Freddy put down his copy of the Daily Telegraph and sighed. The stock market hadn't been kind to the Master Storyteller. He pressed the secret panel of his large oak desk. It was time to bring his trusty Montblanc fountain pen out of retirement.
* * * * *
Anyone watching the 51-year-old wheeze along the New Jersey streets could have been forgiven for not realising they were in the presence of the fittest, cleverest, noblest and most dangerous man in the world.
Calvin Dexter had been brought up the hard way. He fought in Vietnam and he and his senior officer became the most feared Tunnel Rats in the US army. Their nicknames were Mole and Badger.
When the war ended Cal put himself through law school and became a brilliant public defender. After his wife and child tragically died he left the law to disappear into anonymity. Only those who really needed his services would know where to find him.
* * * * *
It had been many years since Ricky Colenso had disappeared in the former Yugoslavia. At last, his grandfather, the Canadian billionaire Steve Edmond, had a lead. A body had been discovered in a slurry pit and the man suspected of the atrocity was Serbian warlord Zoran Zilic.
"I don't care how much it costs, I want him brought to justice," said Edmond.
It was June 2001.
* * * * *
Cal checked the small ads. He had a job. His superb tracking skills quickly picked up the trail. His aircraft had been spotted in the emirate of al-Fujairah, and from that it was relatively simple to deduce that Zilic was now living in a heavily protected fortress in Surinam.
It was July 2001.
* * * * *
CIA chief Paul Deveraux leant forward and spoke to his deputy, Kevin McBride. "We can't let anything happen to Zilic," he said. "We know al-Qaida is about to launch a major attack on the west and Zilic has promised to lead us to Osama bin Laden."
It was August 2001.
* * * * *
"So," thought Cal, "the Americans are on to me. Shouldn't make much difference."
Armed only with a penknife, Cal skipped through the inhospitable terrain, waltzed past the private militia, swam through the piranha-infested stream, pirouetted through the dogs and the minefields and boarded Zilic's private jet.
"You are coming with me to face justice in the land of the brave and the home of the free," he snarled.
It was September 9 2001.
* * * * *
"Project Peregrine is dead in the water," said Deveraux. "Ten more days and Bin Laden would have been ours. But just who did tip off Avenger?"
McBride smiled to himself, the outline of a badger tattoo just visible through his shirt.
It was September 10, 2001.
The digested read ... digested
This year's winner of the Jeffrey Archer prize for creative writing.
