Wilco- Lone Wolf 17

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘We’ll have a word with them, we don’t want them trying to shoot you.’

  ‘They could have shot me here yesterday, but didn’t want the blame, so … they hatched a silly scheme, at least he did. And the dead diplomat was probably someone they wanted out the way. But this makes it hard for me to go to Yemen, and fly over their airspace.’

  ‘We’ll sort it, trust me, we have high level contacts, their Deep State to ours.’

  ‘And their people could not stop the attack on Desert Sands..?’

  ‘They have an odd set-up, and princes are spoken to quietly about bad deeds, not thrown in jail. But we do some good work together around the region.’

  ‘Let me know what their interest is in me, because I need to fly over their territory.’

  An hour later the Deputy Chief rang. ‘Wilco, you still in one piece?’

  ‘For now, yes, the men relaxing around the pool, drinking and eating, some gambling of course.’

  ‘I’ve got everything the FBI has on the fake agents, and our not-so-dead ex-employee. He’s on the run.’ I said nothing. ‘But we just got word from the Saudi Embassy, and that dead Saudi was believed to be on his way to warn you about something … and killed for it.’

  ‘Why the fuck …would a Saudi want to warn me about something? And does he not have a phone that works?’

  ‘We don’t know, and they’re being cagey, and when it comes to them we can’t push it.’

  I sighed. ‘Can you arrange flights for tomorrow, back to the UK?’

  ‘I’ll shove you in a C5, they land at Fairford every day.’

  ‘Better than nothing I suppose.’

  David Finch called next. ‘We’ve spoken to the Saudis, and they don’t know what’s going on.’

  ‘I do. An ex-CIA manager working in Saudi for five years took money to fake his death and to join the Saudi version of Deep State – Washington branch, where he’s been working for the last ten years. A low-ranking Saudi diplomat was on his way to warn me about something, but was intercepted and killed.

  ‘In the hotel I met a pair of fake FBI agents, crap cover stories, then fake police, just as crap, so … no idea why they were hanging around unless to dump the body in my room, to be found by the maid and blamed on me.’

  ‘How very odd. And yes, that makes no sense at all – the hotel has cameras, it’s a casino, tight security.’

  ‘Only thing I can think of is that they were in a rush and made mistakes, the second tier agents dragged in instead of the good teams.’

  ‘Pays to have a well-trained team and a good plan, yes. When are you back?’

  ‘Flying US Air Force, first class, tomorrow.’

  ‘I don’t think they do first class,’ he quipped. ‘When you’re back the Prime Minister wants a word, probably a loud word; he got a thank-you from the White House for you being south of the border, which came as a surprise to him.’

  ‘I’ll get him a box of chocolates,’ I suggested.

  ‘Might take more than that,’ David quipped. ‘And when you are back … what comes next?’

  ‘Some training, a re-organisation of the teams, then Yemen.’

  ‘Your scoundrel side-kick, Captain Moran, accidentally returned from Guinea with a large bag of blood diamonds, and reported the fact to us on the quiet via O’Leary.’

  ‘And..?’

  ‘And … we were wondering if you knew how to offload them?’

  I smiled widely. ‘Tomsk will take them.’

  ‘In which case, I’ll have them sent in the diplomatic bag to Panama. No one would suspect items being smuggled into Panama.’

  ‘Have a man with the diamonds book into Tomsk’s nice hotel, where a certain lady agent called Tiny is in residence.’

  ‘Ah yes, her. And how long will you keep her there?’

  ‘I’ll leave that up to you, since she shows good potential for your lot.’

  I called Tomsk. ‘Listen, I’ll have a large bag of blood diamonds dropped at your hotel in Panama City.’

  ‘Ah, good.’

  ‘Arrange for Tiny to meet the contact, he’ll be from the British embassy. Tomorrow or the next day.’

  ‘I have good contacts with the diamond cutters and sellers now, and that big diamond you got from Liberia – I sold it for forty-six million dollars to a private collector.’

  ‘Sell these new diamonds, and put our cut in the bank account for Spectre. But you’re in credit; we have not used the money you sent. Oh, and maybe some free beer for people on Petrov Day, eh!’

  ‘I have some beer lined up, yes, more than a million bottles.’

