The Return Of Seven E-Book

Kenn Gordon

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

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

The second book in the Andy McPhee and Team Seven series of books. Once again SIS's team seven have to save the world for another despot who is determend to bring the world to its knees. Political corruption is never far away when the stakes are high. as with the Conta affair the CIA'a hands are never clean except this time there are people in every conceivable branch of law enforcement including the UK Secret Services and even inside the American FBI. iIn order to save the world Team seven must go deep inside North Koreas no go area, From a gulag to a battle on the High Seas. Death follows them like a bad smell, This time they are destined to suffer the loss of one of ther own. Will they suceed ?

Leseprobe

Kenn Gordon

The Return Of Seven

Team seven part 2

I dedicate this book to my loving and long-suffering wife. She has supported me in my quest to become a novelist. To my father I say Thank you for encouraging me in following my dreams whatever they were. To all my sons. I also must thank my loyal readers some of whom supported me in my music by buying my albums and to those that supported me as a Luthier, Musician and now a Writer. I thank you.BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

The Return Of Seven

The

Return

Of Seven

by

Kenn Gordon

Copyright © 2019 Kenn Gordon

All rights reserved.

DEDICATION

I dedicate this book to my loving and long-suffering wife. She has supported me in my quest to become a novelist. To my father I say Thank you for encouraging me in following my dreams whatever they were. To all my sons. I also must thank my loyal readers some of whom supported me in my music by buying my albums and to those that supported me as a Luthier, Musician and now a Writer. I thank you.

CONTENTS

Acronyms and Odd Words – Page 464

Other Books and Works by Kenn Gordon – Page 460

Act 1 – Page 11

Act 2 – Page 23

Act 3 – Page 28

act 4 – page 35

act 5 – page 43

act 6 – page 51

act 7 – page 56

act 8 – page 62

act 9 – page 72

act 10 – page 76

act 11 – page 79

act 12 – page 86

act 13 – page 89

act 14 – page 92

act 15 – page 96

act 16 – page 98

act 17 – page104

act 18 – Page 111

act 19 – page 119

act 20 – page 122

act 21 – page 128

act 22 – page 130

act 23 – page 134

act 24 – page 137

Act 25 – page 142

act 26 – page 144

act 27 – page 148

act 28 – page 151

act 29 – page 154

act 30 – page 161

act 31 – page 164

act 32 – page 169

act 33 – page 176

act 34 – page 180

act 35 – page 183

act 36 – page 185

act 37 – page 189

act 38 – page 195

act 39 – page 197

act 40 – page 200

act 41 – page 208

act 42 – page 212

act 43 – page 219

act 44 – page 227

act 45 – page 234

act 46 – page 245

act 47 – page 250

act 48 – page 255

act 49 – page 261

act 50 – page 268

act 51 – page 272

act 52 – page 279

act 53 – page 285

act 54 – page 294

act 55 – page 299

act 56 – page 309

act 57 – page 312

act 58 – page 317

act 59 – page 320

act 60 – page 329

act 61 – page 338

act 62 – page 344

act 63 – page 349

act 64 – page 353

act 65 – page 359

act 66 – page 369

act 67 – page 373

act 68 – page 378

act 69 – page 392

act 70 – page 398

act 71 – page 413

act 72 – page 427

act 73 – page 433

act 74 – page 438

act 75 – page 441

act 76 – page 444

act 77 – page 447

ACT 1

My name is Andy McPhee. I still live in the Highlands of Scotland. I love Scotland and I love the area in which I live. My home is on a mountainside at Old Kinbrace. It is right out there in the middle of nowhere, which is the way I like things. The village of Kinbrace is about four miles from my doorstep. The closest village after that, would be Helmsdale, that would be 17 miles in the opposite direction. Most folks, have never even heard of the hamlet of Kinbrace, let alone the fishing village of Helmsdale. If you ask a Southerner where Sutherland is? Then 90% of them still, would not have a clue. Yet Sutherland is one of the biggest counties in the UK.

This is one of the main reasons, I have chosen to live here. I do so for the seclusion and the beauty, not to mention the Scottish and, the Highland way of life. I love the solitude of the Highlands. I love the clean and fresh air that I breathe. I even love the weather because it changes the entire look of things.

In the summer, the Gorse and Whin Bushes are in full bloom, with their dazzling bright yellow flowers on a backdrop of dark emerald green. The Ferns cover the floor of the woodlands in a carpet of succulent greens. The mountains have a covering of purple from the Heather. And the sky is a beautiful baby blue with wispy white clouds. All the crofters and the farmers are gathering their crops. The local folks are digging the peat in the long summer evenings, while they fight off the incessant attacks from the scourge of the Highland hillsides, clouds of midges. A mosquito like insect, that get in your ears and in your mouth when you breathe. Then there are the dreaded horseflies, that are as big as bumble bees and their bite is equally as painful. Even with all this, Highlanders, will work to help each other, without too much complaining. The midges can be kept slightly at bay, by pipe smoke. It was not unusual to see young boys or girls, with a pipe stuck in their mouths, puffing clouds of blue smoke and hoping to engulf themselves, in an aromatic cloud of ‘anti midge smoke’. Even the women would ‘take to the pipe for the ‘peat cutting’. There are Trout and Salmon in the rivers, Rabbits and Red Deer on the mountain sides. There are game birds a plenty in the sky. Then comes Autumn and the hills change colour from purples to browns. The dried peats have been brought in from the hillsides and stacked either in sheds or built into a ‘Peat Stack’. The smell of peat fires, fills the air and hangs like a mist, in the glens and the lower pastures. The rivers start to pick up pace, as the rains roll off the mountain sides. In the Highlands we call it a ‘Spate’. That is when the rivers that are normally slow and calm, suddenly become full to bursting point, with the water that rolls down and runs off from the high ground. They look like rapids in the Rockies, except these are brown with the colour of peat. This is not a muddy brown that you see in the rivers of the lowlands. The Highland rivers run with the colour of stout beer. The Stags and Hind’s come down into the Glens and feed on what is left of the summer vegetation. The migratory birds fly off for warmer climates. Winter comes, and the floor of the forest is now brown with the dead bracken and the larch needles. Any deciduous trees have given up their foliage, the sky turns grey and the nights lengthen to the point where the sun rises at 9am and sets again at 3:30 to 4pm. On the clear and frosty nights, we can easily see the Northern Lights, or if you want to be technical. The Aurora Borealis. Up here in the countryside of the Highlands, there is little or no light pollution. The resulting beauty of the coloured sky, which is just so difficult to describe. My mother used to call it God’s Disco Lights. Winter would bring other things, like the snow, rain, wind and of course the cold. Even some of the animals change colour to blend in with their backgrounds. Weasel’s turn from brown to white, the Mountain Hare like the stoat or Weasel, changes his coat to match the peaks of the mountains. The Ptarmigan’s feathers change to predominately white.

