Wilco- Lone Wolf 15

by Geoff Wolak

‘Unless I have orders I’m heading down to Sierra Leone, to finish training the Wolves, and to clean-up Liberia ready for some hairy-arsed oil workers.’

  ‘Oil workers?’

  ‘I have a feeling that the idiot dictator in Monrovia will be allowing in some American oil companies.’

  ‘Oh, I see. And British companies?’

  ‘Would be welcome, so select one. Plus we need to get the French in there to keep them happy – their soldiers fought in the campaign.’

  In the morning I had an unannounced visitor at 10am, DGSE, which came as a shock to many. Mutch loudly cocked his pistol. I met our visitor outside the hangar mouth, and it was Dubert, the man who had given me the pep talk in Mauritania.

  ‘It’s OK, I know him,’ I told MP Pete, handing back the bag of items taken from my visitor.

  ‘Your men are thorough,’ he noted as he emptied the bag contents back into his pockets, now wearing a casual summer suit.

  I led him inside. As we walked I asked, ‘You still in a job?’

  ‘Many have returned to work after checks were made. Fortunately I deal with West Africa, so was not involved too much with some suspicion. They have arrested twelve men, and it will be bad all around, not least because those men thought they were doing the right thing, something that has gone on for a long time.’

  We climbed the steps.

  I asked, ‘And the people who ordered my death?’

  ‘A middle manager has been arrested, but he will not talk about those above him, he knows the price for that. A minister has been forced out, a banker made to retire, a judge. It is a mess, but it is part of our culture and society.’

  I led him into the common room, the kettle knocked on, two Intel captains sat reading the papers. We sat away from them. ‘How much do you know about the Antwerp bank?’

  ‘That it is on life support, some of its board members now dead, some of its subsidiary people dead – shot in their cars. How much was down to you and the British?’

  ‘Nothing was down to British Intel, but my friends in low places hit the bank.’

  He nodded. ‘We have known about the bank for a long time, but I did not know they backed the coup in Liberia, we thought it Nigerians.’

  ‘You were meant to think that, and they fooled us as well. When you track back to a Nigerian oil baron, why look further?’

  He shrugged. ‘Of course.’

  ‘So what is this visit about, and is it sanctioned?’

  ‘Sanctioned by the President and the new head of the DGSE, the old deputy. We want you to know that we are sorry for what happened, that we have dealt with the people involved as far as is possible – which is not so far I think, and ask if we can work together in the future.’

  ‘We can work together yes, and you need to understand that the American faction within the bank are fighting for control – and that they will probably win. They seek a quiet life, and they wish me alive and well. They dealt with Lord Michaels for me.’

  ‘I don’t think I know him,’ he puzzled.

  ‘He was linked to the bank, and he facilitated some of the coup men and equipment, he probably had people spying on me, and he was controlling the men inside Mi5 – who maybe killed Princess Diana.’

  ‘We are still getting the blame there,’ he said with a big sigh.

  ‘I’m going to get oil companies into Liberia, one American, one French, one British. That way we keep the peace. Have a French company ready.’

  He made a face and shrugged. ‘If they have the oil, no need for shooting I think.’

  ‘Exactly. And if they had been smart they would have just asked me three years back.’

  He nodded. ‘We are investigating the damage to the bank.’ He shook his head. ‘So much damage, billions of euros. And you knew exactly how to hurt them. Bravo.’ He tipped his head at me.

  ‘If someone tries to kill me, and misses, there’s a price to pay, a high price.’

  ‘Indeed, yes, it seems so. And no evidence left behind. And how you shot our men, you are feared in Paris, yes.’

  ‘Notify your forces in Liberia that we’re going to sweep the country of gunmen, to make it safe for the oil workers.’

  ‘I will, yes, and the President will be keen to talk of oil, we spent a lot of money down there.’

  ‘Did you ever talk to the former director about Spectre?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Perhaps you should be the liaison. Mention that to the new director.’

  ‘I will, yes.’

  ‘Tell him if he wants me to be his friend, that he puts a little money in, and that – should it happen again – Spectre can deal with people quietly, a heart attack, no public court appearance.’

