by Geoff Wolak
He smiled and nodded. ‘Now a series of movies, and those TV documentaries that look like movies. You’re gunna be famous, another reason to keep you alive a little longer.’
I shot him a look. ‘So I’m useful to you…’
‘Hell yes, and taking down the bank – that impressed many, almost as much as taking down the Cali Cartel. That had some dropped jaws and shaking heads. You HALO dropped twenty men and took down a cartel.’ He shook his head. ‘Shit, boy, you like to walk into hell and pull the Devil’s teeth, don’t ya.’
‘Luck and training, Mister Miller, luck and training. So, what do you want with little old me?’
‘First off, we’d like to ask nicely that you not damage our financial interests any more -’
‘In return for?’
‘In return for … we silence the bank, and we cooperate in Africa, because one word from you and the idiot in Monrovia lets us in with open arms and a big sloppy kiss.’
‘And the future would see … what?’
‘I’d hope it would see us chatting, not shouting at each other, joint ventures around the world.’
‘Would you label yourself as Deep State?’
He made a face. ‘It’s a label that would fit, I guess, but we’d have never approved of what the bank did, too open and too messy, wasted money, men and resources, and attacking you would never have been sanctioned by us.’
‘And the New World Order?’
‘Many Stateside want to make some moves now that Russia is on its arse. We have a huge military, yet get terrorists biting us on the arse.’
‘Moving into the Middle East would be a disaster.’
‘Unless properly planned, a managed small war.’ He waited as he faced me.
‘You think I could manage that small war?’
‘We know you can. Question is … do you want to?’ he posed.
I shrugged and made a face as I stared through the green slats. ‘If we hit Hezbollah and other groups, yes of course I’d want to do it. If it was to get at the oil, not so much.’
He nodded. ‘You’re good for the small campaigns, the empire building would be down to others. So … do you think we can come to an agreement?’
I faced him squarely. ‘Lord Michaels needs to suffer a heart attack in the next few days. If you don’t do it, I’ll go after him, and no matter what deal we have I’ll pick up the foot soldiers because that’s what’s best for this nation, and I’ll deal with any idiots left in West Africa causing problems, because we all want a quiet life – and the UN wants to see Liberia quiet before lifting sanctions to get the oil out.’
‘I got no problem with that, but those foot soldiers won’t be getting paid anytime this side of Christmas – 2050!’
‘Then I’ll kill some poor unpaid foot soldiers. And Lord Michaels?’
‘He’s been a pain in the arse all along, no great loss, so I’ll pass your request on – after we disentangle him from certain projects.’
‘If nothing is done, the investigation will eventually land on his doorstep, a loud and public enquiry held. You’d not want to see him giving evidence!’
‘Hell no.’
‘This guy Bin Laden in Sudan. Do I kill him, or leave him be?’
He squinted at me. ‘You really are tied into everything, ain’t ya.’
‘Well..?’
‘Leave him be.’
‘I’ll leave him be then.’
‘Simple as that?’
‘Simple as that; you came and asked nicely. That’s all it would have taken. Oh, and the details of the Bin Laden payment pipeline through London?’
He was shocked. ‘Where’d you get that?’
‘Lord Michaels driver, now in safe custody.’
‘Lord Michaels spoke about that … in the car?’
‘He left the paperwork lying around, a copy made.’
‘Jesus.’ He looked away, thinking. ‘We need to have a chat to Lord Michaels.’ He finally faced me. ‘Can that paperwork be made to go away?’
‘Of course it can.’ I waited.
He studied me. ‘How much direction do you take from Mi6?’
‘Some.’
‘The Army?’
‘Very little.’
‘So how’d you plan your days?’ he puzzled. ‘Wake up, it’s raining, go start a war someplace..?’
I shot him an amused look. ‘My intel team find me hostages, or we come across bits of intel in West Africa, so then I make a suggestion to those above me that we go get the hostages or go shoot someone. Sometimes the Cabinet Office sends me, like with Guinea, but I got the warning about the coup and I told them before they sent me.’