The Highlands of Scotland, always famous for its abundance of wildlife, some of which are now extinct. Many of the previously extinct species are now being reintroduced back into the Highlands. There is also an ongoing attempt to re-establish the Caledonian forest, by the planting of millions of trees. The Wolf was a threat to travellers, so much so that in Sutherland, ‘Spittals’ were built. These spittals were rock or wooden shelters that were built along the roads and mountain paths, to provide a safe place to rest, without being in danger from wolfs. In the Highlands, wolfs were a threat to the dead as well as the living. So, to combat this, the Highlanders of Ederachillis started to bury their dead on the Island of Handa. As told in the book of Highland Minstrelsy

On Ederachillis’ shore

The grey wolf lies in wait

Woe to the broken door,

Woe to the loosened gate,

And the groping wretch whom sleety fogs

On the trackless moor belate.

The lean and hungry wolf,

With his fangs so sharp and white,

His starveling body pinched

By the frost of a northern night,

And his pitiless eyes that scare the dark

With their green and threatening light.

He climeth the guarding dyke,

He leapeth the hurdle bars,

He steals the sheep from the pen,

And the fish from the boat-house spars,

And he digs the dead from out of the sod,

And gnaws them under the stars.

Thus, every grave we dug

The hungry wolf uptore,

And every morn the sod

Was strewn with bones and gore

Our mother-earth had denied us rest

On Ederchaillis’ shore

— from The Book of Highland Minstrelsy, 1846

Rightly or wrongly, they were hunted to extinction from the highlands. The last known wolf, in Scotland, was killed in 1888. Plans to reintroduce the Scottish wolf have been talked about for many years, but so far that is all we had, was talk. The Scots Beaver and even Bears are also planned to be reintroduced. The Scottish Lynx was hunted to extinction almost 700 years ago. The Pine Marten almost became hunted out of existence, but numbers are now increasing. Pine Martens look like a large Polecat. They and the Scottish Wildcat are bringing a natural order back to the countryside of the Highlands. This is yet another of the reasons why I love living up here in semi-isolation.

Next comes my favourite time of year, Spring when everything in reborn or becoming new. The young of most animals are being born and the plants are starting the cycle once again. It is a busy time for the farmers and crofters as the lambing season starts and the fields require ploughing and planting, to provide the next year’s winter feed. Some folks have asked me over the years.

“Don’t you get bored living up there with nothing to do?”

I have always found that there is so much more to do and so many more choices. Everything I eat is fresh and eaten during the correct season. Nature has a setup, that is balanced, all you must do, is find that balance. Then set your life to align with it.

So back to my house, the one I had originally grown-up in. I say originally. My home had been rebuilt after a rogue agent, who worked for the UK’s SIS. destroyed it in a deliberate explosion, an explosion in which Lachie and I were theoretically to have died in. So consequently, now we had a brand-new house except unlike before, we had all the mod cons, in our newly rebuilt home. By mod cons really, I mean all the things that we never had in our old home, when we had previously rented it from his Lordship. Those were basic things like mains electricity, mains water and still we had our large gas tank, however now, it was situated not quite so close to the home.

Although I had not been born here, I had grown up at Old Kinbrace with my parents. We were normal hard-working folks and my father had worked hard all his life. Even after, the premature death of my mother to cancer, he had continued to work a smallholding. From the days I went to school at Kinbrace, then Helmsdale and finally Golspie.

I had one true and lifelong friend, Lachlan Henderson or Lachie to his friends. From boyhood and then later in manhood we had played and worked together. I, like Lachie, had been in the Royal Air Force as lifers. We had hoped that we would end our official working lives, in the British Military. Lachie had chosen the RAF Regiment and would have probably gone on to transfer to the SAS, that is if things worked out, the way they should have done.

In our life before SIS. decided to interfere. I was in the RAF Medical Branch. That was before it all kicked off. Lachie had been a Corporal and I had been a Sergeant. Then, there was an incident on the Brecon Beacons, one of those incidents that are never properly reported and always emphatically denied. We were both immediately promoted. So, Lachie was now a Sergeant and I got a Crown to go with my three stripes, making me a Flight Sergeant. Sounds great? You would think so, wouldn’t you? Then you would be so wrong.

We were posted to The Nuclear Biological and Chemical Research Centre at CDE Porton Down. The official line being, that CDE Porton Down, are looking for a cure for the common cold. It was at this point things took a big downward spiral. There was some nasty shit going on. We got Court Marshalled and kicked out of the RAF. We had done nothing to warrant this. It just suited SIS. for us to be disgraced and disgruntled ex-servicemen. Then things really went from bad to worse. We ended up working as Team Seven, for SIS. The only problem was that Most of SIS. did not get the memo. So, we were placed on a blacklist and whilst trying to save the world from a doomsday weapon, that a rogue member of SIS. had stolen from CDE Porton Down. Meanwhile the rest of SIS. CIA, MI5, MI6, MOSAD and a dozen other members of the alphabet soup, that makes up the world’s secret services. They were all trying to kill us as the terrorists. Did that sound complex to you? It was, or should I say it still is. I know what you are thinking now. Who the fuck are SIS?

