Wilco- Lone Wolf 9

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Search at dawn, get the bodies, identify them.’

  ‘Why not now?’

  ‘A wounded man in the jungle will kill some of your boys. Let them die first, block the roads.’

  ‘Some got away?’

  ‘Hard to tell, I never moved up to them, just shot the fuckers.’

  My phone vibrated. It was GCHQ. ‘Papa Victor here.’

  ‘You still in one piece?’

  ‘Yes, your information was most helpful, we are grateful. We shot them. Any more information, let me know.’

  ‘The sat phone in question just made a call, a few seconds ago, but his position has not changed in the past half hour or more.’

  ‘Where did he call?’

  ‘Local sat phone number, La Toya.’

  ‘La Toya,’ I repeated to Tomsk. ‘You have the grid.’ I wrote it down. ‘Thank you, now I sleep.’ I cut the call and fetched a map from next door, No.2 helping me work out the position. I marked the map. To Tomsk I said, ‘That building, edge of La Toya, send men now.’

  Tomsk made a call, to a man in La Toya, and described the building as I held a finger on it. It was a motel apparently, men on their way.

  When Tomsk had finished the call, I sat with a cold beer, muddy knees, and sweating. ‘After you went to bed I got a call. British broke the phone patterns of the Cali Cartel, I have all their homes and drug labs on a map now.’

  ‘Are good, very good, yes.’

  ‘Extremely fucking good. As I was chatting to the British they noticed a live phone connection to here, those men.’

  ‘How many men?’

  ‘Say ... twelve.’

  ‘They would not have got in!’ Tomsk scoffed.

  ‘Good soldiers, well armed, may have had explosives. And maybe a second team out there, east or north.’

  ‘Well ... may have done some damage, yes,’ Tomsk admitted. ‘Tomorrow we identify them.’ His phone went. ‘Da!’ He listened, glancing at me. Phone down, he said, ‘Wounded man caught on a road, and he is Nicaraguan Special Police Commando.’

  ‘Hired for the job,’ I noted, and sipped my beer. ‘Men from another area. But they would send more than twelve.’ I called the Panamanian minister, waking him.

  ‘Minister, Petrov.’

  ‘You know what time it is!’

  ‘You know that fifty well-armed Nicaraguan Special Police Commandos are attacking Tomsk right now.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes, so ... go look for them please. We shot twelve already.’

  ‘Nicaraguan Police! I’ll fucking hang them myself!’ He cut the call.

  I faced Tomsk. ‘Warn your people that the local authorities will look for those men ... and are very upset. Let them earn their keep, eh.’

  ‘You think they know you are going to attack them?’ Tomsk asked, concerned.

  I made a face. ‘They may think you want to get at them, that you tipped off the police here, but to go to Cali?’ I shook my head. ‘No.’

  No.3 walked in, Tomsk shouting about muddy boots. ‘Sorry. What we doing? We stay here or go look for them?’

  ‘Stay here, the local police are out looking,’ Tomsk told him.

  No.3 focused on me. ‘You shot them?’

  ‘Twelve maybe.’

  He smiled, and pulled out a rolled up plastic sign, and handed it to me. ‘It was in a roadside bar.’

  “Petrov gets credit, DEA pay cash.” It was in Spanish, the English words underneath.

  I smiled, and showed Tomsk.

  Holding it, he said, ‘I send one to every fucking bar.’

  ‘No need,’ No.3 told him. ‘Someone did already.’

  I called SIS London from where I sat, still smiling, No.2 holding the sign.

  ‘Duty Officer.’

  ‘Papa Victor, in Panama. Sitrep: group of Nicaraguan Police Commandos just attacked Tomsk at his villa near La Palma, most shot dead, no wounds for these British men. End of message. Out.’ I faced Tomsk. ‘In the morning, the Nicaraguan Ambassador will feel the heat. You have people in the media, yes?’

  Tomsk nodded.

  ‘Give them a nudge now, give them the story. Breakfast news, no?’

  Tomsk made a call, the man at the other end awake it seemed, and gave the detail in English. ‘I’m off to bed, if I can fucking sleep,’ he complained.

