Nick Cameron Chronicles

Jake blinked twice. Did he hear Nick correctly? Would he have been head-hunted for Nick's private army if not for Angie and the twins? Just how did he feel about that? He looked into Nick's eyes before speaking. There didn't seem to be any deception there.

"Should I feel flattered, mate? It sounds like you already have a crack team lined up. To be honest, even if I didn't have a family, I'd have to turn you down. I'm fit, but not as fit as I was back in the day. I seem to have become a magnet for trouble over the last two or three years. Thanks for the thought, though. It sounds like you're starting up your own Mission Impossible Force. I do have contacts; not here, though. I only come up to London twice a year for a couple of weeks at most. I leave my files in Sydney. I could check through when I get back home... maybe.

"As for funding...I would need to run it past my partner. He's the financial director and is a great money juggler. Before I commit my company, though, I need to know more from you. You're still in the service. Just when do you intend to start your private war? If you're serious you'll have to meet my partner. This needs to be done legally as far as my company is concerned. Not that I'm putting an army of mercenaries on the books, but perhaps you could be listed as field consultants. Does that sound anything like you're looking for?"

Nick leaned back in his chair, took a drink from his cooling cup. It seemed he was getting through to Mitchell and he was finally relaxing a bit. "If by 'legally' you mean paperwork, then I can't take your money. Paper leaves trails, mate. You know that. This may not exactly be illegal, but it's not exactly on the up and up, either. Any money coming from private sources has to be strictly cash and untraceable.

"As for when I'm going into business, like I said, I have one last mission coming up for the SAS in six weeks. They figure I need that much down time from the last one, and I just got back yesterday. When that's done, I'm out. I figure it's just about three months before it's all official," he grinned.

"And, yes, you should be damned well flattered. I'm hand-picking the best, but it's all men with no ties. I think you know from a few years back how I feel about men with attachments in the service. They have distractions. They have weaknesses. Baggage to deal with."

Jake grinned, wondering to himself what Angie would think if she knew she was thought of as baggage. He decided to let it go...for the moment.

"I think you'll find I'm still a force to be reckoned with in a crisis. If nothing else, my time with the Unit taught me to be single minded. Here's hoping you never have the need to find out though, cos if you do it will mean that you're in a shit hole right up to your neck.

"As for paperwork, you would need to be shown on the books to cover insurance...yep. Believe it or not, I'd be willing to insure you. No intimate details required. Moneywise...if Mike agrees to funding, it would be 100% off the books. Our banks are in the Cayman's and Switzerland. I think something could be arranged. You'll deffo need a face to face with Mike, though. No worries, he's ex Delta Force so knows the score.

"I'm not gonna ask where you're off to in six weeks. Remember the drill, though? Text me before you head out and when you're on the way back...just so I know. I'll be back in Oz by then, due to go back the middle of next week. If you want to meet up again before I head out you can call my cell."

He walked to his jacket and took out a business card, handing it across to Nick. "That's got my office and cell numbers. Do you wanna memorise them and eat the card?" He grinned over at Nick and relaxed back in his chair.

"How about I memorise them, then make you eat the card?" Nick retorted. "Although a business card's not very filling."

"I've got a man who'll be handling the money for me, so he can talk to you or this Mike, or whoever he needs to. You're gonna insure me, huh?" He found the very thought amusing. "You insurance men are all alike. Anything to sell a policy."

He drained his coffee cup and ran his hand over the leather chair in which he sat. "So tell me, Mitchell, what made you decide to go so cushy after life in the SAS? Why something like insurance, and why all the luxury and opulence?"

He took another glance around the room at all the oak, leather, glass and thick carpeting. "I've seen less well-decorated whore houses."

"Okay, for starters I'm not selling you a policy. I'm covering the cost myself. As for my choice of career, after I was invalided out of the service I didn't know what I was going to do. There didn't seem to be any point to my life. All I'd done was to be a soldier. I was no use to anyone. My upper left arm and shoulder were both shattered so I was no good as a sniper anymore. They didn't think they could teach me to shoot as well right-handed. Mike was ready to leave Delta Force and was using up all his leave so he decided to come down and see me. Found me in a pretty bad way in hospital.

