Rogue Wolves (The Redaction Chronicles Book 3)

Book summary

In "Rogue Wolves," an enigmatic figure known only as The Master, with a shadowy past as a spy and assassin for various factions, vanishes into the shadows, sparking a worldwide manhunt. Jack Grant, a French Secret Service agent, is tasked with the mission to locate him, pursued closely by a lethal CIA bounty hunter. As the hunt unfolds, The Master's hidden agenda threatens to ignite a global conflict, leaving everyone entangled in a high-stakes game of espionage and danger.

Excerpt from Rogue Wolves (The Redaction Chronicles Book 3)

SDECE – Action Service Headquarters, Paris – August 1973

La Piscine was the informal name for the Service de Documentation Extérieure et de Contre-Espionnage, France’s external intelligence gathering and covert operations organisation. Nicknamed ‘the pool’ because of its close proximity to the swimming pool belonging to the French Swimming Federation, its actual address is on the Boulevard Mortier, on the 20th Arrondissement in Paris.

But even within this most secret of establishments in the French capital, there is another address that is even more covert. This belongs to the Action Service of the French intelligence agency and is based out of an old Fort at Noisy-le-Sec, a fifteen minute drive away from SDECE headquarters.

From here, the spies, agents and ‘hard men’ of the Action Service are sent out to infiltrate, sabotage and assassinate enemies of the state. Everyone from OAS terrorists to Communist agents had been placed under the intelligence microscope. And it was here, on a sunny spring morning, that Paul Sassi climbed into his standard black government issue Citroen and drove into the centre of Paris.

That morning, he had been summoned to the office of Colonel Delgarde, the current head of the Action Service. As usual, the Colonel had been in a bullish mood, something that didn’t usually bode well for his officers for the rest of the day.

“An operation is in the offing, Sassi. It’s all highly classified. This one comes all the way from the top, way above the DG of the Service. This one came from the Minister himself. I want you to lead this operation,” the Colonel had boomed across the office, as Sassi watched him pace like a clockwork soldier. And that had been it. Sassi, with his usual focused mind, had set about reading the intelligence packet that the Colonel had given him.

However, he wasn’t quite sure why this new operation had put the Colonel in such a foul mood. It was only later, when he sat in his small office surrounded by the trophies of wars gone by – unit photos, medals in frames, a knife that he now used as a letter opener – and then read the documents enclosed, that he understood.

He skimmed them once, and then read them through in detail twice. At the end of it, he whistled in surprise. The Colonel was a serious man, loyal to his department and Sassi knew that he didn’t like his operatives being used for someone else’s political agenda. Sassi had been involved with politicians long enough to know that when someone high up wanted a ‘dirty job’ doing, they didn’t care about the professionals doing the work or any collateral damage, they only wanted results that would save their own necks.

It had been the final line in the intelligence packet that had really hit home and had also been quite revealing: this operation should be handled by third party agents at ‘arm’s length’ and should be 100% deniable. No SDECE officer should have a direct involvement in the field.

It was clear that the operation called for a deniable operator, someone professional, covert, but good enough to get results quickly. For Sassi, there had been no need to think about who he would choose.

Judging by the intelligence in the files, it seemed that fate had decided who it was to be. The coincidence was staggering, especially to an intelligence officer like Sassi who didn’t believe in coincidences. He knew instantly that he would bring his best freelance agent back into harness. He would call back Gorilla Grant.

*

Sassi met with his agent later that day at a café on the fashionable Rue du Château d'Eau. Gorilla was already waiting, had been for the past thirty minutes before Sassi arrived. Both men looked like successful businessmen enjoying an afternoon café noir to discuss a potential business deal. It was relaxed but professional, ties loosened but jackets still on and unbuttoned.

“Here, I have a gift for you. Something to complement your new left-handed gun skills,” said Sassi, pushing over a small black attaché case across the table. “Have a brief look now. You can have a more detailed look when you get back to your apartment.”

Grant took the attaché case, popped the locks and opened it just enough so that he could make out its contents. He raised an approving eyebrow, nodded, and then resealed the case. He would inspect it in detail when he was back in his apartment.

“I think this piece of ‘equipment’ will be perfect for you. I ordered three, all configured for left-handed shooters. You have this one here. The others are secured in safety deposit boxes, one in Hong Kong and the other in New York, for when you find yourself in those parts of the world. For now, think of this one as your ‘European’ gun,” said Sassi.

“Thank you,” said Gorilla.

“For our best men, we always offer the best resources. That’s how much we value you, Jack. Looking after you following that hit in Nice, the hospital, rehabilitation, the whole care package, getting you back into the field. We recognise your worth,” replied Sassi, patting the other man gently on the arm.

Gorilla cocked a quizzical eye at the Frenchman and smiled. “Are you flattering me, Paul? Because normally, when a Frenchman starts down that path of flattery someone usually ends up getting fucked. And to be honest, you’re just not my type!”

