Wilco- Lone Wolf 21

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Anything out of the ordinary. We got a clue, but it was vague.’

  ‘Just an oil rig heading to Ivory Coast, what could go wrong?’

  ‘Not sure, but we got the clue.’

  ‘I'll have someone meet him, and get authorisation.’

  I called Bob Staines, and Spectre would have people following Lard Arse for his safety, which would not be hard – he was an easy mark to spot and not at all fast on his feet. He would not be climbing up Gibraltar Rock.

  At the morning briefing I asked for most of the lads to tackle the new live-fire range again, and to get their damn scores up, Stickler to have a go – followed by team tactics.

  ‘Nicholson, make sure Stickler has webbing and knows what to put in it. Doc Willy, keep working on the weapons, your fitness is OK. Tiller and Brace, you're great on the fitness, so let's see you beat Tomo on the weapons.’

  Billy mentioned, ‘Monday sees the regulars back from courses, so anything planned?’

  ‘We'll get a slot on that forest in Germany soon. A nice nasty exercise with dogs. Speak to Mister Sanderson about the accommodation, and pencil it in for the week after next I guess. Sort transport please. Rizzo, before we go, put Stickler and Doc Willy through the Killing House, maybe Parker and Monster.’

  At 4pm Mutch called. ‘I found something,’ he proudly began. ‘There was a hatch welded shut, and it should not have been welded shut, so we used a disc grinder and found a dead body inside.’

  ‘Who has the body?’

  ‘Local police.’

  ‘Do another search, but does it have staff records on board?’

  ‘It has just the transit paperwork, a copy.’

  ‘Call London, update them, have them request the paperwork, all staff – and missing staff. And fast. Oh, did the body have an ID?’

  ‘No. Nothing on him.’

  ‘Have London shout about a fast post mortem, and fingerprints.’

  I called No.1. ‘They searched that oil rig, Nome, and found a dead body welded behind a metal door.’

  ‘That means it will be impounded. I'll update Leon.’

  ‘Will it cost you?’

  ‘No, just a delay in starting a new project. But it looks like someone is up to no good, and that could cost us. Not least a pay-out to the poor chap's family.’

  ‘This man … he saw something he shouldn't have seen, off Croatia, so start thinking.’

  ‘Nothing happens off Croatia, it's all very dull.’

  Bob called me back at 8pm. ‘There was a man just shot dead at the hotel where Mutch is.’

  ‘Mutch is alive?’

  ‘Yes, he doesn't fit the description of the deceased, the deceased is normal size for a human.’

  ‘Your people?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘A third party observing Mutch, and a fourth party shot them, or it could just be a domestic incident.’

  ‘Shot between the eyes, pistol with a silencer - according to a hotel maid.’

  ‘Not a domestic, no, unless the housewives in Gibraltar are really well equipped.’

  I called SIS London. ‘It's Wilco. My oil man Mutch is at a hotel in Gibraltar, there's been a killing. I want everyone listed at the hotel and all staff, and fast, and everyone who landed or crossed the border with Spain in the past few days. And work on the assumption that the body count will rise.’

  ‘I'll get a message to Gibraltar police now.’

  Mutch called me ten minutes later. ‘I had to move hotels, someone was shot dead in mine. Should I be worried?’

  ‘I have people watching you, and you're easy to tail, so relax. But do me a favour, and go for a long walk and have a beer and walk back. That way, if someone is following you my team will spot them. And don't look over your shoulder.’

  ‘I get extra for this, yes?’

  ‘Only if you survive.’

  ‘What?’

  I cut the call, smiling.

  He was back on an hour later. ‘Some poor chap was shot dead just yards from me!'

  ‘Did you see the shooter?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then he did a good job. Police there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don't tell them he was following you!'

  ‘I haven't, but they have my name as a witness.’

  I called SIS London. ‘It's Wilco, there's been another shooting in Gibraltar, and I need the ID of the dead man.’

  ‘I'll get back to you.’

  The Duty Officer called back at 11pm, as I sat in the pub with many of the lads. ‘I just passed the man's ID and particulars to your team.’

  ‘What nationality?’

  ‘Canadian.’

