The crowds filtered through check-in desks at Madrid-Barajas Airport in Spain as Mark shouldered his carry-on luggage and calmly glanced around the airport, scanning the crowd for anyone who might pose a threat to him. Satisfied he was not in any danger, he checked in through security and headed towards the taxi rank outside the airport, not wanting a repeat of Germany. He adjusted his Aviator sunglasses and tucked his passport back into his back pocket. He took out his tourist map and checked out the rates, times and costs of boat charters to his destination, the Island of Cabrera and the fourteenth-century castle which was where Nial Atkinson advised he would find someone who could provide information on Invictus Advoca’s current movements and arrangements. He was to meet someone Nial Atkinson only described as ‘El Toro’ or ‘The Bull’ and he didn’t know who this person was or even if they would be any help to him.

Mark located the car hire company based at the airport and confidently but politely advised them that there was a car, paid for and reserved in the name of Nial Atkinson. The young lady at the desk took a note of Mark and his details and handed him the keys and directed him to the carpark. When he got there, he wandered the bay numbers until he found the bay number listed on the paperwork. He was shocked to find it was a red 2015 Porsche 911 GT3 RS. Mark shook his head and smiled at the silly old fool for providing him with a car HE would drive rather than what was practical for Mark. However, he was amazed and wasted no time getting in and getting her started. On the passenger seat was a note written in black ink, it read,

‘I thought you could travel to Valencia in style. Check the boot. Nial’

Mark looked puzzled but smiled at Atkinson’s gift. He got out and opened the boot to reveal a massive silver case. He flicked up the locks and opened it. Inside, nestled in cut foam, were an Israeli-made DAN .338 Sniper rifle, a Kadet standard issue US army knife and a Glock 23 .40 S&W suppressed with an Osprey silencer. Mark couldn’t believe it. Also tucked into the foam, was a prepaid phone with a single number programmed into it. Mark took it and turned it on; it was fully charged. He dialled the pre-programmed number and Nial Atkinson answered it, advising Mark he assumed he got the car and ‘gifts’ with no problem. Mark laughed.

‘Silly old fool, but generous!’

Atkinson scolded Mark for this and advised him he thought Mark ‘might need a few supplies’. Mark was grateful to Atkinson for the help. He silenced Mark as if he was on a Black-Ops mission and gave him a set of instructions. He was to meet a ‘friend’ of his, El Toro, and would find him at Cabrera Castle on Cabrera Island and to follow co-ordinates thirty-nine degrees north, two degrees fifty-seven east.

Mark looked down in the case and found the military compass Atkinson had also supplied. Underneath the foam was a massive supply of ammunition, some boots, black combat trousers and a Kevlar flak vest, hat and night vision binoculars. He really had thought this through, Mark thought to himself as he thanked Atkinson who hung up. Mark grabbed the Porsche keys and checked his tourist guide. How the hell was he going to explain this lot if he was stopped by the Spanish Policia Local or Guardia Urbana if he was pulled over? A voicemail clicked up on his phone; it was from Atkinson advising him that, before he worried what he would do if the Guardia pulled him over in his car, Atkinson had taken care of that.

‘Who the hell IS this guy?’ Mark said aloud.

Mark wondered if he really knew Atkinson at all. But then he realised, Atkinson had been in combat in so many theatres of war over his career, he probably made useful contacts. Still, Mark couldn’t wait to get behind the wheel of the Porsche. Zero to sixty in three seconds, a three point eight litre flat-six engine kicking out four hundred and seventy-five horse-power and hits nine thousand revs per minute, Mark loved it. He also loved the satnav with Valencia programmed as a destination so all Mark had to do was to drive. After an hour into the two and half hour drive to Valencia, Mark pulled over for fresh water, cigarettes and something to eat. He bought a visitor’s handbook and read about his destination out loud.

‘The Cabrera Archipelago Maritime-Terrestrial National Park (Catalan: Parc Nacional Maritimoterrestre de l’Arxipèlag de Cabrera, Spanish: Parque Nacional Marítimo-Terrestre del Archipiélago de Cabrera) is a national park that includes the whole of the Cabrera Archipelago in the Balearic Islands (Catalan: Illes Balears, Spanish: Islas Baleares), an autonomous community that is part of the Spanish State. The park covers one hundred square kilometres though eighty seven square kilometres are covered by water. The park attracts relatively few visitors due to its remoteness. There is no permanent population, but there might be at any given time just under one hundred National Park staff members and other personnel on the islands.’

