Wilco- Lone Wolf 19

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Did you arrange to shoot the British Ambassador?’

  ‘No, never, too high profile, and I have no reason.’

  ‘Did you send Moldovan hit men to my base in England?’

  ‘Why would I?’

  ‘If you wanted to, could you hire some good people to get close to this base?’

  ‘Yes, I know some good teams, Canadian ex-CIA.’

  ‘Ah. So think hard, and who is unhappy at losing the drugs? Our friend in Hamburg perhaps?’

  ‘Him? He is an idiot, I would not deal with him, and he would not dare attack me.’

  ‘So who funded the shipment? Three tonnes of cocaine, five tonnes of marijuana?’

  ‘That much? My god, that would cost a king's ransom, and more. There was a rumour, a man from Singapore, connections around Asia, very rich. He was backing a man from the Belgian bank before he was killed.’

  ‘I didn't know the Belgian bank did drugs.’

  ‘They never did, they forbid it, and this man was kicked out but stayed close. Kebowski, Polish ancestry, right of abode in Lichtenstein as a tax haven. Interpol thinks him dead, but he is still active.’

  I did not recognise the name, he was not on the list of men killed at the bank, or killed by Bob, so maybe this man was not as dead as advertised. ‘This is what you are going to do. You are going to make a great many calls, so that you don’t get the blame here, and then you will call me. Got a pen.’ I detailed my number. ‘If you find out anything, my people will move, so don't send men because we may kill them by mistake.’

  ‘I saw what your men did in London, no evidence.’

  I did not correct his assumption. ‘Would you like to know something very disappointing?’

  ‘What..?’

  ‘Those Canadian ex-CIA teams you use, they all report back to American Deep State.’

  After a pause and a sigh, came, ‘That is … very disappointing, yes. I was warned. I will have to change tactics and teams.’

  ‘That would be in your best interests. And … pop in for coffee sometime.’

  Call ended, I faced Salome. ‘You know a Kebowski?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Run the name anyhow, he was linked to the Belgian bank. He's supposed to be dead, but might be upright and warm.’

  Inside, I updated the boards. ‘Kebowski, not Kroskow. Mister Kroskow is talking to us, and Mossad, and not involved – I think and I hope.’

  ‘Still some men from the Belgian bank out there!’ Harris huffed.

  ‘Kebowski might have been kicked out for drug dealing,’ I told them. I called SIS and asked them to run names, and to look for a rich Singapore man linked in.

  The phone went, Harris answering it. ‘Shots fired! West side, near the farmhouse.’

  I walked down to the front of the hangar, Rocko stood with his clipboard, two Wolves stood with Tiller and Brace, all in my old sniper outfits and kitted ready.

  Rocko turned his head to me. ‘Four man team tried to sneak in, Nicholson and Tomo were there with others and blasted them with Elephant Guns!’

  ‘Bill them the cost of the ammo,’ I suggested.

  ‘Police are driving around, local police I mean, more jeeps from Brize Norton here.’

  I nodded. ‘So the hapless pair in the bar were the distraction.’

  Nicholson led his patrol in ten minutes later. He reported, ‘They had good kit with them, AKML with tube sights, two men with thermal cameras, ear-piece radios.’

  ‘Any ID?’

  ‘None, police looking for a car – with or without a cheeky bomb in it, but they had cigarettes from Ukraine, wad of Euros each. I had a look at t-shirt and pants, all Russian writing, so they weren't bought local in Marks and Spencers.’

  ‘Good thinking. And … get back out there, night ain’t over yet.’

  ‘We get a bonus?’ Tomo risked.

  ‘You trashed the pub!’ I told him, an argument starting up again amongst cold damp men.

  I woke to find the base busy, many MPs patrolling around, frost on my window glass, my car glass white.

  At 9am, as I sat with Billy doing the paperwork – forms to be filled in due to the attack, David rang.

  ‘You've made the news. Again,’ he sighed. ‘They're questioning why the two poor chaps in the pub were each shot twenty times, and why the four-man team sneaking in were mutilated.’

  ‘Mutilated?’

  ‘Faces blown off, spines cut and hanging out, heads hanging off.’

  ‘Ah, my lads had Elephant Guns with them.’

