by Geoff Wolak
I glanced at him. ‘One of their members got caught trying to get me killed.’
‘Bloody hell...’ He sipped his drink.
‘They all got picked up and questioned.’
‘When I spoke to them this week they were sour-faced and reserved, not the usual bolshy group. That explains why.’
Mutch and Hunt appeared at 9pm, well wrapped-up against the cold, and came over, Hunt recognising Colonel Dean.
Mutch said, ‘We have the intel, and half a plan, plane in position.’ He showed me a map. ‘Village is the other side of a ridge, track through that ridge, main road being where people are grabbed. Step one is a radio receiver on that ridge.
‘Tinker called his people, they have a man within a hundred miles, so he’ll do it soon. That should confirm if my friend is in that village, or if they moved him on.’
‘Bad boys?’ I asked.
‘Islamists, but this group broke away from the main group after a shoot-out at some wedding.’
‘Bridegroom not happy with his bride?’ Colonel Dean asked.
‘Probably saw her for the first time,’ Mutch quipped. ‘Reason enough to start shooting!’
‘How many?’ I asked, smiling.
‘Less than twenty, one kidnap every three months or so, reported to be holding three people. Small operation.’
Colonel Dean turned his head to me. ‘My lot could have a go, got plenty of men in Sierra Leone...’
‘Then move a good team to Niger quietly, note to the Embassy and the FCO, request to launch the operation to the JIC just to cover the bases. You don’t want those sour faces to be red and angry, sir.’
‘I’ll make a call tonight and get that sorted.’ He stood, and we followed him up.
‘Step by step, sir. Intel first, then eyes on, then a plan.’
‘Send what you have to Sierra Leone in the morning, but feel free to give them a plan.’
With the Colonel gone, we sat.
Hunt said, ‘You ... passing this over?’
‘We’re all on the same side and supposed to be seamless. I need Hereford, they support us. And this is a small job.’
‘And if they shoot everyone in that village..?’
‘Then Colonel Dean will RTU the fuckers. Those days are gone, they know the rules and the risks, they’re better these days.’
‘My mate might get his bollocks shot off,’ Mutch complained.
I offered him a flat palm. ‘I’ll plan it, check the intel, warn the team. And one of my troops are regulars, a third of me team are regular SAS. And if it was your brother I’d do it myself. So how’d you know this guy anyhow?’
‘Worked in oil together, back in the day, rigs in the Niger Delta. We were known as the terrible twins.’
‘Why?’ Hunt pressed.
‘I snore something terrible, so does he, but we’re both heavy sleepers. Someone once taped us, and at times we were in synch!’
We laughed.
I told him, ‘You are not coming in the field with us, you stay here.’
Hunt said, ‘We need a radio that’ll pick up loud snoring!’
Mutch added with a smile, ‘They’ve probably beaten him to death my now anyhow, or smothered him.’
‘Cell of his own,’ Hunt noted. ‘Away from everyone else!’
On the Monday I picked-up another five million pounds from Tomk’s man in London, but I also had the Chief Cabinet Secretary meet me at the MOD building, surprising David and his staff.
‘This is my money, and this is what I want done with it,’ I cheekily began. ‘One million to MI5, one million to GCHQ, one million to SIS, one million to the new police unit, one million to Credenhill. Each unit is to use the money for out-of-office training, so long as it has some element of fun to it. Rock climbing, canoeing, scuba-diving, language practise abroad, trips to relevant places of interest, hotels and meals.’
‘Seems like a reasonable use of the money,’ the Chief Cabinet Secretary offered. ‘And we’ll hide the source.’ He faced me squarely. ‘None for your lot?’
‘We had some, bonuses paid, and there’s more to be had.’
‘Could have taken it and ran...’
‘And do what with it? Sit on a beach? I’d last a week.’
‘You so need a hobby,’ he told me before I left.
The next day Colonel Dean was on, thanking me for the money, and he already had a few lads lined up for scuba diving in Tenerife. The head of GCHQ rang and thanked me, and told me about his commendation from the Prime Minister, who had visited and thanked the team for Colombia.
