TURKISH DELIGHT by Barry Faulkner (ebook reader wifi .TXT) 📗

– the security at the airport has been ramped up, so I’ll let that cool down a bit and fly back to Cyprus and then London. What about you?’

‘I think I’m out of here later on a freight flight to Stansted.’

‘Okay, take care.’

‘You too.’

Click.

  *********************************************

I was indeed put on the freight flight to Stansted and expected Woodward to meet me as I came down the gangway – nobody, not even a car to get me home. I felt like sending him a rude text but decided to stay professional. Yes, I know, makes a change! Woodward obviously had no intention of being seen with me, just in case anybody had put two and two together and linked me being out of the country and returning on a freight flight from Cyprus with the Turkish explosion. What if one of the civilians working the Cyprus base was feeding information to the Turks? It’s quite possible, if not very probable. Word of my appearance at the base, my disappearance at the time of the warehouse attack, my reappearance afterwards and the deploying of the SBS could be put together to give a possible scenario and get the British Ambassador called into the Turkish Defence ministry and shouted at. No proof though, but a photo of Clarence Woodward, Head of MI6, greeting me at Stansted would complete the jigsaw. If you check the perimeters of any military airfield you’ll find a band of weather hardy plane fanatics with their ears tuned to the control tower and their cameras clicking away at the planes and personnel. You’ve probably guessed what I’m going to tell you next – yes, not all these nerds are real nerds; in amongst them will be a few foreign embassy employees, clicking away with their Diplomatic Immunity papers in their pocket. Information is the most valuable commodity in the international spying game.

It was nice to sleep in my own bed and well past nine before I rose the next morning. I sat with a cup of coffee, looking through the French doors that led out to my balcony at the Thames and the river traffic as I thought through my position. The basic job of killing one or both of the Rambarts had been compromised by Woodward’s intervention. His request, or should I say order, had been carried out; he now knew both Rambarts were arms-dealing to the Turks and any missile sales from them to a terrorist organisation had been knocked on the head – that is until they sent another lot through. Perhaps I should have a quiet word with him – MI6 isn’t adverse to knocking off somebody who poses a threat to the UK. If I could get a verbal contract, and it would only ever be a verbal one, with a few grand attached, then this whole thing could end up as quite a good earner for Gold and me.

I wandered into the office at about 10.30 and half an hour later Woodward and his goons arrived; I was expecting them – he would have had my apartment and office under surveillance since I got back.

He fluttered his handkerchief over the chair seat before sitting down. I suppose if you go around in a beige Crombie you have to be a bit careful; I made a mental note to put a bit of chewing gum on the seat edge prior to his next visit.

‘Well Nevis, glad you got out in one piece,’ he said, pushing the handkerchief into a side pocket. ‘You seem to have gone a bit over the top – our Ambassador has been called in at Ankara and I myself have had to endure a rather brusque meeting with the Minister of Defence, and all our Mediterranean bases are now on red alert. Your action reminds me somewhat of a line in my favourite film: ‘You were only supposed to blow the bloody doors off.’

Thankfully he didn’t try to copy Michael Caine’s Cockney accent.

‘You did tell me to destroy the missiles,’ I reminded him.

‘Indeed I did, Nevis, and you successfully achieved that with a little help from the SBS by sinking the freighter. Mission accomplished – home, James.’

‘His name’s Jones.’

‘What?’

‘The SBS commander who was with me – Jones, not James.’

‘It’s an idiom.’ He paused and took a deep breath, doubting my knowledge of the word’s meaning, ‘Google it.’

‘So if my mission is accomplished like you say, that’s it, I’m out?’

‘Well I really don’t think I can let you do anymore damage, do you? Two dead at Purley and God knows how many on the freighter and in Antakya. You’re a walking Grim Reaper.’

‘What about the Rambarts?’

‘My department will cover that – you just carry on with handling security for Eve Rambart as she asked you, and feed me back any relevant information on her and her husband’s arms dealing.’

I’d forgotten about that little lie I’d told Woodward about being hired for security reasons. I nodded. ‘Okay.’

‘Has she been in contact since she’s been back?’

My heart skipped a beat – since she’d been back? Gold would have surely let me know if Eve Rambart was on her way back to the UK. Now all of a sudden I was worried about Gold; was she all right? Had her cover been broken?

‘I didn’t know she was back,’ I said as calmly as I could.

Woodward nodded, ‘Must have flown in last night – she’s been seen at the apartment. I take it she didn’t see you at anytime in Turkey?’

‘No.’

‘Good. I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes if she had recognised you.’

‘Why don’t you arrest her? You’ve got the photos of her getting on the ship.’

‘Not enough – she could have just been a passenger to Turkey taking a holiday. Freighters do carry the odd passenger.’

‘Naval freighters?’

‘I want to let her run,