The Caucasian moved confidently through the sultry heat of the busy market place. It was one of the rougher parts of the city and at that time of night, manual workers, traders and street criminals of all persuasions were making their way home or on to their next illegal enterprise. None of them mattered to the Caucasian, he wasn"t threatened by them, wasn"t scared that he was the only western man in the warren-like maze of the street market. He had a look about him which said "This is one fight you"re going to lose, if you try to f**k with me."
For the past year his name had been Janner. No first name given, just Janner. Occupation: war zone photojournalist. In truth, his name wasn"t Janner and he had no experience in the world of photography or journalism, but it provided a plausible en
