by Geoff Wolak
They laughed, and taunted him as he protested his good looks.
At the first corner café the locals looked worried till I called out the owner and ordered chicken and Fanta for everyone, dollars handed over. We left a happy smiley group of men waving us off.
Kids ran away from us, but I smiled and waved, and I was a white man - not a local black police officer or soldier, so the kids came back, given a few dollars each to take home.
In the narrow lanes of the shanty town we found a few men with hard stares. That was, hard stares till we stopped to stare back at them, then they scattered.
I handed dollars to fat housewives, all stunned to be receiving them, all stunned to see white soldiers here in their humid and fly-infested hell-hole of a shanty town.
At one large café I stopped to buy a drink, and I stood chatting to a few men in Pidgeon English, mostly about Man Utd. Football Club. I told one man I used to play for them, leaving a perplexed old man behind as Swifty grinned at me.
Coming back around the long way, all of us now hot and sticky, Monster and Parker, Rizzo and Mouri, were up front, alert but casual, a dead dog in the gutter glanced at.
To my right sat a row of brightly lit shops selling all sorts, not least football tops, and it seemed that the men here only wore football tops, not regular shirts. And that they washed them once a year. Well, that stopped the colours running I considered.
I bought a white t-shirt, my size, Swifty buying one, an extra change of clothes for us to keep back at the hotel.
A shout, movement, and Parker shoved Monster behind a lamppost, three loud rounds fired, and Parker dropped.
My heart stopped. And time slowed.
Rizzo spun around and fired, ten loud rounds into a local man, the locals diving down or fleeing as Rizzo smashed a few shop windows with poor aim, or perhaps deliberate aim.
‘Medics!’ I shouted as I ran with Swifty, my hip twinging.
As I reached Parker, Monster was knelt, Swifty aiming at our dead shooter, and I knelt down, rudely shoving Monster aside. Blood pumped from three close vertical wounds in Parker’s chest, his eyes fixed and lifeless. One hit to the heart, one in the main arteries above the heart, one in the start of the windpipe. And each round would have killed a man.
I heaved a sigh, and felt guilty for some reason. ‘He’s gone.’
‘Gone?’ Monster repeated, shocked.
I lifted Monster. ‘Get a grip.’ I shouted ‘All round defence!’ as the two lady medics ran in, Monster shoved back a few steps, but he was too stunned to operate. And I was thinking about the blame game here.
Swifty’s nurse knelt, shocked, a glance up at me.
I told her, ‘He’s dead, just note your observations and time, pack him up in his poncho, his kit off.’
She offered me a sorrowful and shocked expression before I scanned the immediate area, Rizzo stood over our shooter, men running up to us.
A man sat staring wide-eyed out of his pickup truck.
I strode over to him. ‘I need your truck, you get well paid in dollars.’ I handed him fifty dollars. Turning, I shouted, ‘Swifty, Monster, get the body on this truck! Medics, you go back with them! Monster, in the cab!’
He stood staring down at his former oppo.
‘Monster! Get back on the clock!’
Rifles slung, they eased Parker’s bloody mess of a body onto his poncho and they rolled him up like a cigarette, four of them placing him on the truck, the truck sent off, not far to drive.
Moran closed in, wiping the sweat from his face with a sleeve. ‘Parker, yeah?’
‘Three rounds to the chest.’
‘Quick for him,’ Moran noted. ‘And the shooter?’
I shouted, ‘Rizzo, what does that guy look like?’
‘Local black, skinny, drug tracks, scars – this guy never saw a good fucking hospital in his life. Rusted old AK47, no ID, no fucking cash.’
‘Leave him.’ I faced Moran as the lads knelt aiming out. ‘Not planned, just a random nutcase.’
‘Unless the drug dealer hired that guy for twenty quid, a throw-away assassin.’
‘He could have made a better job of it,’ I said with a sigh. ‘And aimed at me.’ I shouted, ‘Form up ready to leave! On me!’
Walking off down the road, I glanced back at the huge blood stain that used to be one of my team, again thinking of the blame game here. As I walked I called GL4. The nice lady captain answered.
