When watching a James Bond movie, have you ever wondered about all those mercenaries running around when the bad guys headquarters were blowing up? If they survived, they weren’t going to get paid. The boss was dead. What’s up with that? Besides that, have you ever wondered how boring it must have been for the duke and duchess of Windsor just floating around the world with nothing to do? What if they were super spies–a la James Bond–and MI6 decided they better served the country as spies than on the throne of England? So this is basically what my new novel is about. No, this didn’t really happened, but let’s just pretend.

Leon Johnson did not know how to feel–nervous, afraid, excited or just numb. He sat behind the wheel of a military truck on a moonlit road outside the Old Palace in Canterbury, England.
Most of his life Leon taught himself to be inured to the cruelties that engulfed him on Eleuthera, one of the outer islands of the Bahamas. Rich people did not go there to gamble, bathe in the surf, drink, and dance with other men’s wives. People on Eleuthera were much too busy trying not to die. They were descendants of slaves brought to the Bahamas by their masters after the American Revolution. Somewhere along the way they were freed. Leon often heard the old men in his village discuss which was worse—to die as slaves or die with an illusion of freedom. Either way they ended up dead.
Two hulking men in dark clothes dragged an old man out, down a gravel path through a wrought iron gate and tossed him into the canvas-covered back of the truck. The captive wore pajamas and a fine linen robe. A rough sack was tied over his head, and his hands were bound by rope. Without a word they disappeared down one of the dark narrow streets of Canterbury. Leon started the engine and slowly, as though beginning a routine delivery, pulled away from the Old Palace which, he had been told, served as the residence of the archbishop.
Leon did not know, nor did he care to know, the identities of the kidnappers. The crime syndicate had trained him not to ask questions. Each individual task of a mission had its own minions known only to themselves and their contact in Eleuthera. If they completed their goal they were paid immediately and told to disperse and wait until the next job came along. If they did not complete their mission or if the client did not survive, they were paid nothing and were left to their own devices to return home.
The international business had no name. No one knew who was in charge. The mastermind may have indeed lived in the Caribbean or in the United States, Great Britain, China or South Africa. The contacts reported to intermediaries who answered to regional supervisors who took orders from continental managers. Only those six managers knew the supreme leader.
The Bahamas were a favorite recruiting ground for the organization, along with the jungles of Africa and South America, the High Plains of North America, the deserts of Asia, the Outback of Australia and the slums of Europe. The intermediaries and the supervisors were always on the lookout for young men with an intense need to survive. Leon was one of those. His father was eaten by a great white shark while fishing. If he had not accepted the offer of his Eleuthera contact, Leon might have died himself trying to provide for his mother and sisters. Like the old men in his village used to say, what difference does it make how you earn money if you end up dying anyway? And if he did survive, Leon would be paid enough to support his family on Eleuthera for a year.
Leon drove down the rough dirt road until he saw the massive ruins of Canterbury Castle silhouetted against the cold November moon. Parking in front of the only door to the old Norman fortress he waited, according to his instructions, for men to come down the steps to take the prisoner from the back of the truck. Eventually, two men of ungraceful comportment trudged up to the vehicle and dragged out the old man and started back up the stairs.
Leon leaned out of the window. “What do I do next?”
The larger of the two men turned to snarl, “And what kind of arse might ye be?”
“I’m a new arse to the organization and I don’t want to mess things up and not get paid,” he informed the man.
“Fair enough. Stay where ye are. It might be a few hours before we get word about the exchange.”
“What exchange?” As soon as he asked Leon regretted the question.
“None of ye damned business.”
“It’ll be your damned business if the sun comes up and the townsfolk see a black man in a truck outside Canterbury Castle.”
Spitting, the man acquiesced. “Very well, park the truck in the back and come inside. We’ll be downstairs.”
Hopefully, there would be a fire downstairs, Leon thought. He was not used to the cold winds of the English countryside. After he hid the truck he scampered up the steps into the castle and down the stairs where he watched the two men dragged the old man further down into the dungeon.
“Please, please,” the old man whimpered. “Slow down so I can get my feet under me.”
“Shut up. We’re in a hurry.”
Leon’s neck burned red from anger. He might have turned to a life of crime to survive, but cruelty to small animals, children and old people went beyond the pall of decency. He followed at a distance to see where the men took the old man. They threw him into an ancient cell and slammed the door shut. The bigger man stuck his hand out.
“Gimme the key.”
“I don’t have no key,” the younger man exclaimed. “Who the hell would I be askin’ for a key to a ruin like this? Are ye daft, man?’
“Then stay here and make sure he don’t escape!”
“I’m not staying in this muck ‘n’ mire!” He looked over at Leon. “Have him do it! Make ‘im earn his pay!”
“Sure,” Leon replied. “I don’t mind.”
The leader bumped his way past Leon toward the upper level. “Damned fool way to run things!”
When they were gone, Leon opened the door and knelt by the old man. “Ol’ man, are you all right? Did they hurt you?”
The old man mumbled something. Leon could not understand him through the hood. “Let me take this off your head.”
“No, no. I mustn’t see who you are.” He spoke louder and more distinctly. “Then I would be required to identify you when I am released. I want no harm to come to you, my son. “After a pause, he added, “I am fine, young friend.”