‘Where will you send your staff?’ I asked him.
‘First trip, a chess tournament against Russian code-breakers in Berlin, the deadly enemy that was. We have an excellent chess team and have battled them before. And we often organise trips to the wine regions, so the staff will be happy.’
‘Prioritise the staff that worked on the Colombia phone hacking first please, they helped save my arse.’
‘They all know about the money, yes. My chap earning his keep down there?’
‘Yes, so far they’re all playing nice.’
On the Tuesday I had Echo prepare for an expected move to Sierra Leone, then sat with the enlarged Intel team. ‘OK, what do we have on Niger?’ I asked.
Major Sanderson gave Mutch a nod.
Mutch began, ‘The GCHQ chap placed a device late on Saturday, tested and working, and on Sunday they mentioned hostages. No fix on a hostage cell yet, but the chatter is there.’
‘Numbers?’
He glanced at Lesley as she sat cross-legged. ‘We lost three on that road in three months, two local black workers close by, could be six in total. One ransom demand, sent to the wrong oil company, a million dollars asked for but just for the one man, second man grabbed. And that’s all they’ve communicated.’
‘So we don’t know about hostages,’ I began, ‘but we do know that these bad boys are in the business, and should be removed from that business, so I’m happy to move on them. There is a regular SAS team in Niger as we speak, and I’ll task them today, two OPs above the village, eyes on. Keep checking the signals intel, and if I’m not around get it to Credenhill please.
‘Echo will move down to Sierra Leone soon, so whilst we’re there you look for any hostages close by; Guinea, Liberia, Ivory Coast. We have a job to do down there with the new police batch, but we could send a team as well. And if the Niger operation needs expanding we could fly there. Keep a list of aircraft available.’
My phone trilled. ‘Excuse me.’ I turned around. ‘Wilco.’
‘Chief Cabinet Secretary. The British Ambassador to Colombia, his son has been kidnapped.’
‘How the fuck did that happen?’ I shouted.
‘Dental appointment early this morning, and a well executed manoeuvre.’
I sighed. ‘I’ll make some calls now.’
‘We want him back, Echo dispatched.’
‘I have men in the region, better suited.’
‘Well, your show.’
‘Leave it with me.’ Call ended, I took in their expectant faces. ‘British Ambassador’s son in Colombia has been grabbed, Echo may deploy.’ I pointed at Tinker. ‘Get your car, we’re going to see your lot. Rest of you, concentrate on Africa for now, please.’
I stepped outside and checked my watch. Tomsk would be asleep; it would be 9am in La Palma. I called anyhow. Big Sasha answered the phone. ‘It’s Petrov, is he asleep?’
‘Maybe, but he was not out late, he has a stomach bug.’
‘As soon as he is up I need him to call, got a problem.’
‘I’ll check on him now.’
My next call was the minister in Panama as Tinker sat in his car waiting. ‘It’s Petrov.’
‘Ah, how are you, my good friend?’
‘Listen, British Ambassador’s son has been kidnapped in Bogota.’
‘Ah, someone wants revenge, no.’
‘I owe the British, they helped with the cartel.’
&nb
sp; ‘If you owe the British, so do we. I will make some calls, we have a few people in Colombia, they may know something, and we have a double agent inside FARC, maybe it was them.’
‘Thanks, call me if you find out anything. What’s been happening about the cartel?’
‘Large FBI team here now, statements from all the family members of men missing, more than two hundred families, regular news appeals for information on missing people. We have a team of sixty people on it, more than three hundred bodies recovered, DNA testing to be done, a team from the Red Cross.’
‘Maybe closure for some.’
I grabbed MP Pete and we followed Tinker towards Cheltenham.
Fifteen minutes later Tomsk called me back. ‘Petrov?’
In Russian, I began, ‘Yes, listen. British Ambassador’s son was grabbed in Bogota, so maybe someone in the cartel we missed.’
