Wilco- Lone Wolf 21

by Geoff Wolak

  Swifty pointed at me and addressed her. ‘You learnt that from him. He checks the pockets of the dirtbags we kill, then uses the cash for the lads curry night.’

  ‘Why not,’ Tiny insisted. ‘Need to look after the team.’

  Swifty asked her, ‘You all spy woman now?’

  ‘Yep, training hard. House breaking, pickpocketing, tailing someone.’

  Without looking away from the TV, I told him, ‘Two men in Panama kidnapped her. She got loose, stabbed them both in the neck.’

  ‘Ouch,’ Swifty let out.

  ‘The little rascals touched me up as well.’

  I faced him. ‘That doctor we found, on the hill in Mexico, I went to see her.’

  ‘How's she doing?’

  ‘She has her own practise now, Panama.’

  Swifty turned his head to the nurse. ‘We're walking across this cold fucking hilltop at night, middle of nowhere, bodies scattered around, when we find a woman going into labour.’

  ‘Christ...’

  ‘We got her out of there, local doctor to deliver the baby. Wilco gave her some cash and sent her off home.’

  ‘Engaged now,’ I told them.

  Swifty told her, ‘In Sierra Leone, first mission, we found an albino baby and saved it. Over there the women dump them.’

  ‘I know, they're seen as bad spirits,’ she responded. ‘That baby was at the hostage rescue reunion run by The Sun newspaper. I was on the Chinook in Angola.’

  I snapped my head around. ‘That was you?’

  ‘After that I went back to wards, then joined the team again a year back.’

  ‘That's why I never remembered you from the missions,’ I noted. I thumbed at Swifty. ‘Dickhead here let himself get shot in the head in Angola. I thought I'd lost him.’

  ‘I tended him in the Chinook.’

  ‘Small world!' Tiny loudly let out. ‘And here he is sat next to you all these years later, rich man with great prospects, and grateful ...’

  ‘Ha,’ the nurse let out.

  ‘He is rich,’ I told her. ‘Inherited his uncle's house.’

  ‘Two hundred grand,’ Swifty told her.

  ‘Curry on you then,’ she told him, a look exchanged.

  ‘Bring me back some,’ I told them. ‘And don't worry about me sat here, I have lots of people looking after me.’

  ‘Like me,’ Tiny put in.

  ‘Like Doc Willy,’ I cut in, getting a scowl from Tiny. I told her, ‘We'll chat about mission plans tomorrow, go bond with the team eh.’

  ‘OK, grumpy.’

  ‘And when I go to London, you check the hotel for deadly assassins.’

  ‘When are you going to London?’ she asked.

  ‘When I can move with less pain. Get to Salzburg for a few days please.’

  Painkiller taken, I lay down and left Swifty and my nurse to chat in the kitchen.

  In the morning, Billy came in. ‘Had a request for bodyguards, government team in Bosnia and Kosovo, tricky negotiations.’

  ‘I guess they still don't trust the regular SAS. How many lads?’

  ‘Four man team I guess, gives 24hr cover. Three days.’

  ‘Send Ginger as officer in charge, with … Nicholson, Tiller and Brace. All clean cut and presentable.’

  ‘Tomo wanted to go.’

  ‘Ha.’

  An hour later and Tomo was stood in front of me with Nicholson, explaining his suitability, and skills with the pistol. And bitching and moaning.

  ‘Tomo, if you dick about with a minister I get it in the neck. I can't trust you.’

  He seemed hurt. ‘I did the bodyguard work in Colombia, and I can do this, just three days, I won't say a word.’

  ‘If I let you go, and there's a complaint,’ I warned, ‘you will be punished for it, a heavy fine, and cutting the grass on the airfield with a pair of fucking scissors! You want to take that risk?’

  ‘I can be a professional bodyguard,’ he insisted.

  I glanced at Nicholson. ‘You want him along, sat in a car with a government minister?’

  ‘He can behave when he wants to, Boss. And if he don't I'll clobber him.’

  I considered the request, my nurse sat observing. ‘Replace someone then. And Nicholson, tell Rocko that if we get a complaint about Tomo he gets fined a thousand pounds.’

  Nicholson turned to Tomo, who now looked worried, and waited.

  Tomo swallowed. ‘I can do it, you'll see.’

  With the guests gone, my nurse began, ‘Bit of a lad that one. He slapped my arse in Liberia and I slapped him.’

  ‘Keep slapping him, or use a fist,’ I told her. ‘But he's one of my best soldiers, so I have to give him some leeway.’

  Doc Willy popped in for a chat and to check the stitches, Swifty taking my nurse to the pub for lunch, away from the lads. When the door opened it was Henri, now a captain, and now in civvy clothes.

  ‘Oh my god, it's Captain Henri!' I quipped.

  He sat, his front teeth missing, his face bruised still.

  ‘Looks like a captain,’ Doc Willy noted.

