By Gerald Seymour
C.R.O.P.: Covert Rural statement Posts are areas the place males like Danny 'Badger' Baxter disguise for unending, immobile hours, secretly recording felony or terrorist activity.But now Badger has an even bigger task than photographing dissident Republicans in muddy Ulster fields or Islamic extremists on rainswept Yorkshire moors.I.E.D.: Improvised Explosive units are the roadside bombs which account for eighty% of British casualties in Iraq and Afghanistan.MI6 have a plan to assassinate the prime maker of those guns whilst he leaves his apartment in Iran to go to Europe. yet first, they should comprehend while he's leaving, and the place he's going.So it really is that Badger unearths himself at the incorrect facet of the Iranian border, lumbered with a accomplice he loathes, mendacity lower than a cruel sunlight in a mosquito-infested marsh, looking at the home. And understanding that in the event that they are stuck, Her Majesty's executive will deny all wisdom of them.Welcome to A Deniable demise.
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She stood for a moment, hands on hips, legs slightly apart, enough to tighten the skirt across her buttocks – but it would have taken more than that to awaken any interest in him. They shared the scent of pursuit and the excitement. She went to make a cup of tea, leaving him to stare at the map. She could remember the day when his screen had exploded into life, when a sparse file had started to thicken. No one forgot such rare, febrile days. It was three hundred and nineteen days after Rashid, the Engineer, had sneezed over his workbench that a man walked into the lobby of the British Consulate in the Gulf Emirates city of Dubai and requested a meeting with a diplomat.
He walked briskly. It was his job to move unseen and not to attract attention, even inside the Towers. Len Gibbons was known to few of those who passed through the security gates, morning and evening, alongside him, or shared the lift to and from the third floor where his desk, East 3-97/14, stood, or waited in the canteen lunch queue with him. The few who did know him, however, regarded this middle-grade manager as a ‘safe pair of hands’ and in the trade that was about as good an accolade as could be handed out.
Badger had made his own, and when Ged was assigned to him he’d told the man, four years older than himself, that what he’d concocted was crap and had made him a new one. The others on the team were astonished that the ‘arrogant bastard’ had done something for someone else, and the new camouflage headgear was best grade. Their faces, beneath the scrim netting that hung over their eyes, mouths and noses, were smeared with cream in green and black slashes, and the ’scope’s lens had more scrim over it .