Wilco- Lone Wolf 13

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘It’s MP Pete, and what the fuck was that!’

  ‘Car bomb outside the wire, stay down, stay alert.’

  I called London, flames seen through the trees. ‘It’s Wilco, car bomb has gone off outside GL4, get the police and the fire brigade. Fast!’

  I cut the call as Rizzo and Stretch jogged up.

  ‘Fucking bollocking hell,’ Stretch let out. ‘I hope he never left his wife in the car.’

  Rizzo handed me the phone.

  ‘That’s heavy, for a sat phone,’ I noted, weighing it in my hand. ‘Very heavy. Get back.’ I stepped forwards and threw it high and hard north. And waited. The flash lit up the area, the blast washing over us as men ducked and turned away.

  ‘What the fuck..?’ Rizzo asked as he stood. ‘His phone was wired to blow, and his fucking car.’

  ‘It’s MP Pete, and what the fuck was that?’

  ‘Guy’s sat phone was packed with Semtex, no one hurt.’

  ‘It’s new Wolf recruit Tiller, Boss, and can you throw the fucking bombs at someone else next time!’

  ‘Sorry, forgot you were up that way.’

  ‘Thanks a lot!’ snapped back, Stretch laughing.

  ‘Rizzo,’ I began. ‘If you had pushed the buttons on that phone you’d be mince meat now.’

  His dark outlined exchanged a look with Stretch.

  Moran asked, ‘Why would he rig his car to blow and carry a rigged phone?’

  ‘He wouldn’t,’ I suggested. ‘But his controller might, he was set-up. Car was rigged, phone was rigged, but the man was not to use it unless in an emergency. We get a tip off about assassins, he comes in with his long lens after being offered a lot of cash, we shoot him, and we always take away the sat phones, and we would always search the car.’

  Moran said, ‘So someone knows exactly how we operate. The blasts would have killed many of us.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ Ginger cut in. ‘Standard procedure would be that the police get the car, the police get the body, and the phone is bagged up and taken away. Who’d assume otherwise?’

  Moran said, ‘Someone who knows exactly how we operate, not someone who thinks we’ll follow procedure.’

  I turned south. ‘If that guy was the decoy, where are the bad boys?’

  Everyone turned south.

  I transmitted, ‘That man was a decoy, get ready for the main event. Stand to, stand to!’ Of the radio I said, ‘Moran, Ginger, front gate. Rizzo, Stretch, back where you were, stay down.’ They jogged off. ‘Rocko, check the men and the positions, but this hangar is yours to guard.’

  My phone trilled, David Finch. ‘You’re having some problems down there?’

  ‘A French journalist with a long lens, his car rigged to blow – and it blew, and his sat phone was full of Semtex, rigged to blow – so I threw it and it blew. He was the decoy, so we’re waiting the main event. It could get loud around here.’

  ‘By main event, you mean something more than a quiet exchange..?’

  ‘Had two explosions so far, could be more, and everyone in the village heard those blasts.’

  ‘I’m in a hotel, be heading into the office now. Talk soon.’

  Cars started to appear, men on foot from the pub, the base lights turned on.

  Robby pulled up. ‘My wife has a message for you, Boss, but I couldn’t repeat it in polite company.’

  ‘I’ll get her a box of chocolates.’

  ‘Take more than that, Boss.’

  ‘Get kitted out, get ready, going to be a long night.’

  ‘Her sister is visiting anyhow.’

  ‘Staff Sergeant, are you using this attack as an excuse to get out the house?’

  ‘Well...’

  A helicopter appeared overhead, flashing blue lights seen north, perhaps the fire brigade tending the burning car, Casper and Sasha strutting around in their pips, trying to tempt the sniper.

  David Finch called back. ‘On my way to a COBRA meeting, first one for the new Prime Minister. Anything else happening?’

  ‘Nothing further, but the night is young. And don’t forget, the intel came from the French; Belchov sent the men on behalf of an unknown paymaster.’

  ‘I see, yes. Talk soon.’

  The police finally arrived, SOCO men donning their white outfits near the Para Portakabin, lights rigged up around the body and the smouldering car.

