Wilco- Lone Wolf 15

by Geoff Wolak

An aide approached. ‘Sir, something on Reuters.’ The aid read the British Government’s press release about the oil.

  Snapping shut the breech, the senator smiled widely. ‘Someone over there’s a pragmatist.’

  In the morning I found the van moved, the Scorpion still there as I wandered up to the gate house. The grass was cut in furrows, but I didn’t care about the grass. The MPs had a copy of The Sun, and now everyone knew we had tanks.

  The MP Captain stepped in with his bags, and a nifty suntan.

  ‘Where you been?’ I asked. ‘You missed all the action.’

  ‘I got a tip off from the terrorists, sir, said to take a holiday, so I did.’

  ‘Where’d you go?’ I asked.

  ‘Family went to Croatia, lovely place, not too many Brits there causing trouble.’

  ‘Your wife..?’ I posed

  ‘I won’t be introducing you, sir, she’ll divorce me and marry you. She likes bad boys.’

  ‘Are you a bad boy?’ I teased.

  ‘I came through the ranks, and yes – I met her after I punched out four men. She was impressed.’

  I pulled a face. ‘Some women like that I guess. See Rocko, see what’s changed, starting with the tanks. Oh, and we’re trying to get your access road idea off the ground.’

  At 9am trucks arrived, always a worry these days, but they contained the special green fencing with slats, the workers to install it along the north fence, which was currently three feet high and only good to keep the sheep out. Since sheep were chased off often, it wasn’t even good for that.

  Those trucks were followed by more trucks, these with sandbags in, empty sandbags, a follow-on truck containing large plastic bags of sand. Someone would be keeping fit filling the bags.

  At noon a visitor arrived, unannounced, but since she was sexy “she” no one shot at her. And since she asked to see ‘Arsehole Wilco’ they let her in under escort with smirks on faces, her car parked well away from anything and searched, the lady walking up to the hangar.

  ‘That is her,’ Sasha noted from behind me. ‘From Polchok’s operation.’

  ‘Ah…’ I let out.

  ‘She scrubbers-up well.’

  I turned my head. ‘She scrubs-up well,’ I corrected him.

  She drew closer, a sexy walk, a good fit figure, and she was a good looking lady, Italian in appearance.

  ‘You are recovered,’ Sasha noted.

  ‘No thanks to you idiots.’

  ‘A simple thank-you would have done,’ I told her.

  ‘You screwed up our operation!’

  ‘Bollocks,’ I carefully mouthed, surprising her. ‘Come inside before someone sees you and thinks we ordered a stripagram.’

  ‘What is a stripagram?’ came from behind me as I led her into the hangar and to the stairs, the MP eyeing her. I led her up the stairs, but I went first.

  ‘Don’t ladies go first?’ came from behind.

  ‘Know any ladies?’ I shot back.

  Inside, I led her to the common room, two Intel Captains sat having a break. I made myself a tea. ‘Tea or coffee?’

  ‘Black tea, no sugar.’

  It was easy to fulfil her order as she kicked off her shoes and tucked her legs under herself on one of the sofas.

  ‘Make yourself at home,’ I quipped as I handed her the tea.

  She blew on the tea and sipped. ‘Why do you want to meet with the station chief?’ she asked, but it sounded like a complaint.

  ‘To thank your agency for its recent help.’

  She stared at me for several seconds as I sipped my tea. ‘Help?’

  ‘Your man, Sergio Callus, tipped off Gorskov knowing that it would get to me, and that I would do the right thing. You could have just phoned me, but you Mossad types do like your games.’

  She tipped a shoulder and looked away, reminding me of my daughter. After sipping her tea she asked, ‘The French agents that tried to kill you, how did you know?’

  ‘One man was twitchy, and they sat at the back. Body-guarding protocol says they sit at the front, or around the person being protected, ready to get off the van quickly. I also saw the chase van, sloppy men, and I would hate to be killed by amateurs.’

  ‘Five men in the van?’

  ‘Yes. Four head shots, one through the seat.’

  She stared ahead, cradling her mug. ‘There is CCTV, it shows everything. Five men in three seconds, one finished off.’ She turned to me. ‘Then you shot the second mini-bus, then you stand in the street like you are made of steel and you walk towards the police.’ She waited.