So, to make things easier to understand from the get-go. SIS are the Secret Intelligence Service of the UK. SIS had promised that we would get our lives back if we saved the world. We did, and then they sort of kept their promise. So, after a 9-month break to rebuild our homes and our lives, it looked like SIS had once again called us back in.

I had left the main gate up to the house open, as my father was going to be taking his tractor, over to Borrobol Farm, with some wood for the gamekeeper, who lived about two miles from us. As such the postman came to the door with the post, rather than leaving it, in the wooden box at the gate. I knew the moment the letter came through the letterbox.

I had gone to the door as soon as I saw the postman coming up the path. However, the postman was faster than me, and the letter slipped through the slot in the door and glided, in a slow motion, back and forth flight. Almost like a small boat, fighting a losing battle, with big waves, only to land on the rocks. The letter landed face down on the mat. Just a plain white envelope which had my name and address typed on the front and a rubber stamp on the back. I had spent 9 months enjoying a simple and pleasurable life. Jane, who I had met in the initial SIS caper, was now my significant other. She had moved in with me, in the home that I currently shared, with my father. This was the home, which we three shared with Kyla, my Japanese Akita and my father’s new companion, Raven II.

Raven II was a replacement for my father’s Great Dane. Raven, who had been killed, whilst trying to save my life. Jane had bought Raven II, as a gift for my father. He was another jet-black Great Dane. Now my father and his gangly companion were inseparable. So there were five of us that shared our new home. Three with two legs and two with four legs.

All of team seven had kept in regular contact with each other. We had formed a bond that I thought would never be broken. Hans had gone back to Iceland and was now the acting Security Commissioner for the IDF (Iceland Defence Force). To give him his full military title, he was now Colonel in Chief of the IDF.

Abdalla had gone back home to Kenya. He left the Army and was now working on a wildlife preservation project around his homeland village. He had built a small Village Medical Practice and even paid for the Doctor and Nurse. Abdalla now lived back in his father’s home, on the edge of the Malka Mari National park. Abdalla had shouldered the costs for these projects himself, using part of his payment of £1,000,000 awarded to him by SIS for his part in saving the world. This should more accurately have been described as hush money rather than a payment. That said £1,000,000 goes a long way in Kenya.

Lachie still lived just a few miles down the road from me in the home that he shared with his father. Lachie like all of us, was a man of means now. All of Team Seven were awarded the sum of £1,000,000 each.

The civilians, who had become embroiled in our previous adventure, were also given similar awards. None of us trusted SIS and had requested that we receive payment in Cash. This was because at one point in the past, SIS had wiped us out on paper. So that technically we did not exist. This included wiping out our bank accounts. In order to err on the side of caution, we had all decided to manage our own money and hide it away safely. SIS had initially balked at the idea of paying us in hard cash but had eventually agreed. Each of us had secretly been given our payments in used notes, at the Brora Radio Station. General Sir Philip Reeves-Johnson had overseen the cash transactions.

Sir Philip, who we just referred to as ‘The Suit’. This nick name, we had given him when Lachie and I had first met with him at CDE Porton Down, was due to the fact, that he always wore Harris Tweed suits. It was also a lot less of a mouthful than his official name. All of us, had literally stashed our funds away, in a place that only we would know.

Sandy McKay, who had been the skipper of the fishing boat Catherine May, until it had been destroyed by Marcus Brown, in the failed attempt to wipe all of us out. Sandy had retired from the sea, and now owned a Pub in Keiss. Even though SIS had replaced his fishing boat, with a brand-new boat.

His daughter Rosemary married her childhood sweetheart, Stuart McCormack. Both had also been ensnared by the SIS some 9 months earlier.

Stuart now had, what would have been his stepfather’s boat. He had spent half of the money that Rosemary and he had been awarded, on highly upgrading the boats engine and other hardware.

Jane’s father, Dusty, had invested in a Luxury Car hire business. He was also given a posthumous award for his wife; she had been killed by SIS agents. So, all of us had our lives squared away.

I was enjoying life. I travelled the world, Sky Diving and Base Jumping. This was something Lachie and I still did together, only now Jane would accompany us. We could not get her to parachute alongside us though. Jane just liked the exotic locations that we would go to.

Apart from the death of my father’s original Great Dane and Jane’s mother, we had all somehow survived. All of us managed to get out unscathed except for Lachie catching a bullet in his left shoulder. This was now completely healed, except for the odd twinge when the weather got damp. I suppose you could say that we all came out of things rather well, financially speaking that is. But what we gained much more than any payment or accolade. It was the bond of friendship.

We made a pact that we would meet up, every couple of months. We would take turns as to who hosted the gathering. In four weeks’, time, we were due to visit Hans at his home in Iceland. It was a place I had always wanted to visit but never really got around to going. I knew even before I picked the letter up from the mat by the door, that we were unlikely to be having a Party at Hans’s home. General Sir Philip Reeves-Johnson who was the new and current Head of SIS. The British Secret Intelligence Service, this also covered sections like MI5 MI6 and some that just had single letters, like G section and so forth. Then there was the Black Door section. This unfortunately for us was the section of SIS that we came under. Black Door was all about ‘off book’ missions. These were missions that never happened. So, this was the Intelligence Service. Lachie would have said that was an oxymoron. ‘The Suit’ had surreptitiously recruited us as temporary members of the SIS. But true to his word at the time, he had given us our lives back at the end of a mission called ‘Altered Perceptions’. Or so it seemed until now. I picked the letter up and looked at the Black Door stamp on the reverse of the envelope. I decided not to open it until I had contacted the rest of what was Team Seven. Contacting my lifelong friend Lachlan Henderson, who was known to me, simply as Lachie. This would not be a problem, as he was due to come over to help me in the Recording Studio, that we had built next to my home. I figured, Lachie and I would talk then.

