THE FOLLOWER: SAS hero turns Manchester hitman (A Rick Fuller Thriller Book 4)(13)

“Okay, lady and gentlemen, as we’re all good…I work on behalf of the US Government here in the UK. My role is to head up Organised Crime investigations that are of national importance to both our countries”

He means he’s CIA,” muttered Rick.

Carver pressed on. “My colleague here, is Mitch Collins. Mitch has only been in the UK a short while, and has been drafted into Menwith Hill especially for this investigation from the Drugs and Alcohol unit of the FBI. He will be working alongside you during this enquiry.”

Des was in.

“Wait a second there, Mason. We’re no working alongside anyone. In fact, we’re no workin’ for you at all, see? Now, you may think that it’s acceptable over in fuckin’ La La land, to take away a man’s liberty, feed him a pancake or two and then hope he’s all sweetness and light by the morra. But I’m no. And I can see by the look on my pals’ faces here. Neither are they. So, if you were hoping for some kind of, ‘hands across the ocean,’ type of agreement here, I’d go as far as to say, you’re in the shit.”

Carver smiled again. It was the kind of grimacing effort I once put on during my mate’s wedding, when the photographer insisted I stood next to my ex-husband for the group shots.

“I do like your accent Mr Cogan,” he began patronisingly. “And even though it’s a little difficult to understand, you are a very funny guy.”

Des was not amused. “You willnea think it’s funny if I get off this chair, pal. And big Mitch over there won’t stop me either.”

Mitch twitched slightly, but didn’t move.

Carver raised his hands, instantly conciliatory. I guessed it was not a tactic he was fond of. The guy needed something from us and needed it badly.

“I think we all need to calm down a little.”

Rick couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Stop fucking about Carver. The CIA wouldn’t have dared to lift us and bring us here to Menwith Hill, without authorisation from The Firm. Not even you guys are that stupid. The USA use this place and our airspace with the permission of the Crown. You are our guests. This base is commanded by a senior RAF officer. He will know we are here or, at the very least, have been told to turn a blind eye….so… what’s Cartwright got to do with all of this? Because I smell his very expensive aftershave all over this little job.”

I shot Rick a look. Every time I’d ever heard that man’s name, it meant trouble.

Carver looked to Mitch Collins.

The big guy stepped forward, slipped off his jacket, removed his holster and weapon and dropped everything on a nearby chair. He too, rolled his sleeves two turns.

I was right. They wanted something.

“We,” he began. “Have an issue.”

“No,” spat Rick. “You, have an issue. We have homes to go to and a business to run.”

Mitch seemed to have a long fuse.

“Mr Fuller, Sir. As you have already correctly intimated. You are here with the blessing of Her Majesty’s Government. Now, I understand that you may be upset at last night’s operation, but I assure you, it was a necessary evil. We had to move extremely quickly. We needed you on board and briefed by the end of today.

Time, as they say, is of the essence.”

I caught the big fella’s eye. “What do you mean by, ‘with the blessing of Her Majesty’s Government’ Mitch?”

Carver slipped in. For the first time his tone had a trace of discomfort in there. “You’ve been, erm…loaned to us for a while.”

Des shook his head, the Scots ever shortening fuse there for all to see. “I’m no a fuckin’ lawn mower. Ye can’t lend me on a Saturday morning and give me back all bonny on a Sunday. Last I looked, I was flesh and blood. I know what you Deep South boys are like, next you’ll want us picking cotton and singin’ Ole Man River.”

Mitch stifled a smile at that.

He held up his large hands. “Look guys, I know this is weird, and I assure you we left the shackles back home. It ain’t exactly what we are accustomed to either. We would love to use our own boys on this job, but it ain’t possible, pure and simple.”

“And, more to the point, you guys,” pointed Carver. “Have all the necessary qualifications and experience to compete this task, quietly and quickly. And that is what DC requires.”

“DC?” said Rick.

Mitch pulled up a chair. “People in high places guys. The usual suspects. They pull the strings, we dance the dance.”

I eyed the big fella. He was handsome in a boyish way with sharp grey eyes. “What if we say no, Mitch?”

He shrugged. “Then we walk away… today. Now, before we tell you any more. After all, we are supposed to be on the same side, aren’t we? We needed you here fast, but you ain’t our prisoners…or slaves for that matter, Mr Cogan.”

Carver was in again. He was here to sell the job, no doubt.

“That said, you would be turning down a very rewarding opportunity. Very lucrative indeed.”

“That’s what they all say,” said Rick. “For lucrative, see ‘dead’ in the dictionary.”

“I agree,” nodded Carver. “Dangerous, yes. But worth one million dollars cash.”

We all sat up at that one.

Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Des leaned forward. “And just how long do ye figure this wee job is going to take then, pal?”