  He nodded. ‘I will mention this when I return; we have ten men on the list, and no appetite for a trial.’

  With my guest departed, after a chat to Henri and a coffee, I checked my watch and called Tomsk.

  ‘I just woke up,’ came a mild complaint.

  ‘You seen what happened to the bank in Antwerp?’

  ‘Yes, people at the club were talking about it last night. That was you?’

  ‘It was a friend of mine, in Spectre.’

  ‘Ah, good work, fucking bank is closed down.’

  ‘Listen, I’m going to get some oil companies into Liberia, inland. One American, one British, one French.’

  ‘How about Atlantic Oil?’

  ‘What about them?’ I puzzled.

  ‘They have shares, I saw them – I had the list stolen. Forty precent American, thirty percent British, thirty percent French.’

  ‘Napoleon, you’re a genius, you know that.’

  ‘Well, I got the information stolen when they asked about Liberia.’

  ‘When … did they ask?’ I puzzled.

  ‘A few weeks ago.’

  ‘I’ve struck a deal with the Americans involved in the bank in Antwerp, they’ll make sure the bank behaves, no coups in Liberia.’

  ‘I bought a company, South African, and they had all these metal things laying around, enough for ten wells and pipes and stuff.’

  I smiled widely. ‘You technical knowledge of the oil industry is indeed growing.’

  ‘And I have twenty men from Panama, oil workers and managers to go there. I have two ships on the way. And a company from Ghana, they’ll extended the docks and start a rail line inland, some small bridges – fucking country has rivers and swamps everywhere.’

  ‘It is a rain forest, to be expected. I’ll be down there soon, to kill any fucker with a gun, to make it nice and safe for you.’

  ‘Ah, good, that will help, yes.’

  ‘Tell our friend in Monrovia to expect me.’

  I called David Finch. ‘Atlantic Oil, you know them?’

  ‘Yes, they were trying to get offshore quadrants in Guinea, then delayed because of the coup. We investigated them, just in case.’

  ‘Any links to the bank or Lord Michaels?’

  ‘Not that we could see.’

  ‘Investigate the shareholders, and if you’re happy I’ll get them into Liberia.’

  ‘Why … them?’

  ‘They have forty percent American owners, thirty percent Brits and French.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I see your thinking. Let me check them out.’

  I found Captain Harris and asked about flights down to Freetown, for me and the lads here.

  David was back on quickly. ‘The British shares in Atlantic are mostly owned by BP. It was set-up for risky ventures, ring-fenced losses should they flood someone’s nice beaches with oil - again.’

  ‘And the French part?’

  ‘Some private equity, some Elf. American slice of the pie is split between Exxon and a few others. So we don’t mind if they get a concession.’

  ‘You should discuss it with the Prime Minister, he may have a view on it.’

  ‘I would have done, yes.’

  ‘And give him a nudge about the UN sanctions on Liberia.’

  �
��The UN has stopped complaining about the Russian platforms, so they’re turning a blind eye to it for now.’

  Stood staring at the tanks, I had an idea, so I went and found the Brigadier in the small officers mess. I sat opposite him, the batman-come-waiter fetching me a tea.

  ‘I was thinking, sir, that the Wolves need to be something else, not a detachment of a detachment.’

  ‘It is a fudge, yes, so is Echo.’

  ‘How about … No.1 Field Reconnaissance Company.’

  ‘That would keep the Army happy, yes, and they are field reconnaissance, so it fits well enough. What about Mi6?’

  ‘They can draw on men any time, no matter what they’re called, they won’t object. Can you inventory the huts, sir, and get some more, because when we train the American Wolves as well it’s a tight squeeze.’

  ‘There are six free plus rooms, enough for fifty men, space for three more huts before we hit that fence.’

  ‘Did any dinner ladies quit?’

  ‘One, and we gained one from Brize Norton, getting on in years and not fussed about bombs.’

  I nodded, thinking. ‘Can you put together a proposal, sir, Field Recon, from you and me, and send it up the line.’

  ‘I’ll do that today, yes, list the aims and the capabilities, wartime and peacetime. What about headwear and cap badge?’