  I went back to my maps, yawned, and headed for my allotted room upstairs, finding the room way to sumptuous for a man in jungle fatigues with muddy knees. Kit on a chair, rifle down, smelly clothes off, I had a cool shower then eased into a huge double bed with crisp white linen smelling great, my room looking like a five star hotel.

  I had forgotten to close the curtains, there were slats anyhow, but the light woke me at 5.30am. Looking under the slats, I could see that it was bullet proof glass. I headed back into the shower, warm this time, and put my smelly greens back on, my boots downstairs somewhere. Kit over my shoulder, I walked down and found my boots, soon in with the night staff and eating and chatting.

  The wounded Nicaraguans had been picked up, a team caught heading north by the local police, roadblocks in place. There had been thirty two of them, but some were reported as being Panamanian - ex-soldiers. The men had come down the coast on a ship, put ashore after dark at an isolated spot, and had walked twenty miles through the trees, an impressive feat. And they knew that Tomsk was here, and had moved villas recently.

  After breakfast I returned to my maps, standing and staring at the images and contours. I now had a large map of Cali city and the surrounding area taped to a wall, and with a coffee in hand I stared hard at it for an hour.

  My snipers came in with No.2 at 7.30am, breakfast enjoyed, my staff sergeants sleeping in. Rocko and Rizzo put in an appearance at 8.30am, after some morning shagging – as they loudly reported, Tomo claimed four “shots” with his girls, one over a girl’s face.

  Tomsk came and joined me with my maps. ‘You have a plan?’

  ‘I do now. Same plan as before, but now I have the detail I need. We’ll parachute in, an isolated spot, take our time to reach the estate where the leaders live. I’ll have to deal with guards, lots of guards, then snipe quietly at the villa guards and rush the villas, get the leadership and drag them off.’

  ‘Drag them off?’

  ‘Hand them to the Americans for some show trials.’

  ‘Be easier to just kill them and run.’

  ‘We could never run fast enough. No, we need to stay a while and deal with the gunmen. I’ll drag the leaders to a place where the Americans can pick them up, then I move west and destroy the drug labs, getting the drugs out maybe. They’ll send all their best gunmen after us, which is the main part of this, to kill that lot. ‘Then ... then we hang around and see who comes after us, and kill the fuckers. Idea is to leave when there’s no one following us.’ I pointed. ‘Cement factory south of the city has some hidden building, men there, I’ll think about hitting that as well, but I won’t go into the city itself.

  ‘Then you let Medellin know what we’ve done, ask them to send people in and assess the city. They’ll take over?’

  ‘If enough of the old leadership is killed, the money and drugs taken ... they can’t pay the staff,’ Tomsk noted.

  ‘Cali Cartel has money in American banks, several billion dollars.’

  I had the British lads pack up, and those Russians selected for the insert team travelled with us to the jungle camp by jeep, and it had grown a little, now with a good fence in places and a few stone buildings. The British lads were allocated a room, Sasha and his team a second room, and I was in with No.3 and No.5, nice enough quarters.

  Ten minutes later I gathered the Russian insert team and we stood in an open area, the base’s large central grassy area, the men in a circle around me, squinting in the bright sunlight. ‘Last night we had an attack by the Cali Cartel, they sent men from Nicaragua. Maybe they know we’re coming, but that won’t help them much.

  ‘What also happened last night ... was that the Bri
tish tracked the phones used by the Cali Cartel and linked them all together, and got position fixes on all their houses, facilities, and underground drug labs. I know have a very detailed map, I know exactly where they are.

  ‘The plan is ... that we train you in the use of high altitude parachute kit, and then we board a civilian transport with a rear ramp, a scheduled flight. They open the ramp at 14,000ft over the jungle near Cali city, and we drop, not being seen. We group together and move east, to attack the Cali leadership in their villas as they sleep.

  ‘I know which villas hold the bosses, where the guards are, where the jungle command posts are. They may have cameras, sensors, we’ll see when we get there. We’ll deal with the guards quickly and quietly, and move on the main villas, the British snipers assisting.

  ‘Those four men are the best there is, better than me. They’ll hit a man between the eyes at a thousand yards. In addition to the British we have an American helicopter carrier offshore -’

  ‘Why the Americans helping us?’ a man puzzled.

