by Geoff Wolak
Tiny noted, ‘So that leaves our guy Thomas strengthened.’
‘Yes, and Tijuana knocked back.’
Mike Papa called from Monrovia as snacks were served. ‘Mike Papa,’ I began, people puzzling the reference.
‘I had money arrive, from the American Government.’
‘Yes, expected. Send it to Tomsk, keep some to convince the American congress that you’re doing what the money is supposed to be for.’
‘And what is the money supposed to be for?’
‘Road surveys, electric power line surveys, population wellbeing.’
‘Oh. Well I guess we have to fake some documents, to justify two hundred twenty-five million.’
‘That … much? I expected less this time, more in the future. OK, good. You keep twenty-five for now, rest to Tomsk.’
‘I sort that now. Large amounts in the bank worry me.’
Phone down, I told Tomsk, ‘White House just sent me two hundred and twenty-five million dollars.’
‘I need shoes,’ Tiny loudly stated, people laughing.
‘A lot of money,’ Tomsk noted. ‘They want the cartels gone badly.’
I called Langley and they put me through to the Deputy Chief at home. ‘I got the money from the White House.’
‘Not yet.’
‘What?’
‘They have to run it through a few committees. You should see something next week, seventy-five million.’
‘Already got two hundred million paid.’
‘From who?’
‘From you, dope.’
‘Not from us, and not from the White House.’
‘Yes … I have, in the bank,’ I insisted.
‘Can’t have.’
‘Check it, because it says it came from the American Government.’
‘I’ll make a call, but they don’t pay that quickly, not for anything – trust me.’
Call ended, I frowned at Tomsk, ‘Americans say they never sent any money.’
‘So I can claim it then,’ Tiny suggested.
Tomsk frowned back at me. ‘They don’t make mistakes with that kind of money.’
I called Miller. ‘You seen any payments from your government to Liberia?’
‘Yes, seventy-five million earmarked, your name on it.’
‘Nothing else?’
‘No.’
‘Check all your government payments to Liberia, right now.’
‘What’s the problem?’
‘We got a payment today.’
‘Can’t have, they don’t work that fast.’
‘Check for me.’
Phone down, and Tiny was asking for shoes, lots of shoes, Gay Dave laughing with Rizzo and Allison.
I told Tomsk, ‘Deep State have access to all payments, and they say it was not them.’
‘So who loses that money?’ Tomsk puzzled.
Miller was back on at 10pm, and adamant that no payment had been made. I called Mike Papa, woke him, and asked for the bank codes. I gave the bank codes to Miller as people discussed the money, and Miller could not identify who it was, but suggested that it looked like an American Government fund. The start digits were in sequence with other accounts.
‘Did someone accidentally send me some money from your pension plan?’ I teased. ‘Or did it come from the real Deep State?’
‘Why don’t you fuck off,’ came before the call was cut.
I told the gang, ‘It came from an American Government fund, but they can’t identify it, or who made the payment.’
A manager stepped out to us, informing Tomsk that the money was in his Cayman Islands account, a loud chorus of demands for shoes given up, even Miguel asking for new football boots.
At 10am in the morning Miller was back on. ‘We’re puzzled, and worried some. That account is hidden, even from us.’
‘Area 51 secret alien fund?’ I teased.
‘If it was we’d know about it.’
‘Is someone going to demand the money back?’
‘To do that they first need to know about it, and know the account, and who drafted the transfer and why.’
‘So … I can keep it?’
‘Congress might find it someday, but so far it seems to be hidden well.’
‘I’ll put some money in your account,’ I suggested.
‘I would have suggested that, yes.’
‘You would have requested that, and I would have considered it,’ I corrected him.
‘What’ll you do with it?’
‘Some for you, some for the new narco team, the rest goes on Mexico.’
‘I have reports on my desk. Twenty killed in Mexicali yesterday, seventy in Cancun, at least a hundred men missing in Sinola territory.’
‘Not bad, considering that so far we’ve spent fuck all. But if you have a concern, discuss it with your boss and let me know.’
‘We have no issues with killing cartel men - we have business plans in Mexico, just that we need less corruption and safer streets to carry out those plans, so you get a pat on the back from my bosses.’
‘I’ll distribute the money, so if Congress wants it back they’ll have to dip into my salary for the next … two thousand years.’
‘If we can’t see it, they can’t see it, and money goes missing all the time; the books never tally. Last time they tallied was 1785.’
