by Geoff Wolak
At 11pm Colonel Marchant was back. I met him outside, and saluted. He began, ‘We have this George chap, the pimp, at least we will when he gets out of hospital. Seems that his business premises were hit with CS gas earlier - the cans we issued you with, police station opposite blacked out at about the same time.’
I said nothing, just waited.
‘Bomb Disposal picked up a bomb found at his villa, after stepping over four bodies, now in the morgue. All had illegal firearms on them, noted by the President’s Security Police – who removed illegal firearms from the house and grounds, and his office, as well as a large pile of cash and bags of cocaine.
‘The family are claiming that masked soldiers came, but I suggested to the police that it was a gang thing, and that our evidence pointed towards him being behind the bombs. The police offered him a deal, which I never heard, but I think it involves him confessing all and getting a plane out after turning in others.’
‘That is how things are done around here, sir.’
‘He gave up names, and a man working here at the airport has been picked up, but that man can’t remember all of the places he put the bombs.’
I laughed. ‘A true professional.’
‘And the man behind the man?’
‘A Nigerian warlord, sir, same guy involved in organising the coup in Liberia.’
‘Well, since we kicked his arse and defeated his men I don’t feel so bad. But will he plant more bombs?’
‘Yes, sir, till I go say hello.’
‘And what will he achieve here?’
‘Nothing, but he grew up in a street gang, and revenge is normal for that kind of mindset. You can’t apply your standards to it, sir.’
‘The new president is not pushing for the old President’s helicopter to be recovered..?’
I made a face. ‘Maybe he had a hand in the crash. That’s also how they do things around here, sir.’
‘It’s been an education, this place, and I’ll be glad to be back to someplace cooler, and with sane and normal people.’
‘Getting the train up to London, then the tube, then sitting in a small cubicle all day, reading the papers on the way home? Most of this lot would call that insane, sir.’
He smiled. ‘That’s how I imagine my life after the military, so yes – I need my head examined.’
The night passed without bombs going off, a cleaner finding a bomb in the morning in the terminal building, so we now had them all accounted for. We hoped.
Bomb Disposal came and found me after breakfast, and I recognised the Major from the epic para drop.
He smiled and shook my hand. ‘Need me to parachute into some place?’
‘Be careful what you wish for, Major,’ I warned. ‘What you found out about our bombs?’
‘London asked the question as to where they were made, or the style of training for the bomb maker, and the simple answer is that they’re a bit too basic to have a signature. The bomb maker could have been trained by an ex-IRA man, Libyans, all sorts.’
‘And the first bomb, the bus?’
‘Fragments found, but no one secured the scene, so we can’t be sure of anything.’
I nodded. ‘This is not over yet, so stay sharp. I have a feeling they’ll up their game.’
‘Who’s they?’
‘Nigerians. Same idiots that were behind that base you landed at.’
‘And ... what will bombs here achieve?’
‘Nothing, but it makes them feel better.’
He cocked an eyebrow, I saluted – he smiled, and he left us.
Sasha stepped out. ‘No more bombs?’ he asked in Russian.
‘All accounted for. But they won’t give up.’
‘One of my team was on last night, thought he heard a shot fired.’
‘What time?’
‘3am.’
‘Nothing reported, but I’m not feeling lucky.’ I approached the MP on guard. ‘Get hold on your buddies, find out if anyone discharged a weapon at 3am, or if anyone heard anything.’
‘Right, sir.’
Inside in the diner, I called, ‘Snipers, to the roof, fully kitted. Rocko, Rizzo, to the roof, find a place where a sniper could have a go at us, then get out there and have a look. All of you, black out your windows somehow - and this morning!’
I made my way to the roof, the snipers getting there a minute later, as I took in the horizon. ‘Use your sights, try and figure out a good place to be if you were a sniper. Oh, and if you happen to see one – shoot the fucker.’
They knelt at the wall, which was waist height, and started to scan buildings, as well as the trees and scrub. Stood there, and hoping that a late night’s sniper would be asleep now, I took in the surrounding buildings, peering towards the city and its shanty town shacks, gentle hills climbing to green peaks now shrouded in mist.
