Wilco- Lone Wolf 2

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Didn’t I?’ I snapped back at him.

  ‘No you fucking didn’t, some cunt called William the Orange grabbed some land, and fuckers have been fighting ever since. You got caught up in it, not your fault.’

  ‘They’re just civilians -’

  ‘They deal with armed nutcases all the time. Their screw up, not yours.’

  I sat staring at the floor, and sipped my tea, his words having no effect.

  Half an hour later, and Constable Moore appeared with his sister. ‘Jesus, we heard you were dead,’ he said as he sat opposite me. Sue looked horrified.

  ‘Two of your officers have been killed,’ I flatly stated.

  ‘Killed?’ he repeated. ‘We heard ... we heard they had been wounded.’

  I shook my head, still in a state of shock. ‘I checked the bodies.’

  ‘What happened?’

  I forced a big breath. ‘Two IRA gunmen in a car outside my place. I called it in, I warned the operator, and your two ... they just drove straight up to the gunmen.’

  ‘They were armed, ours I mean, that was a response vehicle. They had pistols.’

  I focused on him, now a little angered. ‘They teach you to just drive up and say hello?’

  ‘They shouldn’t have,’ he quietly agreed.

  Sue stepped out and spoke to another officer, and burst into tears. Mickey Moore ran out to her. Returning to me a minute later, and sitting, he began, ‘We knew them well, both family men, young kids.’

  I was back to feeling sick, and I stared up at Taffy Davies as he dealt with his own pain and anguish.

  Major Bradley was woken by an Intel Sergeant. ‘Sir, wake up, sir.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s Wilco, sir, in Hereford, he’s been shot, some IRA attack. Two police officers killed.’

  The Major bound out of bed.

  The sounds of boots preceded six of our lot in counter-terrorist gear, MP5s ready, Sergeant Crisp at the front.

  ‘Wilco, you hit?’

  ‘Just a bit of glass.’

  ‘The two coppers?’

  ‘Dead at the scene.’

  ‘ID on the x-rays?’

  ‘Two men, AK47, dark grey car, Ford Granada I think. I got nothing more.’

  ‘Police have roadblocks on the motorways, fifty miles out. Coppers coming over from Gloucester and Cheltenham, our lot on standby, helos at the base.’

  ‘They’ll be long gone.’

  He fetched me a coffee in a plastic up. ‘Taffy says they screwed up?’

  I sipped the coffee. ‘I keep going over it in my head. I told them, Wilco SAS, IRA threat, send officers.’

  ‘They record all calls, so they’ll go over it, but some fucker screwed up big time.’

  ‘And paid for it.’ I lifted my gaze. ‘They were married, with kids.’

  He stared back down. ‘Not a good mix, coppers against the IRA.’

  I eased up and stretched my back, getting a view of myself in a small mirror, and the dried blood. It looked worse than it was.

  ‘Are there people in my apartment?’ I asked Sergeant Crisp.

  ‘Dozens of them in the street, couple of our lads in the there.’

  I nodded, feeling a little better, but stared back at my image as I sipped the coffee, nowhere to go right now.

  Twenty minutes later, sat in the reception area, white pad on my head, the Chief Constable and his senior officers walked in. I stood and they approached me.

  ‘Wilco, right,’ the Chief Constable coldly stated, as if describing some deadly disease.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Can you tell us what happened?’

  ‘Your men applied UK standards to a Northern Ireland scenario.’

  He stared back, and then frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘They fucked up!’ I shouted at him, the man flinching, Taffy Davies moving closer. ‘I reported myself as SAS under threat from the IRA, and a suspicious car, and your men just drove straight up to say hello. Is that what you teach your staff?’

  ‘Easy,’ Taffy Davies said, a soothing tone adopted.

  The Chief Constable controlled himself. ‘I would guess that it’s not what they’re taught no, but ... as you said, this is not Northern Ireland, it’s rural Herefordshire.’

  I sat back down. ‘I could have killed the gunmen.’

  ‘So why didn’t you?’ the Chief rudely asked.

  ‘Because I get a lot of shit for not sticking to the rules, so I thought I would follow proper procedure and call you,’ I testily replied. ‘It is what you’re paid for.’