‘It’s Wilco, we have a dead team member, Parker, so start the paperwork, update London. Have Rocko clear out his room, kit back. Call Billy and have him call me back tonight.’
It was not a long walk, but it was awkward and mostly silent, men seen to be reflective.
At the hotel, Forester was stood waiting, moths flittering about the hotel lights. ‘What’s the procedure here, with the body?’
‘Medics strip it, wash it, plug up the holes, then it’s bagged up and flown to Freetown, local coroner takes notes, then it’s flown back in a casket. Call the duty officer in Freetown, sir, get a ride for Parker. He can be driven from here.’
My phone trilled, Mike Papa. ‘You had a man killed?’
‘Yes, but not a planned attack, local drugged-up idiot with a gun.’
‘There are many of those, yes.’
‘No change to the plan here, just a small set-back. Talk tomorrow.’
Billy called. ‘Wilco, you had a man killed?’
‘Parker. Do me a favour -’
‘I’ll call Colonel Bennet now, put his mind at rest, leave it with me.’
‘Start the paperwork in the morning. Thanks.’
The men traipsed in soaked in sweat, all sullen, heads low.
After dumping my kit and having a quick wash I walked downstairs and into the bar. Monster was sat with Rizzo and Slider, cold beers on the table, the men appearing tired, all soaked in sweat.
Monster lifted his face to me, and looked like he was about to start crying. ‘Why? Why take the bullet for me?’ he pleaded.
‘Why not?’ I challenged. ‘He was your oppo, and you’d do the same for him.’
‘He had a life ahead of him; he was young, smart, girls liked him, and his father left him a house. He … he could have got out and had a life.’
‘As a painter decorator, husband to a bitch of a wife, three ungrateful kids, bills to pay, stress and worry, growing old watching the TV? He made his choices, and he knew the risks.’
‘Why save me?’ Monster asked, his head in his hands. ‘It was my time.’
‘I told you, that bullet has no respect for me either, it keeps missing me. But you’re a valued member of this team, good at the job, so he saved a good team member. You’re stood down.’ I glanced at Rizzo and Slider. ‘Keep an eye on him, and don’t let him get drunk, we need a quiet night.’
‘I’m OK,’ Monster said without looking up.
I joined Moran and Forester at the bar, who had been observing.
‘That man lost his buddy?’ Forested noted.
‘His oppo, yes. He should be OK in a few days; they were close. He feels guilty, guilty that he’s alive.’
Moran handed me a beer. ‘Loss of a man down to a stupid local drugged-up twat.’ He shook his head. ‘Better to lose men in action, not like this.’
I nodded and sipped my beer. ‘Always hurts, the quality of the death.’
‘Quality of the death,’ Forester repeated. ‘Not sure many people still think as they did on Roman times!’
‘We do,’ I told him. ‘Getting killed rescuing hostages is one thing, an incident like this is a waste of a good man.’
‘Well, yes, I guess so. Something else for me to consider,’ Forester noted.
Ten minutes later, and I waved Monster over, waving in Stickler. ‘You team up. Monster, teach the kid, starting with that bullet with your name on. Stickler, if it looks like someone is about to shoot Monster, shove him down.’
‘I would, Boss,’ Stickler firmly told me. ‘Or there’s no point in b
eing here. We walk with heads held up, proud, or we should all fuck off and do something else.’
Wide-eyed, I nodded an approval. ‘Monster, this kid has a few things to teach you it seems. Go bond.’
They sat together, chatting quietly.
David Finch called, and afterwards I called Max in Kosovo, to get a story out. Finally, I updated Bob Staines.
At 10pm, sat quietly on the roof in a cool breeze in a comfy deck chair from the pool, the Deputy Chief called. ‘That ship, it docked in Tijuana, Mexico, now steaming south, about to be boarded.’
‘It offloaded something, maybe cruise missiles. That ship was due to join the others with Terotski but its engine broke down and it spent two weeks in Morocco.’
‘If it was part of the original plan, then what the fuck is the plan now?’ he posed. ‘The players are all gone.’
‘Whatever it is … you won’t like it, so get some answers from the crew, and ask the Mexican police to check the delivery.’
‘Ha! Fucking dock workers can magic away anything in an hour.’
