Chronicles of Revenge: The Beginning

Smashwords Edition

Chronicles of Revenge: The Beginning

Copyright © 2013 George G George

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Cover Design and Interior Layout by Laura Shinn

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Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

Chronicles of Revenge: The Beginning is a work of fiction.

Though actual locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in the mind and imagination of the author except for the inclusion of actual historical facts. Similarities of characters or names used within to any person – past, present, or future – are coincidental except where actual historical characters are purposely interwoven.

Chapter 1

The sound of laughing and shouting echoed in the park as two young men and their parents were enjoying an afternoon walk together. The day was bright and warm for October, and the trees still had their summer coats on, although some were starting to turn a light brown. The mild summer had hung on longer than normal, but today was not going to be any normal day, one thing was for sure it would not end like it had started.

Tim turned to his wife, smiled and said, Lara, look at them two. I can’t remember seeing them this happy for a long time.

Lara stared lovingly back and replied, That, Tim, is because you were always at work while we lived at 10 Downing Street. Now that part of our life is over we can have lots more days like this, and I can't wait.

Me too, he smiled while thinking the same, and made himself a promise that this is how it would be from now on, more family time and less work. Well, he thought, we have no money worries, who’s ever heard of a poor ex-Prime Minister? He certainly hadn’t.

Since leaving government he had made a good living from after-dinner speeches, plus there were lots of companies offering work. Yes they were really very lucky, he had worked hard and now it was time to enjoy the fruits of his labour. Tim looked at his watch, a gold Rolex given to him by a wealthy friend. He loved this watch and would pass it onto his eldest son Timothy when he was twenty-one, but for now he could enjoy the wonderful timepiece.

It was now 4:17pm, Lara, he said, it's time we were heading back for dinner and the boys have got college in the morning.

She agreed and called to them, Timothy, Robin, time to go home now.

He turned to her with an exasperated look and said, Lara, you are the only one that calls him Timothy. Everybody else just calls him Tim like I do.

She pretended to look hurt, That's what we named him so that's what I'll call him, or should we take the American way and call him Junior?

No, no, no, anything but that, Tim said. They both laughed and turned to head home.

The walk back was a pleasant one as it was still quite warm outside. When they arrived home Lara decided they would have their dinner in the garden and while she was preparing their food Tim went to his office to do some work ready for Monday morning, and the boys kicked a ball around in the garden.

In a rented flat a small black box suddenly came to life. Two tiny red lights switched on making the box look like a small, evil creature. More electrical equipment now switched on until the whole thing seemed to be alive, the only part of the beast that seem cold, hard and dead, was the black barrel of the 7.62 general purpose machine gun. Mounted on a servo assisted tripod it waited for its orders. Not the most sophisticated piece of equipment, but good enough for this task, and readily available if you knew where to look. Fixed just behind the optical sight was a mobile phone, securely in position on its own mounting. This also came to life, now going through its normal wake up procedure. Thirty seconds later it was sending a video signal back to another mobile, enabling the user to see through its camera and the optical sights on the machine gun.

Electric motors started to hum and the gun slowly turned towards the window. Passing the window edge, a brick wall came into view. This slowly passed across the small screen and now the view changed; trees, bushes, flowers and a grass lawn on which there were children’s toys and a barbecue, all passed across the screen. Just an average English family garden.

The motors kept running, turning the barrel towards its final targets, then a fence came in to view. As it slowly passed, the user was now looking into another garden. This one was very similar to the first except for the two young lads playing football. The user watched them for a while, waiting. No rush, just waiting for the right moment. As the two lads played, the cold dark barrel watched and waited. The two came together in a heavy tackle leaving them both flat-out on the grass side-by-side, laughing even though they were completely out of breath.

Again, the servo motors hummed, the barrel moved a little left and up until the crosshairs aligned on the two lads lying on the grass. Suddenly the machine gun came to life, three short bursts barked from its long dark barrel, sixteen rounds in all travelling at over two thousand feet per second smashed into their target, ripping flesh, tearing muscle and smashing bones. Young Tim and Robin were killed in a hail storm of deadly, white hot lead.

