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Andy McNab - Crisis four

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Andy McNab Crisis four

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If your opponent has only two possible options, you can be sure that he will take the third. A tough, resourceful master of his trade, British Intelligence agent Nick Stone has just been given a chilling ultimatum: find a missing agent who appears to have defected or lose the guardianship of his beloved nine-year-old daughter. In Stones mind, there is no choice.The runner is Sarah Greenwood, U.K. liaison with the Counterterrorism Center, a cell set up by the CIA to warn against potential terrorist attacks. Steel-willed, beautiful, cunning, Sarah is also Nicks former lover, the only woman who has ever been allowed under his rough, impenetrable guard. Its not only what you see. Sometimes what isnt there is just as important as what is. Relying on his keen instincts and cool logic, Nick tracks Sarah to the mountainous backwoods of North Carolina. There, in a remote cabin, she conspires with two Middle Eastern men. Then Nicks mission takes a decidedly dark turn when he receives a T104--an order to kill Sarah without a trace.But nothing is what it seems, as Nick and Sarah themselves become hunted, racing deeper into a dark, deadly conspiracy that will change the course of world events--and the lives of millions.With seventeen years of active service in the elite SAS force, Andy McNab writes from his own harrowing experiences. As compelling and relentless as a fast-burning fuse, Crisis Four hurtles us into a breathtaking plot of nonstop action and suspense. Packed with authentic procedural details, it is a thriller so gritty and real that you wont know where fact ends and fiction begins.

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Crisis Four
Nick Stone [2]
Andy McNab
Ballantine Books (2001)


SUMMARY:
He was ordered to track down a rogue colleague. Now British Intelligence agent Nick Stone and "runner" (and former lover) Sarah Greenwood have become the hunted, racing deeper into a dark, deadly conspiracy that will change the course of world events - and the lives of millions.With seventeen years of active service in the elite SAS force, Andy McNab writes from his own harrowing experiences. Packed with authentic procedural details, as relentless as a fast-burning fuse, Crisis Four is a thriller so gritty and real that you won't know where fact ends and fiction begins.

CRISIS FOUR [030-011-4.5]

By: andy McNab

Category: fiction spies

Synopsis:

Andy McNab's British intelligence agent, Nick Stone, is enough of a rebel to be denied a permanent place on the SAS roster, but he's dragooned into a freelance assignment with an ultimatum from his former employers. He's to find Sarah Greenwood, a missing agent who's thought to have defected from the service to aid Muslim militants intent on blowing up the world, or go to prison and also lose the only other female he's ever loved besides Sarah: a 9-year-old girl whose dead parents, Nick's closest friends, left her in his care.

Nick manages to locate Sarah without much difficulty, but when he's ordered to kill her, he has a change of heart. The hunter turns into the hunted, as Nick and Sarah flee her hiding place in the North Carolina woods and try to outwit the police, the intelligence services, and a team of assassins directed by Osama bin Laden. As they make their way to Washington to preempt a plan to kill Yasser Arafat and Benjamin Netanyahu, Nick tries to sort out his conflicted feelings about Sarah. Is she part of bin Laden's team, a so-called runner who's a threat to the CIA and the SAS, or is she a loyal operative trying to outwit a highly placed traitor in the White House?

Crisis Four is strong on its depiction of agents in the field; McNab excels at describing every last detail of the hunt, the chase, the kill.

ALSO BY ANDY MCNAB

Nonfiction

BRAVO TWO ZERO

IMMEDIATE ACTION

Fiction REMOTE CONTROL

'mi Hem

BALLANTINE BOOKS

NEW YORK

A Ballantine Book The Ballantine Publishing Group

Copyright 1999 by Andy McNab

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by The Ballantine Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc." New York. Originally published in Great Britain by Bantam Press, a division of Transworld Publishers, in 1999.

