An extract from Peter C.L. Harrison's gripping and suspenceful thriller...

Chapter One: London

Jens Bingen brushed back his dark blond hair in the mirror over the little sink in the small London Bed and Breakfast, then swore vehemently.

“Sshit!” He threw the brush at the mirror, which shattered over the sink and floor.

“Helvete!” he shouted, turning and kicking at the little wooden chair, which flew across the room.

He sat promptly down on his bed, his long, lithe body almost bent double, head in his hands, as he mulled over the events that had led to his outburst. Jens had been invited over from Norway to support an Irish team responsible for the protection of a Ukrainian professor, visiting Ireland and the UK to raise money. Intelligence had picked up a signal that a Serbian assassin, on Moscow’s payroll, had been activated. As Jens had met the assassin, they called the ‘Surgeon,’ during a previous incident, the Irish team asked Jens to help them identify him and join their team for a short time. Calamity ensued as the ‘Surgeon’ turned the tables on the team, effectively reducing their active numbers.

Jens was to meet up with Roisin, the team leader, who was to hand over a weapon that Control in Ireland had stipulated. Roisin arranged to meet up with him in Marks and Spencer’s at Paddington, where he was to buy some food. She caught up with him in the queue for the till and grabbed his elbow.

“Hello, handsome, remember me?”

Jens startled and then blushed, smiling into her bright green eyes and taking in her tall, curvaceous yet slim figure and neat, long copper-red hair. The memory of their shared intimacy made him catch his breath.

“You look good, Roisin!”

Roisin smiled and lent into him, whispering, “Don’t look round, Sergeant, but there appears to be a man very interested in you on your right.”

Jens half-turned and met the dark eyes of a small olive-skinned man, with a narrow forehead and jet-black greasy hair combed back. He wore a leather jacket over a black T-shirt, jeans and sneakers. His flickering predator’s eyes moved hungrily up and down Jens, taking in his attire and figure. The hairs on Jens’ neck stood up; the skin on his face tightened as he carefully looked aside and nonchalantly at his watch.

“Yess,” he muttered, “he’s the guy I’m supposed to trail—and he’s turned up here!”

“You mean the ‘Surgeon’?”

Jens nodded discreetly.

“You’ve to pick up some flowers over there, where that woman in black is standing, OK?”

Jens nodded as Roisin left him and went over and spoke to the plumper woman with short cut black hair, wearing black slacks and a blouse, then left the shop.

Jens looked around as he paid and picked up his bag of food from the counter, but couldn’t see the predator. He collected the packed bunch of flowers, which felt unusually heavy, and left the shop. He turned left as the woman in black raced past him, shouting:

“Get after him!”

Then he saw Roisin, sitting against the wall of the shop, holding her neck, blood pulsing out through her fingers. The woman in black was on her knees in front of Roisin and talking on her mobile phone. Jens sprinted up to the corner to find no trace of the predator. He ran back through a small crowd that had gathered, to the opposite road junction, but detected no movement.

Walking back to Roisin, he heard the screech of tyres as a blue Ford Escort pulled up and two army medics jumped out. Jens left the scene, confident that Roisin would be cared for, and made his way to his Bed and Breakfast, carrying his food bag and the cut flowers.