Due to the machine gun placement Lara and Tim never heard the shots, but their small dog had and barked furiously, but then he always did at any noise. Lara had made the boys a cold drink and thought she would take them into the garden for them. As she came out of the door and down the steps, she rounded the shed and saw the two boys, or what was left of them. The impact of the sixteen 7.62 rounds on the two young bodies can only be described as sheer carnage. For Lara everything seemed to stop; the two glasses fell to the path and shattered, but she did not notice. She tried to run to get to Timothy and Robin, but nothing seemed to work. Her whole body would not move, it seemed like hours to her as the shock of what she was seeing abated and she let out an almost inhuman scream. A scream that only a mother who has lost a child could make, let alone one who was looking at her two sons, slaughtered in their own garden.

Tim was working in his small office. It was not the kind of office he was used to having, this one was more like the size of a large broom cupboard, but he liked it. He had all that he needed plus no room for anyone else, just his laptop, a photo of his wedding day and one of his two boys. Tim was just finishing some notes when he heard Lara scream. Even with all the walls and doors between them he heard it clear as day, and knew in his heart that something bad had happened. Thinking that one of the boys had been badly hurt, he ran into the garden. Tearing through the back door, he cleared all three steps in one leap. The sight before him stopped him dead in his tracks. He’d expected a broken arm or leg maybe, even a bad break with bones poking through the skin, but what he found was his two sons completely torn to pieces, the grass around them was covered in blood and bits of skin and bone. Lara had both the boys’ bodies, or what was left of them, in her arms. She had stopped screaming now and was just making a low moaning whimpering sound. Tim tried to speak but nothing came out, his jaw just moved up and down like a silent movie actor. He dropped to his knees next to Lara, slowly shaking his head, trying to make sense of what had happened but not believing what he was seeing. Moments later his mobile phone rang.

The phone was one of those new Blackberry sorts, but at that moment it could have been a stone for all he knew. He looked at the screen; number withheld, not that he cared. His thumb pressed the green answer button and he put the phone to his ear.

Hello? Tim said. No answer. Again he said, Hello, who is this?

Then the voice of a man that Tim thought was dead spoke, chilling him to the bone, it said, "Nobody takes from me what I'm not prepared to give, and I was not prepared to give my sons. Now I have taken your two sons from you, so you can suffer the same as I am. You are the first, but not the last. The same fate will befall all who were involved in the murder of my two sons, and I will have my revenge."

The phone clicked and went dead. Tim stared at the small Blackberry in his hand, turned and hurled it against the wall, breaking into pieces. He looked across at Lara holding their two sons’ bodies, got up and headed back inside. He had to make some calls, other people had to know.

The police and ambulances arrived within minutes. Lara was given a sedative and taken upstairs. Tim reach for the phone and dialled, Bill, said Tim, I need you here at my house right away. No, drop whatever you are doing and get here now, then he hung up, sat back and waited.

Twenty-two seconds after he had spoken to Tim Greening the user dialled another number and waited. In a third floor apartment in an expensive part of Paris Ile Saint-Louis, tucked away in a small cupboard, was an old brown suitcase. It was nothing much to look at, but it was her father's and she liked to have it with her wherever she went. Unknown to Desiree Beuli, someone had broken into her apartment two weeks earlier and removed the contents of her suitcase and replaced it with a small amount of C4 explosives and four litres of petrol. This was wired to a small black box which was the ignition switch. On top of the box was a mobile phone which now lit up showing an incoming call. The phone answered and started the LED lights in the box. They came on, lighting the inside of the case with an eerie red glow, and at the same time three hidden spy cameras came on. The user looked through each one until he found what he was looking for. There in the lounge was Desiree, alone, revising for a test she had soon. The user took in all the expensive things in the apartment, from the hand printed wallpaper in gold and greens, to the real polar bear rug in front of the fire, and the large brown leather couch. He now made one last check to make sure she was alone. His finger moved to the keypad, and with the cold, calculating manner of a man who had killed many times before, pressed the four digits needed to set off the bomb. Desiree Beuli, for a fraction of a second, felt the blast and the heat from the bomb, then she was engulfed in flames. Death would have been almost instantaneous. The blast blew out all of the windows and the French doors, and as the flames subsided and the smoke started to clear there, in the corner behind the burning sofa and next to the smouldering polar bear rug, lay Desiree’s lifeless, charred body, peppered with broken masonry from the blast. This is how she was found. Her parents were informed, but unlike Tim Greening they had no idea who had done this, but they soon would.