  ‘A million bottles?’

  ‘We will give them out in the street,’ he laughed.

  ‘Boss, the DEA will be pissed off with you.’

  ‘I hope so, yes, the Catholic Church here as well.’

  That evening passed without incident, Tomo trying it on with Salome and not getting anywhere – up to the point where she twisted his arm and threw him over a table. After I apologised to the manager, and offered a few dollars for the mess, calm reclaimed the bar.

  In the morning the FBI escorted us in a coach to Nellis Air Force Base, under an hour to get there, a Hercules waiting for us. Kit loaded, we sat on the benches resting against the nets, soon roaring and vibrating down the runway and off. Arms were folded, legs crossed, but I knew it would be a short flight and so peered out the window.

  Down and landed, the guys surprised, some nudged awake – are we nearly there yet, and we were led to an Air Force bus, a mile around the perimeter track to a waiting C5, but we had to sit and wait an hour before the crew arrived and greeted us, cargo finished loading.

  A long flight landed us at Andrews Air Force Base, Washington, having to get off the plane - in the cold rain - whilst it refuelled, soon heading northeast for a monster ten hour flight to RAF Fairford in Gloucestershire.

  But at least we could get up and walk around on this flight, and chat to the large crew, the captain coming back to chat to me – and he guessed that we had been south of the border. He was a Texan, born and raised, about to move to Alaska for some cool fresh air.

  At Fairford I had to wake many, Salome less than fresh and complaining, buses grabbed in cold rain – a wait for our luggage, police escort picked up – MP Pete waiting, and we set-off south towards Gloucester city in the dark, most of the guys not knowing what day it was, or which way was up.

  Back at base, the cold rain having eased, I stepped down with my luggage and found Swifty awake and in uniform, seemingly tired, as MP Pete walked me in.

  ‘You waited up?’ I asked Swifty.

  ‘Like you, I slept on a plane, got back about four hours ago I think. Be dawn soon. I think, not sure.’

  We got the kettle on, the house warm.

  ‘Where did you fly from?’ I asked.

  ‘Up from Sierra Leone. I was overviewing the Wolves, got some training in when they were not on the job in Guinea.’

  ‘Any wounded?’

  ‘Got a nasty scrape, but he’ll be back at it in a few weeks. Stone ricochet got a lad in the legs, no drama, one hit in the balls – but they saved the testicle.’

  ‘Nasty.’

  ‘You know about the … package?’ he said, a glance at MP Pete.

  ‘Moran brought it back…’

  Swifty nodded. ‘Handed to London already.’

  ‘Bonuses will be a plentiful,’ I assured him. ‘And that rebel camp in Guinea?’

  ‘We had seventy men sneak up and then open up after those small planes with the RAF bombed the place; we hit them in their underpants as they ran around – fucking embarrassing.’

  ‘Seventy men?’ I puzzled.

  ‘Regular SAS, Americans, Pathfinders, plenty of warm bodies and keen volunteers. Ginger led a troop of Wolves, Moran led our lot – some of them, and I stayed at the FOB, training the lads, running the battle board with Major Harris.’

  ‘Harris? He wangled himself a trip, eh.’

  ‘Must have wan
ted time away from his wife.’

  I smiled. ‘I’ll get a full brief.’

  ‘And you..?’ he nudged.

  ‘Sunny Jamaica, Sunny Panama, then Sunny Mexico.’

  MP Pete cut in, ‘That was you on the Mexican border?’

  I turned to him. ‘What did the news here report?’

  ‘It was all over the news for two days, these drug cartels crossing the border, planes crashing.’

  ‘I was in Acapulco, on a beach, never fired a shot in anger,’ I told him with a straight face.

  ‘Ha!’ He headed out, some fences to check.

  ‘So what happened?’ Swifty pressed.

  ‘Big shot CIA guy got kidnapped in Jamaica by a Mexican drug gang, I got him released, then I moved the teams to Mexico; Rocko and Rizzo, Stretch and Monster, the snipers, Sasha and his team. Our host, Carlos The Jackal – who should be called Carlos The Pussy, helped us attack the Lobos cartel and others, to boost Carlos because my friend in Panama, Tomsk, ships drugs through him.

