Dead End E-Book

Kenn Gordon

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

I grew up in the Highlands of Scotland and I became a musician while still at School. Then I made my first musical instrument at the age of just 13 years, an Appalachian Dulcimer. I joined the Royal Air Force at the age of 18. I served for 9 years and worked at many of our secret establishments. Even during my military career, I continued to play in bands as well as to write music. When time would allow, I made guitars for myself, although most of these ended up in my friend’s hands. With the bands that I formed and played in; I have been fortunate enough to have recorded 32 albums. I later formed my own company making bespoke guitars (Gordon Guitars UK) The pressure of running so many ventures simultaneously eventually took its toll and a series of heart attacks followed. So, I looked for a new and more sedate way to direct my creative juices and writing thrillers fitted that bill perfectly.

Leseprobe

Kenn Gordon

Dead End

Part 3 of the Andy McPhee and Team Seven

The third part to the Andy McPhee Trilogy is DEAD END. Having lost their homes in The Return of Seven. The adventure starts as they are sailing away from the Faeroe Islands and licking their wounds, they have lost two of their members, but they have gained a new member Oran, a computer geek from Iceland who had previously done some work for Hans Gunnerson and the IDF. Oran will join the team on their third and final adventure, but he is not alone for he brings with him, his protector CYBER, an Ovcharka or Caucasian Sheppard Dog. Probably the next best thing to a Grizzly Bear. This time Team Seven, first have to find somewhere to settle down. When they do, they then have to tidy up a few loose ends from their previous escapade. Then just as they think their lives are back on track, Hans Gunnerson brings them some bad news, that will bring the team back into the service which they had left behind. Politics and Corruption are never very far away. In this final chapter who will fBookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

Dead End

DEAD

END

by

KENN GORDON

Copyright © 2019 Kenn Gordon

All rights reserved.

About Kenn Gordon

I grew up in the Highlands of Scotland and I became a musician while still at School. Then I made my first musical instrument at the age of just 13 years, an Appalachian Dulcimer. I joined the Royal Air Force at the age of 18. I served for 9 years and worked at many of our secret establishments. Even during my military career, I continued to play in bands as well as to write music. When time would allow, I made guitars for myself, although most of these ended up in my friend’s hands. With the bands that I formed and played in; I have been fortunate enough to have recorded 32 albums. I later formed my own company making bespoke guitars (Gordon Guitars UK) The pressure of running so many ventures simultaneously eventually took its toll and a series of heart attacks followed. So, I looked for a new and more sedate way to direct my creative juices and writing thrillers fitted that bill perfectly.

The first novel was entitled ALTERED PERCEPTIONS. It brought to life ‘Team Seven’ with Andy McPhee, Lachie Henderson, Abdalla Mohamed, Hans Gunnerson, Jane Miller and ‘The Suit’. Andy and Lachie were childhood friends and both serving in the RAF when the UK’s SIS (Secret Intelligence Service) coerced them into becoming a part of them. The reason was simple, Andy & Lachie came from the Highlands of Scotland. SIS needed boots on the ground that would fit in. Black Door operations were run by SIS and were totally unaccountable. They had one remit, Protect the UK from ANY and all threats, using deadly force. Team Seven would have to face threats from inside SIS as well as outside it. They would save the world in a dangerous game of cat and mouse.

The second novel THE RETURN OF SEVEN sees our heroes return to take on the threat once again a growing threat from within not just the UK but throughout the world. They are hunted down by Neo-Nazis from around the globe. Then they will go to North Korea into the mouth of the dragon and Prison Colony number 22, they will continue to fight for their lives and for the innocents they have rescued. The will eventually bring down Governments and corrupt CIA and EU Financiers of hatred. Some will survive but some of the team will be lost along the way. Much of what goes on in this episode will be split between RAF Saxa Vord and on board the replacement Catherine May, the original boat having been destroyed in ‘Altered Perception

The third and final part to the Andy McPhee Trilogy is DEAD END. Having lost their homes in The Return of Seven. The adventure starts as they are sailing away from the Faeroe Islands and licking their wounds, they have lost two of their members, but they have gained a new member Oran, a computer geek from Iceland who had previously done some work for Hans Gunnerson and the IDF. Oran will join the team on their third and final adventure, but he is not alone for he brings with him, his protector CYBER, an Ovcharka or Caucasian Sheppard Dog. Probably the next best thing to a Grizzly Bear. This time Team Seven, first have to find somewhere to settle down. When they do, they then have to tidy up a few loose ends from their previous escapade. Then just as they think their lives are back on track, Hans Gunnerson brings them some bad news, that will bring the team back into the service which they had left behind. Politics and Corruption are never very far away. In this final chapter who will fall by the wayside? they will question their loyalties not just with SIS but with each other. This time we see the team go from the Highlands of Scotland and down to the rolling hills of the Chiltern Hundreds, from London to the Middle East and finally from Cuba to a bloodthirsty conclusion. What will become of Andy and the rest of ‘Team Seven’…………….

Called out of retirement the final book in the Andy McPhee series is Covid – 19 The Alternate Ending once again biological weapons and weaponised viruses are never far from Team Seven. There is a new man in charge of SIS, and he has his own agendas. Will those align with those of Andy and his team. This time they will not stop a pandemic, but will they be able to help the nations of the world gain control of it. Health is never far from big money; the question is who has the most to gain?????

