by Geoff Wolak
I took in their worried looks. ‘He gave his life for me, but I like to think he did it for his country. I would not have allowed him to throw away his life for me; I saw the photos on his desk – wife and three teenage kids.’
They exchanged sombre looks.
David put in, ‘Fortunately for you, we have the Mi5 conspiracy to back you up in what you say in the media.’
I faced Mister Kitson. ‘The senior man of yours that attended Biggin Hill...’
‘Lewis,’ he said.
‘Did he ask to be there, or was he sent? Was it his job?’
‘Funny, but that came up today; he wanted to be there, pulled rank.’
‘Would he have had a briefing on the school layout?’
‘There wasn’t a briefing before they left, I have the timeline to the minute.’
‘Were technical details of the school handed to the team?’
‘Not listed, no.’
‘Did he know the school, a friend’s kids there?’
‘Possible, but it’s a select school and Lewis came up from the ranks, police first, little education or money.’
‘Left handed or right handed?’
He pulled a face and made a call. Lewis was left handed.
‘Pick him up, isolate him.’
Kitson made the call. ‘Why do you suspect him?’
‘He said a few odd things, but at the time they seemed normal. He knew the layout of the school for one. Did he drive Casper to the drop off?’
‘Yes, it’s in the timeline.’
‘Casper was stabbed in the neck by a left-handed man, from the side. So who was in the van?’
‘Driver and Lewis.’
‘Pick up the driver, he’s in on it.’
Kitson made another call.
I finally asked, ‘What about the garage manager?’
‘Sobbing in his cell, but he won’t make a deal. CCTV was tampered with, so he’ll get a few years, a friendly judge on the case.’
‘Lewis is the key,’ I told them. ‘A man who can plan to stab Casper in the neck is very well trained, a stone cold killer. Lewis has killed before, and he believes in what he’s doing, this is not about cash.’
Kitson said, ‘We do have a desk for you here you know.’
I nodded, deep in thought. ‘The school.’ I faced the Director. ‘The Russian teacher was there for blackmail and threats, so we need a list of kids and parents, some cross-matching to do. Someone on that list, or several, are tied in to the bank.
‘Oh, and I have a man in Panama, French man who investigated the bank and missed a few car bombs. He has detail that we can use, at least detail that will allow us to understand the bank’s inner workings, and maybe where they’re vulnerable.’
Tinker called me. ‘Wilco, Reuters is listing a Max van Fuelling as having just been shot dead, high velocity sniper rifle used, a round through his car window in southern France. He’s on the list as being close to them.’
‘A bit … loud and public. And such things are statements. Thanks.’ I faced the Director. ‘One of the board members, hit by a sniper, loud and messy, and very public. I think, I hope, that the news in France has rattled people who desire a quiet life, a life behind the scenes. This was a message sent, no quiet heart attack.’
David began, ‘So they have factions, some desiring a quiet life more than others. Dissent in the ranks.’
‘A break in their armour,’ Mister Kitson noted. ‘Hope yet.’
My phone trilled. Bob Staines. ‘Hey No.1.’ They puzzled the reference.
‘I found a journalist, the man paid a miserly 20,000 euro to fabricate evidence. I paid him 100,000 euro to send evidence of police tampering to a rival outlet. The shit is about to hit the fan.’
‘Good work.’
‘You’re not under arrest then?’
‘Not yet, but the day ain’t over till midnight.’
I called Tinker. ‘What’s on Reuters, about Paris police tampering?’
‘Just came up, original statements photocopied and the fakes, oral statements re-recorded, originals to hand, names named, police officers named. Someone’s on your side.’
‘Thanks, keep an eye on Reuters.’ I faced them. ‘Dissent in the ranks, evidence leaked, enough to clear me and imprison some police officers thanks to a … ghost I know.’
David and the Director exchanged a knowing look.
‘Coming back to that desk,’ Mister Kitson started. ‘It is quite a nice desk, drawers down one side, pen holder.’
