Killer Elite Page #2

I need you to come up

with the names on the other two.

Start with the one

they killed at Mirbat.

So the one target we do have is

Steven Douglas Harris.

He stayed on in Oman after the war.

Ended up flying choppers for

the Sultan's armed forces.

Great. A juice junkie.

Me and Meier will head there

to track him down.

Boys? Danny.

Meier.

What the f***! Oh piss off!

Piss off!

It's Harris!

Harris, you prick! F*** off!

Well, I hope the buggers like sand

in their burgers, huh?

White Range Rover coming your way.

It's Harris.

What are you doing?

Come on, have a go.

No, I'm not.

Have a go. Look, just aim and shoot.

Go! Here we go!

Oh you horny git!

Come on! Come on!

All right, ladies, you can throw

your knickers if you want!

Go on, you cheeky bugger!

You serve in Oman?

That Mirbat. That was a day, wasn't it.

What about Mirbat,

that was a right mess, eh.

Wasn't good.

Had a mate there.

Go on, get that, quick!

Yeah, all right. All right.

Bollocks.

Hello?

Spikey, it's Bazza.

For God's sake.

I'm unplugging that bloody thing

next time, and I mean it!

Yeah, I'm on to this bloke here, right.

He was in the Bear earlier pumping

some SAS lads for info on Mirbat.

Mirbat? And?

He says he's Welsh

but he don't sound it.

I don't know, maybe

I'm being a bit paranoid, but...

Hey, just because you're being paranoid,

doesn't mean to say

they're not out to get you.

All right mate, give me what you got.

Okay.

I'll put one of my Locals on to him.

The Omani Embassy.

Our Local followed him

into the visa section.

Says he's Welsh.

Calls himself Mr. Jones.

We lost him after he left.

Lost him. How come?

He never came back to his car. Stolen.

Anyhow, he flies to Oman in four days.

I'd like permission to send

one of my boys out there to tail him.

This was definitely some kind of recce.

That was a dirty war.

What we did there was questionable.

Oman is a bloody hornet's nest.

Right. And if this bugger is

poking at it,

I want to know who he is.

I say we send a Local. Any objections?

Noted.

We'll leave you to choose the right man.

I'd also like it noted

that we are ex-SAS.

The men we protect are ex-SAS.

And you, Spike,

though you hate to admit it, are ex-SAS.

Remember, we're businessmen

and bankers now.

What we do here is illegal.

We can leave no trace of our activities.

That's why we're called The Feather Men.

Because our touch is light.

Our Spike is a good man.

The day the SAS lost him,

they lost a good.

Yes, but the problem is,

he thinks he's still in the SAS.

Well, someone has to do the dirty work.

None of us want blood on our pinstripes.

Listen, I've got no problem with blood.

What worries me is ink.

Make sure he keeps us out of

the newspapers.

What's doing boss?

Your Arabic's still good, right?

Good enough.

You're going to Oman. I've got a bloke

I want you to tail out there.

You lucky bastard.

You know what, you're gorgeous.

Where you staying?

I'm staying at the Hilton.

As a matter of fact, so am I.

What room are you in?

Why, would you like to know?

Love to know.

You are smooth.

What are we doing out here then,

in the middle of nowhere?

Well, I ask him to go hide it,

he hides it.

Could have been your a**hole.

Consider yourself lucky.

Shut it, Meier.

Appreciate it, thank you.

These tiles are an exact match to

the shower step?

Hundred percent.

Harris comes home, parks the car.

It's been a hard day.

I'll have a shower.

Whoops. He slips on the shampoo.

Hits the corner of the step

with his occiput.

- Case closed.

- Get out of it.

You boys are going about this all wrong.

That bird he's screwing is married.

Why don't we just pop Pop'em both and

make it look like her husband did it?

Pop'em both. What's she ever done?

It's Harris we're after.

Poor bastard.

Ten years after the war he cops it for

doing something he was ordered to do.

He knew what he was doing

when he joined the club.

Yeah. What club?

The killing club.

Could've been you or me.

Yeah, but it's not.

I'm just glad I never killed a Rag head.

No offence, my son.

Let's get this done.

Excuse my friend, he's a royal a**hole.

Sh*t!

Where's he going to run?

It's the middle of the f***ing desert.

Meier!

Cut him off at the next shaft!

Let's go! Let's go!

Where is he?

Ssh.

Aagh!

Ugh!

Get out of here! F***ing hell!

So what, now somebody's on our ass?

We should move right away.

I'll set up Harris's interview

for tomorrow.

Davies, you make sure his girl

doesn't show.

She has nothing to do with this.

Wanker!

We're military historians.

I'll do the talking, all right.

Well, it's five o'clock somewhere,

isn't it?

So where's this documentary going to

be shown then?

On the telly?

The chair.

Those bastards in C Company

put this together hmm?

What's the matter?

They didn't like sand in their burgers.

Eh?

Hello, boys! I'm not saying a word 'til

I see my lawyer.

Think back. The village of Qum.

You killed a guerrilla commander.

His name was Hussein bin Amr.

Do you admit it?

F*** off! You're kidding, right?

You commanded a company there.

Aye, I led a company on that op, sure.

Yeah, you assassinated Hussein bin Amr.

There were witnesses.

You dropped him in front of his family.

All right, you got me. I did it!

F*** you! Good one!

Now untie me!

Get up.

Hey! Piss off!

We have what we need.

What if I told you somebody else

dropped your guerrilla commander?

His name is?

I can't remember.

But he's writing a book about

the whole Oman gig.

You might find it in there.

If you could read.

To the bathroom.

No, no, no. No, no, no.

Wait, wait, wait!

It's coming back to me,

looking at your f***ing face!

His name's Captain R. Sole!

A, R, S, E, H, O, L, E!

Shut up.

You're f***ing dead yeah?

On your knees!

F***ing queers! Serve you f***ing right!

Head down. Get your f***ing hands off me

you queer!

- You're f***ing kidding me!

- Hold him still.

If I find you I'm going to

- put your f***ing head in the toilet.

- Okay.

Poor f***er.

Jay!

I need money for the taxi.

I had to take a taxi. I had a flat.

F*** you! Aagh!

Case closed.

Thank you.

...tells of a dramatic 12 hour

rescue operation

to save the crew of Radio Caroline.

The pirate radio ship sank the...

Seems your friend did what you couldn't.

Wouldn't.

Wouldn't. Couldn't.

He's avenged Hussein.

Good news for the old man. Not for you.

What do you mean?

Three brothers dead.

Rotting in the sand.

You didn't want to get revenge yourself?

Scared of getting your hands dirty?

Better get used to it.

No palace where you're going.

A tent and a hole to sh*t in.

He's your worst nightmare

because he's gonna do it.

And when he does, you're outta here.

And when I find you in that desert,

I pray God keeps my aim...

true.

Well, what do you think?

Yeah, it's coming along.

What are you doing for

New Year's Eve dinner?

Oh sh*t!

Bollocks!

Strangers are a bit of

an exotic thing around here.

Oh, come on.

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