Wilco- Lone Wolf 18

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Given the areas you work in, I’m not sure that you’ll ever have a straight answer and a guidebook on right or wrong. For many years, intelligence agents worked undercover in Northern Ireland and stretched a few laws to stop bombs going off. It’s not something new to us. Moving on.’

  The man to his right began, ‘Do you know who was involved in the deaths of people in London recently?’

  ‘None of my men were involved, and I’m damn sure that Mi5 and Mi6 were not involved, I would have been impressed if they had been.’

  ‘And what have your sources told you?’

  ‘That the bank had many factions, competing factions, and they fought each other for control. What you have to appreciate is that the bank had its own private army and spy agency, and they had some very capable individuals – most being former professionals working for a government, as our former Mi5 agents worked for Lord Michaels.’

  ‘So there are still men out there, this private army?’

  ‘Yes, very much so.’

  ‘And a danger to the public...’

  ‘Any private army, working for profit, is a danger to the public, yes.’

  ‘The JIC is aware that you, Major, tipped off the Americans about the al-Qaeda attack on the bank…’

  ‘Yes, one of my sources is a Russian gun runner, and he transported the al-Qaeda men into Europe. This was no al-Qaeda operation, they were pawns in the game, used to attack the bank and to try and lay blame elsewhere.’ I was happy with my answer, my double negative to hide the truth.

  ‘So this private army that still exists … arranged it?’

  ‘That would be my guess, but I don’t have solid intel on that.’

  ‘The bank tried hard to attack you, yet you still tipped off the Americans…’

  ‘As much as I wanted to see the bank taken down, I also wanted al-Qaeda stopped.’

  ‘And did you tip off Mi6?’

  ‘Of course, and the JIC saw it in the record. But the intel was vague, an attack in Holland planned, to steal money. I got the detail of the flight into Europe afterwards,’ I lied.

  ‘So sometimes your sources are vague..?’

  ‘Of course, they hear things and report it. In the case of Lord Michaels it was very specific intel, details listed, but Mi6 wanted solid evidence, afraid of accusing a prominent figure. If it had been a working class man they would have picked him up straight away.’

  ‘In the eyes of the law, all men should be treated equal.’

  ‘But they’re not, and an accusation against a prominent figure in London today will still be met with resistance; the old boy network has not gone, just suffered a set-back.’

  ‘Well, that is something for this committee to report on, the unequal nature of the law.’

  They moved on to the final woman, who was chewing on the end of her glasses. ‘What do you know about the wanted criminal known as Petrov?’

  ‘That he doesn’t exist.’

  ‘Doesn’t exist? He’s the FBI’s and Interpol’s most wanted.’

  ‘He’s a figment, a back-story, someone to blame when others kill. I know, because I killed him several years ago in West Africa, at least I killed one of his alter egos. I wounded a second Petrov a year back. He lost an arm.’

  ‘And who maintains the pretence that he’s a real person?’ the chairman asked.

  ‘Who can manipulate the FBI?’ I posed.

  ‘The Americans?’

  ‘I never said that, and you’d be wise not to press the issue. But he will never be caught and stand trial, since he doesn’t exist.’

  ‘In Panama they held a National Petrov Day,’ the chairman noted. ‘Free beer supplied by drug gangs no less.’

  ‘Helps to perpetuate a Robin Hood fable,’ I said with a smile. ‘But I am acting upon information supplied to me by my sources, and you did suggest that the information was … subjective.’

  ‘You have a bad habit of being right, Major,’ the chairman noted.

  They asked questions about Lord Michaels, the sleeper agents, Princess Diana, the coups in West Africa, almost an hour used up, but there was little in the way of shitty questions, and when there was the chairman cut in, firmly on my side.

  Finally, the chairman tapped a sheet. ‘A disclosed message from the CIA to SIS labels you as the world’s most valuable intel asset, and criticises us for not doing more to protect you.

  ‘From what I can see, you are in the unintended position of being passed around like a popular whore -’ I smiled. ‘- and through no design of your own have created for yourself a large grey area that not only sits between legal and illegal, but sits between nations – and the competing interests of those nations.

