by Geoff Wolak
In the jeep we had driven over in, now a bit smashed up, the clothes for myself and Sasha were retrieved ready, our suitcases, and the green canvas bags for the British lads were just about intact, a few holes, some burn marks.
At 4pm I called Carlos. ‘There is a helicopter on the way for us, so you take care. And keep telling people that I am in the area. There are Russian soldiers here, they will train your men, so the rumours can be kept alive.’
‘If they think you are here they might attack again, but now they have bigger problems, the owner of those planes not happy I hear, some money sought.’
‘Those planes could top three hundred million dollars.’
‘Yes, an expensive operation to have lost them – no insurance I think.’
‘We will leave behind the weapons, so mention that to Tomsk, maybe send some back to him or sell them.’
‘I will talk to him, yes.’
‘And mention that I promised the helicopter pilots a bonus for finding the transports, they did a good job.’
‘I will make sure they are well taken care of, yes. It has been a strange experience, to meet you after hearing the stories, and to find that you are more intelligent than those stories portray.’
‘It has been a strange experience to meet you too, the mad dog jackal who in fact uses his brain, feeds babies, and is a pragmatist.’
‘I hate that reputation I have, but the men say it keeps people afraid of me, so maybe it works some.’
‘You will always be Carlos The Kitten to me.’
‘I prefer Jackal.’
‘No, Kitten.’ I hung up grinning.
Changed into civvy clothes, the Russians manning the outposts, Edwardo and Edmundo were sad to see us leaving.
‘Train hard, work hard,’ I told them. ‘You have some good men, so create a good team. Don’t kill for fun, don’t harm women and children, but shoot any man carrying a gun.’
Rocko and Monster, Rizzo and Stretch, they were now in civvies, Rizzo’s t-shirt partly burnt. Swan, Nicholson and Tomo lugged their green canvas bags, Tomo’s with a hole through it. Sasha and his team had managed to find their clothes under the rubble, but now looked dusty and dirty, Sasha whinging at me.
‘Make sure you have no evidence on you, nothing illegal!’ I shouted.
‘Where we off?’ Tomo asked. ‘Panama?’
‘Vegas,’ I told them.
‘Vegas is good,’ Monster approved, the others agreeing.
I called Tomsk and asked for rooms in Vegas in my English name, some travellers cheques to pick up.
‘You are leaving? What about Lobos, I told people I would fuck them good?’ he complained.
‘We put a few hundred men in the ground, we shot-up their convoys and stole their weapons, then I shot down three large transport aircraft with hired gunmen on, almost two hundred men killed or wounded. You know what a Hercules costs, and they lost three like it.’
‘Expensive, yes, very expensive.’
‘And I flew over Cegali, their stronghold, and fired down at them - destroying a hundred jeeps, and we shot up all the shop fronts because Lobos guaranteed protection for those shops. We then flew a crop sprayer over that town and sprayed liquid pig shit all over.’
He laughed. ‘I can tell people at the club what I did.’
‘It was all down to you,’ I agreed. ‘So milk it.’
After dark, Running Bear led his men in, no change of clothes to hand, weapons in bags, and ten minutes later a Chinook loudly announced its arrival, ramp down, all of us running aboard. Ramp closing, lights out, and we lifted up, arse end up, nose down as we gained speed over the hills, and we were over the border in five minutes, the lights turned back on.
Ten minutes later we bumped down at a military base, rolling along and turning before we halted, soon walking down the ramp to Franks and Dick, many military police dotted about. They walked us to a room under the tower as Running Bear said goodbye – insults shouted back and forth, my British ID pack handed over with Sasha’s and checked as a colonel stepped in with an adjutant.
Hands on his hips, he began, ‘You were never here, no loud Chinook landed, and you sure as hell were not south of the border. Right?’
‘Right,’ Franks told him. ‘You’d not want to be posted to Antarctica, Colonel.’
‘Fuck no, chilly down there.’
With the colonel gone, I told Franks, ‘Transport to Vegas?’
‘You Brits need to get a map, Vegas is like four hundred miles away.’