Contents

Act 1 Page 8

Act 2 Page 17

Act 3 Page 43

Act 4 Page 91

Act 5 Page 109

Act 6 Page 114

Act 7 Page 133

Act 8 Page 153

Act 9 Page 162

Act 10 Page 171

Act 11 Page 186

Act 12 Page 204

Act 13 Page 216

Act 14 Page 228

Act 15 Page 246

Act 16 Page 257

Act 17 Page 270

Act 18 Page 277

Act 19 Page 290

Act 20 Page 299

Act 21 Page 310

Act 22 Page 321

Act 23 Page 332

Act 24 Page 347

Act 25 Page 353

Act 26 Page 360

Act 27 Page 366

Act 28 Page 375

Act 29 Page 384

Act 30 Page 400

Act 31 Page 408

Act 32 Page 432

Act 33 Page 437

Acronyms and Odd Words – Page 446

ACT 1

We barely made it out with our lives, well most of us did. Jane, the girl who I had planned to marry, was now dead. Her father, Dusty, had taken his own life, within minutes of learning that his daughter had died at the hands of a member, of the now defunct Neo-Nazi organisation, GRH or Gods Right Hand. The organisation had previously been getting its funding from the CIA and even from some within the EU. There had been those in the CIA, that had wanted to gain control, over the newly released Eastern Bloc Countries. They had tried to replace Communism with Nationalism. Team Seven had lost two of its fold but we had gained one new member.

Oran, he was a Computer Hacker and a certified genius from Iceland. I had just murdered his arch nemesis Jeon Chang. Chang was a Geneticist and computer whizz kid from North Korea. Except that he had been taken out of North Korea, by the CIA and then they in turn, had let the GRH have him. He had then managed to make an ex-soviet bioweapon, the like of which the world had not seen before, work. That is to say he managed to theoretically work, at least on paper. It was because I could not let anyone have that weapon. We had destroyed the basis of it. We had destroyed the computers with the data on. Then I had destroyed the brain that designed it. I knew I had been his judge, jury and executioner when I executed him with a single 9mm round to the back of his head.

Chang’s family had been destroyed. His grandparents, parents, and even his aunts. We had not done this; it had been the fault of the CIA and the North Koreans. Two though, that the CIA and the North Koreans, did not know about, and that we had rescued, from inside Penal Colony Number 22 prison camp, had survived. They were both in the baby unit, at Raigmore Hospital in Inverness. Somehow or other, we would provide for them. My home had once again been destroyed as had Lachie's.

For now, Team Seven were sailing away from the Faeroe Islands on a highly modified trawler. There was still a price on our heads. Our crime if you can call it that was to serve our country. That is to say we served in SIS, the UK’s Secret Intelligence Service and had saved the world for the second time in a year. We had funds, Hell we had more than we would ever need. This is more, than could now be said, for the corrupt politicians around the world. Along with anyone else who had any monetary involvement with GRH. Their funds which amounted in the trillions, had now been redistributed to good causes around the globe. Oran had hacked into all of their bank accounts and cleaned them out. Half of the money that we found, went to the World Health Organisation. The other half was divided into two. Part of it coming to Team Seven and the larger part, going to injured parties as compensation, for acts carried out against them by the GRH.

So here we were, sailing down from the North Atlantic Ocean, to the North Sea in winter. We had managed to survive one of the worst storms in recent years. We had lost our HIND-Mi24 attack helicopter. Not that it was really our own property, I guess it actually belonged to SIS. We had no plans at the moment, apart from to survive. Which for the greater part we were managing to do?

Team Seven permanent members were, Lachie Henderson, my lifelong friend, he was really more of a brother to me, than just a mere friend. Lachie was a Highlander, and he looked the part, with his shock of ginger blonde hair and beard. Lachie stood an inch or so taller than me and was broader, none of it was fat though. Lachie like me had been serving the Royal Air Force. He had been in the RAF Regiment and would have gone on to transfer to the British Army’s elite Special Air Service, had it not been for the interference of the SIS.

Abdalla Mohamed, probably one of the finest long-range snipers in the world, as well as being a great gunsmith and firearms expert. Abdalla came from Northern Kenya and had been a senior officer in the Kenyan elite special forces. He was as black as the ace of spades and his face was covered with tribal scarification. He was a man's man and a great man to have standing beside you in a fight. Standing at six foot seven inches tall. Abdalla was our biggest member.

Hans Gunnerson was the Colonel in Chief of the Icelandic Defence Force and was now the only member still officially employed by the military. He was about the same size and build as Lachie only a classic V shaped torso with the build of a weightlifter. He was a soft-spoken man and was a specialist is Arctic Warfare and Extreme Survival.

Then there was me, Andy McPhee. I had been a medic in the RAF and somehow ended up as Team Seven’s appointed leader. I was the shortest in stature as fare as the official members went at just six feet two inches.

There were other members as we were a family. Sandy McKay who now owned a Pub in Keiss. Sandy was a retired fisherman and even looked a bit like a shaggy ‘Captain Birdseye’. Sandy had been the owner of the original Catherine May fishing boat. He was the father of Rosemary and consequently the stepfather of Stu. There was not much about the sea that Sandy did not know. Then Stu McCormack, who was the owner of the boat we currently on, the Catherine May II. The original Catherine May having been destroyed on the first mission ‘Altered Perceptions’, for SIS. That was about a year ago. Stu had originally been a deckhand on Sandy’s boat, but was now the skipper of our new pseudo trawler. It may have originally been designed as a Stern Trawler, but now it was more like a luxury yacht. When Stu and his wife Rosemary, were not providing transport for us, they would legitimise their high life, by taking out the rich and famous who wanted to deep sea fish, with rod and reel. This they charged a hefty fee for, however the quality of the boat and accommodation on board, along with Rosemary’s cooking skills, warranted this.

Rosemary McCormack, she was the wife of Stu and also chef and mother hen, to the rest of Team Seven. Rosemary had in her previous life, been one of the Chefs at The Queen Mother’s residence, at Mey Castle in Caithness.

Mr Mark Henderson, father of my lifetime friend, Lachie. Mark had been a Shepard on the West coast of Scotland, before moving to the Highlands with his son Lachie.

Mr Craig McPhee who was of course my father. Dad had been in the military and then worked for a short while in the village of Keiss, before moving to Old Kinbrace. Both Lachie’s and my home, had recently been destroyed by the Neo-Nazis. That would bring us to our newest team member Oran.

