OSC Headquarters London
Lat = 51 degrees, 30.4 minutes North
Long = 0 degrees, 7.5 minutes West
The Taxi turned left into Whitehall place. “You can pull up on the left at the end.”
Max paid the cabby and gave a tip, he stepped onto the pavement and walked to a flight of steps with a black railing around them, he climbed the ten steps.
Max entered a building through a non-descript door and was greeted by a face he had not seen before.
However this was not unusual, this was no ordinary receptionist, and the man in a neat two-piece grey flannel suite was known as the Rook.
As soon as Max had approached the door his face had been scanned by a hidden camera, within seconds he was positively identified, a palm signature device built into the door handle that monitors a three-dimensional image of the hand, the pattern of veins in the hand and the geometrical analysis of fingers in a split second; this completed the security check, allowing Max to open the door.
The men who were seconded here, were all Special Forces trained, coming from elite British regiments such as the Special air service (SAS), Special boat service (SBS), Parachute and Royal marine’s regiments.
They had been hand picked after rigorous vetting and interviews. This was one of their postings at OSC H.Q.
Max nodded his head to the Rook and walked to the nearby lift, as he entered he pressed the alarm button again a finger print recognition scanning system operated, the doors closed and the lift descended, even though no levels below ground were shown on the keypad display.
Max left the lift and in front of him was a bulletproof plate glass screen; on the other side were two men in army fatigues both carrying HK-5 pistol machine guns with a clip size of 32 rounds. These Two men were known as the Sentinels.
A female electronic voice spoke, “please carry out identification process.
The ceiling had what appeared circular vents which looked harmless, however these were an integrated part of the security system, should identification process be unsuccessful a non-lethal sleeping gas would be instantly emitted rendering a person unconscious within five seconds of inhalation.
The metal floor also had the capability of discharging a powerful electric current; that would disable a person in less than a second.
Max approached a nearby eye and voice recognition scanner with a flashing red light; he looked into the scanner and at the same time said, “Max Storm Eagle 3 returning to Nest.”
The scanner light turned to a steady green and the female voice replied, “Eagle 3 confirmed.”
The glass door parted and the two sentinel guards moved aside allowing Max to proceed down the corridor and into the Third door on the right.
As Max entered a face looked up from behind the desk, the face was Major General Mick Strayker, he smiled at Max as he rounded the table and greeted Max with a firm handshake.
Strayker returned to his seat and invited Max to sit down. Max did so; he held up the newspaper with the front-page news towards Strayker and said, “The Islamic Army Faction!” Strayker operated a switch on his desktop console, a screen came down and the room lights dimmed.
A man’s face appeared on the screen a face Max was familiar with, Mohammed Mustapha, an evil man born and brought up in the chaos of the Middle East wars between Israel and Arabs, age approximately 34 years.
Where most children would go to bed listening to a bedtime story and holding a favorite toy, Mustapha had from a young age grown up listening to the words of the Holy Karan with an AK-47 beside him.
Over the years his name was linked to a number of terrorist organizations around the Middle East.
Twelve months ago, he had broken all links with these organizations, set up the Islamic Army Faction or IAF as it had become known as and virtually dropped out of site.
Intelligence was a sketchy; however Mustapha had recruited and surrounded himself with some of the top terrorists on file.
A second picture appeared of a flat roofed white building in a desert environment. Strayker said, “Everest has authorized Mustapha’s sanitation.”
Max new what this meant and he had been selected to carry the mission out.
“The house you see is in South Yemen, Mustapha is there now, a team of the Special Boat Service has the place under surveillance from covert cover. It lays one mile from the beach, intelligence says he is only going to be there for another forty eight hours, draw your equipment from the Armourer, transportation is waiting, your flight leaves in three hours any questions so far?”
“No!” replied Max.
“Good, you will rendezvous with a sub in the Indian Ocean, which will take you close enough to your rendezvous point to avoid detection. The SBS team leader is an old friend of yours; Roy Smith they will supply the usual cover going in and out, Roy will bring you up to speed with a sit-rep when you meet him, any questions.”
