The worst case scenario had been outlined by Auntie.

Auntie paused, she received a new file and they could hear her thumbing through the papers. "My apologies, there is intelligence coming in all the time, especially from those two, give me a few moments please."

She continued. "The men you photographed on the ridge in a truck, one is the assassin and the other is Turkish Secret Service, an agent named Dervish Amoglou. You didn't get the face of the man in the back seat."

They waited, the line to Aunties office remained open and she spoke again. "'The Lodge' wants gas drilling rights and believe it becomes negotiable in the de-escalation of the current crisis they have created." She finished her briefing.

"How do we extract from this, Auntie?"

"We have the Greeks, TRNC and Turkish Armed Forces wanting to bring you to justice and so have listed you both as 'persons of interest'. Then there's 'The Lodge' and Turkish Secret Service who need you dead, as you are the only witnesses to their crimes capable of corroborating the Assassin."

There was a pause to allow the statement to sink in before Auntie continued.

"You can't extract Sam; this must be fixed and we don't have a team that can take over from where you are."

"Okay, what's next?"

"You need to bring the assassin to me. We have his name, Constantin Arepou. Get this idiot to safety, explain he is in the frame for murder and has very limited options, he can either choose to die, get lynched by his own people, get murdered in a Cypriot prison, disappear - in other words die again, or go to a decent prison in UK with a chance of parole, maybe."

"Where is he now?"

"Varosha"

The old town of Varosha had been rarely heard of and never visited by civilians since 1974. It was once the tourist quarter of the Town of Famagusta, full of life until the invasion. 40,000 citizens and the tourist population at the time, evacuated what was famed to be the 'Monte Carlo' of Eastern Mediterranean.

After the invasion settled, the TRNC decided they didn't want Varosha, but were unwilling to return it to Cypriot control. They encircled the area with mines and barbed wire, garrisoned a regiment to patrol and left nature to reclaim it. Today, a single UN Observation Post occupied an enclave of dereliction, a desperate ghost town crumbling on one of the most beautiful sea frontages in Europe. The UN were perched on the roof of an abandoned hotel keeping watch over a dead town that only Turkish military could patrol. Varosha was the ideal place for the Turkish Secret Service to smuggle Constantin across the border.

"It's an hour away." Ahmet was on the phone arranging transport "I have a way in, an old smugglers route to the South."

Auntie had dropped from the conference call assuring them that 'The Hub' was planning mission tactics and support. Her parting gesture was to advise a trip to the Villa's wine cellar would be a good idea suggesting there were things down there they would need.

They took the advice and disappeared into the basement and found a complete armoury, emerging an hour later with armfuls of toys and gadgets, both women were smiling. They stashed the sniper rifle in the armoury, preserved as evidence for whatever value it might have in the investigation. They took a pair of Glock 17 each, lightweight armour, grenades, smoke, Night Vision Goggles and fresh clothes with replacement charged magazines and plenty of pockets to fill with them.

The drive to Varosha was short and they arrived at the ghost town as darkness fell. Sam estimated Constantin and his handlers were already hiding somewhere inside the derelict town and would make their move to cross the border after midnight. That provided ample time to begin the hunt and establish the most likely route.

The walk from the outer perimeter into town was over a kilometre, the smugglers avoided mines and razor wire using a circuitous route. 'The Hub' advised the area was unaffected by the ongoing security purge in the north which focussed on Nicosia and Kyrenia as the most likely escape routes for the assassin. The Turkish Regiment garrisoned at Varosha was considered enough deterrence against a crossing. They got on the outer ring road and used rusted abandoned cars and trucks to maintain cover while they slowly made their way into the heart of the desolate tourist heaven.

It was too early to search for their targets, they decided to wait another hour before scouting the border area. Ahmet picked a building at random, a shop with a loose door and they went inside. Sam had a wry smile as she walked into the shop noting the sign above was 'Navy Army Air Force Institute' this was the old British Military families retail store for the quartering area that was nearby, unused since 1974.

