The Yeoman: Crying Albion Series - Book 1 Read Online Free PDF Page B

associates. The
man had light-brown hair, a boyish face and his athletic appearance radiated
charisma, catching more than one ladies eye.
    Next was Corporal Scott Johnson, a career intelligence operative. He
was a decent-enough soldier but rough around the edges. His drinking escapades
were legendary, and usually involved being vulgar and crude. Heavy set and
leaning over two hundred pounds Johnson tended to be the bruiser-type of SOTF,
albeit an intelligent one.
    The second-most senior rank of SOTF was a striking Sergeant called Rebecca
Templeton. Her faintly-olive face was attractively beguiling. It wasn’t a face
that radiated beauty in a conventional way; she had soft-features, a slightly
aquiline nose and a pair of dark hazel eyes that had a way of looking through
you. Some said it was her ruthless ambition that had got her promoted, others
that her womanly looks, assets and charms had played a part. She was
below-average in height for an army woman, yet muscular and somewhat
broad-shouldered. Her velvet-voice emphasized a touch of melancholy but it had
an authoritarian presence when necessary and if she was pressed too far. Unlike
the others who specialized in operational and personnel intelligence matters
she was more the experienced covert operative. Since the end of the Colonels
War, there wasn’t much call for that in SOTF though.
    The Officer-In-Charge completed the small unit of five personnel.
Warrant Officer Danny Atkinson was an old soldier in the Intelligence Corps,
he’d seen conflicts come and go several times. With twenty-one years of service
he only had a year to go before a quiet retirement. He figured about four more
months of riding the desk then his resettlement training and leave would see him
away from SOTF and the military for good. Atkinson was gray-haired and worn-down
from a career of hard-work and harder drinking. His big plummy nose was
bloodshot and flushed, as was his face. Dark jaded eyes that had seen it all
looked at things with a cynical, fatalistic outlook. In some ways he was like
an older version of Johnson but was well over two-hundred and fifty pounds.
Being medically down-graded meant fitness was a distant thing for the officer,
which was just as well as would struggle to chase anything for long.
    All of them were on first-name terms and military rank was seldom used
with a similar policy on wearing civilian attire instead of camouflage. In some
ways they were like a bubble, remote from their parent unit in Bedfordshire but
still retaining their military trappings in other ways. They seldom called in
sick, were professionally efficient when it came to casework and got the job
done by thinking outside the box.
    The radio playing a lame pop tune suddenly interrupted to announce the
attack at Heysham . After a minute or so of the brief
message the pop tune resumed and there was some grim exchanges between Athered and Johnson.
    The secure line in Atkinson’s office rang, followed by email reports
from JHQ a short time later.
    The immense cogs and wheels of the military, political and
authoritarian machine were now turning.
    “So much for a quiet few months,” he gloomed before calling for
Templeton. She finished what she was doing then sauntered up to his office
door. She moved confidently, as a single-woman, feminist-minded and with no
children and worries tended to do in Ministry circles.
    “‘Becky,” Atkinson said to Templeton. “There’s a situation up at Heysham , the details have just filtered down to us.”
    The warrant officer tapped a section of his LCD screen before slowly
swiveling it around to face her.
    “Have the lads start with the Person Of Interest first. It’s a race to
get this guy, he’s the priority, we’ve got MI5 and Special Branch in the competition
as well.”
    “Who is it? Some Rabian again?” she asked
leaning forward to take a look. The screen showed a screen-capture from Heysham’s security camera with a slender figure moving
towards a