‘Overnight bus?’ I suggested. ‘We can sleep.’
‘I’d have to come with you, keep you out of trouble.’
I made firm eye contact. ‘Tomsk has a few suites booked, cash waiting…’
‘Then we definitely need to accompany you, yes. I’ll get us a bus, a nice one, that you’ll be billed for – not us. Kick back for a bit.’
Grabbing chairs, coffee brought in, Monster asked, ‘What’s the plan?’
‘Bus on the way, take us to Vegas as we sleep, tomorrow we get a nice hotel suite, some time to relax – cash for gambling.’
‘Sounds good,’ Rocko approved. ‘And bonuses..?’
‘When we get back.’
‘We left luggage with that guy in Panama,’ Monster noted.
‘I’ll have it sent back to the UK, don’t worry.’
‘They have lap dance bars in Vegas?’ Rizzo asked.
‘You just call a girl to your room,’ I told them. ‘Thousands of nice hookers. And I’m sure Tomo will have two.’
‘Damn right,’ he said. ‘Been in a hole in the ground for a week.’
I faced Sasha, and waited.
‘I will see a show, no girls,’ he protested.
‘Pussy,’ they called him.
The coach took an hour to arrive, but when it arrived we found that it was a huge coach, blacked-out windows, two toilets, and a mini-cinema, as well as a mini-bar. Drinks downed as we set off, the lads recalled the detail for Franks and Dick.
At midnight I was still awake, Franks awake because he had been sleeping in the daytime.
Franks began, ‘Total shit storm in the media, but the powers are loving it, White House loving it. Everyone is united against Lobos, who are dumb enough not to deny anything and to even make threats. We had the Lobos men stopped at the border on the news, then the planes, so it makes it look like Lobos were coming north.
‘And the more we deny having men south of the border the more they believe we did, but no one cares – the voters are solidly behind shooting up Lobos, even to send tanks to the border.
‘Fucking Mexican Government is under a ton of shit right now, Federal Mexican task force being put together to go after Lobos, so Lobos will be set back.’
‘They owe about three hundred million dollars for those planes, plus the other damage I did to them.’
‘That’s more money than they’re worth, so they’ll need a loan,’ Franks noted.
‘As I hit the local drug labs, so Carlos made more money and strengthened his position. And for the next few weeks he’ll convince people I’m still there. Local people have gotten the full bullshit reputation and are gossiping.’
‘You hung out the door of a Huey with a fifty cal and shot down a Hercules,’ he noted, eyebrows up.
‘Not that hard, not as hard as you might think, you just need to be crazy enough to do it. And Lobos, they just drove convoys down the road … because up to now no one has been crazy enough to challenge them.’
‘They’ll need a re-think on their strategy now.’
I nodded. ‘Worry is, that they’ll hit Panama City again.’
‘Police there picked up eight Lobos men, and I don’t think they’ll be treated well, not well at all. Not like the Mexican embassy will assist them. Not difficult to spot either, tattoos on their chests. Dumb fucks.’
‘Easy to spot around the hotel pool,’ I said with a grin.
‘What’s this No.1 Field Recon?’
‘The Lone Wolves, plu
s 14 Intel - plus any irregular men we have, will sit in it, the remit being irregular intel in a time of war plus some green field soldiering, recon behind the lines. Echo is a detachment, so the Wolves were a detachment of a detachment, out there on a limb, politicians not sure how to treat them, so now they look like regular army, paid like regular army.’
Franks nodded. ‘Another batch of Lone Wolves – or Lone Lobos - being selected, and they started with three hundred, got them down to just over a hundred, a few psychos in the mix wanting some action. The original instructors are involved, so they know what to look out for, and they apply your techniques.
‘The recruits spend five days static line dropping twice a day, long walks, and at the end they all get some beer, a lot of beer, chatting in small groups.’
I nodded my approval. ‘See who’s a nut job in the making. Good, thin them out.’
‘London is still seeing arrests…’
‘Yes,’ I sighed. ‘Home grown idiots, the left hand not knowing what the right hand was doing.’