  ‘Perhaps now is not a good time for this,’ Taffy Davies told them, and they filed out. He sat next to me. ‘I’ve not seen you like this before,’ he said after a while.

  ‘I can handle myself getting shot, or shot at, and the lads, but civvys getting in the way...’

  He nodded. ‘I know, and it’s always difficult when you blame yourself. But if you had gone onto a British street with a pistol and used it ... there’d be hell to pay. And if those guys were a couple of local house burglars, and you shot them, you’d be in the dock for murder, so ... what you did was correct, the consequences not yours.’

  I sighed loudly. ‘Nothing ever fucking goes right, does it?’

  ‘Should have been with us in the Gulf – that saying was used a great deal.’

  With no point in waiting around, we drove back to the base, finding it a hive of activity, and learnt that our lads were patrolling with local officers, something not seen before on British streets.

  Colonel Richards came and found me in the canteen with some of the lads, a mug of tea in my hand. I stood, but he waved me down. ‘You OK?’

  ‘Physically, yes, sir.’

  He took a moment. ‘Taffy Davies spoke to me. He’s ... concerned about you.’

  ‘I’ll be alright, sir, it’s just ... the stupidity of it, the waste of two lives, men with families, thrown away.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault, I’ve checked the facts, and the police are screaming at each other. They got the message: SAS, IRA threat, suspicious car. What the hell more do they want - a neon sign?’

  ‘I keep going over that call in my head...’

  ‘Don’t, and stop blaming yourself, it was their screw-up and they paid dearly. There’ll be an enquiry, and at least we’re blameless. If you had fired at that car ... well, I’d be hauled in front of the Home Secretary. You’re on leave, so ... stay on leave, but your apartment is no good now.’

  I nodded. ‘I’ll have to find another.’

  ‘Bob Staines is on his way, and a posse of others. They’ll be hell to pay, and I’d bet the Chief Constable gets a call to resign. It’s all over the BBC news.’

  ‘How many enquiries am I listed for?’

  He smiled. ‘I think this makes six, or seven.’

  ‘Fucking hell,’ I let out with a sigh.

  ‘Blaming yourself is a good thing, it shows you care about the consequences of your actions, more so than someone like Rizzo.’

  I nodded. ‘I feel like I’m suddenly not suited -’

  ‘Rubbish. And the deaths of two civilian police officers would keep me awake for weeks and twist me up inside. You’re only human, and you’ll get past this in a few days.’

  ‘I pity you, sir, having to tell families about a death.’

  He looked away and sighed. ‘It’s the worst aspect of the job, young kids, or any kids, staring up at you. When’s daddy coming home, they ask.’

  ‘Rather you than me, sir, I’m not sure I could stomach that.’

  I made a call to Kate, save her hearing it elsewhere, and she was horrified; she had stayed over in my flat. She promised to take extra security steps.

  Calling Bessbrook, I had a long chat to the Major, and he related that the lads were mad as hell and wanting to get back at the IRA, many concerned about family in Hereford. For now, all operations were cancelled just in case we were seen to be seeking revenge. He hinted at a return of the teams.

 
; When Bob Staines turned up with a group I fetched them teas and we used the RSM’s office. He introduced two men from Mi5, and his own team, but Mi5 would take the lead with Scotland Yard’s Anti-Terrorist group. After ten minutes of chat about the detail Bob asked to meet the colonel with me, so I led him off.

  In the colonel’s office we sat. Bob took a moment. ‘They got a tip-off, Sunday, that we do know. Little more at the moment.’

  ‘Sunday?’ the Colonel repeated. ‘From where? Northern Ireland? A leak at Bessbrook?’

  ‘Mainland,’ Bob said. ‘So maybe local.’

  ‘Many of the locals know me,’ I said. ‘But few know where I live.’

  ‘Could you have been followed?’ Bob asked.

  ‘I’m careful, eyes in the back of my head, and I have a sixth sense for trouble.’

  ‘What did you do Saturday night?’

  ‘Saturday afternoon I saw Kate, and then came back whilst she was ... snoozing, and Saturday night I was drinking local with the lads.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘A few pubs around town.’