"We got to talking about what he was going to do with his life, and he told me about the K&R business. I'll admit, Nick, that I thought the same as you to begin with. I'd been sent on a negotiation course, I guess that hasn't made it to the UK SAS, but that was police-based negotiations, not 'insurance jobs'. I was on sick leave for almost a year before they decided to put me out to grass, and Mike kept badgering me to join him. He did a stint with a big company, but decided they treated the victims like dollar signs. He wanted to start up on his own and treat the clients like human beings.

"He wore me down, and I agreed to go 50/50 with him, and he opened up an office in New York. When I got my papers we decided to open up an office in Sydney, too. Although they threw me out, they still wanted a part of me so, subject to regular physical checks, they put me on active reserve with my leaving rank of Major. So, I had to be close to the Unit in case I got the call...hence my being based in Oz."

He stopped for a minute and buzzed the reception, asking for another cuppa for both of them.

"It's not really all handshakes and business lunches. We take on new recruits twice a year, and as well as specialist training they have to go through a tough physical training. Nothing like what we went through, but military style, none the less. Most of the recruits are ex-military or police, so they're fit, but we make sure they're even fitter before we put them to work. Negotiations don't always go to plan, mate. The kidnappers can break off contact, or they can double-cross us when we deliver the ransom. We have to be ready to go in at a moment's notice...so, can you work with someone you think has sold out?"

"I can work with anyone. And if I get into the middle of things and find that they're causing me trouble, I just take them out of the equation and go on from there." Cameron's tone was serious and his face perfectly straight. He wasn't joking.

"Negotiation." The single word dripped with derision. "The world's best trained negotiator is a fully-loaded C8 with eclan optics and an M203 grenade launcher. When it does the talking, negotiations always go according to plan."

He fixed Jake with a hard stare once again. "Before you make your final decision about involvement in this, Mitchell, there are two things you want to get straight. "One-" he held up a forefinger, as though Jake were a preschooler whom he was teaching to count, "I'm the man in charge of this operation. My word is law, and two-" he held up a second finger, "negotiation-" again the derision, "-has no part in this. I do not negotiate with drug dealers. No one in this operation will ever state, 'Surrender or die' to anyone. Surrender is not an option. These men die. Period."

"Now-" he crossed one leg over the other and his tone lightened to a purely conversational level, as though his last few sentences had never been uttered, "tell me about your baggage."

Jake nearly choked on his tea at Nick's last remark. 'Cheeky Sod,' he thought.

"I'm not intending on getting mixed up in how you run your little Band of Brothers, but I'll be here if you need me for anything. I don't negotiate for the release of scum, mate. I've got no time for drug barons, even if I don't actively hunt them down and exterminate them. I can offer support if you need it, men if they come up to your standards, and I'm sure Mike can come up with a favourable financial package.

"As for my 'baggage', what can I say? My grandparents raised me, first in NZ and then we moved to Oz to grandpa's farm. She was the girl next door...even if next door was two clicks down the dirt track. She's three years younger than me, and for years we were like sister and brother. I knew I was in love with her before I left for Uni, but I didn't want to ruin our friendship by telling her in case she didn't feel the same way. I joined up straight from Uni and only got to see her if I could get home on leave. She became a trauma nurse. She finally realised she was in love with me, too, when I was flown up to the hospital in Grafton after the chopper crash that finished my career. I eventually managed to get her to agree to get engaged when she came to see me in the military hospital in Sydney. I was working with Mike by then, but had a run-in with a former colleague after a reunion dinner for the CO at the Aussie Unit.

"My ankle biters are nine months old now, one of each. Miracle babies, to say the least."

Cameron's eyes held not the slightest hint of softness or caring. "What the hell is it about a dirty nappy that turns a good competent special forces man into a puddle of goo? What makes their shit any different from the same shit we deal with out there every day?"

"I was married once," he said unexpectedly. "When I was in my early twenties. Luckily, I got out of it quickly without the added liability of a kid."

"Mate, they're miracle babies because of when they were conceived, not because their shit don't stink. I was flat on my back, paralysed from a bullet in the back. I guess I was lucky though... didn't lose the feeling, just the movement. Hurt like shit most of the time. Was in a wheelchair for yonks. I'm not overly fond of changing dirty nappies, especially in stereo. Some are so nuclear I need a gas mask just to get into the nursery." He looked across at Nick, who was sitting there stony faced. "I'd have never have put you down as the marrying kind. maybe it was for the best it didn't work out for ya."

