by Geoff Wolak
Wilco:
Lone Wolf
Book 18
Copyright © Geoff Wolak
Started January, 2014
This book is historically very accurate in places, technically correct for the most part, yet it is fiction, really fiction, definitely fiction, and any similarity to real people or real events – although accidental - is probably intentional. Some characters in this book may be based on some of the wankers I have either worked with or unfortunately met over the years.
Email the author: [email protected]
www.geoffwolak-writing.com
Playing chess
My good buddies in America’s Deep State had reported that Al-Qaeda knew that we were planning on attacking them in Yemen, and I had to wonder what the dead Saudi diplomat was going to warn me about in Vegas. I also had to wonder what Deep State and Mister Miller were all about, and were they playing games here, playing both sides?
Question was, did that diplomat know that a trap was being set in Yemen, and if so, it could only mean that someone in the Saudi government was involved in setting that trap and supplying weapons – as well as some cash no doubt.
It was nothing new, since the Saudi prince that Casper had killed had not only supplied money to al-Qaeda he had nudged them to go after Desert Sands. In the UK, the left hand had not known what the right hand was doing, but it seemed that the Saudis trumped us when it came to duplicity in open sight.
But if I had gone into Yemen without the warning I would have proceeded as if they knew we were coming anyhow, as with the Somalia insert, so little would have changed in my thinking. And the first villager - or wandering desert nomad with a sat phone - to spot us would report us, that aspect to be factored into my thinking on the ground.
No, a trap would not be a problem, or a surprise for us, so my mind was fixed on that Saudi diplomat – and what he really wanted to warn me about.
The teams were training hard when I drove out Tuesday morning, off up to London with MP Pete in the rain, and I figured that driving around the UK was safe enough now, the conspirators dealt with. Hopefully dealt with. I was in uniform, and I had my facemask with me, pistol under my arm, boots clean enough.
Under low grey cloud we made good time to the centre of London, soon to the rear of No.10 and expected, checked at the gate, car checked. Parked where told, Pete to remain with the car – just in case someone wanted to put a bomb under it, I was escorted inside, a ten minute wait with a cup of tea as the PM attended the important affairs of state.
I was finally led in, the PM with his Home Secretary, Chancellor and Defence Secretary. The aides were sent out, so this would be a private chat.
‘Are you injured?’ the PM asked, pointing me towards a chair.
‘No, sir. This week I’m upright.’
‘Only you could be flippant about something like that,’ the Defence Secretary noted.
‘It’s an occupational hazard, sir. So, how are your ratings this week?’
They could not help but smile.
The Chancellor began, ‘Grab us by the balls from the outset, Major, then twist our arms some.’
I hid my grin. ‘I would never dream of doing such a thing.’
The PM noted, ‘Our ratings are so high we’d need both sides of the aisle, anger against the posh Tories - as the voters see it.’
‘Might get some legislation passed then,’ I quipped.
The Home Secretary noted, ‘I’m altering an old law and creating a new one, the disclosure of personal interest act for public officials – your idea.’
‘You’ll make a lot of civil servants edgy, sir.’
‘That’s the hope,’ he added with a grin.
‘Tell us about Mexico,’ the PM nudged, and he eased back.
‘From the start of my career with Intel … I was set-up by Mi6 to play a character, a Russian hitman that was killed here in London. He was small time, so they embellished his reputation and added to it. I had the scars on my body from Bosnia, I was a boxer, and I spoke Russian – so I could pretend to be this particular Russian.
‘But my Russian was not that good, and it didn’t need to be since this particular Russian, Petrov, grew up in Canada and here in the UK, hardly any time spent in Russia. I started to pose as that man and I managed to get intel on Russian gangs in London – gangs that wanted my character to kill other Russians.
‘When I was in Bogota, after protecting the former Prime Minister on a visit there, I was sent by Mi6 into Panama, to snuggle up to the then small-time drug dealer called Tomsk, who was rumoured to have sent a ship full of guns to the UK. He hadn’t, they were meant for France, but the ship’s captain docked here by mistake and got caught.
‘Playing the undercover role, I started to attack other drug gangs in Panama for Tomsk, and that helped to build him up as a side effect. I trained his men and I built a small army, which I used against the FARC on the Colombian border.
‘As that was happening I nudged my host and paymaster to tip-off Britain, France and America about drug shipments, the tip-offs being mostly about the shipments belonging to rivals of Tomsk.
‘My motivation was to open channels for him - and to get us a good newspaper headline, the Navy having a good success rate with stopping drugs around the Caribbean, currency for our reputation abroad.
‘The CIA sent a man in undercover, one I had met previously, so I then had a channel to the CIA, who were liking the tip-offs. After the FARC shot down my helicopter with a heat-seeking missile I was rescued by the Navy and brought back, but I maintained phone contact with Tomsk, and he continued to tip-off the various nations about drugs and guns on ships.
‘In Liberia, when faced with a hundred airliner hostages about to be killed, I walked into a camp and told the dictator of Monrovia that I was Petrov, and I blagged him, the hostages soon to be rescued by the Americans after the number of armed men guarding them was greatly reduced – some good TV minutes accrued.