Oran came from Iceland and had no middle or last name. Oran was a computer hacker and code cracker. He had worked, early on in his illicit career, for the hacking group ‘Anonymous’. Then he had set up stealing money from the big conglomerates and hacking into every secure system he could find, including Homeland Security of the USA, the CIA, the FBI and several other secure servers. Then he was apprehended in a sting operation, headed by Hans Gunnerson. Hans had offered him protection, on the proviso that he would now work solely for the IDF and then he had sent him on to Team Seven, in order to hide him from the various security agencies, that wanted to lock him up in one super-max or another. Oran was now free from all obligations to Hans and the IDF. Oran was now just part of our extended family

There were the four-legged members. of Team Seven. Kyla my Japanese Akita who was protective of me and to a certain degree all of Team Seven. My father’s dog Raven, a Jet-black Great Dane. Finally, as far as the dogs go, Oran’s beast! Cyber. Beast would be a fair description. It was an Ovcharka. It was a dog, technically speaking, but I think it was more of a grizzly bear, and damn near as big. Oran was a small slight built computer geek, he probably weighed in at eight stone, when wringing wet. Cyber on the other hand weighed in at nearly twice that. Cyber was Oran’s protector and when Oran commanded it, Team Sevens protector.

There was another part time member of our team and the was Sir Philip Reeves-Johnson, current head of the SIS. He was better known to us as ‘The Suit’ because, 90% of the time, he would be dressed in a Saville Row, Harris Tweed suit. We had Money, we had weapons and we had just made it out alive from something that should really have been handled by the governments of the west. Only they were too busy squabbling over jurisdiction. We only got involved because my father had been kidnapped, in a revenge play, due to the first mission, Altered Perceptions.

So, as I said, here we were, we had been sailing in the North Atlantic with nowhere to go. We were all gathered in the galley come lounge area of the Catherine May. We had drunk a toast to Jane and her father. Then we had drunk some more.

The Catherine May’s onboard computer navigation system including its anti-collision system, really was more like a planes auto pilot, but with the added bonus of what effectively was an auto park. This would allow the boat to actually dock itself. Except for the tying up part. Because of this Stu was down in the galley having a drink with us and toasting fallen comrades.

“So, what happens now?” I asked to no one

“Once I sort things with the rest of the world’s security services, you can go back to your lives and SIS will of course pick up the cost of rebuilding your homes. You will be paid the same amount as you were previously. I assume that you would like to have the payments made in the form of cash?” Sir Philip Reeves-Johnson replied.

“Yes, Sir Philip, you know how we feel about banks and traceable funds. We will arrange a time and a place for the transfer of funds. First though we will have to find somewhere to live at least on a temporary basis.” I replied

“Mark and Craig can stay at mine if you like, at least until you have your homes rebuilt. There are plenty of empty rooms at the Pub, well it’s more like a small hotel really.” Sandy said

“That’s very kind of you Sandy”

“Hell, it’s the least I can do after what you have all done for my Rosemary” Sandy replied

“I hate to be a pain in the ass, but I really do have to get back to my post, the PM and new Defence Secretary, will want a complete debrief. Also, I will have to arrange, to have all the prisoners transferred from RAF Saxa Vord, to a more permanent and secure location. Then get the kill order on all of you, lifted as quick as I can. Flight Lieutenant Summers will also require getting back to RAF Lossiemouth. Stuart could you make for the Brent Bravo oil Rig? Then they can send a chopper from 202 Squadron, to pick us up.”

“Sir Philip I had already figured that is what you would want, so Stu has already set course for there and I think we should be there in about 3 hours” I replied.

“In that case, if you will excuse me. I need to change back into civilian clothing.” Sir Philip said as he plucked at his Nomex suit. Then he left the galley to get changed.

The Brent Bravo Oil Platform used to be one of the biggest working oil platforms in the North Sea. In its prime it had over 100 men working on board her. Now she stood silent over the cruel and cold waves below. She stood alone like a windmill waiting for Sancho Panza, in the Don Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra novel ‘Don Quixote’ Yet she had given us refuge. Her gigantic legs were covered with seaweed and barnacles. The platform over, was made from concrete and steel. The paint what there was left of it, had mostly peeled away over the years of neglect.

Cosmetically on the outside she was a hulk, given its present state, the cost of making her capable, to be used for her original task and then the actual cost, of removing her from the concrete posts that bound her to the seabed several fathoms below, was just to exuberant to justify moving her to a new location. So, she remained where she was to slowly crumble into the sea, that had been her life.

I had already decided that I would not discuss the future of ‘Team Seven’ before ‘The Suit’ had left with the Sqn Ldr. I was tired, we had been in multiple time zones over the last few weeks. I would talk with Oran tomorrow, about ensuring that the innocents, who had been hurt over the course of the last operation, were cared for by the correct authorities.

Some three hours later, as previously, we had hidden the new 170ft luxury Catherine May, under the gigantic legs of the now disused Brent Bravo, Oil Rig. I sat back and drank my whisky and absent mended, ruffled Kyla’s fur. Kyla was my pure-bred Japanese Akita; she was my companion. Kyla had saved my life and the lives of quite a few people over the last couple of missions. She was more like a team mascot, and one of our brave four-legged protectors. I would go for a shower in a minute and then try and relax, after we would tie up at the Rig. I needed to have a long chat first with Stu and then with Rosemary, for what was floating around inside my mind. Then an even longer chat with Lachie.

I missed Jane. I missed her a lot. It had been a whirlwind romance that was for sure. We had shared so much over the last nine months. She had even moved into my home, as my significant other. We had a reunion meeting, that was scheduled to be held at Han’s Icelandic Summer house. It would have been there, that I was going to propose to her. The ring was now, somewhere under the rubble of what had been my family home in the highlands.