  ‘Beret should be same as the regular SAS in colour, cap badge maybe ... a fox?’

  He smiled widely. ‘A sneaky fox. MOD will never go for a fox, so how about a parachute and crossed rifles.’

  I nodded. ‘Whatever they want, sir, just not a pansy resting on its laurels.’

  He laughed. ‘What about 14 Intel?’

  ‘If they have some good boys I’ll train them and use them, we just need to be sure that they don’t still want to kill me.’

  ‘They have a lot of new blood, servicemen wanting some action.’

  Outside, a car pulled up, MP Pete sat in the passenger seat. He eased out, the car parked next to the sandbag walls. A tall soldier eased out, built like Rocko, complete with silly moustache, and he had taken a few knocks in his time. He stamped to attention, albeit in a slovenly manner, a mop of messy black hair under his green cap.

  ‘Sir. Colonel Marsh sent me after I … er … swore at a major in Credenhill.’

  ‘I see.’ I glanced at Pete. ‘What do they call you?’

  ‘Monster. Sir.’

  ‘You can drop the sir. You fit?’

  ‘Not a great sprinter, but I can walk all day, I pissed through SAS selection. Wankers.’

  ‘Wankers?’

  ‘All talk and no action, lot of crap about what heroes they were, but none of the selection team had done a job with you.’

  ‘Where’d you start out?’

  ‘Engineers, did the para course, moved to the Paras – but got time in the Glass House, then Pathfinders for a spell, got busted a few times.’

  ‘Got a bad temper, Monster?’

  ‘Only if someone is giving me shit for no reason.’

  ‘Upset me and I’ll shoot you in the foot, and no one will prosecute me. Sergeant Major is Rocko, and he’ll shoot you in both feet.’

  ‘I know Rocko, did a course with him, both of us up on charges for trashing a pub.’

  I saw Rocko and waved him over.

  Rocko examined our newcomer. ‘Why do you look familiar?’

  ‘That bar in Kettering we trashed.’

  ‘Ah. That was a few years back.’

  ‘Five.’

  I put in, ‘Regulars kicked him out, so we’ll see what he can do. Get him a room, kit, we should leave tomorrow – he can sample the delights of the FOB.’

  ‘I did the standard patrol routes, and met you for that briefing before 2 Para moved east.’

  ‘You were there?’

  ‘Stood at the back, aye.’

  I nodded. ‘Check his ID carefully. If he’s an imposter, kill him. Call Credenhill.’

  ‘Friendly bunch.’ He thumbed at the sandbags. ‘We at war, Boss?’

  ‘Around here … always.’ I faced Rocko. ‘Kick up the lads here, pack crates ready.’

  He nodded and led Monster off, no doubt to chat about a trashed bar in Kettering and a heavy night’s drinking.

  At 3pm the Brigadier came and found me. ‘MOD love the idea of the Field Recon Company, but ask – nicely – if you could take the best of 14 Intel under your wing.’

  I shrugged. ‘How many?’

  ‘Ten to start.’

  ‘Do they know what they’re getting into?’

  He pulled a face. ‘They signed up for some undercover action, so either they know – or they’re complete fucking morons.’

  ‘Have them here tonight, sir.’

  ‘Tonight?’ he loudly asked.

  ‘Yes, sir. Tonight.’

  He blew out. ‘They’ll be pissed off at you before they even start.’

  I called David Finch as I sat on the sandbag wall. At least it was not damp. ‘Right, Boss. Listen, couple of things happening. First off, I’ve suggested that the MOD put the Wolves into a new unit called No.1 Field Recon Company. MOD are already happy, and it makes the Wolves look like soldiers.

  ‘In that company I’ll attach my intel team, so … that company will provide the Army with battlefield recon, missions behind the lines, civvy work like Northern Ireland, and hostages. Your line manager for the Wolves will carry on as now, he just requests men as the MOD might.

  ‘Echo will still be Echo, side by side here, and this new outfit will have a team from 14 Intel – because the MOD are whinging.’

  David began, ‘14 Intel have been restructured, new recruits, a good selection process and training. We pinched away two men and a lady, so if they have people training with you then great.’