In my life before the RAF, I had been a Semi Pro Musician. Now I was putting that skill to good use, by offering young musicians a chance to record for free. This was a form of relaxation for me.

Until Lachie arrived, I would set about trying to find the exact locations of all the official Team Seven, as well as all the unofficial members. I needed to know if I was the only one who had received the letter.

My father was out walking our dogs. This was something that he did twice a day every day, irrespective of what the weather was doing. At the age now of Seventy-One, he was still fitter, than most forty-year olds. He had lived almost his entire life in the Strath of Kildonan. The greater part of which his did as a Forester, while keeping his small holding going. Until just over nine months ago he had rented it from the owners of the Estate. Then SIS had managed to buy it from them, and get it transferred into my name. Once again this was, as part of their bribe, to get me to do their dirty work. Consequently, now it was my land with my name on the title deeds. Even though as far as I was concerned, it was my fathers. In the home that had been destroyed. The large farmhouse kitchen had been the hub of life, with its Rayburn Solid Fuel Cooker sat on a traditional flag stone floor. I had kept this feature in the new design. Apart from the Recording Studio next to the house, the original design appeared to be the same as the previous.

I say appeared because the house now had an extra sub-level. A large underground vault like structure, which was literally a large bombproof complex of rooms. Jane and my father combined part of their pay out, from SIS, alongside mine. We had been able to fill it, with items that would always keep my family and my friends safe. Abdalla had designed an Armoury for me. It was like a mini version of the underground Shooting Range, where Abdalla, had refined and honed our skills. When we first met with Abdalla he had provided firearms training in the secret shooting range near CDE Porton Down. All of which had been in preparation for our involvement in ‘Altered Perceptions’. A high level of security was required to enter the underground bunker below my home.

Each of the official members of the Original Team Seven had a different skill set, which is why we were chosen in the first place. I had been a Medic, but I was also a Skilled Marksman along with being a sports parachutist. Lachie was like me from the same theatre of operations, he was a Marksman like me, but he had also been in training for the SAS, whilst serving as a driver, with the RAF Regiment. If it had an engine in it, then Lachie could work magic with it.

Abdalla was a firearms expert and had been a member of the Kenyan Elite Special Forces, with a massive amount of battlefield experience.

Hans was a pilot, from Iceland. He had been a Colonel in the Icelandic Defence Force and was an expert in Hostage Rescue, as well as being a covert communications expert.

Jane had at that time of our recruitment, been a full member of the SIS. She was an expert in communications and computers. Originally, she had not been a field operative but like the rest of us, had been coerced into it.

I had asked each member of the team to help me design our unique underground facility. It had been built by us and the other civilian members, of Team Seven. This was along with, some specialists that Hans had brought in. Once it was complete my home had been built on top. I say on top, the house only covered about a quarter of the surface area, of the bunker. We had not built it as a place where we would run covert operations from, we had built it as a place where we could all run too, should the need arise. Jane had designed the communications room with Hans. Lachie had worked with Abdalla on the Armoury. I had worked with my father on the accommodation section. Abdalla had also made Bug-Out Packs for us all. Filled with items that we would require, should we ever have to go on the run again. Each bag contained £10,000 in used notes of various currencies, a Sig-Sauer semi-automatic pistol with the SR09 suppressor and fully loaded clips. Also included was a KaBar military knife and four Burner Phones. The batteries were always on charge or charged up. As was the satellite phone along with a secure ten-inch laptop. Each bag contained a Storno encrypted radio complete with a throat mike with earpiece. In an outside compartment there were Passports. I say passports, rather than a passport, this was because each person had four different ones. They were all clean and had been arranged by Hans. The people at SIS, were unaware of any of the items. Nor were they aware of what lay below my house and I intended to keep it that way. I do not think any of us, really believed that SIS, would let us live our lives, without their involvement, in some way or other.

So, this was our back up plan, we would never again go on the run without the resources, to either protect ourselves, or to hide if the need arose. We had kept a large percentage of the military hardware that had been issued to us under operation ‘Altered Perceptions’ most of which remained in the sub level bunker beneath my house. We had all told a ‘little white lie’ to SIS claiming that Marcus Brown had destroyed all of it, in the attack on the Catherine May, along with the destruction of the Bioweapon, that Marcus Brown had stolen from CDE Porton Down.

The result of this ‘little white lie’ meant that our armoury still contained four AS50 Sniper rifles along with four BAE Advanced Digital Scopes. We had small arms that included Uzi Machine Pistols, Sig-Sauer’s, and Mossberg pump action shotguns. On top of these we had an adequate supply of ammunition to go with these guns. Some of which we had acquired along the way from mercenaries, those that had been sent to wipe us out and failed. In short, we were protected should we need to be. Life though up to this point, had become ‘normal’ for us once again or as normal as it ever could be for us.

ACT 2

A knock at the door stole me away from my thoughts. On opening the door Lachie was standing there.

“So, are you going to put the coffee on, or do I have to do that myself?” He said with an honest smile.

“Lachie, how are you Mate? Come on in and since when did you start knocking on doors before you enter?”

“Since you had Abdalla, fit your new security system”

Lachie was referring to a system that Abdalla had put in. It was composed of anti-personal electrical devices for uninvited guests, along with CS Gas spray. This system could be armed from the bunker, below the house. I had never switched it on, but Lachie knew it was there.

“You know as well as I do, that it is safe unless we are actually in real deep trouble.”