I nodded as I thought. ‘Why now, why Guinea?’
Mister Kitson began, ‘I may be able to help, brother is in oil, and he says that the shelf oil is vast, centres on Guinea, and that inland test well details were hidden. There’s oil inland, lots of it, worth a pretty penny. The test wells followed a rock strata, through the top of Sierra Leone and into Liberia.’
I stood and kicked a chair over, moving to the window to stare out at the twinkling London lights. Turning around, I shouted, ‘They knew years ago, and all this time we’ve been pissing about fighting fires whilst missing why they were so interested in that region!’ I sighed. ‘Bollocks to them.’
I punched numbers, then forced a deep breath. ‘Mister President, Petrov.’
‘How are you, my friend?’
‘There is good news, and there is bad news. The good news is that a secret survey done years ago shows vast oil reserves in your country, inland, north west.’
‘I … suddenly have a bad feeling about the interest shown in my country.’
‘So you should.’
‘And the bad news?’
‘Some very rich and powerful Dutch and Belgian investment companies will try very hard to separate you from you oil, and your head from your body.’
‘That … is most troubling. I think … that the Dutch men here who ask questions and flatter me need to be spoken to.’
‘Indeed, spoken to in a quiet place in the jungle.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Petrov out.’
I turned to face them. ‘I’m now wondering how many city old boys knew about the oil…’
‘It was a secret survey done by BP twenty years back,’ David informed me. ‘That report would have been available to many in that time.’
My phone trilled, Langley. ‘Wilco.’
‘Deputy Chief. You know what you asked, about someone showing interest, well we’ve been shut down by the Senate Intelligence Committee on that matter.’
‘Interesting. Have a look at Reuters.’
‘Now I’m curious.’
I stepped around and sat, and sighed. ‘The Americans are interested in that oil.’
‘Dear god,’ David let out, horrified. ‘That’s all we need.’
The Director noted with a frown, ‘There’s no evidence of American involvement there.’
‘But what about the bank?’ I posed. ‘How many US t-bonds does the bank hold, how much money invested by Americans? And the bank trades oil and gas, which is in dollars. The Americans influence all banks, because all banks deal directly with each other through Libor and New York. You can’t be a bank and piss off the Americans.’
‘True,’ Kitson noted.
David noted, ‘The Americans have never started a coup in Africa, and they don’t have many oil wells in Africa – some offshore, it’s a continent almost devoid of American commercial interest.’
‘On the surface,’ I agreed. ‘But done through proxies like NordGas – who knows?’ I called Tinker. ‘Where are they most heavily invested?’
‘Middle East, Gulf states, Dubai property.’
‘Any odd investments, recent investments?’
‘Reggie found some, in Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan.’
‘OK, thanks.’ I faced Mister Kitson. ‘Most of their investments are in the Gulf states and Dubai property, but they’re also heavily invested in those old Soviet countries that have oil and gas – a pipeline planned to the Black Sea if I recall.’
/> ‘That pipeline was due to go through Turkey, some wrangling,’ he noted. ‘Russia is making noises. Rumours abound about a planned pipeline south, through those old Soviet states, through Afghanistan and Pakistan.’
I nodded to myself, thinking about Afghanistan. ‘Russia recently made some noises in Guinea,’ I pointed out. ‘Was that for oil or for selling weapons?’
‘Russia is very weak at the moment, loans from the States,’ the Director noted. ‘They’re not world players.’
I eased back and lifted my arms wide. ‘Why now? What happened to force them into aggressive action?’
‘You stopped the coup in Guinea,’ David noted.
‘Would that net them all the oil?’ I posed. ‘No. And if it did, revenue would come back to Europe, invested in Europe, so it’s not like they’re stealing it.’ I stared ahead. ‘Bugger.’
‘What?’ David asked after a moment.
I made eye contact. ‘They know I’m Petrov, and Petrov controls Tomsk and his oil wells in Liberia, and the Liberian President hangs on my every word. They must have just found out.’
