STOP AT NOTHING: 'Mark Cole is Bond's US cousin mixed with the balls out action and killing edge of Jason Bourne' Parmenion Books by JT Brannan Page B
Authors: JT Brannan
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to him that all it did was make things harder for law-abiding, everyday passengers; any terrorist that wanted to get a weapon on board could easily do so, with only a modicum of planning.
He thought back to the time his SEAL section had been tasked with testing security between Heathrow and JFK. He and his three men had managed to board a 747 en route to New York with fake passports, three Glock semiautomatic handguns, one Heckler und Koch MP5K submachine gun, four combat knives, and enough C4 plastic explosive to destroy the entire airport, never mind one single plane. When they got through customs at New York with not even so much as a sign of suspicion, they had revealed to a disbelieving security staff exactly what they had managed to transport across the Atlantic.
The response was typical, and came as no surprise to Cole. The exercise was declared null and void because Cole and his team had ‘cheated’. The security had been told to expect them on a certain flight, and had concentrated their resources on that. Cole had seen the easy trap and therefore chosen another flight. Wouldn’t terrorists have done the same? asked Cole at the debrief. Because people that want to blow up aeroplanes do not generally play by the rules. But the airport authorities had ignored the facts that stared them directly in the face and, once again, had learnt nothing from what could have been a productive exercise; and international passage for men like Cole was still as easy as ever.
Aretha smiled again at Cole, handing over his passport, along with his ticket and boarding pass. ‘Thank you, sir. Have a nice flight.’
Cole smiled back, but not too much. ‘Thanks,’ he said simply, but cheerfully enough. And with that, Brandon Clarke made his way to the departure lounge.
18
Miami International Airport, even at quarter past one in the morning, was a chaotic cacophony of noise and sight; from the regular, monotone electronic announcements over the Tannoy, to the incessant pleading of parents trying in vain to placate their screaming children, to the roar of the big jets themselves out on the runways, everything conspired to destroy any vestige of peace or serenity.
Cole himself sat quietly, having chosen the end seat of a row fixed to a wall, facing out into the departure lounge. He never liked to sit on ‘exposed’ seating, especially in such busy public areas. He much preferred to sit with his back to something solid, so he didn’t have to worry about what was behind him. For the same reason, he would not sit in the middle of the row. A single seat would draw attention towards him however, and so he always sat at the end of a row; at least then he only had to worry about people to one side of him.
The large LCD screen suspended from the ceiling suddenly drew his attention. It was showing CNN, which ran the banner headline ‘ASIAN BLOW UP? WHY RUSSIA AND CHINA MAY SOON BE AT WAR.’ Under the banner, footage played of the attacks in Stockholm, interspliced with the recent speeches made by Vasilev Danko and Tsang Feng.
As the footage was replaced with studio commentators sombrely discussing the situation, Cole couldn’t help thinking:
not good. Not good at all.
19
Cole felt the huge mass of the aeroplane shifting as its aerofoils engaged and it began to shed altitude on its slow decent towards Washington.
But the feeling was almost totally ignored by Cole. The body felt the change in pressure, heard the slightly higher whine of the jet engines, sensed the change of his position in space relative to gravity; and the mind interpreted these sensations, recognized they posed no danger or threat, and summarily dismissed them.
For Cole’s mind was locked on something more important. He had spent most of the flight engaged in a thorough mental rehearsal of his mission, visualizing with perfect clarity his every move, every action. Such was his concentration on creating the perfect mental picture, he could actually feel the cold,
He thought back to the time his SEAL section had been tasked with testing security between Heathrow and JFK. He and his three men had managed to board a 747 en route to New York with fake passports, three Glock semiautomatic handguns, one Heckler und Koch MP5K submachine gun, four combat knives, and enough C4 plastic explosive to destroy the entire airport, never mind one single plane. When they got through customs at New York with not even so much as a sign of suspicion, they had revealed to a disbelieving security staff exactly what they had managed to transport across the Atlantic.
The response was typical, and came as no surprise to Cole. The exercise was declared null and void because Cole and his team had ‘cheated’. The security had been told to expect them on a certain flight, and had concentrated their resources on that. Cole had seen the easy trap and therefore chosen another flight. Wouldn’t terrorists have done the same? asked Cole at the debrief. Because people that want to blow up aeroplanes do not generally play by the rules. But the airport authorities had ignored the facts that stared them directly in the face and, once again, had learnt nothing from what could have been a productive exercise; and international passage for men like Cole was still as easy as ever.
Aretha smiled again at Cole, handing over his passport, along with his ticket and boarding pass. ‘Thank you, sir. Have a nice flight.’
Cole smiled back, but not too much. ‘Thanks,’ he said simply, but cheerfully enough. And with that, Brandon Clarke made his way to the departure lounge.
18
Miami International Airport, even at quarter past one in the morning, was a chaotic cacophony of noise and sight; from the regular, monotone electronic announcements over the Tannoy, to the incessant pleading of parents trying in vain to placate their screaming children, to the roar of the big jets themselves out on the runways, everything conspired to destroy any vestige of peace or serenity.
Cole himself sat quietly, having chosen the end seat of a row fixed to a wall, facing out into the departure lounge. He never liked to sit on ‘exposed’ seating, especially in such busy public areas. He much preferred to sit with his back to something solid, so he didn’t have to worry about what was behind him. For the same reason, he would not sit in the middle of the row. A single seat would draw attention towards him however, and so he always sat at the end of a row; at least then he only had to worry about people to one side of him.
The large LCD screen suspended from the ceiling suddenly drew his attention. It was showing CNN, which ran the banner headline ‘ASIAN BLOW UP? WHY RUSSIA AND CHINA MAY SOON BE AT WAR.’ Under the banner, footage played of the attacks in Stockholm, interspliced with the recent speeches made by Vasilev Danko and Tsang Feng.
As the footage was replaced with studio commentators sombrely discussing the situation, Cole couldn’t help thinking:
not good. Not good at all.
19
Cole felt the huge mass of the aeroplane shifting as its aerofoils engaged and it began to shed altitude on its slow decent towards Washington.
But the feeling was almost totally ignored by Cole. The body felt the change in pressure, heard the slightly higher whine of the jet engines, sensed the change of his position in space relative to gravity; and the mind interpreted these sensations, recognized they posed no danger or threat, and summarily dismissed them.
For Cole’s mind was locked on something more important. He had spent most of the flight engaged in a thorough mental rehearsal of his mission, visualizing with perfect clarity his every move, every action. Such was his concentration on creating the perfect mental picture, he could actually feel the cold,