He nodded, deep in thought. ‘And if we named our favourite oil company, you’d keep others out of Liberia?’
‘I could do that, yes, but I’d twist your arms for some money spent on schools and hospitals in the jungle.’
He smiled. ‘Bit of a fucking boy scout, aren’t you.’
‘I’m certainly not from the same mould as Lord Michaels. And if you have someone you want dealt with quietly, come see me. If they’re people who deserve to be put in the ground, then why not me doing it?’
‘Good to know.’ We shook, and I led him back to MP Pete, the bag handed over, Pete driving my guest back around the airfield.
Inside, I found Tinker and Reggie in their office and closed the door, camera on the table.
‘Got nothing left to do,’ Reggie said with a grin. ‘The bank is dead.’
‘The bank … will be rescued by the EU, and the American faction will take charge, after a bit of a blood-letting. The Americans want me alive and starting small wars.’
‘And that guy earlier?’ Tinker asked.
‘From the American faction. I’ll get them into Liberia.’
‘You will!’ came from both of them.
‘The lesser of a few evils, and if I don’t they’ll set off bombs around here eventually.’ I sighed loudly. ‘So for now I pretend that I like them, work with them, but we keep our eyes open. Reggie, I still want to know about the security companies in Africa, and those debt swaps, just in case.’
‘We’ll see less trouble?’ Tinker asked.
I held my hands wide, ‘After the American faction exerts it influence we should see a secretive bank, not bombs on vans.’
I called everyone into the main Intel room. ‘Ladies and gentlemen. Something has happened, I can’t say what, but the war should be over now, no more bombs on vans, no more coups in Africa.
‘Those behind the plots have been identified and they’ll soon be dealt with, some powerful forces at work to prevent any further trouble. We’ll continue to mop-up the foot soldiers, but you can walk around here knowing that the issue at the heart of the conspirators has been dealt with, and that they’re on the run.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for all your hard work, and for taking a great risk just by being here. Right has prevailed, not least because the satellite images of this place showed Mutch with his pistol.’
The room reverberated with laughter.
The Brigadier led me to the corridor. ‘This story of a bank in Antwerp…’
‘If, hypothetically, that bank was funding coups in Africa, I’d say they have bigger things to worry about right now, sir.’
He tipped his eyebrows. ‘All their customers lost their money! EU is stepping in, emergency funding, all computer records destroyed they say.’
‘Law says that they must have a copy away from anything -’
‘They had three copies, all were damaged apart from a copy a month back, and that would see the customer transactions for a month being lost. Fuck knows what I used my card for this month, I can’t remember.’
‘Then I guess they won’t be making any speculative ventures for a while.’
‘And those in the city of London..?’
‘Have lost a great deal of money, prestige, and will be shitting themselves right about now. They’re out of pocket and hurting, no money for th
e hired help.’
‘Mi6 would never have attacked a bank,’ he said with a slight grin.
‘Sometimes it’s good to have friends in low places, sir, to do the right thing, even if it means breaking some laws. This place exists to protect our nation from threats, foreign and domestic, and we need to deal with those threats any which way we can. We just need to believe in ourselves, and try to do what’s best for this nation – whilst not getting caught.’
He smiled. ‘They didn’t get away with it,’ he adamantly stated with a nod. ‘The bastards didn’t get away with it.’
I called David Finch as I stood at the hangar mouth, the sheep seen wandering around. Still, it would keep the grass down. ‘Right, Boss. I … just had a visit, from the American faction in the bank.’
‘You did? What … what did they say?’
‘They surrender.’
‘They surrender? Well, not surprising really, given the damage to a certain bank.’
‘They’re in bed with the CIA but are not the CIA, and I’m sure that the former Chief Cabinet Secretary was reporting to them not the real CIA.’
‘I see. That’s a worry.’
‘I’ll get them into Liberia.’
