by Geoff Wolak
‘I'm looking into it. And we have Royal Navy engineers and fitters here helping out.’
He was back on an hour later. ‘Found another body, description fits that of Preston.’
‘Let the rig go after another look around, we know what happened, they were silenced by an ex-CIA contactor, gold in Liberia.’
At the Monday morning briefing I dispatched Rizzo and Stretch to Liberia, a boring bodyguard job – so detailed to the teams, the rest to check sniper gear and to pack crates ready for Germany, we would fly next Tuesday. I had previously mentioned the training to Colonel Mathews in the Pentagon, as training for Kosovo, and the American Wolves would join us after flying into Ramstein Air Base next week.
Swifty took the British Wolves and 14 Intel to the Beacons, an exercise to finish this time, navigation in deep dark woods, as well as paintball contests in deep dark woods at night.
I dispatched a group up to the factory, Stickler, Doc Willy, Parker and Monster plus a few others to get some training in. Our regulars would face a few days of intense first aid, pigs to stitch.
I packed a bag, a secret mission detailed to the team, no questions asked, and from Bristol airport I flew to Marseilles, picked up by a driver arranged by Bob, a long drive west. Booked into a small hotel, and expected, I was shown out the back, bundled into a van, and off we drove, twenty minutes till the doors opened, the call of seagulls on the breeze.
It was pleasant and sunny still at 4pm. Down with my bag on a beach promenade, they drove off as I took in the inviting ocean, if a tad cold today. I clocked Tiny over the road and followed her, around a corner, through a bar and out the back, soon to an apartment block and up in the lift.
She took off her black wig and shook her hair. ‘Good flight?’
‘Quick, just an hour and a bit.’
Key in the door, and I stepped into a white marble wonderland, a huge panoramic ocean view in the lounge. ‘Very nice. You're not suffering here.’
She stood on a foot stool and kissed me. ‘I missed you.’
‘I thought you said you'd try not to care.’
‘I tried. And you?’
‘Yes, I missed you. Shower time.’
In the shower we washed each other without having sex, but on the huge bed I licked her tiny pink pussy till she screamed, soon thrusting into her as we lay on crisp white sheets, the room all white, a few moody landscapes on the walls.
Sheet pulled over us, we cuddled, and I told her about Mutch and the oil rig.
She finally noted, ‘So there's a stream with gold in?’
‘It would have to be visible, for them to find it, and significant enough for them to kill for it.’
‘So … large lumps of gold seen in a stream. Surprised no one ever found it.’
‘Might be in the bush, a long way from tracks.’
‘Be heavy to carry,’ she noted.
‘If it's too heavy for a man to carry then it's worth almost a million quid. Preston and Hammish would have gone back, got some out, say a hundred thousand dollars worth, then gone back for more. But to get to that area would have been very dangerous, any time in the last twenty years. They'd not risk it, two white men in a black civil war.’
‘You'll grab it'?’
‘Yes, money for Spectre, to keep you in shoes.’
‘I have a salary from Bob, seventy-five thousand a year plus costs.’
‘Shit, I'm in the wrong career.’
‘He said it makes up for the risk, and I could be injured someday.’
‘Well … yes, but let's hope not.’
An hour later, after a coffee, she drove me in her nice new car to Bob, a ten minute drive down the coast, then down country lanes with high hedges. We parked next to a large house, perhaps six bedrooms split over three levels on a slope, and set in nice grounds overlooking the ocean and a deserted rocky beach.
Bob met us at the door. ‘Welcome to Spectre HQ.’
We shook. ‘You're supposed to be in a cave.’
‘No cave, but we have a cat, and a sinister looking grounds keeper.’
Inside I met No.2 and No.3, Terry and Reggie. ‘So this is where you hide out and do no work.’
‘Been busy,’ Terry told me.
To Reggie I said, ‘You all settled in?’
‘Yes, lovely around here, much better than the UK.’
‘What you working on?’
