The Redaction Chronicles - Books 1-2

Book summary

Step into the thrilling world of 'The Redaction Chronicles' by James Quinn, now available as a combined volume. In "A Game For Assassins," set during the height of the Cold War, British Intelligence agents are under attack. Enter Jack "Gorilla" Grant, an unconventional and gritty agent, as he delves into a deadly game where nothing is as it seems. In "Sentinel Five," after the Chief of the Secret Intelligence Service is assassinated and a terrorist organization threatens global devastation, Jack Grant is called back to lead a deniable team on a mission of vengeance. As power players, traitors, and terrorists intertwine, the Sentinel Five team enters an unforgiving killing ground in Asia. Join Jack Grant on these pulse-pounding espionage adventures, where danger lurks both outside and within.

Excerpt from The Redaction Chronicles

Now, four years after their first meeting, the two killers and former partners sat once again face-to-face over coffee and pastries in Viennese cafe society.

Since their time in the Congo, they had worked in Africa, Latin America and had latterly been part of the operations against Castro's Cuba. All had been deniable and all had been successful. However, following the assassination of President Kennedy last year, the two men had been ‘retired’ as contract agents for the CIA. It was hardly surprising given that, with their own President having been the victim of a political assassination, senior CIA officers would want all links to their own assassination operations and operatives removed and hidden from sight. In fairness, the Agency had paid them well and commended them before cutting them both loose.

“How have you been, Juan, busy? You look well,” said Gioradze shaking the other man's hand.

They had last met nearly a year ago on a private contract which Marquez had found for them: the kidnapping of a Turkish drug importer who had double crossed one of the major players in the Middle East heroin distribution network. They had lifted the man in Marrakech, torturing him for several days before the man finally relented and told them that the rest of the money had been spent. Marquez had shot him in the head and then burned the body. Job done.

Marquez nodded. “I did some work for the Corsicans a few months back. Nothing terribly difficult, a small job really. Besides, I have my investments and business back home to keep me busy. And you David, all goes well with you?”

Gioradze smiled and leaned back in his chair. “I too have become a legitimate businessman,” he said proudly. “Nothing in your league, but the bar turns a profit, the weather is pleasant and I have a woman to keep me warm at night.”

“It sounds… glorious,” said Marquez, sipping his coffee and trying his best to sound impressed.

Gioradze nodded, not believing the man's kind words for a moment. Marquez was cut from a different cloth and Gioradze knew that the thought of domestic bliss, especially one with a woman, would have filled the Catalan with revulsion. “It is. I love it. But that's not why you dragged me away from it, all the way to the freezing, pissing rain in Vienna. Something's happened, I can see it in your eyes, Is it a problem? Is someone after us?”

Marquez shook his head. “No, nothing like that, not at all. In fact, it is exactly the opposite. How would you like to get back into the game?”

That statement captured the Georgian's attention immediately and the Catalan spent the next thirty minutes outlining the broad details of their new ‘contract’.” Marquez had spent the previous day with Mr. Knight giving his American controller the broad outline of how he would conduct the contract. What he would need, what his time frame would be and in which order the contract would be completed.

Never the full details of course – never – for no contract man alive ever tells his case officer everything. It is partly borne of a long mistrust of officers safely back home and tied to a desk, but also because Marquez wanted to keep a certain level of control over the running of the operation.

The two killers spent the next hour discussing in detail – as only men of a certain profession can do in their chosen trade – the logistics, tactics and pitfalls of such a unique contract. By the end of the hour Gioradze had made some suggestions which Marquez had decided to incorporate into the planning phase. He knew it had been the right thing to do to bring the little Georgian on board; the man was a natural soldier and spotted an easier way to carry out several of the killings.

“I think we need to talk in more detail back at my hotel,” said Marquez.

Gioradze nodded, began to push his cup aside and started to remove his gloves from his coat pocket. Marquez, however, remained locked in his seat. “You will need to close up shop back home for the next few months David,” he said.