by Geoff Wolak
‘Pity we don’t have a brick building suitable,’ I told O’Leary.
‘There’s a Portakabin that joins up to make a big one – like two side by side. Would fit in here, and block the wind from the hangar mouth.’
‘How about ... something in place to lower the entrance height down to eight feet?’ I asked.
‘Easy enough,’ O’Leary suggested. ‘I’ll get the RAF on that. Be a bit warmer.’
The Major said, ‘How about a big set of double doors that can be locked?’
‘Even better,’ I noted, O’Leary making notes. ‘And have them fill in all the small holes in the walls, a large blower set-up. When could you get those Portakabins?’
‘They can be hired within a day and delivered.’
‘Leave the vehicles outside for now apart from the long-axle jeeps,’ I suggested. ‘But start on a shed.’
‘So we go looking for jobs,’ Moran noted.
‘We find jobs, then ask London,’ I corrected him. ‘If we plan the job, and it looks straight forwards, they’d hardly say no, and we have an enlarged role for Intel here.’ I faced Harris. ‘Contact your boss in London, discuss it.’
He nodded and made a note.
‘And I want to meet the guy who does the oil company security and the FCO guy responsible,’ I told O’Leary.
‘How about dispersal teams,’ Hamble floated. ‘Regular SAS with a team in Sierra Leone ready to fly, or Mali, on call, team in Kenya the same.’
‘I’ll mention it to Colonel Dean,’ I told him. ‘But such rotations add to experience away from the UK, so it’s all good stuff.’
We made a plan, kicked around ideas, and everyone was keen to get started; we would take responsibility for some of our own intel.
After the meeting I called David. ‘Could I have a man with us permanently, someone who will travel with us - but your man, my liaison for a quick decision, someone not averse to rough conditions?’
‘I don’t see why not. But will Colonel Dean question his role?’
‘Not after he sees what I’m doing.’
‘What are you doing?’
‘Wait and see ... send me that man.’
‘JIC may have issues with SIS staff on site...’
‘Not when they see what I’m doing, so trust me.’
Next call was GCHQ. I told their friendly director I wanted a man on loan, and he was keen, but it would have to be cleared by the JIC. I said to apply for permission, and sharpish.
The next day our Portakabins turned up, our vehicles moved, cranes used to awkwardly position the new buildings within the hangar. By 3pm the new double-sized Portakabin was in place, two doors joining them, no gaps or a breeze blowing, internal windows boarded up. Desks were assembled, my lads helping out, new chairs unwrapped from the cardboard protecting them.
At 4pm a helicopter set down, two men coming to find me. One was from the FCO, and responsible for terror threat levels, one did the same thing for the oil and mining companies. I got them a tea in the briefing room.
‘We have an idea what you got planned here,’ the FCO guy began. ‘And we’re more than keen to assist. We have, in the past, been frustrated ... shall we say. We knew who the gangs were and they went unpunished.’
‘I’m good with the punishments,’ I told him.
‘We know, you leave few alive to bother us later on,’ the oil guy put in. ‘But will London send you out more often?’
‘Yes, is the simple answer, in that when I point at hostages – and that my lads are bored - they don’t object. What I want from both of you is a man, or lady, sat here helping with the intel and planning.’
‘That we can do,’ the FCO guy agreed as we sat with mugs of tea. ‘Makes my life easier. And if you can get the other agencies to play nice...’
‘I’m the only one that could get them to play nice,’ I told him. ‘As well as the Americans and French.’
‘That’s what we were hoping for, because they don’t share the intel, and hostages are left to rot.’
They re-boarded their ride twenty minutes later, promises made of two warm bodies to live here, or to live nearby.
Captain Harris came and found me at 7pm, in my house. ‘I had a chat to London about this new approach, and ... they’re sending a major down.’
‘They ... don’t have confidence in you?’ I puzzled.
‘They want an expanded role.’
‘Oh.’ I exchanged a look with Swifty.
Harris added, ‘They compete just like the other agencies, and they want some limelight.’
