Gibraltar Station

Joseph W. Michels

Description

A freshly retired 42 year old U.S. Army MSgt arrives in Gibraltar as an expat and takes on covert missions as a paramilitary contractor.
Jack Taylor, a freshly retired 42 year old U.S. Army MSgt, arrives in Gibraltar and takes up residence as an expat retiree. Informed his military pension won’t be enough to live on, thereby jeopardizing his Gibraltar residence permit, Jack is open to recruitment efforts by organizations that hire paramilitary contractors. Capitalizing on the skills he acquired during his military career as a special forces operative, Jack—working alone or with others—takes on assignments ranging from providing security services to undertaking extraction ops of high value individuals.
The CIA station chief in Gibraltar, along with agents of MI-5 and MI-6, soon begin to rely on Jack’s skills. Wishing to provide Jack a socially acceptable cover for his occasional covert operations they pull strings to secure for Jack a private investigator’s license as well as a concealed weapons permit. Jack’s debut as a bonafide private detective cements his local reputation as a resourceful person ready to assist, but he knows those who value his covert operational skills will not easily cut him loose.

Sujets

• Agencia Central de Inteligencia
• MI-5
• Security Service
• Fiction
• Gibraltar
• Central Intelligence Agency

Informations

• Publié par: iUniverse
• Date de parution: 26 mars 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781663251930
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

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GIBRALTAR STATION

A NOVEL






JOSEPH W. MICHELS









GIBRALTARSTATION
A NOVEL

Copyright © 2023 Joseph W. Michels.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Credit for cover art photo:
Copyright © Nicola Pulham/Shutterstock.com

Credit for author photo:
Copyright © 20 21 Joseph W. Michels



iUniverse
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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock

ISBN: 978-1-6632-5190-9 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-6632-5193-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023905556