The time was now 4.24pm GMT, and once again the user dialled another number. It was 11:24am in Miami. Chad Denning was at home, well, home being a converted double garage at his parents’ house. Chad now twenty-two and wanted his own space. It was a typical young man's lair, just as he had wanted it. One of the doors had been removed and replaced with a window and he had kept the other for his 1960 Corvette sports car. The two seat convertible had been his dad’s and when he had turned twenty-one Chad had been given it for his birthday. Most people have a giant TV or an inglenook fireplace for a centrepiece in the lounge, Chad just parked the Corvette. A moving piece of art is what he liked to call it, and it certainly was a head turner that’s for sure, along with the flat screen TV, large old leather couch and the kitchenette. That was Chad's place; his bedroom was in the rafter space, compact but his. It really did impress the girls when he drove into his own lounge in the Corvette.

Chad loved that car so much that no one was allowed to drive it except him, even when it went for its yearly service he would drive it there and back. No greasy mechanic was driving his car. This though, was to be his undoing. When the car had its last service three weeks earlier it had stayed in the garage overnight, and in that time at the garage, a piece of C4, no bigger than a golf ball, had been placed under the driver's seat, along with a tiny black box a mobile phone and a mercury tip switch, the type used by the IRA years before. The users had a vast knowledge of these, having disarmed and used them many times. The phone under the seat lit up and answered the call, the small black box coming to life. The user put in the four digits that would activate the mercury tip switch, and now the bomb was armed, all it needed was a sharp movement to detonate the C4 underneath the seat.

Having spent some time watching Chad, the user knew that he would go out at around 11.45am to meet up with the guys. Chad looked at the digital clock on the wall, it was 11.41am, time to go, he thought. Chad pushed the button on the fob that opened the garage door, and he was in the car and had it running before the door was fully open. Chad dipped the clutch and put the Corvette into first gear. As he let the clutch out, the car moved forward and went over the small ramp at the front of the door. The C4 exploded, blasting Chad out of his seat and into the underside of the garage door, not that it mattered as Chad had been torn apart in the blast. What was not stuck to the underside of the door was now dropping back into the Corvette. Both his parents were out at the time, but they would be informed. Their grief would be shared by the other parents, and these were just the first. There were more on his list; all would pay he would spare none, not one. Even if it took the rest of his life, revenge would be his, and all those involved with the murder of his sons would pay.

If you live by the sword, you should be prepared to die by the sword, he said to himself.

The mobile phone was smashed and thrown into the river by the user. Now they would know it was him and that was good, he thought, now they would know my pain, my loss, my anger, and most of all my need for revenge. Now all his skills, expertise and knowledge would be turned against those he had spent most of his adult life protecting. Little did they know what they had unleashed on themselves, but they would find out soon enough.

Tim Greening had not moved from the chair, he just sat and waited. He looked around the room at the many beautiful, expensive things, like the walnut sideboard; to Tim walnut was the most beautiful wood in the world. The Persian rugs, china figurines, and of course there was the Constable on the wall, behind which was his safe just like in the old movies.

At around 5pm Bill Turner arrived; he had already been briefed about the killings. Bill walked into the lounge where Tim was waiting and at first it seemed to Bill that Tim had not seen him, but a moment later Tim looked up.

Tim, I’m sorry for your loss, truly sorry, you have my condolences, said Bill, then he waited for Tim to reply. It took about a minute or so before Tim answered, and he said, Thanks for coming Bill, please have a seat.

Bill sat and waited. He had known Tim Greening for almost thirty years, they had met at Oxford University. Bill had been studying business management and Tim politics, but what brought them together was their mutual love of rugby and beer. Both had done well at Oxford, as they had in their chosen careers. Tim had reached the top having been the Prime Minister. Bill still was at the top of one of the largest banks in the UK, but at this moment none of that mattered. The silence dragged on so Bill looked across to Tim and said, What’s the real reason you have asked me to come over? Tim said nothing so Bill pressed him again, this time Tim replied to Bill's request.