Mitchell had been through a lot, Cameron realised. Though he said nothing to Jake, Nick's respect for the man went up a notch. It took strength to come back from the kind of injuries he'd described. That kind of strength made you a force to be reckoned with in the field, and he could really have used Mitchell there. Too damned bad about the wife and kids.

"I'm not the marrying kind," he said to Jake, allowing another brief grin to grace his perpetually grim features. "It was a childish mistake. Even I was allowed one."

Glancing at the watch on his wrist, he finished off the cup of tea on the desk in front of him. "I've gotta be going. Got an appointment in a half-hour."

Jake stood and walked with him to the door. He held out his hand, not knowing if Nick would shake it, before opening the door. "I might hang around in London for a bit, so if you want to see me before you embark, just give me a call."

Cameron gave Mitchell's hand a brief, strong clasp as he opened the door. "I'll be seeing you again soon, and I'll get my money man in touch with you. Might bring him in and introduce him myself."

Nick turned back in the open doorway, ignoring the woman behind the desk outside Jake's office, who smiled at him. "Oh...one last thing. You mentioned possibly recommending some field candidates for me. I'll be happy to look at anyone you think would be good, but you should know this up front. No females."

"What's your friend got against females, Boss?"

"He's not my friend, Luv. He's...a prospective business associate. Just ignore him. He's a soldier...and a bloody Neanderthal," Jake winked.

He watched Nick stride out of the office and went back to his desk. He sat down, looked at his watch, and made a call. It would be late in Sydney, but he knew Angie would still be up. "Angel, it's me. No, I'm not coming home early. In fact, I'm thinking of staying up here a bit longer. I'll get Jim to give you a call in the morning about flight details, I want you and the bubbs here with me, and, Baby, can you bring my kitbag? Jinny can come with you to keep you company on the flight, then she can visit her family while she's here. It's about time she had a nice break. I love you, Angel. See you in a couple of days."

He put the phone down and ran his hands through his hair. What was he about to get himself, and the company, into?

Summer Vacation:　 Chapter 4

Jake was pacing up and down by the arrivals gate.  People moved out of his way instinctively, but he was oblivious to his unhindered path.  He was brought out of his reverie by someone calling his name.  He turned slowly and half smiled.  His partner and best friend was striding through the arrivals gate.  Like Jake, Mike Taylor always travelled light, so he was one of the first from his flight to make it through the barrier.

"G'Day, Mike. Good flight?"

"Where's the car?" Mike replied tersely.

Jake frowned.  This didn't bode well.  They walked together in silence to the short stay car park and Mike threw his carryon in the back seat.  He buckled himself in and slammed the door shut.  Jake got behind the wheel, glanced quickly at his friend, then started the engine.  They were soon on their way out of Heathrow, heading for the city.

Mike didn't speak to Jake during the journey, but spent the time staring out of the side window, looking at nothing, thinking hard.  He wasn't sure what he was going to say to Jake once they got to the office, but he hoped that the rage which had been building inside since he got Jake's call the previous day would calm before they spoke.

Jason smiled as his two bosses came out of the lift. The grin froze on his face, though, when he felt the tension between the two men.  Mike nodded to him before speaking.  "We need your office, Jason...no interruptions."

Mike slammed the door shut behind him and dropped his bag before rounding on Jake.

"What the fuck are you playing at, Jake?  You seriously want us to fund a group of heavily armed adrenaline junkies?  You have to be out of your fucking mind!"

Jake just stood and took the tirade, waiting to see if Mike was going to listen before he decided to answer.

"You wanna rant some more, or are you willing to sit down and listen?"

"I think I need to throw a few more obscenities at you, but I know it's water off a duck's back."

Jake walked to the door and popped his head out.  "Jay, could you get us both a hot drink, please?"  Jason nodded and was soon knocking on his own office door with coffee and tea.  Jake took the mugs and nodded to him.  "We're good, mate.  Still no interruptions, though."

He handed Mike his coffee and they both sat by the coffee table looking at each other.

"Are you out of your Kiwi head, Jake?   What made you think I'd agree to funding mercenaries?"