  ‘Your work is seemingly vital, yet it sits in the ether, to be plucked down and used when it suits the intelligence agencies and the police, to be ignored when it does not suit them – with the horrific consequences that can follow.

  ‘The system is at fault, we are at fault, for putting you in that position, yet you seem to have excelled in that position and have a fantastic track record of rescues and of military campaigns, and have turned around military recruitment in this country through the stories in the media – you even help us sell weapons abroad.

  ‘So whether we like it or not, whether you like it or not, it is seemingly best for the defence of realm that you are where you are, doing what you do, and you not only get criticised for doing it, but have people trying to kill you for doing it – and to kill your family members.

  ‘You are stood at the gates of hell, holding the door open for a few more souls to escape, and only you could do that, yet your close proximity to hell means that you might be accused of being in league with the devil himself.

  ‘Only Nixon could go to China, and it seems that the modern day equivalent is … only Wilco can hold the secrets.’

  I was a little stunned, and impressed. ‘You’re not as dumb as the newspapers say, are you.’

  ‘I hope not.’ He asked, easing back, ‘I know you’ve had a great many difficult moments, so why do you go on?’

  I shrugged. ‘One more week, one more bad guy shot dead, a few more hostages going home to their families. I have a very short-term view. Bosnia took away my fear of death.’

  ‘How does someone lose a fear of death?’ he puzzled.

  I stood, jacket off, holster off, shirt unbuttoned.

  ‘Major..?’

  I walked around as I eased off my shirt, the gasps audible, the shock on their faces clear. ‘When you face death fifty times over it loses its meaning. I lay down to die in Bosnia, but I woke up and life went on.’ I started to put my shirt back on. ‘I accepted that it was the end, but … I went on. Now, death is just a consequence, not a worry.’

  Holster back on, jacket back on, the chairman said, ‘You, and the strange position you occupy, suit each other I’m afraid. Only a man that could not be bullied or threatened could sit in that position, only a man that has seen Death himself close up.

  ‘But tell me, Major, realistically – is there a practical route map to avoid the same situation happening again?’

  ‘No, because human nature will never change. Rich and powerful men will always sit behind closed doors and make plans, plot and scheme, as they did in Roman times, as they’ll do a thousand years from now.

  ‘You cannot legislate against human nature, only temper the excesses where you can. As Plato realised, power and corruption go hand in hand, and are like bread and mold.’

  He smiled. ‘Sooner or later the bread turns to mold.’

  ‘You can’t pass laws to curb humans behaving like human, the church already tried and failed at that one; the threat of eternal damnation is not enough to keep men on the straight and narrow, to keep them … upright, level and balanced.’

  He cocked and eyebrow at me.

  Driving back, David called. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘A few shitty questions, but I gave them a reasonable explanation of how things came about, and they were no
t accusing me of any particular crimes. Is that chairman known to you?’

  ‘Let’s just say that he drinks at the right clubs.’

  I sighed. ‘More corruption and old boy network, this time for a good cause.’

  ‘Our bad men against their bad men. All set for Yemen?’

  ‘Yes, and what was going to be a quiet insert is now half the British Army on the move.’

  ‘Well, it’s not like al-Qaeda can run away and hide, you’d find them, and I think they’d want to attack you rather than hide – it’s their home turf and they must be seen to save face, Arab mentality.’

  ‘Yes, they’ll fight us,’ I agreed. ‘Question is … how.’

  The next day the Marines and the Paras turned up, their officers, some of whom would be going to Yemen with us, some simply senior staff or set to be involved with logistics.

  In the upstairs briefing room I had twenty-four guests, tea and coffee made, the Brigadier, Sanderson and Harris in on the meeting and knowing many of the faces already.

  I eventually settled them and detailed what we knew. ‘The role of your teams will be to simply take ground and hold it as we move west, and water will be an issue – take plenty, no shops nearby. The good thing … is that you’ll see tracks in the sand and stop, since there should be no tracks in the sand, of vehicles or of men on foot.