  I sighed. ‘OK, thanks. Wait, have the detail sent to Langley, my name on it.’

  Last orders called, and men started to walk back down the lane. As I reached the house the Deputy Chief called. It would be 7pm EST.

  ‘Wilco, we ran the ID on the body in this place Gibraltar, and he was a contactor years back.’

  ‘Deep State maybe, they're involved here, in so much as they gave me a clue to follow regarding an oil rig.’

  ‘Oil rig?’

  ‘It led to a body, and that led to a shoot-out, and that led to your ex-contractor.’

  ‘So … where does this end?’

  ‘Fuck knows, because they leave me clues not an explanation. But let me run with it, best you stay out of it for now.’

  ‘Nothing to stay out of … yet.’

  ‘Probably a damp squid anyhow.’

  ‘Squib. Damp squib not squid, a firecracker used in the movies to simulate a bullet hitting you.’

  ‘I knew that, but us British use damp squid … as in our politicians are like damp squid.’

  ‘Ah, that would explain a lot.’

  Saturday morning, and the action in Gibraltar was all over the news.

  Bob Staines called at 11am. ‘I have the Interpol detail, and No.3 called Tinker to exchange ideas -'

  ‘The Canadian is ex-CIA from a few years back.’

  ‘Well I was going to assume that given his backstory. The second man shot our first man, they found the weapon, and my team shot him as he made ready to shoot Mutch in the back.’

  ‘So someone wants the investigation halted. But that makes no sense, we'd just send more men.’

  ‘Unless Mutch is key to this. He's an oil expert, remember, and he found what others missed.’

  ‘So … there's more to find maybe, on that rig.’

  ‘There's another potential body, David Preston, presumed drowned.’

  ‘So assume that he's involved and track back.’

  ‘We have been, and he touches upon the original oil exploration in Liberia, a young college graduate at the time.’

  ‘So he knew something he should not have known. But he kept it secret twenty years?’

  ‘He has a direct link to the first body, if that body is Mark Hammish, and the height and build fits from what Mutch told Tinker. Hammish was also wearing a jacket for a manager, which would fit with his job title, not a man with oil on his hands.

  ‘The link – wait for it – is that they both take holidays to various countries where you pan for gold for a few weeks.’

  ‘So Preston found gold, in Liberia.’

  ‘There are two old gold mines, were productive, closed during the civil war, so Liberia has gold, yes. But he would have had to find something more than simple gold bearing ore, maybe gold in a stream.’

  ‘So why kill him?’

  ‘He was not supposed to be in Gibraltar, but had applied to retrieve personal belongings from the rig.’

  ‘There's gold on the rig?’ I puzzled.

  ‘Unlikely. Why put it there and not just sell it? Why take it from Liberia to Croatia? Besides, he never fetched up any gold from Liberia, he flew back – it would set off the metal detectors! He was there for four weeks.’

  ‘Someone silenced him, probably Deep State or an ex-Deep State employee with a grudge, and there's gold in Liberia
that someone wants. They were waiting for me to quell the place, then get back in there.’

  ‘You do jump ahead, don't you. I was about to say … Preston and Hammish were due to rotate down to Liberia, the mine.’

  ‘And … someone found out, put two and two together and killed them.’

  ‘Yes. So long as Preston never showed any interest in Liberia he was safe.’

  ‘I'll have Tomsk search for the gold, quietly.’

  ‘I can go a step better. We have a license in this company, oil work in the region, and can send men with cover stories. But they'll need soldiers to go with them into the bush.’

  ‘I can arrange something, but for how long?’

  ‘Could take weeks.’

  ‘I have a platoon of black Guinea soldiers. So long as they have dollars they'll be happy.’

  ‘And if they find a large lump of gold..?’

  ‘I think they can be trusted, but I'll rotate my men as well.’

  ‘I'll send the team down in a few days. They're licensed for environmental impact studies.’

  In with the Intel team I went through evidence with them, not letting on about the gold, but I called Tinker at home and confided in him; he could keep a secret.

  Next call was David Finch, a message left. He called me back.

  ‘You busy, Boss?’

  ‘Gardening.’