  ‘Anyone asking questions, anyone new?’

  ‘Like I said, I’m cautious, even after a few pints.’ A face came into view in my mind.

  ‘Something?’ Bob asked.

  ‘Barmaid, Crosshands Pub, Scottish I thought, but could be a Northern Ireland accent. Thought she fancied me.’

  Bob made a note. ‘Might be nothing, but we’ll look anyhow.’

  I stared out of focus, recalling memories, and Bob and the Colonel exchanged looks. ‘Man at the end of the bar, she spoke to him, he looked out of place. Long hair, bushy moustache. We got a taxi, dropped me off first, a second car down the street.’

  ‘Your mind filed the images under the heading of “suspicious”, but because you were back here you discounted them,’ Bob said.

  I focused on him. ‘Crosshands Pub. Now.’

  He jumped up and stepped out, and I faced the Colonel. ‘Another wasted opportunity.’

  ‘You noticed them, but how often do I notice such people – and nothing ever happens.’

  ‘I need to follow my instincts more often, sir,’ I told him. ‘They’re usually correct.’

  An hour later and I was summoned to the local police station by Bob Staines. I arrived with enough of an armed escort to worry the police, and was led to an interview room. The barmaid was handcuffed and crying.

  ‘That her?’ Bob asked.

  ‘Yes, that’s her.’

  ‘She has a fake ID, and she’s from Londonderry,’ Bob said as he led me out.

  In the corridor, we huddled with the Mi5 guys. ‘We’ll trace all the calls,’ they said. ‘The man you mentioned will be long gone.’

  ‘A burnt out car was found halfway to London,’ another man put in. ‘Still smoking. Could be the one, right colour and shape.’

  I nodded. ‘Quick work.’

  ‘Thanks to your memory,’ Bob quipped.

  ‘If my memory was better, I’d have called you Sunday,’ I told him.

  ‘Next time, do so.’

  Back at base I had lunch with the lads of Boat Troop, many now on duty and on standby. The RSM then told me that Major Bradley was pulling the remainder out of Bessbrook for a while, since most lads there wanted blood, and he could not risk sending them out.

  Bob Staines came and sat with me in the canteen. ‘That girl’s family have been picked up, a few raids made, feelings running high in the province.’

  ‘I’d rather prevent the deaths ... than catch those responsible,’ I told him.

  ‘That’s everyone’s wish as well. We are there to prevent, not to arrest.’

  ‘Is she cooperating?’

  ‘Yes, she’s not an IRA member or anything, she was just asked to try and find you, which ... was not so difficult.’

  ‘I could live on base, never stepping outside,’ I sarcastically suggested.

  ‘Your fame gets you noticed.’

  ‘Perhaps you should rule me out as someone suited to your needs.’

  He took a moment. ‘If you were with us we’d arrange a fake ID.’

  I stared past him for a moment. ‘Remember that favour you owe me from Riyadh.’

  He squinted at me. ‘Yes...?’

  ‘Get me a local apartment, not too far from the gym, someone else’s name, bills paid, I’ll pay you the bills.’

  He nodded. ‘Easily done.’

  ‘And ... soon. Like tomorrow. I need somewhere to sleep.’

  He smiled. ‘I’ll get it organised.’

  My personal belongings from the flat turned up in boxes in cars, and I claimed a room on the base, wondering if the lads had pinched anything. I drove back with them and checked, getting into the area cordoned off, and I packed up a few items such as toothpaste and toilet roll.

  Back at the base, Taffy remembered to hand me my pistol, and I put my shoulder holster on, a zip-up sweatshirt over it. I felt better with the pistol under my arm.

  The base was a hive of activity all day, and the following day the rest of the squadron returned, all given a week’s leave after kit was stowed. Rizzo, Smurf, Bob and Swifty came and found me, and we sat in the interest room with cups of tea, a white pad on my head still. They headed off after an hour, all nervous about the streets of Hereford for a change, all promising to check under their cars before getting into them.

  The Major sent for me, and I knocked and entered his office five minutes later.

  ‘Come in, sit.’ I sat, and he took a moment to study me. ‘You hurt?’