The shop had tins on the shelves, the perishable goods were long gone but mostly the place preserved as it had been when evacuated in 1974. A selection of 1970s pram buggies dangled from a frayed rope strung along the window front and below them was a skateboard, pogo stick and some deflated footballs. A heavy, stale smell hung over the main shop area, decades of pigeon and rat fecal matter covered everything. They pushed through to the back store and sat on the floor, backs to the wall.

"My parents lived here." Ahmet said, reminiscing.

"Where are they now?" asked Melissa.

"Dead now, both of them." He was sad, that was clear.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise."

"They both evacuated to London after the invasion. They lived in Hackney. My father passed first, and my mother died last year, she was 94. Both buried in London. They rarely came home; couldn't bear it and they had made a new life in London anyhow.

Sam assumed Constantin's handlers knew the smugglers trail and considered that to be the most obvious place to ambush, taking care to secure the assassin alive. They set off through the town staying in the shadows, it was a cloudy night which played to their favour. Progress was slow, noises echoed badly and carried through the empty streets. There would be random Turkish and UN patrols. The Slovak contingent of the international peacekeeping force kept watch in this Sector covering the east of the island.

It was an other-worldly environment, under different circumstances the dilapidated and crumbling infrastructure would be fascinating. Shop windows, half boarded with their original product displays barely visible through grimy windows, a derelict school with plastic ride-on kids toy cars abandoned in its playground, their colours bleached by the sun. A rental hut near the beach was falling onto its stock of wooden frame deck chairs, the shreds of fabric people once sat on blowing in the breeze, hanging from nails. There were hardware stores, a petrol station, taverna and an old barbers shop with Brylcreem advertisements in the window.

A low wall, perhaps four feet high ran alongside the smugglers route through the minefield, they were about to step off and hide behind it, preparing to ambush the assassin and his team. "You must only kneel where I tell you, okay?" Ahmet looked nervous, "We cleared part of this area years ago so we could wait and hide in case patrols were close by. I don't think anyone knows about it but if you move off where I put you then it could be over for all of us, please be careful." He looked genuinely worried and helped both into a position where they could kneel or sit safely, once he was satisfied, he joined them, and they waited.

Two and a half hours passed, cramps were attacking their confined legs, there had been no sign of activity, not even a patrol moved in their direction. They waited, the only sound a distant, calm lapping of the ocean sliding on the beach, beckoning them to sleep.

They heard footsteps heading along the track, which was two metres wide, there wasn't much room to deal with three combatants. They fitted suppressors before taking cover and pistols were resting unholstered in their laps. Sam hoped killing wouldn't be necessary, increases in body count would result in more questions for diplomats to dodge and parry. Their job was to detangle the mess rather than make things worse.

Sam was first on her feet, they agreed she would confront any hostiles while the other two closed in from behind, using the wall as cover.

"That's far enough."

The group approaching her position paused.

"I think you better drop your weapon. We can pick up where we left off."

It was Igor, she knew it before he finished speaking, the voice was so distinguishable. "I don't think so." She suspected Igor at the ridge but never got a chance to look at the photo before destroying the phone. It was the limp that aroused some suspicions.

"Come any closer, I'll make sure you get a matching limp" Igor made sure the assassin stood between them making a clear shot impossible.

Melissa and Ahmet were standing on their flank, weapons pointed at Igor and his Turkish Secret Service associate. Igor held a gun to Constantin's head.

"A Mexican standoff then. It's easier for me if he's alive and at home when Interpol come for him. If he must die, I can live with it." A minute passed while they tested each other's resolve.

"It's a question of how many us die tonight, isn't it?" Igor spoke calmly.

Constantin was shaking, looking around like a frightened rabbit "What do you mean 'if he must die here'? What the hell is going on? Who are these people?"

"Quiet." Igor tapped his pistol barrel against the Greek man's head

A vehicle headlight swept across them, bathing the path in light as a Turkish vehicle completed its U Turn at the limit of their border patrol. They were a hundred metres away when the armoured vehicle ground to a halt, its occupants disembarking, shouting in Turkish and brandishing their weapons.