‘If this person assists, then fine. Do you know them?’
‘Yes, and the man in question is a good officer.’
‘But...’ Swifty nudged.
Harris made a face. ‘No but, just ... that it was not expected.’
‘If he’s a problem I’ll get rid of him, this is my base,’ I assured Harris. ‘We take it day at a time, and this guy will sit here whilst you’re abroad with us.’
The next morning, the police running around the track, a man from GCHQ turned up with boxes, soon setting up his computer and fax machine, his coffee mug on his desk. I spoke to Captain Harris, and two of his team would move into the new building, and they would be tasked with global kidnap intel gathering.
I sat opposite my GCHQ guy, Tinker, a guy that had “nerd” written all over him. ‘Your name is Tinker?’
He smiled. ‘Nickname. Tinker, tailor, soldier, spy.’
I nodded. ‘What I have planned for this building is a new project, a hub for kidnap intel worldwide. Where you come in ... is getting us radio intercepts when we have half an idea about a gang in operation.’
‘Just my area,’ he agreed with a smile.
‘Would it step on anyone’s toes ... if you got kit and helped my lads drop that radio intercepting kit in the right spot?’
‘We have some ex-SAS who do that now, but I would check up the line.’
‘I want my guys taught how to use the kit and how to position it.’
‘That I can do, yes. Done it myself often enough.’ He took a moment. ‘They briefed me a bit about Panama, and ... fucking hell. You’re Petrov?’
‘I am.’
‘Amazing bit of undercover work that. Many try, few pull it off.’
‘I was unlucky enough to have the scars from Bosnia.’
‘I started reading the book.’
‘It’s available?’ I puzzled.
‘The Sun newspaper is pushing it. You can order it over the phone.’
‘I read the draft. So, get settled, and then focus on any and all kidnappings worldwide, priority being Brits and Americans, and in Africa. You’ll have lots of help soon.’
‘When my fax machine is set-up, it’ll get faxes every hour from the oil companies and mine companies, and a few others like the Red Cross.’
‘Get some maps on the walls, hotspots highlighted. Where are you living?’
‘Twenty minute drive away.’
‘Good. And ... no mention of Petrov, to anyone, not even here – they don’t know. And ... security is tight, be careful.’
‘I won’t be around late at night, I hope, and I won’t be ramming the gate if I am!’
Next to arrive, that evening, was my SIS guy, luggage to hand, name of Hunt. He was tall, and fit-looking, grey hair, and likeable.
‘I’m surprised a man of your age and position would move down here, so ... you divorced?’
‘Bitch is bleeding me dry, kids in a damned expensive boarding school.’
‘Welcome to the club, a few unhappy souls around this base. You’ll fit in well.’
I showed him the canteen and got him a meal, then showed him his new and very empty office. ‘You a field agent, Mister Hunt?’
‘I was, good at it, took a round to the leg, so was desk bound after that.’
‘If we deploy, you come along,’ I warned.
He nodded. ‘Just don’t expect me to drop from a fucking plane.’
‘Ther
e’s a guy from GCHQ here, and tomorrow you start working with him, gathering any and all intel on kidnap groups.’
‘And my exact role – as you see it, since David is ... David.’
‘You’ll have final call on the go no-go signal, input to plans, some liaison to local embassies.’
‘You worried about blame?’ he bluntly asked.
‘Not as much as I probably should be, and ... David is David. He needs to shout more.’
‘That he does, yes. I’m up to speed on Panama and Liberia and, you did extremely well, but if you had ever asked for permission for either it would have been turned down.’
‘Would you have turned it down?’ I posed.
‘Ah, starting with the really fucking difficult questions right of. Answer is ... not sure. If it was by the book, I’d have to say no to such operations. But, as is often the case, a good end result justifies bending the rules. And now London is terrified of upsetting the CIA, so ... leeway is called for.’
I took him down the pub that evening for a long chat, and we saw eye-to-eye on most things. And it was good to have someone like him to chat to, since David was my boss – but not someone to sit and chat to, or have a pint with. Hunt was a no nonsense guy that would punch someone in his way.