“So?” he said

“So?” I replied

“Are you gonna invite me in?”

We greeted each other with a handshake and a man hug.

“Come on in and I’ll put the coffee on”

Lachie had become a little flamboyant, since coming into his money. He had taken to dressing, in full Highland working dress. This made him look, a bit like, an extra from the Mel Gibson movie, Brave-heart. Unlike Mel Gibson. who stood a mere five feet ten inches. Lachie stood almost six inches above that, so was much more like the real historical figure that had been able to wield, a two-handed Claymore Sword, with a six-foot double-edged blade. That said, he wore the Kilt well, which he wore with a blouse shirt, knitted woollen socks, including his Skean Dhu tucked into the top of his socks. On his feet he wore a traditional pair of good sturdy leather Hill Brogues. Lachie looked good in a Kilt, not all men do, but he did. He said it worked great for pulling the lassies. As part of his new-found rebellious nature against authority he had allowed his hair and beard to grow. His hair used to be kept short in a military fashion, was now tied back in a somewhat curly ponytail, this matched his full blonde and ginger beard. Lachie looked like the archetypal Highland Scot, from about 400 years ago that is. Lachie came into the large kitchen and fussed over Kyla. He and my Akita had bonded during our previous adventure, even though they knew each other well before that.

Jane who had been working in her office, just off the kitchen, she came in and gave Lachie a big hug. Jane looked small against me, but she looked positively tiny compared to Lachie. When she stood by Abdalla or Hans she looked miniscule. What she lacked in physical stature she more than made up for in smarts, especially when it came to computers and electronic communication devices.

“Are you going to stop for dinner Lachie?” Jane asked

“If that is all right with Andy and yourself, then I would be happy to. By the way I closed the main gate.”

“Sit yourself down and I will make a fresh pot of coffee. I am sure Andy has already offered to make the coffee, but so far has done nothing about it” She said with a laugh and a wink.

Jane was just over five foot six inches tall and was slim built. She may not look like a regular soldier, but she had learned many fighting skills over the last six months. Hans and Abdalla would teach us things like unarmed combat or firearms work. This they would do whenever we managed to get together. Jane went and filled up the coffee percolator. While she was doing this, I took the opportunity to show Lachie the envelope I had received, but not yet opened.

“Snap” he said, then took out a similar envelope from his plain leather Sporran.

“Have you read it yet Lachie?”

“No, not yet, Andy. Have you?”

“I was not sure if everyone got one. I was going to contact you all first, before I read it, and thanks for closing the gate, I left it open for dad as he was going over to Joe’s with firewood later. Sometimes dad forgets or leaves it open”

Jane came to the table and stood there behind me with her hands on my shoulders.

“Now what are you boys looking so conspiratorial about then?”

I laid my envelope on the table next to Lachie’s, face down as his was. I could feel the instantaneous change in Jane as her fingers tightened on my shoulders.

“Black Door looks like we are about to be sucked back into something. I knew we would never really get our lives back!” I said.

I knew full well, that we had all expected this day to come, sometime in our future, just not quite so soon. SIS had their pound of flesh out of us once already. I remembered a conversation, that I had had during our training period. It was at a time when I was still officially a Medic in the RAF. We were at CDE Porton Down and I had called ‘The Suit’ and told him ‘I wanted out of whatever it was that they were up to’. To which his reply was “There is no out for you.”

I could smell the aroma of fresh ground coffee, and hear the percolator bubbling away on the stove. Jane brought the coffee pot to the table and set it down on a trivet. Then she fetched some mugs from the Welsh Dresser, this had been a replacement for the one that had originally stood against the gable wall in the kitchen, of my father’s home. Jane did not bother with milk, as all of us preferred our coffee ‘Natural’ even though there was always a full bowl of sugar and cream jug, in the centre of the table, should any guest require it. Jane filled our mugs with the fresh black coffee.

“Is that Coffee with or without Jameson’s?” Jane enquired breaking my train of thought.

“I think this is a ‘With’ sort of moment.” I replied

Jane went back to the dresser and opened the cupboard below and pulled out a decanter filled with Jameson’s Irish Whisky. Lachie and I proffered our mugs, for Jane to pour some Irish in, and then she put a splash into her own cup.

“I notice they did not send one for Jane. I wonder why that was.”

“Perhaps they assume, that as you and Jane are like a couple, that you will both just need the one letter. Or that they can’t afford another stamp after paying us so much?” Lachie said with one of his wide and honest smiles.

There was no love lost between Lachie and SIS. Due to the fake discharge, that they had given us both, when we were in the RAF. Lachie’s hopes of transferring across from the RAF Regiment to the SAS, in an honourable fashion had been dashed. Consequentially Lachie was somewhat bitter about that.

The time here, was just a little after two in the afternoon. So that would make it just one hour earlier in Iceland. Hans would be awake. In Kenya it would be five hours ahead of us so just about seven in the evening, this in turn meant that Abdalla would also be awake.

“Jane is the Chat Room set up on the Dark Web?”

“Yes Andy, the room is called ‘Raven 1’

“Do you think that you could reach out to Hans and Abdalla and arrange a time for us all to be on-line together?”

“Want me to do it now?”

“No, let us have our coffee first. God knows when we will get a chance to relax again.”

I knew both Lachie and I were desperate to open the envelopes. Just I did not want to do it until we had everyone together. I put my envelope under the sugar bowl. Lachie seeing that I had done this reciprocated with a sigh, he lifted the sugar bowl and put his envelope on top of mine.

“Jane can you let me know when they are on-line? I am going to the studio for a bit. I have to lay down some guitar work, and Lachie can earn his dinner by being the sound engineer.”

“OK Andy, I will buzz when they are in the Chat Room.”

