Thursday, April 23, 2015

John Days Upcoming Releases and Re-releases With A Sneak Peaks

Re-release: end of 2015

From the moment Max Fortune meets Carla Day, he is drawn into the secret and tenuous world of The Organisation, as an agent/trouble-shooter.

He is attracted to the wealth and glamour that surrounds Carla, protected by The Duke, owner of the empire.

What is the relationship between The Duke, and Carla? Lover, father, or just protector.

Their missions appear simple enough, but always have an unexpected complication. As time goes by, more ruthless people pursue them.

Sneak peak of Counterpoint
The start of it all.
It was early morning in Caserta, just north of Naples. The air was fresh and still, the sun already warming the air, and casting a green light through the tall trees, around the clearing.
Just out of sight of a small side road, tension was mounting; the exchange of drugs and €2,000,000 was under way.
Tim had already cocked the machine pistol before he left his car, now he glided silently out from behind the buyers van. He had circled behind the group of six young men, three of his and three of the buyers. Before they saw him, he opened fire, scything through the six of them before they could shoot back.
Snapping out the used clip and fitting a full one, he studied the crumpled bodies.
No one moved.
Without glancing up, he raised his free hand and beckoned to the red Fiat approaching him, 100 metres away. Carla, a pretty, 26 year old blond, floored the accelerator and the car darted towards Tim, tyres squealing and smoking as they clawed the tarmac. Seconds later, it skidded to a halt; Carla opened the driver’s door and popped the boot lid. Tim tossed the canvas bags of heroin and money into the boot, and slammed the lid shut.
As he ran to the open driver’s door, Carla slid over into the passenger seat. A shot rang out; a bullet starred the windscreen, and penetrated just above the steering wheel.
“Ah!” She screamed.
If she had not moved when she did, the bullet would have smashed into the base of her throat. The bullet passed out through the door opening, as Tim ran into it. He was gut shot.
The sledgehammer impact of the bullet, was not enough to overcome Tim’s onward rush, to get into the car. He doubled up and fell in. Carla pulled him in towards her, and eased him upright in his seat. Stunned at the sight of the blood, oozing from between his fingers as he clasped the wound, she suddenly realized what had happened.
Another two shots rang out; both hit the bodywork.
Tim let out a cry of rage; grabbing the steering wheel with one hand and gear lever in the other. Revving hard, the car shot forward towards the gunman.
Mortally wounded, one of the six men had recovered enough, to take revenge for the double cross, and fired at the driver’s position, in the hope of a hit.
The accelerating car hit the bodies with a violent lurch; the frantically scrabbling tyres clawed and tore at clothing and flesh. Tim enjoyed the bumping, slithering crunching sound as the car tore into and over the corpses.
The gunman had tried to get up, and out of the way of the car, but it hit him full in the face, throwing him backward and under the car.
Carla braced herself until the ride smoothed out, and looked tensely at Tim. How long could he control the speeding car, and how could she help him?
Tim’s face was fixed in a wild grimace; staring ahead, he was unaware of anything thing except escape. He had lost all reason, and was heading on a road, leading to town, instead of into the mountains, as planned.
A hidden police car waiting for early morning speeders lurched into motion. Tim’s Fiat took a tight right hand bend, tyres squealing in a barely controlled four-wheeled drift, in front of it.
Carla had just noticed the police car and shouted a warning to Tim. He did not hear her. He was starting to go into shock now, and was losing consciousness. The Fiat swerved from one side of the road to the other. In Tim’s hands, a crash was only seconds away, and arrest would certainly follow.
Carla grabbed the steering wheel and regained directional control; however, the car was still accelerating. Tim slumped against the door in a faint, his foot pressed hard on the accelerator. Carla reached for the ignition switch on the side of the steering column, and turned it off. Immediately the Fiat lost speed.
Steering with one hand, she reached across and opened the driver’s door slightly. The air tearing past the door prevented it from fully opening. Carla knew she had to push Tim out, somehow. It had to be when the car was taking a sharp bend, and centrifugal force would help throw him out.
Regulating the road speed by switching the ignition on and off, and steering with the other hand, Carla could only wait for the right moment. The police car was gaining ground rapidly, so time was running out, fast!
A large roundabout at the edge of town came into view; it was just what she needed. To take the roundabout in the wrong direction, Carla drifted across into the oncoming lane. Tim slid hard over to the door, pushing it open. With all her strength, Carla pushed him out.