  ‘Get many elephants where you are this time off year?’

  ‘They migrate this far north, yes,’ I testily answered. ‘And if people attack us we shoot back, and the publicity is a deterrent. Well, not against the well-paid assassins, but the errant teenage kids around here know to avoid us.’

  ‘The politicians are asking questions, the excessive use of force.’

  ‘Use one bullet to kill a man, or twenty, he's dead anyhow. I'll issue a statement to media.’

  I called Max, and issued that statement after I had written it down and checked it with Billy and the Brigadier.

  An hour later and Tinker came and found me in with Billy. ‘We got a break, calls made on the sat phone of the men in the pub. Got a hit against a number known to Interpol, only switched on now and then, links to a drug dealer in Hamburg, Kesselman, but he's Czech not German.

  ‘GCHQ are now hacking his local phone tower. Not sure where he lives, but there is a cluster pattern around a small area in Hamburg, many cafes and three star hotels.’

  I dispatched Tiny and her friend to Hamburg, cash issued, a dump of a three star hotel to book into, and to wait further instructions. I also called Bob and asked him to place people in three star dump hotels nearby, ready.

  Kroskow called me back after lunch, ‘I have some information, a rumour, but I trust the source. The drugs may have been a payment from one government to another.’

  ‘These governments, they never heard of international banking?’

  ‘Back in the sixties the CIA used drugs to pay someone, who then supplied weapons to another someone,’ he hinted.

  ‘Ah. No cash used nor bank transactions to be found. Thanks, keep digging, because you don't want to be a suspect here.’

  ‘I am taking steps to protect my interests,’ he assured me.

  My next call was Miller at Deep State, since this smacked of his area. I called the number for his boss and left a message.

  Miller called back half an hour later. ‘Wilco, how's tricks?’

  ‘Let’s get to it. CIA drug payments to third parties in return for guns issued...’

  ‘That was used in the sixties and seventies -'

  ‘That was used his week.’

  ‘Ah, I heard something, figured it was just hot air.’

  ‘The ship that sank off the coast of England, it had eight tonnes of drugs. It was sent by the Nicaraguan gang, but the Bolivian cartel got word and put a bomb on board. Now someone blames our Navy for sinking the ship, and have shot our ambassador in Amsterdam and sent two hapless gunmen to my base – a clever four-man sniper team in the woods.’

  ‘Well, trying to kill you is naughty, and we'll assist you in dealing with them. As for the drugs, it’s a large enough payment for it to be inter-governmental, yes. For them to blame your Navy means that they're stupid and emotional, so that means it’s Nicaraguans ordering the shooting. As for sending hapless gunmen to you, that’s clever, so that’s being executed by someone with a brain, but motivated and paid by the Nicaraguans.’

  ‘The name Kroskow was floated, but I now have direct channels to him, and he's assisting.’

  ‘We had him listed as dead, so someone was remiss in that.’

  ‘And Kebowski?’

  ‘Definitely dead, we ordered the hit.’

  ‘Got some bad news for you, he ain't so dead.’

  ‘What!’ Miller hissed.

  ‘You need to update someone's KPIs, not least f
or lying to you, oh powerful one.’

  I heard the sigh. ‘I have some people to kill, but to torture first.’

  ‘Just can't get the staff these days, eh. What about Kesselman in Hamburg?’

  ‘Drug runner, distributor, his name came across my desk recently because supposedly he got money from Ho Sing Lau in Singapore.’

  ‘And which government will Ho be working with, or for?’

  ‘North Korea.’

  ‘What! I've upset North Korea?’

  ‘Rumour has it that they trade oil and other things in a roundabout sort of way. Drugs go to a man who sells them, and he pays another man to sell guns to a third man, who pays in oil.’

  ‘So North Korea sells the guns to Central America in a roundabout sort of way, and gets oil in return,’ I surmised.

  ‘And the drug dealers won't deal with the Western governments, and can keep a secret - so the Koreans hope.’

  ‘Do the North Koreans have agents in Europe?’

  ‘No, they're shite at that sort of thing. They pay in guns, to hire bad men to do the spying bit. Like our friend in Singapore.’

