Security Threat

Prologue

Andy kicked open the gate, anger surged through his body, the wind blew
it back it defiance. There he stood, in a field, full of Friesian cows
in the middle of nowhere. Just the thought of being stationed out in a
farming community made DCI Andy Longman see bubbling red blood flash in
front of his eyes. How could he, the one who was awarded the George's
Cross-for bravery, be in such a revoltingly isolated area?

On this particular day Andy was checking on a suspicious death, uniform
work, he hadn't served for twenty-five years in the metropolitan police
constabulary for this. Yes, the money was good but how was he supposed
to apply the same enthusiasm and be quite so diligent. I mean, could
there really be anything suspicious about the death of a cow in a rural
hamlet, come village, come very small town, where every one is a farmer
and every one is friendly with one another.

Presently, he was standing alone in a vast expanse of greenery, known
to many as 'the beautiful countryside', 'the great outdoors'. "Great my
arse" he thought as he was wading through the fertilizer and nutrients:
commonly known as cow shit.

When he found the cow, on the far side of the field, he noticed there
was something slightly strange about the fly infested beast that lay on
it's back, something very peculiar indeed.

'Longman to control, are you receiving me? Over.'

Hiss, hiss, crackle, crackle.

'Bloody, sodding hills: a bitch to walk up and a bitch to communicate
through. These bloody sodding radios only bloody work when PC 'no-life'
wants a cup of herbal bloody tea'

So, with that he started the long trek back to the farmhouse to use
their phone. However, a sudden urge came over him to relieve himself.
He looked around, nobody was watching, not that they were likely to be.
Anyway, Andy, all of a sudden got the horn, there was something about a
dead animal that made him feisty. He didn't see himself as a
necrophilia artist, nor did he see himself as a bugger but, those two
mixed together and he just couldn't help himself. He unbuckled his
flannel trousers and pulled down his pants. He looked at his throbbing
penis; at fifty-one he and it were still going strong. The urge became
stronger; he got in to a slow teasing rhythm. He couldn't take it, he
had to dump his load, his hand beat faster and faster. The vision of
sodomizing the beast was flashing in front of his eyes.

Just as he was about to reach the point of no return a masked man
jumped out from the oak tree, not five yards away; fear stuck him. His
penis stayed erect he was always turned on by this; and this was partly
the reason why he risked his life to get the George Cross, back then
the gun the man was carrying almost made him cum prematurely; but now.
Oh god. With three bounds the masked crusader was upon him. The gun
pushed in his temple. At the same moment that the gun let out a
deafening thud, Andy climaxed. Involuntarily copious quantities of rich
thick cum ejaculated on to the masked man's gun.

'Oh fuck!'

* * *
The sight of the cum mixed with the blood made PC James Chappel wretch.
He could deal with the normal farmyard smells and sights - he had for
forty years, man and boy - but, never had he come face to face - or
face to half a face, as it was - with a dead body, no amount of
training had made him ready for this. However, seeing as the dead body
was his superior officer and the investigating team from Exeter would
be another forty minutes, at least, it meant he was in charge.

The panic attack was about to come on; Chappel could feel it. He had
the all too familiar welling up in his stomach; the knots were being
pulled tighter and tighter. 'No, help'. He had an inability to cope
with stress, anything out of the ordinary frightened and scared him. 'I
can't&;#8230;no...help'. The pressure was mounting and mounting
inside. 'Please&;#8230;somebody&;#8230;help'. He had the farmer
sobbing and moaning in one ear and paramedic-spouting technical jargon
in the other. 'HELP!' He wasn't qualified for this.

With a sudden thud Chappel became one with the ground. His anxiety
hadn't beaten him, the bullet had. Both the farmer and the paramedic
crew threw themselves to the ground. They felt for the pulse of PC
James Chappel. No use. He was dead.

Quinin couldn't make any mistakes. Chappel had to die.

Chapter 1

Steve Quinin lay in the dank squalid dwellings, known to him and his
fellow 'mates' as a bedroom. Peter Barclay had gone to the washroom.
They were cellmates and it was at this time every day that he tried to
figure out what went wrong on that day.

Two years had past since Steve had been able to smell the sweetness of
freedom, to feel the elation of liberty. However, being slammed in jail
for double murder and on the suspicion of raping one of his victims
(that was never confirmed), he wasn't that optimistic about ever
smelling it again. The judge, Lord Justice Mo-Harden, had gesticulated
wildly during his theatrical sentencing, whilst explaining, what was in
his mind, "an unequivocal case highlighting the need for the death
penalty to be reinstated". In all honesty the judge wasn't really that
orthodox, and if one were a cynical man, they might even think the
judge took a little back-hander. However, all remaining hopes were
dashed when the judge spoke up boldly to say, "&;#8230;this man is a
menace to society, and may you throw away the key. Furthermore, this
man should never be considered for parole and should probably be put in
to solitary confinement for the rest of his life. His pugnacity, I'm
sure, will affect his chances of survival in prison and I only hope he
gets what he deserves".

Steve was angry, depressed, dilapidated and most of all he was
despondent. He had to attest to his country turning its back on him. He
was used and left to fend for himself. Loyalty wasn't a problem for
Steve. Since graduation, at twenty-one, some ten years ago, Steve had
remained loyal to he his county, even after some very tempting offers.
How was he repaid? He was repaid with ruthless rejection, was that
fair&;#8230;he thought not.

It all happened two years ago. Steve Quinin was jailed for the rest of
his life, for what? For following orders? He was an MI5 agent and had
done what he had been instructed to do. His assignment was clear; Andy
Longman had to be killed. He posed a threat to national security and so
had to be dispensed with.

Longman had been involved with a covert operation, but had been found
to be leaking information to certain sources as an aid for extra
income. The governors had discovered his misdemeanours and were forced
to punish him. However, so as not to arise suspicion they posted him to
a nothing village with a big pay check, to keep him sweet. This had all
been fine for about a year, but Andy was getting restless, he craved
adrenalin and action. He tried to bribe the Government, by threatening
to go public with his knowledge.

The Government were not impressed. Hence why Quinin's orders were to
not leave this possible defector and threat alive. The particulars of
how this was to be done were not detailed in his brief. The only stated
criteria was that it had to look natural; Longman was respected among
the press, after his bravery, when he received his George's Cross, if
there was hint of suspicion they would demand, and no doubt get,
answers.

Quinin had it all planned; he'd take Longman out to the middle of
nowhere, hold him at gunpoint and kill him with a lethal dose of
Quabanyms. This drug would kill him and leave all the signs of it being
an unfortunate heart attack.

However, as you can imagine, things did not all go to the meticulous
plan set out by Steve Quinin. He thought about the same day over and
over in his head. He got to the same point every time he couldn't take
it any longer. He felt under his mattress, the razor blade was still
there. With steady hands and a sullen face he glided the elegant blade
through his weak flesh. The anger, hate and frustration that were
pulsating around his veins spurted out on to the cold floor. His
problems were gone, but so was his dignity.