I had not planned for a life with SIS. Like Lachie I had been in the Royal Air Force. SIS though, needed a team on location in and around our homes in the highlands. So, SIS had arranged for a fake discharge and for Lachie and I, to be their agents on location. From there, everything took a distinct downturn. Even after the first mission and we thought we had our lives back. A son, whose father had been killed, by us saving the world. Decided he wanted payback and so we had been drawn into the seedy world of international crime, espionage and politics, to be with SIS once again. Hopefully we were now free of all that shit. It had been at a very high cost morally and emotionally. Not to mention financially, and yes, I knew we would be compensated for it. But this time, I would not rebuild my home where it had been.

I had grown up in the house located on the side of a hill, in the Strath of Kildonan. I had learned to swim in the fresh and clear water stream that came out of the mountain side. Its water was ice cold, but still I learned to swim in a beautiful rock pool. This very same water was the water that fed our home. I learned to shoot in the Mountains and Strath’s around that house. I fished in the rivers and I breathed the clean air. I hated the thought that we would never return to this house. That was the house that we had ‘made safe’ after the first time we were involved with SIS.

We had rebuilt and made a safe bunker under, without realising just how soon we would need it. I would have them bulldoze over the bunker and we would start again elsewhere. At the start of our relationship with SIS, I had said to ‘The Suit’ that “I wanted out” the suit had simply replied “There is not out for you.” Well, I figured they had their pound of flesh. I had no intention of giving them anymore.

Life previous to SIS had been so simple and a lot less fucking dangerous. Life at the moment, was not the life I had envisaged all those years ago, as a boy growing up in the Highlands of Scotland. Then again, the life I had chosen on the Royal Air Force, was not the life I was living just now either.

I lay back on my bunk bed in a small cabin that had originally been intended for the rich folks, who wanted to pay for the pleasure to fish, with a rod, in either the North Sea or the North Atlantic. Stu’s boat was comfortable and the food that Rosemary cooked up, was fantastic. So, I was not complaining about that, not even to myself. We were however cramped for space. Stu had done the best; he could give a bad situation. I never heard anyone ever complain about life aboard the Catherine May II, which was three times the size of the Original Catherine May and no one had ever complained about life on board the original boat. We were not the sort of people that made demands for comfortable or high-class surroundings. True we were all technically millionaires, but no one had let that go to our heads.

‘The Suit’ had contacted RAF Lossiemouth and a helicopter was on its way to us, to collect those that were going to return to the mainland. Hans had also been called back as the Colonel in Chief of the Icelandic Defence Force. He had to go and give his report to the Chief of Staff at the UN. Apart from Jane and her Father, Team Seven had survived. Whether we would survive the aftermath of it, was a different matter altogether. Sandy called me to the bridge.

“Do you want the dogs to have a run on the deck of the Oil Platform?”

“Yes, Sandy I think that would be a great idea.”

The Brent Bravo Oil platform was where we had hidden our boat. The rig stood almost seventy feet over the top of the Catherine May. The Oil Company stated it was too expensive to dismantle and they were in talks with the environment agency as to what should be done with it. When we first used it as a hiding place for the Catherine May, Sandy and I had climbed up the rusty steel ladder on one of the gigantic legs. We had then checked out the rig. There was still a generator on board the rig, we had filled it with fuel, and it powered up the lighting on the rig. It also powered a winch with a large cage attached. Previously, when the platform was still being used for its intended purpose, it had been used by the rig, when getting their re-supplies. The one time we had used the cage lift, to get the dogs up to the main platform in order to allow the dogs a proper chance to walk.

I could see the big yellow helicopter belonging to 202 Search and Rescue Squadron, from RAF Lossiemouth. It was perched on the cantilever helipad on the top deck of the rig. ‘The Suit’ was already on the foredeck of the Catherine May with his kitbag. Hans had come to say goodbye to all of us and it was an emotional farewell. The Flt Lt was standing by ‘The Suit’. We had said our goodbyes to them earlier. I respected and admired Sir Philip Reeves-Johnson but hoped that this would be the last time I had anything to do with ‘The Suit’ and bloody SIS. Sandy went up and pressed the remote for the cage lift, it wound its way down from the platform above as the generator kicked into life. When it was a couple of feet off the deck, it stopped. Hans said his final farewells to us in the wheelhouse and went to join the other two on the foredeck, before entering the rusty steel cage and closing the gate. Sandy pressed another button on the remote and the cage went on its journey back up to the platform. They would then have to climb three sets of stairs before they reached the helicopter platform. Five minutes later we were all out on the top of the Catherine May, waving goodbye to the big Sea King chopper, as she was getting ever smaller, going on her journey and towards dry land.

ACT 2

“Oran, do you fancy going up to the platform with the dogs and me?”

“Sure, Andy I could use the fresh air, not that I am complaining mind you. Just in the hold where I do all my work, it has no windows so any chance at natural light is a bonus.” he replied.

Sandy and Stu had allowed Oran to use one, of the four stainless steel holds, on board the Catherine May. They had even allowed him to make modifications to it, such as welding brackets to the walls, in order to hold his massive computer screens. Stu had run power lines into it and allowed Oran to connect to the ships own onboard computer. Oran has able even to access satellites from what was euphemistically known as his grotto, because it was filled with his toys. These toys had at times saved our lives whilst at the same time, cost the lives of those that would do us harm. But it was still just a large metal box, deep inside the hull of the Catherine May.

I whistled, and my father’s Great Dane, along with my Japanese Akita came running. This was the second Great Dane that my father had owned. The first had been with my father for over a decade, before it had been brutally slain by a mercenary, who was intent on making me into an ex-person.

Raven II had been given to my father by Jane. He was still at that gangly all legs and a tail stage and he would knock cups of coffee tables or whip an unsuspecting person on the back of the legs with his long tail.