I finished my coffee and washed up our cups, then Lachie and I went out and up the pathway to the studio. I had found, playing guitar again, had given me a way to de-stress. The studio had been a luxury, that I had added, simply because we could afford to do it. It was a working project. It gave me another side to my life. I had built it about 20 yards away from the house which was at the far end of the underground bunker. There was a secondary entrance to the sub level, which could be accessed from the live room, by use of a hidden trapdoor and stairwell. The other entrance to the bunker was from inside the house, again from a hidden entrance. The studio itself was completely soundproofed, both from inside and from outside. It was fast becoming one of the Highlands premier studios. I had chosen only to charge, professional bands for use of the studio. Young amateur bands and musicians could use it for free.

I went in and picked up my 1974 blonde Gretsch Country Club from its stand and plugged it into my Vintage 1970’s Fender Twin Reverb amplifier. Lachie had been learning to play bass guitar over the last six months, picked his cherry red Rickenbacker 4001 up and plugged into his Peavey TNT150 amplifier.

“Do you want to jam or play for real?” Lachie asked

“Let’s just jam for a while. We can either do that ‘turn everything up louder than everything else’ Deep Purple sort of jam session? or a ‘nice bit of blues’ Muddy Waters, type session?”

“Blues”

Lachie loved the Blues and most of all he loved to play ‘Muddy Waters, Hootchi Cootchi Man’. We played a few extended versions, of Muddy’s songs and then a red light started flashing in the live room. In the recording booth it was be a Buzzer but in the live room, it would just be a flashing light. This indicated that either Jane wanted us in the house, or that someone was waiting to come into the studio. As there were no other musicians due in today, I knew it was the former rather than the latter. I switched of the amplifiers and we put our guitars back on their stands. It had been an enjoyable but all too brief jam session, where we could lose ourselves in the music. Still, it would be good to see Hans and Abdalla, albeit in a video conference, in a dark web chatroom. Jane had set her laptop up in the lounge and linked it to the large screen on the wall. The three of us sat down and Jane clicked some keys on her computer.

ACT 3

The screen came to life. I could see Abdalla sat there on the left. The right-hand side of the screen remained blank for now. We waited the arrival on screen of Hans. Abdalla still looked as fearsome as ever, that is to anyone that did not know him. His tribal scarification gave him a formidable look. A Kenyan Special Forces soldier, who had been battle hardened in the North of Kenya by fighting Sudanese rebels. He was also a tribal elder in one of the smaller tribes. Abdalla was a moderate in all things. He was a Muslim who accepted the religious views of all faiths. He thought they were wrong but accepted them. Abdalla was a consummate gentleman in everything. He was awarded a scholarship to attend Oxford University, where he received a first-class honours degree in social sciences. After getting his degree, he had then returned to his homeland and joined the Kenyan Army as a cadet officer, later to become one of the most senior officers in the elite Kenyan Special Forces. He was one of the world’s leading firearms experts and a long-range sniper. It was while he was on attachment as the firearms training officer to the UK’s Special Forces, that we had first met him, at the Secret Underground shooting range near CDE Porton Down. He trained the original Team Seven. Abdalla had come in as a replacement member, where at my request. You would want no better man to watch over you.

The right-hand side of the screen flickered into life and the image of Hans came up. He was dressed in the uniform of the Icelandic Defence force. The Flag of the IDF with its sword over Iceland on a blue background was hanging behind him. Jane clicked a couple of keys and the picture of the three of us, sat on my settee appeared in the bottom right-hand corner of the screen.

“Hello to my friends in Scotland. How are you all?”

“We are all good Hans. Thank you for asking” I replied

“Greetings from Kenya, nice to see you again Mr Andy”

Abdalla had always added the title of Mister to our names and Miss in front of Jane’s or Rosemary’s. We took it to be just what it was, his mark of respect, to his friends and comrades in arms. We all said our Hello’s and other pleasantries and then I brought the meeting around to the reason, for calling us all together.

“Abdalla, Hans, today Lachie and I both received envelopes, that look like they are from SIS. We have not opened them yet, as we wanted all of us, to be together when we did.”

I held up the two envelopes, that had dropped through our letter boxes.

“Did ‘The Suit’ not call you?” Abdalla asked

“No, we have had no contact with SIS, in the last 9 months.”

“Mr Andy, do you not think it would be prudent to contact him before opening the envelopes.”

“This is one of the reasons, I wanted to gather us all together, to seek your advice. What do you think Hans?”

“Andy, I would have to agree with Abdalla, especially seeing as I have not received one. And I would assume that the same applies to Abdalla or he and I would have already been in contact with you. Given the nature of the operation we were all involved in just 9 months ago. I would err on the side of caution before I opened any envelope, with the Black Door stamp on.”

“Thank you Hans and you too Abdalla. I tend to agree that we should contact ‘The Suit’ please give us a moment to talk to Jane.”

Jane pressed the Mute Key on her laptop.

“Lachie what are your thoughts?”

“Well now I am more worried than I was before Andy. I think they are right we should contact SIS.”

“Jane?”

“I don’t know Andy. We only just got out of the last mess and if this is from ‘The Suit’, it can only lead to more trouble. But on the other hand, if it is not from him, then the question really should be. Who would send letters with a Black Door stamp?”

“OK put the sound back up please”

Jane clicked a key, and the sound came back up.

“Hans, Abdalla we agree with you that we should as you say, err on the side of caution and telephone ‘The Suit’. Can you both please hold on while we do this?”

“Mr Andy, could we not include the suit in our chat room, or do you not trust him?”

“Abdalla, it is not so much that we don’t trust him. If you remember, 9 months ago SIS, had more leaks than an old rusty bucket. So, at this point I would prefer that he or anyone at SIS, not known, about our little chat room.”

“Abdalla, I agree with Andy, until we know what is going on, we should do what ‘The Suit’ would do and keep things compartmentalised.” Hans said.

“Jane do you have the Satellite Phone handy?”

