Wilco- Lone Wolf 19

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Panama was, and could be, a lucrative drugs transit area, but the government here – and others – have done a good job of removing the drug cartels, and the FARC influence at the border. We, here this week, have further reduced the potency of the drug cartel on the Costa Rican border.

  ‘What the White House has to consider now, and consider carefully, is how they deal with ambitious drug cartels that have bank balances in excess of a few billion dollars. What we have seen here ... is a mix of the Medellin Cartel and Tiujana Cartels trying to get into Panama, the US military and others trying to stop them.

  ‘This entire episode was about territory, drug territory, a simple turf war. But when a cartel has billions of dollars in the bank they can buy guided rockets and cruise missiles, and they're crazy enough to use them.

  ‘Somehow, a few years back, the Russian defector Terotski got together with the cartels here, and he offered them his rocket knowledge. What we also now know is that a Hong Kong billionaire, Li Xing, moved small arms from North Korea to Nicaragua, to send on to the Congo to sell. We are yet to establish exactly where the cruise missiles came from.

  ‘Li Xing lost ships to the American Navy in the Vietnam War, a grudge held. He recently saw his son arrested in Los Angeles for murdering his wife. Li Xing had the motive to attack the American military, the drug cartels helped him, and the FARC also helped him in his search for revenge.

  ‘We saw mines laid in the path of the Nimitz carrier, and cruise missiles fired at another carrier. Those actions were not the actions of the cartel, but of the FARC rebels giving Li Xing what he wanted, but what they also wanted.

  ‘It was the hope of the cartels to use rockets and missiles here in Panama, to help claim this territory. It was not the wish of the cartels to attack the American military, but they had no objection, and they willingly assisted the FARC.

  ‘A day ago, two hundred heavily armed FARC rebels were intercepted by American Apache attack helicopters close to the American border in Mexico, the FARC moving to assist Rodriegez Cholos in a turf war with another cartel.

  ‘The link between the cartels and the FARC is clear, and I believe that the cruise missile technicians were FARC. Certainly it was beyond the cartels to operate the missiles.

  ‘This episode has shown that some cartels will do anything, and that there are no rules. What the White House has to consider ... is how dangerous it is for drug cartels to have billions of dollars in the bank, and a willingness to use that money to buy weapons of mass destruction.

  ‘We cannot simply sit by any longer whilst the cartels increase the amount of money they have in the bank. Something has to be done.’

  I pointed at the CNN lady.

  ‘You were in Mexico?’

  ‘Never been there. Next.’

  ‘Is the fighting here ended?’

  ‘With the death of Cholos we think so, but there are many FARC rebels still in this area. We need to find them.’

  ‘Will we have a permanent presence here?’

  ‘I don't believe so, but British and American special forces and CIA teams operate here and will continue to do so.’

  ‘There were CIA teams in Mexico?’

  ‘Yes, and I have CIA agents embedded with me on most jobs, as well as US special forces personnel.’

  ‘How do you see the CIA budget reviews affecting the agency?’

  ‘Wow, what an odd question. I think, from my own personal point of view, that the agency needs to be less about the Russians and the Chinese, and more about the real threats. A war with China may never come, but you can be damn sure that American citizens will die at the hands of the cartels and the FARC.

  ‘CIA involvement in West Africa should be on the list, in Somalia and Yemen, and in the small wars. There will be a conflict next week, somewhere, a small conflict that could do with a good CIA budget, and that conflict will not be with Russia or China. The CIA needs a diverse approach. As NATO used to say, flexibility in response.

  ‘Unfortunately, the CIA structures are not very flexible and a Cold War mentality still prevails. They have analysts looking at Chinese warships, few looking at the cartels here. Now is the time for a review of that.’

  ‘Were the Navy caught out and unprepared?’

  ‘I'll refer you to my comments about the CIA. Your navy is designed to fight a war against similar ships, not to fight cartels or terrorists. Again, a review is needed of oblique threats.’

  ‘Were the French navy at fault?’