  I climbed the stairs in the barracks to the roof and found Nicholson with Mouri and Dicky, plus two of the Wolves. ‘All quiet?’

  ‘For now, Boss,’ Nicholson said. ‘Will they have a go with the police around?’

  ‘Depends on how well paid they are, how determined.’

  ‘Who did we upset, sir?’ a Wolf recruit asked.

  ‘Not you, me they want. I got the credit in the newspapers, so they want me dead. And the paymaster is sat in Saudi in his white-marbled mansion with his twenty wives.’

  ‘Twenty wives, sir? I had one for a year, and that was more than enough.’

  ‘Not easy to balance this job with family life,’ I told them as we stared out south at the dark land, the fields a lighter colour than the woods. Movement across those fields would be seen.

  Nicholson said, ‘Better to fight a war here, Boss. Not far to walk in the mornings, comfy bed, canteen, pub up the road – and no long flights anywhere.’

  Their black outlines laughed.

  ‘I chose this next conflict with you lot in mind,’ I told them.

  Twenty minutes later, and bored, I transmitted for Henri to fire a starshell south. We heard the pop, and four seconds later the south wood was brightly illustrated, men peering through their sights.

  ‘There’s a fox, Boss, and he looks dodgy,’ came from Nicholson.

  ‘If he gets close, kill him. And no, you’re not allowed to wear his fur as a hat.’

  The flare drifted off left and died.

  ‘Henri, starshell over the range, eight hundred metre.’ We all looked west. When the starshell came to life we studied the range, a cheeky sheep wandering around, no human snipers to be seen.

  My phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘It’s David, just come from the COBRA meeting, Mi5 to jointly lead the investigation with the police, Prime Minister very unhappy that someone would come for you. Reuters just got hold of it.’

  ‘Not from me, I was hoping to keep it quiet.’

  ‘Be front page tomorrow.’

  ‘Bugger, might need some new staff.’

  ‘What do you mean, new staff?’

  ‘Captain Harris and Captain O’Leary; their wives are very unhappy with the security of this place.’

  ‘Ah, I see what you mean. A tricky one, yes, but O’Leary has a contract he cannot break.’

  ‘His wife has a contract with him as well, called a marriage certificate, and she can break it.’

  ‘Well let’s hope things go quiet for a while. Talk soon.’

  From the barracks roof I observed the police in the distance, and three hours later they were gone, or at least I could not see them, a tow-truck having removed the burnt out car. There were no flashing lights, and as the chill grey dawn came up men were yawning, teams set to rotate.

  Nicholson said, ‘That wind is stiffening, and you can see the trees bending, so it’ll be a difficult shot at distance. Good thing about this place, it’s hard to get close to, all wide open.’

  ‘Get some rest when you need it, in full kit, ready to react,’ I told him.

  When the canteen opened many of us grabbed a cuppa as the ladies heated up stoves and got the food on. When they were ready we queued up, and I had boiled eggs on waffles with bacon, ravenously devoured.

  The food woke me up, so I did the rounds. MP Pete had slept in a chair in the guardroom, dog at his feet, and after I woke him I handed him a fresh brew.

  ‘Still alive?’ he asked me.

  ‘Worried about reassignment?’ I teased.

  ‘Always.’

  I stroked the keen dog, the Alsatian resting its head on my thigh as
I sat chatting to Pete and the others.

  When my phone trilled it was Captain Harris. ‘You still alive?’ he asked.

  ‘People keep asking me that, and I’m not always sure if they want me to still be alive.’

  ‘Well I’m knackered, we were up all night?’

  ‘Rowing about this place?’ I puzzled.

  ‘No, her mum died.’

  ‘Oh, so ... she’s upset at many things right now.’

  ‘Not at all, she’s happy as fuck.’

  ‘Come again?’

  ‘She always blamed her mother for doing nothing when her father abused her when she was young; they haven’t spoken in twenty years. The mother died last night, so now that house is ours, a bigger house, close to Oxford, so we’ll sell the existing one and move.’

  ‘And ... does she know about the attack here?’

  ‘It’s all over the news, so yes, but she’s pre-occupied with the house move, whether I moved with her on not, the house is more important to her right now.’

  ‘Remind me not to get married.’

