An Ungentlemanly Act

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  Harry Flynn regarded himself in the mirror as he considered that last evening’s events then smiled knowingly from beneath the thick white beard. With a few decisive strokes of the razor the shaving foam was gone. Rinsing his face before patting it dry with the hand towel, he turned and padded barefoot from the bathroom.

  She was still in bed, face down and naked, sleeping the sleep of the dead. Flynn gently pulled back the covers to reveal what lay beneath then bent to kiss the base of her spine. Working his way slowly up, he brushed aside the long black hair and set to work on her neck. She was awake now and groaned softly as he nuzzled her ear. She turned to lay on her back and Flynn felt her arms about his bare shoulders.

  “Darling.” She sighed as their lips met. Tentative at first, the kisses became more intense as she ran her hands along his back. Flynn pulled away the bath towel to reveal his own nakedness and slid sideways into bed.

  The brittle peal of the telephone was at first ignored, Flynn groped for then picked up the receiver and dropped it back onto its cradle.

  “Where were we?” he smiled down at her

  “Just about here.” She giggled, as her head left the pillow to kiss him.

  “Damn it!” Flynn spat when the telephone once more sprang into life.

  “Leave it.” She pleaded as his arm reached over to the bedside table.

  “Yes?” Flynn demanded as soon as he got the receiver to his ear. He listened for a time before ending the call with a terse “I’ll be there shortly.”

  Flynn kissed her hard on the lips before breaking away....

Later, at Department Seven HQ in Trafalgar Square, London.

  The door which was his destination had the same ‘Knock Before Entering’ sign as the others. Failing to comply, Flynn had his hand on the brass knob and pushed it open.   

  He expected Mrs Hamilton to be occupying her usual position behind her desk to the right hand side of the room, but instead she was at the opposite wall, flicking through the contents of one of the bank of grey metal filing cabinets which lined it. Flynn stopped briefly on the threshold and regarded her.

  Mrs Hamilton was in her mid-forties but, as Flynn would often remark of some ladies of similar vintage, was ‘remarkably well preserved’. She was tall, perhaps five-feet eight, with a well curved figure and ample breasts. Her blonde hair was etched with strands of silver, swept back from her face and contained by a snood so it lay in the nape of her neck.

  Looking every inch the efficient secretary, she was wearing a nicely tailored biscuit brown twill suit, with a skirt that ended just below the knee. The two inch heels of the brown suede shoes shaped her bare ankles nicely, giving Flynn pause for thought as his eyes wondered from shoe to hemline and back again.

  “Hello Mrs Hamilton.” Flynn said. She turned away from her work to look at him.

  “Hello Captain Flynn.” She replied, the vermilion lipstick accentuating the beginnings of a smile which Flynn interpreted as an invitation to further conversation.

  Their eyes remained fixed on one another as each attempted to read the others thoughts. Flynn was under no illusion that she knew he coveted her and, despite - or perhaps even because - of the fact she was married, he remained determined to achieve his objective. She was delicious and he wanted her and was sure, despite her hard to get act, that the feeling was mutual....

A couple of extracts from my first book ‘An Ungentlemanly Act’ and the chapter entitled ‘A Red File For Flynn, which was the first book of an intended series of five. To my great surprise it ‘charted’ in the top ten bestsellers in both the UK and US (within its Amazon category). Extracts from the second book ‘Execution of Duty’ can be found i another thread in this section of the site. If anyone’s interested they are available on Amazon. Simply search Amazon for the titles by ‘Frank Marker’.

Please note: When copy/pasting to the site breaks in the text become double spaced.

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Another couple of extracts where Flynn has encounters with Ava Golightly (the main female character in the book) in the chapter ‘The Scent of a Woman’. For context’s sake Flynn is now in Spain at an MI9 forward HQ.

  “Thank you, sir.” Replied Flynn as he got to his feet. As he turned to leave he got his first glimpse of Miss Golightly.

  He didn’t know what to expect from the Colonel’s secretary, but he certainly didn’t expect this.

