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Authors: John Macrae

The Vengeance Man

BOOK: The Vengeance Man
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THE VENGEANCE MAN

 

 

 

 

 

 

JOHN MACRAE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

© John MacRae, 2012, all rights reserved

John MacRae has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

First published 2012 by Endeavour Press Ltd.

 

About the author

John MacRae is the cover name of a former senior Intelligence Officer with a Special Forces background. He has written extensively on intelligence and military history, and has worked for BBC television and other TV companies as an advisor on military and intelligence subjects.

He saw active service in the Falkland Islands, Cyprus, Arabia, and Northern Ireland as well taking part in several bloody bureaucratic battles in the political jungles of Whitehall, NATO and Brussels.

 

.

 

 

"The Vengeance Man is the best new action thriller this year"

Matt Lynn, author of the best-selling Death Force series.

"A heart-pumping ride, with more twists than a roller-coaster."

Tom Kasey, author of the best-selling Trade Off.

 


This is so close to the real thing I found it impossible to put down
…”

A serving SAS officer, currently in Afghanistan.

 


Whoever MacRae is, he certainly understands the Special Forces world
…”

A retired SAS non-commissioned officer.

 


A super read…I loved it…Yes!”

An independent TV production company’s professional Reader

 

“A great read...  Desmond Bagley meets John le Carré…”
A literary agent.

 

 

Contents

 
 

CHAPTER 1
.
Iran
,
Kurdistan

CHAPTER 2
.
On
the Run
. North Western Iran

C
HAPTER
3
.
The Iran-Turkish Frontier

CHAPTER 4
.
London

CHAPTER 5
.
London

CHAPTER 6
.
Pesaro. North East Italy,

CHAPTER 7
.
London,

CHAPTER 8
.
Spring. London

CHAPTER 9
.
London

CHAPTER 10
.
London

CHAPTER 11
.
Whitehall's Revenge

CHAPTER 12
.
Specialist Insurance services

CHAPTER 13
.
A Nice Quiet Office Job in London.

CHAPTER 14
.
A London Suburb

CHAPTER 15
.
Prelude

CHAPTER 16
.
Kent

CHAPTER 17
.
London

CHAPTER 18
.
The Strand

CHAPTER 19
.
Brixton

CHAPTER 20
.
London

CHAPTER 21
.
Brixton

CHAPTER 22
.
A Marked Increase in Gun Crime

CHAPTER 23
.
A Little Relief

CHAPTER 24
.
An Invitation London

CHAPTER 25
.
Dinner in Hampst
ead

CHAPTER 26
.
The Arms of Venus
,
Warminster

CHAPTER 27
.
Trouble at t’ Mill

CHAPTER 28
.
The New South Bank Show

CHAPTER 29
.
A Pint with a Pal
,
Whitehall

CHAPTER 30
.
Nocturne in Mayfair

CHAPTER 31
.
The Diplomatic
Q
uarter

CHAPTER 32
.
A Near Death Experience
,
The Flat

CHAPTER 33
.
Last Ride to Valhalla. London

CHAPTER 34
.
Even the Walls Have Ears. London

CHAPTER 35
.
A Downturn in Business. London

CHAPTER 36
.
Things are looking up? London

CHAPTER 37
.
The Combined Interrogation
Team

CHAPTER 38
.
Trouble

CHAPTER 39
.
Confessional

CHAPTER 40
.
Something in the city

CHAPTER 41
.
A Stroll On The Embankment

CHAPTER 42
.
Surrounded?

CHAPTER 43
.
A Holiday Abroad

CHAPTER 44
.
Wapping
:
The Conscience of the Press

CHAPTER 45
.
Afghan Border; The Hindu Kush

CHAPTER 46. 
The People’s Republic of China

 

THE VENGEANCE MAN

PROLOGUE

‘A PUBLIC SERVICE’

 

The old black, left hand drive Mercedes swept down London’s Richmond Hill. The two occupants chatted amiably, lean men in their late twenties, maybe a little older. Both looked fit and hard despite the dark city suits. The car radio played a Bach Brandenburg concerto.

Neither paid much attention to the road. The Mercedes swung in and out, overtaking effortlessly, making progress through the early Saturday afternoon traffic. Almost too late the driver saw the stationary van turning right at the traffic lights ahead, indicator flashing.

Expertly he dropped a gear and pulled hard left, forcing a large Ford to brake sharply to let the Merc in. Both cars accelerated through the lights and continued down the hill. The Ford pulled out and, engine roaring, drew alongside the Mercedes while inside four youths screamed insults at the driver of the Merc, arms waving, fists and obscenities flying.

As if seeing them for the first time the Mercedes slowed, flashing a steady turn sign and slowly and deliberately pulled up at the kerb.

The Ford screeched to a halt behind it and the four occupants spilled into the road, bent on vengeance.

‘Who’d’joo fink you’re fucking cutting up, mate?’ bellowed the driver as he ran forward. His mates piled out behind. They wore Millwall football scarves and looked like football hooligans. Someone was going to get a good kicking.

The Mercedes driver got out of the left side of the car and straightened up. He walked slowly back to the Ford. He was about six feet tall, with sharp blue eyes and taut cheek bones. The leader of the youths hesitated, then jabbed an accusatory finger at the silent dark suited figure walking deliberately towards him.

‘What’s you’re fuckin’ gime, arse’ole . . .?’he began.

His words stopped abruptly as without warning the Mercedes driver punched him hard, full in the face. There was a scrunching noise as the yob’s hands went to the ruin of his nose and mouth, bright blood exploding scarlet in the autumn sun.  The other yobboes stopped, shocked by the speed and ferocity of the violence. The broken teeth and nose were a red catastrophe. The leader collapsed by the Ford, a high wailing coming from the smashed face, blood pouring through his fingers.

The Mercedes driver began to advance on the others. A lock of dark hair had fallen over his forehead. The three backed off.

‘Anyone else want to make something of it? He enquired. The voice was low with  a slight Scots tang to the edges. ‘Well?’ He rubbed his knuckles, taking a sudden step forward. The youths retreated scrambling over themselves to get back to the safety of their car.

The Mercedes driver stopped and eyed them with a look of contempt, then turned abruptly back to his own vehicle. At the now open passenger door his companion stood watching in the road, disbelief written on his face.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? They’ll crucify you for this.’

‘Ach, forget it,’ said the driver. ‘C’mon, let’s away. Get in.’

Both men swung into the Mercedes. The driver started up and pulled calmly away.

‘Look,’ he began reasonably, ‘they were looking for trouble and they found it. Let’s say they’ve just been introduced to the reality of violence.’

His companion pulled a face, ‘You could say that  . . .’

‘Let’s face it,’ growled the driver, glancing in the mirror. ‘Those little dogsturds aren’t going to complain, eh?’

‘Even so,’ the fair haired one began, ‘you shouldn’t get involved like that. Not with civilians. C’mon Fritz, you know the rules.’

‘Fuck the rules’, said the driver succinctly, concentrating on the traffic ahead as the Mercedes swept towards Westminster. ‘Stop your fussing. They were the ones who went looking for trouble. Well they found it. I’ve just done a public service. Now stop blethering and let’s go and have a drink.’

The fair haired one looked out of his window of the speeding Mercedes and mouthed ‘a public service’ silently to himself. The Bach rose to a crescendo. Half smiling he shook his head in disbelief.

Far behind them the doors of the Ford cautiously re-opened as the three shaken youths got out to go to their leader’s aid.

The figure on the ground started to sob through the bloodstained ruin of his face. ‘Christ. Fuck. Oh, Christ. He hit me . . .’    

BOOK: The Vengeance Man
6.89Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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