‘Hasn’t harmed your new Prime Minister, his approval rating is way up.’
‘So maybe I can ask favours from him. I met him twice, but not under good circumstances, all this shit with the old boy network.’
‘When al-Qaeda hit that bank…’ He shook his head.
‘I know nothing about it, apart from the fact that I got a tip-off from the Middle East and passed it on.’
He shot me a look. ‘An odd coincidence, yes. But the powers were happy, good write-up for Delta Force. Nothing the power brokers like more than trouble, and us dealing with that trouble in the press. Keeps the NRA happy.’
I smiled. ‘They sell more guns to frightened folk in Oregon. Get many al-Qaeda attacks in Oregon?’
‘None so far, too many trees.’
‘So … your border with Canada?’
‘A line painted on the road, a sign, and gap in the trees, not so much as a passport check.’
‘I was surprised to find your border with Lobos territory just a rusted piece of wire.’
‘They’ll never fix it, but – having said that – there are now a shit load of calls for a fence, loud calls. Even had a bunch of people drive down and put up wire at their own expense. Those men putting up wire on the Mexican side?’
‘I had Carlos do it, because I knew it would get a laugh in Langley.’
‘There were some very puzzled people out there.’
At 8am we arrived out the Bellagio, canvas bagged lugged by tired men, placed on a luggage trolley. At the desk I gave my name, six suites having been booked, each with multiple rooms and multiple beds, travellers cheques handed to me and signed for.
As the lads stood waiting I cashed the cheques, ID shown - my Michael Milton passport, dollars handed out to each man, five thousand each to start. Up in the posh lift we found our floor, and found the rooms, keys in hands.
I would be sharing with Sasha, Franks and Dick, two rooms with two single beds each, but the beds were far bigger than British single beds.
Kit dumped, I led my roommates down for a much-needed breakfast, some of the lads coming down, a few sleeping.
At 10am I sat in the near-empty indoor pool with Sasha, the sun beating in through the windows, the cool wind kept out. ‘You are still alive,’ I told him. ‘Enjoy it, some time off to relax.’
‘We go back to see Tomsk?’
‘Probably fly straight back, but this Saturday is National Petrov Day in Panama.’
‘It is?’
‘Tomsk arranged it, and it will piss off the DEA.’
He smiled. ‘Yes, but also a lot of publicity, not so much the low profile, eh.’
‘I’m finding it hard to keep a low profile,’ I told him, making him laugh.
Getting out the water later we shocked the pool attendant and one early guest.
Back up to our rooms we found the FBI waiting, now my turn to be shocked.
‘Major Wilco?’
‘Yes..?’
‘We’re detailed to escort you. How long will you be here?’
‘Not sure, a few days.’ I handed them dollars. ‘Get some food on me.’
‘Good of you, sir. But, you know, we’re not allowed to acknowledge such tips.’
‘I won’t be saying anything.’
After changing, a knock came at the door. I opened it cautiously, finding the FBI – but also the hotel manager, a stern-faced grey old man.
He began, ‘Perhaps you can explain, sir, why these FBI goons are worrying my guests.’
‘You saw that film, Battle for Camel Toe Base?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m the British Major, Wilco, and these are my men.’
He considered that, and nodded. ‘I’ll make sure you have whatever you need, some chips for the casino.’
‘If any of my guys were smart enough to card count I’d be impressed to hell and I’d make them officers, so don’t worry.’
‘I doubt that will be an issue. Enjoy your stay, Major.’
Ten minutes later Miller called. ‘You’re in Vegas,’ he noted as I stood peering out the window.
‘At the Bellagio, kicking back and relaxing.’
‘My bosses are happy, very happy, deliriously happy, you turned the whole country against the drug cartels. Those cartels were obviously not popular, but there was a great deal of apathy around – now some well-targeted anger.’
‘I am here to serve,’ I quipped.
‘The tip-off about the twenty Lobos men…’
‘I knew what you wanted to hear.’
‘And the press story about the aircraft…’
‘Again, I knew what you wanted to hear and I stretched it a bit.’