  ‘I’m taking their ten best down to the FOB, and I’ll drop them in a bad spot and see how they cope.’

  ‘Well, if they can’t cope with that, what’ll they be like behind the lines in a war?’

  ‘Exactly,’ I agreed. ‘Expect some whinging when I damage a few.’

  ‘Try not to get them killed, not in the first week at least.’

  ‘Any sign of Maddocks?’

  ‘Unregistered helicopter flight to Calais area. We’ve alerted Interpol.’

  ‘I’ll have Spectre look, they know which sewers to look in. Oh, Bob Littlewood; did the police raid his home?’

  ‘Yes, they’re there now.’

  ‘Get your people in there, and look for a stash of gold bars.’

  ‘Gold bars?’

  ‘Bob Littlewood thought that the financial system might crash, so he stored gold.’

  ‘Interesting. I’ll turn the place over.’

  I called Bob Staines. ‘Hey No.1. Listen, Maddocks is in Calais area, so offer up a reward. He could be heading to Brussels.’

  ‘If he does we’ll have him, the fool.’

  ‘Did you get your people out of Bob Littlewood’s garden?’

  ‘Yes, just in time. They never found any gold, but raided his desk. One interesting item found hidden, a very interesting item, the details of a security box in Farringdon.’

  ‘The same … place in Farringdon?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Fuck … me,’ I let out. ‘Pamela knew, she was after it. That job still makes no sense.’

  ‘Someone was up to no good there. There’s CCTV nearby, ask David Finch to grab it, see who uses that place.’

  ‘Shit, yeah. Try and grab Maddocks for me.’

  I called back David Finch as people walked past, giving me odd looks for sitting on the sandbag walls. ‘Listen, I just found out that Bob Littlewood used the same safety deposit place in Farringdon that Pamela died at.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘Grab the CCTV from outside, identify who’s using it. I’d bet on our friends in low places making use of it.’

  ‘Yes, we might get lucky. And now some extra questions about that job you did as Petrov, and the players involved.’


  ‘Pamela was dirty, so maybe she was chatting to Bob Littlewood. He would have been senior to her back in the day, she definitely knew him well.’

  ‘I’ll mention it to Mister Kitson.’

  I packed my crate and doubled-up with Sasha, checked I had everything I might need, then packed a few tins of pears for Moran and Swifty, a new puzzle book for Swifty and some clean socks and pants for him.

  At 8pm a coach pulled in, expected, 14 Intel’s finest, all volunteers apparently. I met them by the barracks, men and women stepping down with large backpacks, and all were in uniform save two ladies.

  I faced them. ‘You in the fucking military, or on holiday?’

  ‘Last minute decision, sir. We have kit, at least some kit. I did iron these jeans,’ she cheekily told me.

  ‘We’ll find you some kit. Got boots broken in?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  They lined up, seven men and three ladies, one lady in uniform and looking all tall and butch with it – and looking like she had taken a few hits. The two ladies in civvies were both attractive, one small and petite.

  I stood in front of the petite lady. ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’

  She cocked an eyebrow at me. ‘I came from 18 Signals Intel, sir, I’m fit, and I speak four languages.’

  I frowned at her. ‘You should be an officer then?’

  ‘I was, but … had an affair, got busted, moved sideways to 14 Intel.’

  I nodded. ‘All I care about is a willingness to do the job, followed by the ability to do the job.’ I stepped back and faced them as Rocko closed in. ‘Listen up. In the past, some of the people in 14 Intel had a bad attitude towards me. That started … because they had a man who was blackmailed by Mi5 to go south of the border and be an IRA double agent.

  ‘That man got himself killed, and some believed it was at my hands. Some of the idiots in 14 Intel seemed to think that on my day off I get out of bed and go shoot people south of the border. I don’t.

  ‘When I go do a job it’s because someone up the chain of command sends me, I don’t do things without permission nor on my day off. Some of your old bosses blamed me, when they should have blamed my superiors – not that I shot the man in question, I’d never harm anyone.’

  They snickered.

  ‘If any of you have attitude towards me I’ll kill you and leave you in the jungle, a shallow grave, women as well.’