‘That would piss them off,’ Mister Kitson noted. ‘And if they thought that you - as Petrov – were, shall we say, not quite controlled by London?’
‘They would be vexed,’ the Director noted. ‘And keen to kill both Wilco and Petrov.’
I nodded to myself. ‘They found out, so … someday real soon they’ll leak that fact.’
My phone trilled, Tinker. ‘Scratch two board members, another rifle shot.’
‘Yeah? Jesus. Night of the long knives or what?’ Off the phone I had an expectant crowd. ‘Another board member shot dead with a sniper rifle.’
‘That’s American in its style,’ Mister Kitson noted. ‘A rifle not poison, a … message maybe.’
‘The Americans love you,’ David noted. ‘So maybe they’re … asserting their influence, Chicago style.’
I frowned at him. ‘You think this is about me?’
‘It’s all about you, at least the public side is,’ he explained. ‘You got the hostages, you handed the Americans a pile of TV minutes and good news. They’ve never been happier. When the Pentagon top brass came over and saw the chart for recruitment stats they fell off their chairs – and you got the credit.’
I told him, ‘A bit of a stretch, from liking my recruitment figures to Dutch investment banks and conspiracies. CIA were told firmly not to investigate that bank.’
The Director took a call. Phone down, she blew out then reported, ‘The French President has ordered all public flags at half-mast tomorrow. The DGSE have had all operations suspended, all files seized.’
Mister Kitson looked from me to her. ‘Did we just win?’
‘Always win the war in the media,’ I stated, and called Max. ‘Seen Reuters?’
‘What story?’ he asked.
‘French President has ordered all public flags to half–mast, DGSE has been shut down. Publish it.’
‘Fuck me, you are so making my career, you know that.’
‘You owe me a beer.’
Teas ordered, I needed a bite, starving hungry, sandwiches brought in.
The Director took a call, listened for a minute, glanced at me, and finally said thank you. ‘The Queen just released a press statement. It says you warned her of the blackmail attempt many weeks ago.’
‘That’s … not true,’ David noted with a heavy frown.
‘Want to challenge her on it,’ I shot at him.
‘Not really, no.’
‘She makes it look less plausible, that someone killed Diana,’ Mister Kitson noted. ‘Savvy operator, our Queen. Been around a while.’
The Director’s desk phone went. ‘Yes Prime Minister, he’s sat right here.’ She handed over the phone.
‘Sir?’
‘Did you warn the Queen weeks ago?’
‘Yes,’ I lied. ‘And I’ll make a statement to that effect in writing if necessary.’
He paused. ‘What am I missing here?’
‘Your Uncle Sam.’
After a long pause came. ‘They’re involved?’
‘Yes, but not happy at recent events and are now busy cleaning house. They … do not desire what has transpired, it seems.’
‘Good to know, I guess. And what comes next?’
‘Paris will feel a tonne of shit, and some here will wonder if anyone in London wanted Diana dead. I think, with my Uncle Sam involved, that things may go quiet for a while.’
‘I’ll get a call from the White House?’
‘No.’
‘No? So … the Americans involved are working behind the scenes?’
‘Yes, Prime Minister. There are American investors in that bank, some of whom are Senators with clout. A recent CIA investigation into the bank was shut down.’
‘Bloody hell. Oh, I blocked your extradition, for now at least, but they can argue with the European court.’
‘I think they’ll have other issues, bigger ones, sir.’
‘Don’t know how you sleep at night.’
‘With a pistol, sir,’ I dryly stated.
Phone down, I sat, more sandwiches pinched away. I faced Kitson. ‘Lewis. If you find a hint of dirt, accidentally release his photo and name to some foreign outlet, a link to Diana. If he’s going to stand trial, let’s use it.’
Kitson slid his smile across to the Director. ‘How about an office for him, nice secretary, water cooler – one of the tall ones.’
David asked, of us all, ‘What’s the plan here? We can’t risk hurting the bank or exposing them.’