  ‘And that cartel, they’re tough in a town, crap on a hillside at night. We shot a few hundred, then got Hueys and shot up their town, then they sent three Hercules full of armed men at us. But we got a tip-off, Rocko and Rizzo hanging out of a Huey each with fifty cal. We got so close to the Hercules we could have reached out and touched them, and opened up, shot them down.’

  ‘Rocko will be pleased, out of retirement,’ Swifty noted.

  ‘He was grinning like an idiot. Anyhow, I need a shower and a bed for a bit.’

  ‘I might wait for the canteen and grab a bite first, I slept well on the plane.’

  I stood. ‘Is everyone back up here?’

  ‘Mostly, yeah, back from holiday as well.’

  ‘What day is it?’

  ‘Saturday.’

  ‘National Petrov Day in Panama, today, later on.’

  ‘A bit high profile?’ he noted.

  ‘Yep, bound to piss off the DEA,’ I said with a grin. In my room I called SIS and notified them that I was at the base if anyone needed me, but about to sleep.

  At 2pm I was awake and with it, Swifty asleep as I left the house, the rain holding off - but it was cold as hell and grey overhead. In the canteen I sat with Moran, Ginger and Henri, Nicholson awake – just about, and nursing a coffee, many of the Wolves in and eating.

  Moran gave me a rundown of the operation to get the diamonds, Dicky being the one to find them and pinch them away without anyone noticing – not the American teams.

  Moran had left Tobo’s men down at the FOB, dollars in hand, and the men would patrol the northern border, as well as lead patrol teams towards villages that they knew well.

  At 4pm I called Bob Staines and asked that he ship some cash over, a secure van to be utilized. Sat in the Intel Section, I found four duty staff and had a look at the boards, the teams all back in the UK, a few noted as wounded after the operation in Guinea.

  At 5pm I ventured into the large recreational hut, chatting to many of the Wolves about what they had been up to, some having missed the action and been on holiday, a few offering dark tans. Tiller and Brace had missed the action, on holiday in Egypt scuba diving - and shagging tourist girls.

  Five American Wolves were back with us, plus Greenie, and most of these lads had been on holiday around Europe. Greenie had gone to Sicily after Rome, whereas Murphy has gone to Rome, met an American student and travelled up to Germany with her. They were now an item, he reported.

  ‘Flight to Germany is only an hour from London Luton Airport, so you can visit her on weekends,’ I told him.

  ‘She’s coming here to England for six weeks, sir, geology major. Some place in Devon.’

  ‘Balls OK?’

  ‘Ain’t 100%, sir, but I can use them. At least one of them.’

  ‘Me too,’ I quipped.

  Greenie told me of his trip to Sicily to find where his grandfather had died in World War Two. Turned out that his progenitor had been working on a jeep that fell on him, not shot in battle.

  Greenie had found the overgrown grave site, only to befriend the caretaker – who had relatives in the States, and the caretaker’s niece, a well-endowed young lady, had grabbed hold of Greenie and would not let go till he had to fly, the lady wanting a US passport and a US husband to boot. But having the husband was secondary to the passport it seemed. He offered to write, showing me Polaroids of the girl, one hell of a figure on her.

  Swifty met me in the bar later, his body clock all to hell, many of the men still on different time zones.

  When my phone trilled I walked to a quiet spot; Miller. He began, ‘Our friend, Dickinson, the not-so-dead CIA manager, is talking, having lost a few fingers already.’

  ‘That could affect his ability to hold a fishing rod.’

  ‘It will. You were right, as always. He works for Saudi Deep State, so we’re pissed off at them. The diplomat was about to blow the whistle on something and was heading for you under his own steam after Dickinson just told him in passing that you were in Vegas.

  ‘Dickinson had the teams moved around and they killed the diplomat, to be used to set you up for the guy’s murder – which makes little sense because there were hundreds of witnesses. We do know that a reporter was there ready, to embellish a story, that reporter picked up on a made-up charge and now facing jail time.

  ‘And the order to set you up did not come from the Saudis, at least we don’t think so, because an intercept suggested otherwise.’

  ‘Mister Miller, you work with some less than honest people,’ I quipped.

  ‘It’s a burden.’

  ‘So what was that guy going to warn me about?’ I puzzled.

