by Geoff Wolak
‘I’m doubting that I’ll ever be asked to join the masons,’ I quipped.
‘Unlikely,’ he said with a grin.
‘So what do they want, really want?’
‘Money, power, more than the next guy.’ He held his hands wide. ‘What do you do when daddy hands you a billion in property on your eighteenth birthday?’
‘You … want to prove to daddy that you can double it?’
‘Yep.’
‘And their political ambitions?’
‘They don’t interfere in elections, not in a criminal way, but they do back certain MPs and certain parties from time to time. In Europe they do more, Euro-MPs sponsored, people moved aside. It’s fair to say that they win contracts from the European Commission.’
‘And how do they get Mi5 managers on board?’
‘Not directly, is the answer, they don’t seek them out, just chance meetings, friends of friends, a quiet word. You ever heard the phrase Deep State?’
‘No.’
‘First used by the media in America after the Kennedy assassination, to refer to secret groups that plot and scheme outside the law, powerful people, senators and generals, CIA staff.’
‘Does it still exist? In America?’
‘Answer is … yes at certain times. I’ve tracked them, groups forming, often in line with new elections, then the public turns off to the incumbent, things don’t get done, groups split up and move on, people get old, sick and die.
‘I’m not aware of any group hanging around for more than one or two terms of a president. Here, and in Holland, they’ve been going for two hundred years and pride themselves on being hidden and discrete.’
‘Ha! Car bombs on SAS bases are not discrete!’
‘No,’ he agreed with a frown. ‘So they must have been desperate, real desperate.’
‘Desperate … about what?’ I puzzled.
‘Do you have orders to move on some place in Africa?’
‘No.’
‘Might be about Guinea, they might have had an interest there.’
I shook my head. ‘Moscow had an interest there.’
‘Yeah? Shit…’ He shook his head. ‘They’d not talk to the Russians about anything. But they may have gotten word about it and made some plans. What else you upset, plans I mean?’
‘I passed on a tip-off about a truck bomb heading to Paris -’
‘They’d never want a bomb to go off in Paris, they’re heavily invested there.’
‘Then there was the plot against the building in London, owned by the Royal House of Oman. Thermite was to be used, building was all steel and glass.’
‘Ah.’
‘Ah..?’ I pushed.
‘Rumour has it that the building has design flaws, could fall over in a storm.’
‘So … what would they do? Blow it up for fun?’
‘They’re bound to own part of it, and the City of London Corporation will be involved, so they could raise the insurance then bring it down.’
‘A bit … extreme, and very loud and public.’
‘If it was made to look like a terrorist attack … they may try it. Would cost a fortune to take it down, billions.’
‘Any Arabs on the board?’
He smiled. ‘No, only white folk, Christians.’
‘Jews?’
‘Involved yes, on the board no. In fact, the Rothchilds have a great deal of money with them.’
‘Would the Rothchilds know what was going on?’
‘No, that would all be done behind closed doors.’
I eased back. ‘Let me tell you the timeline. I get a tip-off from a Russian bad boy I know, after he bugs a Greek shipper in Athens. First the French truck bomb, then the thermite on a truck heading for London.
‘One of my Russian men then gets a call from an old associate, job offer - without knowing that the Russian was now working for me, an attempt on the Omani kid in Seven Oaks.
‘They stop the French truck, it blows. They find the truck with the thermite, capture it. I move my men into place at the school to protect the kid, which they seem to have anticipated. Four Moldovan hit men turn up, interested in my men more than the kid, we shoot them.
‘A teacher, at the school for three months - well qualified and passing all the background checks - pulls a pistol and shoots me, ignoring the Omani boy. I take the Omani boy away, bringing him back here.
‘Mi5 argue very loudly with the Prime Minister that they take the boy into care back up in London, and they got permission for that at midnight last night. Van comes out of lock-up, team drives it here with a police escort, kid goes aboard, phone signal is sent – we got the detail, and it blows a few yards from me. I was the target, the kid was there to make it look like I was not the target.’ I eased back.
‘From midnight to early morning, a rush job, they may have made mistakes. No way of knowing if the PM would hand the kid over. So yes, they were in a big hurry, an almighty risk. So I say that they have a witness seeing the van stop at the motorway services, someone fiddling with the van when the men used the toilet – they blame Mi6. Still, sloppy work, and very public.
‘Question is, why take such a huge risk to kill you, and why now. You must have seen something, done something that pissed them off.’
‘I’ve killed many of the coup leaders in Africa, stopped a few coups.’
‘And they may well have wanted those coups to succeed. If they have a white board full of plans, red lines through them with your name next to it, then yeah … they’re finally very mad at you upsetting their plans.’
‘If these idiots have friends in the establishment, why can’t they just get the MOD to warn me off certain things?’ I asked. ‘I follow orders. I was ordered into Guinea.’
‘They could not be that obvious, and maybe they don’t have anyone in the MOD. They work slowly, a quiet word here and there, a new government gets elected in time. A sudden change in orders is not in their capability, they’re about longevity.’
I eased back, frustrated.
‘Have you heard the phrase, New World Order?’ Reggie asked me.
‘From the States?’
