The Gunrunner: The Stopper Files, #3

By Eugene Lloyd MacRae

Merlin Arthur Dragon - Interpol's one and only Stopper - tasked with stopping the bad guys by any means necessary - faces an ominous threat. Terrorists are about to get their hands on a Cold War weapon hidden for decades - a Russian nuclear suitcase bomb. What will he be forced to do? How far will he be willing to go? What inner demons will he stare down to keep innocent people from being consumed in a nuclear blast?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eugene Lloyd MacRae
• Release date: Jul 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781927767634

Eugene Lloyd MacRae

Eugene Lloyd MacRae lives on Canada's South Coast in Ontario. He is the author of the Rory Mack Steele series of novels and several family history books. He began writing novels after a near-fatal heart attack in March, 2012 left him lying in bed with little to do. He began pecking away on a Blackberry Playbook he had bought 2 months before and the characters that emerged kept him company.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Ottawa, Canada

MERLIN ARTHUR DRAGON felt the terror rise in his throat. The instructions rolled through his mind once more. He had to follow them to a T. Because starting over wasn't an option. Some would say it was, but he couldn't let that happen. There was too much at stake. He lifted his left hand into position - as required. The right hand was placed in the proper area - not too high - not too low. Actually, too high would be better. Too low could be misconstrued and bring dire consequences–

Relax, Merlin, It's just a waltz.

Merlin looked into Jaimee Hartman's blue eyes. They were sparkling - like they always did - and like he always wondered - was that for him or just her natural way of–?

The music started.

Loosen up.

Yeah, right. Merlin led Jaimee around the floor, following the other students as they danced. Merlin had owed Jaimee for taking care of his blue and wooly Chartreux cat, Jigs. Jaimee had turned one of the 'dates' he had agreed to into a night of dancing. Except he really couldn't dance, of course. Weeks of practice at the local Arthur Murray Dance Studio had followed - he had learned to do a square dance in grade school but he wasn't good at it - and that was his total sum of dancing skills to this point. Tonight was a 'graduation night' dance for the students in Merlin's class. But Merlin still felt like a beginner, not a graduate. And his concentration on the dancing was divided - his mind half on Jaimee's perfume - it was a heady mix of oriental and floral notes - she said it was called Gucci Guilty but that she wasn't going to feel guilty about anything that happened tonight. He wondered–

Jaimee's fingers lightly tapped on his shoulder, Relax. You're doing great. Don't worry so much.

Thanks. I'm trying.

"And that hand can go lower onto my butt - providing you want to." She winked at him.

Merlin shook his head, And what would everyone think.

That you are the luckiest guy in here. And maybe about to get luckier. She grinned broadly.

Concentrating on his feet, Merlin did his best to stay in time with the music. They glided around the floor - well, not glided but it was acceptable.

Miranda Cole, one of the teachers, did glide across the floor, moving closer with Marty Nottingham, one of the better students, You're doing well, Mr. Dragon. Just remember to enjoy yourself, Keep in mind, it isn't necessary to be technically perfect.

But it helps, Nottingham said.

Merlin gave him a semi-grin.

Cole tapped Nottingham on the shoulder, Behave yourself, Marty.

Nottingham still plastered a mischievous grin on his face as they moved away.

Maybe I should dance with him, Jaimee said.

Merlin was taken aback for a moment, I'm sorry you're not enjoying yourself. I'm trying.

Jaimee's eyes opened wide, Oh, no, no. I just meant I could teach him some manners. The narrow heels on these high-heeled shoes could do a lot of damage to his toes.

Oh. Merlin envisioned Marty limping into an emergency room somewhere and he couldn't help but smile.

Of course, I wore these stupid shoes to make my legs look better. Do you think it's working?

Uh... A low buzz sounded between Merlin and Jaimee.

Jaimee raised an eyebrow, Saved by the bell again, Mr. Dragon?

That's my cell phone–

I certainly hope so. If it's my vibrator, we're both in real trouble.

Jaimee had such an innocent look on her face that Merlin couldn't help but laugh. She could say the most outrages things and not bat an eyelash.

She lowered her voice, And you know you're not supposed to have that here. The dance is supposed to be a cell phone free zone.

I know.

Letting out a small sigh, Jaimee said, And I know it's your job to be on call 24-7.

I'm sorry–

She pressed a finger against his lips as they danced, No, it's fine. I know how important your work is. She lowered her voice again, Even though I don't know exactly what you do, I know it's important. Then she theatrically pretended to look over each of his shoulders, That's for anyone who might be listening.

Merlin smiled, Afraid to end up in jail?

Not if you do the cavity search.

Merlin blinked.

And Jaimee laughed. Then she turned, still holding his hand and led him through the still-dancing couples to the exit, C'mon, let's get you home and on your way.

Miranda Cole called out over the waltz music, Are you two leaving already?

Jaimee looked over her shoulder and called back, You taught him too well, Miranda, and now he loves dancing. Wants to show me something called the horizontal mambo. There was laughter from a number of the other dancers as Jaimee led Merlin down the hallway to the stairs.

Merlin shook his head, They might take you seriously.