Igor smiled at the distraction he needed. There was no way Sam and her team could open fire for fear of being cut down by the Turkish Army, they couldn't return to the Turkish side to be arrested and couldn't hold Igor without the risk of a gun battle.

"We better move, these guys won't like any of us, if we stand here any longer they will start shooting." It was strange to hear their enemy making sense. There simply was no choice, they were all constrained by the same factors, nobody wanted a gun battle with the Turks, they didn't want to return to Varosha and couldn't stay where they were. Sam stood aside allowing the three men they had tracked for so long to walk free.

They waited a minute before following, maintaining a reasonable distance to ensure their safety. The smuggler's path went for eight hundred metres bypassing a Greek checkpoint, oblivious to the drama in 'no man's land'. They missed the small concrete machine gun post by far enough that the soldiers inside did not wake up. As Sam and her team emerged from the path onto a stony car park Igor, Constantin and the Turkish Agent drove off in a silver SUV. It was too late for to do anything now but at least the assassin knew he had serious problems and that Igor was not his friend. He would be easier to turn when they caught up next time.

A set of headlights swerved into the carpark and headed for them, Sam raised her pistol, ready for the possibility of contact. The vehicle pulled up next to her and a smiling Nicos stuck his head out the window.

"Hi Uncle, thank you, I shall take them from here."

Ahmet looked at Sam with a wry smile. "Andreas is my brother in law by marriage, we have been friends since before the emergency here in Cyprus and once we were evacuated, we became the best of friends in London." He embraced his young nephew. "How do you think we make smuggling so easy here." The toothless grin was back and, after a final handshake Ahmet disappeared along his smugglers path and back to his homeland.

Chapter Ten - Troodos

Dawn was breaking as their car climbed Mount Olympus, the snow melted weeks ago. Temperatures were lower than the rest of the island, but it was pleasant today, as they drove through pine forests toward the mountain peak. They stopped at Agros on the main road into Troodos area, Andreas joined them smiling at the women as he shook their hands. "Quite an adventure you two have been on, isn't it?"

Andreas carried a canvas gun-bag typically used by local hunters; Sam assumed it was his hunting rifle. He passed the bag across to Melissa. "Auntie wanted you to have this, said you may need it."

Melissa opened the bag; it was a sniper rifle with a difference. A Sig 716 G2 DMR 7.62 mm calibre, semi automatic with a polymer ergonomic grip. Perfect for engaging multiple targets rapidly.

"Auntie knows how to buy a present." She said it while caressing the rifle.

"The silver SUV went through here seven minutes ago, my people are in every village, every approach, watching where they are going." Andreas smiled again, "We will get the guy and end this madness."

They drove through the village of Troodos, the radio in the vehicle was alive with chatter, one message caught Nicos attention and he raised his hand for everyone to be quiet.

"They pulled over at Pano Platres, near the rope adventure park. Constantin is being held at gun-point now," he whispered. "The big Russian guy went inside and the other, I think he's a Turk, is waiting outside...wait, something is happening."

They continued driving, waiting for updates from the anonymous voice, after three minutes the voice continued her briefing. "There are other people here, seven, maybe eight, they look like Turks, some Russians from the South too...I don't know...all armed. Some are women, I don't know how many."

Sam was processing. "That's ten, not including the sniper, let's hope he's neutral by now. We need Melissa in the high ground covering our assault." She looked at Andreas for a solution.

Melissa nodded, "I am ready for this."

"You won't have a spotter."

"Not a problem." Sam could see determination written on the young woman's face. She gained more operational experience in 24 hours than most soldiers would in a career. These missions would make anyone grow up.

They stopped on Highway F825, pulling off the road and parking on a farmer's access trail leading up to Milomeris Waterfalls. Nicos volunteered to get the sharpshooter into position, he knew the area and suggested the waterfall as a perfect vantage point overlooking their target. Melissa settled into a good firing position with clear views in all directions, she was less than one hundred metres to the target. Once content with her setup, Nicos left her.