‘So … it tallied for the first three years after your country was created?’
‘Two years and a few months. Which is longer than I would have credited them with.’
I went and found Tomsk and led him to the relevant manager. ‘Send twenty million to the same CIA Narco Team, twenty to Deep State, twenty to Bob.’
‘They agree it now, the Americans?’ Tomsk asked.
‘No, they can’t figure where it came from, so fuck them.’
‘And if they want it back?’
‘Then they ask the President of Liberia for it. But they won’t, because not even Deep State can find the transaction.’
‘So who sends it?’ Tomsk asked with a puzzled frown.
‘Someone in the American Government who wants the cartels hit badly.’
They exchanged puzzled looks.
With the payments made, I called Bob Staines first. ‘Extra twenty million in your account, sent via Monrovia by someone in the American Government that not even Deep State can identify.’
‘How is that possible?’
‘Wish I knew. Send ten to David Finch’s secret account, tell him about it. Rest of the money, well, maybe to be spent on the list or on cartel men.’
‘Won’t spend it,’ Bob adamantly stated. ‘Don’t need that much.’
Tinker called ten minutes later. ‘Traffic says that the Sinola boss just got his head blown off.’
‘A change of leadership maybe,’ I suggested.
‘He was sat behind bullet-proof glass at the time, his head mushed to pulp.’
‘A fifty cal,’ I suggested.
‘Or a long casing round.’
‘A professional hit,’ I noted.
‘The intel on the local police commandos now says that they made ready, mounted up, then went back to barracks.’
‘I asked Washington to shout at Mexico City.’
‘That might explain it. And the men sent out to find the Wolves never came back. Over a hundred missing. Hang on.’ I waited. ‘Envangalista, the man with your double, just got his head blown off his shoulders, a big mess up the wall apparently.’
‘That’s … odd. Someone is using my actions there to even the score and to manoeuvre. Work on that assumption, that we have a joker in the pack.’
‘Another cartel?’
‘Who else would want that shite territory?’
I called the Deputy Chief.
‘Ah, Wilco, we checked the payments, and they’ve definitely not sent you anything.’
‘I chatted to Deep State, and someone … did send the money.’
‘Who?’
‘They don’t know.’
/> ‘What the hell is going on?’
‘I have friends in high places maybe. Anyway, your secret fund got an extra twenty million, so use it.’
‘Good of you. But … that’s like ten percent of what you got.’
‘Are you related to David Finch, because he counts the elastic bands in the box as well, Mister Bean Counter.’
‘I’m just saying, it could have been more.’
‘I’m just saying, be grateful, more to follow. And here I am doing your job for you.’
‘Now you sound like my wife.’
‘I’ll send more, and also spend it here on your guys. So you take the garbage out once in a while.’
‘You met my wife?’ he accused.
‘Gotta go.’ I cut the call.
I called our hitman boss. ‘It’s Petrov.’
‘Ah, we have been busy in Mexicali.’
‘I get the reports, yes.’
‘You got the Sinola boss?’ he asked.
‘I was going to ask you that.’
‘No, not us,’ he insisted.
‘Then a good shooter with a fifty cal is being hired by someone other than you, and if I was you I would want to know the detail.’
‘I do want to know the detail, yes, and I will make some calls; this man should be with me.’
‘I am not interested in the man, but I am interested in who wants to take over Sinola territory.’
‘To be honest, their territory is not worth much now, people use boats and planes, not travel up the middle of my country.’
Phone down, I sat by the pool and studied the inviting blue water for a while. I finally called Tinker. ‘Is there anything in Sinola territory that’s worth money, other than drugs? Mines, gold?’
‘Oil.’
‘Oil?’
‘They reckon that the oil belt is rich, just the problem of moving aside the Sinola.’
‘Start a new project with Reggie -’
‘Someone Stateside wants the oil, and sees the opportunity now,’ he cut in.
‘Yes. And someone … prepared to car bomb the Sinola a month back but cancelled.’
‘Same someone.’
‘Look for them please.’
Phone down, I heaved a sigh, took in the high wispy clouds, and called Miller. ‘Are you sat down?’
‘At my desk.’
‘Stiff drink in hand?’
‘Ah … shit. I’m not going to like it, am I?’
‘Someone … Stateside, in an organisation similar to yours, wants at the oil in Sinola territory. They’re actively giving me a hand here from the shadows.’
‘I … have a clue, yes.’