  She was tall, with flowing blonde hair set in the latest fashion. Her hair framed her impeccably made up face before cascading in soft curls about her shoulders. The prim black crepe twin set was decorated by an expensive looking gold necklace and matching brooch, while the cut of cloth barely hid the subtlety of her curves.

  Flynn enthusiastically followed on behind as she turned to lead him along the hallway towards the foot of the staircase.

  “Miss Golightly.” Flynn opened. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Veronica Lake?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact they have.” She replied indifferently as she ascended the wooden stairs to the first floor landing.

  Flynn remained in hot pursuit and could not tear his eyes away from her flanks as they moved hypnotically beneath the skirt....

And later on...

 Once on the ground and  while staying close to the wall, quickly but silently Flynn made his way around the corner and across the terrace then forwards into the deep shadow offered by a large ornamental bush. There he waited expectantly at the crouch for a couple of minutes or so.

  As Flynn expected, soon the dog and its handler hove into view. They were about forty yards away, moving from left to right across his field of view. The beast was working off the long leash and had its head in and out of the undergrowth at the base of the perimeter wall as it sniffed its way along the edge of the lawn. The handler looked alert and had a Sten gun dangling from a sling over his right shoulder.

  The regiment of crickets providing the background music to the scene were in fine voice, chirping loudly enough to disguise extraneous noises from the sensitive ears of the big slobbering hound. 

  Flynn remained perfectly still until he lost sight of the dog team as they passed behind the Nissan huts. Just to be sure, he waited a few seconds more before sprinting low and fast the fifteen yards to the target building.

  His casual questioning earlier had also allowed him to identify Miss Golightly’s apartment and, hugging the building for cover, he trod quietly along the cinder path to the farthest door.

  The windows were shuttered, but the light and sound of a wireless peculated from within. Drawing breath, Flynn rapped softly on the door.

  “Yes?” The chocolate smooth voice that was unmistakably Golightly’s spoke out from behind.

  “It’s me,” Flynn said, sticking to his cover name “Sean.”

  He heard the click of the latch and the door opened just enough to allow her face to appear.

  “What on earth?” She said.

  “Please let me in” Flynn continued “before I get eaten by that damned dog.”

  She stood aside and swung the door ajar, Flynn needed no further invitation and he was inside, closing the door behind him.

  “Ava” Flynn said, knowing her Christian name after hearing it during the formal introductions at dinner. “I just had to come.”

  She had changed into a white silk dressing gown which was low cut at the cleavage and tight in all the right places. She seemed unperturbed enough by Flynn’s presence not to care about her immodesty.

  “Don’t you know that had the guards seen you, you would probably have been shot?” She said testily.

  “I didn’t realise they were under orders to kill anyone who tried to come knocking at your door after dark.” He replied, gently ribbing.

  “You know full well what I mean. They would have taken you for an enemy.” She snapped.

  “Oh.” Flynn smiled. “I’m anything but. I can assure you my intentions are friendly”

  “Though not honourable.” Ava retorted.

  “That, my dear, is a matter for speculation.” Flynn said. “I’m going away tomorrow. You know a little of what I am about to face, so is it a crime to want to spend some time enjoying the company of a beautiful lady?”

  “It all depends upon your definition of ‘spending time’.” Golightly crossed to the corner and opened a small drinks cabinet. Flynn watched her all the way. She produced a bottle of Glendronach and two glasses.

  “A drink?” She purred.

  “Yes please.” Flynn replied. “I must say you have impeccable taste in whisky.”

  He watched her pour two generous measures.

  “I don’t have any ice, I’m afraid. Would you like soda?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  She picked up both glasses and held one out to Flynn, forcing him towards her. Flynn obliged, taking the glass and a long pull from it.

  Golightly regarded him as she sipped her own drink.

  “Are you afraid?” she said softly, momentarily shedding some of her defences.

  “No.” Flynn replied, his expression deadpan. “I have been alone with a woman before.”

  “Damn you!” She said. “You know very well what I mean. Afraid about your mission.”

  “Apprehensive perhaps. No use being afraid because once you let fear get hold of you, you’re finished.”