I know who killed Timothy and Robin.

Have you told the police?

No, he replied. Bill said nothing but he knew that this must be very serious for Tim not to have gone to the police.

Do you know why? Bill asked.

Tim replied, Yes, I think so…. he waited for a moment then continued, I thought he was dead, I…I was assured he’d been killed years ago.

For Christ's sake, Tim, Bill said, who the hell is it?

Tim thought for a while and said, His name is Matt North, or should I say Captain Matt North, formerly of the SAS, Tim took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose and just stared at Bill, saying nothing. Tim was looking right past Bill like he wasn’t in the room. Bill sat quietly thinking he had never been in combat but he had heard of the expression the thousand yard stare and thought that this was what Tim was doing. Bill also knew this was way above him and he would need to choose his words very carefully, having never met the former SAS man personally.

Bill sat back in the chair and rolled the man's name around his head like it was a fine malt whiskey in his mouth, trying to remember where he had heard it before. That was it, he thought, I remember now. At a party maybe five years ago he had heard some people talking about this man, but what was it they said? Bill started to go through his memory trying to remember, and then it came back to him. Yes, that was what the chap had said, ‘If there was one person in the world he never wanted to cross it was Captain North’. This guy, one of them had said, ‘was the most dangerous man in the world bar none, and I would rather kick the devil in the balls than get on the wrong side of him’.

Bill thought at the time they were just exaggerating, you know, beer talk. Tim spoke then, which brought Bill out of his train of thought and back to the lounge.

Bill, I made a bad decision in the past and I believe that's why my sons are dead. I might have just as well shot them myself, and at that Tim began to sob.

Bill had seen his friend take big hits on the rugby field, even watched him break his leg in two places, but he had never seen him cry. Bill was at a loss for what to do, so he did nothing and just waited for the tears to subside. When Tim had stopped crying Bill gave him his hanky and he dried his eyes. Bill waited a few moments before continuing the conversation.

Tim, what was the bad decision you made? What on earth did you do to cause this man to do what he did?

Tim looked at his friend, took a deep breath and started to tell Bill all that had happened and why he made the decision which led to the death of his two children, his beloved sons Timothy and Robin.

Bill, do you remember the last election and that I was not faring too well, in fact it was odds-on that I would lose?

Yeah I do, you said that what you needed was another Falklands war to win.

That's right. Well, I couldn’t start another war, so l gathered all of my closest aides to Downing Street to see if we could come up with a way to help me win the next election. Lots of ideas were put on the table, but the most popular by far was the capture or killing of Al Qaeda's top man, Oman Khan, and it was agreed that the only man for the job was Captain North.

Really? said Bill, you mean there was no one else? Did the Yanks not have someone? I mean, this man can’t be that good.

He is, without doubt, the best killing machine ever. It's rumoured he’s killed over five hundred people, but in truth it could be a lot more. He was singularly the best asset we had.

Bill raised a hand to stop him so he could take this all in. He thought to himself, Tim was his friend, but he couldn’t get involved too deeply, he had four children of his own.

What on earth did you do to piss this guy off so much that he would kill your two sons?

Tim started to tell of the plan they had put together. It seemed so simple at the time, he recalled, just call him out of retirement, offer him a huge sum of money to take out Oman Khan, and Tim would then have had the praise of the world leaders, and also a very good chance of winning the next election.

So what went wrong? asked Bill.

Simple, he said no. At that point I should have just abandoned the whole idea right there and then, but I was desperate. Sir Chris Bergman said he knew a man that might be able to persuade him to take the job on, so he contacted Major Ed Barker, a former SAS operative now working for the British government in a contractual sort of way, and asked him to attend our next meeting.

Bill gave Tim a highly sceptical look, I take it he could not persuade him to take the job?

Tim recalled when Barker arrived he made it clear he and North are not friends.

In fact, ‘the best of enemies’ is what he said, but he assured us he could get the job done so we ran our plan past him and asked if he could help. In the meantime I had arranged a meeting with Alain Beuli, the French security minister, and Peter Denning, the American CIA chief. It was while all three of us were having a meeting that Bergman and Barker came in. It was Barker that came up with the idea to use French and American operatives as well as our own to help us with his plan.