‘Going through old Commertz Bank records still, unearthing companies and people, and sometimes we find an opportunity to make some money. And I have a list of former Canadian police and military, some served in the US military, so they're potential contractors for the CIA – or Deep State.’
Bob put in, ‘Their back stories are good, but a trained eye can spot them.’
Coffee made, French roast, we sat in a lounge area and chatted about projects, about Panama and Liberia, and loose ends. I updated them on Maria – if that was her real name.
‘You would take her on?’ Bob asked.
‘She has the skill set, but I would never trust her, just use her as a contractor. If she makes contact, then first I want some answers, names and places, and that may help us. Then you can test her, a set-up, bug her. She's out of work right now, and … maybe she has a soul after all.’
‘Do you think Deep State have cleaned house?’ Bob pressed.
‘They have little choice, they almost fucked it all up, and I spoke to the US military – who will now be wary of Deep State and men with their own private agendas.’
‘And the mystery man who sends you garden gnomes?’
‘He seems to be on our side, but very cautious, so he's wired in as well as a good field agent. He pointed me towards Liberia, and that saved a coup in Liberia, but … he may also have wanted us to clean up his shit pile for him.’
Bob nodded. ‘Hard to know what motivates him. And the car bombs in Medellin?’
‘Bolivian, so there's something going on, and not even Tomsk understands what it is, they're competitors. But those car bombs were a warning, not revenge, so the deal – whatever the deal is – goes on.’
Bob noted, ‘And when we find out what it is I'm sure we won't like it.’
My phone trilled, so I stood near a window. ‘Wilco.’
‘It's David, and we have a problem, in so much as a German publisher has a manuscript that they've agreed to publish, a kind of life story on you – your missions detailed – and it has photographs of you, even the street you were born in.’
‘That's a worry, and they only got that detail from a mole, maybe one that had a heart attack.’
‘That is certainly possible.’
‘Can you stop it?’
‘Not very easily, no. But we could try and extradite the writer and the publisher after print, and so could the Americans.’
‘Give me the details.’ I motioned to Terry and he fetched me a pad and pen, and I wrote down the detail. ‘I'll look into them.’
Off the phone, I handed the page to Bob. ‘German publisher, going to print my life story, complete with real ID and photos.’
‘I'll investigate them, but books take ages to get into print, so we have some time I hope.’
‘Find out where they sell their books, because if they sell in the States we can put economic pressure on.’
Bob made a call. Returning, he began, ‘They publish in German mostly, some English works, and forty percent of their business is educational, a few fiction works, mostly scientific.’
‘Find a weakness, bribe a few people, try money first, but if that doesn't work then you take the gloves off. I need the source tracked back, but it could have been the JIC wanker.’
I called Miller and he called back ten minutes later.
‘Wilco, you after me?’
‘Write this down.’ I detailed the company. ‘They'll soon publish my life story, true identity and photographs, so see what you can do.’
‘We can extradite the CEO, because you work for the CIA nominally, and they can't print detai
ls of CIA agents. So we'll rattle him, and the writer. They won't want twenty years in an orange jumpsuit.’
‘Who would, eh?’
‘Bannaczek seems to have been dealt with...’
‘Any evidence?’
‘Only of the hookers involved.’
‘And Phillson?’
‘No evidence other that what we were supposed to find, so the man, or team, was very capable.’
‘And we all know how hard it is to find good help these days...’
‘Yes, but things here have changed greatly, and I have a larger role.’
‘Any more people like Bannaczek out there?’
‘There are … former contractors, yes.’
‘Get me a list, I'll clean house for you.’
‘That … might work in some cases yes.’
Sat back down with the gang, I told them, ‘Deep State will try and extradite the CEO of that publishing company, since I do work for the CIA. And they might get us a list of former contractors still out there. If they do, we work down the list before those people go work for the highest bidder – and try and kill me.’