‘Could be, yes, so we need this man found – and killed.’
‘Make some calls, some threats, offer some bribes. If there is someone trying to take over we go get him. And ask the Medellin if they know anything.’
‘They would have no reason to grab the boy.’
‘Ask anyway.’
‘OK, I make some calls today.’
‘How’s that stomach?’
‘Not good, I need the doctor.’
‘Burnt toast, the carbon settles the stomach.’
‘Yes? I try that.’
Next call was Franks, CIA. ‘It’s Wilco, where are you?’
‘Stateside, time off.’
‘Get back on the clock, British Ambassador’s son grabbed in Bogota. I want to talk to the cartel boss.’
‘Tricky now, he’s in a federal prison.’
‘Make it happen, or I’ll shout a little at your boss.’
‘Leave it with me,’ came after a sigh.
‘And fast!’
We reached GCHQ’s odd doughnut-shaped building and signed in, soon to a large room full of warm bodies, the Director stepping in as I called order. Everyone faced me, the man in uniform in a sea of white shirts and white blouses.
‘Listen up. The British Ambassador’s son has been grabbed in Bogota. This is now your top priority, Prime Minister wants the lad back - but he’s actually twenty two years old and a young Army officer. I met him once. This could be FARC, it could be about money, or - most likely – someone from the Cali Cartel wanting revenge for the British role in Colombia.
‘You have phone numbers, you have fake personas, so start making calls and see if anyone knows anything.’
Names were called and a team moved next door.
‘Rest of you, can you get the exact location of where the lad was grabbed from, call the embassy in Bogota, and try and get the phone data from that street.’
‘I’ll get on that,’ the Director offered as he turned and left.
‘Someone get the coffee on, it’s going to be a long day,’ I told the remainder.
The Panamanian minister was the first to call me back. I stepped to a window and looked down at the car park. ‘Minister?’
‘Our man in FARC says it was not them. That does not help, but it eliminates them.’
‘Thanks, and anything else let me know.’
‘We have our Intel people on it, they may get lucky.’
Ten minutes later and a large blow-up of a street map of Bogota was hung over a white board, the dentist location marked.
A man stepped in. ‘Spoke to some men in Cali, no idea about the Ambassador’s son.’
‘That’s a pity, because if it’s an unknown group it makes my job harder. Keep trying, someone might have heard something.’
My phone went, Tomsk. ‘Hey boss.’
‘Not really your boss, eh. Listen, I spoke to Medellin Cartel, and they were surprised, they think that someone from Cali may be behind it.’
‘British spoke to Cali men pretending to be other Cali men, and they have no idea about it.’
‘Some other cartel?’
‘Maybe, or just a group wanting some money. It’s not FARC, we know that. British are going through phone records now.’
‘I make some other calls, see what I can find out,’ Tomsk promised.
Hunt called me from GL4. ‘We have a lead of sorts, at least something for GCHQ to play with. Cleaner in the dentist building was picked up, clean till they checked behind the cushions of his sofa and found the cash.’
‘He hid the cash ... down the sofa?’ I repeated.
‘Not the brightest spark. We have his mobile number from the Colombian police.’ He read it out.
‘Thanks, we’ll get on it.’ I turned and shouted, the number soon entered into a computer as the super-nerds all got excited.
‘We hacked the computer at Metrotel,’ a man explained.
‘Who?’ I asked.
‘Mobile operator in Bogota. And their computer system is older than I am. It’s MS-DOS.’
Men laughed, as if that was funny, leaving me shaking my head.
Ten minutes later we had a list of calls made and received, area codes checked.
A man with his face in a screen said, ‘That’s odd, calls from Bolivia. One this morning, early. One last night. Rest are local.’
They started calling the local numbers whilst a man with a Colombian accent dialled the number in Bolivia. We knew the name of the cleaner picked up by the police, and after five minutes of chat behind a glass screen, much hand waving, the call was cut.