  ‘No, the F18s should not have been in the area. Official policy of the Navy is that a missile threat of the kind we saw is dealt with by your missile destroyers acting as picket ships. But after Yemen it was clear that if an F18 sees a cruise missile, a long way from ship, that the F18 intercepts it, as was the case this time.

  ‘The first F18 shot down a cruise missile, but the later F18s were too close to ship and should have left it to the missile destroyers, but the pilots can't be blamed for bravely trying to save the lives of the carrier crew.

  ‘In such a desperate situation, a great many lives on the line, you try everything, not rest on rules and regulations. It should probably be the case that aircraft tackle cruise missiles twenty miles beyond the destroyers. In this case the F18s were just ten or twelve miles from the carrier, and close to the destroyers.’

  ‘Did the French coordinate things?’

  ‘That will come out in the enquiry, I have no idea.’

  ‘And if the British ships and French warships had not been in place?’

  ‘My understanding is that the carrier would have been sunk, thousands of lives lost. A mass attack of eight cruise missiles is beyond the scope of two destroyers as escort.’

  ‘Does that need reviewing?’

  ‘No, this was a very unusual set of events, unlikely to be repeated. But the fact remains, that your ships are vulnerable to cruise missiles , and an urgent review is needed. Your Navy was built to fight the Russians, so was your CIA. They both need some flexibility in response, but I think your senators will dig in their heels and keep pointing at Russia, China and North Korea.’

  ‘Major, when was the last time you took a day off?’

  I frowned within my mask as they laughed. ‘What year is it?’

  They laughed louder.

  ‘What percentage of your time is spent in a real bed?’

  ‘Seventy-thirty in favour of a hole in the ground or an uncomfortable aircraft seat. Maybe eighty-twenty.’

  I stepped back as they smiled and I let the Colonel field the remainder of the questions.

  An hour later Miller called, as I stood on the roof staring out. ‘Mister Miller, long time no hear. And given what’s been going on, I would have expected a call sooner.’

  ‘We keep a low profile, as you know.’

  ‘People keep low profiles when their own people get caught shafting them...’

  ‘I'm … not sure what you mean.’

  ‘If I was a cynical man, I might think that you once had a good working relationship with Terotski, Debonet, Chanon and others, and that they decided that your view of the world, your planned view of the world, is not one which they liked – and so worked against you.’

  ‘Good job you're not a cynical man then.’

  ‘Did they not think that a world dominated by America was a good thing, a McDonald’s on every corner, at the Taj Mahal, up the Eifel Tower, in Mecca?’

  ‘I think there is a MacDonald's in Mecca.’

  ‘And do you, Mister Miller, have all the pieces of the puzzle?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘And the missiles, were they a surprise?’

  ‘They were, yes.’

  ‘And is your happy outfit of Deep State a single blob of flesh, or an octopus with many legs?’

  ‘I'd have to lean towards octopus.’

  ‘And sometimes the left hand is masturbating whilst the right hand is asleep...’

  He laughed. ‘A colourful analogy.’

  ‘The FARC
missile men were too well informed, too well trained, they had help. But I'm reasonably sure that not even your left hand would fire missiles at your Navy and at cruise ships.’

  ‘I would not think so, no.’

  ‘So we're missing someone, someone high up, someone with an agenda, leaking details, training people, making plans. And he's still out there, the FARC quietly disappearing. And this someone knows how we work, and has inside access.

  ‘But this someone showed his hand, an attack on myself and Tomsk, so he wants some money. In fact, he wants a great deal of money, so politics and ideology is not quite part of it.’

  ‘You should be in here with me.’

  ‘That’s what the Deputy Chief said, as he sat in his three-day-old shirt.’

  Miller laughed. ‘I heard he was strung out.’

  ‘And what about you? Were you busy, strung out, worried?’

  ‘All of the above.’

  ‘And if you knew that someone in your own organisation was screwing around … would you deal with them?’

  ‘I'd pass the detail up the line.’

  ‘Do you have a name?’

