Biggin Hill Kent
Lat = 51 degrees, 19.7 minutes North
Long = 0 degrees, 1.2 minutes East
Thursday 24th march 1988
Vince Edward’s picked up the phone and dialed Strayker’s number, “Strayker here”.
“It’s Vince; we have the results of the tests we ran on the bio weapon.” “Shoot Vince,” replied Strayker.
“The guy whom designed this is a genius; he has managed to successfully mix two of the world’s most toxic chemicals, to create a terrifying bio weapon.”
“Well that genius is now in a safe house being interrogated Vince, we already have the formulae from him and a specialist team is working on a cure.”
“Max has done a real good job in removing this from the hands of a Terrorist,” Remarked Vince.
“Yep; it’s a pity there is no reward for him, except a pat on the back and a job well done,” replied Strayker.
I’ll have the two bio-chemical sphere’s transported to our secure bunker at Hesters Copse today.
“Thanks Vince; have them route from Biggin Hill airfield via a chopper, I want maximum security on this.”
“Consider it done,” replied Vince.
Strayker replaced the phone and redialed another number.
Corporal Edward’s answered the in-car phone.
“Come and pick me up Corporal.”
“Yes sir,” Edward’s replied.
Edwards drove the short distance from Biggin Hill airfield to ICIS, Strayker was waiting outside the disused Gasholding station and stepped into the car.
“Take me home Edward’s.”
“Certainly sir,” he replied.
Strayker’s Home, Wells Road Bromley
Lat = 51 degrees, 24.3 minutes North
Long = 0 degrees, 3.1 minutes East
Thursday 24th March 1988
Stayker walked through his front door and was greeted by Bentley his butler, “welcome home sir.”
“Thank you Bentley, I’ll be back out in two hours, just come home for a shower and a change of cloths.”
“What clothes do you want laying out sir, civies or uniform,?”
“Civies will do.”
“Thank you sir.”
Edwards had left Strayker’s home; he had two jobs to complete, one to refuel the car and the second to grab a bite to eat.
Stayker made his way to his ensuite bathroom, quickly stripped of his clothing and emersed himself into the cascading hot water.
Bentley was laying out Strayker’s cloth’s when he heard the door bell chime.
He made his way back down the staircase to the front door.
Through the oval opaque small door window he could see the outline of a figure with a cap on.
He opened the door and the figure standing there was in full military army uniform.
The figure spoke, “Brigadier Dawson; it is important I speak to Major Strayker.”
“Sir; Major Strayker is showering at the moment, would you care to wait in his study?”
“Certainly.”
“Follow me; it’s the door on the left, would you care for a drink sir?”
“A scotch will do nicely, make it a neat one.”
“Yes sir.”
Bentley opened the study door and invited Dawson in, “I’ll bring your drink to you sir.”
Bentley closed the study door and went to fetch Dawson’s whiskey.
Brigadir Dawson stood in Strayker’s study looking at the memrabilia surrounding the study.
He had to admire Stayker, for he was truly a man whom had emerged through the ranks on his merits as an outstanding soldier.
However the loss of his son was not something he could forgive, and Strayker would have to pay, a life for a life.
Dawson removed the concealed pistol from his tunic pocket along with a silencer, he screwed the silencer onto the barrel of the Walther P5 compact.
The Walther P5 is a 9mm semi-automatic pistol developed in the mid-1970s by the German small arms manufacturer Carl Walther GmbH Sportwaffen.
It was designed with the German police forces in mind, who sought to replace the existing 7.65mm pistols with a modern service sidearm incorporating enhanced safety features and chambered in 9x19mm Parabellum cartridge.
The P5 compact had been issued to a number of British army personal as a Personal Protection Weapon.
Dawson pulled the slide back and one of the nine rounds from the magazine moved up into the breach, he thumbed the safety down just as Bentley opened the door with his drink on a silver tray.
Bentley noticed the Brigadier with the pistol in his right hand, “sir may I enquire why you have a weapon in your hand?”
Brigadier Dawson raised the pistol and levelled it at Bentley, he squeezed the trigger and the chambered round left the barrel at one thousand eleven hundred and forty-eight feet per second, the silencer muffling the rapport.
The round thumped Bentley violently over his left chest area, the silver tray and whiskey went flying in the air, as Bentley was knocked back out throught the open door, crashing to the floor.
Dawson gazed at Bentley’s body before walking over to it, he bent down and dragged the limp body back into the study area.
Dawson walked out of the study closing the door behind him and walked over to the open plan staircase, the Walther was in his right hand as he ascended the staircase.
As he reached the top he heard some movemnet from one of the five rooms down on the right.
Strayker had come out of the shower and had just buttoned up a shirt when the bedroom door opened with Dawson standing there, Strayker noticed the pistol in his right hand pointing down in the loosely hanging arm.
Strayker was the first to speak, “Brigadier Dawson; if I am not mistaken you are holding a Walther pistol in your hand.”