  ‘They want us to do their dirty work for them,’ I told him, whispered conversations breaking out. ‘Not least because they’ve never stopped the cartels, and their embassy was attacked by the Cali Cartel.’

  ‘So why help them?’

  ‘Because they have helicopters and doctors, and we’ll be a very long fucking way from any help.’ I let them think about it. ‘You get shot in the jungle down there, you stay down there and die. Or we make use of the Americans.’ I held my hands wide. ‘No fucking helicopters coming from Tomsk with a doctor in it.

  ‘So, we hit the villas and grab the leaders, not killing them, tie them up, drag them up into the hills, and if all goes well I call in the Americans and they send helicopters – TV camera to hand, and grab the leaders whilst making it look like their heroic action.’

  A loud chorus of grunts swept around the men.

  I let them settle. ‘What some of you already know ... is that I struck a deal with the Americans before. They leave us alone if we leave them alone, and we tip them off about rivals, they arrest the men and make themselves look good. If and when that deal with the Americans ends ... you all get killed or thrown into an American maximum security prison for the rest of your lives.’

  I let them think about it, and they exchanged worried looks. ‘So, after the Americans take the leaders, we move on the drug labs, and we ambush any Cali gunmen using the roads, and there are not many roads - it’s jungle and mountains. And how are those gunmen going to find us in the jungle?’ I held my hands wide.

  ‘We have good rifles, good camouflage, supplies. They’ll not find us, and we’ll kill them. If we get their cash and drugs back here there’ll be good bonuses for you all.

  ‘Right, today we’ll teach you to free fall in teams with our special kit bags, and you’ll practise. When you are ready ... we go. If that is tomorrow, we go tomorrow.’

  I led them towards Rocko and Rizzo, who were unloading crates and filling the HALO bags. I told Sasha to translate, and let Rocko and Rizzo give a talk about the technique. Half an hour later teams were formed up, bags held, shoulders held.

  ‘Beep beep ... beep beep beep,’ Rocko began. ‘Beeeeeeep. Break! One thousand ... two thousand ... three thousand ... four! Look up and around, look for the lights, steer away from each other. Find the bag, follow it. Can’t see the bag, just drift.’

  The team reformed, and did it all again, the others soon copying, and each repeated it ten times at least. A Skyvan was here ready, at the strip, and I had my lads pair up with Russian lads, three teams formed and kitted ready, chutes checked over, reserves checked over, HALO bags carried.

  Fifteen minutes later, those on the ground peered up, Tomsk now here, and I could see the formation as it passed broken cloud. They split apart, four green chutes seen, soon a stick of four chutes following the bag.

  ‘Good,’ I told Tomsk.

  The first team landed without breaking ankles, chutes rolled up by many hands, well-paid French parachute packers stood smoking and observing as the other teams came in. One Russian lost his grip of the bag but stayed close by, breaking on time, which was no big deal. A pair almost tangled but turned away in time, and apart from that it was a good first test, the next three teams getting ready.

  The second release went off OK, but another Russian lost his grip - all landing without killing themselves, and by 3pm the entire insert team had dropped without major incident. I let the men go and sleep in the heat, Tomsk heading off, and we would now try night drops, the wind OK so far, the weather holding for us.

  I called David in London.

  ‘How’s it going?’ he asked.

  ‘The men are here and the kit is here, and we just practised HALO bag drops, all down safe. Tonight we’ll do it again, a few of the Russians let go of the bag.’

  ‘And this attack last night, which I got from GCHQ oddly enough..?’

  ‘GCHQ decided to get involved – to show off, and found patterns in the Cali Cartel phone usage, and they pinpointed for me exact villas and drug labs, or this job might have been aborted. Their data matched the local intel, but with precise grid references.’

  ‘Well, we are all on the same team after all, and that’s their job. When do you move out?’

  ‘If tonight goes well, maybe tomorrow.’

  ‘Rumour that the Panamanians will fast-track extradition of their prisoners.’

  ‘I gave them a nudge, I don’t want bombs going off around here. Once those men are in an American prison the cartel will stop pissing about.’

  ‘The Americans gave us a nudge, a second one. They’re considering action, but they’d never land in Colombia.’