They had walked the Milomeris Waterfall Trail, a four hundred metre path in cover of a pine forest with no chance to be seen by the enemy. Andreas had spent the time preparing his men, making several phone calls to ensure runners, spotters and roadblocks disguised as road traffic accidents were in place, the latter to ensure Army and Police would not easily enter the village once the fighting started. They could not risk a stray friendly bullet taking out the assassin before he had opportunity to testify.

"The Greeks know about this Constantin sniper." Andreas was looking at Sam "My contact at Police Headquarters in Nicosia tells me they plan to make him disappear and deny any involvement in the assassination."

Sam thought for a moment "We're the only ones who want Constantin alive, with the possible exception of Igor and even he has a shelf life on that desire. He has little choice but to accept our charity unless he's really that stupid and decides to go it alone."

Andreas looked serious, contemplating the situation, stewing on something unpleasant. "The stupid bastard can't live on this island anymore, whether he knew what he was doing or not. People here will say he jeopardised everyone, north and south." He paused for a moment. "I hope Auntie has a plan because if his story gets out and we are caught with him by the locals there will be no preventing a lynching."

The radio barked again, "I'm lined up and ready." It was Melissa.

Andreas started the vehicle resuming their journey toward a house, behind the adventure park. There were seven other houses on the cul de sac, all occupied, but fortunately the adventure park was closed for low season. The area was surrounded by woodland so the greatest risk of collateral damage would be early risers in the local community.

Melissa scoped the target area reporting no activity inside while two agents patrolled outside; they carried sub-machine guns. The patrol pattern meant the agents were not in the same sight picture. Someone must deal with the front while she took out the agent at the back of the house. Sam unsheathed her knives.

They stopped again, this time pulling up to a small building fifteen metres off the F825, just before a turn into the adventure park. The truck was shielded on three sides by a copse that led to the garden edge of the house where Constantin was held. Sam figured Igor and his people would be going over their extraction plan, leaving the assassin holding the baby. It would not be long before something happened, the collaborators would not want to be witnessed by waking residents and would be keen to get away from one another. Dead or alive would not matter although Sam hoped for the latter apart from Igor, she owed him a debt. The memory of a few nights ago at the hands of the former Russian agent was fresh in her mind and she felt payback was long overdue.

It was dawn and light enough to see, unfortunately it was also light enough to be seen which meant they had to make their assault. Gathered along the tree line staying in the shadows they watched and waited; Sam watched the Turkish agent patrolling in the driveway at the front of the house, she counted the woman's steps and began timing her own run. She wore a throat microphone with earpiece to coordinate with Melissa, both targets had to be neutralised at the same time to ensure neither could alert the other.

"My target is forty seconds away; on my mark you have ten seconds and then take the shot."

"Understood."

Their communications channel remained open, Sam knelt inside the woods waiting for her target to make his turn at the far end of the house and walk back toward her.

"Stand-down." It was Melissa, caution in her voice.

"What happened?" Sam withdrew, deeper into the tree line, signalling the others to do the same.

"People came out of the house...two of them...wait a minute." Melissa went quiet.

"It's a man, he's having a cigarette, the other one is leg stretching. They look almost finished, probably getting ready for something inside. Wait." Melissa paused again, her breathing could be heard over the line, another minute passed. "Okay they've gone inside, I have my target again, you can begin countdown when you are ready."

Sam was waiting for her target to draw level with the side of the house nearest and where the gap would be forty metres. As the agent turned, she would start her run, covering the distance in ten seconds, silently. The adrenaline coursed through her veins peaking as the agent made her turn and Sam started her run.

"Mark!" she whispered into the throat microphone.

"Ten...nine...eight." Sam counted aloud, Melissa did the same in her head.

The first part of the garden was grass and it was simple to maintain silence, but soon she would hit the gravel.

"Seven...six...five...four."

Sam hit the gravel as the guard began to turn.

"Three...Two"

The guard faced her, looked startled for only a split second and began raising her sub-machine gun.

On "one", Sam launched herself at the agent sinking two stiletto knives into her neck, one either side. With jugular and spinal cord severed by a powerful stab the agent sank to her knees, no sign of life in her eyes. Simultaneously, Melissa's target was crashing to the ground, equally lifeless, half his head missing, a neat hole where the bullet entered and a gaping exit wound. Both agents were dead, and the silence had been maintained, as if nothing had happened.