Oran whistled and his Ovcharka came and joined the two other dogs. My dogs were big, but Oran’s hound was bigger. Oran had called it a sheep dog when he first told us he had a dog, even if he had said he had a Caucasian Sheep dog, I would not have known what it was. What it was, was HUGE. The biggest damn dog I ever saw. Cyber was Oran’s personal protector, but his dog like mine, had started to offer its services to all of our team. Like all the dogs they were part of this tight knit team. I went to the foredeck with Oran and the animals. I pressed the remote for the service cage. Lachie came out while I was waiting for it to arrive.

“Mind if I join you Andy?”

“Feel free Lachie”

The three of us and the three dogs went up in the lift, which stopped automatically on the first deck. We climbed the stairs up to the top deck and let the dogs have a run around on the helipad. When they had finished, I sluiced it down and cleaned it off. Lachie stood looking out to sea.

“This is good mate”

“I don't follow Lachie?”

“Look Andy you can see 360 degrees.”

“Yes so?”

“Well think about it, our homes were destroyed because we could not see what folks were doing or planning to do. There is no way anyone, could sneak up on us here.”

“Are you suggesting that we should make our home on this rust bucket?” I asked Lachie

“You said it yourself before, it is just surface rust, and legs are sound, as is the platform. We have the resources, as in we have the money, and we can bring in workers from another country to do the hard work on contract. Some of the rig, we would have to dismantle and other parts we could renovate. I am sure I read somewhere about a company from Malaysia, that restores these old rigs and make them into luxury hotels, or private mansions.”

“Your serious, aren’t you Lachie?”

“Yes, I think so, the company that own this rig were looking to sell it as a marine conservation project. They wanted marine life to grow on the concrete legs, or something like that. I am sure Oran, could create some fake company, that fits that remit. You could make it real safe too. It could be self-sufficient if we did things right.”

That was how the whole thing started for our little commune. My father and I had no home, Lachie and his dad, had no home, Oran had no home, Stu said he and Rosemary would continue to run their private luxury fishing boat, Sandy said he would take our parents to his pub, until we had things up and running. Oran said he would find the funds whenever we needed it and he would use a shell company to sort things out, in a way that nothing, would ever come back to us.

Three months later Oran set it up. We bought the rig from Brent. Technically we had purchased it, to convert into a Marine Bio Research Centre. The cost of the platform was just £250,000, this was what they estimated the scrap value, of the rig to be. The oil company were glad to see the back of it and could not sign over the papers fast enough. We used the Malaysian company that had experience in this type of renovation. A Further three months later and we had spent £3 million and were about halfway through. Though most of the structural work had been undertaken and it was the decorative work now. We handed this over to a Saudi company and spent another two million and six more months of work before it was completed. Five and a half million pounds. It sounds a lot but for the size and the quality of what was effectively a stately home was not too bad.

The major changes were all inside. Whilst it still looked a bit tatty and rusty from a distance. It had actually been renovated to look like that, even the patches of rust that showed from the outside, were in fact painted on. Inside though was like a modern penthouse apartment block. We now had a properly enclosed lift that went down the inside of one of the platform’s, three massive concrete legs. This allowed access to a new floating dock at the base. We had made the rig into a series of large self-contained apartments. There was one each for Lachie, Oran, Abdalla and for me. There were a further 10 suites, should Team Seven ever require them. Oran had a state-of-the-art Computer Centre with ultra-High speed satellite internet. Under another shell company, he had bought what was effectively, timeshare on a media satellite. We kept all the guns and ammunition that we had collected along the way over the past two missions and had set up our own armoury, which we had resupplied.

There were cameras all around our platform and they went to a bank of monitors in Oran’s grotto, as with the one he still had aboard the Catherine May, this was filled with toys, which for the greater part could only be used by the magical touch, of our own electronic wizard. There were radar beams going all the way around the platform including the air space around us.

Part of the deck area we had made into a ‘Fair Weather’ area complete with Astroturf and a Bar B Q area. There was a fenced off dog area where they could play safely and that was easy to clean. We had a heated indoor swimming pool and a gymnasium. We also had a small Cinema. In short, we had everything that you would expect to find in a 5- or 6-star hotel, except for the staff. New generators were backed up by under-water wave turbines, that worked on the swell of the sea. The windows were a type of glass which was a bit similar to one-way glass, light could not go out, but light could enter. This meant that apart from the odd time when we would require deck lights to do work outside, we could not be seen. We had renovated everything that needed it.

Any time we wanted off ‘The Rig’ Stu would come and fetch us and take us to the mainland. Due to the size of the Catherine May, Stu would anchor off from Keiss harbour and we would take a RIB in, and then our old Ford Transit van, which we kept there, should we require it.

Keiss was one of those picturesque small harbours, that are dotted around the rocky coastline of Caithness and Sutherland, in the North East of Scotland. People here tend to mind their own business, especially if your business benefits theirs. Sandy had bought the Pub come Hotel in Keiss, when he retired from the sea. Compared to hotels down South I guess you could call it more of a Bed and Breakfast establishment, with a bar attached to it. This place suited our parent’s requirements. They both loved to fish with rod and reel, consequently unless the weather was really inclement, then our parents, when not sat on the solid granite harbour wall, they could be found sat on the grassy embankment that surrounded this little harbour. So, Lachie and I saw our fathers often enough.

I had been going through my pockets one night when I found a piece of paper. It was the telephone number for Petrá. She lived on the one of the small Faeroe Islands. Petrá had helped me, when we were in trouble on the last mission. Around the same time that I found her number, Abdalla asked me what ever happened to the two North Korean babies, that we had rescued with the Chang family. When the Chang Family had been murdered, the twin babies had been in Raigmore Hospital, in Inverness. I mentioned this to Oran, and he said that he had tracked them to an orphanage just outside Inverness. I had asked him to get me some further details, as I felt a responsibility for them. He said that he could arrange all the adoption papers if I wished, then all I would have to do would be, to turn up at the orphanage with a woman, who I would have to introduce as my wife. I told him, that sort of life was not for me. Then, they had plagued my dreams and a few weeks later I had rediscovered the scrap of paper, and that plagued my mind for another week or so. Eventually I gave in and called Petrá.

