by Geoff Wolak
‘The main man is due to speak at a conference in Spain next month, so I have time to plan something.’
‘Good. Oh, Maria. When I told her she would be tackling some survival work and risking a broken finger nail she seemed horrified at the idea.’
‘A proper agent would have been through such courses, at least if she had been with a government agency. Suggests that she lacks such a background.’
‘We’ll keep an eye on her and see how it goes,’ I told him. ‘Oh, the second banker. You know where he is?’
‘He was booked into a hotel in Miami with a false name yet the same phone ping. So we’re closing the net.’
That evening I sat with Miguel, Tomsk’s adopted lad, and we practised Russian. After an hour I told him, ‘It is easy for me to teach you because Russian is not my first language, I grew up in Canada and England, so on the streets I learnt English.’
‘I’m learning French and German as well,’ he told me. ‘German is like English.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘Many similar words.’
‘We have a new teacher, and he speaks perfect Spanish but is German. Very tall man.’
My eyes narrowed. ‘Does he … speak Spanish with a Mexican accent?’
‘I’m not sure, but it’s not our accent, nor Colombian, I know Colombian.’
I made my excuses and found Tomsk. ‘Your boy has a new teacher of German, a tall man, and he matches a man seen with the Tijuana Cartel.’
Tomsk was horrified.
I added, ‘Call the school now, or the local police, get his details. See if he speaks Spanish with a Mexican accent.’
‘I pick him up just in case,’ Tomsk told me. ‘I take no risk here.’
‘Don’t hurt him -’
‘Just a routine security check,’ he assured me.
The teacher appeared an hour later, his face bloodied, his shirt torn. Tomsk led his lad out. ‘This is the man?’
‘Yes, what has he done?’
‘He came here to kill you,’ Tomsk coldly stated, and a chill went through me despite the warm evening air. ‘To hurt me. Now we get some answers from him.’
The lad walked forwards, a good kick to the balls delivered, shouting, ‘Don’t you hurt my father!’
I turned to Tomsk, a smile and a nod of approval exchanged. But I lost the smile quickly, imagining the lad dead in the gutter.
When Tiny appeared, Tomsk told her, ‘Make him talk.’
‘Be a pleasure.’
Our hapless teacher was led off around the back and towards the woods, and to an unpleasant fate.
I asked Tomsk, ‘What gave him away?’
‘First, he has a Mexican accent as you said. Second, he offered the school to work for free for a while, said he wanted to be in the area – friends and family. And his phone has calls to Mexico, to a payphone in Tijuana, a bad area.’
‘Enough for me. I’d shoot him,’ I noted.
Tomsk faced me, worried, as worried as any parent would be. ‘He could have got my boy.’ He waited.
‘He didn’t, he failed, so move on.’
‘How many more times do you save me?’ he asked.
I gripped him by the shoulders. ‘I’ll keep saving you till you’ve grown to be tall like me and can defend yourself from the bullies in class.’
He laughed out a ‘fuck off’ as we walked back inside. I gave GCHQ the man’s number and they would trace it.
A call, some laughter, and Rizzo was being walked in with his bags half an hour later.
Tomsk stood and welcomed Rizzo, trying hard not to smile too much. ‘Welcome, Mad Dog Rizzo, you are … well known here already.’
‘They all seen the fucking video, eh?’ Rizzo asked, his bags dumped at his feet. He nodded my way. ‘Comrade.’
‘Comrade?’ I repeated. ‘No more Soviet Empire, now all capitalist. Call me Boss, or I kick your arse.’
‘Right. Boss.’
‘Come, sit, some beer,’ Tomsk encouraged, the guards smiling widely.
Beer sipped, and Rizzo asked, ‘So you have some work for me…’
‘We do,’ I told him. ‘It pays well, and you train men here and with Carlos, who you met.’
‘At the Alamo,’ he noted, sipping his beer. ‘Leggit not here?’
‘Leggit?’ Tomsk queried.
I told Rizzo, ‘He works out of Europe mostly. And his name is Car 55, so use that, not his real name.’
‘Right, Boss,’ Rizzo agreed. ‘Car 55.’
‘All OK at the airport?’ I asked.
‘They puzzled my face, but let me through.’
