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Lane, crossing the Cam into the heart of Cambridge University’s Colleges. Pubs lined the street as they made their way slowly along it, looking for an ideal spot.
    The German and Belgian drivers, like their passengers, were ex-military battle-hardened men from a diverse group of nationalities who had fought in just about every corner of the globe; not necessarily, however, on the side of their own countries. These men fought for money, their strongest allegiance. The leader was a British ex-colonel who had left the army disillusioned by a government which had sometimes commanded him to defend corrupt regimes whilst at other times to stand back and do nothing while innocent people were slaughtered and on some occasions, commanded him to help remove legitimate governments. He eventually realised that it was all about money and power; it was rarely about doing the right thing. He had heard rumours of an elite outfit of guns for hire that operated globally, men who were ready to move at a moment’s notice. Men like him, well trained, experienced soldiers who no longer cared about politics and were willing to take risks for significant rewards. The Unit, as they were called, had men stationed throughout the world, men who could be called on twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and sixty five days a year who were ready to go within the hour. What none of them realised was that although guns were for hire to the highest bidder, they actually only ever had one client.
    As a group, they exuded a power and authority which ensured that all but the bravest would turn and run - essential requirements in Third World war zones but not ideal for their current mission. The Colonel, however, had thought about this and had brought along a few props.
    As the Range Rovers swept down the tight streets that characterised the historic areas of the city, the Colonel suddenly commanded his driver to stop. Both cars immediately came to a halt and following the Colonel’s directions, reversed back to the small car park just behind them. The German driver stayed in the Range Rover. He had a slightly different task and with a nod from the Colonel, was on his way. Seventeen miles to the Northwest was the town of Huntingdon and home of the Huntingdon FSS branch.
    The men assembled a t the rear of the remaining Range Rover to receive their orders from the Colonel. As he outlined his plan in detail the men began to laugh. If nothing else, this was going to be fun. Happy that everybody knew what was required of them, the Colonel opened the rear of the Range Rover and removed the false floor. An array of weaponry was on offer, Heckler & Koch MP5’s, an Accuracy International L115A1 sniper rifle, Sig Sauer P226 pistols, a pump action shotgun and various grenades, smoke, fragment and flash bangs. All in all it was enough to start a small war and in itself outgunned the predominantly unarmed Cambridgeshire constabulary. However, the Colonel bypassed all the weapons and withdrew a carrier bag, from which he proceeded to withdraw six shirts, one for each of the men. Another bag contained cans of beer. These were opened and after a number of large gulps each man tipped the remainder of the beer down the front of his new shirt. The Colonel happy with each man’s appearance wished them luck before jumping back in the Range Rover and driving off.
    The six men wasted no time and made their way back to the pubs they had just driven past. Normally the six would have paired off and slowly worked their way down the street, one pair either side with the final pair bringing up the rear. Everybody in their path would have been scanned and an analysis made of any potential threat. If any were detected, it would have been eliminated immediately with overwhelming force. However, on this occasion, all training had to be left firmly behind and a more undercover approach assumed, one that would allow six hard and war torn mercenaries to walk down a street in middle England and