He considered stopping off at Ibiza before he headed to Cabrera to visit the clubs he heard so much about. But he decided he was too old and didn’t really need the distraction. He would charter a boat and go around the Island, direct to Cabrera. After a short break and a refuel, Mark was on his way.

The roaring Porsche 911 GT3 RS pulled into the carpark opposite the Land Ahoy Boat Charter company and was met by a young man in overalls, in the process of jet steaming the Mallorca 4, a Sessa C44, forty-five foot Sunseeker motorboat. Mark approached the young man, who seemed to know what he was doing with boats. It was Pablo Valentin, the owner of Land Ahoy Boat Charters and he took people on guided tours to Cabrera Island where Mark was to meet this ‘El Toro’ contact of Atkinson’s. Mark offered him five hundred euros for passage to the Island and be in constant radio contact, to collect him and possibly one other passenger.

Pablo agreed because he knew Atkinson and, after a fashion, beckoned Mark on board to set out first to Palma, Mallorca, then onto the Island of Cabrera. Pablo advised Mark it would be a five to six hour trip and if he wanted to pass the time, he could help load food and supplies on board.

After an hour of loading the boat with all the supplies they thought they would need, Mark sat back and lit a cigarette while Pablo passed him a cold beer. He was grateful of the rest and refreshment and they toasted the boat before gulping down the refreshing Spanish beer. Mark lay back against a box and enjoyed the warmth of the Spanish sun, a much different weather system than the UK and Germany. He was tired of globetrotting chasing killers but he felt it necessary to pursue these people wherever they went. Pablo motioned him on board so Mark grabbed his case, his beer and left his cigarette in his mouth as he walked towards the Sessa.

With a top speed of thirty-four knots or thirty-nine miles per hour, it would take roughly five hours to get to Palma Mallorca so Mark took this opportunity to sleep for a while. He left Pablo explicit instructions to report anything suspicious, and, as Pablo knew what kind of business Atkinson had been in, he knew what Mark meant. As Mark made his way below deck to the larger of the two bedrooms, Pablo loosened the safety harness of the M16 machine gun he kept hidden in a removable panel under the controls, switched the radar on and kept his eye on the horizon. He anticipated trouble and had to be ready for it.

The jerking of the Sessa’s engines slowing down awoke Mark from what had been a deep sleep. He freshened up and came up to see they were pulling into the beautiful Nazaret Harbour. Mark had elected a blue cardigan, short sleeve white shirt and grey chinos. He came above deck wearing his Aviators and remembered that since he bought them, he was just looking for an excuse to wear them. Pablo, as usual, wore his deck shorts, flip-flops and Musto jacket with sunglasses. They made their way ashore and Mark followed Pablo as he led him to a small marina café. A short while later, both Pablo and Mark were sitting at the Garito Café drinking coffee and eating. The pair sat and discussed their route to Cabrera and Mark called Atkinson to provide an update.

‘We’re resting. The Garito Cafe,’ he said smiling.

‘I trust you met Pablo?’ Atkinson laughed.

‘Yeah. Not much of a conversationalist.’

‘Never was! I could tell you a story about the last time I was at the Garito Café and a waitress who used to work there?’

‘Too much information,’ Mark laughed, smiling to himself, ‘speak soon.’

He hung up the phone and sat back and relaxed to finish his cake and croissant. Mark decided he would have a scout around the local area before they head off to Cabrera and stretch his legs. He visited a few novelty shops and noted it was very touristy here in some parts, but the parts he preferred were the local, backstreet cafes, and shops and out of the way places. He stood on the corner and lit a cigarette. He glanced up to notice someone across the street; they seemed to be watching him and they looked out of place. Mark didn’t know what it was about it, but he knew something didn’t feel right and he was always taught at Sandhurst to go with your gut. Luckily, as he was wearing Aviators, it didn’t show when his eyes moved so the stranger opposite wasn’t sure if he had been spotted or not so he moved a little down the dusty street. The stranger moved too.

‘Once more,’ Mark said quietly to himself as he walked, ‘and I’ll have you!’

