Deep cover specialist Marc Portman uncovers a secret deal that could make billions in oil revenue … or topple two governments. Portman’s latest assignment is providing back-up for a French intelligence agent sent to recover a hard drive from one of the most dangerous cities on the planet: Mogadishu in Somalia. What he hasn’t been told is that the device records secret negotiations between two leading western nations and a hardline terrorist organisation responsible for killing thousands of innocent people. When the decision is taken to abandon the talks, anybody in the know immediately becomes a target to be silenced. And Portman finds himself at the top of the list … "Two thumbs way up for this heart-stopping, exhilarating action thriller" ― Booklist Starred Review Adrian Magson was previously shortlisted for the Crime Writers’ Association’s Debut Dagger Award. He is the author of three previous Marc Portman thrillers, as well as the Harry Tate, Lucas Rocco and Riley Gavin/Frank Palmer series. He has also written a writers’ help book based on his ‘Beginners’ column in Writing Magazine. He lives in Gloucestershire. Dark Asset A Marc Portman Thriller By Adrian Magson Severn House Publishers Limited Copyright © 2017 Adrian Magson All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-84751-793-7 CHAPTER 1 I was six floors up in an abandoned office project with a dead man for company when I heard the sound of engines. Two at a guess, driven hard and sliding to a stop nearby followed by the sound of doors slamming, running footsteps and a lot of shouting. A corner window gave me a grandstand view of the surrounding area, which included a collection of clearance sites once marked for rebuilding that never happened, a dense spread of squalid residential housing running out to the old port of Mogadishu and the choppy inshore waters of the Indian Ocean. The new arrivals had stopped about eighty yards back in the parking lot. Two grey Mitsubishi pickups with tinted glass, disgorging six men in combat uniform, armed and ready for a fight. Al-Shabaab, Somali troops or African Union? It was hard to tell. Al-Shabaab were well-versed in passing themselves off as regular army so they could slip into the capital to carry out regular bombing campaigns. Dressing the part had worked well in the past and served as useful propaganda, proving that they could go wherever they pleased while making Mogadishu one of the most dangerous places on the planet. Whoever these guys were, arriving right now made an already hazardous situation a lot worse. This building, part of a dead dream of commercial growth several years back, had long been stripped of anything useful, especially hiding places and secret portals to somewhere safer. The elevator was lying in a heap at the bottom of its shaft, and every sound of movement echoed the length of the stairwell like a boom box. If I could have chosen a bad place to be, this had to be high on the list. I watched as the men spread out across the parking lot. The way they moved told me all I needed to know: they were committed, armed with modern weapons, and looked too well-drilled to be extremists. Worse, they looked ready for trouble and I got the sense that they weren't expecting to take prisoners. Not surprising in a country where the rule of law comes mainly out of a gun and dissenters have a habit of disappearing. My only professional criticism might have been that they should have approached more cautiously, rather than running across open ground with no cover like they were going to the chuck wagon for coffee and donuts. Even as I thought it, someone down there showed the same line of thought. There was a shout and three of the men in the centre dropped to their knees and sprayed the front of the building at ground level with automatic gunfire. After the near-silence that had greeted my arrival, save for a few bird noises and the distant flap-flap from a piece of loose fascia board on the front of the building, it was a brutal invasion, the thump of shots impacting on the walls downstairs and echoing upwards like a trip hammer. That told me they were serious. Always good to know. Then they upped the ante. The three other men took their place and began firing at the other windows, moving up floor by floor and stopping only to change magazines. While they did that the first three men took over, leaving no window untouched. It was a murderous assault geared to kill and intimidate. From my perch I saw a shower of cement and cinderblock fragments raining to the ground, and could feel the snapping ricochet of shells bouncing around the inside of the building as the shockwaves moved up inside the structure. If I'd been on one of the floors below, I'd have been dead meat. It was time to move out and I only had seconds left to do it. I figured any locals hearing the sustained gunfire would ignore it and stay out of the way. Mogadishu was well known for bursts of random fighting, and it was wise n