Operation Overkill
A James Bond adventure.
Chapter 1
The island of St. Cyrina sat in the azure blue sea of the Caribbean, basking in the all
year long sunshine. The isle was a picture paradise, lush forests of palm trees, miles
of soft golden beaches and of course the warm waters surrounding the island. There was
only problem with the isle of St. Cyrina was that it was in the throws of a bloody civil
war.
A problem except for one of the island's residents. Shaun Quinn sat and watched the busy
streets as he drove by in his bullet proof limo. He was a stocky man, his dark brown hair
greying all over. His coal black eyes sat above a hawkish nose, giving him a cruel and
predatory look. His lips were pulled thinly across his teeth, even in repose.
His thoughts were on the civil war as he was on his way to a meeting with St. Cyrina's
president, General Augusto. It was strange that Augusto had asked to see him personally,
normally they had only had contact in written corrospondents never face to face. Their
conversations had always been about one thing. Arms.
Shaun Quinn was an arms merchant, dealing under the import name of Patterson and Jewel. He
was one of the top arms dealers in the world. He'd started off selling guns in Northern
Ireland, where he'd grew up on the tough streets of Belfast. He'd buy second hand arms from
corrupt British soliders, selling them to the I.R.A. and U.D.L.A. so they could kill each
other and the soilders too.
Moving on from there he joined up with some larger clients, selling and providing arms for
the Argentinian forces in the Falklands War. Here some money was made, as was his taste for
a warmer climate. Then in the mid-eighties came St. Cyrina.
St. Cyrina had just had a military coup, and the new leader of the country, General Augusto,
was screaming for guns. Using the countries main crop, poppy fields, to pay for arms and
Quinn used this as calateral with his contacts in Europe. Russia was going through Glasnost,
the market full of weapons for sale. These were sold on and Quinn became a serious mover and
shaker in the arms world. That's when he moved to St. Cyrina, his best customer, and set up
Patterson and Jewel Exports as a cover for his operation. With Russia and Eastern Europe falling
apart the business was good, and thank God for Sadam Hussien, he thought with a smile.
His thoughts were pulled back to the present as the car started to slow, pulling into the ornate
gates of the Presidential Palace. The guards at the front gate saluted not stopping the car, all
of them knowing who the car belonged to. Apart from being a close friend of the President, Shaun
Quinn was the richest person on St. Cyrina.
The car stopped in the main courtyard outside of the Palace. Quinn's bodyguard got out of the car first
looking round the square. He was a big man. The dark loose fitting suit doing little to hide the swell
of muscle the man's arms and chest. His blond hair and green eyes, swept the surrounding area before
he opened Quinn's door. He nodded to his employer before allowing him to exit the vehical. Quinn
got out the car, straightening his light cotton jacket. He pulled his bodyguard closer to him, whispering
in his ear.
' Keep your wits about you in here, Kryzov.'
Kryzov Kiosova nodded curtly to his employer, a burly hand moving reassuringly to the Glock pistol under
his armpit. His green eyes swept the courtyard in a casual motion but the KGB trained eyes didn't miss a
single detail. Both men moved casually towards the main entrance of the Presidential Mansion, the guard
at the door saluting both men sharply.
' Why do you think he wants to see you?' asked Kryzov, his deep heavily accented voice bearly audable over
their footsteps. Quinn didn't answer his man, he just stared ahead lost in his own private thoughts. He had
wondering about that himself, several different ideas had been played out in his head. Not all of them
good.
Quinn's thoughts were brought back to the present as Kryzov, gave him a nudge. They were outside the office
of the President of St. Cyrina's office, General Emillo Augusto. The two guards outside the doors nodded their
their heads to acknowledge Quinn, before letting only him into the room containing the General.
General Emillo Augusto was sat at his desk, studying some papers intently. He looked up from his work when
Quinn entered, his bearded face splitting into a wide grin. He got up from his desk, moving round the desk
his arms open to embrace Quinn. ' Shaun, my friend good news.'
Quinn briefly embraced Augusto before pulling away and taking a seat at the desk. He flicked open a wooden box
on the desk, pulling a large cigar from it. He lit the cigar, filling the air with the fragrent smoke he exhaled.
