Honour Bound Read Online Free PDF Page A

an amour-piercing bullet that had penetrated his body armour and left lung.
    “If
you want to live to see your grandchildren and tell them many and varied tales
of derring-do,” the bespectacled service doctor had said, “you will have to
curtail your sporting activities. If you don’t, I’ll have to class you as unfit
and put you out to grass.”
    And
so he was declared unfit for live-ops, the actual taking part in covert
operations. Because of his knowledge of the major terrorist groups and their
methods, he had been given command of a desk and jumped at the chance of field
ops controller when the job was offered. He sighed inwardly. I can’t undo the past,
he thought, but I can still help to make a difference in the future.
    He
closed the folder and swivelled his chair to the window to look out over the
city of his birth. Somehow he found it relaxing to watch the silent hustle and
bustle of the great city spread out below, knowing at least for a few minutes,
that he was detached from it and its many problems, and able to organize his
thoughts in the privacy and silence of his own company. He watched a ferry
progress along the silver thread of the Thames, the constantly moving surface
reflecting the sunlight as though from a million heliographs. When the ferry
had moored safely at the Hammersmith jetty he turned back to his desk and
thumbed a button on the intercom. “Mary,” he said, “ contact Sam Norton and tell him to meet me in the briefing room at eight.”
    “Consider
it done.” The light on the intercom blinked off, leaving him alone with his
thoughts.
    ***
    Talbot
leaned forward and absently tapped a finger on the red striped folder lying
open on the table. “You’ve read the report Sam, any word coming from the
streets yet?”
    The
two men sat beneath harsh strip lights in the briefing room. The lights,
recessed into the ceiling, gave the white walled room a severe clinical
appearance. The monotony of colour was broken at one end by a 200-inch video
screen used for projecting photo surveillance material during in depth
briefings, and at the other by a green painted electronic sliding door. A large
oak conference table, surrounded by several tubular framed chairs, took up the
centre of the room. A bank of filing cabinets, a stack of extra chairs and an
ancient coffee dispenser were the only other features to break the stark lines
of the walls.
    “My
sources are looking for anything unusual,” Norton replied in a quiet one to one
voice. “Only rumours so far, nothing substantial.”
    Talbot
thought of Norton’s conversational tone as his Mr Hyde voice. His Mr Jekyll
voice was very loud, clear and commanding. During one operation, he had seen
twenty hostages milling around like frightened sheep brought to a standstill by
the authority and power in his voice, and obeying his instructions almost robot
like. Most, when asked why, simply said because he told me to.
    Norton
pushed himself out of his chair and walked over to the coffee machine. His slim
but muscular body moved with a firm grace. Broad shoulders, accentuated by the
expensive cut of a dark blue suit, added to the suggestion of latent power. His
peak physical shape had been moulded by years of tough training and active service
in the Special Forces. A career brought to an abrupt halt by a rogue gust of
wind as he was about to land after a HALO, (high altitude low opening)
parachute jump. The resulting crash into a low wall had broken several bones
and any chance of staying with his elite unit. He had been offered an RTU, a
return to unit in military parlance, or a full medical discharge. Like most
elite troopers, he viewed an RTU as a retrograde step and chose the discharge.
The Anti Terrorist Unit had welcomed him with open arms, putting his many and
varied talents to the test on numerous occasions.
    “I’ll
be seeing them this morning,” he said, “and hopefully there’ll be something to
go on. No guarantees of