‘Boss?’ Nicholson called. I turned. ‘What we assuming? M16, M4, Valmect?’
‘AK47 family I’d say.’
‘Night shot, limited light, say ... inside five hundred.’
‘Seems about it. If the guy was any good he would have hit someone by now.’
Rocko and Rizzo had a look, and focused on a white building, four storey, trucks at its base. They grabbed a few lads, got tooled up, and headed out in two jeeps, MPs in tow.
Ten minutes later, Nicholson said, ‘I can see Rizzo on the roof of that building.’
‘How far?’
‘I’d say six hundred.’
I had a look, and I agreed with six hundred yards. And apart from our own barracks – and I hoped they were not shooting at us – it was the best location save the terminal building. That terminal building had guards, but I would go have a look anyhow.
Rocko and Rizzo came back in as I sat having coffee with Robby and those lads left here.
Rizzo dumped three 5.56mm casings on the table. ‘Up on the roof of the white building, back from the wall facing this way.’
I had a look at the brass, and they were all clean, no mould or dirt. ‘He took three shots, and missed, so he’s not the best shot in the world. And he left these behind, so he’s an idiot. How’d he get access to that roof?’
‘Fire stairs at the side,’ Rizzo reported.
‘Well, if he tries again tonight we’ll have him. Tell the snipers to sleep early, they’ll be awake all night. Rocko, I want a four man OP near that building picked out, then manned after say 10pm.’
They headed out.
‘Not a pro,’ Mitch noted.
‘Or maybe he was disturbed,’ Moran suggested.
‘Disturbed?’ I queried. ‘He got three shots off!’
‘Three quick shots, got disturbed, fucked off. Maybe there’s a body in the bushes.’
‘Three quick shots that missed,’ Swifty scoffed.
Nodding, I eased up and stepped outside to the MP, taking him to the side of the building. ‘See that white building. I want to know if any member of night staff or security staff is missing, then I want the scrub land around it searched for a dead body, take a big team. Go.’
Back inside, I sat. ‘I sent the MPs to search the scrub. Maybe he dumped the rifle as well.’
‘What kinda sniper dumps his rifle?’ Mitch asked with a curled lip. ‘I always treated my rifle better than my ex-wife.’ We laughed. ‘Hugged it more as well. What kind of man would dump his rifle?’
‘A crap one,’ Swifty noted. ‘Or a scared one.’
Nicholson came down for a coffee.
I told him, ‘Go outside, north, and look for bullet holes high up.’
He nodded, and headed back up to the roof to get the others. Five minutes later he rushed in. ‘Everyone out! There’s a bomb on the building!’
I rushed into the kitchens as tables were pushed aside, chairs scraping. ‘Get out now! There’s another bomb!’
I led the panicked chefs outside, but with Stretch I ran around to the north side and looked for the bomb.
‘Here,’ Nicholson called, and I ran fifty yards across
long grass to him. He handed me his rifle. ‘Use the sight, look for the brown blob of missing concrete, go left.’
I used his shoulder to steady the rifle, and found the brown blob, going left. There, hard to see where three bricks were missing, sat the plastique, plus a phone detonator.
Running around the front, I grabbed a jeep and drove it around to the rear, tight up against the wall, below the bomb. Jumping down, I shouted, ‘Stretch, get up there and have a look.’
Stretch jumped up onto the bonnet, to the roof, and on tip toes he took a good look at the bomb. He clambered down. ‘It’s booby-trapped in place. Move it and it goes pop, or nudge it and it goes pop.’
‘Or shoot it,’ I pointed out.
‘Phone detonator as well,’ Stretch pointed out. ‘So why not call it and set it off?’
‘Maybe he tried, and it failed, or maybe he doesn’t have the number. Is that plastique any good?’
‘Yeah, the good stuff. It would have taken down the building with us in it. Looks like it was put there recently.’
I drove the jeep, slowly, away and back around, parking it away from the building. ‘Get inside in small groups, grab your kit, no noise, soft footsteps. Swifty, wait here.’