For now he was in a room in a hut, but had no issues with it, not least because it was rent free. His first task was to call David and ask for a French Intel Officer liaison and a Delta Force officer, sure to raise questions with the JIC, loud questions.
On the Friday I welcomed our new Intel Major, Sanderson, a pleasant-faced and slightly overweight man, a pleasant manner to him. I sat him down with Major Bradley.
Tea in hand, I faced our guest. ‘Sir, perhaps you would be good enough to tell us why they really sent you.’ I waited.
‘Nothing sinister, just that we lost some credibility when you broke off from the SAS and grabbed all the good headlines. My bosses want us to do what we’re supposed to be doing, and justifying our salaries.’
‘Then, sir, you can start by heading up the new team, which is there to collate all worldwide data on hostages and kidnap gangs with a view to us cherry-picking some and offering a plan to London.’
‘That I can do, yes.’
‘There’s a chap from GCHQ, and he will assist my lads to place listening devices, and there’s a guy called Hunt from SIS who will offer field decisions on behalf of London. He’s available to be used in your team, more warm bodies on the way.’
‘I’ll get settled in and chat to the team, make some plans.’
‘You know how the SAS lads will treat you, sir.’
‘Yes, not an issue, I was a young captain at Hereford a long time ago. Eleven years ago.’
‘Before my time,’ Bradley noted.
I left the two of them to chat, and to bond, soon welcoming a lady from the FCO, a smart and attractive thirty-five year old, Lesley.
‘Why did they send you?’ I asked.
‘A lady?’ she toyed.
‘No, why you, and where are you living?’
‘I’m living, or do much of the time, near Bristol, so I’ll commute, and me ... because West Africa is my area.’
I nodded. ‘We’ll cover the whole world, but it is fair to say that West Africa will feature strongly in what we do.’ I introduced her to Tinker and Hunt, and found more desks being assembled.
Her colleague from the oil industry, a man in his forties oddly called Mutch - a six foot six fat monster, turned up an hour later, and he would take a room in a house – after I asked about snoring. He snored louder than Bongo by all accounts.
At 5pm I had the new team assemble with the Intel officers in the briefing room, Moran and Hamble in on the meeting.
‘OK,’ I began. ‘We have a few new faces to welcome and to get to know. First, a word about security. If you piss about around here the guards will shoot you dead. Always be careful, especially late at night, report anything suspicious, anyone asking questions. Most of you already know the drill.
‘Next, you can expect more help to arrive, but please ask for what you need, or who you need to get the job done. That job, under the control of the Major Sanderson here, will be to collect, collate, sift and appraise any and all data on hostages, kidnap gangs, those people attacking mines or British interests around the world, embassy staff under threat.
‘We may get a nudge from London to go do a job. If so, what I want from you is accurate and timely intel, radio devices placed, agents placed if necessary, OPs created by my lads prior to a plan being made, approved and enacted.
‘Or ... you find me some hostages, you make a plan, we present it to London and they say yes, and we go for those hostages. If there are no hostages, but a group attacking our interests, we again make a plan and my men go kill the bad boys – whilst making it look like hostage rescue.
‘It may be the case that in the near future we have a team permanently on standby in Sierra Leone, fast jet ready, team in Kenya. Whilst were on that subject, can someone find out which small jet is fastest, what it costs to hire and from whom, an option on the table. If someone is grabbed we need to move quickly, but we typically sit in RAF Brize Norton for eighteen hours waiting a ride some place.’
SIS man Hunt said, ‘Small jet is a damn sight cheaper than a fucking Tristar, and much faster. Could get one in here, Citation, get you to Sierra Leone in four hours.’
‘Then we need to know how to get one, an account set up. The MOD will be happy that we’re not tying up a Tristar.’
Oil man Mutch put in, ‘I know the people, how to get a good deal as well, and all they need is a nod from the FCO and they’ll bill us later, good rates. If they have one sat getting cold on some runway they’ll be glad of the money, but pilots are the issue, more difficult to get than the damn planes.’