I eased back, and we exchanged looks. ‘The men shot dead in France. Let’s assume that they were from the faction that was being aggressive, so we track back from them and get their buddies and the subcontractors, shell companies, a complete picture. We get the men on the ground in West Africa and I deal with them, after which … they find it hard to facilitate coups.
‘It takes years to build relationships, get the right men, men you can trust. If there are fifty such men, we remove those men, and it’ll be years before they can start a coup.’
The Director sipped her tea. ‘But they will try again, my successors burdened with the problem.’
David put in, ‘Maybe they’ve gotten their fingers burnt, and realise it.’
Mister Kitson offered, ‘They’ll go quiet but they won’t go away, they have a hole in their balance sheet to fill. Liberia will always be a tempting target so long as it’s unstable.’
I cocked an eyebrow at the Director as she did the same to me. I began, ‘So we make it less unstable. And right now, the British Army sits on the oil inland.’ I held my hands wide. ‘If … if the President in Monrovia invited in an American oil company, protected by British and French soldiers, a company with ties to Britain and France – and Holland, that would appease many and silence the bank.’
David glanced at Kitson then the Director, his mouth hanging open. ‘That could burst their bubble. Bloody hell.’
I put in, ‘What we need, is a hint as to which American senators are linked in, which oil company they favour, and does it have ties to Britain and France.’ I sighed. ‘We also need the sanctions lifted. With Britain, France and America, we should be able to achieve that through the UN.’
The Director made a note. ‘I’ll ask the PM to make a start on that, not least because British soldiers patrol the streets there. If we’re there … it should be safe!’
‘Way it could work,’ Kitson began, ‘is a new company, shell company, shares held by many interested parties, rights granted by the President in Monrovia, although his claim to power is dubious at best.’
‘The claim to power … of most of Africa, is dubious at best,’ I pointed out. I took out my phone being observed and called Tomsk.
‘You are still alive,’ he noted.
‘For now. Listen, I need you to spend some money in Liberia, fast. I want roads cleaned, schools painted, some buildings touched up, and crime must be reported as bei
ng way down.’
‘I had a call from the President there, he was worried, but told me about you call – there’s more oil?’
‘Inland, north, a great deal of it, so get busy. But I’m going to get the British, French and Americans to create a new venture and drill the oil, or they’ll be shooting at you. You can have shares in it as well, and drill alongside them.’
‘Safe in the north now, so they say, gone quiet.’
‘Yes, British Army there, French Army in the northeast. Get spending some money, clean the place up, we’ll get the UN in to say it’s the fucking garden of Eden.’
‘I’ll clean it up, won’t cost much, the men there work for a dollar a day!’
‘Improve the road north, then the ship port in Monrovia, and you can sell services to the oil companies when they arrive, make some good money.’
‘I call the President again, he likes building things.’
‘Award contracts to the French.’
‘The President there, he grabbed some Dutch people..?’
‘Yes, the Dutch up to no good, but we’re dealing with them. Pukha.’
Phone down, Kitson said, ‘My Russian is lousy, I learnt French in school.’
I told him, David and the Director speaking Russian, ‘Tomsk will clean up Liberia, lick of paint, we get a favourable UN report soon. He’ll build dock facilities and improve the roads.’
Kitson noted, ‘Your link to Tomsk and Monrovia has saved us here.’
‘It was my link that started the trouble!’ I told him. ‘If we had stayed out of Liberia none of this would have happened, they would have got the oil, British investors in that bank would have done well, no aggressive moves.’
‘A paradox,’ David noted. ‘A genuine paradox.’
The Director began, ‘So the strategy here is … we burst their bubble, and let them make some money whilst we dismantle their influence on the ground and go after the foot soldiers.’
‘And the PM’s desires here?’ Kitson floated.
‘Do we brief him?’ I posed. ‘I’d say he needs plausible deniability here.’
They exchanged looks, nods given.
I stood. ‘Can the vans drive me to GL4?’