‘I take you to my club,’ Tomsk offered with a smirk. ‘You will be welcome there, they see the film.’
‘Might meet a nice lady,’ I told Rizzo.
‘Yeah? Well, that would be OK.’
After a quick bite to eat I led Rizzo to the patio area above the pool. We sat.
‘Nice here,’ Rizzo commented as he slouched back. ‘Better than the base. Always warm here.’
‘How you coping? I asked.
He pulled a face. ‘Got to be better than prison. Anything is better than prison. I wouldn’t sit in a cell, I’d end it.’ He sipped his beer.
‘Me too. And your prospects are good. You could have been killed with Echo a hundred times over, and now you have cold beer, warm weather and girls, a good salary. And you’ll see some of the lads real soon.’
‘Needed a bit of a break I reckon,’ he sighed out. ‘Been at it a long time, needed a change of scene.’
‘Take a holiday here, they have some nice beach hotels – like the one on the island we stayed at. Tomsk owns them all, so you’ll get a discount.’
‘And the plan here?’
‘You train some men, and maybe lead a raid of two. We’ll create a Panama Army Lone Wolves, and you’ll train them – after they stop smiling.’
‘They all seen that fucking film?’
‘Just about the entire population.’
‘We get some Hueys to use?’ he complained.
‘Sure, your own private Huey.’
‘Cool. I love Hueys.’ He sipped is beer. ‘Who takes over from me back at GL4?’
‘Not sure, I left them to sort out the troops. Maybe Dicky or Henri. What cover name you using?’
‘Micky Williams,’ he said with a smile. ‘When I was a kid I was also using my mate’s name; for the police, shop owners if caught shoplifting, when buying beer underage. So it’s easy to remember.’
‘You can use that fake passport to go visit the UK, but if you do then fly from a holiday destination into a British regional airport. So from Benidorm into Bristol. Passport checks there are shite and they don’t have a clever computer system. In London Heathrow they’re actually awake.’
‘Well, not in a hurry to visit, just left the place. Maybe in the summer sometime.’
‘Don’t get drunk here, you may say the wrong thing, and then I have to stop them shooting you. If in trouble, just tell them you work for me, Petrov me.’
‘But that Tomsk dude knows who you really are…’
‘Yes, and a few others.’
Tiny walked out to us, drying her hands, no doubt having washed some blood off. ‘Look what the cat dragged in, Mad Dog Rizzo.’
‘Right, love. You based down here?’
‘Me and Suzy are here some of the time.’ She faced me after grabbing some of my beer. ‘That guy was working direct for the Tijuana Cartel, for a lord call Marty Ramirez. He was here to kidnap the boy, a team due to arrive.
‘But he offered up some extra information to save his life, and he reckons that Ramirez is in touch with a Bolivian cartel. He spoke German to the contact man one time.’
‘There’s only one real cartel in Bolivia, and its boss got blown to pieces by the Yanks,’ I told them.
‘Someone took over,’ Rizzo noted.
I nodded, thinking. ‘And maybe they want some revenge, Medellin to take the blame.’
I called GCHQ. ‘It’s Wilco. Look at
a man called Marty Ramirez, a lord in Tijuana. He’s linked to a Bolivian cartel and trying hard to get the Medellin the blame for attacks on America. He is now your priority.’
Tiny addressed Rizzo. ‘So, you’re now a free agent.’
‘Not a free agent, he works for me, just like you,’ I emphasised. ‘And you both know too much, so the day you stop working for me … it’s prison or a bullet in the back of the head.’
‘Not much of a retirement plan,’ Tiny complained. ‘I was hoping to make enough in a few years and go sit on a beach.’
I sipped my beer. ‘When the time comes, create a fake ID, tell no one about it – not even me, and go. Then hope they don’t find you.’
‘I could hide,’ she suggested.
‘Not sure I could,’ Rizzo admitted. ‘And what would I do? Sit in a pub and talk bollocks all day like some British ex-pat? Nah, not for me.’
‘And what would you have done after ten years in the regular SAS?’ I posed.
‘Well … bodyguard work in the Middle East maybe, some mercenary work, but as Rocko says: best paid man in the cemetery. Fact is, not sure what I would have done. I have the money you gave me tucked away, enough to live on for a while at least.’ He sipped his beer.