He nodded. ‘Idea is, now that the Soviets have gone and America is all powerful, that they deal with the Middle East once and for all. Find an excuse to bomb Saddam Hussien, move on Syria, then Iran of course, then Afghanistan, finally Pakistan.’
‘Why Afghanistan, and why and Pakistan?’
‘Afghanistan is the key, to pipelines down to the Gulf, and to Baluchistan, which could piss off the Iranians. Pakistan, their ISI supports anyone that will throw rocks at America, and the Pakistani Government is powerless. Real power in Pakistan is with the military and the ISI. They support the Taliban in Afghanistan as well as al-Qaeda.’
‘And the New World Order would do … what?’
‘See a peaceful Middle East, free and fair elections, oil controlled by the Americans not OPEC.’
‘Free and fair elections, in the Middle East? Ha, that’ll never happen.’
‘It’s a dumb idea, but many support it, Israelis included.’
‘And our new government here?’
‘A labour government would never support it. Although the new PM is a mason.’
‘He is? A socialist mason?’
‘There are some out there,’ he said with a grin.
‘So what are they worried about, about me, and now?’ I posed.
‘You have this team here, you have your fingers in many African nations, and you wield a great deal of power. The people here are amazed every time you make a call and pull a rabbit out the hat.’
‘I have … friends in low places.’
‘And that has them worried, your ability to work without London, to investigate. They know you got the tip-off that intercepted the thermite, so they’re worried. You do things that no major in the army could ever do, you do things that have me scratching my head.’
‘Well, for the record, I’m motivated to get hostages home, not to
make money or to re-shape the world.’
‘Tinker has faith in you, and I’ve followed your exploits closely, especially that odd jaunt into Colombia.’
I ignored the obvious question. ‘So what are we missing here?’
He considered that. ‘The tip off, about the school, that was a set-up. That teacher in the school, there to blackmail someone high up, maybe leave a note in a kid’s bag to scare the father. Lot of powerful men have sons there.
‘The Omani boy, maybe someone wanted him dead yes, but the plot against him let them try and kill you, and they got desperate with the bomb. But they made a mistake with the bomb, a big mistake, and now they’ll be panicking. I doubt the inner circle sanctioned the bomb, not their style.’
‘Someone under pressure for a result,’ I noted. ‘Wanted to impress his boss, went too far.’
‘Yes, and now that man will suffer a heart attack, his minions to disappear.’
‘You do like your conspiracy theories,’ I said with a grin.
‘They’re not theories,’ he insisted with a smile. ‘Hence the bomb scene outside.’
I nodded. ‘Where are they most vulnerable?’
‘Nowhere really, they have insurance on what they own, and you can’t damage an ore mine.’
‘And publicity?’
‘You’d find that the newspaper editors will be under extreme pressure from the owners not to publish anything about them, here and Europe. And if a paper did publish something they would be sued. You’ll notice that there are never stories about the freemasons in this country, it’s like they don’t exist.’
I nodded, thinking.
He added, ‘After this fiasco they’ll sit quiet for a while, cover their tracks, see where the evidence leads. They don’t like publicity, so they’ll be mad at a few people.’
‘I want a list of their assets and interests in Africa, not least so that I don’t shoot them up in the near future. I want to know where my operations pissed them off, then I want track back as to who their middle-men are, the facilitators, security men and enforcers in Africa.’
He nodded. ‘I have some leads already, a list of assets in Africa through shell companies. I can get the accounts, old accounts, see who was on the payroll and what their position was.’
‘That’ll be a good start. Question is, what are they going to do next in Africa that I’ll be asked to stop – assuming I don’t get court martialled here. If they’re planning a move against the President of Liberia I need to know.’
‘Not sure I can help with that, you need someone on the ground listening in.’
I nodded. ‘I have such people, but I need to know who to listen in to. Oh, find out all you can about that Omani building, and who had the excess insurance you mentioned. That’s a start point as well.’
‘Tell me, do you actually get orders from SIS, or do you do your own thing – like this conversation?’
I considered his meaning. ‘SIS started Echo, its own small private army, but then the Army wanted more say, and we fought in small wars and became more soldier than spy, hence where we are today; well-funded, and supported by all sides, the bringers of good newspaper headlines.
‘And to answer your question, SIS do give me orders now and then, and sometimes I just tell them what I’m doing because they can’t be seen to be telling me to do it, and sometimes … I do things that they don’t know about.’
‘And you have a private slush fund?’
‘A few hundred million quid in it.’
‘Jesus. And the CIA call you direct?’
I nodded.
‘Far more to you than meets the eye, that’s why they want you dead. They probably can’t figure out how you do what you do, I sure as hell can’t.’
‘Do you have enough faith in me to assist, with the risks that come with it?’
‘Hell, it if works against that bank – you bet your arse I’m in.’
‘I’ll organise some cash for you. What’s your daily rate?’
‘Say … five hundred quid a day?’
‘I’ll sort it, at three hundred a day plus expenses, not the extortionate rate you want.’
‘You sound just like the MOD,’ he said with a sigh.
‘It’s not my money.’
‘But you could walk off with it..?’
‘And do what, sit on a beach.’ I shook my head.