  “I’ve seen the file.” Golightly continued, her voice etched with concern. “I know who you are going up against and they sound incredibly dangerous. We’ve lost two of our men to them already.”

  Gently she put her hand over Flynn’s.

  “Please promise me you’ll be careful.”

  “That’s the one thing I can’t do.” Flynn said truthfully.

  He laid his empty glass onto the cabinet and gently relieved Golightly of her own, setting it down beside his. He gently stroked her face, tracing a line from her cheekbone to her chin. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, exposing her neck in invitation. Flynn bent forwards and kissed her. She responded, reaching up to put her arms around him. Flynn’s hands were in her hair before falling to her waist. Then, in one move, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her into the bedroom...

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I forgot to mention that the books are set in WW2.

I visualised the scenes as I wrote them and in my mind's eye this is Harry Flynn, Miss Golightly and the main villain of the piece, the leader of the Brandenburg (WW2 Nazi special forces) detachment Flynn goes up against. I thought an imagining of a character based on Reinhard Heydrich to be perfect for the 'baddie'.

As for Flynn himself, he's about as far from Bond as it's possible to be. He's a career criminal who was recruited into Department Seven. If hiring a felon seems a bit far fetched then I refer you to google with the name 'Eddie Chapman' (Flynn is partly based on him too). In fact, just to save those interested some time, here's some blurb about him from MI5. https://www.mi5.gov.uk/history/world-war-ii/eddie-chapman-agent-zigzag

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I hope I'm not boring too many people.

Anyway, here's another extract. It appears at the end of the chapter ‘All or Nothing’ Flynn where has his first proper encounter with the enemy.

FYI: As with the other posts, passages have been removed to condense the posts. Where it occurs you’ll find them marked by ....

  Flynn had been studying his rear view mirror intermittently for the past minute or so. At first he thought he was mistaken, but now he knew his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. The two pinpricks of light marked the presence of a vehicle following along behind. It was hard to determine distances in the dark but Flynn guessed it to be about a quarter of a mile away. On his inbound journey he had not encountered any other vehicles on this lonely road. He knew no one had left the finca immediately after him, besides which, his own speed was such that it was unlikely any of Raul’s group who were travelling this way would have caught him up.

 Given the road conditions it was difficult to keep watch so, for now he concentrated on what lay to his front.   

  Flynn negotiated the latest of the never-ending sharp corners then, taking the opportunity to make his move while his shadow was out of sight, he slid the car into second gear and planted his foot hard on the accelerator. The roadster surged forward, eager to please. Flynn held the steering wheel tightly, going quickly up through the gears. Staring hard into the tunnel of light cast by his headlamps, he increased his speed, braking briefly then slamming the gear lever into third as he went hard into the next bend. The roadster slewed sideways as its tyres fought for grip on the loose dirt.

  Instinctively, Flynn corrected the skid and quickly had the car’s nose pointing back onto the road. He seemed to be on one of the few relatively straight sections now and, although the road was severely corrugated, he managed to maintain control while keeping the accelerator on the floor.

  Quickly, yet for as long as he dared, Flynn looked into the mirror. Sure enough, through his wake of dust, the headlights were still behind and matching him for speed. If he wasn’t certain before of the possibility that the car may be being driven by an innocent road user, Flynn’s suspicions had now been well and truly confirmed. He was being pursued alright, and he had little doubt that those doing the following would have intentions which were far from benign....

  Flynn put the roadster through a series of shallow S bends without taking his foot off the gas. Glancing in the mirror, he could see that the lights were sticking with him. He acknowledged that whoever was at the wheel of the pursuing car knew what he was doing, and obviously in charge of a vehicle which had been modified for the purpose of high speed pursuit, thus allowing the driver to keep pace with his - Flynn’s - own sports car....  

  His mind racing in time with his engine, Flynn determined to finish things as soon as conditions allowed. He cursed the fact that he had put the hood up before setting off, as he now had no field of fire out to the rear. Another glance in the mirror told him that the car was still there, perhaps even having gained on him a little. The driver was good alright, but Flynn was gambling that he wouldn't be good enough to avoid his next move.