  ‘No.’ It was an adamant no.

  ‘Then this is not over, there is more to come, more nasty surprises, more sleepless nights for you because someone high up – either in the CIA or your lot, is working for the bad guys.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Have you, or the vast CIA, arrested or even found the FARC missile men..?’

  After a pause came, ‘Not yet.’

  ‘I bet ten dollars you won't. And the more days that tick off the calendar without finding them, the more you can be sure that this man is out there, looking over your shoulder, one step ahead, all your little grubby secrets being passed to outsiders.’

  ‘I'll … mention your concerns up the line.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s best, if you hope to maintain some semblance of secrecy, and – from a personal point of view – some respect for yourself and the work you're doing.’

  After a long pause came, ‘I'll give it some thought. What'll you do next on the ground?’

  ‘What would you like me to do next?’ I countered with. ‘Do you want more good TV minutes, or the middle man caught?’

  ‘The man caught.’

  ‘Are you sure? Are you really sure? Best you discuss it up the line first.’

  ‘I will do, yes, you've worried me now.’

  ‘It’s what I'm here for, the unwelcome mirror to look into and ask probing questions. Mirror, mirror, on the wall, what do we really want to do with this small round planet we live on, perhaps a new world order? Chat soon.’

  Phone down, I stared at it. Downstairs I found Franks and Dick and led them to a quiet spot. ‘The white man we found with the FARC. Look hard, but expect interference, and people lying to you. Make it a pet project, but done quietly, no reports up the line. I need you to trust me on this.’

  ‘Who'd you think he was?’

  ‘A helper, ex-military, maybe ex-CIA, and working for someone high up in your intelligence apparatus. You have a mole, an active one, and he's financially motivated.’

  They exchanged worried looks.

  That night I did not sleep well, the Bolivian was bothering me, the fact that he had nudged people to attack us here. No one had been killed, none of mine, but they could have been.

  In the morning – after some lengthy soul searching - I made a call to Colonel Mathews, and he would seek permission if I stood by the intel. So he recorded a statement from me over the phone.

  Franks came and found me midday. ‘We think that dead white guy with the FARC could be Charley Rose. He was well known and popular back in the day, destined for the top, but they found him with an underage prostitute. He claimed it was a set-up, but they had to let him go.’

  ‘So he has reason to be mad at someone.’

  ‘He was a stone-cold patriot.’

  ‘So am I, but if you stitch me up with a dead hooker – watch out.’

  ‘He was listed as having been killed in car crash five years back.’

  ‘You do have a lot of people coming back to life, don't you? Fucking CIA is zombieland.’

  ‘I haven't mentioned it up the line yet, so … why we keeping this quiet?’

  ‘Someone up the line was helping him. So, dig into what his not-so-dead body was up to, but off the record. We want the man inside who's helping those outside. But if they shoot you, or find you with an underage hooker, we'll know that we're on the right track.’

  ‘Thanks a lot,’ he unhappily told me.

  The next morning, at 4am, the Bolivian was asleep in bed with his wife, his son in the house, the detail known because their phones were pinging the local tower. Unknown to him, a B2 had flown five thousand miles, refuelling en-route, and had not been seen on anyone's radar.

  A stick of four bombs fell, and they buried themselves under the old house before detonating, the house reduced to rubble, the occupants reduced to small burnt lumps of flesh.

  At 9am EST the President made a speech, and he detailed what had happened, a threat issued to other cartel bosses, none of whom would sleep well now. A row was on the cards with the Bolivian Government, but right now the White House did not care, labelling my old German Bolivian friend as ‘beyond extradition'.

  After three days without attack, London wanting me back, the press losing interest, I made a call to Tomsk.

  It was not correct to say that the Press were losing interest, because the lack of good arrests was making the news. The FBI and the regional governments had arrested many, but they were the foot soldiers, the hired help.