"Think about it, Mike.  How many times have we both said that the world would be a better place without the low-lifes that control everything in the drug world.  Sure, the governments make an effort to clean up their countries, but they only catch the small fry.  Cameron and his group intend to chop the head off the beast.  I think they can do it as well."

"You're laying us open for all kind of trouble, Jake.  We can't be seen to sanction this kind of thing. It would ruin us."

"It's all gonna be off the books, Mike.  You know we can mange it and so do I.  What's the point of having our accounts where they are if we can't make use of them for some 'black ops'."

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"As a bloody heart attack, mate."

Mike got up and paced the room, stopping every now and then to look out of the window and at Jake.  "I'm not promising anything, my friend.  I'll need to meet this Cameron.  I need to see that he's not a raving psycho."

Jake grinned at his friend.  "He wants to meet you as well.  He'll be in touch before he heads out on his last mission."

Mike sighed and walked over to Jake.  He gave his friend a warm hug, "Good to see you, Jake."

The following day both Jake and Mike were back at an airport, this time the London City Airport, awaiting the private flight bringing the family in from Oz.  Jake had only been away for a week, but he missed Angie and the twins so much already.  Mike sat watching his friend with a smile on his face. He couldn't wait for the day when Tori  got pregnant.  They'd certainly been practising enough for something to happen.

Jake watched the A&M jet land and taxi, and went down to the arrival office.  He would soon have his favourite people around him again, and he couldn't wait.  He watched from the window as the door opened and the steps came down.  Jenny came out first, carrying one of the twins, then his angel was on the tarmac with the other.  Jim and the co-pilot were soon out of the plane and helping unload the baggage; there was a mountain of stuff, most of it for the twins.  Jake was soon out of the door, greeting his family.

They drove straight to the company apartment in Great Russell mansions. Jake loved the location, being right opposite the British Museum. It had four bedrooms so there was enough room for everyone to stay, even though Jenny would be heading north to visit family.  They put the twins to bed before relaxing in the spacious lounge, Angie snagging the rocking chair before Jake got the chance.

"So, how long are we staying, AJ?" Angie asked.

"I'm not too sure yet, Luv. I'm thinking about six weeks," he replied. Mike looked across at him but said nothing.

"And why did you ask me to bring you kitbag?"

"Yeah, why, Jake?" Mike echoed.

"I was thinking while we were here we could take some of the blokes on the assault course.  We tend to get a better go-round when I flash the uniform."

"It's only your BDU, though."

"Ah, but it has his blue belt, Angie, and the blue beret helps a lot as well," Mike grinned.  Jake poked his tongue out.

"Do you feel up to an assault course, AJ?"

"Maybe not all the way around, but everyone at the office knows about my state of fitness, so hopefully they won't expect miracles."

Angie left it at that, satisfied with Jake's explanation.  Mike, on the other hand, had more questions to ask his friend. He would wait until they were alone before voicing them, though.

They spent the next couple of days taking the twins around London. They seemed to enjoy the parks. Jake thought maybe they were happy in any green space as he and Angie spent a lot of time with them in the Botanical Gardens or Centennial Park when they were in Sydney.

The day before Jenny was due to head north, she decided that she needed some new clothes, so she and Angie left the men in charge of the twins while they hit the shops.  The boys had a twin each, giving them a bottle before they had their morning nap, and Mike looked over at Jake.

"So, just why did you ask Angie to bring your kit over?"

Jake watched the milk vanishing from the bottle and rubbed his daughter's back gently, waiting for her hearty belch, before looking over at his friend, who was doing the same thing with his son.

"I don't know, Mike.  I've just got a bad feeling.  Can't put my finger on it, but somehow I think I'm gonna need the gear before too long."

"You and your Maori premonitions," Mike snorted.  Inside he was worrying, though, as in the past Jake's instincts were always spot on.  He shuddered as a cold hand trailed across his shoulders and down his back.

Summer Vacation: Chapter 5

After leaving Jake Mitchell's office, which was too plush for his taste, Nick Cameron headed toward the Westminster University campus several blocks away. The weather was slightly warm, but he was enjoying the walk about as much as he ever enjoyed anything. He'd been out of London for a couple of months and it was good to see familiar sights again.