  ‘And the reason that the CIA has not shot this guy in Singapore?’

  ‘Can't find him for one, limited evidence for two. What are you going to do?’

  ‘Try and find some of these characters and shoot them full of holes.’

  ‘We'd like to question them first, about weapons shipments.’

  ‘I'll see what I can do, but I don't come cheap.’

  My next call was David. ‘I think I found out whose drugs got sunk, and who's sending men to attack us.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘A Singapore millionaire funded the drugs to make a buck, paid by the North Koreans in guns -'

  ‘North Korea!’

  ‘Yep. They do, supposedly, get oil for the guns in a roundabout sort of way, using drugs dealers for cover and some element of secrecy.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘Go update the Prime Minister. The hit on our ambassador and here was down to emotional Nicaraguan gangs, and we can expect more attacks, maybe some clever attacks.’

  ‘Jesus. One stiff drink coming up. But why attack you?’

  ‘That has been on my mind, so I think we have a high-level mole; it was my tip-off that started this.’

  ‘Very few people knew about that!’

  ‘So we have a very high-level mole. Express my concerns to the PM for me.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ he repeated.

  I called the Air Commodore, and asked for a rotation of 2 Squadron men at my base, cold weather gear worn. He would sort it quickly.

  At 5pm, vans turned up, six extra MPs and dogs, the MOD sending them without discussing it with me. I had them sent to the farm house, there was room for them, and apparently it was warm and cosy these days.

  At 6pm I drove around to it, finding a welcoming orange glow coming from within. Inside was warm.

  They stood. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Sit.’ I patted a keen dog. ‘What shift do they have you on?’

  ‘We start at 9am, to 9pm, two one-hour breaks, sir.’

  ‘Stay sharp, chances of an attack here are just about 100%.’

  ‘We've all spoken to lads that have worked here, sir, and they come back with the thousand yard stare. This is considered an active combat posting.’

  ‘Well, it’s rural Gloucester, not sure it equates to Yemen.’

  ‘It’s worse than Yemen, sir,’ a sergeant suggested. ‘We got a list of all the attacks here.’

  ‘Did you … volunteer?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ they answered.

  The sergeant put in, ‘We're all kinda mad about the bastards who attack the lads here, want to have at them. Most every MP in the Army volunteered to come here; these cheeky bastards coming here to shoot at British soldiers just doing their jobs.’

  ‘Mostly it’s to shoot at me, I keep upsetting people.’

  ‘Like those posh cunts in London...’

  ‘Well, yes, just like them. But this lot are drug dealers who think I intercepted their shipment.’

  ‘Did you, sir?’

  ‘I had a hand in it, yes. Anyway, RAF Regiment will be here soon, all combat veterans. They'll sit and hide, you patrol.’

  ‘We won't let you down, sir,’ the sergeant assured me.

  ‘Sir, did your men really shoot the intruders with Elephant Guns?’ a corporal asked.

  ‘They did, yes.’ I sighed. ‘Another enquiry.’

  ‘Dead is dead, sir, 9mm or a long-casing round.’

  ‘To the media, shooting a man once and killing him is one thing, but to blow holes in him with a long-casing is seen as cruel.’

  ‘How, sir? Dead is dead, they wouldn't have felt it.’

  I left them to debate it.

  In the morning the 2 Squadron lads turned up, all in my sniper gear and wrapped up warm, Valmets carried, and they looked just like may lot.

  Outside the hangar, Rocko stood with clipboard, I began, ‘I want one of you to note the sizes of the men, then get cash from me to go buy some wetsuits, scuba diving wetsuits, large size. You put talc on you, then the wetsuit, t-shirt underneath, sniper outfit on top, or you'll freeze to death overnight laying down. Someone sort that today, there's a shop in Cirencester.

  ‘I want two-hour rotations, unless you're warm. Hands and eyes will freeze if you lay still too long. Take green rubber mats to lay on, two of them. When you leave here, wash the inside of the wetsuit with warm soapy water, dry them, hand them to the next guy.’

  ‘Can we dig trenches and camouflage them, sir?

  ‘Do whatever you like. Your job is to shoot the enemy patrol coming in, don't care how you achieve that. But make sure that you're on the radio to the MPs and the Sergeant Major here, or you may just shoot a copper by mistake.’