I hope so. I have a reputation to maintain. As soon as they stepped outside onto the sidewalk, Jaimee came to a full stop.

A black limousine sat at the curb.

Jaimee turned to Merlin, That has to be for you.

Merlin opened his mouth to say something

Putting a finger to his lips again, Jaimee said, I've been in this government town long enough to recognize an armored limousine. And I looked through my window before and saw you getting picked up by the very same vehicle. She held her hand out, Give me the keys to your car and your apartment and I'll take care of Jigs.

Merlin looked at the limousine and found it strange. Pulling his cell phone, he swiped the screen awake and simply looked at it. Anyone else looking at it would only see a few generic apps and little else. But the advanced programming detected Merlin's facial features and opened up the special features - access to Interpol's I-24/7, the secure global police network and all its databases - all done automatically as it rolled through the connections available to it, breaking passwords as necessary without Merlin needing to do a single thing. As expected, he saw a text message from Director Aubrey Laurent, the man who ran Interpol's National Central Bureau office here in Ottawa and Merlin's boss. It read; 'You have a job. Urgent, we retrieved your go-bag and limo will be at dance studio shortly. Return the message confirming you are in the air.' Unable to mount an argument, Merlin handed his keys to Jaimee, I'm sorry–

She silenced him by placing her warm lips on his and then looked into his eyes, You keep saying that. It's fine. And don't you worry, I'll take care of Jigs. And when you come back, you teach me the horizontal mambo like you just promised. She turned and walked away before he could say anything, giggling to herself.

Merlin shook his head as he watched her. The clicking of her heels off the pavement made him look down. And there was one thing he had to admit; the high-heeled shoes did make her legs look good.

Chapter 2

CLIMBING THE AIRSTAIRS with his go-bag in hand , Merlin boarded the waiting Bombardier Global 8000. He nodded a greeting to the co-pilot, Captain Faith Saab, who was standing to the side. Both Saab and the pilot, Captain Charity Sherrell, were members of the Canadian military, on permanent duty to fly Merlin anywhere in the world at a moment's notice. The smell of fresh coffee permeated the cabin.

Saab returned the nod with a quick salute, Welcome aboard, sir. The airstairs began closing with the familiar hydraulic whine, We have clearance and we'll be airborne in five.

Right on cue, the massive G.E. Passport engines began their deep buzz-saw sucking sound as the air was gobbled up at an increasing rate.

Merlin took a seat in one of the chairs, set his go-big on the floor, and buckled up. His go-big contained his Interpol badge, credentials, cell phone, 999 key - also called a bump key that can be used to open 90% of all cylindrical locks - his special, 9mm, carbon fiber Beretta PX4 Storm Subcompact handgun that could pass through metal detectors without a problem - it also had Smart Gun technology - the grip had an internal scan of Merlin's palm print and couldn't be fired by anyone else - his 'escape belt', made of 1.5" nylon webbing, completely non-metallic and was part of the field kit for used by some of Canada's elite forces. The inside of the belt buckle itself held a non-metallic handcuff key and a ceramic razor blade. The inside of the belt webbing had dozens of elasticized compartments containing a non-metallic handcuff key, 4.5 feet of Kevlar survival cord, the Escape Stick by Shomer-Tec, a 4-piece, titanium lock-picking kit, and an American Liberty nickel. You turned the nickel to heads-up, slid a fingernail clockwise along the edge and a small blade of hardened stainless steel rotated out. All you had to do was slip it into your pocket and it was doubtful anyone patting you down would be concerned with a small coin if they even detected it. The dress boots inside had shoelaces with blacked-brass tips. One tip on each lace was actually a boot-lace handcuff key. Around his wrist, he wore a Pyro-Band as a wristband. Previously he had worn a gummy bracelet with a connector that also served as an escape key for handcuffs. But he had reconsidered when he realized another escape key was redundant. The Pyro-Band had an integral ferrocerium rod that served as a connector as well as a fire source. Rapidly scraping the rod with a sharp edge, such as a knife blade, would send out a shower of sparks to ignite tinder to start a fire. And last but not least were two important items; an extra pair of socks and a change of underwear. Everything Interpol's only 'Stopper' needed to perform his duty, stop the bad guys by any means necessary.

The airstairs whumped into place and Saab headed for the cockpit, tapping Merlin on the shoulder as she passed, A warm mug is ready to be filled.

Thanks.

In ten minutes, the ultra-long-range business jet was climbing rapidly into the cloudless skies over Ottawa. Five minutes later, as the Global 8000 was beginning to level out, Captain Sherrell spoked through the intercom, It's safe to unbuckle, sir. Just keep in mind we may hit some turbulence in twenty.

As the intercom clicked off, Merlin pulled his cell phone and sent a secure text that he was airborne. Setting it in the cup holder, he unbuckled and headed for the galley that was just through the doorway toward the back to fill that warm mug. With coffee in hand, he headed back to his seat. As he sipped and watched the scenery far below, his cell phone buzzed. Checking it, he found he now had the day's code for the electronic locker sitting in the suite situated further back in the plane. Time to find out his assignment.