Sam motioned to Andreas and his people. They planned to smash as many windows as possible, launching stun grenades into the house then enter and take down as many of the remaining eight enemy while ensuring Constantin remained unharmed. The stun grenades were a gift from Andreas and would yield seven million candela and one hundred seventy decibels. It was enough to paralyse anyone for twenty or more seconds but useless for agents upstairs.

Andreas had eleven people including Nicos and himself. Sam knew from experience the best way to ensure success and secure Constantin alive would be through use of overwhelming force. She had to remind herself that the men and three women Andreas provided, well meaning and rough, lacked tactical experience. She had to be first through the door and hope Melissa could cover her. The mission came first, everyone's safety was of secondary concern, the stakes were high, war could follow failure.

The windows smashed and door bust its hinges within seconds of each other. Four stun grenades went in and large explosions and flashes of light followed. After a few seconds a man, stumbled through the door, pistol in hand, shielding his face and coughing loudly. He got less than a metre past the door when a neat hole appeared in his forehead and he slumped to his knees, the handiwork of Melissa from two hundred metres away.

Sam was through the door, tracking each approach and exit; the house was strangely quiet. She passed the kitchen, nobody, she entered the living room and still no sign of people.

"There should be seven more!" Sam shouted.

"Upstairs is clear." It was a man's voice

Melissa was on the radio "Sam I see them; they've exited the house from an external basement stairway and are heading into the woods the same way you came in."

They ran toward the woods as Melissa caught another, a woman this time, in the back as she got to the tree-line. Five left.

Sam noticed one man, just inside the tree line, he was dragging Constantin and had a limp. She remembered reading the file and the limp. She had researched 'Igor the Assassin' on the internet while at the safe house near Varosha. There was a surprising amount of information about the man which could account for him no longer being in the employ of the Russian government. The Wikipedia entry makes mention of his limp.

"You go after the other five" Sam was shouting at Andreas and then over the radio "Melissa, cover them, move if you need to."

She heard Melissa breathing heavily as she ran, "Already on the move." Quick learner, thought Sam.

Sam covered the ground to the tree-line quickly, found the path Igor had dragged Constantin along and pursued the pair. The sun was rising higher and quickly, it streamed in her face making it difficult to see. She was moving slowly, knowing an attack could come from anywhere. She had a single Glock in hand, the second was holstered along with her knives.

Igor threw an arm out from the side of a tree where he was hiding, knocking Sam across the path, onto her back in a bush. She got up quickly knowing he was a judo master and would try to get in close and grapple her, she scrambled out of his reach. A sideways kick to his midriff knocked him back, gasping for breath. He recovered quickly, grunting as he approached again, arms raised, hands like claws. Constantin wasn't waiting to see who was going to win and took off down the trail.

Sam ignored the escaping assassin; he had no friends and they would catch him later. She turned her attention to Igor drawing her knives. Pistols were out of the question; he'd lost his weapon somewhere or he would have pulled it by now and she didn't have time to get to her second Glock in its holster.

"It won't be so easy to escape me this time." The Russian snarled. His large body looming nearer.

"You must be more stupid than you look, I not escaping, I'm the one hunting you!" Sam launched herself at the Russian, both knives aimed at different parts of his body. She found his thigh and twisted hard eliciting a scream to reward her efforts. He locked her neck with a powerful forearm, squeezing with a death like grip. Sam was on her knees, one stiletto dropped and her hand on the other still embedded in Igor's leg. She twisted again, her mind began swimming, starved of oxygen. He released his hold on her, howling in agony and she gasped for breath reeling backwards.

He came again, using the same tactic typical of Judoka trying to get close enough for a grip. She dodged and struck with the knife again, this time catching his shoulder as he leaned in.

"I don't intend taking you prisoner." Sam could sense the end for one of them was near.