  After lunch, David called, a delivery to arrive, from the US Army; night sights.

  ‘Who, in the US Army?’ I puzzled.

  ‘Not sure.’

  ‘Could be a trick!’

  ‘We got a note through the US Ambassador, so no trick.’

  When the van arrived I had the box taken to the runway and opened carefully. They found expensive night sights, and no bombs. I had Rocko keep them for night patrols and 2 Squadron, the sights' adapters fitting our Valmets.

  Greenie was still here, so I sent for him. ‘Shit,’ he let out when he saw them. ‘These are the good ones, ten grand a pop.’

  ‘Ten grand?’ I queried.

  ‘They're civilian made, but the Army tested them, found them to be excellent, but too expensive to issue to grunts in the field. You must have deep pockets.’

  ‘I have friends in low places,’ I told him.

  At 5pm I inspected two trenches dug by the 2 Squadron lads on the edge of the north woods, most now wearing wetsuits under their combats and all snug and warm – but taking a piss was an issue.

  The trenches offered some protection from incoming rounds, and they kept the lads warm and out of the wind. The lads could also get a brew on without being seen, now scanning the dark trees with the new night sights, a badger spotted.

  At 7pm I returned, dark now, and I tested the night sights, finding them excellent tools, sat in the cosy trench for half an hour and chatting about Yemen as we had a brew.

  At 8pm, sat in the Gate House and chatting, a radio call came in; a dog was approaching, something strapped to it.

  ‘Open fire!’ I ordered.

  Nothing exploded, a 2 Squadron lad eventually coming to the Gate House. He looked sheepish. ‘Uh, sir, it’s a dog for the blind, got a bit lost I guess, backpack with stuff for its blind owner, reward if found it says...’

  ‘You shot a seeing-eye dog!’

  He lowered his head. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘What a cunt,’ MP Pete offered. ‘Let’s bury it and deny everything.’

  A call came in, a woman at the pub looking for her husband's seeing-eye dog. I shook my first at the 2 Squadron lad, and ordered it kept
quiet, the dog to be buried, the MPs trying not to laugh.

  Cecilia was on my mind that evening, but I could not risk driving to see her alone. Nor with an armed escort of tanks.

  I was summoned up to London in the morning, a weekend trip up to No.10. In the meeting I found the Director, Mister Kitson from Mi5, as well as CIA Chuck's boss, head of London Section. Sat opposite them was the Defence Secretary and the Home Secretary, and a police commissioner I did not recognise.

  ‘Ah, Major, come in, sit,’ the PM urged.

  I sat.

  ‘The Americans are obviously concerned about North Korea, and want any juicy intelligence we can gather, so this will be a joint operation.’

  ‘Right, sir,’ I acknowledged.

  The PM gestured towards the CIA. That man began, ‘We want you to use your relationship with Tomsk, and go back to Panama as Petrov, and … to launch an attack against the Nicaraguan gang. They're buying weapons from North Korea, which we don't like.’

  ‘And the reason that your very capable people won't be doing it?’ I cheekily asked.

  ‘Some would be caught and killed, you'll do a better job of it.’

  People exchanged looks.

  I suggested, ‘And you could deny nudging us...’

  ‘We'll have a carrier off the coast to assist, the White House is aware and wants action. This comes from the top, so we don't care about blame. And, after hitting the Lobos Cartel in Mexico, the people are firmly behind action against such groups.’

  I glanced at the PM. ‘There is one wrinkle in such a plan, in that we have a high-level mole reporting out.’

  ‘That is … disappointing,’ our American guest offered, looks exchanged.

  David put in, ‘We are looking at it with some urgency.’

  ‘How would it alter the plan?’ our guest asked.

  I replied, ‘The Nicaraguans would not run and hide, they'd set traps, we'd go around them. I would have assumed a leak anyhow, and played a different game.’

  He nodded. ‘Team will join you soon, ship out when ready. Do you … have any pressing matters?’

  ‘I met a girl in the pub, nice boobs...’

  They laughed.

  ‘You're a monk,’ our guest noted, and I noted to get myself a reputation as a womaniser, that being better than a monk.