An hour later, and cleaned up – Tiny in a little black number, smart Audi cars and smart drivers whisked Tiny and myself up to a large house, Leon stood waiting with his son, Tiny yet to meet him.
I shook hands with Leon. ‘No more lame kidnap attempts?’
‘One is enough,’ he said with a smile.
I shook hands with Mikhail and introduced Tiny. Inside, we had a quick tour of the old house, soon in a large dining room, Leon's wife and daughter greeted, but they would not join us for food.
Sat, wine poured, we spoke of Van De Berg and his loan, Leon set to make some money.
I asked, ‘That oil rig, will it cost you?’
‘The delay won't but compensation might. If a man is killed by an outsider, that is a crime and the company is not liable. But if his boss killed him, we are almost liable in that an officer of the company committed the crime. The lawyers will go through it.’
To Tiny I said, ‘Leon had an adopted son, the man known as Casper at GL4.’
‘I heard about Casper,’ she told him. ‘I never knew the link.’
Leon tried to put on a brave face. ‘He was adopted, and … always difficult, and instead of a steady career he chose to be a mercenary.’
‘A damn good one,’ I put in.
Leon explained, ‘Wilco recruited him, and it was nice to think that Casper was doing some good in the world. I received updates and photos when Casper might have ended up in prison, or in a shallow grave in Africa.’
To Tiny I said, ‘Lord Michaels and the Belgian bank, they were behind at attack on the Omani ruler's son, killed at GL4. Casper was killed by Leon's former business partner, but I had the man handed over to the Omanis, and he was hung publically.’
Tiny asked, ‘The young man and girl here..?’
‘My actual children, and reliably boring and … no trouble at all.’
‘You have that at least,’ she noted. ‘Tomsk is lonely, few he can trust.’
Leon noted, ‘The way people try and kill him and take his territory … I wonder how he sleeps at all.’
‘Big Sasha looks after him,’ Tiny noted. ‘And he likes it when Wilco visits. Wilco is his adopted son.’
‘And your role?’ Leon asked her.
‘Trainee super spy,’ she said with a smile.
‘Dangerous work,’ he floated, a glance at me.
She responded, ‘I'd be crap sat in an office, and I didn't last as an officer in the RAF. I have … anger issues.’
I told him, ‘She's proven to be good at the job, and she kills without remorse. She also helps me, because I can't be with a normal woman. Tiny can look after herself and spot someone following. The other girls I met – well – I worried too much.’
Leon noted, ‘Hard for you to have a social life, yes, and they keep you busy.’ He studied me. ‘Do you … trust the Americans?’
‘Fuck no, but I have no choice but to cooperate. I've put many Deep State people in the ground, and they've cleaned house, so … maybe the future will see less shit like the Belgian bank and the cruise missiles.’
‘There was a one-hour special on the Liberian mine action, the French TV viewers love French Echo and 1st Battalion. Kids in the street play at being French Echo soldiers, and you can buy toy soldiers that look like them.’
I smiled widely.
He added, ‘French Echo are now six platoons, and 1st Battalion have grown thirty percent.’
‘The GIGN will be pissed off,’ I noted. I faced Leon, ‘What do the people here say about my incident in Paris?’
‘They all support you solidly, and don't trust the government. The far left gained much ground after that incident, and it still goes on, still arrests and questions asked.’
I nodded as I ate.
After the meal, Tiny conversed in French with Leon's daughter, Leon showing me his collection of leather-bound first editions, and many old bibles, now collectors’ items and worth a great deal.
We eventually sat with wine, a chat about family and France and not about work, the drivers picking us up at 11pm.
Back on the promenade we walked through the bar, faces noted, out the back and around, soon up in the apartment. From the balcony I checked the street, just to be sure.
In the morning we walked along the promenade, two trusted minders following in a car at a discrete distance, the weather holding but not warm, a cool strong breeze off the sea.
After a cafe lunch my guest arrived and met me on the promenade as the seagulls cried out, Tiny observing from across the street. We did not bother to shake. Leggit looked like he had put on weight.