  ‘The late Bob Staines liked gardening, said it relaxed him.’

  ‘It does, yes.’

  ‘The clue in the garden gnome has led to a rich gold deposit in Liberia, found when they found the oil and uranium.’

  ‘It had gold mines, yes, closed during the civil war.’

  ‘This has to be more than just loose dirt with some gold in.’

  ‘Yes, enough to kill for, to keep the men quiet. What will you do?’

  ‘Go get it, hand it to a ghost.’

  ‘GCHQ got some money, eleven million, towards the purchase of databases. And I was going to call you. Conservative MP Sir Richard Billington, he seems to be a very naughty chap of a late Saturday night, rumour of drugs and small boys. Might be wise for him to be stopped.’

  ‘Quietly, or loudly?’

  ‘I'm leaning towards loudly.’

  I called Bob Staines and mentioned Sir Richard Billington, and he would have some fun.

  Mutch called. ‘I have a chair up against my door.’

  ‘Relax, you're not important enough to kill. Besides, we found out what was going on. The dead body is a Hammish or a Preston, and the man shot at your hotel was ex-CIA, and Hammish and Preston both found gold in Liberia when the secret oil survey was done.’

  ‘Hammish and Preston, the hobby gold-panners, I knew them. Bloody hell.’

  ‘Not sure why the ex-CIA guys would have an interest in you other than to stop you finding the body, but … you already found the body so it makes no sense to shoot you now.’

  ‘Unless there's more to find!’

  ‘By all means, go back and widen the search, maybe there's another body. But be careful, armed police with you at all times. And don't mention the gold, not even at GL4. Apart from Tinker and me.’

  ‘And if we recover the gold?’

  ‘It goes to Intel slush funds. And yes, you get a small bonus.’

  ‘Then I can be brave for a few more days.’

  I went and found Rizzo and Stretch in their house. I plonked down in their lounge. ‘I have a job for you, a naughty job. You go down to the mine we were at, and bodyguard a team of oil workers as they run an environmental study. You get a cash bonus, and if the men find what they're looking for … a good bonus.’

  ‘We're up for it,’ Rizzo enthused. ‘What they looking for?’

  I pointed a finger. ‘Not a word about that, just … protect them. The black Guinea soldiers will assist, Sergeant Tobo and his men. No one will question it given the recent problems.’

  I pointed at Stretch's legs. ‘How are the knees?’

  ‘OK if I don't run. Don't feel a problem.’

  ‘This job is easy, no running. Get packed ready, I'll sort a flight for Monday maybe.’ I stood. ‘And not a word about anything dodgy, you're protecting the oil workers in the bush. Simple. Oh, take Bergens, you'll be camping out a lot.’ I handed Rizzo dollars. ‘Give them to Tobo.’

  Sunday saw the sun come out and the wind drop, so I carried a folding chair to the canal and sat next to Swifty and Nicholson, a third rod for me, and I cast out away from them and walked back, a dozen men sat fishing.

  My phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘Duty Officer, SIS. The body in Gibraltar, found in the oil rig, is that of a Hammish – as expected according to Mutch, who called in as Secret Agent Scorpio.’

  I smiled.

  He added, ‘They'd like him disciplined, or shot, or both. Or as a punishment … put on a treadmill!'

  ‘I'll have a word. Did you ever meet him?’

  ‘Several times, yes, he went into the oil areas of North Africa a great deal.’

  ‘Was he slim then?’

  ‘No. And one of our people rigged his bed to collapse in Africa. When he woke he denied having slept on it to the hotel staff.’

  I laughed. ‘He is the perfect agent, no one would suspect him. But I'll have a word with the fat bastard.’

  Phone away, Swifty asked who it was.

  ‘The fat bastard called in to London as Secret Agent Scorpio. They were not amused.’

  Nicholson and Swifty laughed loudly.

  ‘But he did solve the case he was working on when others missed the obvious, like a dead body welded into an oil rig.’ I pointed across the canal come pond. ‘The garden gnome had a clue, and it led to the oil rig.’

  ‘Who put it there?’ Swifty asked.

  ‘Same highly trained assassin that shot the body in the water. He sends me clues rather than making a phone call.’

