by Geoff Wolak
‘Yeah, I was just putting on my pyjamas,’ I joked.
‘Pyjamas?’ he puzzled. ‘Listen, Boss, we got a man down.’
I lost my smile. ‘Something went wrong?’
‘Not really. We got up close to these idiots before they knew it, wounded the white guy and killed all the blacks here, but a ricochet put a bit of metal through a man’s chest. He’s on a chopper now, just gone, but he won’t make it.’
‘Damn,’ I hissed out. ‘It’s always the accidents. Did the mercenary go on the chopper?’
‘No, I kept him back, had a little one-to-one chat before he bled out.’
‘Did he give up anything?’ I keenly pressed.
‘Works for some Guinea Army major up north, and they want revenge against British soldiers, attacks planned.’
‘We’ll bury the fuckers, literally. It was on my list of things to do but I got side-tracked.’
‘We heard, yeah.’
‘Listen, did anyone hear what that man said?’
‘Me plus Murphy.’
‘Have a word with Murphy, and then formally report up the line that the men worked for Rene Bastion, Bastion Defence Services Belgium, from an airfield in Ivory Coast, eighty miles southeast of that airfield your navy bombed last year. And if anyone outside asks, our man was hit in the crossfire with a Belgian mercenary.’
‘Press Stateside will want blood,’ he pointed out.
‘That’s what I’m hoping for. This is a dirty war, up against the scum of the earth, so we need to be dirty as well – or we’ll lose this war. You … OK with this?’
‘Hell yeah, me and the boys want at these fellas. These are the boys that fired those mortars and rockets at us?’
‘Yes. Go make a report, Sergeant. Wilco out.’
I called SIS. ‘It’s Wilco. Report to all interested parties that Guinea Army major from failed coup attempt is camped out in northeast Guinea, close to the Sierra Leone border, and has ordered revenge attacks against British soldiers for the role we played in Guinea recently. No details yet of who’s paying him or nudging him along.’
‘There’s a paymaster involved?’
‘He’s not funding it from his ten dollars a month salary. Make sure that the French in Liberia are warned tonight, also the Americans. Wilco out.’
In the morning my own Intel staff got an overnight fax from London, the detail from me. The French Army in Liberia had been alerted, the Seal teams at the FOB warned, the British Army in Freetown updated.
Moran called me. ‘We going after the idiots up north or the idiots in that airfield?’
‘Both probably. To start with, put as many teams as you can up north, eyes-on OPs everywhere, plus roving patrols, none less than eight men. Have the Wolf recruits split up, senior man with each group, but be careful here – they know how we think and operate.’
‘Could be a trap!’
‘Yes, I’d bet good money on it. Don’t leave the FOB undefended, and have the men driven up or walk up, take unusual routes not used before, avoid the obvious ambush points because they will be expecting you.’
‘OK, time to think like a field full of cunning foxes that are wearing glasses.’
I smiled. ‘Go be fox-like in the woods.’
David called half an hour later. ‘The revenge attack in Sierra Leone, do you know who’s behind it?’
‘I’d say the Guinea rebels want revenge, more so than anyone pushing them, but those rebels should be short of pocket money right about now, not splashing out on launching attacks south. Question is, is someone making use of the anger we know is there, a gentle nudge, a few dollars.’
‘We’d be fools to think otherwise. Will Captain Moran go after the rebels?’
‘To start with we’ll cover the area with teams, since it smells like a trap. They have been warned, and Moran thinks it a trap anyhow.’
‘One probing attack, then we go after their bases in Guinea and find an ambush,’ David considered. ‘This story on Reuters about the Belgian mercenary…’
‘Basically true, some spin.’
‘American media has it, could be some harsh words used later today.’
‘That’s the hope here. We need friends and allies.’
At midday the Deputy Chief called from Langley, breakfast time his end. ‘Wilco, what the hell happened in Sierra Leone, media is going nuts here?’