Her arms were taken from her side, she was lifted off the ground and held by another assailant from behind. The grip was strong, and she couldn't break it, the man positioned his feet well back so no there was no chance to damage his shins or feet thereby breaking the hold. She still had the knife, but it was useless for now. Igor advanced quickly, arms stretched to Sam's throat, the tables turned in an instant, she struggled but was pinned too tightly, it was futile. His arms were like tree trunks, crushing her.

She looked into the distance as Igor gripped her throat shutting down the windpipe. The man behind gripped harder. Her eyes blurred but she could see someone was there, a woman, perhaps eighty metres away. The man behind Sam faltered, his grip fell away and he dropped to the ground as she heard a bullet whisk past her head. Her assailant had a neat hole in his forehead, the young sharpshooter made the shot from the standing position, missing Sam's head by an inch, taking her target perfectly.

Igor was horrified and midway into a lunge he couldn't complete, his expression didn't last as Sam's side-stepped, her blade swept upwards slamming through the bottom of his chin and into the monster's brain. 'Igor the Assassin' was dead before he hit the ground. Melissa was already running off in the direction Constantin had gone, Sam pursued.

The walkie talkies were less effective now, the trees and mountainous terrain reducing the signal efficiency to a thread. Melissa had saved her life, Sam was grateful, but she chased the girl frantically to make sure inexperience and exuberance didn't get her killed. Constantin was far in the distance, running for his life. It was a three way chase over rough terrain, in a maze of trees.

Melissa reached Constantin first and took him down with a sliding tackle abandoning her rifle as she moved. The assassin was still on the ground pleading for his life as Sam arrived.

"There isn't time for games Constantin, you murdered a man in cold blood, the only leverage you have is with us because we need the truth out there to avoid a war you may have started already."

He was rolled in a ball, sobbing on the floor. "I had no idea, I believed I was recruited by my own government. I was supposed to be a hero, end this separation, that's what they told me. What should I do?"

"The Turkish Secret Service need to blame you, TRNC wants to convict you, your own people want to make you disappear. You need to come with us." Sam reached out to help him back onto his feet, partly as a show of solidarity, partly because she didn't think he'd make it up on his own, he was crippling under his fear.

He didn't take long to consider his options, arriving quickly at the obvious conclusion. "Where do we go?"

A Turkish woman emerged from the tree line. She carried a pistol low as she ran toward Melissa, waiting to get close enough to take the kill shot, she was at fifty metres and closing fast. Sam shouted a warning, Melissa turned, and the Turkish woman raised her weapon, pausing to take better aim. The scene advanced in slow motion, a knife streaked across the open space embedding itself in the woman's back, her pistol firing wildly as she lost control of her fingers and crashed to the ground, dead. Nicos emerged from the woods and calmly walked to the agent's dead body to retrieve his knife. It was a twenty metre throw nailed with pinpoint accuracy. He looked at Melissa and smiled.

Chapter Eleven - Prelude to War

Andreas gunned the pickup truck downhill, sliding to a stop when he reached them, the window was already down and he was shouting. "The police will be here in no time, they are coming from Moniatis, get in now." The intensity in his voice was not missed on the group.

All four piled into the vehicle and set off toward the village of Troodos joining Highway B9. Sam could see the Police sirens pursuing in the distance. They could not let Constantin fall into the hands of the Cypriot police. The political fallout for the government was immense whether or not the nation had unwittingly acted on behalf of a rogue secret service agency partnered with organised criminals. With Ministers and senior officers in the Armed Forces framed and under investigation for monies deposited in their bank accounts leading to Constantin's front door it was fast looking as if there were no winners in this scenario. Dead Turkish Secret Service agents littering Pano Platres would have the Turkish Government running for cover. Nobody had good optics.

The B9 became the A9 as it ran alongside the Green Line. 'The Hub' was tracking progress but the only safe place was the United Nations Protected Area (UNPA).

They were exiting the A9 and joining the side road leading to the UN Argentinian manned checkpoint leading into UNPA. They could see from the dual carriageway the local police roadblock. As they came off the roundabout at Kokkinotrimithia junction Andreas floored the accelerator aiming the vehicle at the checkpoint. The police moved out of the way, and the truck crashed through two cars blocking the road. There were four tyre explosions as the pickup drove across spikes deployed by the Police. Andreas lost control and they veered from the road slamming into a tree mid-way between the UN and Police checkpoints.