Gay Dave stepped in. ‘Right, Boss,’ he said, sounding a bit effeminate still, and he hugged Tiny. ‘Well if it’s not Mad Dog Rizzo. I saw the film.’
‘Oh, er … right … yeah,’ Rizzo stumbled with, Tiny laughing.
Dave faced me. In Russian he said, ‘Welcome back to house of Tomsk, warm weather and nice grounds.’
I commented, ‘Your Russian is getting better, yes.’ He sat. ‘You happy to stay here for a bit?’
‘I have a nice apartment, and a partner now. We’re cosy here, we cook together, all snug.’
Rizzo shot me a look that suggested he was uncomfortable, and would rather be someplace else.
I smiled. ‘You can stay as long as you like, Dave, you’re doing good work. Might have some need for you elsewhere, alibi for me, we’ll let you know. You get a wage?’
‘Well, I still get that wage from the UK mob, but Tomsk pays me more on top. I’m going to buy a condo.’
My phone trilled. ‘It’s Khrushchev, and DeBlanco now realises we’re onto him. He wants to make a deal, but only if he gets a Panama passport.’
‘I can arrange that, and some money. Can you arrange a flight?’
‘Be tricky, he’s in the system.’
‘Arrange a death then.’
‘I’ll send that up the line.’
Call ended, and I called Miller as they chatted quietly. ‘It’s Wilco. Any progress?’
‘They now realise that we’re not buying the story, and are facing a shallow grave unless they come up with something good.’
‘What we do know is that Marty Ramirez in the Tijuana Cartel was chatting to the Bolivian cartels, German-speaking cartel bosses. Mention that to your two prisoners and see how they react.’
‘You’re always one step ahead,’ he complained.
‘I get up earlier than you, that’s all,’ I quipped. Call ended, I faced Tiny. ‘The Bolivians were linked to the Medellin a while back, ten car bombs set-off, but at a time of day when no one would be hurt.’
‘A message,’ she noted.
I nodded. ‘So what was the deal, what was the message, and is the deal still in progress?’
‘Could the car bombs have been about the fake drugs?’ she asked.
‘Possibly, yes, and the Bolivians wanted the fake drugs off the market. But a phone call would have done that, not ten car bombs. No, there’s a link between them, some secret deal.’
‘Grab one of them, make them talk,’ Rizzo suggested.
‘If I do that, and they find out, then it’s war between Tomsk and Medellin, and we don’t want that yet, we want to hit them when it suits us.’ I wagged a finger. ‘When you’ve trained some men.’
‘Give me a few days off, for fuck’s sake,’ he complained.
‘You can have a few days, but not many. We have men to get ready. And the American Wolves will group at the Alamo very soon and fight outwards from there. Murphy and his mate will be there, Greenie and Mitch.’
‘Would I go there?’
‘Maybe, but you’re a bit high profile at the moment.’
‘Nice legs,’ Dave commented, Rizzo unsure of what to do as Tiny laughed at him.
‘You need a doctor?’ I asked Rizzo with a grin.
‘It itches, so yeah.’
‘Take it easy, I’ll sort a doctor here in the morning. Don’t open up your wounds, eh.’
Tomsk came and sat with us. ‘That German man, was he linked to the Bolivians?’
‘Linked, not sure, but he did tell Tiny that the Bolivians are linked in to Tijuana.’
Tomsk shrugged and pulled a face. ‘The Bolivians could sell to Tijuana, yes, but I never heard of that.’
I considered what Tomsk had said, and took out my phone and called back Miller. ‘Listen, do the CDC have what we chatted about before, an analysis of cocaine, but showing its origins?’
‘Yes, a definitive map. Bolivian bush is different to Asian bush and Colombian bush.’
‘We are talking drugs here…?’ I teased.
‘Yes,’ he sighed out. ‘Not pussy.’
‘I want a copy, and I want you to push them hard to track where Bolivian cocaine is landing. You have our email address.’
‘I’ll get on it. But why?’ he asked as the others listened in.
‘Rumours of a deal, a secret deal, the Bolivians and the Medellin and Tijuana. But they would need some inside help Stateside.’
‘There are plenty of crooked officials,’ he noted. ‘No surprise there.’