Captain Harris knocked on the door and then opened it. ‘Chopper on the way for you, Prime Minister wants a word.’
I exchanged a look with Reggie. ‘Norman, go do some work, I may be shot by the Prime Minister.’
My legal counsel turned up as I exited the hangar, a man and two women in posh suits exiting a posh car.
I told them, ‘Would you like a lift back to London in a helicopter, because the Prime Minister is sending one for me?’
‘What type of helicopter?’ the man asked, a logical question; we could not chat in a Chinook.
‘A safe one, I hope, no bombs.’
‘How can you be so flippant about this?’ he asked, not a happy bunny.
‘How can I drop from 25,000ft over enemy territory with just a pistol?’ I posed.
One the ladies said, ‘By being completely fucking mad.’
I smiled. ‘It’s fine line, bravery and madness.’
We heard the helo, but it was coming from the northwest, and it looked like the Regimental helicopter.
‘I want one of you to stay here and chat to the Brigadier.’
‘I’ll do that,’ the second lady said. ‘I hate flying.’
The Augusta set down and we ran across to it, heads low, the pilots puzzled to see my travelling companions. Inside, we sat in the plush seats, the lady facing me - her knees pressed firmly together, and we got the headsets on.
‘Pilot, you hear me?’
‘Yes, and who are the two passengers?’
‘Legal counsel. So don’t listen in, that would be breaking the law.’
‘Can’t imagine you’re in trouble,’ came over the headset.
Vibrating, we lifted up and turned, skimming over the para portakabin as we climbed, and I was worried, worried about a bomb on this helicopter.
I faced the man as he sat next to me. ‘So, what are the issues?’
He opened his file. ‘First off, taking the Director’s son into the school. You needed Home Secretary approval first to take a civvy in.’
‘I’ll ask him to back date it. Next?’
He stared at me. ‘Oh. You gave a civilian a pistol -’
‘Wrong, he’s a Second Lieutenant in the Army.’
‘He is?’
‘University sponsorship, commission given, summer camps.’
‘Oh. Still, he needed Home Secretary authorisation.’
‘We’ll get it. What next?’
‘You made the decision not to inform the parents.’
‘Yes and no. Yes, I suggested it, but I don’t tell David Finch what to do. He could have informed them, so too the Director, my phone calls to them logged. And the police knew, and the Cabinet Office, as well as the Prime Minister, and none of them informed the boys’ parents. Next?’
He exchanged a look with the woman. ‘You took the Mustaf lad back to GL4.’
‘To protect him from those within the community I suspected, which I mentioned at the time. David could have ordered me not to. And since the RAF provided helicopters I think the MOD agreed with my movement plans. Next?’
‘Well, finally, you released accusations to the media, accusations against a government agency, and military personnel are not allowed to do that.’
I glanced out the window. ‘Do you know what the chances are of me living to the end of the week?’ He waited. ‘Very fucking slim. You’ll go home to your family, I’ll get a bullet or a car bomb, so I’m not worried about some damn enquiry.
‘Besides, there’s more going on than you know, and the Prime Minister might be out of office by the end of the week, and London might see a tall building demolished �
�� with the office workers still in it.’
‘What? What do you mean, a building demolished?’
‘The Mi5 shits, that thermite we stopped was theirs, to bring down the tower owned by the Omani Royal Family, about two thousand office workers in it at the time.’
‘The new tower in E2?’ the lady asked, horrified. ‘My sister works there.’
‘If you warn her you’ll end up in prison,’ I cautioned.
They exchanged horrified looks as we sped past villages and towns, a patchwork of fields below us.
I told them, ‘So you see, I have a few other worries, not just the bending of some rules. And we only knew about this because I bent some other rules. So you two, think up ways to help me, what to say.’
And they did, a few phrases to use, and that I notified SIS switchboard of all decisions, those conversations recorded.
Sighting many police officers, armed – a worry, we touched down on Horseguards and eased out, and I knew the way. We were met by a civil servant that looked familiar, and he questioned who my companions were.
‘My legal team.’
‘Legal team?’
‘British law allows me legal counsel, does it not?’
‘I don’t think you were called here to be arrested.’
‘But to be questioned maybe.’
‘Questioned yes, recorded for the courts – no.’
I had my legal counsel wait as I was led through to a large meeting room, no one bothering to take my pistol. I found the Prime Minister on the phone, aides sat waiting, a sour-faced Defence Minister next to a sour-faced Home Secretary, jackets off, ties loosened, notepads scribbled over. They did not look pleased to see me.
I sat and faced them, waiting for the PM to finish his call.
He did so by swearing at whoever was at the other end and slamming the phone down, looking harassed. He stared at me for several seconds, then sat and adjusted his papers.
I asked, ‘Chancellor in?’
‘Chancellor? Yes, why?’ he puzzled.
‘Could you fetch him please, then send out the aides.’
The PM stared back for several seconds, annoyed, then mellowed, a nod at the two ladies. ‘Fetch Brian please.’
Brian must have been close, because he was there in two seconds, waved in and sat down, looking stony faced.
‘Major Wilco -’ the PM began after a theatrical sigh.