  ‘Was there a question in there?’

  ‘You make some jealous.’

  I nodded slowly and sipped my tea as I studied her. ‘How much do you know about me?’

  ‘Petrov puzzled us, the CIA link, then the French link, then we mapped all the instances of Petrov, then you, and they always overlapped. After you went to Colombia we knew for sure, but these photos of Casper had some doubting it. British soldiers are not that good, not at spy work.’

  ‘Because spy work needs a blind belief in what you’re doing, for your country...’

  She shrugged and pulled a face, again reminding me of my daughter. It seemed that she had been raised as a child by Kate.

  ‘And Liberia?’ I pressed.

  ‘We listened in to the comms, and that idiot Senator was very indiscrete. Shoot the idiot.’

  ‘I don’t think they’d allow me to shoot him.’

  ‘Ha. You don’t follow orders.’

  ‘I do, most of the time, and I always check with London, just that … the politicians here don’t allow Mi6 to have its own private army, so Mi6 ask me – they don’t tell me.’

  ‘Inefficient,’ she scoffed.

  ‘We don’t have the terrorist problems you do, although this week has seen us move that way.’ I sipped my tea. ‘I assume that your bosses are happy with what we did in Somalia and at Camel Toe Base.’

  She grinned then forced it away. ‘Camel Toe, you knew what it meant.’

  ‘Of course, just wanted to see it on CNN.’

  She smiled, checking the Intel Captains. Mutch came in, and started to microwave a burger. ‘My god!’ It came out louder than she meant it, Mutch glancing at us. After he left the room she asked, ‘What does he do?’

  ‘Undercover work.’

  ‘Him!’

  ‘Would you see him a spy?’

  ‘Well … no. My god, such a good cover. I see why do well.’

  ‘He’s our top man, gains us much of our Intel. So … why are you here?’

  She glanced at me before looking away and sipping her tea. ‘We have an operation, they’d like you to help.’

  ‘Quid pro quo?’

  She shrugged a shoulder. ‘They will talk to your Government today.’

  ‘And would you … be involved?’

  ‘I am senior!’ she protested.

  ‘Senior?’

  ‘In my section,’ she quietly added.

  ‘You don’t look that old…’ I posed.

  ‘Thirty two, since eighteen, no national service.’ She sipped her tea.

  ‘And the job?’

  ‘Sudan to start.’

  ‘Spy work or soldiering?’

  ‘We need to find a man and kill him, then get out. Long way to the border.’

  ‘Sounds dangerous.’

  She shot me a look, not sure if I was taking the piss. ‘How many times has someone tried to kill you this year?’

  Tea down, I started touching fingers, got to ten and started again. I picked up my tea. ‘I’d have to write it down and have a think.’

  ‘Three in a week,’ she pointed out. ‘Our file on you is thick like a phone book. Ah, but you make them laugh.’

  ‘I make them laugh?’ I puzzled with a coy smile.

  ‘They get radio intercepts sometimes, and the things you say. Like tea break. We have t-shirts now, like the Americans: ceasefire, tea break.’

  I couldn’t help but smile. />
  ‘You told someone in Guinea you were from the British Empire, that Queen Victoria sent you.’ She shook her head. ‘You are fried in the brain.’

  ‘And how does your operational success record compare to mine?’ I teased.

  She shot me a look that suggested she wanted to shoot me, before focusing again on the Intel Captains. She sipped her tea. ‘Was Tomsk built up at the request of the CIA?’

  ‘No. He was built up because I was there, bored, and London could not quite decide what it wanted me to do.’

  ‘Does he suspect you?’

  ‘He knows my real identity, I told him.’

  ‘What!’ she hissed.

  I nodded. ‘So do … others.’

  ‘And they cooperate?’

  ‘They get something, we get something. Sometimes, shooting someone is not the best way, a chat and a cup of tea is the best way.’

  She glanced at her cup and shrugged a shoulder. ‘And the dictator in Monrovia?’

  ‘Will do anything I ask.’

  She puzzled that with a deep frown. ‘London converted him?’

  ‘No. I told London later on.’

  ‘Libintov?’

