Guns Galore

William Evans

Description

Guns Galore is a thriller based in London during 1970 to 1990. The main markets for weapons dealers are Europe with North America, then they search the world for more surplus guns to buy and sell.Dealing has many risks. Although Guns Galore is mainly a non-fiction work, some dramatisation has been added to highlight the effects of shootings, murder, and kidnapping.Working for Sam Cummings of Interarms fame, the author turns into a dealer with him and his rival Bill Sucher of Century Arms both based in the USA. This leads to a world of international arms dealingInternational armouries must be sourced to find weapons. These hold mainly obsolete WW2 vintage guns. German and American weapons are highly sought after, followed by those of British manufacture. The reader is they come onto the market and become appreciating assets.Fraud of various types is often used by dealers and in-country agents are required to deal with governments. Commissions are paid to gain advantage, some hidden in slush funds. It's a mine field.Security services monitor dealers. Some will be used in secret shipments to hide government involvement with fake end user certificates.In Guns Galore, when Russia invades Afghanistan, President Carter supplies 70,000 WW2 rifles. Russia bans all weapon sales from the Eastern bloc, so other sources of supply must be found.

Sujets

• Thriller

Informations

• Publié par: eBook Versions
• Date de parution: 11 août 2016
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781843964179
• Langue: English

Extrait

Published by Small Arms Press

Copyright © 2016 William Evans
All rights reserved

William Evans has asserted his right
under the Copyright, Designs and Patents
Act 1988 be identified as the author
of this work

ISBN 978-1-84396-417-9

This ebook is sold subject to the
condition that it shall not, by way of
trade or otherwise, be copied, lent,
resold, hired out, or otherwise
circulated without the author s
prior consent in any form without
similar conditions being imposed
on the subsequent purchaser.

Ebook production
eBook Versions
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GUNS
GALORE

International
Surplus Markets:
A Dealer s Story


William Evans



SMALL ARMS PRESS
Contents


Cover
Copyright Credits
Title Page
Introduction: Death s Double Dip
Chapter 1: Interarms
Chapter 2: Partnership
Chapter 3: The Saudi Experience
Chapter 4: Building Up
Chapter 5: The Sting
Chapter 6: Made in Japan
Chapter 7: Chinese Puzzle
Chapter 8: Arabian Rifle Scam
Chapter 9: Germanic Frace
Chapter 10: Black Spear
Chapter 11: Vietnam Surplus
Chapter 12: American Help
Chapter 13: Mujahideen Ordnance
Chapter 14: Double Cross
Chapter 15: Deadly Encounters
Chapter 16: Vengeance
Introduction
Death s Double Dip


In May 1988, aged forty eight, I, William Evans, died twice. Commander Neville of the Flying Squad had the death certificate. My London based business of dealing in arms, after twenty years, came to an abrupt halt. In a darkened annex, lit by a feeble yellow glow, I had been surrounded by moving shadows. All I knew at the time was what I could hear and glance around me. Unable to move, or say a word, I lay on a trolley. I listened, helplessly, to a female voice. It became urgent;
Doctor his heart rate is all over the place. We need to do something fast.
There was movement of shadows followed by a dull thumping noise.
Doctor we are losing him. Seconds later the same voice simply stated;
He s gone.
In the background I had heard a monitor giving an irregular bleeping sound. Now it gave out a dull constant low tone. A male voice recorded my demise.
We did our best. There s nothing more we can do. Turn it off.
The moving shadows I had seen against a dark screen on my left vanished. I thought I heard another faint noise. It could be another distant monitor giving out a different constant signal. For the first time, at that instant, it dawned on me I was in hospital. Dead people can t reason why.
Lying flat on my back I had floated into total darkness. It was a peaceful process. My life did not flash before me. There was no bright light at the end of a tunnel. Dying like this was easy. My final thoughts were about my wife, Pippa. There was nothing I could do now to help her. She would, when rescued and released as a hostage, get my bad news. As I would not be around to complain about the service maybe she would. It could have been minutes or hours later when I distinctly heard another female voice;
Ready for your shower Mr Evans?
How could I possibly need a shower, I m dead.
Ready? The voice came again.
I remember hearing myself, which surprised me, replying;
I m dead. Leave me alone.
I was confused. The dead don t talk. Added to that nothing seems worse that having resigned oneself to death to suddenly finding you are alive. It s a monumental shock to the nervous system. My hands stated to move feeling sheets, my eyes opened, revealing a TV, curtains and windows, then the end of a bed. Dazed I felt a hand on my shoulder.
You look surprised Mr Evans. Be reassured you are very much alive. You have just had a triple heart bypass operation. Here we have a ninety eight percent success rate. You were not in the unfortunate two percent.
As she bent over me I saw a very attractive blond, sun tanned, blue eyed nurse. She had full lightly made up pink lips from which came a slight Australian accent. It was a slow and painful removal from bed. Leaning on her shoulder we shuffled into the en suite bath room. There she turned on the shower checking the temperature of the water whilst I held onto the towel rail. By this stage, in pain, my body reinforced my senses I was very much alive. My light blue gown was removed then slowly she lowered me onto a wooden chair under the shower. Looking down I saw my chest was covered in white sticking plaster. My left leg was also covered from top to bottom. Still looking down checking out my body caused her some amusement.
Don t worry Mr Evans I ve seen a few hundred in my time.
Not on her wavelength, it took me a few seconds to catch her meaning. Looking at her smiling face she was obviously not looking at the plaster. Now feeling alert I could only reply;
At least the honourable member escaped being plastered.'
How at a time like this could I have an erection?
Letting out a giggle, looking at my lower region, slowly raising her blue eyes to mine she made a profound statement;
Medically speaking I estimate you will be back in action soon. Now to business. Let s get you cleaned up.
After a gentle wash, clean robed, with her help, I regained the prone position in bed.
Mr Neville wants to see you. Are you up to it? She asked.
Yes.
Her question brought me back to the real World. Only Neville could fill in the blanks since the party my memory was complete up to that. This nightmare started off with the delivery of a ransom note after which Neville forced me to attend our party knowing Pippa, my wife, had been kidnapped. The ransom note was short and to the point;