‘I have contacts, I’ll make some calls. Let me know what they find on that ship. A handy manifest would be nice. Signed. Thumb print in blood.’
‘That’s in the ocean by now,’ he scoffed.
I looked up a number and called Carlos the Jackal. ‘It’s Petrov, can you talk, not in a high-power board meeting?’
‘No, no board meeting,’ came back, and I could hear the sigh.
‘I need you to spend some money, and bribe people in Tijuana. The cartel took delivery of something from a ship, Evanco II, today. Try and find out, bribe dock workers.’
‘Weapons?’
‘Could be cruise missiles.’
‘I have been hearing things. I will make some calls.’
‘Spend some money, Tomsk will give it back to you. Anyway, how’s business?’
‘Business is very good. Compared to when I first men you … six times more. At least. You sound … tired.’
‘I just lost a man killed, but not in action, he was shot by a stupid drugged-up idiot.’
‘A bad way to go, and a meaningless death for men like your soldiers I think.’
‘Yes. Call me as soon as you hear anything. Thanks.’
Sat there in the cooling breeze, men on stag and wary, I considered both the loss of Parker and the arrival of a new daughter. I hadn’t even thought to ask the name of my offspring. Maybe I would get a photo at some point.
Swifty walked up, a glance out at the shanty town. ‘Bit of a shit blow. You OK?’ He waited.
‘Kate, she … had a kid a few days back.’
‘Reason enough for any man to sulk. So what’s the state of play, you and Queen Bitch?’
‘She forget to notice she gave birth, and to call me.’
‘You’d think a woman might notice something like that.’
‘Her nurse told an officer down here, and he’s told the entire fucking Army, so he’s in trouble. Thinks I might shoot him.’
‘You might, in this mood.’
I stared at his dark outline. ‘I’m not that cut up about Parker, but … my mind is on my daughters, and I can’t decide if I give a fuck or not.’
‘Part of you does.’ He waited.
‘Would for any man. You stop and reflect, think of what could have been, might have been, should have been.’
‘Second guessing yourself, like that ship drop.’
I shot him a look. ‘And you were right, it was a stupid risk, we lost some good men.’
‘And if they had dumped that radioactive metal someplace naughty..?’
I sighed loudly. ‘A lot a dead people, yeah.’
‘So we’re fucked if we do, fucked if we don’t.’
‘Sounds like Shakespeare,’ I told him. My phone trilled, an odd number. ‘Hello?’
‘Major Wilco, I have the Crown Prince for you,’ came in Arabic.
‘Major Wilco,’ came a moment later.
‘Yes, Your Highness.’ Swifty shot me a puzzled look. I added in English, ‘How is the Kingdom of Oman today?’
‘Ah,’ Swifty let out.
‘I have some news, about our large neighbour to the north, a delicate matter. The intelligence information came at a price, and I have to protect the source. I need to know that it will not be divulged that I gave you this information.’
‘No one could make me talk, not even my own government.’
‘So I heard, yes. Anyway, we have a Saudi Intelligence Officer in protective custody, and he drove his family across the border. He is a captain, and has one bit of information that might affect you, since you were fighting these people in Nicaragua and Panama.’
I stood. ‘I am all ears.’
‘There is a ship, Envanco -’
‘Evanco II. It sailed past Port Suez four weeks ago, now in the Pacific.’
‘You are tracking it?’
‘Yes. The Americans will move on it soon. What do you know about it?’
‘This captain, he says that is was carrying twenty-five American Stinger missiles.’
‘It was meant to reach the fighting four weeks ago, but broke down and got stuck in Morocco,’ I told him. ‘Were the missiles taken off?’
‘No, they were to go to a Mexican drug gang.’
‘Ah … shit. And the sponsor of these missiles?’
‘A rich man linked to Intelligence in the north.’
‘I want a list of names of Saudi men that should retire.’
‘I can arrange that yes. Will their retirements make the newspapers?’
‘You can be certain of it, Your Highness.’
‘Then I will send the list, and … good luck to you.’
‘Nothing more on what the missiles are to be used for?’
‘To shoot down planes, that is all we know.’