I didn’t think the French and Americans would be interested in the UK elections, said Bill.

They're not, but the French had their own elections coming up, and like me would like to have Oman Khan dealt with for their own political gain, and you know the Americans are always interested in anything that takes Khan out of the equation. Let's face it, the public around the world are getting fed up with no results and nothing but body bags.

I understand that, but what was the plan, Tim? I take it you were going to use internal pressure to get North to take the job on, quoting national pride and how the whole world will be behind the plan?

Sounds good, agreed Tim, but that was not the plan we agreed to. You see I had tried that and he still refused, but Barker said his plan was guaranteed not to fail. He would do whatever we wanted.

And you trusted him? asked Bill.

Not completely, said Tim, but we were all desperate for a result.

Okay, I get that, but what was Barker's plan?

Simple really, said Tim, kidnap his two sons and hold them until the job was done.

What!? Bill exclaimed, a lot louder than he had intended. You mean to tell me you agreed to that? No, surely not!

Yes, I’m afraid I did, and so did the French and Americans. Barker said his sons were his Achilles heel and he would do whatever he was told to get them back no matter what.

So what went wrong? asked Bill.

We’ve been friends a long time, Bill, so what I'm about to tell you cannot leave this room, is that clear?

Bill replied, Yes I realise that Tim, so what went wrong?

Not too sure really, said Tim, I know the planning took just over a week and Barker said the preparations were done, all he needed was the order to go. God, Bill, why did l not just say no and called it off?

Well why didn't you Tim, what made you say yes?

Tim looked at Bill then said, A few hours earlier I had the latest poll results and I was down two more points. It felt like I had been thrown this lifeline and like a drowning man I grabbed it with both hands, not caring about the consequences. I just had to win, Bill. That was all I could think of. Nothing else seemed to matter at that point.

Bill slowly shook his head then asked Tim to continue, I was not aware of the full details of the operation from the start, but Barker had the two boys under guard and well hidden, plus he had six men watching North, supposedly a top team, who would report his every move. Top men he said. Ha! What a joke that turned out to be.

Why do you say that? asked Bill.

Why, Bill, why? Because after being informed of his son’s situation he found them and killed them all in a matter of minutes. It was like he knew what we had planned, or that’s what I thought, but there was no leak. I found out later how he knew. I should have done my homework on Captain North, but I didn’t.

Bill looked at Tim, he was wringing his hands out as though they were soaking wet.

You said he knew about your plan. How?

Tim took a moment, looked at his hands and raised his head up. Apparently he has some form of sixth sense.

Rubbish Tim, since when did you, or me for that matter, ever start believing in that? You’ll be telling me you see little green men from Mars next.

This brought a smile to Tim’s face. There is so much you don’t know, Bill, he thought.

"I was like you then Bill, but after talking with men from his unit I now believe differently. No, I know differently."

So what you are telling me Tim, is that he’s psychic is he?

No Bill, apparently it’s just a sense he has. Some of the men I spoke to told me how he would know if a person meant him harm or if they were lying to him when on operations. He could see or sense things like trip wires, mines, detection devices and more. He just knew Bill, and when it came to his boys he always knew when they were in trouble or in pain, no matter where he was in the world. I’m not saying he knew the plan but he knew something bad had happened and I guess he had a plan for something like this, he would go into hiding then go and search them out and deal with any issues when he found them.

Tim, are you telling me you thought that you could just kidnap the man’s sons and he wouldn’t do something about it? And not have some sort of predetermined plan of action? You’re not that stupid!

It would appear I am.

Bill thought for a moment and then said, Well it all seems to have gone horribly wrong. I take it the boys were returned to him with what, some form of compensation?

Tim just shook his head. Moments later he said, No… no that would have been the thing to do, but well, I don’t know all the details but it seems the boys tried to escape and in the process they were both killed.

At this point Bill was lost for words. They both sat in silence. It was Bill who spoke, Let me get a handle on this Tim. There was yourself and two top ranking officials, one from France and one from America, who were involved in this?

That’s right, myself, Denning and Beuli. We organised it and authorised the mission.