  ‘Will supply me with weapons on credit.’

  ‘The Banker?’

  ‘What do you know about him?’

  ‘He’s a Jew, but he would not work with us.’

  ‘Perhaps it was your tone.’

  She shot me a look.

  ‘And are you going to help us with the bank?’ I asked.

  ‘Bank?’ she puzzled.

  ‘I guess that’s a no then.’

  ‘What bank?’

  ‘Never mind. When is this job that you want help with?’

  ‘Any time we are ready. He lives there with his family.’

  ‘Well you go tell your chief, to tell your government, that I won’t be assisting you till I’ve cleaned up the mess with the bank, till the borders of the British Empire are secure, till the sneaky shits in Mi5 are found and dealt with. That is my priority. Of course, if your government wished to assist us…’ I gave a big Jewish shrug. ‘I’ll show you out.’

  Shocked, she stood, tea loudly placed down on a table. After squinting at me, angered, she lightened. ‘How long do you need to fix this problem?’

  ‘Hard to tell. Go chat to your boss, tell him I want some assistance in keeping British based Jewish investment bankers safe in their offices.’

  She puzzled that. ‘What is going on?’

  ‘If you are not in the loop, get in the loop. Now wiggle your nice arse out of here.’

  She huffed.

  ‘Oh, what’s your name?’

  She hesitated. ‘Salome.’

  I laughed. ‘Hebrew for peace.’

  ‘Fuck off,’ she cursed, soon heading down the steps, the MP eyeing her again.

  I called David. ‘I just had a lady Mossad agent pay me a visit.’

  ‘Were you polite?’

  ‘Politer than her, shall we say.’

  ‘And..?’

  ‘I sent her packing till this current mess is sorted.’

  ‘So … she wasn’t there to assist with the current mess.’

  ‘No, she wanted me on a job with her.’

  ‘We had a note about proposed cooperation, it arrived … sixty seconds ago.’

  ‘They were hedging their bets. If they want me, they can help us sort this damn mess first.’

  ‘I get the feeling that the Cabinet Office will be contacting me shortly, some complaining.’

  ‘Meet the Mossad London chief and haggle some assistance for us, eh.’

  ‘Oh, high level complaint arrived with PM, from Washington, for losing Casper’s body. Police are looking into it.’

  ‘I don’t think they’ll get far with their enquiries, but it’s overtime for their lads at least.’

  ‘Press have just picked up the story, with a frenzy. They think Mi5 did something naughty again.’

  ‘That guy Lewis, will he make a deal?’

  ‘No, and he’s got some savvy solicitors, paid for by an anonymous source, at least anonymous so far.’

  ‘I’d like to see him released on a technicality. He might lead us somewhere, and his own people will silence him.’

  ‘Cruel. Fair but cruel.’

  Off the phone, Tinker came running as I stood in the hangar on the rubber mats. ‘We just got a fax from an anonymous server, says that the DGSE chief was made a deal: he takes his own life, his family lives.’

  I turned away, angered. After a moment I said, ‘His last few minutes must have been hell, but he made that choice in a moment of grace, happy to save his family. God, what a choice to make; give up your life for those scumbags to save your family.’

  ‘Do we say anything?’

  ‘No, not yet, let the bloody French sweat about it.’

  In the Intel room the Brigadier stood angrily staring towards me as I entered. ‘They forced him to take his own fucking life!’ he loudly stated, heads lowering and people looking away.

  ‘And I’ll put my face up against theirs real soon, sir, and it won’t be a pleasant chat.’

  Our American representative, Stenson, appeared from his office.

  ‘Where you been?’ I puzzled.

  ‘Stateside, sister died, I got the house, sold it. Now I’m a rich young man with prospects,’ he dryly stated.

  I had to wonder what he was reporting back, and to whom. ‘You up to speed on all this?’

  ‘Yeah, caught up quick last night, and the news in the States is running it. They’re also making a TV documentary-movie about Guinea, and the job in Somalia with our Navy. You feature in them all.’

  I sighed. ‘I should be on a commission.’

  He lifted the page he was holding. ‘Some top generals in London tomorrow, want to come down here.’

  ‘Here!’ several people queried.