He retrieved a thick envelope from the locker, and a garment bag with the words Hugo Boss imprinted on the outside. He returned to one of the seats with a table and checked inside the garment bag to find a dark suit, white shirt, and dark tie.

Setting the bag to the side, he turned his attention to the envelope. It was labeled Gunrunner; Case #384104. Merlin unsealed the envelope and found a passport, a debit card that was wrapped in a paper with his background information, and a thick set of papers with his target's information and background.

His assignment was an arms dealer, Rafiq Monzer. The forty-year-old Monzer had been born in Tangier, Morocco. He now lived in a villa in Casablanca, Morocco - but apparently spent half his time in sunny Cádiz, an ancient port city in southwest Spain. Built on a strip of land surrounded by the sea in the Andalusia region, it was the principal home port of the Spanish Navy since the 18th century.

Merlin's mind went to another case and two men he had failed to stop completely - a miss that had never sat well. Davet Minard was the owner of DVM International, a Private Military Contractor registered in Gibraltar and a man who employed former rebel soldiers from African nations and South America to handle his dirty work. His partner was Dirk VanDaele. Like Monzer, VanDaele was a global arms dealer and the owner of Schorpioen Internationale in the Netherlands. He employed former members of the Royal Netherlands Army and they were one of his connections or conduits to armies around the world - legal or illegal - terrorists or not - who wanted to buy arms. It only made sense that Rafiq Monzer was keeping a residence close to the Spanish Navy.

Merlin flipped the page and found information on the Moroccan side. The Royal Moroccan Armed Forces - the Army, the Navy, the Air Force, the Royal Gendarmerie and the Royal Guard - was a large, well-trained force with extensive experience in counter-insurgency, desert warfare and combined air-land operations. Casablanca was one of the main bases for the Royal Moroccan Navy.

On another page, Merlin found reference to a report from the U.S. Embassy in Rabat, Morocco. It was dated two years ago and said: The military remains plagued by corruption, an inefficient bureaucracy, low levels of education in the ranks, periodic threats of radicalization of some of its soldiers, political marginalization, and the deployment of most of its forces in Western Sahara.

From what Merlin could see, the scenario of maintaining the two homes offered Rafiq Monzer ample opportunity to create the valuable connections that would allow him to ply his trade as a gunrunner and continue to add to his bottom line. According to Interpol reports, Monzer was staying right now in the Cádiz home and that's where the Global 8000 was headed. Merlin's job this time was to stop– his blood ran cold when he read the words. Monzer was negotiating with a terrorist organization in Yemen to deliver an RA-115s. This was a Soviet 'suitcase' nuclear bomb. Although most were designed to look like a simple suitcase to avoid detection, it didn't have to be in a suitcase - it just described the size and portability. This one weighed fifty pounds and had a yield of 2 kilotons. They had lasted all these decades because they were wired into an electrical source. A loss of power would cause a battery backup to kick in and a transmitter sent a coded message either by satellite or directly to a nearby agent posted at a Russian embassy or consulate. If the backup ran out before power was restored - or a new backup battery was added - the trigger mechanism would stop working and the device couldn't explode. Babysitting a nuclear device for decades took a lot of dedication.

Rumor had it that the Soviets built a number of these and hid them in foreign cities where political or military leaders were found. In the event of war, the devices would be triggered to take out as much of the enemy's leadership as possible.

In this case, however, the hidden 'suitcase' had been hidden in London, England and it appeared a former Soviet agent had sold its location to Monzer. The agent then sold that information to the British government to further fund his 'retirement' - no doubt to take place in hiding - because once his former Soviet masters got wind of his handiwork with their nuke he would be toast. Merlin's assignment was obviously to find that 'suitcase' nuclear bomb and confiscate it - by whatever means necessary. But something inside him said another priority was to shut Rafiq Monzer's business down as well - no, the truth was he felt he also had to make up for his last failure with Minard and VanDaele.

The problem was...there was no hint on how he could find the nuke. The Soviet agent had only said it was 'on the way' to Monzer.

So Monzer was the key. Merlin flipped through the rest of the report, scanning the information on the arms dealer and his organization, and the deals he had made. The problem was most of it was circumstantial and based on rumors and undocumented sources. In many ways, the man was a shadowy figure on the edges of society. Laurent had added a note that Monzer was protected by a number of politicians as well as high ranking members of the armed forces in both Spain and Morocco. His money greased a lot of wheels and helped make the careers of many. So Merlin - as the Stopper - was the way to cut through that protection.

Merlin picked up the passport and flipped it open. He was Ryan Patrick Quinn, born in Queens, New York. The customs stamps showed him visiting Russia, China, France, Germany, England, Pakistan, India, Argentina, Chile, Libya, Syria, Sudan, Nigeria, Congo, Somalia, Yemen, Iraq, Iran, and Afghanistan. The countries were a mixture of gun producing nations - the United States, Russia, China, France, Germany were the largest exporters of arms - as well as major importers of arms, and a large number of conflict zones in his destinations. His cover background said he was the CEO of a private equity company. They were supposed to be providing financial backing to businesses, and investments in startup companies, but were, in fact, providing arms to various factions around