‘Go investigate, because they’re well organised and well funded and have some excellent snipers at their disposal.’
‘The Sinola boss…’
‘Yes, them, pissing in your pond. And I’ll upset you here by suggesting that they sent me some money.’
‘If … if they had that money and the access -’
‘Yes, they’re better than you, invisible, and doing a good job.’
‘I’ve said it before, and I’m sure I’ll say it again; go fuck yourself.’
I smiled for a good ten minutes, enjoying greatly his discomfort, Big Sasha wondering what the good news was.
The next day the news was mixed, odd, and puzzling, but not completely unexpected. Both Evangalista, two of his deputies, and the Sinola boss himself had all been killed with Teflon long-casing rounds. And the credit was landing right at my door thanks to CNN.
In Sinola territory, husbands had not returned to wives, a tally of two hundred and thirty missing, many bodies recovered already. The Mexican news was showing grieving wives, but not CNN or the BBC.
In Cancun, the new wannabe cartel had been mostly wiped out, the remaining men fleeing for their lives, our hitman boss making himself some good money, the absent holidaymakers not worried by local newspaper reports.
Mike Papa called, five million dollars in his account from TLC, my commission for the APC sale in Panama. I asked that he build a new barracks and training area in the city that western soldiers would use. I also asked that he buy some APCs from TLC.
I made a choice, discussed it with Langley and with David Finch, and we would now move Echo and the Wolf officers to Carlos, not least because CNN was claiming that Echo was already in Mexico.
The odd news was that the regular SAS and 14 Intel were now responsible for Sierra Leone and Liberia, and that the MOD was making decisions in that region, and not me. I had to wonder what Forester had learnt, and what was now on his mind.
That evening I sat with Rizzo and Allison, cold beers enjoyed as the girls and others were at a fashion show.
‘How you settling in?’ I asked Rizzo.
‘Good here, yeah, no issues. Gay Dave got me an intro or two, but they were Russian and – well – a bit pushy. Then I met a girl in a canteen, small and cute, speaks enough English just about. She got no money, sick grandmother who raised her.’
‘A man likes to be the man, wanted and needed,’ I told him. ‘Enjoy it while you can, could be dead next year.’ I faced Allison. ‘You sorted your head out?’
‘Now it’s like prison never existed, I hardly think about it, it’s like it never happened. I’m getting fitter, back in the groove as far as weapons are concerned, and I like teaching the lads.’
‘How they coming along?’
‘They’re keen, and respectful, which is a good start point. You can work with that, not operate with some old hack that thinks he knows more than you.’
‘They shoot straight?’
‘Yeah, all good lads. We’ve had them up trees and tied on, hitting targets at 600yards to a 1,000yards, and they’ve tried the Elephant Guns.’
Rizzo put in, ‘I’ve had them on patrol, looking for tracks, sniffing the air. And they count their rounds fired carefully, reload with two rounds left in the mag, new mag out first.’
‘Then take them to the border, set a camp with some of the Russians from here, patrol out, and keep going till you find someone to shoot. When you tell me they’re ready you go up to Nicaragua, to the corridor. Oh, Echo on its way to Mexico, some trouble to cause.’
‘We go up there?’
‘Maybe, but I can’t have you seen in with Echo, they’d court martial me. British Government is already complaining that you’re living the high life here.’
‘Local papers showed me a few times.’
‘London complained about it. But they’ve not filed charges yet, and now that you’re out, and here, they might not bother.’
‘I could go back to the UK?’ Rizzo asked.
‘In time, if they forget about you. But I would stay away if I was you.’
‘I like it here, might have a kid.’
‘You … want a kid?’
‘Never had one, so … this girl is keen to have a family, so … now or never. Could be dead next year – like you said.’
Allison put in, ‘Better with a poor local girl, she won’t screw you over.’
‘Unlikely,’ I agreed. ‘She’ll appreciate you. A British girl … would tell you which friends you could keep, to put the toilet paper on the roller, not to fart – ever, to visit her family but not yours, and to sit down and be quiet when she’s watching the soaps on TV.’
Rizzo exchanged a look with Allison. ‘I’m fucking staying here.’
Smiling, I eased up as Bob Staines walked in with Leggit, Rizzo and Allison following me up. I shook Bob’s hand as Rizzo offered a “Right, boss” before he shook hands and exchanged a smile with Leggit.
‘Come, sit, a cold drink,’ I told Bob and Leggit. ‘We have a war to plan.’
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