IF YOU WANT TO SEE YOUR WIFE AGAIN LEAVE YOUR STORE THIS FRIDAY BY 5PM. ALL ALARMS OFF. DOORS UNLOCKED. NO STAFF. DO NOT NOTIFY THE POLICE.

My London store contained a large quantity of firearms. These included three thousand FN and G3 modern assault rifles plus over five hundred new Sterling sub machine guns. In addition there were calibre .50 and .30 Browning machine guns with an assortment of a few hundred hand guns. There were enough weapons for over five infantry regiments with plenty to spare. No way could I allow any of this material to get into the wrong hands. Terrorists armed with this could turn London, even a country, into a free fire zone.
Unofficially it was believed that there were at least thirty thousand troops with a back-up of eight thousand police currently in Northern Ireland. They were not fighting or containing five infantry regiments. If that amount of support was required to contain the IRA an additional enemy of five regiments, fully armed, would be impossible to contain. Every now and again statistics on the IRA would leak. Military intelligence indicates that the IRA had well fewer than five hundred active members. Although their weapons were sourced from America some shipments had been received from Libya.
Captured RPG with other material from Libya showed it was mainly past its shelf life but an AK 47 will work whatever the circumstances of its storage. Further intelligence coming from personal contacts indicated a recent ship load of arms from Libya had been intercepted. The IRA however were not the only terrorists wanting weapons. There was no lack of terrorists in the World. There is always a problem with information. Was it real?
Disinformation is used to subvert and panic organisations into fatal consequences. As an example if I planned to go to Montreal I would make sure it leaked out I was going to Singapore. My competition would then spend a lot of time and effort trying to work out what was in Singapore. Leaked I was going to Egypt, then actually going there, would only be subversive hoping to panic the opposition into making a formal offer for material. Smoking out their offer though an agent I could either top their offer or run them up and bail out. Most people just can t walk away from a deal even when they know it will bust them. Running them up could not only ensure they over paid, depleting their exchequer with expensive gear, leaving the field open for better future deals. Tactics can be used to exceptional levels. Bidding wars can and have been simply aborted. Company A would offer a million dollars for a deal. The nearest bid was half that. Company A would obviously win the deal but vanish from the face of the earth. Military sellers would think the deal was worth the million. That deal is now compromised. Without a million dollar buyer the material stays in storage. On purpose it s forgotten. Not even a brave general would sell the material for half a million when, on paper, he has had an offer of a million.
Commander Neville of the Flying Squad, in anti terrorist role, had known me for many years. Well under six foot tall, balding, with a large sallow coloured face due to long office hours, he had dark green eyes. These would fix you with an unblinking stare hence his nick name cat s eyes . Nobody was stupid enough to use it in close proximity to him. Always immaculately dressed, in a dark blue pin stripped suit, he never went anywhere without his black bowler hat with perfectly rolled umbrella. Passing him in the street you would never guess he was a hardened police officer. When speaking he spoke is short clipped sentences which were usually questions. If asked a question he would often reply with one. A friendly demeanour hid his ruthless personality shielding his job description. Stop terrorists killing people then bring them to justice with no holds barred.
Alerted by my call whist still in his office I had read him the ransom demand. After a long silence the usual question and answer business started. During this standard process I gave him the following details;
My flat bell rang. On answering it I heard a muffled voice say message mate. Need your signature.
Letting him in I signed for a delivery being normal procedure. He was a man fully suited in black leather motor cycle gear wearing a black helmet that obscured his face. Around six feet t