‘How about,’ I began. ‘At the beginning of each week you send a fax asking what planes and pilots are where, and we have a head start.’
‘I can do that. And there is a list published daily – somewhere.’
I pointed at him. ‘They did tell you that you’re required to undertake parachute training...’
His faced dropped. ‘What?’
I smiled, laughter erupting.
‘Fucker, my heart is going. And you’d not get a chute big enough for me!’
‘OK, everyone, we need maps, we need phrase books, we need intel lists of bad boys. Make a start in the morning.’
Mutch raised a pen. ‘I have some hostages. I mean, there are lots of hostages, but I know a guy who was grabbed last week, oil worker.’
Tinker turned his head. ‘Why is the oil company not paying ransom?’
‘He was sacked a few days before he was grabbed. They care, they listed him missing, but they won’t pay.’
‘Where is he?’ I asked.
‘Niger.’
‘Get the intel, make a plan, present it just as soon as you’re ready.’
‘Noon, tomorrow.’
‘A Saturday?’ Major Sanderson asked.
I loudly called, ‘Those who wish to assist, work tonight or in the morning. I don’t expect 24hr workers, but from time to time there will be a panic, followed by days off accrued – as with my men. There are thousands of hostages worldwide, so we do what we can with what we have. ’
Several offered to be in at 9am. Those living on the base would make a plan tonight.
After the meeting I called Colonel Dean. ‘Got time for a beer, sir?’
‘Yes, nothing planned. I’ll come down to you, see the family after, they keep nagging.’
He met me at the pub an hour later, civvy clothes, a few of the lads shocked to see him. Beers in hand, I detailed the new team over fifteen minutes.
‘What I’m thinking, sir, is that you have a troop on standby with me, ready to go anywhere in a small jet, support team to hand, or a troop in Sierra Leone, one in Kenya.’
‘We always have men in Kenya, so having a team on standby there is easy enough, and we have men
in Sierra Leone on rotation all the time, so it’s no great hardship. So this new team will get fresh intel?’
‘The intel is already there, sir, just held in many dusty places. FCO has much of it. Idea is that I cherry-pick rescues and tell London after we have a plan, when we don’t have anything else to do in the cold British winters.’
‘Lots of good headlines,’ he noted. ‘And if you pick the hostages you’ll have a better chance than if they were picked for you.’
‘Idea, as well, is to collate intel on the gangs, then go hit them.’
‘I’d be happy to have teams involved, yes, we’re taking a step back from London on CT, and they like working with you.’
‘Then have a good team in Sierra Leone, at the airfield, twenty four hours standby and then the next team steps up. All you need know is where the private jets are sat, what cost. Probably some in Ghana and Guinea.’
‘Always a Hercules in Sierra Leone as well,’ he noted. ‘I think I’d trust the intel more coming from you, and the plan. Less chance of a fuck-up.’
‘Have you sent any territorials out to Sierra Leone, sir?’
‘Territorials? No.’
‘If you can get a group together I’ll be out there in a few weeks.’
‘Well, would be good for them yes. There is a Christmas exercise planned. And they’d damn well prefer Sierra Leone to Brecon!’
Captain Hamble walked in, a shocked look across at Colonel Dean before he got a drink.
‘How’s he working out?’ Colonel Dean asked.
‘Fine, sir, but I left him off live jobs till he sorts his head out. He’s angry, wants to charge down a machinegun nest, but he’ll settle down in time. Or ... he’ll charge down a machinegun nest and get a posthumous medal.’
‘I had lots of awkward questions about Colombia, simply said that it was classified. Even had a few generals ask about it, and they were not impressed that I was being cagey. To one I simply said that you would shoot me if I revealed the detail.’
I laughed. ‘It was off the books, and still is, still a lot of shit that could come from it if people find out.’
‘You stretched a few laws...’
‘Damn well bent them, sir.’
‘There was no particular story in The Sun newspaper, just mention that you may have been there, so containment was good. Do you know why the JIC are unhappy right now?’