  Stenson shrugged. ‘Guess they figure it safe enough.’

  ‘Not even the hired assassins figure it safe around here!’ Captain Harris told him.

  I faced the Brigadier. ‘We’d best get some Regulars back, sir. And invite down the colonel.’

  He nodded, and returned to his office.

  I used a land line to call David. ‘American top brass in town?’

  ‘Tonight, from Heathrow, we’re meeting with them in the morning, counter-terrorism symposium, yet the generals coming don’t touch counter-terrorism, save one of them. Why’d you ask?’

  ‘Just got notified that they’re coming to GL4.’

  ‘What? Well no-one informed us!’

  ‘Maybe it’s an MOD thing, or they’re imposters coming to shoot me.’

  ‘I have an excuse to whinge at the Cabinet Office, which I take no pleasure in doing.’

  ‘Given ‘em hell. And, you know, check that they’re not coming to shoot me.’

  ‘Oddly enough, I will, just in case. Stranger things have happened.’

  I found Rocko. ‘Sergeant Major, top brass here tomorrow, not sure what time yet, so sort the base, all cars to be parked by the range. Canteen and visitors centre to be cleaned, have someone polish the tanks.’

  An hour later the loud drone of helicopters had people out looking. These were Blackhawks, which made me puzzle where they were from. Three landed, a group of civilians stepping down with what looked like Delta Force teams. And there came Castille striding over, bags in hand.

  ‘Mister Castille,’ I shouted. ‘This is not a safe spot to be.’

  He smiled. ‘So I heard, that’s why we’re here.’

  Franks stepped over with Dick as the Blackhawks loudly departed; we’d not be popular in the village ‘You still in one piece?’ he asked me.

  We shook. ‘Day ain’t over yet.’ I turned my head. ‘Sergeant Major, show those with boots on to the barracks, top floor, sort them, others get a hut or a house.’

  Castille and his team followed Rocko, chatting as they went. I led Franks, Dick and two others inside, and they lugged overnight bags.
I was very tempted to search the bags, just in case.

  In the Intel room we made tea and coffee, Stenson greeting Franks like they had known each other all their lives.

  Franks gestured to a new guy, the man grey-haired and fifty. ‘This is Chuck Walbeo, he does security sweeps prior to formal visitors.’

  ‘Lot a fucking use that’ll be,’ I scoffed.

  Walbeo glanced at Franks. ‘Why’d ya say that?’

  ‘We get our own people trying to kill us!’ I testily pointed out.

  ‘I got a briefing on some of it -’

  ‘I take no responsibility whatsoever, and I hereby formally inform you that this place is as safe as Camel Toe Base, if not less!’

  ‘So noted for the record, but they insisted on coming. Their decision, their hides.’

  I told them, ‘We have good security, as good as it gets in this damp country, bomb sniffer dogs, police, armed guards on at all times – and tanks, so I don’t know what else you think you can do.’

  ‘We know it’s tight, but we have to go through the motions anyhow. Then it’s my hide if something goes wrong.’

  ‘Then search the place, examine the latrines, ask questions and poke behind the bushes,’ I told him. I led Franks out and to the common room. ‘How much do you know about the current problems?’

  He tipped his eyebrows. ‘They seem to have a room full of people monitoring you, NSA snooping, the works.’

  ‘And did they see the current threat before it arrived?’ I teased.

  ‘Hell no.’

  ‘And did they see the Russian angle in Guinea?’

  ‘They did after you reported it,’ he joked.

  ‘So this monitoring, it’s a bit useless in real-time, eh,’ I posed. ‘A waste of manpower.’

  ‘Someone argued the case that you had unlisted contacts and were involved with some serious shit, so they got the resources they asked for.’ He shrugged.

  ‘What do you know about the bank?’

  ‘Bank?’ he puzzled.

  I sighed loudly. ‘I’ll take that as a no.’

  ‘What bank?’

  ‘Royal Bank of the Netherlands, their parent company in Antwerp is big in Africa, mines and oil, and not averse to starting a coup here and there. They were behind the coup in Liberia, to get at the vast oil reserves that no one told me about till recently.’

  ‘And you got Tomsk in there, so they’re pissed at you.’