Mark walked a little further and turned a corner, and the stranger moved again. Slightly panicked but remaining calm, Mark looked around to see how to get behind his target. He found a stairway into what appeared to be an empty home. Waiting until something distracted the stranger, Mark sped through the open wrought-iron gates and up the stone steps to the rooftop. Peering over the edge, he noticed the man was wandering aimlessly up and down trying to work out where Mark had gone. Mark looked at the rooftop opposite, only a six foot jump, so took a run up and leapt silently over the roof to the building on the other side. Mark found a doorway and slipped through, apologising to people in their rooms as he made his way downstairs and out onto the street. He followed the stranger down an alley and relaxed when he realised he hadn’t been spotted. Turning a corner, Mark felt for his Glock from under his shirt in its back holster and flicked off the safety catch. He held it out before him and whipped round the corner, face to face with the stranger. It took both of them a few seconds to register they faced each other before Mark fired questions at him.

‘Who are you? Why are you following me?’

No reply came, and the stranger tried to get past Mark. With a lightning quick move, Mark blocked his path, grabbed his shirt collar and hit him hard over the back of the head with the butt of his Glock. Mark rifled through his pockets but was disturbed by a car pulling up, doors opening and people shouting in Spanish. It was time for Mark to leave as he holstered the Glock and calmly walked in the opposite direction. He hurried back to Pablo, who was anxiously waiting for him.

‘Trouble?’ he asked with a thick Spanish accent. Mark nodded and replied sharply.

‘We best be going.’

But before he could blink, Pablo was on board the Sessa and starting the two powerful Volvo Penta IPS 600 engines. He shouted to Mark, who was still stood on the Marina watching for the stranger and his ‘friends’.

‘Come on!’ Pablo called and Mark leapt onto the boat and Pablo hit the throttle, roaring out of the harbour and towards Cabrera Island.

Mark was relaxing on the deck of the Sessa C44 with a cigarette and a laptop loaned to him by Pablo and he noted to himself that the only thing missing was the twelve-year-old single malt. He was desperate to dig into the history of the Invictus Advoca organisation and find out as much as possible. Mark logged into his secure email and noticed Nial Atkinson had sent him an email with many large files attached. For an old guy, he really kept up to date with new technologies. Mark downloaded the attachments, showing senior members of the organisation who were long dead, and some who were not.

There was a history of the organisation, of which Atkinson was a crucial part at one stage. There were connections to the Vatican, German High Command, which explained why Kastner caught Mark in Holtenau, London and the head of the current organisation was a man by the name of Thomas Theodore Lundon. A picture was attached, which was a CCTV image or something a covert photographer had taken, but it was difficult to gauge where Lundon was. He was slim and elderly, with grey hair and a very expensive suit. He was flanked by two people Mark instantly recognised, Roman Vose and Hix Lomas. Mark scowled when he saw Vose there and gradually things seemed to fit together.

Azidi was subcontracted by Thomas Lundon to take delivery of a shipment of weapons while Kastner turned a blind eye, however, Azidi was planning to conduct a little scheme of his own and carry out terrorist attacks in Berlin right under Kastner’s nose.

‘So it was possible,’ Mark thought to himself, ‘that Kastner was part of Invictus Advoca but didn’t know what Azidi was up to on the sly and was about to bust it open!’

Mark was doing the same thing that night in Holtenau. It all made sense to Mark now, especially that it was Thomas Lundon who ordered the hit on Marie. NOW Mark had a name and a face. The face looked strangely familiar but he couldn’t place it. Perhaps he had come across him in his past and only subconsciously remembered it.

Mark had exactly what he was after now, except one thing: details of Lundon’s whereabouts and personality. Perhaps this El Toro could help provide information on exactly what type of person Mark was dealing with.

Soon, they past S’Estanyol De Migjorn Point and turned south and headed directly towards Cabrera Island. Soon, Mark could see the ominous castle loom up on the horizon. Pablo explained there are many ghost stories about this island and that few people came here. It was also a national park so there were wild animals roaming and he warned Mark to be careful. Mark, by now, had sheathed his new rifle in its leather carry case, pocketed the ammo in his various combat pockets in his trousers and flak jacket, holstered his knife and Glock and was carrying water.

‘Thanks for your help Pablo.’ Pablo smiled and nodded. ‘Anchor close by, I have a feeling you may be needed.’

Mark began the hill climb, which led up to the castle.