“That coffee looks far too hot to drink,” he suggested slyly.
Rosie scowled.
“So?” she teased.
“So come here.”
He pulled her gently towards him and kissed her softly on the lips.
“I hope it’s very very hot and needs lots of time to cool,” he whispered.
Rosie understood only too well the inner pain her beloved man frequently endured and knew that only time and loving understanding would ever purge his memory of all the unspeakable things he had been obliged to do in order to survive.
“Who cares,” she purred and nuzzled into his arms.
Special Operations National and International Co-operation (SONIC), was a top-secret NATO organisation with the task of “Protecting the soft underbelly of Democracy” or “Nipping trouble in the bud” as The Boss euphemistically explained the role to a recently elected Prime Minister. “And that Sir means fighting the enemy by a set of rules somewhat removed from the politically correct image that any democratic country would want to be associated with!”
Sir Adrian Jordan, known to his colleagues and closest friends simply as The Boss, was head of SONIC. He ruled the department in his own unconventional style and reported only to the Prime Minister or the Minister of Defence.
Alex Scott was SONIC’S senior operative.
“How has Agent Scott survived for so long in such a dangerous environment?” the Prime minister asked in wonder as he gradually learned about the secret killing machine that only he and the Minister of Defence had knowledge of and authority over.
“Alex is a quiet man who always engages his brain before opening his mouth or flexing his trigger finger.” The Boss thought for a moment more. “That’s as well as being a thoroughly tough bastard.”
In the days of the ‘Cold War’, SONIC’s role had occasionally included the neutralizing of troublesome dissidents. Now it all too frequently involved skirmishes with terrorist regimes and political pariahs but increasingly with The Syndicate, a powerful and vicious international crime organisation. Uncompromisingly ruthless, they made sure that opposition was almost always fatal.
The leader, his name unknown by the authorities, and founder of the Syndicate was in fact a trained lawyer and former industrial tycoon. He had fallen from grace when his plan to corner the world supply of titanium was revealed as a giant scam and caused one of the greatest stock market scandals, sending numerous relatively innocent men to jail and causing others to commit suicide.
The four others who formed the Syndicate hierarchy were also disillusioned former business or professional men, filled with hate and vengeance against a system that they believed had cheated them in one way or another.
SONIC had been badly embarrassed during its last clash with the Syndicate during Oscar and Greg’s earlier Philippine adventure. Not only did SONIC fail to fully protect them — in the event the Syndicate managed to steal almost twenty tonnes of gold from under everyone’s noses and murdered four other partners as well as causing the death of several innocent bystanders.
The final embarrassment for SONIC was when they discovered that their operative, Chris Williams, was a double agent who had very nearly succeeded in killing Alex Scott.
Determined to even up the score, Alex finally managed to lure two of the Syndicate’s directors into a terminal trap. Although it was not known at the time, the loss to the Syndicate of two of its most active partners caused severe disruption to their organisation from which they never fully recovered; in fact the ultimate destruction of the organisation was probably triggered at that time.
Alex, unsurprisingly, was now at the top of their “most wanted” list. The Boss had therefore deemed it wise for Alex and his new wife to stay out of sight for some time. “At least until the heat dies down,” he had reasoned.
They had chosen the wonderful backdrop of Alaska as their temporary new home, assuming new identities while happily leading a normal domestic life. Their son, now a healthy nine months old, had been born there.
Then one day Alex received the inevitable summons to a meeting in London, the first since their seclusion in Alaska.
A call from The Boss was always answered immediately.
The transpolar flight took Alex swiftly to London; he was met at Heathrow Airport and taken by a private hire car to the City.
They always met away from SONIC’s Whitehall headquarters — the Boss was paranoid about his office being bugged and so always called his special assignment meetings at one of a variety of old London public houses.
“Much safer — and you have the benefit of a modest libation at the same time!” was his unchallenged justification.
On this occasion they were sitting in The Ship Tavern, which was situated at the end of a typical cobbled courtyard. It was just a couple of minutes’ walk from the twentieth century London Bridge, yet sitting there you could still feel the presence of a bygone age.
“In my opinion,” The Boss said conversationally, “the beer here is the best anywhere in the City — not that I drink much of the stuff — as you well know!” He looked at Alex expectantly.
“Perhaps a Gin and Tonic?” Alex stood up abruptly, responding to the oblique request.
“What a good idea,” was the simple reply.
Alex moved to the bar and ordered the drink, adding an orange juice for himself, and returned to the table.
“Cheers! Got quite a lot of brain work to do today — need to keep a clear head.” Alex raised his freshly squeezed orange in the traditional toast.
The Boss nodded understandingly and savoured his own drink.
“Ah,” he exclaimed. “Now that’s just what I needed.” He seemed to relax, then looked directly at Alex. “Cheers to you.” He took another sip. “Thanks as usual for coming so promptly,” he started. “I am just sorry you had to travel halfway round the world to get here. I did promise not to involve you unnecessarily but we have a potential problem, one that needs your specialist knowledge and experience.” He looked directly at Alex. “I know that leaving the family out there is something of a trial for you, so the sooner we sort this out the better eh?”
“To be honest, in some ways I was almost hoping for your call,” Alex replied, relaxing a little. “Alaska is fantastic for us — the most wonderful place on earth — but once winter settles in around October time it’s pretty tame until the spring!” He smiled to himself, his mind fleetingly imagining his lovely wife curled up on that pile of soft fur rugs by their enormous log fire. “So what’s it all about then?” Alex questioned, returning reluctantly to reality.
“It’s a delicate one as usual. Seems as though the Syndicate has been contracted by one of the fanatic Middle East terrorist groups to provide intelligence information together with a mountain of arms and equipment to their colleagues in the Philippines. It’s thought they’re planning some kind of raid, possibly on American industrial companies in the area. The whisper on the street is that a major prestige target is on the cards.” He looked absently at the ice and lemon floating gently in the glass. “Have you heard of the latest cruising wonder?” He looked casually at Alex.
“Well yes, actually it’s a cruising apartment block isn’t it?”
“That’s exactly what it is; it’s called ‘The World’ and describes itself as ‘The World of ResidenSea’. She will leave soon on an endless world cruise, following the best weather and international events. She has one hundred and ten luxury two or three bed roomed apartments. She has about ninety luxury guest suites. The apartments cost between one point five and five million pounds. It doesn’t end there though because there is a maintenance charge of up to a quarter of a million pounds per year.” He smiled. “Just outside my pension range.” He shook his head gently. “The guest suites rent out at about a thousand pounds a day!” He raised his bushy eyebrows. “If you want exercise, they have a golf range, jogging track and two swimming pools. The theatre's a bit like the Albert Hall! This is going to be the prestige address of all time. Only the richest people in the world will be able to afford such opulence.” He stared directly at Alex. “What a target eh?”