Tim fell out slowly, pinched between the door and door pillar, eventually hitting the road with his face and chest. Somehow, one of his feet or trouser legs had caught at the base of the seat, dragging him along the road.
Tim was not quite dead when he hit the road, so the agony of skin and bone being scraped off on the tarmac registered somewhere in his brain, for a second or two.
The snagged foot suddenly became un-snagged when Tim’s outstretched arms were pinned under the back wheel, to the road. He was ripped out and dragged under the car.
Carla was nearly thrown out herself when the rear wheel bucked over the corpse. Seconds later, she slid behind the steering wheel and at last, took full control of the car.
The police car was now alongside Carla, on the inside of the roundabout forcing her onto the verge. Dabbing the brakes, she dropped behind the police and skidded outwards to the curb. The police thought Carla was going to take the approaching exit off the roundabout because the Fiat was drifting that way, so they took it ahead of her. The skid had scrubbed off most of the Fiat’s speed even though the verge was slippery. She continued on to the next exit.
The police driver was quick to realize his mistake, and with considerable skill, he spun his car around to follow Carla. His misjudgement was all she needed to escape. She had the edge, with a nippy car and her will to survive at all costs.
Roadblocks were being set up of course, but Carla was always well prepared. She believed that if you fail to plan, you plan to fail!
Carla headed away from town, back the way Tim had come, until she reached the turn off to the emergency escape route. The direction Tim should have taken. With the police car in close pursuit, she calmly negotiated the narrow road cut out of the rocky hillside, up towards the forest. The powerful car was now gaining on her and getting too close for comfort.
Her heart sank as the engine cut out briefly then picked up again. Low on fuel she guessed, and the gauge confirmed it; the fuel pipe, or tank must be leaking! The long, steady climb with few bends to swill the meagre contents past the pickup pipe in the tank, had caused the glitch. Zigzagging the car sloshed fuel around the tank, maintaining a flow to the engine. The police car was now only 20 metres behind, and gaining, fast!
“You’re too close,” muttered Carla to herself as she snatched up a radio controller, stuck with Velcro to the dashboard. She switched it on as she passed under a rocky outcrop, and pressed a button, triggering a nitro-glycerine charge, embedded in the rock. The force blasted her car sideways in a shower of rock fragments, but she quickly regained control and accelerated away. The blast caught the police car full on, smashing it sideways into the parapet. Blasted with fist-sized chunks of rock on one side, and grinding away in showers of sparks on the other, the police car stalled.
A large landslide fell onto the road right behind them, blocking it off. Totally stunned by the attack, it took several moments for the driver to recover and restart the engine. He floored the accelerator and with the engine screaming, dropped the clutch. Bucking and screeching against the parapet, the police car broke free and was in hot pursuit again.
Carla grinned cheekily to herself as she glanced in her rear view mirror, at the havoc she caused.
“Bang goes you’re no claim bonus Cop,” she muttered.
Still gripping the controller, she rounded a bend and pressed it again. Another explosion, and more rock spread over the road in a landslide; she was almost home free.
Carla’s engine spluttered and died; wiggling the steering frantically, brought it back to life.
“Just take me a few hundred metres more. Please! Please!” She begged. “Don’t let me down now, please!”
The car surged forward and she backed right off the accelerator, maximizing every precious drop of fuel, left in the tank.
A narrow track suddenly came into view on the left, and she spun the wheel, drove up it a few metres, and stopped. Just ahead was a particularly dirty, dark green 4X4 vehicle, substantially hidden by the undergrowth.
At a glance, she could see no one was in it or nearby.
Leaping out of the Fiat with a different set of car keys, snatched from the glove compartment, she ran to the dark green Cherokee, beeping it unlocked as she ran. Before opening the door, she glanced at the dashboard, to see if any warning lights were flashing. No lights glowed, so she got in and started the engine. Thankfully, it roared into life.
Dragging the bags of drugs and money from the Fiat to the Cherokee, she tossed them onto the back seat and slammed the door shut. Dashing back to the Fiat, she flicked a switch under the dashboard, and a loud buzzer sounded. Carla ran back to the other car and drove off into the woods.
A loud thump and a glimpse of flames through the trees confirmed to Carla, the Fiat had commenced the destruction process. No traces of fingerprints or forensic evidence would remain on the car; it had done well and was expendable. The car would burn for some time, blocking the track to vehicles from the road, also part of the plan.

