African White (Team Reaper Book 10) by Brent Towns

Author:Brent Towns [Towns, Brent]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781647344931
Publisher: Wolfpack Publishing
Published: 2020-02-25T16:00:00+00:00

Mogadishu, Somalia

“Bulldog One, your target should be in the café opposite your current location.”

Knocker Jensen stopped his pedaling of the bike and dropped both of his feet to the dirty street. He turned his head so his brown eyes could assess the small building opposite with the pale blue paint peeling from its bullet pocked walls. Standing either side of the doorway were two, armed, dark-skinned, militiamen carrying AK-47s. “Fucking bollocks,” he cursed as he took his aviator sunglasses off. “Are we sure the fucker is in there, Nightingale?”

“Roger, Bulldog. The tracker that was put on his clothing has him in there as we speak.”

Raymond “Knocker” Jensen was a hardened SAS veteran from 22 Squadron for fifteen years, most of it spent fighting in the war on terror. He’d served in Afghanistan, Iraq, Yemen, Syria, Egypt, and a dozen other countries across the globe where he’d killed more terrorists, fought more battles, and lost more men than he cared to remember. Now his current assignment had him working for MI6. He figured that eventually it would get him killed. But after Syria he didn’t care. But if he got the opportunity to take some terrorist assholes with him when it happened, then even fucking better. Especially this terrorist asshole.

He was a solid-built man in his mid-thirties. He had dark hair and a dark beard. Underneath the flaps of his coat, tucked in his belt on both sides were two Browning nine-millimeter handguns with spare magazines in the inside pockets.

“Do you have any idea of how many bodyguards that this fuckhead has?”

The man he referred to was Hassan Ali Muse. An arms trafficker who supplied the Somali warlords with more hardware than they would ever need. This was the closest they’d been to him since MI6 had missed him in Switzerland twelve months before.

“No idea, Bulldog. Could be two, could be twenty.”

“Great, so I could die before I even get fucking near him,” Knocker growled.

“Good luck, old chap.”

“Fuck you.”

Knocker parked the bike and walked across the street towards the café. The two guards stepped across to block his path. “No,” the one on the left snapped.

“I want to get a cup of tea,” Knocker said.

“No.”

“Come on, pal, just a small one and I’ll be on my way.”

“Fuck off, white guy,” the guard cursed.

“I do wish you hadn’t have said that, you cock,” Knocker said and drew his left side Browning.

The guard’s eyes widened with shock just before the SAS man shot him in the face. The bullet killed him on the spot and before he’d hit the ground, Knocker shot the man’s partner twice in the chest.

Filling his opposite hand with the second handgun, Knocker stepped in through the doorway. The interior was dimly lit from the lack of windows. People had already started to scramble for cover while some grabbed for weapons. One of them, a tall man dressed in pants and a shirt swung a handgun up to point at the SAS man. Jensen was too old a hand to be taken by someone as slow as this prick was.

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