  ‘I’ll take some time off, to fix the house, sort the funeral.’

  ‘Take what time you need.’ Off the phone, I explained it to MP Pete and the lads, a hand on the Alsatian.

  Walking back, I was shielded by the green fence, teams spoken too, Rocko hard at it, clipboard in hand – but he was yawning. He had caught four hours kip, Henri tired, Sambo alert - having somehow not been woken last night.

  I climbed the stairs to the barracks roof, the wind picking up a little, Casper and Sasha there now, but about to go off duty for a few hours, Nicholson hanging around.

  Nicholson suddenly shouted, ‘I got movement,’ as he knelt peering though his large sight.

  I ducked down behind him to see what he was aiming at, and transmitted, ‘All teams, movement south. Henri, ready mortars for the tree line. Front Tower, get the GPMG trained on the woods south.’

  Rocko came up bent-double and lifted a box-fed ready, a position on the wall adopted.

  Nicholson reported, ‘Long rifle, not a fucking camera, green clothing.’

  ‘Everyone, look for the second man.’

  ‘He’s taking aim,’ Nicholson reported.

  ‘What the fuck at?’ I wondered.

  ‘I have a shot,’ Nicholson nudged.

  I sighed, wanting the second man. ‘OK, take it.’

  The round blasted out, Casper and Sasha firing at the same time.

  ‘Henri, fire mortars. Front Tower, spray the woods, use the belt!’

  Rocko pumped out rounds at high speed, panning right to left, the rest of the lads firing, rapid single shots, and anyone else in those woods would be running away right about now. The GPMG opened up, and I could just make out the tracer hitting the trees.

  I did not hear the pops behind me, but three mortars hit just in front of the trees, loud echoing blasts reaching us as the dirt was thrown high. ‘Henri, go slightly longer each time.’

  The GPMG continued to hammer out rounds, Rocko grabbing the second box-fed, already having dropped a hundred rounds into the woods, and the next salvo of mortars landed twenty yards inside the tree line, flashes seen, smoke rising, the dull blasts echoing.

  ‘Ceasefire,’ I called. ‘Sergeant Major, grab some men and get to the east side and comb those woods. Be careful!’

  He grabbed two Wolves and led them off bent-double, Sasha and Casper re-loading ready, Nicholson studying the woods through his sights, all of us knelt.

  Nicholson turned his head. ‘You reckon the snipers know about that fence, ‘coz it looks see-through?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ I told him. ‘And the land around here gives no-one an advantage for a shot. And if you saw that guy moving he was no professional.’

  ‘Not compared to us,’ Casper firmly stated. ‘You would not see me move like that.’

  ‘Glad you’re not out there then, Captain,’ I told him.

  He stood, facing the hangars, his back to the woods. ‘Where is the professional shot, eh?’

  The quiet crack passed us, and Casper spun around and fell. I crawled to him.

  ‘I’m OK,’ he said as he lay on his back. ‘No so much the crying for me. Went under my bad smell armpit, some blood.’ He pointed at the hangars.

  I breathed again. ‘Wilco to all teams, sniper behind the hangars! Move in and surround it, shoot the bushes and trees! MPs, get the dogs over here!’

  I eased up over the wall and started to fire into the bushes, pumping out rounds, the Wolves copying, Nicholson aiming out.

  A blast in my ear nearly deafening me, and Nicholson said, ‘Got him.’

  ‘Keep looking! Keep shooting!’ I shouted.

  With men closing in on the hangars we halted the outgoing fire, and like Nicholson I scanned the area, MP jeeps tearing up at speed, keen dogs out and barking like mad.

  ‘It’s Rocko, got a body, his brains all over the place.’

  ‘Don’t touch a phone if he has one, search the area, stay sharp, could be more of them.’

  I called London.

  ‘Duty Officer.’

  ‘It’s Wilco. Two x-rays down, search on-going just in case, one man wounded, get me an ambulance. Wilco out.’

  I turned to Casper as he eased his kit off, a nasty scrape, bleeding badly but not pumping.

  ‘Good shot,’ Nicholson commented. ‘In that wind. 500yards I’d say.’

  ‘Then I was shot by professional,’ Casper approved. ‘Good.’