Our impersonator stepped out grinning. ‘The cleaner was paid to do something naughty, yes, maybe let someone in. I pretended to be on the run, police after me. But I was told to meet at the usual place at midnight, so ... no idea where that is.’
‘And the man the other end?’ I pressed.
‘Cool, professional, but a lieutenant – not a boss, Bolivian accent for sure.’
‘What town in Bolivia?’
‘La Paz, the capital.’
‘Track that man’s phone, top priority.’
I stepped away and called Tomsk. ‘What do you know about a cartel in Bolivia?’
‘There are two, the public one and the secret one.’
‘Public? They have offices, adverts on TV?’ I teased.
‘The first is the one the police raid, just a front, the secret one hidden away, run by someone that no one ever meets or knows about, very secretive.’
‘How long have they been in business?’
‘Long time, thirty or forty years.’
‘So they know what they’re doing. They do drugs?’
‘Yes, big supplier.’
‘Linked to Cali Cartel?’
‘I would not have thought so, no need, these Bolivian boys are very secretive. They sell bulk to others, in Peru and Argentina and Brazil, they don’t have pipelines.’
‘No contact with them?’
‘No, just rumours. You want me to ask people in Bolivia?’
‘No, they might come for you!’
‘OK, I leave them alone if they leave me alone, yes.’
‘Good plan. Keep this quiet.’
I called Stan at GL4. ‘I need to know everything about the Bolivian drugs trade, and fast.’
‘I know a man, I’ll have him drive down.’
‘Helicopter! Be fast.’
My phone went after I accepted a coffee. ‘It’s Franks, expect a call in a few minutes, but you’re Morris, British Intel.’
‘Morris, eh. OK.’
Ten minutes later, the room bustling, my phone trilled, a US number. ‘Morris here.’
‘Hold on. Putting you through.’
‘Hello?’ came an accented and deep voice.
‘This is the man you met on your lawn that night.’
‘Ah. They said it was a British man.’
‘Smokescreen. Your family OK?’
‘They are here in the States with some others, we struck a deal.’
‘Good. Listen, what do you know about a secretive cartel in Bolivia?’
‘That they a
re very secretive, yes, they don’t get caught, identities never known. I met their leader once, twenty years ago, but we never struck a deal. Odd man, tall and German I think, half his face burned, his hand burned.’
‘They grabbed the British Ambassador’s son, so ... why?’
‘Seems odd that they would risk anything high profile, they are very secretive and quiet. Does not sound like them at all.’
‘Got a name, town, any detail at all?’
‘He was called Michael I think, fondness for old cars, German cars. Had a winery, or something like that, fondness for wine growing.’
‘Thanks, that may help. How’s the food where you are?’
‘Terrible!’
We laughed.
‘Orange jumpsuit?’
‘Yeah,’ he sighed. ‘My tailor in Cali would die if he saw me.’
‘If you need any help with your family outside, contact our friend in La Palma.’
‘Thank you. They got the money you sent, and other provisions, so they’re OK for now.’
‘I spent time in a cell, I know what you are going through. You need to switch off the world around you and read a book.’
‘As I am already doing, yes.’
‘Get Papillion.’
He laughed, and I cut the call.
Turning, I shouted, ‘Everyone!’ They quietened down. ‘All out effort on a Bolivian man, German speaking or German parentage, burnt on his face and hand, likes wine or runs a winery around La Paz, collects vintage cars, German maybe.’
The head man annotated a white board as I sat observing, detail known. ‘OK, Team One: I want all classic car dealerships in La Paz. Team Two: I want all newspapers in Bolivia checked for the sale of classic cars. Team Three: I want a list of wineries, and wine importers and exporters. Make a start.’
The teams huddled, all very efficiently making suggestions and finishing each other’s sentences, more white boards set-up as the Director stepped back in.
‘Any progress?’ he asked.
‘Got a secretive cartel in Bolivia behind the grab. Question is ... why?’
The Director made a face. ‘British efforts to combat drugs in Bolivia have been limited to educational programmes in mountain villages, not soldiers on the ground. Embassy there might know something.’