Fire Ice
Re-release end of 2015

The third book in the series continuing the action packed adventures of Max & Carla, with cunning and resourceful characters fighting to survive a nightmare of danger and challenges.

Max uncovers a threat to New York while evading capture by the CIA.

Carla is caught in Afghanistan, trying to save a woman engineer and has to break into a notorious prison.

What is the diabolical connection between vanishing ships in the Bermuda Triangle and global energy demand.

In a race against time to prevent a world wide disaster, will their plane crash on a freezing mountainside lead to the end of civilisation.

Can the revolutionary submarine US1 prevent global warming reaching thermal runaway.

How does a favour uncover a clever criminal, blackmail, murder and a terrorist threat to

The London Olympics

Sneak Peak of Fire Ice
Carla goes to Afghanistan.
Sam called Carla Day into his office. He told her about Max and the CIA’s involvement. He could not allow The Organisation to be uncovered.
A chill of fear drained down through her body like iced water, she knew what that implied.
Sam made it quite clear he would try to get Max back, but the easier option was to destroy the body and modify the CIA records, so the evidence they had gained so far, lead nowhere. The Organisation had connections worldwide, so altering the data was not a problem, keeping the alteration undiscovered was much harder. Evidence of hacking, for example, would close essential openings into the systems, after strengthening security.
Sam explained, “According to the team in Guadeloupe, the hospital is heavily guarded. Max is still in a coma rather than deteriorating, so we will see how things play out. If he dies or is extensively brain damaged, that resolves one option; the trail will go cold at that point. If Max recovers and is well enough to question, we must either get him out before he is moved by the CIA or terminate him there.”
Carla was managing her emotions, just about. Max Fortune was everything to her; he was her best friend, her lover. She met Max one year ago, when she was twenty-six, he was forty-five then. He was her soul mate, kind, amusing, and easy-going, they hit it off straight away. They both chose this life of excitement, they knew they were adrenaline junkies, and it had to end!
“I would like to volunteer to help get Max out” she requested.
Sam replied in a soothing tone, “I doubt there is anyone more determined or able to get him back than you, but the CIA will be looking out for any new faces in the area. They suspect Max is part of a terrorist cell, and it would be reasonable to expect the cell will terminate any links to them. That is why you cannot go. The team in Guadeloupe already live and work there so they will be unlikely to cause any suspicion. Do not forget, you and Max are not the only members we have working for us. We are the world’s biggest employer in a collective sense. As you know, we have key people in so many businesses in the world. They in turn know of or are friends with or are related to everyone else on the planet.”
Carla knew this already, Sam was refocusing. Her emotions were affecting her clear judgement, she knew she would be a liability if she became involved with Max’s rescue.
Sam continued, “To take your mind off the problem, and to make sure you cannot interfere; I would like you to help one of our team get back to safety. Her name is Anita Harooni, she is in Jowzjan province. Afghanistan. She has valuable commercial information, of a technical nature, for us, we need her brought out at once. It will not be easy, but she is not in any trouble and she is not under any suspicion by the Authorities. It is just difficult to leave there.”
“You speak some Dari I believe?” Said Sam.
“Yes, just very basic social stuff, I will need to take a phrase book for anything more.”
“Interesting,” murmured Sam as he wondered why she might speak that language.
Sam continued, “Anita is a scientist and as you might expect, lacks your many skills to come and go at will. That is where you come in. We have set up an exit route, you are needed to get her from where she is now and to the place we can extract her.”
“Can you do that for me Carla?”
“Yes, of course, but please keep me up to date about Max.”
“Yes, I will, of course.”
Sam gave her the full briefing and she left for Jowzjan province.