I walked back in and up to our room, kit grabbed and brought down as Rocko went up. Swifty and I put on bandoliers, webbing, and we slung rifles. All that was left was clothes in the crate.
Others ventured in, essential kit brought out till most of us were kitted out, stood a hundred yards away as Bomb Disposal drove in. I waved, and led the Major around the back and pointed out were the bomb was. He fetched ladders, and had a look as his team got ready, moving us all back.
The Major grabbed a box cutter and went back around, soon back with hands full of plastique. ‘There were three blocks, enough to level that building where it was placed, but there were not three detonators. He figured that the blast would set off the second blocks.’
‘Would it?’
‘Seventy percent of the time, so he’s no pro. But there is a clever tumbler.’
He ventured back around, and came back with what looked like a slice of marzipan. ‘Only a small bit left, could just shoot it.’
‘Nicholson, hundred yards out, shoot the fucking thing.’
Nicholson and the snipers ran off as we waited. The blast registered a minute later, the building intact, and we walked around to have a look. Bricks had come loose, the concrete was cracked, but other than that we were OK.
I told the Major, ‘Sir, try and get a signature on the bomb, because this guy is new.’
I called London and gave them an update, followed by Tinker. He put me through to Sanderson. ‘Sir, I want all bomb maker signatures dug out, and then deal with Bomb Disposal here. I need a match on the signature.’
‘Be on it right away.’
I told Stretch, ‘Get some cement, patch that up, then make something that looks like it’s still there. Only need to fool a guy at 600yards at night. And do it fast!’
Moran said, ‘Are we pressing our luck here?’
‘We’re the bait,’ I told him, others listening in. ‘If we go to the FOB they target the Army instead of us.’
‘That bomb was meant for us, not the Army,’ Moran pointed out. ‘You said it was recent as well. And it was bobby trapped.’
‘If the guy was a pro we’d be dead,’ I told them. ‘Still, after dark we’ll be in the tree line. We’ll sleep this afternoon, while it’s hot.’
‘How about the FOB?’ Swifty nudged.
‘I came here to find the bombers, and ... we’re finding the bombers. Or, more like, they’re finding us.’
‘What comes after we get this guy?’ Moran pressed. ‘They send a real pro?’
‘You want that guy turning up at GL4?’ I asked. They exchanged looks. ‘We follow this back, we follow the evidence, we kill them all, or we’ll get a visit at GL4. Either they’re killed, or we are.’
At 2pm the lads bedded down, after another thorough search, windows blacked out or covered in plastic, some ponchos up.
My phone trilled, Swifty cursing as he lay on his bed. ‘Da!’
‘It’s Libintov. We have that man, passport, phone, money. They’re questioning him now.’
‘Another bomb was found in Freetown, better quality this time, and he may know who made it and placed it. It was at the airport, so start with that question.’
‘I will do, yes. Are you familiar with the President of Liberia?’
‘He is a close friend.’
Ah, good. In that case, a plane of mine had to set down at a strip on the coast, southeast of Monrovia. I was hoping to get it back.’
‘What aircraft, which location?’
‘An12, town of Lollolo.’
‘I’ll make a call.’ Call cut, I called Mike Papa.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s Petrov. Two things. First, the British just found a sophisticated bomb at the airport in Freetown, so there is another bomb maker nearby. Second, an An12 aircraft landed at your town of Lollolo, mechanical fault. It belongs to Libintov, so can he get it back?’
‘Libintov had a hand in the coup against the British...’
‘He just lets people hire his aircraft, he has no political ambition, no interest in you or your oil. He has also been cooperating in tracking these bomb makers. If you talk to him, and create an understanding, there will no misunderstandings in the future.’
‘Am I to forgive him his past transgressions..?’
‘If you are the big man, and you can see the big picture, then yes. I also ask it as a favour to me.’
‘As a favour to you, I will assist with the plane, and think about Libintov. Does Mister Tomsk deal with him?’
