The third tense and compelling thriller to feature The Watchman - deep cover specialist Marc Portman Marc Portman, codename Watchman, is in Russia providing covert back-up to wealthy Russian businessman Leonid Tzorekov. A former KGB officer sympathetic to the West, Tzorekov has close links with Vladimir Putin and is planning to use his influence with the President to improve relations between Russia, the USA and the European Union. However, there are those with vested interests in maintaining hostilities: powerful men who will go to any lengths to ensure the proposed meeting does not take place. The Watchman’s role is to run security, evaluate risks and, where necessary, provide hard cover by taking more direct action and fighting back. When the assignment takes an unexpected turn, Portman has no choice but to take the hard cover option … “Magson writes well and informatively about the spy game” ― Publishers Weekly "I look forward to reading any further adventures of Marc Portman and in fact any new books by this very talented and exciting author. Very strongly recommended" ― Euro Crime "Nonstop action" ― Kirkus Reviews “Deft writing, high-octane action, taut suspense, and plenty of twists make this a gripping read for those who like their spies more like Alex Berenson’s John Wells than le Carré’s Smiley” ― Booklist Adrian Magson is the author of 20 crime and spy thrillers. His series protagonists include Gavin & Palmer, Harry Tate, Marc Portman, Insp Lucas Rocco and Gonzales & Vaslik. He is also the author of 'Write On!' a writer's help book. Hard Cover A Marc Portman Thriller By Adrian Magson Severn House Publishers Limited Copyright © 2016 Adrian Magson All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-84751-710-4 CHAPTER 1 Ciudad Madero – Gulf Coast of Mexico Competence. It's a sure-fire way to get yourself noticed by a suspicious security professional. Most people on the street look unassuming, engrossed in their own brand of the everyday. They don't have what's called 'presence' – at least not the threatening kind. Many professionals on the other hand, if they're not mindful, look anything but. Something in their training and motivation gives them an indefinable aura that sets them apart from those around them. To a watchful eye, it's the heads-up, can-do attitude that spells potential trouble. Like a wolf in a woolly coat, it might look like a sheep and smell like a sheep; but if it walks like something hairy, it's time to take a closer look. Which was why I was shuffling along with my head down, hiding beneath a grubby two-sizes-up faded and beat-up camo jacket and hood with make-do patches on the elbows. I was stopping every now and then to change hands with the box I was carrying, an old television carton which looked a lot heavier than it actually was. But that was part of the plan. Looking vulnerable, which I did by stopping every few yards and flexing my fingers, means you don't appear to be a threat. The man standing outside the gates of the workshop yard didn't look the sympathetic type. The bulge under his coat told me and anybody who cared to look that he was armed, and he worked hard on living the image; he was big and shaven-headed, and sneered every time I stopped. When he spat on the ground and it landed too close to my foot to be an accident, I figured it was his way of passing the time and intimidating people he didn't like the look of. Sophisticated. I dropped my shoulders and wrapped a piece of my sleeve around my hand, then grabbed the string again and went to shuffle past him. By then he'd lost interest and turned his head to check the street the other way. Big mistake. Just before I drew level with him I pushed my fist through a slit in the cardboard and pulled out a piece of four-by-two hardwood timber I'd found in a dumpster back down the street. It was eighteen inches long and had a nicely balanced feel to it, although I doubt the guard would have agreed. When I swung it at the back of his head he went down and out without a sound. I dragged him off the street and through the pedestrian door set in one of the gates, and rolled him behind an old car body that was slowly rotting into the ground. I slapped a length of heavy tape across his mouth and did the same on his wrists and ankles, and just for luck used a further length to secure both ankles and wrists together so he couldn't kick out when he woke up. Inside his coat I found a Czech-made Browning semi- automatic in a nylon holster. It was a nice piece but hadn't been cleaned in a while. In his side pocket was an unopened packet of condoms and a fat silencer the size of a small beer bottle. It looked professionally made but unbranded. It didn't smell used, so I figured he probably got it out when he wanted to impress the ladies, with the condoms on stand-by in case he got lucky. I stripped out the magazine and tossed it out of sight behind the car, and threw the gun through the window into the rotting interio