iUniverse rev. date: 03/25/2023



CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three









CHAPTER ONE
J ack lifted the tall-stemmed glass of Bordeaux to his lips and took a sip, enjoying the wine’s strong aromatic flavor as he watched the sun slowly set over Gibraltar harbor. It was his first evening in the British Overseas Territory, having just flown in from Heathrow after a long flight out of Dulles.
This was all new to him—the furnished apartment he’d rented, sight unseen, in a new high-end building just north of where he was seated, the upscale restaurants along Ragged Staff Wharf, the promise of endless days of leisure now that he’d retired after twenty-two years of military service.
He figured his military pension and what he’d managed to save would be enough to see him through the first two years; after that…well…he’d have to see.
As he looked out onto the marina, admiring the yachts moored to the two main piers that jutted out from the quay where he was seated, he happened to glance at a couple seated a short distance away; the man seemed to be staring at him. As soon as the man caught him looking in his direction he gestured for Jack to come join them. Jack’s initial impulse was to ignore the invitation, or shake his head, but he didn’t want to offend. By the look of their clothing Jack felt they probably belonged in a place like this, something he certainly didn’t feel. Reluctantly, he got up from his chair and walked over, carrying his wine glass.
“Please join us,” the man said in thickly accented English. “We figure you’re an American; we’re Russian…so we’re all foreigners,” he said with a laugh.
Jack nodded, then sat down.
“I am Dimitry Petrov, and this is Maria,” said the man as he gestured for the waiter to bring a fresh glass. “You must share our wine,” he insisted, pointing to a bottle of what Jack figured was probably a very expensive Bordeaux.
Jack studied the couple. The man had to be at least in his mid-fifties; the woman—easily twenty years his junior. They both were well-tanned and wore casual but expensive yachting outfits.
Catching their inquiring look, Jack uncomfortably blurted out, “I’m Jack Taylor…I’ve just arrived from the States.”
“But I think you are not a typical American tourist…yes?” challenged Dimitry.
Jack shrugged, “No, I’ve actually moved here. I have an apartment just up the street…thought it’d be a good place to retire.”
“And yet you are a young man…yes?” pressed Dimitry.
“If you call being forty-two young,” replied Jack with a laugh. “Actually, I’ve had a military career…one where retirement among enlistees after twenty or so years is fairly common.”
“So, you were not an officer,” concluded Dimitry, puzzled, as he carefully poured wine from the bottle into the fresh wine glass the waiter had brought over.
“Yes and no,” replied Jack. “I was a non-commissioned officer…a Master Sergeant at the time I separated from the Army.”
“Yes…you have that look,” observed Dimitry soberly as he handed Jack the fresh glass of wine.
“I take it, you’ve spent some time in the Russian military,” commented Jack.
“Indeed,” replied Dimitry. “but that was a while back. I was an officer in a Spetsnaz unit with the rank of Major.”
“And now?” inquired Jack.
“Now?” mused Dimitry, “Now I tend to business from my yacht…that lovely vessel tied up just to the right of where we’re sitting.”
Jack glanced over and couldn’t help being impressed as he gazed at the luxury motor yacht—all hundred and fifty feet of it—resting against the edge of the quay. “So you live aboard…even during the off-season, such as now?”
“We do…but only while it is tied up in a marina like this one. If we choose to relocate…perhaps to France or Monte Carlo…Maria and I will often fly…returning to the vessel only after it is berthed in a suitable marina at our destination.”
“So, you have a full-time crew?” speculated Jack.
“Of course,” replied Dimitry, as if it went without saying.
Jack had a hard time imagining life on a yacht, though the idea of it appealed to him.
“But tell me…Jack…I can call you Jack…yes?
Jack nodded.
“Did you have a combat specialty…or were you in an administrative unit?”
“Like you, Dimitry, I was in an elite special forces unit,” replied Jack sharply.
“Ah…very good…very good,” commented Dimitry admiringly. “We have much in common then,” he added.
Jack merely shrugged.
“We must have you aboard for drinks,” said Dimitry as he slipped some money under his wine glass and stood up. “Do you intend to patronize this café often?”
“I imagine so,” replied Jack. “It’s close to where I’m staying and I like the place…why do you ask?”
“So we’ll know where to find you,” explained Dimitry.
“Probably it’s best if we simply exchange cell phone numbers,” said Jack, smiling.
“Yes…of course,” said Dimitry, who proceeded to take out a business card and hand it to Jack. “It has both my cell and my satphone numbers, along with the particulars regarding the vessel.
Jack read Dimitry’s phone number, then took out his own cell phone, entered Dimitry’s number, then texted him. There…you’ve got my number,” said Jack as he slipped Dimitry’s card into the inside pocket of his blazer.
“So…two old warriors striking up a friendship over a glass of fine Bordeaux…what could be better?” announced Dimitry as he shook Jack’s hand.
Jack laughed, bid good night to Maria, then watched as the pair walked leisurely the short distance to the boarding ramp of their yacht. After they’d climbed aboard, a crewman standing watch walked over. He pulled up the boarding ramp and closed the railing gate, then continued his rounds.
Jack lingered for while, enjoying the gentle evening breeze and wanting to give himself some time to think about the wealthy Russian who’d just befriended him. Jack supposed the man acquired his wealth through some sort of political machination, but given how closely politics and business were linked in Russia he couldn’t fault the man for having worked the system successfully. More worrisome, perhaps, would be any indication the man chose to befriend him out of some ulterior motive, but Jack dismissed that thought, convinced the man’s approach was genuinely spontaneous. Anyway, the man knew nothing about Jack…that is, until they’d begun to talk. What he couldn’t entirely rule out was the possibility the man would seek to use Jack now that he had some idea of the skills Jack possessed after a long Army career in an elite combat arms unit.
Realizing further speculation wouldn’t get him very far, Jack signaled for his chit.
The waiter came over, a bit embarrassed, “I’m sorry, sir, but the Russian gentleman paid your bill.”
“Oh, is that so,” commented Jack, a bit irritated. “Well…good night, then,” he said as he handed the waiter a generous tip.
“Thank you, sir…and good night to you.”
Jack got up from the table and threaded his way between the tables, heading for the narrow passage that connected the marina quay to the street. The street was quiet—Jack’s realtor had made that a selling point. She a