‘A group of Guinea rebels, with no cash and no idea, seem to have started to send men south into Sierra Leone to ambush British soldiers, revenge for what we did in Guinea. Belgian mercenaries don’t come cheap, so read between the lines.’
‘Who’s the paymaster here?’
‘We think he operates out of a base in Ivory Coast, Bastion Defence Services and MetroTrans Mining, both a front for NordGas – who are big in the region and not averse to starting a coup to get what they want.’
‘NordGas is on my desk thanks to you, but they’re clean as far as we can see.’
‘They’re careful, not clean. You need to join the dots. We can prove they were behind the coup in Liberia, plus numerous attempts on my life.’
‘You had us worried with that Paris incident, damn worried, we figured you’d be arrested over there. Who was behind it?’
‘The owners of NordGas.’
‘I’ll have to do some digging. Fucking French are reeling, not least this Diana conspiracy. That gets a lot of air minutes here, they like a good conspiracy tale in the trailer-trash belt, all glued to Fox News with their TV dinners.’
‘Listen, you … got a minute to talk?’
‘Shoot.’
‘What’s your take on the validity of claims about Deep State your end?’
‘That phrase has been around since Kennedy got whacked, and back then it was justified. But every few years a group forms, they chat, plot and scheme, but very little ever gets done, mostly hot air.’
‘And General Boltweir..?’
‘We heard he came to see you, and he’s been rumoured to be Deep State, but that just means his opinion differs to the White House, and every time there’s a Democrat in the White House the Army disagrees with policy.
‘Boltweir is not about to do something stupid, but he’s a war-monger in the original and true sense; he wants to take his toys out the box.’
‘And the New World Order and the Middle East?’
‘Plenty of folks over here would like to invade the Middle East, but none are dumb enough to try it. Vietnam was a mess, an invasion of Syria would be ten times worse, and the White House knows it, and Boltweir knows it.
‘His interest in you is for surgical strikes and small wars, a big Camel Toe Base style operation maybe. Congress will slow him down even if we get a Republican hardliner in office.
‘And the New World Order is a phase that has been with us since the Declaration of Independence, but then it meant a break from the monarchies of Europe and their tyranny. No more monarchies these days.
‘Some think that we can invade a few countries and get away with it, but common sense usually prevails and they realise what it would cost, and everyone mentions Vietnam so no plans get off the drawing board. What’s your interest there?’
‘Got a head full of conspiracy theories at the moment, only they’re not theoretical. We know who’s screwing with us, but they’re City of London old boys and I’m not allowed to touch them.’
‘That guy Lewis, was what they said about him true or a con job?’
‘True for the most part, a long history of assaults on women, in and out of work.’
‘I feel for the boys in Mi5, with dirt like that floating around, because they all get tarnished.’
‘Unfortunately, yes, and that tarnishing gets added to when bombs go off.’
‘The men behind it dealt with?’
‘Fuck no, we’re not even in second gear and I’m being told to slow down with the investigation. We may get the foot soldiers, but they’ll never let me go after the paymasters.’
‘This base in Ivory coast, it’s
on our radar, some odd shipments, weapons. What do I tell the White House?’
‘That the men based in Ivory Coast sent teams into Sierra Leone to get back at the nations involved in putting down the coup, money and motivation handed to the Guinea rebels.
‘We’ll see a shooting war for a few weeks, already got an American Wolf killed at the hands of a Belgian mercenary – don’t need to spin this any. Can you update Colonel Mathews and Admiral Jacobs, they have men in Sierra Leone, they have a say in this.’
‘Sure, but … we’ll get some good TV minutes out of this?’
‘I can magic up a two-hour special, trust me.’
Bob called after lunch. ‘Media in France and Belgian are going nuts, a welcome diversion from the current issues with this Belgian mercenary chap. French President has called for an enquiry as to his motives – the mercenary I mean, and the Belgians are flatly denying any link to Bastion and MetroTrans.’
‘That mercenary did not accept a dangerous job from some black Guinea soldiers for three dollars and the promise of a beer.’
‘No, quite.’