So, if I was now looking at this from his point of view Tim, you all gave the green light to kidnap and murder his two sons.

No Bill, no. That was never the plan.

Maybe not to you Tim, but to him that’s exactly what it looks like.

At that moment the house phone rang. Tim reached over and answered it. He listened for a few minutes and said, I understand. Thank you. He replaced the received in its cradle and turned his head towards Bill. By the look on his face Bill knew it was not good news. For a moment Tim just stared at the telephone, saying nothing.

What is it Tim, what did they tell you?

Bill, it’s begun. He’s not only killed Timothy and Robin, he’s also just killed Desiree Beuli and Chad Denning.

With tears starting to run down his cheeks, Tim said to Bill, "What have we done, Bill? No, what have I done?"

Bill could think of nothing else to say, so he got up and walked to the door. He looked back to say his goodbyes but instead just left. It was some time before Tim even knew Bill had left. As Bill walked out of the front door he nodded to the chief constable waiting outside and said, He may need a few extra moments before they go in.

No problem Mr Turner, how is he?

As well as can be expected I suppose.

Well goodnight, Sir.

Goodnight to you, Bill replied, getting into his car and driving off. After Bill was out of sight of Tim’s house he got out his phone and called his home number. Julie, his wife, answered. He asked her to make sure the children were in the house and not to go out until he was home. By the tone in his voice Julie knew that this was not open to discussion. She replied, Sure, we’ll all be here waiting for you.

Good, Bill said, I should be home in about forty-five minutes or so. I love you Julie, and the children, so very much.

I know darling, and we all love you too.

As he put the telephone down he made himself a promise to never cross this man North. Moments later Bill’s car phone rang and it was his wife Julie. Bill, darling, are you okay? You sound a little strange.

Julie, I’m fine, I will explain all when I get home.

Chapter 2

Sue Young was sitting in a rundown bar in the wrong part of Bangkok, waiting for a contact to come. He said he would meet her here at 8pm, but it was now almost 8:30pm. She looked around the bar. There were two locals chatting and well on their way to being very drunk, and in the corner of the bar there were five working girls. It seemed to Sue that they were paying her a little more attention than she liked, but hey, so what? She’s been in worse places in her career. She’d chosen this particular table because she could see anyone coming in or leaving, and also she could cover the whole bar area in case of danger.

In the half hour she had been waiting Sue had counted ten tables, thirty-seven chairs, six lights, all with no shades, just bare bulbs. Out of the ten tables, only three were occupied. One had an old couple chatting, and the other two had tourists with working girls around them, playing their trade. Hanging from the ceiling were two large fans. Neither was working, making the bar very humid. The mixture of tobacco and cheap perfume coming from the girls was very pungent.

Sue had decided she would give this contact another fifteen minutes more, then she would leave. It suddenly dawned on her that she could not remember his name, but she knew what it sounded like. Chow, Chi, Chen… Cen. That was it, Cen. Glancing down at her glass she noticed it was empty. She raised it to the barman for another water. The barman nodded at her. Not that she was usually teetotal, but this is work. While she waited for the drink she started to re-examine the reason she was here. Well, I am the best reporter, I know that’s my opinion, she thought. And the best reporters always get the best stories. Second, he had contacted her, or she believed it was him. Looking at her watch, then around the bar, Sue began to wonder if this was not just a big joke being played on her by a colleague. She hoped not. Thirdly, and most importantly, this was going to be her big break. The most sensational story she could write. In fact, this would be her Watergate. An interview with one of the world’s most wanted men. A man who is said to have been responsible for the deaths of family members from some of the most powerful men in the western world, and according to the source, there are still more deaths to come.

Sue was still not sure if she was doing the right thing, for she had got as much information on this man as she could find and that was not a lot. In fact she knew more about the Prime Minister than this man. Having met with a former unit member who wished to remain anonymous, he had said that, ‘no one knew how many people he had killed, but it ran into many hundreds’. The former SAS man had not stayed long, but he did tell her that the picture the governments had painted was nowhere near the truth. He said, ‘Shark, that was his SAS nickname, was in fact a loyal and trustworthy man, and should you be lucky enough to be accepted as his friend, then he would give