‘I convinced the dictator that Tomsk was part of a secret group that had the support of the CIA and others, and would he like to join. He said yes, so I worked deals with him that directly saved the lives of British enlisted men in Sierra Leone, and saved hostages, and instead of fighting us he assisted us greatly during the various conflicts in the region.
‘Also at that time, Tomsk had introduced me to various Russian gun runners, and they also assisted me with intel in Liberia, and at Camel Toe Base those gun runners were instrumental in saving lives and helping us to win – making us look better than we really are. Those gun runners were landing weapons for the Islamists attacking us – then calling me to tell me what they had landed.
‘Tomsk was then sent a file of my real identity by a former JIC official -’
‘Jesus,’ the Home Secretary let out.
‘And that file had details of my daughter and her nursery, a suggestion that Tomsk go kill her.’
They exchanged horrified looks.
‘But I talked Tomsk around, and he knew that I had saved his life a dozen times and put him where he was, so it was business as usual. I also confided in the dictator in Monrovia, and he knows who I really am.
‘I got Tomsk together with a gun runner who has aircraft, and they created an airline in Liberia and Sierra Leone, and Tomsk got an oil concession off the coast of Liberia – a deal that I worked.
‘Gentlemen, if a hitman in West Africa farts too loudly I get a warning about it, British interests there protected. And those warnings, underworld warnings, also include Central America, East Africa, and some penetration of the Middle East.
‘Recently, a senior CIA man was kidnapped, and I went to find him – using my underworld contacts. Mi6 were not happy, it was not my job, so it was listed as u
npaid leave.’
‘Why were they not happy?’ the PM puzzled.
‘The man was CIA, but also worked for … others.’
‘Ah,’ the PM let out.
‘So I went to Jamaica and traced him, and I found that he had been kidnapped by Carlos the Jackal from Mexico. I flew to Panama at the expense of Tomsk, then flew to America at his expense, where the CIA assisted me across the border. They were happy to see me snuggle up to Carlos to get intel on drug gangs along the border. Not CIA work, but it all benefits America’s security.
‘Once in place with Carlos I started to hit rival gangs, to build up Carlos as I did Tomsk. For the record, he should be called Carlos the Kitten – a quiet family man. His main rivals were the Lobos Cartel, and Lobos sent men to kill me when they found out I was assisting Carlos. I had with me a few Echo men, plus Russian hitmen, plus a small CIA team posing as mercenaries, and we had the use of helicopters.
‘We hit Lobos wherever we could, hit rival drug labs, and now Carlos the Jackal is in a much better position, but more to the point he’ll tip me off about Lobos men inside the States, and I tip off the CIA, and you lot get the thanks.
‘I tipped off the CIA about the armed Lobos men moving across the border, and I tipped them off about the money laundering in Los Angeles – a big bust for the newspapers, and then Lobos sent three transport aircraft full of armed men to attack me.
‘I had my men in helicopters, fifty cal machineguns rigged up, and when the transports came in to land at night we shot them down, one of the transports containing thirty or more American mercenaries.
‘One transport, on fire, landed at the border. The story of Lobos wanting to attack Americans was just press speculation, but it gave them what they wanted – a united front against such drug cartels, some public anger.
‘This recent mission into Mexico benefitted the Americans greatly, and they’ll assist us greatly and support us in West Africa and other places when we need them – like Somalia. They have the aircraft carriers to hand, it certainly isn’t one sided – with just me helping them; we get the hardware to back us up when we need it.’
The PM began, ‘I was glad the US President didn’t call me to thank me, I would have looked stupid.’
‘It was a job off the books, Prime Minister, so that if it went wrong I would get the blame, not you.’
‘I can’t figure out if I’m happy about it or worried! But we need American support, so we have to go along with these types of missions. Fortunately SIS never put anything in writing.’
The Home Secretary began, ‘What do you know about the al-Qaeda attack on the bank in Belgium?’
‘I got a tip-off about al-Qaeda men in the area, a Russian gun runner having transported them in crates from Northern Cyprus,’ I lied. ‘I tipped off the CIA, despite the fact that I wanted to see the bank destroyed.’
‘And did they tip off the bank?’ the PM asked.
‘It would seem not,’ I told him. ‘Their concern, I did my bit.’
‘One of the Arab terrorists had spent time in prison in Oman,’ the PM floated. ‘And the Omanis lost out to the bank, and with their building here…’
‘Did you wish to accuse the Omanis of something?’
‘Not if we want to sell them arms we don’t!’
‘Prime Minister, the attack on the bank, the deaths here and in West Africa, have sent a message to those who need to heed the message: if you attack the UK and our interests and kill our people … we push back.’
They exchanged looks.
The PM noted, ‘The deaths in London have the police stumped, no evidence, but many people gossip that it was down to you and your men.’
‘Might enhance our reputation, but we’re not that good - and we don’t operate on UK streets. And the mood of the people..?’