The Glass Beacon
Release end of 2015

Under the direct orders of the Fuhrer, Karl Strom is tasked to design and plant secret devices in Britain.

He trains his team in Alderney, the Channel Island nearest England, but his worst fear is confirmed during a lustful encounter under the stars.

Deeply in love with Helga, the Oberst’s lover, he says goodbye to her, only to discover her heart wrenching secret.

Betrayed at every turn in Britain, Karl plans to find his enemies and wreak his revenge on them.

Determined to change his life, will the final piece of his plan fall into place or fall apart as a shattered dream?

Sneak Peak at The Glass Beacon
Peenemünde Rabbit.
Mid-day, June 2nd 1943 became the turning point in the complex life of Karl Strom. As a spy, betrayal and brushes with death were ever present, but with Hitler’s new mission and when lust became love, would his carefully laid plans turn into shattered dreams.
Events were triggered when Karl ambled away from the Peenemünde Army Research Centre, thinking about the secret project Adolph Hitler had tasked him with, weeks ago. He was heading towards his regular spot along the lake shore of Cammerer See to eat his sandwiches and review progress.
Karl had been an electronics engineer before the war started and had the gift many engineers have of stripping away the complexity and simplifying, until the result seems so obvious. This was the challenge that faced him now. It was not for his engineering skills alone, that Berlin had selected him, but his extraordinary abilities as a spy and obsessive determination to succeed. They had chosen well, for this was a mission that would tax Karl to his limit.
The small village on the way to the tranquil lake was deserted, families were taking lunch. He was aware of a young woman some way behind him. She worked as a cleaner at the research centre, according to the 22 year old Gestapo agent, Ernst Huber, who was shadowing them both. She had become part of the routine over the last week, but he did not need to worry about such things these days, now that he was no longer an active spy, that was Huber’s job.
The lad had taken a keen interest in spy craft and often consulted Karl on the subject. It was because of such tips that Ernst seldom had the same appearance two days running. As Karl pointed out, most spies can spot the typical Gestapo agent from afar. If the agent is following someone, the spy need only follow the agent, they would all end up at the same destination, but the spy would remain undetected.
Ernst noticed the girl take something from her shopping bag and lob it underhand, high in the air. She instantly ducked up an ally between buildings and vanished.
There was a loud thump of a heavy, fist sized metal object, as it landed on the pavement just behind Karl. It rolled past and smacked into the side of a projecting stone step, just in front of him.
It was a grenade and there was no cover for him, to take the blast.
“Arghhh!” he yelled, as he dived to the shallow roadside gutter. Instinctively he turned his face from the grenade and protected his head with his arms. A couple of nerve wracking seconds of his life, passed like a slice of eternity, before the device exploded. The shockwave flipped the concussed and shrapnel riddled body like a rag doll, out into the road. The stone step had directed shrapnel at Ernst, but he was in shock, his head swam from the explosion, so he never felt the spray of searing fragments.
Fearing the worst, he ran to help Karl. From shoulder to buttock on the blast side was blood drenched clothing, it was torn and smoking. He could only stand and stare at the awful mess, as residents rushed out of their homes to see what had happened.
Someone ran for the Doctor, who arrived minutes later and quickly checked for a pulse. It was strong but irregular; fortunately the victim was still breathing. Examining the wounds overwhelmed him, there were so many. He realised blood loss was the first problem to solve, so he called for clean towels. To some extent, the searing hot fragments had cauterised many blood vessels and the cloths were acting as a crude bandage, all the towels were going to do was hide the gore.
Minutes later, a military ambulance arrived with soldiers and Gestapo agents who ran around questioning everyone. Karl and Ernst were rushed away in the ambulance, back to the medical centre.
Ernst knew he was in big trouble and would become the centre of the investigation into what had happened, after all, it was his responsibility to protect Strom. Why hadn’t he? They would ask.