  ‘Hiding his identity,’ Swifty noted.

  ‘And having some fun with us. He could be over there right now, us in his sights.’

  ‘They chopped down some of the bushes. Look.’

  I peered into the distance. ‘That's not our land.’

  ‘Who gives a fuck,’ Swifty commented. ‘Just bushes.’

  Nicholson noted, ‘That would be a six hundred yard shot at least.’

  ‘I'll have some of that fencing put up,’ I told them. ‘Otherwise someone will target the lads fishing here. It's a bit obvious, us sat here.’

  Swifty noted, ‘You're the only one they want to shoot, and no one is going to believe that you started fishing.’

  I pointed into the water, and stood. ‘What the fuck is that?’

  They stood. ‘That's a Pike, a big one.’ Swifty drew his pistol, moved along the bank as men nearby observed, and fired four rounds. The Pike went belly up.

  ‘What the fuck did you shoot it for?’

  ‘It'll eat all the small fish we put in.’

  Rod, line and hook used, and the body was snared and brought it, dumped on the bank.

  I knelt. ‘Fuck me, that could have chomped on the dead body in there. Look at those teeth.’

  ‘If there's one, there's more,’ Nicholson noted. ‘We'll have to shoot them, but they stay near the surface near reeds or weeds mostly.’

  MPs drove over, having heard gunfire, and soon saw the Pike.

  ‘Shit, that would eat half the damn fish in there,’ an MP noted. ‘There'd have to be a good stock of fish for it to grow to that size, that's six or seven years old, more.’

  I told him, ‘You see any … you shoot them.’

  ‘I'll try my spinners to catch them, sir.’

  I led Swifty and two MPs up to the original canal.

  An MP noted, ‘That's not big enough for a Pike population, sir.’

  We walked on, and to where the stream started, but it was a deep stream, fish seen darting away from us. Northwest we trekked, now on someone else's land, the MPs armed, so we kept an eye out for civilians.

  The stream met an offshoot,
dark and deep, and we crossed a small metal bridge one at a time, and beyond a row of trees the offshoot met a deep still pond a hundred yards across.

  ‘That's where the Pike live,’ Swifty noted.

  ‘So we get a metal grill, a certain size, keep them out, small fish through,’ I told them.

  Swifty objected; it would keep the monster Tench out as well. The MPs would have to try and catch the Pike.

  I called SIS London as we walked back, asking who owned the land.

  Sat back down, no bites yet, SIS called back. ‘The land is being disputed. The farmer died owing the bank, but his brother is claiming ownership, but the bank has the deeds and they want to sell it.’

  ‘Send a note to David Finch, ask the MOD to purchase it for extended training grounds for non-SAS soldiers.’

  Phone down, I told Swifty and Nicholson, ‘We'll buy that land, and the pond.’

  Nicholson noted, ‘That pond will have a few monsters, if it's been left abandoned for years.’

  Swifty told him, ‘No one been near it in decades. Hence the monster Pike.’

  I saw my float bob up and down, got ready, and then jerked my rod a little, soon reeling in a small fish. ‘What is it?’

  ‘That's a small carp,’ Swifty told me, getting the hook out. ‘Will live twenty years and become a monster.’

  Sat back down, I said, ‘This area they dug out, is it OK for fish, or does it need weeds?’

  Swifty said, ‘It's full of earthworms and grubs, so the fish are here for a while not up the murky end. And you can't quite see it, but the water is moving, so food is coming down the stream, insects and lava. MPs throw in some feed as well, same stuff you give goldfish, green pellets that stink. Fish love them.’

  ‘The new canal south of the new dummy village, I asked them to widen it, and it will join this eventually.’

  Nicholson said, ‘Let it settle first, weeds growing. Six months.’

  That evening, 9pm, Lard Arse called. ‘I found something else, they're opening it up now.’

  ‘Another secret compartment?’

  ‘Kind of, yes. Would make annual inspection hard, since someone welded it.’

  ‘And when was the last time it was inspected?’

  ‘They said two months ago, before it was scrapped and sent on its way here - very slowly.’

  ‘So we need to know who – good at welding – was employed at the time.’