‘Solidly behind me, behind you of course, and against the conspirators, a rare united public opinion. We’ve arrested many, and they’ve turned on their friends, a few public officials quietly retired off, so we think we’ve dealt with them all – and I hope we’ve dealt with them all.’
‘The test will be … if anyone tries to shoot me next week.’
‘And Yemen?’ the Defence Secretary asked.
‘First, the Israelis asked if we could hit an al-Qaeda training camp there, then the Americans wanted to hit that camp. But it’s up to you if you wish us to be involved there.’
‘And the chances of casualties?’ the Defence Secretary asked.
‘If a helicopter goes down we lose ten men, or if a mortar lands a lucky hit. Casualties in the fighting would be kept down because we would hit them 600yards away, we have the snipers, as we did at Camel Toe Base.’
‘We watched that film,’ the PM noted. ‘So I have an appreciation of your day job.’
‘There is a wrinkle with Yemen, and that … is that senior Saudi officials have sent money and weapons to al-Qaeda, and warned them that I’m coming.’
They straightened.
‘And you want to go ahead with it?’ the PM puzzled.
‘I would have figured a villager to warn the bad boys anyhow, it would not alter my tactics, and after the first shot was fired they’d know we were there, so nothing changes. Question is, what do you lot want to get out of it?’
They exchanged looks. The PM began, ‘Knocking back al-Qaeda benefits us all, assisting the Americans is necessary, and a good newspaper report helps with recruitment – as well as our reputation in the Middle East and elsewhere. But could they set traps in Oman at some support area, men killed?’
‘I’m always cautious, and I trust no one, not even the Omanis. Men would never be bunched-up or vulnerable. But you need to assume that an accident claims ten or twenty lives – and weigh the risks accordingly.’
The Defence Secretary put in, ‘What you probably already appreciate … is that films like Camel Toe Base are currency to us, in many ways, not just with recruitment. We sell more weapons, we sell our security consulting services, and small countries respect us more, good for business.
‘That film was worth countless billions of pounds to us, so another one like it adds to that pot of money. When I meet foreign military staff – they ask about you. And those cheeky buggers at Valmet in Finland, they have you in their damn brochure!’
I smiled widely. ‘They did design a rifle for me.’
He noted, ‘Eight countries have adopted the Valmet as the standard infantry rifle over the old style AK47 family of rifles.’
‘Then I just hope we don’t fight against them.’
The Chancellor asked, ‘You can magic up another film?’
‘Yes, even if the operation goes wrong.’
‘You could … pen the script?’ he floated.
‘I could, yes.’
He noted, ‘That film on Angola will be released soon as well.’
I nodded. ‘RAF were not happy about the film on Camel Toe Base, their men got no mention.’
The Defence Secretary told me, ‘Recruitment for the RAF Regiment is up four fold, so they can pick the good men.’
The PM asked me directly, ‘Major, is there any chance that one of your men, or known associates, will be arrested for involvement in what happened here in London?’
‘None, Prime Minister. If I was to make a wild guess – off the record, I would suggest that the teams were Canadian and American, good teams, rock solid alibis as to where they were at the time. But the Americans would never admit to that, and would be very upset if you asked.’
‘And the reason that they would go to such theoretical lengths?’
‘First, to cover their own involvement in the bank. They were involved financially, not involved with shooting people or attacking me in West Africa.
‘Second, they wanted to support me and keep me alive, for jobs like Yemen. And finally, because they realised that the bank had grown arrogant and was running riot around the world and killing people instead of quietly making money.’
The Chancellor noted,
‘That building might be saved, some structural re-work, but it will still cost a great deal, empty for a year.’
I nodded. ‘Gentlemen, when considering your natural concerns over shoot-outs on British streets, consider that these people wanted to bring a tall building down with explosives. They had to be stopped, and there was only one way to do that, or what would they have done next?’
The exchanged concerned looks.
I asked, ‘Do you have an opinion on Yemen, Prime Minister?’
‘What I want from it … is obviously the maximum British benefit, and that comes through the media – and your expert manipulation of them. We obviously want limited casualties, but we understand the risks of an accident, and I don’t think the media will be calling for my head if a helicopter goes down, they go down every year and kill servicemen.
‘But could the Saudis involved here manufacture some bad news, claim that our people shot up a village of women and children?’
‘They often do anyhow, but we have embedded reporters.’
‘Could you take extra reporters along?’
‘Definitely, sir, and the RAF propaganda team with their video cameras.’
‘They hate that title, apparently,’ the Defence Secretary scolded me.
‘Then I’ll call them the enhanced recruitment video team.’
‘Yes, better.’
‘You have enough men?’ the PM asked.
I smiled. ‘The Americans will have an entire carrier battle group off the coast, and a few thousand Marines ready. I’ll also take American teams in with me.’
‘And French?’
‘If they wish to join us. Perhaps you could ask them, Prime Minister.’
‘I will do, we’re meeting soon. And making it a multi-national effort helps greatly, should anything go wrong. And how come the damn New Zealand press think they have a platoon of men with you!’
I smiled widely. ‘I have one New Zealander, two French.’
‘Bloody cheek.’
‘Do you have a plan yet?’ the Defence Secretary asked.