‘Thank you, sir. No one will know about the source of my information, and we already knew that the ship was carrying weapons.’
Phone down, Salome appeared with Doc Willy, chatting. ‘Salome.’ I led her away. ‘Update your government. Ship called Evanco II, it sailed from Saudi four weeks ago, stopped in Morocco for two weeks with a broken engine then sailed on, just handed twenty-five Stingers to the Tijuana Cartel.’
‘What for?’
‘They were to be used when we were there fighting, but now … no idea what they want them for other than … to shoot down police helicopters maybe, army Hueys maybe.’
‘Or they blackmail Mexico City, a threat to shoot down airliners.’
‘That … would not be an unreasonable guess. Let your people know.’
She stepped away.
Swifty joined me as I entered the stairway. ‘Problems?’
‘Lots of problems, on top of other problems.’
He headed for our room, I headed for the bar and got myself a drink. I plonked down, men drinking around the bar but a bit subdued. I sighed heavily, let my shoulders drop, and sipped my beer.
Stickler came over and sat. ‘You look fucked-off, Boss.’
‘Not about Parker, I … just had some news on the phone.’
‘Not good news then, not ten quid found down the back of the sofa.’
I offered him a weak smile and gulped my beer. I studied the bar décor. ‘Someone … who should be our friends, who we protect and arm, they’re … pissing about, and it’s not the first time. But … we can’t touch them, shout, nor invade and shoot the fuckers.’
‘Tricky one then. Got to fuck them up without anyone seeing.’
I nodded. ‘That would be my first reaction, yes. First I need to sort a mess, and risk some of the men doing so, yet the reason for risking them is … a large pile of shite.’
‘Don’t matter, the reason. Men attacking a bus full of women and kids, we’re in the way. Don’t matter who’s paying them or what football team they support, just got to stop them.’
I studied him. ‘Stickler, you’re a genius.’ I stood and shouted, ‘Drink up, get some water, get some rest, c
ould have a job in the morning, a long flight first. Warn everyone.’
They started to file out.
With the bar almost empty, I said to Stickler, ‘Go get me Swifty, Moran and Mister Forester.’
I sat back down and sipped my beer, nods at those last lads to leave. Swifty came in just before Moran and Forester, chairs kicked out. They sat facing me, and I took in their faces as they waited expectantly.
I blew out. ‘The … people who shot down Desert Sands, they … just sent a Mexican cartel twenty-five Stinger missiles.’
‘Those wankers again,’ Moran spat out.
Feeling tired, I continued, ‘The missiles … they were to be used against us when up against the FARC, but now … now we can only guess what they’ll be used for.’
‘Shooting at Yank F18s,’ Swifty suggested.
Moran noted, ‘If a certain you-know-who sent them, then they have a target, and not just a passing F18 off track. They have a juicy target. Are we due to go there?’
I shook my head.
Moran argued, ‘But you got the intel, and that means we go to Mexico, and that means we are the target. A double negative.’
I nodded. ‘The intel source, he … could have been a plant, yes. But the intel is solid I think, just … maybe the motives are blurred. And yes, we could be the target, but … it’s an American issue.’
‘Yanks won’t go into Mexico,’ Swifty scoffed. ‘They’ll ask you and your dodgy Panama buddy to do it.’
‘You wait orders I guess,’ Forester put in, a glance at the faces.
I faced him. ‘CIA might request me, and … I have the contacts, as Swifty said, so … I would head up the operation, yes.’
‘And maybe somebody knows that,’ Moran put in. ‘And hopes for that.’
‘Then I need to be careful.’
‘What have the Yanks said?’ Moran asked.
‘I just got the intel, haven’t told them. They’re tracking the ship, but the missiles have already been off-loaded. We thought they might be cruise missiles again.’
‘So make a call,’ Swifty suggested. ‘They have the men and the boats, their job.’
When I hesitated, Moran asked, ‘What it is?’
I heaved a breath. ‘If I’m central to this, and if I get the timely intel, then … some of that intel I’d bury, and … there are some … gentlemen I’d like to deal with off the books. If I pass this over, then you can be damn sure that Washington won’t go after the idiots pissing about here.’