  Flynn threw the roadster into the hairpin bend at the base of a large outcrop of rock. This was it! No good waiting for another spot! Finish it now! As soon as he was through he braked, bringing his car to a long slithering halt. Lights off and into reverse gear, he backed up at speed for twenty yards or so then waited.

  Above the burble of his own engine, he began to hear the tortured scream of another. Looking over his shoulder through the blanket of dust hanging thick in the still air, Flynn saw the twin beams of powerful headlights illuminating the crest of the bend and stabbing out across into the blackness of the scrub. His hand fell to the gear lever, double checking that it was indeed still in reverse. Shifting his weight slightly, he craned sideways as far as he was able in order to better position himself to see out of the small back window. His heart was pounding in anticipation of what was to come and he realised his throat was tinder dry. He gulped, but to no avail, then blinked away the cold sweat which had beaded across his forehead and was now threatening his vision.

  Suddenly, the car rounded the corner, lurching awkwardly as it came. It was travelling far too fast for the bend and sliding out dangerously on its tail end, the plumes of dust billowing from the driving wheels telling their own story of the manoeuvre. While the combination of speed and tightness of the corner would have most likely sent many vehicles careering away into the depths of the undergrowth, somehow the driver held it in check. The powerful lights swung and slewed in time with the skid until they fell on Flynn. Immediately, the interior of the roadster was illuminated in cold white light, partially dazzling him.

  Even though he was expecting it, the speed of the vehicle had rather taken Flynn by surprise. He set the roadster into a fast reverse, stamping on the clutch just in time. By the time the driver of the other car realised what was happening it was too late...CRASH... he ran headlong into the back of the B38. The render of collision was as loud as it was definite, a thunderclap of broken glass and twisted metal which rolled away into the darkness above the noise of racing engines.

  Although Flynn had braced in anticipation of the impact, he found himself thrown forward, smashing his chest hard into the steering wheel as the roadster itself was shunted many yards by the opposing car. He gasped in pain, cursed, and then seamlessly pushed the gear lever into first.

  Because he had disengaged the clutch, the roadster’s engine was still running and with his foot planted heavily on the throttle he made to accelerate away from the scene.

  To Flynn’s consternation the car faltered, its driving wheels spinning wildly on the loose road surface.

  “Bloody hell!” He thought, fear suddenly rising in his stomach as he realised what had happened.

  He was hung up! The bumper bars of both cars had become entangled in the collision, preventing him from driving away. Flynn rammed the gear lever into reverse then drove backwards hard. Big and heavy, the other car wasn’t going anywhere. Vaguely, through the rear view mirror, amid the dust and diffused lamplight, Flynn registered dark figures tumbling out of open doors. In a matter of seconds they would be on him, shooting or dragging him from the car.

  Flynn threw the gear lever into first and pressed his foot down hard on the gas. His free hand went for his gun in more of a reflex gesture than any realistic hope of fighting his way out of his predicament. He could still see the shadowy figures in his wing mirrors. They had sprung forward as one and were now almost at the flanks of his car. He saw a flash, the rear quarter light splintered, the bullet embedding itself in the passenger seat and causing Flynn to duck ineffectually in response.

  With a tremendous screech of metal against metal, the roadster tore itself free then lurched forward awkwardly as the rear wheels fought hard to find some semblance of grip. Immediately Flynn heard the report of guns; two, perhaps three, pistols rattling quickly in succession, the noise breaking in sharply above the roar of his engine. Whoever was doing the shooting were now probably aiming for his tyres or fuel tank and he heard the dull clang of metal against metal as several rounds struck the bodywork somewhere behind him. Through the noise and confusion, Flynn’s subconscious registered the frantic whir of a self-starter as he himself grabbed at the gear lever in preparation of a racing change into second. Not having time to counter, the other driver had obviously stalled the engine and was now trying desperately to bring it back to life.