‘You will?’
‘Yes, because that keeps their interest in me down, and it strengthens their hand in the bank – when it gets back on its feet that is.’
‘Well, yes, it would, but you’re dealing with some bad people.’
‘I’m not so sure they are that bad. They never wanted me killed, they hate what the bank did, and they want me alive and well and starting small wars - all the things that we considered that Deep State was all about. And who’s calling the shots here? CIA investigation was closed down by them.’
‘Well, yes, they have power and influence, it would just be nice if they did things by the book.’
‘As I do…’ I teased.
‘OK, point taken.’
‘Discuss it with the Director and Mister Kitson, give me an opinion on it.’
Next call was Bob. ‘War has been called off, they surrendered.’
‘They … contacted you?’
‘The American faction. They never wanted me dead, they want me starting small wars, and they’ll try and grab power in the bank. I’ll get them into Liberia. So leave the bank alone for now, ask Leon to do the same.’
‘I’ll see him soon. And the board meeting?’
‘Go ahead, I still want intel, just not action. We can collect the names ready, just in case.’
‘Yes, a prudent approach. Oh, that man Gallaher called again, his friend is now with him.’
‘Ask his friend for all he knows, Gallaher the same, offer extra money if and when the intel pans out, be nice.’
‘You want to pay them more?’
‘Not really, no. See what the intel is, chat to them today then decide. Oh, Bob, that computer fire seems odd, could they have wanted more of an insurance claim and threw some petrol on their own computers?’
‘I know a thing or two about mainframes. What Leggit described as hitting was the cooling system, and you need a powerful cooling system with a mainframe in constant use. The temperature would have risen very quickly, plastic melting and burning.
‘He thought he was hitting something important, it had red writing on, but that was the cooling system. He saw steam, which was the coolant gas leaking, and that would have forced everyone from the room. He later shot at the box units, just to be sure, hard to know what he hit or if an electrical spark did some damage.
‘He reported a grey smoke as he left, which was the coolant leaking, and they could not have just switched off the computers, they were live. So I think a delay caused an overheat, no petrol. And the cooling system contains some red hot metal, so that would have been flying around the room, maybe paper files hit.’
I nodded to myself. ‘I never knew that computers could burn like that.’
‘Some overheat slowly and melt and burn, does happen, but rare. These were mainframes, expensive, huge, and a huge power drain and a huge heat exhaust. Electric cables might have been hit, and they would not be your typical household cables. I guess we’ll never know, it’s not like they’ll publish a report on it.’
I took a walk around the perimeter track, breathing fresh air, and it did seem like the war was over. But I was determined to get the foot soldiers, not just leave them out there. Idle hands meant trouble down the road.
David called as I neared the canteen. ‘We have some trouble.’
I sighed loudly. ‘Go on.’
‘Our fat friend Burgess was shot dead, but CCTV picked up the shooter, facemask on, but London Police CCTV followed him a few blocks. He got into a car, facemask off, image caught. It was Maddocks, arrest warrants issue, ports notified.’
‘Two birds with one stone, or one 9mm round I guess.’
‘Four shots fired.’
‘Amateur,’ I scoffed. ‘Still, Burgess had a great deal of extra padding.’
‘Indeed. I think the ambulance staff struggled somewhat.’
‘Is this an internal feud, or did someone ask Maddocks to kill Burgess to stop a messy trial?’ I thought out loud.
‘Well, I think that Burgess under oath would have been messy, for Lord Michaels. And if convicted, Burgess may have wanted to cut a deal. I’d say Lord Michaels could not take the chance.’
‘So we need to find Maddocks and offer him a deal, after he sees his own CCTV image on the nightly news.’
‘We are looking hard for him, he won’t get far.’
In the Intel room I told Tinker, ‘Maddocks just shot dead Burgess.’
‘Bloody hell, that’ll be a messy story in the papers.’
