Dave Owen grew up in the middle of the Suffolk countryside, spending a lot of the time with his father, who was the local poacher. He soon learnt how to look after himself and live off the land, but above all it taught him to rely on nobody.
Not having many school chums he spent very little time playing, he would usually be found in the woodlands after game, which was also the way he made his pocket money. Having had a bicycle accident early in his life, which had left him with a bad scar on his upper lip, he always felt self conscious about it, so with this scar on his mind he had no time for school boy romances thinking the girls would laugh at him. Although he caught a lot of game he had a great respect for all wild life and did not kill indiscriminately.
His father had died when he was fourteen, so being the oldest of four children it had fallen on his shoulders to provide for the family, as his mother was in poor health. After about two years of this he became very hard and ruthless but did a good job in helping the family through those hard years.
He had joined the Royal Marine Commandos at the age of nineteen. The training had been hard, but Dave had enjoyed it and found it easier than most of the recruits fellows. His ruthlessness came to the front and he stood out amongst most of his fellow recruits. Everything he put his hands to he would come out on top. He wasn’t happy unless he could be first, but he was a good looser. It was here that most people noticed he was a born leader, but for some reason he would not accept promotion, which baffled his superior officers. He had seen active service in Brunei, Sarawak and North Borneo.
Upon his discharge, he’d offered his services to the Belgian Congo, and two years fighting for large sums of money, had convinced Dave that he had a gun to hire, to the highest bidder of course. He later spent sometime in the Gulf Area and Angola where he had been wounded in the leg.
So why, was he standing on the old brick humped back bridge near the Shepherd and Dog public house, on the outskirts of Stowmarket? This was the location Dave had been given in a long brown envelope delivered to his home address. It had also contained £200 and a note saying that if he was interested in obtaining a large sum of money, he was to be at this location at 2.30pm.
Dave leaned over the parapet and looked down into the crystal clear water and watched the fish swimming about. He flicked a small stone and watched the fish dart away. Glancing at his watch he noticed it was dead on 2.30pm. At that moment he heard a car approaching as he turned round and looked up, he saw a, grey Rolls Royce parking in the layby near the bridge.
A large gent in a grey suit and sporting a small moustache and beard got out and walked over to him. “David Owen”, he asked, holding out his hand.
“That’s me”, replied David clasping the gent’s hand and shaking it firmly.
I was told you’re an honest man and earn your living by the gun, how would you like to earn £50.000 for a few days work?
“Depends”, said Dave, “but carry on”.
“Well there is a group of terrorists called The Peoples Liberation Army who are always taking my fellow countrymen hostage, from anywhere in the world and holding them or killing them. Now I know where this gang is operating, from. There are four of them and I want them killed. Are you interested”?
“Carry on”, replied Dave.
The man then opened a large envelope from which he withdrew four photographs. “These are the men, they are staying at an army camp in the country of Balluta near the border with Zanimba in Africa”. The man then handed Dave a map with the location of the terrorists hiding place. “In another three weeks they will be going on another raid, where I do not know, so you must get them before the 29th of this month. £15.000 now and the rest deposited anywhere in the world on completion. I represent a lot of people all over the world, but they will not come out into the open, so you will be on your own. We’ll disown you. One thing you might like to know is Zanimba is not on good terms with the terrorists or the Ballutean Government, after a few border raids in the past, but they will not declare this in public”.
“How can I reach you?” asked Dave.
“You can’t, you must trust me and give me your answer now”.
Dave nodded, “okay, where is the cash?”
The gent withdrew £15.000 from the envelope. “I will have no say in how you go about this, Dave. You use who you like”.
“Right all I want from you, Mr. Err?”
The gent never answered.
“Never mind, your name doesn’t matter”. What I was about to say was, I want no publicity out of this if I’m successful. Once my cover is blown no one will hire me again, and as you know this is how I earn my living. By the way how did you get my name?”
The gent smiled. “You once completed a successful snatch of an Arab Guerrilla from Jordan didn’t you?”
“I might have “, replied Dave.
“Well your paymaster on that one is known to me”.
The gent was a bit cagey, as Dave could possibly trace him via this man. They shook hands and parted, Dave thumbing through the cash.
© Copyright Terrance Aspinall All rights reserved. 1978