‘They know what my men are capable of, so that man was either full-on nuts, or very well paid.’
‘Or they lied to him, told him your men were in Liberia or elsewhere.’
‘Well … yeah, that’s plausible. Listen, find a Belgian mercenary down on his luck, hand him some cash and a story, and after he speaks to the media – rifle round between the eyes, loud and public.’
‘They’ll think he was silenced.’
‘Yes, so promise him the money, small upfront payment.’
‘You don’t work for the MOD do you, Major Penny Pincher Wilco?’
I smiled. ‘I have to account for it, this war will be expensive.’
‘Extra six million euro in the kitty.’
‘From Tomsk?’ I puzzled.
‘No, from an insider deal that The Banker put me onto.’
‘Good work, award yourself a ten dollar lunch, but keep the receipt.’
‘Now you sound like David Finch. He was like that. How do you … find him, to work for?’
‘I don’t get to see any penny pinching, I have Major Bradley for that. David is OK, but I like shocking him, and it’s easy to shock him. He comes from a world where a missing pen is an issue, then I tell him what I’ve done and he looks like he’s about to have a heart attack.’
At 4pm I inspected a finished fence along the north side, a new tower in place, a third tower at the top of the range. We were starting to look secure, and now we had a four-man team of Gloucester armed police, the men brave enough to try a posting here. Their first job had been to get rid of a pesky journalist at the gate.
One side of the sandbag wall was complete, and the RAF facilities guy had dug out some soil ready for a parking area. He had also kindly repaired the broken windows, reminding me of my marathon days – and people breaking my windows; it seemed like they were still breaking my windows.
Admiral Jacobs called as I stood kicking the new sandbag wall. ‘Wilco, I’m pissed about losing a Wolf to some fucking European garlic-smelling hired gun.’
Garlic-smelling? I repeated in my mind.
‘What do these assholes want?’ he asked.
‘Same deal as the last few years, sir: they want us out of Liberia and Sierra Leone, some big players with cash wanting to get at the oil, and there’s a shit load more oil than we knew – a shit load.’
‘Europeans wanting in there? British and French are already in there!’
‘They are, sir, but not pumping oil, we’re peacekeeping not empire building, at least so far.’
‘Does your government have an eye on the oil?’
‘If they do, sir, then they’re taking a long fucking time to get around to it.’
‘News Stateside is reporting the death, so the senators will want blood. What can we do?’
‘There’s a base they work out of in Ivory Coast, CIA has been keeping an eye on it, used for gun smuggling around the region. We’ll go hit it after we hit the men in Guinea, sir.’
‘You’ll take my Wolves and a camera?’ he pressed.
‘Definitely, sir.’
‘Any set-piece attacks?’
‘Might be, sir, when we find the man in charge.’
‘The helo carrier is still there, Guinea has gone quiet, and we have the Marines.’
‘Might be able to make use of them in a few days, sir, leave it with me.’
‘And this airfield, we could damage the runway?’
‘Best check with the State Department first about relations with Ivory Coast.’
‘I’ll do that now, yes, talk later.’
Bob came on after I had a bite to eat in the canteen with two of the Gloucester police.
I stepped outside. ‘Hey, No1.’
‘Some news,’ he said with a lilt. ‘The bank’s offices in Antwerp had a sub-basement parking area, and a clever eco-friendly wood burning furnace to heat water and the offices, state of the art apparently, very efficient.
‘But it seems that somehow the exhaust vent and the offices air conditioning got mixed up, a nasty black smoke with a foul odour filling the offices, a few people hospitalised, building evacuated - again.’
‘Bob, I think they’ll be pissed at us. The Banker, I’m guessing?’
‘When the sprinklers came on his man got inside to have a look at the furnace. Now, as the fire brigade has a look, two of the firemen are on his payroll.’
‘Sounds like good planning. And … the body?’
‘Buried in his garden, a small private ceremony, just family and the rabbi, a headstone there.’
‘I’ll have to visit, soon.’