‘You put on weight?’
‘Some, yeah, home cooking.’
‘You got a good pay-out for Phillson, so why not take it and go, and live a good life?’
He took in the ocean waves. ‘I'd be bored, like you. You have money, and you could work for Tomsk, but you keep going, even with all the shits trying to trip you up.’
‘It's because of those shits trying to trip me up that I keep going, a warped personality – I want to defy them and piss them off. If no one was attacking me I'd retire and fuck off.’ I took in the waves. ‘I have anger issues, and … revenge issues.’
‘You'll be at it a long time then,’ he noted, his hands in his jacket pocket.
I nodded. ‘You've done well. I had expected you to go away and hide, but you're now a world-class assassin.’
‘I have a pride in my work, and the people I shoot are attacking you and the team.’
‘No ill will?’
‘No, it was my fault, no one to blame but myself.’
‘Swan is doing OK, Nicholson and Tomo, but we lost Smitty – burst appendix at GL4.’
‘Could die in a car crash,’ he noted with a shrug.
‘Tomo is still an idiot.’
He smiled widely. ‘Still shooting them in the balls?’
I nodded. ‘Had a new lad join, speaks Arabic and Russian, and runs like the wind, shoots as well as Tomo. Wilco Junior.’
‘Base busy now?’
‘From when we first started, yes, sixty men in most days when we're there. Rocko is Sergeant Major, not allowed on jobs because of a detached retina, but I take him along now and then. Stretch fucked his knees so he now teaches No.1 Field Recon, and I have two American Wolves from some hick town in the States. But they're solid men.’
‘Shooting that senator was easy, real easy. No fences up with Canada, no one stopped me, I used cash, fake beard, all simple enough. But Bob plans things well, he's a real stickler for the detail.’
‘That detail keeps us alive.’
He nodded, a seagull stood eyeing us up as a source of discarded food.
‘So you'll go on till killed or caught?’ I posed.
‘No reason why I would be caught, if I plan it right.’
‘And your new family..?’
He shru
gged and pulled a face. ‘They're great, but I couldn't just sit down and do nothing, and I like the spy work.’
‘Adrenalin, risk and reward,’ I sighed out. ‘Like Tomo and Nicholson. They have no social lives, but love the work.’
We shook, and I wished him well. Back with Tiny we sat on the balcony but inside the windows, which opened fully to create an outdoor balcony.
‘Who was that?’ she asked.
‘He was in Echo, but got caught being naughty, so we had to let him go. Now he works for Bob, a shooter, and a world-class shooter.’ I faced her. ‘Get Bob to arrange training on the M4 sniper variant, so that you can hit a man four hundred yards away quietly.’
‘Might be conspicuous, carrying a rifle in my sparkly silver dress,’ she teased.
‘Get a violin case.’
‘I can still visit GL4?’
‘Of course, we haven't faked your death or anything, travel as you please, just be ready for the jobs when them come up.’
‘It's nice down here, but I miss the team sometimes, a beer and a laugh.’
‘You can still do that, room at the base, they don't charge for them.’
Back at GL4 I told them I had been to Monte Carlo with a nice blonde, no one believing me.
David called at 4pm. ‘The Americans are trying to extradite the publisher and writer of that book, it's mainlining in the German media.’
‘Does the German public support the writer?’
‘Some do, they are very liberal. German human rights lawyers are trying to delay any extradition hearing, but I dare say the CEO is very worried, a life in a federal prison is not as good as a retirement plan to the South of France with his wife.’
‘Do you know who the writer is?’
‘His identity is being guarded by the publishers, so we're taking legal action as well, citing him as handling stolen government files. Is that publishing company likely to suffer any ... mishaps?’
‘Depends on what you and the Americans come up with first.’
Friday, and Rizzo called. ‘We found something, stream with gold in, small bits, but the experts with us said the place had been dug out years ago, still some rusted old tools around.’