“Yes Andy, I thought we might need it, so I got it out before this chat. I have set it up for a secure conversation. Do you want me to call him now?”

“If you could please and then put it on loudspeaker, so that we can all hear it?”

Jane took out the phone and connected it up to a small loudspeaker, which she laid on the coffee table, in front of us. Then she dialled his number and put the telephone down on the table. It rang twice, and a female voice answered.

“Hello how can I help you?” a woman’s voice said

“Can you put ‘The Suit’ on please?” replied Jane

“Who? Who are you? Who is it you wish to speak to?”

“Can you just put your boss on?”

“I think you may have dialled a wrong number. Goodbye.”

The line went dead. It was like déjà vu of ‘Altered Perceptions’ when every time we had tried to contact SIS, someone would hang up the fucking phone.

“Perhaps they have had a change in staff at SIS and none of the new staff, will know Sir Philip by his nickname?” Hans said

“Can you call again please Jane?” I said

The telephone rang on the speaker. It rang twice and the same female voice as before came on.

“Hello. Can I help you?”

It was Jane who replied to her again

“Can you please put General Sir Philip Reeves-Johnson on?”

“Who is calling?”

“Just tell him that it is Team Seven”

“We do not have a team seven. Who are you? and how did you get this number?”

“Tell him team seven are holding and if you do not put us through, then your next appointment will be at Brora Radio Station, as a cleaner!”

“One moment Please”

We waited and then she came back on the line.

“I have checked with our department heads and we do not have a Team Seven. If you would like to call our enquiries office at GCHQ, I can give you the number.”

“Listen, you stupid woman. I can promise you this if you do not put us through to Sir Philip now. Then you will no longer have any form of employment at SIS.”

There was a long pause.

“Can you give me a contact number or an address where you can be reached?”

I had a short fuse when it came to bureaucrats, and even shorter when it came to the ones in the Secret Intelligence Service.

“Listen to me now. I am sure you are just trying to do your job. Then you should know that no member of SIS would ever give out their addresses. You should also by now know, that we are on a secure Satellite Telephone. The only way I would know this number, is because I have been given it by Sir Philip himself. So, stop fucking about and connect me to him now.” Jane said

My patience for this form of idiotic official procedure was set to such a low level, as such that I did not tolerate fools gladly. Jane’s appeared to be, getting even lower

“Hello. Who is this?” At last, a voice that we all recognised, ‘The Suit’.

“This is Team Seven and you should recognise the voices in this call.” Each person said hello without giving out their names. And I continued.

“Now you know who we are.”

“Yes, what is it that you want?”

“Did you send us envelopes with the Black Door logo, stamped on the reverse?”

“Not that I am aware of”

“I do not want a politician’s answer. Did you send them to us or not?”

“No”

“We have not opened them. But obviously someone knows our Identities and where we live. They also know that we were previously involved in SIS Black Door Operations. How could that be?”

“I am sorry I don’t know.”

“Mr Suit” Abdalla interjected and continued

“Due to the nature of what we were involved in, do you not think that before these envelopes are opened that they should first be checked for ‘Nasty Shit’”

I smiled to myself, I could not have put it better if I had tried.

“Your friend there is correct. Can we meet up at our station near you?”

‘The Suit’ was referring to the Brora Radio station about twenty-two miles from my home.

“When do you want us there?”

“I can be there tonight”

He hung up. SIS really were going to have to work on their people skills, with special attention to their telephone skills, or lack thereof.

“I can be there tonight as well” Hans said

“How are you going to manage that Hans?

“I am a pilot and the most senior command officer in the IDF, so I can just borrow a plane.” He said with a smile.

“I can be there tomorrow Mr Andy.”

“OK you both know where I live. We will look forward to seeing you.”

We all said our goodbyes and Jane logged us off from the Dark Web Chatroom.

“What do you think is in the envelopes Andy?”

“I don’t know Jane, it could be nothing, but I don’t want to take a chance of there being any of the ‘Nasty Shit’, that Abdalla referred to inside them.”

This was a reference to the Bacteriological material that had been destroyed by us, after it had been stolen by the ex-topman at SIS, some 9 months previous. I was now worried that it might not just be a letter inside.

“Jane do you have any seal-able plastic bags?”

Jane got up and went to the kitchen and returned a moment later with a sandwich bag.

“Will this do?”

“Perfect, thanks Jane”

I carefully put both the envelopes into the bag and sealed the top.

“Who do you suppose, would know our identities? Now we know ‘The Suit’, did not send them. So, the question must be, who did?” Lachie said, to no one in particular.

“I don’t know Lachie, but we will find out, of that I am sure. Hans has the best detective type mind amongst us. We shall have to see what he says, when he gets here. I think we need to get our bug out bags ready. I also think it would be a good time, to move our parents again.”

“Jane can you contact your father, on a burner phone and get him up here?”

“I’m on it.”

“Just as a precautionary thing, I think we should contact everyone who was involved, in the previous mission. So, if you can call all of them as well please Jane?”

Jane had always managed the organisational part of our lives, during and after, our big adventure into the murky world of Spy’s. Along with the power mongers, that could have caused not only World War Three, but the possible destruction of all mankind. We had managed to stop it by destroying their weapon, on the remote Scottish Island of North Rona. We followed this up by killing the corrupt Secretary Defence for the UK. He had been involved in the sale of this item, to the American Industrialist billionaire, Douglas Crump. The pair of them, we had killed in the same ‘accident’ on the West Coast Island of Gruinard. The British Government did not want the embarrassment, of it being known to the world that high up members of their government, who were intricately linked to the Royal Family and were involved in terrorism. They could never be tried in a law court, as it would result in massive and irreparable damage to the UK’s international reputation. We had been ordered to ‘Take them out’ in an ‘Accident’.