  ‘If you see a camel train, smile and wave whilst holding rifles, anyone else - and the chances are they’ll shoot first and offer you a nice cup of tea after. We think they’ll set ambushes, but it’s a big old area and easy to avoid narrow gullies. If you see a narrow gully, go on foot and have a look whilst men behind cover you.

  ‘Given the terrain, and the lack of roads, we should be able to cut off an area and isolate it, and control any movement in and out of that safe area. They can go over the hills, yes, but not in a jeep, and in that part of the world no one walks across the desert.

  ‘If and when we find where al-Qaeda are, assuming they don’t just sit and wait for us to knock on the door, there will be set-piece attacks, and we have the Oman Air Force available – aircraft sold by us, Lynx helicopters as well – sold by us, their men trained by us.

  ‘There is an airstrip close to the enemy camps, and we might take it by force, but we could not land until we know the state of the runway; they could dig it up or put obstacles on it. You may be involved with holding that airstrip.

  ‘To start with, you get to Oman, get to the border airfield and acclimatise, have the men out walking in the heat. As a rule, you should have most everyone sleep from noon till 4pm, then from midnight to 4am, always awake at dusk and dawn and moving around when it’s cold – and it gets really fucking cold at night, colder than the Brecon Beacons in winter, so take jumpers and jackets and sleeping bags.

  ‘This time of year it’s a pleasant 25 to 30 in the day, but you have direct sunlight – no cloud, so sunburn is an issue. Warn the men, no exposed skin. Moving around midday will use a lot of water, better to move around when it’s cool, but always have a man on stag.

  ‘OK, given that it’s al-Qaeda you can be damn sure they’ll send a man with a bomb on a suicide mission, to our rear bases. So, from the moment you get off the plane you’re a target. I want no group bigger than ten men at any time, no parades, no lectures, men always twenty yards apart, random moves.

  ‘They will … try and stick a bomb in our base near the border, you can be certain of that, so space your men out. Don’t park your vehicles in a row, put them twenty yards apart, don’t create a central stores area just to have someone blow it up, and trust no one.

  ‘Omani officers all train at Sandhurst and speak perfect English, but if the local tea boy has black teeth … kick him out the base, don’t trust him. Gentlemen, if I see a group of men stood together I’ll have my good friends in the Joint Chiefs roast the idiot responsible for those men.’ I let them think about it. ‘You’re up against terrorists.

  ‘If you have a bus laid on to go somewhere, limit the men on it, tell the Omanis to fuck off, get more buses, man or two at the front with a rifle. If there’s a nice barracks with air conditioning, limit the men in it at any one time, sleep in the sand spread out.

  ‘When driving across the sand, do so in the tracks of the vehicle in front, walk in the tracks of the man in front, there will be mines laid, especially close to the enemy camp. If you spend days in a lonely spot, not so much as a camel, stay alert – don’t let your guard down – could be a dangerous camel sneaking up on you.

  ‘Check clothing and supplies, and factor in that your men will be complaining of the heat midday, then complaining how cold it is at midnight; a man in a shirt could be hypothermic in an hour. As you battle the enemy you’ll be battling the temperature swings, so plan ahead and brief everyone.

  ‘As for the local indigenous dangers, there are snakes and scorpions, yes, but we will have helo medivac. And camels spit and kick, so no camel shagging.’

  They laughed.

  ‘You will all have embedded reporters, so best behaviour of the men, no talk of shooting the wogs, please. There will be TV crews, so teeth cleaned. Any questions?’

  ‘How long is the supply route?’

  ‘From start to probable end, two hundred miles of sand, since we won’t risk using the good roads. But we have helos available and Hercules pallet drop. Driving a wounded man back is out of the question, it would take two days at least.’

  ‘Probable end?’

  ‘I’m assuming that they set ambushes and get ready, not just sit looking surprised when we throw a grenade through their window. You may be shot at a mile inside the border, and face a few hundred men later on.

  ‘The good thing … is that you’ll see them a long way off. If you have GPMGs and sniper rifles, take them, this is all about the distance shooting, and who can shoot best. Not much chance of shooting at someone inside 400yards.’