  ‘You might have a scar afterwards,’ I teased.

  Pad on, we eased him up and helped him down the stairs, a jeep flagged down. I made sure all of his kit was off, pockets checked, UK fake ID in place, a sleepy Moran to go with Casper to the hospital, pips grabbed back off a protesting patient; he thought he would get better treatment from the nurses as a captain.

  At the gate we met the ambulance, and I had one of the CT police disarmed apart from his pistol and sent along in a jeep with an MP. Casper was not to be left alone.

  I called Paul MacManners and explained Casper in the ambulance, making him nervous. He would send a man down to the hospital.

  Back at the hangars, Rocko offered me a phone and the man’s wallet before I dispatched him to the south woods. The phone was already on, but I opened the back and checked it, prising open the side for a look at the circuit boards. Finally happy, I called London to track back the phone with some urgency.

  SOCO turned up again, making me think that we were not popular with them, two bodies to deal with, now a dozen police cars with flashing lights around the base.

  When Rocko returned he found me in the canteen, phone and ID handed over, the phone carefully checked, no bombs found, London called.

  I was dog tired midday, coffee keeping me going, when David Finch called me back.

  ‘We have a problem, a very serious problem. One of the sat phones you got, it tracks back to a phone registered to us.’

  ‘Registered to you!’

  ‘The field agent who signed it out is missing, his flat cleared out.’

  ‘I think maybe he has a Caribbean island to get to, some money in his pocket.’

  ‘We’re keeping it quiet for now, but if he has sold us out it could be devastating.’

  ‘What did he know? Does he know I’m Petrov?’

  ‘He shouldn’t, very few do, that’s at senior level, little written down, but he was with the Russia House.’

  ‘What else could he have access to?’

  ‘Detail about you and the base, SAS in general, missions, Casper and Sasha for certain, our Russian speakers would have been training with him.’

  ‘He’ll need to get across Europe, I doubt he’s on a plane already, so have the French looking for him. I’ll go deal with Belchov soon, like in a few days, and maybe that will stop our guy being paid – and that could isolate him.

  ‘I’ll need discrete transport to Incirlik Air Base in Turkey, from there a plane big enough for six men, and a pilot that’s crazy.
’

  ‘I’ll get on that now.’

  David called me back an hour later. ‘You fired mortars from within your base ... outside the base?’

  ‘It’s MOD property.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Where the mortars landed, so relax.’

  ‘It is?’

  ‘A mile around the base is MOD land that the famer is allowed to use.’

  ‘I’ll have a look at the map and the ownership, the local member of parliament has been contacted by local residents and has complained to the police – some guy was out hunting foxes and scared to death.’

  ‘If he had tripped across our assassin he would have been shot to death, so he was lucky.’

  Three days later I stood on a wooded hillside staring down at what the tourist brochure said was one of the oldest wineries in the world. Since they drank wine in the Bible I doubted that claim, but Georgia was supposed to be the birthplace of wine making – according to the Georgian Tourist Ministry at least.

  We were on the north coast, just ten miles from the border and Russian held territory, Steffan in the SVR very kindly supplying some of the weapons we now made use of.

  I transmitted, ‘Sasha, you ready?’

  ‘Yes, ready.’

  ‘Swifty?’

  ‘I could be fishing right now, you know that.’

  ‘This is so much more fun. Rizzo, you ready?’

  ‘I can see a man with a dog, too lazy to patrol, he’s just throwing a ball for the dog.’

  ‘As per the plan, follow me through. Sasha, when you’re ready.’ I peered down the slope.

  The large house below us, once a working winery - or a winery where people lived as well as worked, was now dead quiet, no signs of life, curtains drawn, tall trees all around its flaky old beige walls and shading it; it probably got little sunlight, unlike the nearby vines. In the courtyard I could see two new black Mercedes covered in morning dew, and I glanced up at the hidden sun, dawn rising over the hills, and I was soon taking aim with my RPG.

  Sasha pressed a button, the back of this large old house blown out – a million birds launching themselves from the branches above us and shrieking. I could see flames spreading, a dozen windows having been blown out, the slumbering occupants sure to have been rudely woken. I depressed the trigger.