‘No. But I had dealings with Libintov in Senegal, and he assisted there against Izillien.’
‘He is enemies with Izillien?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then the enemy of my enemy ... is my friend, for now. I will sort the plane, and ask about clever bomb makers. And if the bomb had gone off..?’
‘The British press would call for their brave young soldiers to go home.’
‘Which would not be desirable, and maybe someone knows this.’
‘They probably do, Mister President.’
‘This Izillien is most troublesome. Have you not considered just shooting him?’
‘The contract to kill him was put on hold by The Banker.’
‘Ah, The Banker. We spoke once, but I did not get the loan.’
‘I can assist with that. But Tomsk has a great deal more cash than The Banker.’
‘I have credit lines with Mister Tomsk, three months oil value upfront, so things are good, very good, Izillien aside.’
‘I will inform Libintov about his plane.’
‘I have his number, I will call him now myself and ... look at the big picture, forgiveness in my heart. But what does The Banker have to do with this?’
‘Izillien is heavily in debt to The Banker.’
‘Ah, and if you kill Izillien he does not get his money back. I see. I will talk with Libintov.’
‘Thank you, Mister President.’
Call cut, I had an MP drive me to see Colonel Marchant in his offices.
‘Ah, Wilco, they said they found another bomb.’
‘Time to get radical, sir, or you’ll have twenty dead men within days. All non-essential staff must leave, those left need to be disbursed where possible, meal times staggered, no parades, no large gatherings, no buses going anywhere other than at 4am – and not full. Sandbags at sensitive places, windows blacked out. And all that needs to be in place before sundown, sir, or you’ll be explaining the deaths up the line.’
He sighed. ‘What will these arseholes achieve through bombs?’
‘What did the IRA achieve, sir? You remember those days, so think back to the height of it and do what you did back then. And fast, sir.’
He turned his head. ‘Major, all senior staff! Now!’
I left him
to it. Back at the hotel, Hunt pulled up.
‘Been having fun?’ he asked.
‘Nearly got wiped out. Good bomb, and with a trembler. He will try again, and we’ll lose a bus full of young soldiers. How’s this new president?’
‘It’s business as usual I guess; I just met his head of security, and they’re all worried.’
‘This guy wants the Brits here?’
‘Very much so.’
‘Tell the embassy staff they’re a prime target right now.’
‘The local special police have gone through all the evidence, but they’ve not got a line on another bomb maker, or other bombs.’
‘No, this new bomber is ... new. And if he fails, Izillien pays top dollar for someone that won’t fail. Oh, get me some cash, about twenty thousand. And the middle man working for Izillien, a Samuel Adebayo, was picked up by my friends in low places and is being tortured as we speak.’
‘Might give up a name.’
I nodded, and led Hunt inside for coffee and a chat, but the MPs turned up.
‘Sir, we found a body, night watchman.’
‘Go back, tell them not to have a guard on tonight and that we’ll be close by. I want no MPs or soldiers near the place, they might get hit in the crossfire.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Setting a trap?’ Hunt asked.
I nodded. ‘Might get a lead on who else is involved. Oh.’ I handed him George’s wallet, but took the cash out first – getting a look. ‘That’s belongs to our friend who runs the brothel and organises bombs. Have the embassy send the detail back; maybe he used a credit card to buy some explosives.’
Hunt coughed out a laugh and examined the wallet.
I handed over George’s phone as well. ‘Run all the numbers is there.’
When my phone trilled it was Mike Papa. I stepped out. Mister President.’
‘We asked about where this man was trained, and it was not in Libya but Eritrea. He says there was an Irish man there, and a Libyan, a few others. They teach bomb making and weapons use.’
‘Does he have a location?’
‘Nakfa, in the hills.’
‘That may be of use to the British. If he gives up nothing else, then bury him, Mister President.’
‘Indeed we will, and alive.’
I stepped back inside and sat. ‘Get hold of London. There’s a bomb maker’s holiday retreat in a place called Nakfa, Eritrea. That’s where our bomb maker did his classroom studies. And the holiday camp hosts an Irish gentleman.’