Ernst decided to seek advice and help from his father, Franz Huber, an SS General. Their relationship was a strained and distant one up till then, but he listened carefully to his son.
“Ernst, there will be a formal enquiry and you need to present your account before they form their own conclusions. Right or wrong, they won’t change their minds. You also need to take the initiative, it is too your credit that you had arranged for the girl to be investigated, two days previous. If there were indications she was a threat, why had they not informed you?
“Another tactic is to present a summation of the situation and a strategy for dealing with it. It has the effect of moving the focus from you to the real issue, the security of the project. Done respectfully, but assertively, I believe you will be exonerated.
“Finally, it is better for you that I do not intervene in any way, because it will work against you on your record.
“I wish you luck and I want you to know I have every confidence in you.” He abruptly ended the call.
Later that afternoon Ernst Huber was called to attend the inquiry, he had just left the medical facility and his face was heavily bandaged. There was nothing they could do though to prevent scars on his face.
Ernst knocked on the door and he was summoned in. The gathering of six high ranking officers, all of whom he knew, looked stern as they sat at the large rectangular table. They were gathered at one end, each side of the chairman SS-Oberführer Wilhelm Keppler who presided over the meeting and he asked Ernst to take a seat. The lonely chair at the far end was a ridiculous distance away from the group and if he sat there, it was them against him. It looked like he was too late; they had most likely made up their minds about blame. He had nothing to lose, everything to gain, by taking the odd seat with the group. There were now three people each side of the chairman, everything was in balance and he was now one of them.
The chairman spoke, “Ernst, we see you got caught in the blast, I hope you will heal quickly. Please tell us, being so close, why didn’t you prevent the woman from throwing the grenade? Surly you could have shot her?”
“I was not close at all, the woman was never aware of me, or she would never have thrown the grenade. The grenade exploded against a stone step and directed some of the blast in my direction. You may be aware that I flagged the woman for investigation two days ago, because she started following Karl Strom three days before that. On every occasion, except today, there were bystanders along the route. Had it not been for them, she would have thrown the grenade then. Have you received any intelligence from the agents investigating the woman?”
The chairman grunted and looked questioningly at the other members, but they looked down and shuffled papers.
“There was no opportunity to shoot the woman and prevent the attack. She had her back to me when she moved the shopping bag in front of her, so I had no way of seeing what she had in her hand. The instant she lobbed the grenade, high in the air, she vanished up an ally. The best I could do was shout a warning to Karl, but by then, it hit the ground and rolled past him, into the step. He dived into the roadside gutter to take cover.
“Now that I have had chance to examine the facts, I believe there is far more to this incident that the killing of one man. With respect Sir, would you all care to hear what I have to say?”
The group nodded their agreement and Ernst continued.
“The attack on Karl Strom was not random, because in exchange for his death, the British lose a valuable asset and the opportunity to learn more about what we do here. That tells me at least two things; first, they are aware of what he is doing here, to some extent, and that they have no idea where exactly to drop bombs to cripple us. The recent bombing runs show clearly they are guessing. The next best thing is to eliminate the key man by killing him and thereby halt development for a while.
“I questioned why they chose to blow him up, and that tells me they only have the woman on the outside, spying on us. Just because she is a woman does not mean she cannot shoot, but even at close range, people do survive being shot. It is better to blow them to pieces and ensure success.