Andrea hurt his leg, crushed in the wreckage, he could still run but with a bad limp, the rest were unharmed, just jarred from the impact. Quickly exiting the SUV, Nicos helped his father and they ran toward the UN checkpoint fifty metres away. Sam knew it would be manned by Argentinian soldiers and hoped they were briefed. Bullets were whizzing wildly around them. Melissa dropped back to help Nicos with his father and Sam fired rounds over the heads of the Cypriot police. Only twenty metres to go.

Nicos dropped to the ground, in a heap. His father screamed, Sam ordered Melissa to keep moving and get Andreas to safety. She pulled the second Glock changed the magazine in the first, cocked and emptied both toward the police, aiming slightly above their heads. Killing Cypriot police officers would definitely compound the current issues, making life much worse for her boss and possibly result in an entirely new International crisis. She nudged Nicos checking if he was alive, he moaned, there was a gash on his head where it hit the concrete rendering him unconscious. She took advantage of the respite from the police chasing as they ran for cover to reach down and drag him to his feet. He had taken a bullet to the upper thigh, it missed the femoral artery and he could just about walk, despite the blood.

They made it to the oil drums, painted light blue and marking the UN Checkpoint, the Argentine soldiers stepped aside to allow them to pass. They cocked their weapons and stood ready to prevent the police from entering. As Sam looked back she watched the police officers return to their cars, holstering pistols, accepting that the chase was over. They weren't prepared to compromise a UN base; it would have been a very bad move given the circumstances.

Beyond the checkpoint was an ambulance and two British Army Landrovers. Andreas was sobbing into his son's face, hugging him as the medics hauled them both away. A British Army Sergeant saluted Sam, "Colonel, we have a Chinook standing by to take three of you to HMS Bulwark."

They boarded the double rotor transport helicopter through its back ramp as the blades were already winding up. Sam looked backwards at the UNPA and saw the lonely passenger airliner, a Trident and final relic of the evacuation from this airport in 1974. The airliner was encircled with barbed wire and made a poignant sight against the backdrop of an abandoned airport terminal. They took their seats by the instruction of the RAF loadmaster who handed each a set of headphones with microphones.

The voice in the headset needed no introduction "Sam, once you get on Bulwark there will be a team from MI5 to take Constantin into custody for his own protection. Once he is in British custody he is as safe as he can expect to be."

"Auntie, he wants to know if he can expect a deal."

"A media team is standing by to connect him directly to the UN Security Council where he needs to give a true account of what happened and the reasons why. The situation is de-escalating but false narratives are evolving by the minute, spineless politicians all over the world are simultaneously beating their drum, demanding action, accusing others and praising themselves. It's a normal day in elected high office. We have to provide clarity for peace to have a lasting chance. If Constantin tells the truth he will have the support of Her Majesties Government."

There was a pause, "Sam, he still killed a man, tell him to manage his expectations carefully."

"He heard you."

Sam turned and looked into the ashen face of the man whose hubris had cost so much. He was haunted, finally coming to terms with what he had done and realising the enormity of his crime that will change his life forever.

"Are you ready to do the right thing?" Sam looked him in the eye.

"I have to."

Auntie was gone and Sam was left alone with her thoughts, Melissa looked older now, she rested, leaning against the cargo net beside her. Constantin was shell shocked, a foolish and vain man fed by hatred. He would stand trial, he had to, no matter the deal. He would end up tucked away in a safe house for the rest of his life, TV and a PlayStation would be his only friends.

She looked at Melissa, at twenty-two she was impressive with a great future, Sam wondered if she had done the girl a favour recruiting her or if she'd charted a course that might prematurely end the sharpshooter who saved her life. Only time would tell.

### Epilogue

The screens displayed live newsfeed received by satellite from on-the-ground camera crews while others delivered images and drone footage. Tehran had erupted in a frenzy of anti-British rhetoric and violence six hours earlier. Rent-a-mob was out in force, flags burned and tens of thousands chanted 'death to Britain' marching angrily toward the British Embassy.