“Hello”

“Petrá?”

“Yes. Who is this please?”

“Are you still looking excitement away from the Faeroe's?”

“Andy!!!! It has been some time, my Andy Andy Andy” she sang my name out in the same way as she had when we first met in her little shop.

“How are you? How are your Father and Brother” I asked? She had previously told me her father and her brother, worked on a fishing boat, while she looked after the family home and ran the Island’s, small grocery shop. There was a long pause before she answered and when she did it was like being hit with a baseball bat.

“My Father and brother, they have died” she said

I wished the sea would just swallow me

“I am so sorry Petrá, I did not know. Please forgive me”

“How would you know Andy. It was about a month after you were here. Their boat was lost at sea. In the big storm.”

I remembered the storm well. It had been one of the worst storms that the northern Isles had ever seen. Many of the fishermen had been caught out in it and several boats had been lost that week. I Had no Idea what to say to her next and like a bloody fool. I said the first thing that came into my mouth.

“Would it be alright If I came to visit you?”

“Yes Andy. That would be nice. When are you thinking of coming to the Faeroe’s? Is your fishing boat near?”

When I had first met Petrá, I had lied to her, when we were battling the GRH, on the most North Easterly Faeroe Island of Fugloy. I had told her I was from a fishing boat and our radio was down.

“No Petrá, I no longer work on a fishing boat. I work on an Oil Rig. But I will tell you about it when I see you. I will call you soon.”

“Andy do you promise you are coming to see me?”

“Of course, Petrá.”

“OK Andy Andy Andy see you soon.” she sang and then hung up.

I went to the radio room and called the Catherine May

“Stu can you give me a lift to Svinoy?”

“In the Faeroe’s?”

“One and the same.”

“When?”

“Whenever you can pick me up and take me there?”

“I am about four hours from you, if you want to go today?”

“Perfect see you then.”

I went to the main lounge, this was our communal area, it was an open plan design, that backed onto our bar. Abdalla was busy beating Lachie at Cribbage. Oran was taking the mickey out of Lachie for loosing, at a game that Lachie had taught Abdalla.

“Hi Guys, I am going to the Faeroe’s for a day I will be back tomorrow. And will tell you what I have planned to depend on how I get on tonight.”

“Sounds underhand” said Oran

“Sounds Private” said Abdalla

“Sounds like a woman” said Lachie.

“Stu will be here in about four hours. Meanwhile I am going for a shower.”

“Definitely a woman.” said Lachie

I gave him the bird and went to my apartment. I stripped off and washed under the steaming shower for ten minutes and then I rinsed off under ice cold water for another five minutes. I shaved off three days’ worth of stubble and then dressed in clean Jeans and a fresh dress shirt. I splashed aftershave on and looked at myself in the mirror. Not too shabby.

I had a slight scar from a bullet crease to the left-hand temple. To go with a larger one on my left arm. Both of these reminders I had received, in battle a year ago. Things could have been worse, and their aim could have been better. I knew I would come in for some stick for dressing up. Out here in the North Sea there was not much reason for us to shave. Today was a good reason to shave, I was going to see a beautiful young woman.

Stu radioed to say he was five minutes out. I took the lift down to the floating dock and waited for Stu to come alongside in the 170ft pseudo trawler. It had been a replacement for the original Catherine May, which had been lost during the first mission. The original 50-foot fishing boat had been traditional clinker built. The cost of having a new clinker-built fishing boat was actually more than the cost of this new much bigger boat. SIS had paid for this boat, which had been a cancelled order, and as such Stu got a bargain. He had then set about spending almost a million pounds, on massively upgrading it into a luxury fishing boat. He would take rich customers out on weeklong fishing trips. The galley and the bunk rooms reflected the prices he was charging his customers. Stu though, had always said that his first priority was to Team Seven and their families. I climbed on board and joined Stu in the wheelhouse.

“Now then Andy, what is so important that you need a rush trip to Svinoy? Is it another SIS Mission and do I tell my family to go into hiding?”

“No Stu, nothing so exciting as saving the world. Just someone I have to go and see and ask a favour of.”

“Would this someone be a woman?” He asked with a smirk

“Yes, it would be, but not in the way you are intimating. I will let you know more, when I do. Do you have customers on board?”

“No Andy I was just out testing some new modifications to the boat. Rosemary is down below in the galley and she is dying to see you. I will be down in a few moments when I have us out to sea and the course set.”

“OK Stu see you down below.” I replied and went down to the beautifully equipped galley.

This is where Jane had died. A member of the GRH had been holding a pistol to her head. Jane had just sneezed, and the gun had gone off accidentally and she had died instantly. The galley had been completely redecorated. Rosemary rushed to me and gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Coffee Andy?”

“Please Rosemary.”

There was always a fresh pot of coffee percolating in the galley of the Catherine May. It had always been that way, from the time when all of us had been forced together. It did not matter if it was in one of our homes, or even in the field. We survived on coffee, more often than not, with a good slug of Irish or Scotch whisky in it. I sat down at the polished Mahogany long galley table. Rosemary came over and put three mugs down on the table, just as Stu joined us. He sat down opposite me, and Rosemary poured out three steaming mugs of black Arabic coffee. Then she put the pot back onto its holder over the stove.

“With or without?”

“That would be without, perhaps it will be a with on the way back. Will you be able to wait for a couple of hours for me?”

“This all sounds very clandestine Andy?” Rosemary replied

“No Rosemary nothing to worry about. This is a personal matter.”