“I have also tried to lob a grenade like she did, and it takes practice to become so accurate. This tells me the attack has been well planned for some time. I also wondered why she lobbed the grenade high in the air, and not just throw it directly. I reasoned that she wanted the explosion to occur the moment it hit the ground so Karl had no time to take cover. If she just pulled the pin and counted off a few seconds before throwing, I or someone like me would have had time to shoot her. Several seconds passed when it was in the air, undetected by Karl.
“This is the sort of thinking that would come from an expert. The same applies for the escape up the ally. I am convinced the woman did not know I was there, or she would have found another way to kill him.
“I respectfully suggest we let the woman believe Karl is dead and she can report this back to SIS in England. This will get them off our back for a while, believing work here is halted. We can also feed misinformation to them through her.”
Ernst could see from their faces, he had their full attention and had impressed them with his presentation. What happened now was up to them.
“Ernst, I want to discuss what you have said with my fellow officers, I will let you know what we decide, if it is relevant to you. I can put your mind at rest however, we see no failing on your part and that will be stated clearly on your record. Thank you for your thoughts.
“You can go back to your duties.”
Ernst saluted and left, greatly relieved the matter was closed.
The following afternoon he joined a small group of officers and staff at the village cemetery for Karl Strom’s funeral, a hasty affair, but understandable under the circumstances.
A week later, he received a telephone call from SS-Oberführer Wilhelm Keppler.
“Kriminalassistent Ernst Huber, I thought you would appreciate taking part in the arrest and interrogation of Ingrid Hine known as Rabbit at her home in Karlshagen for her part in the attack on yourself and Karl Strom. I have informed your superior, so report to him immediately. It will be good experience for you.”
“Thank you Oberführer Keppler, I am honoured.”
“I am sure you are, Huber. Good day.” He laughed and hung up.
That afternoon, Rabbit heard the commotion of many soldiers running in her direction as she cleaned the Sleeping and Living Quarters. This was the block where the menial staff and general labour resided. She hastily removed from a pocket, a piece of hard chewing gum and forced it into the gap of an extracted upper molar.
As the soldiers surrounded her an officer pushed through them and stood up close, face to face. Blood drained from her brain, her guts churned and her bowel contents turned to liquid as adrenalin pumped through her system. Now her mouth and throat went dry, so dry, she could not speak.
“Frau Ingrid Hine, I arrest you for acts of spying and other crimes against the Reich,” announced Kriminaldirektor Georg Koppe.
Then the soldiers firmly grasped her arms and forced her away to be stripped and searched. It was a deliberately dramatic arrest, aimed at instilling terror into everyone who worked at Peenemünde and dissuading them from acts of sabotage and betrayal.
That evening, her husband and five-year-old daughter were brought in for interrogation.
The interrogation room was cramped, and intentionally depressing, with a light grey painted concrete floor and neglected, bare white walls. The picture of the Führer, high up on the wall behind Georg Koppe, glared down at the prisoner. His expression said it all; you decided to go against me, now you pay the price.
Koppe sat behind a simple wooden table with a small sheaf of papers in front of him, illuminated by a basic table lamp. Alongside, in the corner sat Ernst Huber, he was there to learn and where necessary assist and restrain. Both men looked cadaverous and sinister as the single dim light on the ceiling cast dark shadows across their features.
Ingrid Hine noticed the freshly bruised and scabbed face of the man sat in the corner. Although she did not recognise him, she knew it was her handiwork that had done the damage. Under different circumstances, she would have felt sympathy for the lad, such a handsome face, disfigured for life, but at this moment, she felt nothing for him. Instead, her mind was filled with abject terror. Georg Koppe, the interrogator at the table, had a reputation for brutality and he was staring dispassionately at her.
Her British contact, Whisky, had warned her of the risks when he recruited her nine months ago, but she had got away with so much, spying right under their noses, she thought she was too smart for the Germans. What was she going to do now? The British will have abandoned her and covered their tracks, she had a daughter and loving husband to take care of, they knew nothing of her secret. She could hold out for a time, she imagined, but she knew she would tell all in the end. What if they threatened her family? No, she could not bear that, she decided she had only two cards to play.