He was on his way to meet with one of the few men he'd ever called a mate, Dr. Joshua Langdon. Josh was a professor of psychiatry at the university and a less likely friendship between two men was hard to imagine. Ten years ago Langdon had conducted and authored a research project for the SAS on the effects of stress on its men in the field.

When he'd looked through files to select subjects for his research, Nick's name had been put in the pile that was 'unsuitable' for the purposes of Langdon's project. Later, though, when the subjects had all been chosen, he had gone back to Nick's file. The man wasn't suitable for the study, but his file and his personal background fascinated Josh Langdon.

Nicholas Cameron's father had deserted his wife and son when Nick was three years old. Unable to find work and forced to go on the dole, Nick's young mother, Sharon, had turned to prostitution as a way of making extra money to help support herself and her son. The young Nick had been witness to a parade of men constantly in and out of their tiny flat and his mother's bedroom.

As though the tiny family didn't have enough problems, one of Sharon Cameron's first 'clients' introduced her to cocaine. The high it gave her was such a welcome respite from the depressing mess her life had become that she quickly became addicted. She began bringing home even more men in order to support her habit.

Throughout the fourth year of his life, her son was left more and more to his own devices. He played with the occasional toys his mother brought home to him during her euphoric periods; he watched the telly a fair number of hours each day; he mostly got his own meals out of what little food he found in the kitchen cupboards and the refrigerator.

His favorite activity, though, had been watching the seedier side of London life in their run-down neighborhood from the dirty windows. From the living room, he had a clear view of the main street where drug deals and streetwalkers were about at all hours of the day and night. The small bathroom window (which he had to climb onto the loo to see out of) looked out on a filthy alley strewn with garbage, both inanimate and human--the addicts, the homeless, the drunks.

They, too, were present at all times of day, but it was the evening when the most interesting things went on. The young Nick was privy to more sexual encounters through that diminutive window on the world than if his mother had allowed him into her bedroom. He saw more people relieving themselves than one sees in a public restroom on any given day.

The most fascinating to him, though, were the beatings and the killings. The drunks would bloody each other over the last few drops of liquor left in a broken bottle one of them had found discarded. The homeless fought over their cardboard boxes and their miniscule stashes of useless possessions. The johns would pound on the prostitutes just because that was their fetish.

Then, there were the out-and-out murders. Nick saw six of them during the hours he spent at that little window on the world. At least, six incidents that resulted in death on the spot. He sometimes wondered, with the curiosity of a four-year-old, if any of the other things he witnessed in that alley had resulted in death later on, while he was eating his catch-as-catch can meals or sleeping on his make-shift sofa bed.

Then came the day when that outside, through-the-window world came in. It was a few weeks following little Nick's fifth birthday. In the early evening Nick and his mother, who was seven months pregnant at the time, had just finished a bowl of Campbell's vegetable soup for their dinner. Sharon was in a fine mood. Her current cocaine supplier was expected at any time to bring her a new supply. Excellent stuff, he'd told her.

Just as they were cleaning their soup bowls, the woman and the small boy heard the loud crash of the front door being broken in. Sharon gave her son one long, frightened look and went running toward the sound.

Terrified, the five-year-old boy's eyes spied the open cupboard door under the kitchen sink. Crawling quickly underneath it, he pulled the door shut behind him. Peeking out through a hole in the cupboard door which the landlord had long refused to fix, Nick had seen his mother come literally scooting back into their kitchen, her protruding belly bouncing slightly.

The man right behind her was someone he'd seen several times previously. His mother called him her 'friend', Larry. Larry was screaming and hitting his mother with huge, ham-like fists on every part of her body that he could reach. Nick heard some of his words. Something about 'that damned, useless brat you're carrying around in your belly could belong to any man in London besides me!'

Through the hole, which reminded Nick of the little bathroom window and the things he saw through it, he could see Sharon reach for a butcher knife which lay on the table. As the boy continued to gaze, perfectly silently, at what was going on before him, the man, Larry, wrested the knife from his mother's grasp.

Nick saw the long, shiny blade slice into his mother's belly and chest. One, two, three, four, five, six times. He counted, as he'd done before at the little bathroom window. Then, he saw Larry drop the knife, stare momentarily at the pool of blood on the dirty kitchen floor growing larger every moment, and run.