Now it looked in some way, this whole thing had come back to bite us on the arse. Could the Envelopes contain Toxins, or just a letter to us? Who knew of our connection to SIS and Black Door operations? Were we being targeted?

ACT 4

Hans arrived at my home some five hours later, still wearing his flight suit. He pressed the entry button at the bottom of my drive. The hidden camera that he had helped to install at the gate, showed him looking directly at it. From Jane’s office I pressed the gate release button. Hans knew the code to get in the gate, but he was always polite and waited for the gate to be released. Hans came up the drive with his backpack slung over his shoulder. I went to the door and opened it greeting my good friend and comrade.

“Hi there Hans, how the hell did you get here so quick?”

“I told you, I borrowed a plane. Well I had the USAF fly me over here from Keflavik. They were good enough to fly to Lossiemouth and then 202 Search and Rescue Squadron, gave me a lift to Brora in one of their Sea King choppers. After that I had one of the people at the Brora station, take me here.”

Hans was like most of the men on team seven. We were all over six feet tall. Hans was the oldest military member of the team. He was not old, just he had advanced rapidly through the ranks of the IDF. At 35 years old he had made it to Colonel in Chief. And was the most senior officer in the Icelandic Defence Forces. He filled the doorway still dressed in his flight suit, and carrying his helmet in one hand, and a large kitbag in the other hand. Jane came running through from the Kitchen and flung her arms out.

“Hans! How are you? Did you bring me some of that delicious cake, Vinetra?”

“Hello Jane. I am fine, thank you, and yes I did bring you some Vinarterta cake” He said giving Jane a big hug and a kiss on her cheek, whilst correcting her on the pronunciation, of Vinarterta Cake.

We all shook hands and went into the kitchen. Hans took a plastic tub from his kitbag and gave it to Jane. She took the cake from the tub and put it on a serving plate, then brought it to the table with a large pot of rich Arabic coffee.

“So, tell me Andy? This letter you got; does it have a postmark?”

I passed the two letters in the sealed see-through polythene bag. Hans sat down at the table and looked first at one side and then the other, and then laid it back down on the table.

“The postmark is from Manchester, but that really means nothing, as they could have been forwarded by another person in a different place or even a different country. You say this came with your normal post?”

Lachie and I both nodded our heads

“Do you know anyone in SIS other than ‘The Suit?”

We both shook our heads again.

“Jane?”

“I don’t think so, all the people that I worked with when Marcus Brown oversaw SIS, have all either been locked up, or posted to other jobs outside of SIS.” Jane said as she put a steaming mug of coffee in front of Hans.

“OK so once again, we are to go to the Brora Radio Station, to meet with ‘The Suit’?”

“Yes, and Abdalla will be arriving either later tonight or tomorrow. I have arranged with Jane to get my father along with any other parents and families of Team Seven, who were involved in the previous operation, to come in”

Nobody had officially given our last mission a code name, just that someone had once made a quip, about things that you thought were true, but it depended how you saw it and who was telling you. As such you could have an ‘Altered Perception’ of things.

“I don’t want anyone in SIS. knowing where our families and friends are. I am sure you remember the danger they were all in before. So, consequently, I don’t want that happening again.”

“I would have to concur with you Andy, I would be inclined to do the same.” Hans said

We sat around and ate the cake with our coffees, I was sure that each of us had our own private thoughts, as to what we were getting into now. Hans finished his coffee and took his cup to the sink, then rinsed it and put it on the draining board.

“I need to change out of this flight suit. Can I use one of your spare rooms?”

“Of course, you can Hans. Jane will show you to your room. If you need anything at all, please just ask.”

“Thank you, Andy.”

Jane went out of the kitchen with Hans, which just left Lachie and me.

“What are you thinking Lachie?”

“I am thinking, what if we did not manage to kill Marcus?”

“True. they never found his body, but no one could have survived that blast. The heat from the Thermobaric device that Abdalla made, turned everything to ash. Even the parts of the helicopters were fused together. There was nothing left of any living thing, for almost three quarters of a mile. I would say the likelihood of him having survived, were somewhere between slim and nil.”

Between Abdalla and Hans, along with help from all the rest of us, we had made a Thermobaric Bomb. This, we had placed over the Biological Weapon. Then when we were a safe distance away on the mainland of Scotland, we detonated it, Marcus Brown and his cronies had detonated it. They had not done so deliberately, just that we had set it with some booby-traps. It had exploded like an Atomic Bomb, complete with a fireball and mushroom cloud. That was a full nine months ago. SIS had leaked to the press that it was a test explosion on an uninhabited Island. Seeing as how it was too big an explosion to be hidden.

My father came into the kitchen, from his own extension on the house.

“What’s going on son?”

My father had narrowly missed, being blown up, when our home was previously targeted, by a rogue agent with SIS. His dog had been killed by a mercenary, working for MOSAD, who in turn were working for ‘The Suit’, even though he was technically on our side at the time. It was a very complicated time. My father knew a lot, of what had happened back then, but not all of it. He knew that everyone including himself, had received a large ‘Compensation’ for the loss of our home, and a ‘keep quiet about it’ payment on top. Between Jane, dad and myself, we were paid three million pounds, along with SIS picking up the tab, for the rebuild of my home. Our lives had all been changed, because of Marcus Brown. Our country had been saved, tens of billions of pounds in possible fines and losses. So, the one million pounds that each of us had received, was chicken feed, in the grand scale of things. I had put my father’s money into a numbered Swiss bank account, under a false name. It gave him a steady income in the form of interest. This I had done at his request. He never wanted more than he had in life. My father said that he was a wealthy man, because he never wanted food to eat or a fire to warm and he had a roof over his head. Then he had his family, which had grown, because of the addition of Team Seven. So, what else could he want or need? Not a thing he had said. I told him, he had to have the money and he said, “just put it in the bank and my grandchildren can have it”.