Sassi laughed despite himself. He had always liked this quiet, tough little Englishman. He was a good covert operator but, more than that, he was a man to be respected.

“I have a job for you, something that I think you would enjoy. We want you to track a man, find him, hunt him down. He’s dangerous, the best in the business. But we think you’ll be able to succeed where others might fail. We think you have an edge, a better motivation than some of our other agents.”

“I think, old son, you’d better explain,” said Gorilla cautiously. He sipped at his coffee, his eyes scanning around to make sure that they weren’t being watched. Talking details out in public always made Gorilla wary.

“We think we’ve identified the assassin on your last job in Nice, the man who shot up your hand. We want him found and we think you’re the man to do it.”

“I’m in, tell me everything,” said Gorilla without hesitation. His brow was already starting to furrow; he could feel the anger rising in himself.

“You may not feel that way when you find out who it is.”

“I don’t care who it –”

“It’s Caravaggio.”

“Fuck!” said Gorilla Grant. Talk about spoiling his good mood.

*

The man codenamed Caravaggio, and unofficially known among the intelligence networks as The Master, was a crème de la crème intelligence agent and assassin who had been involved in the covert operation business since before the war; a gentleman spy, a ruthless killer, a Cold War ghost. In the small milieu of the intelligence networks, he was the stuff of legends. It was said that he could get to even the most secure and hidden targets anywhere in the world – and he never failed to fulfil a contract.

And, like most legends, the stories of his exploits seemed to reach fantastical levels with every decade. Frequently, he was said to be operating in different parts of the world at the same time, usually against several opposing factions of the same conflict.

He had the ear of the Chairman of the KGB, he had assassinated several high ranking Nazis with his bare hands, and had kidnapped politicians and held them for ransom almost throughout every decade. There was also a rumour that he had been a double and triple agent so many times throughout the Cold War, that not even the intelligence agencies were sure who he was actually working for. He was successful enough to pick his own contracts and name his own price, which was always high. He was a most dangerous man.

And, despite all of these interconnecting strands, he was still now, some forty years later, unidentified. Nobody knew his real name and the people that had once seen his face had long since died – many in violent circumstances. His personal security was impeccable and his cut-out list was extensive. Unless you knew the right people and their people and their people, there was no way that you would even be considered for an audience with The Master.

CIA, KGB, SDECE, the Italians, Chinese… Caravaggio had contacts in almost every intelligence network. He had worked on every continent, had been at the top of his game… and then he had disappeared.

Grant thought back to the shootout on the beach all those months ago. What was it the assassin had said – “I understand that you are the new me”?

He decided to press the thought further with Sassi. “Why would he know about me? I assumed he had retired years ago, or was dead. I’ve never even operated against him, as far as I know!”

“Well, whatever the reason, he’s evidently heard of you. It seems that you’ve been making a splash on the international circuit and among the intelligence networks and that you’ve caught his eye,” said Sassi.

Grant nodded. It was certainly possible and, without blowing his own trumpet, he had acquired a reputation as an effective operator over the past few years. Probably, and to his own knowledge, there were only a handful of agents on the planet that could match Gorilla and his skills. It was a small pond that he operated in. He had been involved in everything from taking down agents and covert courier work, to good, old-fashioned ‘redactions’.

“So why do they want him? Why now?” he asked.

Sassi shrugged, seemingly unconcerned about the reason, just how it was going to be completed. “He has acted against French targets, against the France national interest. The Elysée Palace has had enough. The most recent threat is that we have intelligence to believe that this man is plotting to assassinate the President.”

“Of France?” laughed Grant.

“Of course!”

“Piss off! Why would he do that?”

Sassi shrugged in the way that bored Frenchmen do. “Who knows? Perhaps he’s crazy, but I doubt it. Chances are he’s working for a big payday to bring him out of retirement. Either way, it’s irrelevant. It’s a mission. It’s your mission if you want it.”

“Just me? A plot against the President of France and you’re sending one solo British gunman after him? Really?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jack. Of course we aren’t. We have every resource in the French Secret Services looking at this, not to mention the anti-terror police, the military, all of them. But this is an agency-wide covert operation. Clandestine all the way. The operation is being run directly from the President’s office. But you are my man, a contract agent for the Action Service, and I want you to start the hunt to track him down and terminate the threat independently of the police, military or the rest of the SDECE.”

Grant nodded, but he didn’t believe him. But that was okay. In Grant’s opinion, there wasn’t an intelligence officer alive who didn’t lie to his agents at some point. It was expected, it was normal. But Sassi was usually a straight shooter as far as he knew, so whatever he had been told, he seemed to believe.

Besides, reasoned Gorilla, if he wanted honesty and fair treatment, he should have got a job in a convent. All Gorilla Grant wanted was to do what he did best and be operational again, and if that meant going up against one of the greatest assassins of the age, then that’s exactly what he would do.