Having no idea what to do, Nick continued to watch in fascinated wonder from the cupboard as his mother's body twitched and the growing pool of bright red ran across the floor toward his hiding place.

Neighbors had heard Sharon's screams and, although it took almost an hour for a response in this run-down neighborhood, eventually sirens came screaming up the street. Officers swarmed into the little flat. Still completely silent, Nick continued to observe as crime tape was put up and the scene investigated.

It wasn't until they had already taken his mother's now-still body away that Nick was found. He dared to move a leg which had become cramped in the small cupboard space and accidentally knocked over a bottle of cleaner. An officer immediately opened the door.

He had attempted to coax the little boy out, but eventually ended up dragging him into the light of the kitchen when Nick had refused to move. He'd been taken to the station, where he was questioned for several hours about what he'd seen by an officer who had no experience or training whatsoever in dealing with traumatized children. Little Nick spoke not a single word to him or to anyone.

Later, after being shuttled in and out of a busy emergency room where he was checked to be sure he was not mute since he hadn't spoken, Nick was taken to a shelter where a strange woman bathed him, dressed him in someone else's pajamas and put him to bed in a room with five other boys. It was late and they were all asleep, but Nick Cameron never closed his eyes the rest of that night.

Early the next morning, another strange woman came in and brought him some more clothes that didn't belong to him--this time a shirt, pants, underwear and shoes. When she attempted to help him with them, the independent five-year-old boy shocked her by sneering, "I know how to dress myself, ya fuckin' Bint!"

Taken aback by the force of his words and the coldness in the young boy's eyes, she left him alone. When they were seated at a table for a breakfast of cold cereal with milk, he took the chair at the end. Six more boys had joined them, all of different ages.

An older lad of about 13 or 14 paused by Nick's chair for a moment. "Scram, ya little Limey!" he almost shouted at Nick. "That's my seat!"

Saying not a single word, the younger boy turned eyes on him that would have frozen boiling water to ice instantly. The older one paused, then moved to the other end of the table. The meal, which was no better in Nick's opinion than any one he had ever fixed for himself, passed without him uttering a sound.

Afterward, an officer arrived and drove him back to the station. One of the strange women from the house accompanied them. In the interview room, an older, more experienced, and kindly officer than the one from last night met him. He'd been told that the boy had not spoken at all the previous evening. Shock, he'd thought with sympathy. And no wonder. The detective had been at the crime scene last night. Horrible. No child should ever have to see his mother like that, let alone actually watch her die. Poor kid.

This time, however, Nick surprised the man by beginning the interview himself. Seated across from the detective, he asked the first question. "Where's my little brother?"

The detective's initial thought was that this boy's voice and eyes were not the typical ones of a five-year-old. His next was that there had been no reports of any other children belonging to the victim. On the verge of getting up and asking an officer to check with neighbors about other kids, he replied to Nick, "What's your little brother's name."

The little boy gave him a look that said he was a complete idiot and told him, "He doesn't have one yet. He hadn't come out of mum's belly. She said he'd be here in a few more weeks."

The detective had thought he was hardened to this, but he had to hold back tears at the child's statement. Sharon Cameron had used excessive amounts of cocaine. Had the baby she was carrying been born, he would most likely have had all sorts of problems.

"I'm sorry, son," the man told Nick as gently as he could, "but your little brother didn't make it."

He was preparing to move over, put an arm around the boy for support and let him cry. But Nick's next words were as cold as the ones he'd uttered to the woman at the shelter this morning.

"Larry'll die for hurting my little brother."

Dr. Josh Langdon was running all this through his mind for the thousandth time, as he waited for Nick Cameron to arrive at his office. Rising from his desk to make himself a fresh cuppa, he glanced out a window to see the very man he was thinking about marching purposefully across the campus toward the building.

Langdon quietly observed Cameron's graceful stride, looked at the faded clothes he was wearing. Watching him walk the quiet streets, you would never suspect that this man was one of the deadliest in the world, Josh thought to himself.

As Nick entered the building, Langdon turned from the window and went back to his desk, still seeing the picture Cameron made as he walked. 'Of course,' he was thinking, 'people didn't suspect that about any serial killer who'd ever been caught either.' Usually, you only found out how deadly men really were when it was too late.

ON TO CHAPTER 6