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The Croesus Tithe

Trafford Publishing

Contents

Chapter 1 An Eye for an Eye......................................................1Chapter 2 An unholy Alliance comes together......................................11Chapter 3 So vulnerable, the Goose that lays the Golden Eggs.....................21Chapter 4 The Audacious plan is disclosed........................................27Chapter 5 Target : Jersey........................................................36Chapter 6 Polisario's lofty sanctuary............................................47Chapter 7 The stage is set for a 'Go' from Agadir................................56Chapter 8 The countdown begins...................................................67Chapter 9 Everything's set ....as an island slumbers.............................80Chapter 10 The upcoming clash of the Titans.......................................97Chapter 11 An incoming tide.......of Humanity.....................................116Chapter 12 Between a rock and a hard place!.......................................135Chapter 13 Arrivederci.......ROMA!................................................156Chapter 14 Liberation Day....again!...............................................176Chapter 15 If you play with fire, expect..........................................193Chapter 16 Those who live by the sword............................................211

Chapter One

It was just past 3.15 am that morning and everything was at rest, as it should be, two hours before daybreak. From the top of the hill overlooking Managua, Nicaragua's capital city, the urban sprawl was lit like a giant diadem enclosing the metropolis which squatted along the shore of the lake which bears its name. The city was more brightly lit than its surroundings, like a huge diamond occupying the centrepiece of the tiara of shimmering neon light.

There was a bright, full moon, with only a few clouds to be seen; otherwise the pale lit, night sky, comprised solely a myriad of twinkling stars from a billion or more miles away, making for a heavenly backdrop to the tranquility below.

Nothing stirred. Well, almost nothing; a solitary pair of tiny lights were on the move, along the road, heading south, out of the city towards Diriamba. The car was travelling along within the speed limit for that part of the town; well below the 80 kmph restriction, in fact.

The vehicle was motoring along at a steady 50kmph, as if the driver was lost or looking for something. To the casual observer, it could be construed the subdued pace was attention - worthy, suspicious even, especially at that time of the morning, with no other road users around.

The car ambled its way up the slight gradient, maintaining the same speed, almost certainly governed by a cruise control fitment and when it got to the top of the hill, its lights were extinguished and the engine switched off. The dark coloured saloon ran silently alongside the kerb for a few more yards and came to a stop between a couple of street lights, some one hundred yards apart. The time was now 3.25am. Nothing further occurred for a full five minutes: very suspicious!

Then, at precisely 3.30am, the driver got out, closing the door quietly and went to the rear of the vehicle. He looked around furtively, and then opened the boot, depositing a few things onto the pavement.

The man was dressed all in black, wearing a sort of jump suit, with a tight fitting hood attached. He looked around again and then picked up a large backpack, pulled it on and slung a couple of smaller items over his shoulder. He closed the boot lid, again quietly and after a final look-see, he jogged away from the vehicle towards a metal fence bordering the road.

He was up and over it in a couple of swift movements and then started a quick walk up the hillside beyond. Two minutes more and he was out of sight of the road. A few clouds passed across the face of the moon, temporarily obscuring the pale lunar light but soon the moon-glow was restored.

The lone figure moved stealthily up to the top of the hill and, after a brief look back from whence he came, he moved beyond the crest of it and was gone. He walked purposefully down part of the far slope of the hill and, finding a flat piece of ground overlooking a large property some one hundred feet below his vantage point, he stopped. He man-handled the heavy rucksack off his shoulders and put it down, along with the other items he was carrying. He stooped towards the edge of the hillside, took out a small telescope from the breast pocket of his jump suit, squatted down and surveyed the scene below him.

Through his spyglass, equipped with 'night-site' optics, the isolated property he was interested in was lit up in green 'daylight,' as he slowly traversed the target area. The building was a ranch-style, two storey, eight bedroomed, house he'd been told beforehand by his boss, Ernesto Alvarez. He concentrated on the flat roof area towards the rear of the substantial construction and its proximity to the walled garden surrounding the place. It was clearly well guarded, with a few figures walking about, some with dogs, even at that time of the morning.

He counted three security guards slowly patrolling the outside of the premises, all with dogs on leashes, those that he could see, at any rate and two more standing either side of the large front door.

His scan revealed an inner fence, some twenty five yards back from the garden wall and he counted half a dozen dogs wandering around or lying down in the space between the fence and the wall.

"Hopping over the garden wall is no option with this place," he whispered to himself, as he continued to consider the scene. A few moments later, he lowered his spyglass, collapsed it into a quarter of its viewing size and put it back into his breast pocket. He looked at his watch, just as the moon clouded over again but the luminous dial clearly showed it was 3.42am.

He left his observation position and returned to the flat area where his equipment was located. He opened the large rucksack and pulled out the contents; an assembly kit for a paraglide. It took Manuel Cortez, Ernesto's Guatemalan 'retributionist,' (he hated the term 'assassin', considering it to be a cowardly description of him and his work) about fifteen minutes to erect the triangular gliding apparatus.

Having satisfied himself that all the fittings were firmly secured, he picked up the smaller satchel he had with him, slung it over his shoulder and moved, with the glider, back to his reconnaissance point.

Taking out his spyglass once more, he re-surveyed the scene below him. All seemed set; everything appeared as tranquil as before and even the clouds obliged him. A large expanse of darker clouds was following behind the pale clouds now passing in front of the lunar body.

"Time to go, I think - I won' t get a better opportunity for it," he said to himself, as he held up the black linen apparatus above his head, adjusted his grip on the paraglide and, having taken a few backward steps, ran towards the observation point with it. Within a foot of the edge of the hillside, he launched himself into the air and was immediately aloft, with little noise from the 'lift off,' he determined.

A few seconds later, he'd steadied himself into a comfortable position, as the craft glided silently in a circle,...