  That day I called in the SAS from the north, 2 Squadron told to pack up ready, my regular troop coming in, buses ready, police escorts, and a large company of puzzled, smelly, dirty soldiers asked where we were off to. I told them it was secret before I boarded Hueys with Echo, our crates on a truck, and we flew southeast forty miles, and to a small flat island with a huge curved hotel sat on it.

  The hotel had only recently been completed, still a few things to do, but I did not care about a few light fittings.

  As we came in I could see a very long causeway with side railings connecting the island to the mainland, a huge central pool and several small satellite pools. There was also a jetty reaching out into the blue inviting ocean, boats moored.

  Down on the lawns, the grounds keepers startled, we ran a few yards and lifted up, the Hueys loudly pulling away. I led the teams around the pool and past the bending palm trees, all of us kitted for war, the lads knowing now what I had planned.

  At reception the manager lined up with twenty of his staff. ‘Senor Petrov, welcome, it is an honour.’

  ‘Thank you.’ We shook. ‘They searched the hotel?’

  ‘The men with dogs left an hour ago, some thirty men searching every room.’

  ‘Then we'll sleep safely.’

  ‘Officers are on the top floor, sergeants on floor three, enlisted men one and two. There is a canteen for enlisted men, the largest, one for sergeants, one for officers.’ I handed him a wad of dollars.

  Keys grabbed, I led Swifty, Moran and Ginger up in the nice lift, Salome grabbing a key and following. Door unlocked, I dumped my rifle on a huge double bed, Swifty dumping his down on a second double bed, Moran and Ginger using a joining door to find their room.

  Webbing off, bandolier off, and I stood on the marble balcony and peered down at the blue empty pool and the lonely unused sun chairs awaiting some fat tourists.

  Moran appeared on the next balcony. ‘How many fucking rooms does this place have?’

  ‘Eight hundred.’

  ‘Shit...’

  Salome appeared on the balcony left, Doc Willy beyond her.

  ‘This is alright,’ Doc Willy noted. ‘How'd you wangle this?’

  ‘The very grateful government of Panama. We have it for a week, proper guests arrive after that.’

  Swifty shot me a look as he appeared. ‘Another drug dealer's
hotel more like.’

  ‘You can go back to the airfield if your conscience is bothering you.’

  ‘What conscience? I shoot people for a living.’

  The Hueys returned, British Wolves down and looking lost, ground staff pointing them to reception. I headed down.

  In reception, I shouted to the Wolves, ‘Grab keys to rooms on the first floor, you double up, then … you relax for a few days.’

  My snipers ran past, all in colourful long swimming shorts, and they jumped into the pool like kids on holiday.

  With the sound of trucks registering I walked out the front, noticing now armed security guards, four of them. I nodded and they smiled. The trucks turned and halted, American Wolves jumping down, and puzzling the large hotel.

  ‘Get inside, get a key for a room, first or second floor, you double up. Shower, shit, shave. Move it.’

  They filed past, their captain smiling. ‘How'd you wangle this?’

  ‘I have friends in low places. You're on the top floor.’

  I directed my regular troop inside, puzzled faces on them all, soon 2 Squadron, all peering up. ‘Haines, top floor. Sergeants, third floor, rest on floors one and two. Get keys and get a room.’ I moved along to Major Taggard.

  ‘What the heck is this place?’ he asked.

  ‘I got us some R&R. Officers top floor.’ I waved them all inside, the first batch of Marines looking very lost and puzzled. ‘You all have a few days of R&R, Pentagon approved. Get inside, get rooms.’

  Back up in my room I ordered room service, down to my smelly pants, our crates yet to arrive. In the wardrobe we found swimming trunks, and robes, so after a long hot shower I put on the trunks.

  With Swifty in the shower the food arrived, and the cold beers.

  ‘Where'd you get that?’ Ginger asked from his balcony.

  ‘Room service. Call, it’s all free.’

  With Swifty out the shower he joined me, soon tucking in like he hadn't eaten anything in days. A tip of his head, and Salome was naked, adjusting the sunbed. ‘You got hookers for Tomo?’ he asked.

  ‘There are thirty something massage ladies.’