  ‘Can we take Valmets?’

  ‘Do you have any?’ I asked.

  ‘MOD said they could get some quickly, brown already.’

  ‘Yes, grab some, easy to use, and we can train your men on them.’

  ‘Many of the sergeants have tried them already, in Sierra Leone.’

  ‘Valmet will hit a man in the face a thousand yards out, and that save lives – no close-up fighting.’

  ‘We have dozens of L96, so we’ll take them over the SA81.’

  ‘As I said, you’ll never pull the trigger on a man inside 400yards.’

  ‘And the most likely cause of casualties?’ a major asked.

  ‘A bomb in your tent at rear base. Second most likely cause would be mines in the sand, third would be heatstroke, sunburn and dysentery. Getting shot? Not that likely unless you’re stood up when you should be laying down.’

  ‘Local support?’ a man asked.

  ‘Inside Oman they’ll treat you like honoured guests, and bend over backwards to assist. Cross the border and they’ll use you for target practise if you let them. There are groups opposed to both al-Qaeda and those rebels sat making camp in the east, but those groups are six hundred miles west - and not about to leave their comfy air-conditioned barracks when they don’t have to.

  ‘The Bedouin don’t side with anyone, they keep to the tribes and families, but are honour bound to make you a cup of tea. If you come across a camel train, offer them some food and water, sit down, and if you have Arabic speaking officers – ask subtle questions about strangers seen.’

  ‘Any oasis?’ a man asked with a grin.

  ‘Not a one. If you see one, drink more water and get some rest.’

  They laughed.

  ‘Do al-Qaeda have aircraft?’

  ‘They may have an old Mi8 or two, a Cessna spotter plane, a small transport. You may well find an Mi8 with rocket pods coming at you. If so, call in the Lynx.’

  ‘How do we bring down an Mi8, you have?’

  ‘An Elephant Gun will penetrate the armour and front windscreen, sometimes a Valmet, a GPMG will just give the
m a headache. Valmet with Teflon rounds is a good idea.’

  ‘66mm?’

  ‘If you’re a damn good shot, and lucky, and they’re flying low. Best bet is to disperse, get out your vehicles, shoot upwards with what you have, but call in the Lynx. Omanis also have Hawk jets from us, armed, and there are a hundred US Navy F18s ready for some action.’

  ‘US Navy?’

  ‘Off the south coast, an entire carrier battle group sat getting bored, a helo carrier, submarines, the works.’

  ‘So who’s in charge on the ground?’

  ‘I am, the Americans will support my men on the ground, some of their men with us, but they will try and make it look in the American media that they’re in charge and did all the work.’

  ‘At Camel Toe Base you called up B2 bombers?’

  ‘No, they suggested it, kind of forced it on me. But it helped greatly.’

  ‘And Mexico..?’

  ‘I’ve never been to Mexico,’ I told him, and they exchanged looks. ‘OK, warn your men – best behaviour in Oman, or the Prime Minister will go ape. We sell them arms, we train their people, we have a close working relationship.

  ‘Your men salute Omani officers and say sir. Please keep it tight, or the Foreign Office and the MOD will be sending the officer responsible to the Falkland Islands to count penguins.’

  With tea and coffee being made, doughnuts bought from a local shop, they spoke in small groups with our officers, questions asked, points debated, but none of this lot wanted to measure his cock against mine, which made for a pleasant change.

  Max the reporter called me that evening. ‘Paras are off on a job in Oman?’

  ‘Don’t print anything yet, and I was going to call you. Be ready to ship out end of this week, desert browns.’

  ‘So what’s the action?’

  ‘Large-scale incursion into Yemen.’

  ‘Yemen? Lovely spot. I hear it’s worse than Camel Toe Base.’

  ‘And are you milking your fame..?’

  ‘Well … nice to have some recognition.’

  ‘Getting laid?’

  ‘I’m … doing OK, yeah.’

  Smiling, I said, ‘Pop down soon and chat to the teams, but there’re a few groups here you can’t mention. Photograph the training, release it afterwards.’