  ‘Just a few stitches, sir.’

  ‘Taffy Davies said you were affected badly, and I can see why. One of those coppers lives two doors down from me, I know his wife. Terrible business. My wife has been upset by it, and I know you met them socially.’

  There was little I could say.

  He continued, ‘The police checked your call, no doubts, it was clear, you have nothing to beat yourself up over.’

  ‘My instinct was to go down there with my pistol -’

  ‘And if they had been innocent you’d have created a shit load of paperwork for me.’

  ‘That’s better than two dead officers.’

  He took a moment. ‘Perhaps. But hindsight is a wonderful thing. Do you ... think this will affect you here?’

  ‘No, sir, but it’s taken the edge off living here, it’s going to be difficult to just walk to the corner shop without looking over my shoulder.’

  ‘Yes, I can see that, and the threat hasn’t gone away. You killed many of them, and they want to get back at you. Back at us.’

  ‘Seems to be back at me, sir.’

  ‘We’ll take steps.’

  ‘Bob Staines will get me a flat in someone else’s name, that should help, and I’ll double back more.’

  ‘And if you were back in Armagh?’

  I puzzled the question. ‘I’d no more want to kill than I did before, it’s counter-productive. A trial is better.’

  He nodded. ‘Good to know, since the rest want blood, that’s why they’re back – I couldn’t send them out.’

  ‘We have the trump card, sir.’

  ‘The trusted informant,’ he stated. ‘Yes, so ... a trap to set when we know what we’re doing.’

  ‘If we can finger those behind this, maybe we could get the two men in the car.’

  ‘A shot in the arse?’

  ‘In this case, sir, I think you’d allow me to cut their hearts out, no evidence left behind.’

  He eased back. ‘The shooting across the border had me worried, but the Garda have drawn a blank, the survivors facing lengthy prison terms. Their suggestion of your involvement is still there, because one of the injured men spoke to the Garda and mentioned the trap set for you.

  ‘Interestingly enough, the rest deny that – and state that the illegal weapons with their prints on were placed down after they were shot. Oh, the guy who is talking is getting death threats and is in protective custody.’

  ‘If he convinc
es the Garda that the trap was for the SAS, then he just makes them all look guilty.’

  ‘That he does.’

  The next day Bob was back. ‘Got you a flat.’

  ‘That was quick. Are you ... trying to influence me, Bob?’

  He smiled. ‘It’s on a top floor, good view, and there are two police officers living there and one Signals captain, and one former major from here. And it’s isolated, flat lawn around it, so you’d see someone sat waiting. Camera on the door and garage.’

  ‘Sounds ... expensive.’

  ‘You’ve used up your favour, and it’s a six month let. After that you’ll have to find somewhere.’

  I nodded. ‘Show me where it is, then I’ll take my stuff.’

  I drove him, Bob giving me directions, and it was south, over the river and on half a mile, and I agreed with him - it was a good defensive position. I parked in the underground area, taking a lift up to the fourth floor, Bob handing me the key. I turned the key and opened the door, finding a plush apartment. ‘Very nice.’

  He led me to the balcony, a good view offered, no high buildings from which to shoot at me. ‘This is in the name of a fictitious man, so any enquiries and we get a call.’

  ‘A safe house?’ I queried.

  ‘No, a former captain in “E” Squadron lived here, been gone a few months.’

  ‘Gone?’ I pressed.

  ‘He’s in a prison in Africa, and we’re negotiating his release.’

  I nodded. ‘Remind me again why I would want to join “E” Squadron.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have got caught.’

  I drove him back, grabbed Smurf, and we loaded my car, soon heading back.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Smurf let out, boxes in hand as he entered the apartment. ‘Fucking birds will love this. Must be expensive.’

  ‘Yeah, but necessary. And you’re not to tell anyone where it is.’

  We made several trips down to the car, the final trip observed by a man in his fifties pulling in. Since I had a Bergen he came over.

  ‘Are you a ... serviceman?’

  ‘Are you former Major Deverrel?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Wilco, SAS.’

  ‘Ah, so you’re him. And now moving into my building. I guess the value of my apartment will drop.’