‘Shit, I sent Max down to Sierra Leone,’ I realised. I called Max. ‘Listen, Burgess was just shot dead, so run that story.’
‘Shot dead? Well it adds to the story yeah, and I got dirt on him, kind of.’
‘Kind of?’
‘I showed his photo, from when he was here, to old brothel workers and they remembered him. I gave them a few quid, and police took statements, a little spin.’
‘Who … gave you that photo?’
‘Was slipped under my hotel room door, with other information about him.’
Our Ambassador to Sierra Leone came to mind, a grin moving my cheek. ‘Good work, Max, slander the fat dead bastard, then go see Captain Moran and get the story there. Oh, Burgess worked for some guy called Lord Michaels,’ I dropped into the conversation.
‘That posh wanker. I met him.’
‘I may soon have several sworn statements that say Lord Michaels threatened to have Diana killed a few months back.’
‘Bloody hell.’
‘I’ve got a feeling they may end up on your desk, not pushed under the door.’
Bob called at 5pm. ‘I have the story from Gallaher and his mate, and it fits with what we know. The only juicy extra bit is Bob Littlewood, and his fondness for keeping gold; he believed that our financial system was doomed and so he kept gold.’
‘Then we should at least liberate it. Got some men in London?’
‘Yes, and the boys in Brussels can get there quickly.’
‘I’d say … his home or his garden. If not, an office safe.’
‘If it’s in a safety deposit box we’d not get it.’
That evening the news featured our bank in Antwerp, but also a story from a German tabloid that dead-body Burgess and live-body Maddocks were behind the plot to kill Diana. And for all I knew they might have been involved.
In the morning I caught the news, Max having done a good job, the BBC describing Burgess’s antics with small boys in Africa. Unfortunately, General Dennet would be pissed off, an ex-Army officer disgracing the uniform like that.
I had those lads that were still in residence placed on the ranges, and they were told to knock out some laps as well; we’d be off to Sierra Leone soon.
Mister Kitson called at midday. ‘Lewis’s line manager has agree
d to make a deal, and he’s named Bob Littlewood, so as we speak the flashing blue lights are heading for offices in central London.
‘But this leaves us in the undesirable position of now getting close to Lord Michaels. Men who worked for his subsidiaries now include Burgess, Maddocks and Bob Littlewood.’
‘Not to worry, because I’d bet ten quid on Lord Michaels suffering a heart attack real soon.’
‘You … would, eh? Oh, well we wait and see how his health is.’
I called Bob in a hurry. ‘Police heading around to arrest Bob Littlewood, so pull off your people fast.’
‘They’re looking at his garden in Essex.’
‘Police are heading to his offices, so have them work fast. His home comes next!’
Call ended, I paced up and down, now worried.
We did not need to wait long for some news, Lord Michaels taken ill in a restaurant at 7pm that evening, but the news then hit of a gun battle on the streets of London – and in an expensive postcode. I cursed the unseen god that was tormenting me and I threw my hands in the air; I wanted this dealt with quietly.
When the smoke had cleared, Bob Littlewood and two ex-SAS men lay dead, very dead, and across the street lay another security consultancy boss linked to Lord Michaels, and one of his ex-SAS officers – both men now quite dead as they lay in the pigeon shit on the double-yellow lines.
The two reliable witnesses on scene, a Canadian couple on holiday, described the scene for the police, the men seen arguing then shouting then shooting. That would certainly come under the heading of an escalation.
David called at 8pm. ‘Have you seen the news?’
‘Yes, plus I got from Tinker what the police are saying.’
‘Looks like our wanted men all started shooting at each other, which ties it up nicely, no public trial. It’s almost as if it was … organised that way.’
‘The tooth fairy, I reckon; I got my wish.’
‘And Lord Michaels is in hospital, a stroke they think. So another wish granted I guess.’
‘Don’t let your guard down, Boss, there were many people involved with Lord Michaels, we need to keep striping away the layers.’
‘Indeed, yes.’