‘You’re doing our jobs better than we do them.’
‘I have been playing this game for a while,’ I pointed out.
‘So what comes next?’ he asked.
‘After I get back I review and re-organise my men, then we look at Yemen.’
‘Bank is no longer an issue, no players left out there, so it should be quiet for you.’
‘And Richard Devauden?’
‘Ah, we heard something, he’s in South Africa.’
‘I’ll send some men to say hello, some lions to feed.’
‘UK have arrest warrants for him, so if he does surface he’ll be grabbed anyhow. It was your people cleaning house in Europe?’
‘Yes, fewer loose ends out there.’
‘I’m pretty sure that it wasn’t Mi6, nor French intel, so … who is it?’
‘I have a good team on the continent, don’t go looking for them - they shoot.’
‘Just curious, since good teams take time to recruit, to create, to train and operate.’
‘They do, yes.’
‘And Carlos The Jackal?’
‘Has twenty good young soldiers, some training from me, and Tomsk’s Russians still there and helping out. And Carlos will answer the phone to me, so if there’s something you need, ask me.’
‘Tip-offs about Lobos men?’
‘They would come to me anyhow, you don’t need to seek them out.’
‘Well enjoy your hotel. Oh, photos of those crashed planes just made the news here, questions asked as to who shot them down, CNN suggesting it was our Air Force, White House denying that, and the high body count in the region is being cited by the Mexican Government.’
After an afternoon nap, we joined forces at 6pm and headed down to one of the many restaurants, this one a large open-plan steak restaurant – the furniture all a rich varnished wood, our FBI minders and hotel security at a discrete distance.
Monster steaks were ordered, with fries and beer, the lads in a good mood, apple pie sampled afterwards for those who still had room to shove it in.
Stomachs full, we headed to the cashier and got chips, soon heading to the tables. I sat with Sasha at a blackjack table and started to win after a bad start, counting the high cards whilst chatting quietly to Sasha.
We moved onto r
oulette before they spotted my card counting, and Sasha accidentally won big, a thousand dollars becoming thirty-five thousand dollars. He would cash-out and return to us, the lads wondering where he was off to as I played on, losing my chips slowly over half an hour.
Sasha returned, five thousand dollars in chips in hand.
‘Where’d you go?’ Rizzo asked him.
‘I put thirty thousand dollars in my room, and I still have the start money. So I have extra bonus, no.’
‘Pussy,’ swept around the lads.
With the lads now bored we moved onto the giant slot machines, Rizzo soon holding a huge paper cup full of coins as he and Rocko tried for the million dollar win, Monster winning big – but just $50 worth of coins. So he now had a cup full as well.
Everyone gravitated to the bar soon enough, drinks ordered on the room keys, Nicholson trying it on with college girls, Tomo up in his room with escorts.
Tomo joined us with those two escorts later, both twenty-five, slim and good looking. I was tempted, but not that tempted. With Nicholson moving on to ladies in their thirties, I joined him, Sasha not wanting to talk to any ladies here.
The ladies were fit and toned, both from the Ukraine, at least they said they were, but their Russian was like mine - learnt from a book. I played along, telling them that we were oil industry risk analysts, a break from Central America and work in West Africa, a few training courses to attend.
One of the ladies asked me directly if I had been to Panama.
‘No oil in Panama, some mines,’ I told her.
‘Things are improving in Panama, I hear,’ she baited me, and did so expertly.
‘Seems that they’re going downhill in Mexico, all this gang trouble, Lobos men crossing the border even.’
‘Yes, shocking. Where did they cross?’
‘Texas way,’ I told her.
The second lady cut in, ‘I heard it was near Tucson.’
‘How far is Tucson?’ I asked. ‘I wanted to see the Alamo.’
‘Tucson is about four hundred miles, and the Alamo is in Texas.’
‘Your geography is good, coming from the Ukraine,’ I noted. In Russian I began, ‘Which town in the Ukraine?’
‘Kiev,’ the first lady replied.
‘Which district?’
She hesitated. ‘District 5.’