He watch as the General took his seat. The man looked well for his fifty-two years, not as fit as he used to be
but still a quite trim figure in his military uniform.
' So, Emillo. What's this good news?' asked Quinn in his soft Irish brogue.
The grin on the General's face widened. ' The best kind of news, my friend.'
' So enlighten me.' pushed Quinn, letting out another ploom of smoke.
' I have some good news concerning the Junta.' said Augusto.
The Junta were the rebels camped out in the mountains and forets of the Island. They had been fighting the General's
forces for five years now, with various levels of success. Now it seemed that the General had made a breakthrough
maybe even found the headquarters of the Junta leaders. It was what the General needed, and if the war was going
to escalate then more weapons would be needed, Quinn thought with a smile. He realised he was sat on the very edge
of his seat he forced some control and sat back in his seat.
' So what is the good news.'
' I have been contacted by the leaders of the Junta.' said Augusto. ' They have had enough. They wish to talk about
a cease fire.'
The words hit Quinn like a tidal wave. He knew what the implications were for him, he didn't want to lose, couldn't
afford to lose the buisness which St. Cyrina supplied him. The money and the poppy fields he had access to. Although
arms were still his main line of work, the drugs were fast being more profitable. If the war ended on the Island
then he would lose control of the crops, and all the money that bought.
Quinn realised that Augusto had just finished talking. He forced a smile and nodded, sucking life back into the cigar
between his fingers. He realised that Augusto had just offered him a drink, to which he then shook hi head. ' I have
a buisness engagment, my friend.' he made his excuses. He got to his feet, and left the room.
Outside the room Kryzov saw the pensive look on his employers face. He didn't say anything until both men were down
the corridor. The pace was fast and furious as they reached the limo parked in the courtyard. The big bodyguard opened
the door for Quinn, stopping his employer.
' Not good news?' he asked.
Quinn gave him a mirthless smile. ' Let's just say I've had better days. Let's got back to the mansion we have plans to
make.'
A James Bond adventure.
Chapter 1
The island of St. Cyrina sat in the azure blue sea of the Caribbean, basking in the all
year long sunshine. The isle was a picture paradise, lush forests of palm trees, miles
of soft golden beaches and of course the warm waters surrounding the island. There was
only problem with the isle of St. Cyrina was that it was in the throws of a bloody civil
war.
A problem except for one of the island's residents. Shaun Quinn sat and watched the busy
streets as he drove by in his bullet proof limo. He was a stocky man, his dark brown hair
greying all over. His coal black eyes sat above a hawkish nose, giving him a cruel and
predatory look. His lips were pulled thinly across his teeth, even in repose.
His thoughts were on the civil war as he was on his way to a meeting with St. Cyrina's
president, General Augusto. It was strange that Augusto had asked to see him personally,
normally they had only had contact in written corrospondents never face to face. Their
conversations had always been about one thing. Arms.
Shaun Quinn was an arms merchant, dealing under the import name of Patterson and Jewel. He
was one of the top arms dealers in the world. He'd started off selling guns in Northern
Ireland, where he'd grew up on the tough streets of Belfast. He'd buy second hand arms from
corrupt British soliders, selling them to the I.R.A. and U.D.L.A. so they could kill each
other and the soilders too.
Moving on from there he joined up with some larger clients, selling and providing arms for
the Argentinian forces in the Falklands War. Here some money was made, as was his taste for
a warmer climate. Then in the mid-eighties came St. Cyrina.
St. Cyrina had just had a military coup, and the new leader of the country, General Augusto,
was screaming for guns. Using the countries main crop, poppy fields, to pay for arms and
Quinn used this as calateral with his contacts in Europe. Russia was going through Glasnost,
the market full of weapons for sale. These were sold on and Quinn became a serious mover and
shaker in the arms world. That's when he moved to St. Cyrina, his best customer, and set up
Patterson and Jewel Exports as a cover for his operation. With Russia and Eastern Europe falling
apart the business was good, and thank God for Sadam Hussien, he thought with a smile.