  ‘We don’t know, and Dickinson doesn’t know.’

  ‘Maybe the Saudis think I killed their man in Zurich, and want me dead, a hit planned when I go to Oman.’

  ‘We’re having high level talks, and that matter will be resolved very soon. We’re pretty sure they don’t blame you or want you dead.’

  ‘But it is an octopus with many legs…’

  ‘Yes, it can have many opinions about a matter, but generally they leave the dirty work to us – or all of the dirty work to us; Saudis don’t like doing things themselves. Will you still go to Yemen?’

  ‘I may fly around Saudi Air Space. On the ground they won’t get near me.’

  ‘And if they tip off the bad boys about your planned attack?’

  ‘We’d still win the engagement, that’s not a worry.’

  ‘A confident man,’ he noted.

  ‘Wars are easier to fight when you don’t have stupid rules imposed upon you, stupid plans, no wasting time taking prisoners, no first aid dispensed, no timetable, no land to hold onto till relieved.’

  ‘Fast and loose warfare, but in your case – the authorised murder of the gunmen, no trial to follow.’

  David called at 6pm, as I sat in the house with Swifty, my housemate feeling a little better today. ‘It appears … that today is National Petrov Day in Panama.’

  ‘I heard, yes. Is our ambassador taking part?’ I teased.

  ‘No he damn well isn’t. And your sponsor, Tomsk, seems to have delivered free beer to every single citizen.’

  ‘That will make him popular.’

  ‘That will make your alter ego popular, not least because the TV news there ran the story of you rescuing a pregnant lady migrant on a hillside, the lady presenter tearful.’

  ‘Well do you expect a major in Her Majesty’s army to leave a pregnant woman on a hillside alone?’

  ‘No, but you could have dropped her at a hospital, not flown her to Panama with a TV crew in tow.’

  ‘It all helps the Petrov reputation, which helps Tomsk and Carlos The Jackal, and they feed me intel which makes you look good.’

  ‘We’re not knocking the value of the intel, just hoping for a lower profile, much lower, say … 2% of the current level?’

  ‘Not much chance of that. I do try and keep a low profile but things just keep happenin
g.’

  ‘The Lobos gang are still getting plenty of air time stateside, many questions being asked about what happened south of the border.’

  ‘There were CIA with me, so you can state that fact, and they were running the show, a team of liaisons at the end of the phone. What did you tell the Prime Minister?’

  ‘I may have fibbed a little, told him that the CIA requested you on loan for a few weeks. He was aware that you were loaned out to them from time to time, and he could have stopped it but didn’t – hence the implied permission. And now that you’re back the Parliamentary Select Committee wants a chat.’

  ‘Do they want my head on a plate?’

  ‘No, things have changed a great deal, and they want answers about Lord Michaels - as was. They have most of the story from the police and the press, some questions for you.’

  ‘I will be evasive,’ I warned him.

  ‘I’m doubting they’ll give you a hard time. Majority are Labour, and right now Labour are ahead in the opinion polls by the biggest margin in British history. And they know the public supports you.’

  ‘I have things to sort for a few days, then I could come up.’

  ‘I’ll tell them you’re jet lagged, get you a few days. When I told them you were on holiday they were not impressed at all.’

  That evening I sent around MP Pete and his gang to do a roll call of who was here, and to warn them all to be awake and with it in the morning. Echo would meet at 9am, No.1 Field Recon at 10am, Intel at 11am.

  Before midnight a coach full of American Wolves arrived, the barracks utilized plus the new wooden huts, Tobo’s men never to return to them. And now we had twelve huts, so plenty of space. British Wolves took priority in the single rooms, Americans to be in the shared huts or the barracks since they would not be here long. They were told that they would attend a meeting at 10am.

  I slept well enough, a hearty breakfast enjoyed at 7am, many British Wolves in and eating – and asking questions of what I had been up to in Mexico. Someone had been blabbing already, and most everyone would know soon enough.

  At 8am I grabbed Rocko and made sure that he knew the meeting times, but they were already down on his clipboard. I sat in the officers mess with Harris and O’Leary plus the 14 Intel Captains, a chat before the meetings, Salome driving in having been up to London – more relatives to sign forms.