Max turned and looked at the screen, looked back at Strayker, “No Sir,” he replied.
“One last item Max; SIB have come back with some information on the hijacked arms shipment and the attempt on my life.”
“That sounds positive sir.”
“This conversation goes no further than this room Max; I know I can trust you to keep this under your beret.”
“Mum’s the word sir.’
“The Provost Marshal Brigadier Jack Davenport is an old friend of mine; we go back some years, anyway over the last Two years they have been investigating an internal mole that they believe is of a very senior rank and has been conducting his own agenda. It is believed he is involved in arms smuggling and selling them to the highest bidder, they know that this person has recruited former military personnel that have; shall we say left the forces under a cloud. It would be fair to say the two misfits’ we encountered could be part of this organization.”
“So why have you been targeted sir?”
“A good question Max and one I intend to get to the bottom of with the help of the Provost Marshall.”
“May I make a suggestion sir?”
“Of course Max; I am always open to your thoughts.”
“I suggest you ensure your carrying and keep some serious fire power in the motor.”
“Point taken Max; in fact when you see the Armorer ask him to pay me a visit,”
“On my way down to him now, I will give him the nod.”
“Max; good hunting!”
Max turned right out of Strayker’s office and walked the length of the corridor took the end door on the left and descended two flights of metal rung stairs and entered the armorer and supplies section a kit bag was already prepared; Max smiled as he greeted the armorer. “Hi Johnson.”
Colour Sergeant Johnson was an ex Para; weapons, munitions and explosives expert, what Johnson didn’t know about these subjects was not worth knowing. A man in his fifties with short cropped grey hair and built like a tank, he would not have looked out of place as a doorman.
Johnson’s face always had a smile on it. “Nice to see you again Max, I have prepared your kit bag, however I need to know what type of weapons you will require?”
Okay, replied Max, “I will need a SIG SG 550 sniper rifle and silencer, one AN/PVS-7b scope, and a 20 round magazine.”
The SIG SG 550 sniper rifle, caliber 5.55mm can carry staggered magazines 5, 20 or 30 round capacity; the entire weapon is disassembled and reassembled with effortless ease, the excellent stability of the weapon during firing; results from the inferior recoil and the incorporated bipod. These characteristics allow the marksman a rapid target acquisition and permits firing of several precise shots.
The weapon with a 20 round magazine weighs 7.342kg. The scope selected, gives a 4 X magnification with night vision function.
Johnson went into the weapons room and a few minutes later returned with a standard hard case, Max opened the box and quickly assembled the rifle, and walked down the corridor to the Specially developed underground five-hundred yard firing range, clipped the magazine in and adjusted the scope at the down range target.
He took three shots to zero the scope in to achieve a perfect hit on the range targets.
Max removed the magazine and checked the weapon was safe, and then returned to Johnson.
“Excellent choice of weapon Max,” said Johnson.
“It’s had a lot of tender care given to it, it’s a credit to you Johnson,” replied Max.
“Anything else I can do for you?”
“A side arm,” replied Max.
“I have just the gun for you, they have just come in.” Johnson disappeared into the weapons room and returned within a few seconds handed the weapon over to Max.
“The Glock model-19, nine-millimeter, fifteen rounds in the magazine,” he said.
“This will do nicely, I will have four clips to go,” replied Max.
Max picked up the kit bag together with his firearms, “so long Johnson be seeing you soon oh!’
“Good hunting Max” replied, Johnson.
“By the way Strayker would like to see you; needs some expert advice,” replied Max.
Max stepped into the waiting car, fifty minutes later the car pulled up at gate ‘A’ of North Weald Airfield.
North Weald was a former Royal Air force base and became famous during the Second World War, situated near Epping in Essex.
On September 3rd Nineteen Thirty-Nine, the Royal Air force at North Weald received its war signal from the Headquarters at Number Eleven Group fighter Command and in Nineteen Forty; the Hurricanes from North Weald saw action over the beaches of Dunkirk.
Max showed his identification, the barrier raised and the car drove into the base.