Ballantine and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

www. random house. com/BB/ Library of Congress Card Number: 00-190285

ISBN 0-345-42807-2

Manufactured in the United States of America First American Edition: July 2000 10 987654321

IN MEMORY OF EDWARD C.S. HOOPER

OCTOBER 30, 1979-APRIL 15, 1999

CRISIS FOUR

TMOmV, OCTOBER 16. 1995

The Syrians don't fuck around if they think you're invading their air space. Within minutes of crossing the border, your aircraft will be greeted by a three-ship intercept, flying so close you can wave at the pilots. They won't wave back; they've come to get a visual ID on you, and if they don't like what they see they'll hose you down with their air to-air missiles.

he same rule doesn't apply, of course, when friendly commercial aircraft blip onto their radar screens, and that was why our team of four had opted for this particular method of infiltration. If Damascus had had the slightest clue about what was about to happen aboard our British Airways flight from Delhi to London, their fighters would have been scrambled the moment the Boeing 747 left Saudi Arabian territory.

I was twisting and turning, trying to get comfortable, feeling jealous of all the people sitting upstairs behind the driver, probably on their fifth gin and tonic since take off, watching their second movie and tucking into their third helping ofboeufen croute.

Reg 1 was in front of me. Six feet two, and built like a brick shithouse, he was probably having an even worse time in the cramped conditions.

His curly black hair, going a bit gray at the sides, was all over the place. Like me, before I left in '93, he had been selected to do work for the intelligence and security services, including the sort of job for the U.S.

that Congress would never sanction. I had done similar jobs myself while in the Regiment, but this was the first I'd been on since becoming a K. Given who we were going in against, none of us was giving odds on whether we'd get to do another.

I glanced across at Sarah, to my right in the semidarkness. Her eyes were closed, but even in the dim light I could see she wasn't looking her happiest. Maybe she just didn't like flying without complimentary champagne and slippers.

It had been a while since I'd last seen her, and the only thing about her that had changed was her hair. It was still very straight, almost Southeast Asian, though dark brown, not black. It had always been short, but she'd prepared for this operation by having it cut into a bob with a fringe.

She had strong, well-defined features, with large brown eyes above high cheekbones, a nose that was slightly too large, and a mouth that nearly always looked too serious. Sarah would not be troubled in her old age by laughter lines. When it was genuine, her smile was warm and friendly, but more often it appeared to be only going through the motions. And yet, just when you were thinking this, she'd find the oddest thing amusing and her nose would twitch, and her whole face would crease into a radiant, almost childlike, grin. At times like that she looked even more beautiful than usual maybe too beautiful. That was sometimes a danger in our line of work, as men could never resist a second glance, but at thirty-five years of age she had learned to use her looks to her advantage within the service. It made her even more of a bitch than most people thought she was.

It was no good, I couldn't get comfortable. We'd been on the aircraft for nearly fifteen hours and my body was starting to ache. I turned and tried the left side. I couldn't see Reg 2, but I knew he was to my left in the gloom somewhere. He was easy to distinguish from Reg 1, being the best part of a foot shorter and with hair that looked like a fistful of dark-blond wire wool. The only thing I knew about them apart from their zap numbers was that, like me, they had both been circumcised within the last three weeks and that, like mine, their underwear came from Tel Aviv. And that was all I wanted to know about them, or about Regs 3 to 6 who were already in-country, waiting for us even though one of them, Glen, was an old friend.

I found myself facing Sarah again. She was rubbing her eyes with her fists, like a sleepy child. I tried to doze off; thirty minutes later I was still kidding myself I was asleep when I got a kick on the back of my legs. It was Sarah.

I sat up in my sleeping bag and peered into the semidarkness. Three

CRISIS FOUR 5

loadies (load masters) were moving around with orienteering lights attached to their heads, glowing a dim red so as not to destroy our night vision.

Each of them had an umbilical cord trailing from his face mask, and their hands moved instinctively to make sure it didn't get snagged or detached from the aircraft's oxygen supply.

I unzipped the bag and, even through my all-weather sniper suit, immediately felt the freezing cold in the unpressurized 747 cargo hold. None of the passengers or cabin crew would have known there were people down here, tucked away in the belly of the aircraft. Nor would our names have appeared anywhere on a manifest.

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