That’s right Major, make any kind of move and it will be your last.”
“My butler Bentley; what have you done to him?”
“Lets say he will not be bothering us in this life time.”
“My God man; what have you done?”
“Forget your butler Major you and me need to talk; sit down on the bed and keep your hands where I can see them.
Strayker complied.
Dawson pulled up a chair and sat down; keeping the Walther pointed at Strayker.
“You never married or had children did you Major?”
Strayker did not reply.
Dawson continued, “My wife died fifteen years ago; cancer not a nice way to go.”
Strayker replied, “yes I did hear.”
“My son was the only link left to her, and you were responsible for his death Major.”
“Come on man; we were at war in Northern Ireland, losses are always expected you know that better than anyone else.”
“That’s true Major, but the Intel was floored and you were the officer in charge.”
“You are aware that the enquiry exonerated everyone involved, the mission was acted upon through reliable Intel, I am sorry that it went wrong and your son lost his life.”
Strayker’s mind was racing for levarage, the only weapon in the house was in his study draw, a Walther P5 the same as Brigadier Dawson’s.
“I presume you intend to shoot me then.”
“You presume correctly, a life for a life,” replied Dawson.
Dawson was to far away for Strayker to attemp to rush him,
“before you shot me I have a last request.”
“What is it Major?”
“I would like a last glass of my thirty-year old Glenfiddich Single malt Scotch if you don’t mind.”
“Where is it?”
“In my study.”
“I don’t think so Major;, your butler left me in the study to fetch a scotch for me from another room, why would he do that if it was already in your study?”
“That’s true Brigadier; however my personal taste is for the thirty-year old Glenfiddich Single malt, and that is only kept for my personal use in my study.”
Dawson looked at Strayker, trying to look for any tell signs of deceitfulness; he satisfied himself that Strayker was telling the truth.
“Okay Major; stand up and put your hands in your trouser pockets, I’ll follow you down don’t try anything; I am prepared to honour your last request, but be assured I will kill you sooner rather than after your drink if you double cross me.”
Dawson motioned with the pistol for Strayker to walk towards the open door, he moved to one side out of arms reach allowing Strayker to walk by onto the landing.”
“Okay down the stairs nice and easy now Major and no sudden movements.”
Strayker found it slightly difficult descending the stairs with his hands tucked away in his trouser pockets, he was aware of Brigadier Dawson behind him, who followed a few steps behind.
Strayker reached the study door,”may I remove my hands from my pockets to open the door?”
“Be very careful Major,” replied Dawson.
Strayker opened it, as he walked over to his desk Dawson followed, however Brigadier Dawson stopped immediately he stepped into the study, the butler’s body was gone, for a moment he was taken aback.
Bentley in a crouched postion rose up from behind the desk holding Strayker’s Walther P5, he spoke to Strayker, “Please duck down sir.”
Strayker immediately rolled over to his left, Bentley raised the pistol just as Brigadier Dawson had put two and two together and was raising his pistol but he was a shade to slow.
Bentley had squezed the walther’s trigger sending the round smashing into Dawson’s face, the shock triggered a reflex through his body and in his last second of life, his forefinger snatched the trigger firing a round wildly into the ceiling.
Brigadier Dawson’s lifeless body collapsed to the floor, the pistol falling from his death grip.
Strayker was now standing and looking at Bentley, “your supposed to be dead Bentley?”
“Sorry to dissapoint your sir,” Bentley replied with a grin.
“Are you alright.”
“Maybe a couple of broken ribs that’s all.”
“What happened Bentley?”
“The Brigadier did in fact shoot me sir, however; the bullet struck my metal cigarette case in my inside jacket pocket, it knocked me unconcious for several minutes. I had just come around when I heard you both coming down the staircase, I remembered you kept your pistol in the desk, fortunatly it was ready and loaded.”
Strayker let out a chortle, “and they say smoking will kill you.”
“Not today sir;” replied Bentley.
“Right first things first Bentley, I’ll have Edward’s take you to the nearby hospital for a check up and I’ll give the Prime Minister a call.”
Edward’s arrived and transported Bentley to the nearby Bromley hospital.
Strayker was on the phone to the Prime Minister, having explained the encounter with and death of brigadier Dawson.
The Prime Ministers first concern was for the well being of Bentley, “will your butler be okay?”
“I should thinK so Ma’am, Edwards has just taken him to Bromley hospital for a check up.”
“What is your suggestion on how we handle the Brigadiers death?”
“Ma am; it would not benefit anyone for the truth to come out, Brigadier Dawson in his day was a credit to the service and our country, I think we can find a way to explain his death that will satisfy everyone.”
“Yes I agree; can I leave it up to you to tidy the mess up?”
“Yes Ma’am leave it with me.”
Strayker terminated the call and redialled the number for Hesters Copse, Having made the arrangements for Dawson’s body to be collected he sat down and poured himself a large scotch.