  ‘As I said to someone last night ... an aircraft carrier is no good against criminals in a city.’

  ‘No, quite.’

  ‘They’ll have ships offshore soon?’

  ‘Sat nearby, helicopters ready.’

  ‘Tell them that it’s all going to plan. First call to them will be to pick up any Cali bosses, in the hills west of the city, plus wounded. Make sure I have a direct number to the fucking ship, time will be critical.’

  ‘I’ll send a note now.’

  I got an hour’s kip in the heat, but was then wide awake, soon wandering around a quiet base, memories coming back. I greeted familiar faces and stopped to chat, a look at the range; it had not changed much.

  At 5pm we all ate at the base canteen, the chicken good, checking kit at 7pm as we lost the light. I had them all go through the routine again, over and over - stood with their bags, and we double-checked the bag lights, personal lights and the altimeters, and I told them all to count as they dropped, and to break on time.

  Radios checked, mics fitted to non-oxygen oxygen masks, and we were ready. I was not jumping, not wanting to risk an ankle before the job. Rocko and Rizzo would be with Russians again, my snipers split up again.

  I wished them well as they set off the short distance to the strip, Tomsk arriving, and we stood with cold drinks in hand, peering skyward. The Skyvan came over, landing lights on so that we could see it, but it was impossible to see the teams.

  We waited.

  Radio crackle registered in my ear, soon “Break!” in Russian and the count as I craned my neck skywards, and I could see four chutes, soon a fifth as the bag chute opened. The bag drifted towards the trees, so I radioed the team not to follow it.

  That first team landed on the grass in front of us, Rizzo first down, chutes soon being bundled up, men sent for the bag. The second team also drifted, but turned in time, a Russian seen limping. He might now be off the job.

  The third team lost their bag, but all landed right in front of us, no broken bones. We waited, chatting as the Skyvan picked up its next load, a phone call to say that it was off.

  An hour later and all teams were down safely, the Skyvan route having been adjusted, bags hitting the grass training area this time, one hitting a hut roof.

  I told Tomsk, ‘They’re
good enough to land safely, so organise that plane.’

  ‘Tomorrow night it flies.’

  ‘Double check the pilots, the airport staff, ask questions, or we’ll all be killed as some fucker puts a bomb on that plane.’

  ‘The pilots were offered good money, or a slow death. They can be trusted.’

  ‘Have them followed and watched anyhow. Have men watch that plane every minute it’s on the ground here, look for any strange cargo.’

  He nodded. ‘You have everything you need?’

  ‘All we need now is some luck. And check the weather over Cali for tomorrow night. And don’t forget that ship, we could use it to escape on if need be.’

  ‘I have many ships to use, one close by,’ Tomsk assured me.

  Everyone headed off to bed, Rocko and Rizzo asking about girls, and being disappointed. They would just have each other for company.

  My phone trilled, our Panamanian minister, No.3 and No.5 sat drinking beer opposite me. ‘Minister?’

  ‘We captured many of these Nicaraguans, they will stand trial for terrorism. But it is a bad day, some were serving officers. But that is not the reason for the call - a minister’s son has been kidnapped.’

  ‘Cali Cartel?’

  ‘We don’t know yet, but that would seem most likely.’

  ‘How old?’

  ‘Fifteen. His driver was shot dead, professional job, no amateurs.’

  ‘Leave it with me. I will get him back, or hand you the severed head of the man who ordered it.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I called Tomsk.‘Listen, fucking Cali Cartel just grabbed the son of a minister here. Make some calls, make a big effort to find them, but I think they went to Colombia. If we grab the leaders, we bargain for him.’

  ‘I let everyone know now, offer a big reward, check the ships for these fuckers.’

  I called London, No.3 and No.5 listening in. ‘This is Papa Victor. Sitrep: Panamanian Government Minister’s son kidnapped by Cali Cartel, maybe moved south. Ask GCHQ for phone intercepts between kidnap location and Cali. Out.’

  No.3 looked puzzled. ‘You ask the British to intercept phones?’

  ‘No, they look for any phone from where the boy was grabbed, connecting to Cali city. It all goes through a computer. Those men that came last night, London spotted the phone and warned me.’