  Flynn’s objective was simple, while his car could withstand an impact from the rear without sustaining mechanical damage, for the opposing vehicle it was a different story. He had planned to smash the radiator and render the car undriveable. Though he would have liked to also place a couple of shots into the radiator and the driver’s side of the windscreen just to make sure, the fact that the hood was up meant he knew he would have to flee while hoping for the best.   

  Flynn was beyond pistol range now and still accelerating hard. He flicked the light switch and grinned mirthlessly as he looked in his rear view mirror to see the act now playing itself out within the pool of light cast by a solitary headlamp. The figures had stopped shooting and were scrambling back to the vehicle. Flynn briefly let the relief wash over him. His gamble had almost backfired. He had been very lucky to escape death or capture in those seconds just past. He shoved these thoughts away as quickly as they had appeared; putting everything to one side for now in order to concentrate on what was to come....

  He wanted to look at the damage to his own car so as to give himself a better understanding of the fate of the other. He stopped briefly then alighted to examine it. The damage was much worse than he expected. The whole rear of the B38 was more or less concertinaed almost to the trailing edges of the rear wheel arches. Such had been the force of the collision that the boot lid had come away at the hinges and presumably remained back at the crash site, along with all the glass from his rear lights. The bumper bar was equally the worse for wear, twisted out at the bottom edge at one point, signifying where it had become entangled with the other car then ripped away as Flynn made his escape.

   As Flynn was about to climb back behind the wheel he glanced rearward. The single light riding the road in the distance told its own story. His plan hadn’t worked! In spite of the collision, the car wasn’t immobilised! It was still following on, though it quickly became apparent that it was now travelling much slower than before. Rather than the devastating knockout blow Flynn had aimed to deliver, the crash damage the vehicle had sustained was such that it could still follow on in loose pursuit.... 

 

  Flynn jumped into the roadster and set off once more, picking up the pace quickly, hoping to leave his tormentors limping along far behind. He didn’t spare the roadster as he negotiated several dizzyingly tight corners. Despite having its rear end crumpled, his vehicle was still driving well.

  Flynn soon found himself on another straight. As soon as he saw it he knew this was his opportunity to leave the other car behind once and for all.

  Putting his foot hard down, Flynn motored along for about seven hundred yards over the gently undulating track. Another ten minutes at this speed and the pursuing car would be nothing but a distant memory.

  The roadster found itself at the base of a quite steep incline which rose sharply up to where earth met sky. Flynn had his foot on the floor all the way, cresting the rise while still accelerating. He glanced at the speedometer, feeling the wheels momentarily leave the road as he took the peak at over seventy miles per hour. The suspension bottomed out then bounced hard as the roadster landed on the far side of the slope.

  Before the car could settle, and while Flynn was still wrestling with the wheel to bring it under control, the slab of blackness to his immediate front was broken by two powerful lights. They came on suddenly and without warning in the middle of the road less than fifty yards distant. The lights were angled so as to purposely dazzle. Glaring, penetrating, their sudden appearance caused Flynn to balk and shield his eyes with his right hand as the interior of the car was bathed in their brilliance. He could see nothing but the two blazing suns, but somehow registered another point of light, a fluttering yellow incandescent flame which belched in two short gouts away to the left of the two main beams. The rattle of the sub-machinegun broke in above his straining engine and he briefly saw the windscreen shatter and collapse around him in a million razor like shards. Flynn Ducked low for cover as the implosion of glass sprayed the interior. The wind was now square in his face, pulling at his hair though the hole where the windscreen had been. His eyes watering, Flynn turned the wheel in a desperate attempt to bypass whatever was behind the lights. It was too late. He felt the roadster hit something, a rock perhaps, and then the car was on two wheels. Flynn vaguely remembered seeing sky then earth then sky as the roadster flipped, before all was black. He also half remembered being dragged by his arms from the wreckage, the B38 upside down in the undergrowth, its wheels still slowly turning while the one unbroken headlight sent a forlorn shaft of light obliquely away into the night sky. The men carrying him to a car, the guttural voices, German speaking voices, saying something he couldn’t compute, before the soft embrace of unconsciousness enveloped him once more.