Ernst Huber tried to imagine what was going on in the woman’s mind as she sat there, so tense. Rabbit, her code name, was very apt just now; this rabbit was caught in the proverbial headlights and had good reason to be tense.
She had permanently disfigured him, and he hated her for that, even though he realised he was just collateral damage. As an interrogator, he knew he had to supress emotion, or he would fail in the task. It calmed him to consider their differences, she had her beliefs and acted on them, and he had his and would do the same. In war, the British kill Germans, and the Germans kill the British.
He wondered what he would do in her present, precarious position. He tried to imaging how she would be feeling. Huber could not comprehend such terror, but he knew what awaited her, so he knew would panic. That must be why she is so still, she has no idea what she will go through before she gives in or dies. She will foolishly be brave and resist, but will she be so brave when she sees it is her husband and child that are taking the pain? I doubt it, he decided.
How would Koppe start the interrogation, it was common knowledge amongst the officers he hated the unpleasantness of torture; he only used it as a last resort, because he had to win.
“Ingrid, you have a husband called Josef, and Sophie, your beautiful daughter aged five. She looks very much like you.” Koppe smiled warmly.
“They are both here and their fate rests in your hands. You are here because you are a British spy who has also attacked my staff. And for that, the penalty is death by firing squad.” Koppe looked deeply saddened.
“The British have used you to gather intelligence about what we do here, but I want you to fully appreciate the word – used, because that’s what they have done to you. Used you, and abandoned you, now that they have all you could give them. They have forgotten you already. I understand all this, and having regard for the young family that needs you, I can help you if you help me.
“I can hold you, until the war is over, a year or so and then you can return to your family. As I said earlier, the alternative is the firing squad.
“In exchange, I want to know everything you told the British, so I can take countermeasures.
“Is that what you want to do?
“If it is, you can make a start and I will bring in Josef and Sophie to see you for a few minutes.”
Georg looked up at her and with the facial expression of a kindly uncle; he reached forward and placed both palms on the table, in a gesture of sincerity.
Tears welled up in Ingrid’s eyes; there was really only the one card that she could play.
In a fit of emotion, she bit hard on the softened gum in her mouth and attempted to swallow. The cyanide loaded saliva tasted like bitter salt for an instant and then her mouth and throat when numb. It took only a few seconds for the poison to be transferred through the mucosa into her blood. Then every cell in contact with it became deprived of oxygen.
She fitted and fell forward onto the floor, gasping and writhing, her visible skin turning pink. The final gasp came fifteen seconds later.
Huber was shocked to the core, rooted to the chair.
Koppe looked surprised, but it quickly turned to fury as he accepted she had thwarted him. He remained seated, noted the time and wrote a brief note in the file.
Two days after her death, there were high level meetings that discussed the relocation of various sections of the Research Centre to different countries.
Sir Peter Stern in MI6 picked up his telephone and called John Caplin.
“Good afternoon John, Sir Peter here, how is Margret? A little one on the way I understand, due in October, is that right?”
“Oh! Hello Sir Peter. I was about to call you, we have officially lost contact with Rabbit now, just as you expected, still, that well was running dry. I have reviewed all she sent us, and everything up to June 2nd seems reliable. I am not convinced one way or the other about the success in killing Karl Strom. If I were Jerry, I would say he was dead, even if he wasn’t, just to keep the other side quiet. The funeral was a simple affair, but nothing we wouldn’t do.
“Operations Whitebait and Hydra will go ahead anyway on August 17th, the maps and sketches Rabbit sent from the two polish Janitors she knew, are authentic, according to IMINT.”
“Spot on my boy, just what I needed to know. Thanks!”