“It’s a woman” Stu said with a wink

“Ohhh do tell Andy?”

“There is nothing to tell Rosemary, I just want to ask someone, to do something of a favour for me.”

“Andy are you wearing After-Shave lotion?” Rosemary asked as she deliberately twitched her nose.

I must have gone bright red as I could feel the bottom of my ears burning.

“Yes Rosemary, I thought it would be better than working man's sweat.”

The banter continued for the next three hours. We must have been travelling at close to 40 knots. However, with the sea being relatively calm it did not feel it.

“Do you want me to tie up at their pier? I don't think you will get this boat into the harbour proper.”

“That will be great if you can. Thanks Stu”

“OK lets go up and you can help put the buoys over the edge as we come alongside.” Rosemary said

Rosemary and I followed Stu up to the deck and then Stu went into the wheelhouse. Skilfully he brought his large fishing boat alongside the end of the pier. Equally as skilfully Rosemary bounded over the edge of the boat taking the bow rope and winding it around a thick post. I threw down the stern rope and she tied that off to another stout post.

“Cheers Stu. I will see you in a couple of hours. If I am not back in three hours, come and get me I will be at the Svinoy grocery shop.”

He gave me the thumbs up. I jumped down onto the wooden slatted pier. Rosemary came across and in her mother hen mode, that she so often had been, when all our lives had been in danger previously. She flicked my hair and dusted off the non-existent dust from my shoulder.

“Well, I asked?”

“You’ll do, I guess. You don't clean up too bad Mr Andy McPhee.”

I waved to them and walked up the well-trodden pathway to Svinoy village. I say village, it was more like a hamlet. There was a whitewashed, tin roofed church. A few houses and a singular shop come post office, which also had a house tacked onto the back of it. It was this house I was returning to. I walked up the narrow pathway to the shop. What had been a well maintained and beautiful garden, to the front of the house come shop, was now overgrown with weed filled flower boarders and tall unkempt grass. I opened the half glass door that led into the shop part of the building. A small bell rang, to announce the fact that I had entered. Like the garden it was different from the last time I had visited. The shop had previously been full of goods. Now there were only a few items left on the solid wood shelves. Petrá stood behind the counter. She was wearing a Norwegian style cardigan over a white blouse. She wore a pair of denim jeans, that hugged her bum nicely.

“Andy, Andy, Andy.” she sang my name out with a distinct Faeroese accent, this was like a cross between a Shetland and a Danish accent.

“You do look a lot smarter, than when we last met, I have to say, young Andy. Come on through and tell me what it is that brings you to this far-off desolate Island.” She said, as she lifted the gated countertop up to allow me to pass into what effectively was the kitchen of the house behind the shop. I followed her through to the hub of the house, it was unchanged since I had been there, a year or so ago. The large custard coloured, solid fuel Rayburn cooker, still standing against the gable wall. The very distinct smell of peat being burned. I guess that one of the other villagers had probably bartered peat, for goods from the shop. Peat cutting would normally have been a big family concern, with everybody mucking in, to get the job done. However now her father and brother were dead, that would no longer happen.

Bartering still very much existed in the Highlands and also in these desolate and mostly agriculturally barren Islands, which were stuck in the middle of the North Atlantic. To my mind bartering, was a much fairer system than hard cash. I would guess that bartering, had been the original currency of the world, before the advent of coins around 2,700 years ago.

There was a scrubbed pine table and chairs. Then an old well-worn and comfortable leather settee along with the matching chairs. At the other end was a long sideboard, which had a Ship to Shore UHF radio sat on top. It was taking up space, next to a framed picture of a small fishing boat, that had a red painted Hull and a white top. Standing beside the boat, were two tall men. They both looked fit and well, they were obviously and without doubt, Father and Son. The Father had his arm, over the son’s shoulders. They were smiling happily for the camera. I guessed this was Petrá’s father and her brother. Being as how Petrá was not in the photo, I assumed that she had been the person behind the camera.

The oak rocking chair that I had sat in, over a year ago, to make my call to Sandy, in order that he might rescue us from the neighbouring Island of Fugloy, was still sat next to the radio. Petra interrupted my thoughts.

“Now then Andy, let me have a good look at you. Last time I saw you. You were wrapped up in Arctic Camouflage. I know fishermen Andy and I know you are not one of them. I heard tell, that there was a helicopter crashed on Fugloy. That would be around the same time, as you came over here and said you had lost the use of the radio in your boat. I also heard tales that the old whaling station was destroyed, in a series of explosions. Some of the men from the Islands around here, went and had a look a few days later. The Danish Navy, had it shut down tighter than a Synagogue’s petty cash box.”

“Really Petrá? Must just have been a coincidence”

“Well, I do have to say, you present a whole lot better, than you did then.”

“Petrá I am truly sorry to hear about your Father and your Brother.”

“Thanks Andy, it was a difficult time. There were four men from our small Island, they had gone to fish for Cod around the northern fishery beds. Nobody really knows what happened. They never even got out an SOS. The other fishermen think it was a rogue wave, and it just rolled the boat. Now all but a couple of families, have gone from the Island and village. The shop no longer makes any money. I will probably have to go to the mainland to get work. This has been our family home, for five generations. Anyway, enough of my problems. Where are my manners. Would you care for a coffee?”

“That would be lovely Petrá.”

“So, what is it that brings my mysterious Andy, Andy, Andy to me?” she sang my name out again.

“Truth be told Petrá, I came to see you. I have a small problem that I could use some help with.”

“Ohh?” she said as she brought the coffee over to me

“May I?” I said, indicating to settee.

“Of course, you may, please sit.”

I sat down and she sat down next to me. It actually made me feel slightly embarrassed and excited as her knees touched mine, when we turned to face each other. She was beautiful. But she was looking at the prospect of hard times, that much was obvious from the shop. Not only was the shop failing to make any money, but there were also a double income missing from the household. I had not said anything to anyone, in regard to what I was ready to ask Petrá and it felt awkward.