‘And if some were FBI?’ I posed.
‘Then … we’d take an interest and shut them down, yes.’
‘Get me that map, and give them a nudge.’
‘I will do, yes,’ he promised.
Phone down, Tiny began, ‘Why would the Medellin and the Bolivians cooperate on anything, they’re both growers?’
Tomsk put in, ‘They have no need, they compete.’
‘Two men and one mistress,’ I said out loud.
‘Huh?’ Rizzo grunted.
I added, ‘What if … the Bolivians and the Medellin are competing, either for Tijuana trade or … a secure route … or a good American buyer?’
‘Tijuana buy from Medellin and some other Colombians, never heard of them buying from the Bolivians,’ Tomsk told us. ‘The Bolivians like bulk orders, two a year.’
I nodded. ‘If the orders are that big, and only twice a year, then the end buyer could be pharmaceutical. Or someone who sells on to a drug company.’
Tiny shook her head. ‘All the recent publicity, and the drug companies would be terrified to dabble now, and the UN was doing some audit of all drug companies.’
My phone trilled. ‘It’s GCHQ. Can you talk?’
‘Fire away.’
‘We got a phone hit in Tijuana, a link to a known Hong Kong triad.’
‘That’s … odd. Thanks.’ I faced Tomsk. ‘Do the Chinese deal with Tijuana?’
‘No, not that I’ve heard. Chinese product comes from Thailand and Laos, some sent to America, not much now.’
‘Have the Central American cartels ever sold to Asia?’ I asked.
‘To Australia and some places, but not much. I have a pipeline there and little competition. Asians like heroin, from Afghanistan or Thailand.’
‘Saudi Arabia,’ Rizzo noted.
I waited. ‘What about them?’ I finally asked.
‘They have a drug problem but hide it, the Royals. Mate of mine was a bodyguard there, and they had to hide it when the Royals were high or stoned. He reckons that the Saudis, they control all the drugs in the region.’
I faced Tiny. ‘And the Saudis were linked to FBI Deep State, drugs and missiles and money flow.’
She noted, ‘Saudis have the cash to fund the deals, a good return
, and no tax paid.’
I faced Tomsk. ‘We get Jose to update some maps tomorrow, Asia and Saudi Arabia, and we can do some research and find out what the Saudi shits and the FBI were up to, and we stop them before they do something here.’
‘The Stingers,’ Tiny floated.
‘Yes, they were on their way here before I landed at La Ninga.’
She noted, ‘That suggests a long-standing relationship with the Saudis.’
‘American military has been there for decades,’ I pointed out.
Gay Dave put in, ‘What was that film? Them American soldiers was flying drugs into America from Thailand. Mel Gibson.’
I turned to Tomsk. ‘Could that be it? FBI and American military helping the Saudi drug trade, and helping the Bolivians get product into the States.’
‘No one looks at military planes,’ Tomsk told me.
‘And Medellin found out, threatening to upset the deal,’ Tiny suggested. ‘Hence the car bombs.’
‘But there are no military planes from Bolivia to the States,’ I noted.
Rizzo suggested, ‘So they go around the world, to Saudi, and back to the States. Who the fuck would suspect that, eh.’
‘Not as dumb as you look, are you,’ I told my former troop sergeant. ‘American military planes fly into and out of Saudi all day long.’
‘The crew would need to be crooked,’ Tiny suggested.
‘Unless they never knew what they were carrying,’ I countered with.
Rizzo put in, ‘My mate out there, another mate, he repaired APC and brought them back if he couldn’t, bits of kit, radios, all sorts. Easy to pack something inside a fucking truck.’
I smiled.
‘What?’ Tiny asked.
‘I was approached by an American company, who make APCs. I’m guessing they might repair some or fly them home and refit them.’
Tiny stated, ‘So the FBI mob and the American military assist this rich Saudi idiot to get drugs into the States via the military flights, and … cooperate on other things, not least the large scale attacks on American interests.
‘The Saudi al-Qa’eda backer gets what he wants, a chance to hurt Americans, but the real men in control are getting what they want - the American voters all riled up and wanting a war. The FBI mob, they’re the smart ones here, using the Saudis.’
‘Not just a pretty face, eh,’ I noted.