After reassuring the Oxford police over a cup of tea a strange number came up. ‘Hello?’
‘It is Prince Kalid.’
‘Hello, sir, any … progress?’
‘I observed with great amusement the offices in A-twerp.’
‘An-twerp, sir.’
‘Yes, most agreeable, and the trigger man has made a lengthy statement, but I shall hang him anyhow. The tribal elders will shoot him after ten seconds of dangling.’
‘Seems fair to me. What did he say?’
‘He was working directly for this man Lewis, who I see is dead now.’
‘Yes, sir, he took his own life.’
‘He was also working with a Peter Lawson and Robert Godman.’
‘Good-man?’
‘No, God-man. They were to kill this man Casper.’
‘He used that name, Casper?’
‘Yes. And the bomb was meant for you as you said, but also to silence a man in the van.’
‘Which man?’
‘He did not say, now unconscious. We’ll clean him up before we hang him. He said that Lewis was working for a Dermot O’Reilly and a Mister Dimmick.’
‘Dimmick?’
‘That was all we got.’
‘Great work anyhow, sir.’
‘Can these men … make their way here?’
‘I’ll see what I can do, sir, no promises.’
I called Mister Kitson direct. ‘Our friend the trigger man gave up Peter Lawson and Robert Godman.’
‘Ah, well Lawson is suspended already, so I’ll have him on the Q&A, and Godman is missing. Was due back off leave yesterday.’
‘Listen, the bomb was to kill me, but also to silence a man in the van, so we need to figure out who that was – and what he knew.’
‘Interesting, I’ll have a think.’
‘Next, who’s Dermot O’Reilly?’
‘You should know, he was SAS, a captain, now runs Sandline Consulting. Protestant born, Sandhurst officer, Guards and SAS.’
‘He was running Lewis.’
‘Ah, so I have another permission to seek. We’re making progress.’
‘And who’s Dimmick?’
‘Could be Trevaughn Dimmick, another protestant-born Army officer, a stint with your old friends in 14 Intel and now works in private s
ecurity for the oil industry.’
‘Dimmick is of interest to me then.’
‘I’ll do some digging.’
I went and found Reggie and Tinker and listed the new names of interest, some already known and familiar. Next call was Bob. ‘Listen, guy called Dimmick -’
‘I know him, he was on our books back in the day, 14 Intel.’
‘He was running Lewis, with a Dermot O’Reilly.’
‘Another name from the past, and also 14 Intel for a while, then SAS, then he went private.’
‘Let The Banker know, they organised the death of Casper. We also got two foot soldiers in Mi5. But I need to know who’s above our protestant friends.’
‘There’s a retired SAS major I know, and he won’t know I’m not with SIS. He has his vices, and we blackmailed him years back. I’ll offer him some money – or a jail cell.’
‘Good work, No1, we’re making some progress.’
I went and found the Brigadier and led him to the common room, empty for now. ‘We’ve got the names of two of the Mi5 men involved in the van bomb, sir, plus who they were being led along by.’
‘Have you been warned off doing anything, you said you had been?’
‘Warned off doing anything against the old boy network, sir, but the foot soldiers can pay a price.’
He nodded. ‘Some progress, I guess. And the border area of Sierra Leone?’
‘A trap, sir, so we’re being careful.’
‘Do these people not learn when they’re beat?’ he huffed out.
David called on the land line, unable to get me on the sat phone in here today. ‘We got a report from Kitson, and it seems like progress, a step in the right direction. Problem is, we can’t be seen to be using information gathered during torture.’
‘Then use it internally, don’t list it as evidence, list it as having come from me, I’ll list it as American in source – that’ll stop dead an enquiry.’
‘It’ll be handled off the record, yes. And it seems that a bank in Antwerp is having a bad week…’
‘Some faulty heating system, it seems.’
‘Always pays to check the flues,’ he quipped. ‘I once had a dead bird in mine, stank to high heaven. Oh, FBI team to investigate the death of the American Wolf in Sierra Leone, White House promises to get to the bottom of it.’