“So, Andy what is it I can do for you?” she said and her brilliant emerald green eyes, glistened with devilment.

“Petrá if you were able to keep this house and have a job away from the Island, with a really good wage, would you consider it?”

“You don't mess around, when it comes to big questions do you Andy. Here was I thinking you had come to offer me a tropical holiday in the sun, or at least a night on the town.”

“So?”

“What?

“What do you think?”

“About?”

“What I have just asked you?”

“Which part?” she said.

It was like having a conversation with Lachie when he wanted to be daft!

“All of it” I said and looked to her face for an indication of where her thoughts on it were.

“Well, when you say a really good wage, what are we comparing it against, for it to be really good? As in, would that be a really good Island wage? Or a really good Mainland wage?”

“What would you say would be a good wage Petrá?”

“Andy, I would say for what you are asking, for me to leave my home and to keep it going while I am away working and live somewhere else. It would have to be at least 10,000 Faeroe Krone each month.”

“How many Krone are there to a Euro?”

“I think 100 Faeroe Krone is about 13.5 Euro or in your British Pounds it is £10.”

“What if I could offer you £5,000 per month and pay for the upkeep of your house here?”

“Who do you wish me to kill Andy?”

“You would not have to kill anyone. I would also provide your own set of apartments with all the mod cons. And if there is something that you need, and it’s not there, I will get it for you.”

“Andy are you trying to buy my attentions?”

“Ohhhhh Hell No. No, it is nothing like that Petrá. I am looking for someone to be a nanny to two, one year old children. Their real parents are dead, and I feel a duty of care for them.”

“Why?”

“Why do I want you to care for them?”

“No Andy. Why is it you feel a duty of care for them? Did you kill their parents?” She asked.

I looked back into those emerald green eyes to see if she was playing with me again. It did not look like she was. I suppose in a way I had been partly responsible, for their parent’s death. We had rescued the family, from a North Korean death camp. Then we had managed to get them to the safety of the UK. At that point in time, the children who were premature and underweight, were dispatched to Raigmore Hospital in Inverness. The other 12 North Koreans that we had rescued, were murdered, by people working for the CIA or the North Korean government. The family would no doubt have died a cruel death in the Prison camp. But they did not deserve the death they got either. Now the two children, which were just over a year old were in an orphanage just outside Inverness.

“No Petrá. I never killed the parents; I knew the family and they have no other living relatives. I am in a position to help. But I have never had children, so would not know where to begin.”

“Andy, I have never had children either, what makes you think I would be any better?”

“Because Petrá, you have a gentle nature and you looked after your father and brother and there is nothing closer to children than full grown men.”

“OK, on that point you are correct Andy. All men are just big kids at heart. I will think about it while we drink our coffee. Would you like a Whisky to go with the coffee?” She said and sprang up from the couch and bounced on her toes across the room.

She came back with a bottle of Shetland Reel and two tumblers. After poring two very large measures, she handed one to me. I now had a coffee in one hand and a large Whisky in the other. Petrá sat down next to me again and sat with one leg tucked in under her bum. She sat facing me with her Whisky in her left hand, her right hand was across her lap.

“Well Andy, I do not even know your last name.”

“It’s McPhee, my name is Andy McPhee.”

“Mr Andy McPhee. It has a nice ring to it. Well Mr Andy McPhee it is a pleasure to make your formal acquaintance. My name is Petrá Johansen. Skál! Andy McPhee.” she said as she raised, his glass to mine.

“Skál” I said in return, hoping it was the correct thing to do.

“If I do choose to accept this post, where will I be living?”

“You would live with the children of course.”

“Andy, I am not a stupid woman. Even in the Faeroe’s, we have televisions. So where is the house?”

I knew at some point that question would come. I had not even managed to adopt the children at this point, yet here I was out here trying to engage Petrá, as a live-in nanny to the twins.

“Petrá. I need you to trust me. I will not harm you or allow harm to come to you. I would like for you to come with me on my friends’ boat, to where my home is. My friend Stu McCormack and his wife Rosemary are down at the pier in their fishing boat the Catherine May. When I say fishing boat. It is probably not like any fishing boat; you have ever been on. It is more like a luxury yacht. At least walk with me, down to the pier and meet with them. Then I will ask you again, if you wish to see where you would be working. It is only 3 to 4 hours away.”

“Your boat is three hours away” she said and I almost bit, until I saw that flash in her bright green eyes. She threw her head back and the bright flame red, hair fell in cascades over her shoulders. She laughed and I laughed. Then we drank our Whisky.

“Yes Andy McPhee. I say yes. I will come and meet with Stuart and Rosemary on their boat. But I will think about the job, a little more.”

She clinked her glass against mine and we drank our coffee and whisky. Then she pulled on a shawl and we walked back down the path to the Catherine May. I helped her aboard and we went down into the galley where Stu and Rosemary sat at the table. I made the introductions and we sat down.

“Your boat Stuart, it is very shiny and very fancy for a fishing boat. What is it that you fish for? To be able to afford such a boat. I am sorry that was rude of me. Please forgive my rudeness. It is none of my business.”

“Don’t worry Petrá, Stu and I, we take stupid rich people out to fish, in the deep waters with rod and line. They have more money than sense. So, we have a boat that makes things comfortable for them. Also, for Andy and our friends, we use the boat for pleasure” Rosemary said

“You could say, we have a little club, that we all belong to. Some of us have been friends since school other are more recent. We are all lucky people, we have some wealth, but we also enjoy our privacy. If you would still like to see our home? Stu can take us there now. Stu will of course bring you right back to your home when you have seen it. What do you say?”

“I say this is a strange boat that has such a small crew, for such a large vessel.”

“It is completely computer controlled, except when I don't want it to be.” Stu said