His thoughts were pulled back to the present as the car started to slow, pulling into the ornate
gates of the Presidential Palace. The guards at the front gate saluted not stopping the car, all
of them knowing who the car belonged to. Apart from being a close friend of the President, Shaun
Quinn was the richest person on St. Cyrina.
The car stopped in the main courtyard outside of the Palace. Quinn's bodyguard got out of the car first
looking round the square. He was a big man. The dark loose fitting suit doing little to hide the swell
of muscle the man's arms and chest. His blond hair and green eyes, swept the surrounding area before
he opened Quinn's door. He nodded to his employer before allowing him to exit the vehical. Quinn
got out the car, straightening his light cotton jacket. He pulled his bodyguard closer to him, whispering
in his ear.
' Keep your wits about you in here, Kryzov.'
Kryzov Kiosova nodded curtly to his employer, a burly hand moving reassuringly to the Glock pistol under
his armpit. His green eyes swept the courtyard in a casual motion but the KGB trained eyes didn't miss a
single detail. Both men moved casually towards the main entrance of the Presidential Mansion, the guard
at the door saluting both men sharply.
' Why do you think he wants to see you?' asked Kryzov, his deep heavily accented voice bearly audable over
their footsteps. Quinn didn't answer his man, he just stared ahead lost in his own private thoughts. He had
wondering about that himself, several different ideas had been played out in his head. Not all of them
good.
Quinn's thoughts were brought back to the present as Kryzov, gave him a nudge. They were outside the office
of the President of St. Cyrina's office, General Emillo Augusto. The two guards outside the doors nodded their
their heads to acknowledge Quinn, before letting only him into the room containing the General.
General Emillo Augusto was sat at his desk, studying some papers intently. He looked up from his work when
Quinn entered, his bearded face splitting into a wide grin. He got up from his desk, moving round the desk
his arms open to embrace Quinn. ' Shaun, my friend good news.'
Quinn briefly embraced Augusto before pulling away and taking a seat at the desk. He flicked open a wooden box
on the desk, pulling a large cigar from it. He lit the cigar, filling the air with the fragrent smoke he exhaled.
He watch as the General took his seat. The man looked well for his fifty-two years, not as fit as he used to be
but still a quite trim figure in his military uniform.
' So, Emillo. What's this good news?' asked Quinn in his soft Irish brogue.
The grin on the General's face widened. ' The best kind of news, my friend.'
' So enlighten me.' pushed Quinn, letting out another ploom of smoke.
' I have some good news concerning the Junta.' said Augusto.
The Junta were the rebels camped out in the mountains and forets of the Island. They had been fighting the General's
forces for five years now, with various levels of success. Now it seemed that the General had made a breakthrough
maybe even found the headquarters of the Junta leaders. It was what the General needed, and if the war was going
to escalate then more weapons would be needed, Quinn thought with a smile. He realised he was sat on the very edge
of his seat he forced some control and sat back in his seat.
' So what is the good news.'
' I have been contacted by the leaders of the Junta.' said Augusto. ' They have had enough. They wish to talk about
a cease fire.'
The words hit Quinn like a tidal wave. He knew what the implications were for him, he didn't want to lose, couldn't
afford to lose the buisness which St. Cyrina supplied him. The money and the poppy fields he had access to. Although
arms were still his main line of work, the drugs were fast being more profitable. If the war ended on the Island
then he would lose control of the crops, and all the money that bought.
Quinn realised that Augusto had just finished talking. He forced a smile and nodded, sucking life back into the cigar
between his fingers. He realised that Augusto had just offered him a drink, to which he then shook hi head. ' I have
a buisness engagment, my friend.' he made his excuses. He got to his feet, and left the room.
Outside the room Kryzov saw the pensive look on his employers face. He didn't say anything until both men were down
the corridor. The pace was fast and furious as they reached the limo parked in the courtyard. The big bodyguard opened
the door for Quinn, stopping his employer.
' Not good news?' he asked.
Quinn gave him a mirthless smile. ' Let's just say I've had better days. Let's got back to the mansion we have plans to
make.'