There was an other-worldly atmosphere at 'The Hub'. Around the clock vigil combined with the emotion of impending crisis were stressful. The analysts, technicians and operators did their jobs effectively knowing that when retaliation for British interdiction of an Iranian oil tanker came, there would be little anyone could do about it. The lights were dimmed to reduce eyestrain, camp-beds sat with unzipped sleeping bags in the gym and food was constantly served. The canteen tables were arranged into informal meeting areas, maps, charts, satellite images strewn across them, every inch of space utilised.

"Do we have anything from our assets on the ground or at the Embassy?" She had remained composed throughout.

"Nothing Auntie, the Iranians have cut all communications, not even a text can get out." It was an analyst. The Operations Centre had an intercom line connected to everyone in 'The Hub'.

"They jammed the satellite signal around our Embassy Ma'am." Another analyst.

As soon as 'The Hub' established secure and reliable sources of information, the Iranians shut each down within minutes. The Ministry of Intelligence of Iran had gamed the scenario perfectly. They shut everything down except official government channels.

"There are two active mobile news stations, CNN and BBC are still getting reports out but they will be shut down soon." Analyst reports flowed steadily as the situation evolved.

"Airports and seaports closed, land borders shut." The intercom barked again.

'The Hub' operated constantly since the British Government seized an Iranian oil tanker off the coast of Gibraltar. Politicians hadn't considered Iranian retaliation but 'The Hub' and its members were busy readying themselves for retaliation.

"United Kingdom Oil (UKO) Countess entered Iranian waters two hours ago. Twenty Four crew, the Master and Chief Engineer are British."

"Its under British Flag." Samatha Miller entered the room, fresh from a meeting at the Ministry of Defence (MoD).

"Good to see you Sam."

Sam nodded at her boss before responding. "No good news from MoD, the duty warship in Persian Gulf, HMS Champion confirms UKO Countess has definitely been moved to Iranian waters and they are an hour from intercept."

"There is no way The Foreign Secretary will allow a pursuit, the gutless wonder boy had his moment of glory on global news when we took one of theirs two weeks ago." Auntie was annoyed. "What the hell did he expect?"

Peter stood, watching from the door, coffee in hand. "What about our assets?"

He was referring to 'The Network' deep cover agents working in Iran. Ahmad Said was taken that morning from the military dental surgery where he worked. The briefing teams said there was hope but Peter knew when he saw the drone footage of an armoured truck taking their man outside the city, he was destined for a shallow grave, one of many in the desert. The Iranians were cleaning up, Ahmad was first.

Auntie stared at the ceiling. "I think you know we've already lost Ahmad."

Sam stood and poured herself coffee. She looked as tired as the others having spent most of the last two weeks running liaison with MoD. "Auntie's right, MoD have been told to stand by and focus on escorting other British flagged vessels."

Peter was convinced diplomacy would not relieve the tension once the Iranian tanker was seized off Gibraltar by British Royal Marines. He warned something like this was a certainty. He watched Auntie, trying desperately for two weeks to extract her two assets from Iran even after the PM had suspended operations in the region.

"Has MoD mentioned anything about a rescue operation?" Peter asked.

"Their official position is that they've been stood down. One of my contacts tells me the Special Boat Service (SBS) are prepared and will travel to Bahrain tomorrow. MoD are embarrassed and want to get this sorted themselves." Sam said.

Auntie stood and paced the office. "There is more...a complication. Something we can discuss later" She paused.

Peter looked at Auntie. "If your man, Farrokh, is under cover with the Iranian Republican Guard he must have known about the operation to take UKO Countess. If he is any good he will have got on that tanker. "

"Oh, he's good."

Peter considered the response. "Then we have to rescue him ourselves."

"If we don't, the SBS will kill him once they board, they won't distinguish him from the others." Sam added.

"I need to be on that operation." Peter said it matter of factly.

"Get ready, I will get you on the operation." Auntie signalled her driver outside the office, collected a file and was gone.