  Henri touched his gums. ‘I ‘av the dentist, no.’

  ‘You will, the best money can buy. Go see Billy, tell him we have the cash, best dentist in Oxford, and you go tomorrow. Can't have a captain looking like a rugby player.’

  Henri nodded. ‘I have many medals, and a French businessman, he give me fifty thousand euro.’

  ‘Rich man now, so quit and have a life on a beach, live to be old and happy.’

  ‘Pah, what life outside. This is home.’

  I stared into his eyes for a moment. ‘If this is home to you, then you stay as long as you like, old man. You, Rocko and Dicky, you comfort each other.’

  He shrugged. ‘It is true, yes.’

  ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘Bruises, ribs hurt, I walk with some pain, but … it will be OK in a week or so.’

  ‘Then take it easy, see Doc Willy here if you need anything, painkillers to sleep.’

  ‘You … you need painkiller to sleep?’

  I nodded. ‘And when I am awake.’

  ‘You will walk again?’

  ‘Walk, yes, run … I don't know. I cracked my hip, now a pin in there, some extra scars.’

  ‘Dicky and Swifty?’ he asked.

  ‘Both OK, just bruises and some time. Do me a favour, ask Billy to get more of the dummy mortars, the ones that don't explode, for the Wolves and anyone who needs some training. Get fifty, and reload them each time after you clean them, and you start teaching.’

  He nodded. ‘We ‘av to not hit the fish.’

  ‘If you hit the fish the MPs will shoot you.’

  ‘There was trouble here..?’

  ‘An old man, ninety-two, no driving license and no brains left. He drove down our road and crashed the gate.’

  ‘How they let him drive at this age?’

  ‘They didn't, they took his license away.’

  ‘Ah. Maybe they take the car, eh.’

  ‘The police will get some shit, yes.’

  He headed off to see Billy. I faced Doc Willy. ‘They can fix those teeth?’

  ‘Yes, marvellous what the dentists can do these days, but I'm afraid he has a week of pain and discomfort to endure.’

  ‘He's used to it.’

  That evening Moran came over with the nice lady captain, and sat with Swifty and my nurse, something of a party atmosphere as we watched the film about Mahoney, a few howls of derision at the action.

  At one point even the nurse pointed out a man using his rifle incorrectly. We wound back and she was correct.

  Graveson brought in curry takeaway, enough for six people, and he joined us as we sat about the stuffy lounge, my bed upright in a corner.

  At noon the next day the call came in, shoot-out in Bosnia, a bloodbath. My face fell, and I was about to have Tomo assassinated.

  I called Nicholson. ‘It's me. What the fuck happened?’

  ‘We were in a vehicle convoy when Tomo spotte
d an armed man, so as we stopped he jumped out, and we were at the traffic lights in traffic so a bit stuck if they opened up. As he walked over they came from all sides, ten of them.’

  ‘The minister was hurt?’

  ‘No, but a window got hit. Tomo hit ten men with ten headshots, but he's covered in blood head to toe.’

  ‘He's dead?’ I panicked.

  ‘No, but he managed to get four scrapes and a ricochet, the stupid fuck. His nice grey suit is ruined, that upset him.’

  ‘And if he hadn't jumped out?’

  ‘They'd have stood and fired at us. One had an AK47, rest had pistols, which was a bit lame – for attacking a vehicle convoy. Anyhow, MPs say we weren't the target, was a local politician behind us. So they might have shot that guy instead.’

  ‘Tell Tomo we'll buy him a new suit. And tell Ginger to fly the idiot back.’

  ‘Tomo went in the ambulance somewhere.’

  ‘Go check, get the MPs to follow.’

  ‘They went with him.’

  ‘I'm worried.’

  ‘About Tomo's wounds?’

  ‘No, about him being near nurses.’

  Nicholson laughed loudly as I cut the call.

  David Finch called. I could hear the sigh.

  I cut in, ‘Before you start, it was not our fault, and the gunmen were targeting a local politician in the car behind. My man did the right thing, I can't fault him for it.’

  ‘He's badly wounded they said...’

  ‘Just scrapes, so some skin grafts. Relax, eh. And let me know want the PM says.’

  I called Max and detailed the action, with a little spin. He'd have it on Reuters straight away.

  The MP Captain came in at 6pm. ‘My mate in Bosnia called me, and they got the CCTV of Tomo shooting the place up, going to send it over. The gunmen were KLA, after a pro-Serb politician, so your man killed the same bunch of Kosovans that you're planning to go support.’

  I glanced at Swifty. ‘Marvellous, just fucking marvellous.’

  ‘Not our fault,’ Swifty insisted. ‘Man with a gun at the traffic lights, classic ambush. Tomo was right. Their fucking fault. And those fucking KLA like to rape and kill for fun, and we're going to help those twats.’

  ‘Politics,’ I sighed out.

  ‘No need to swear,’ the captain said before he left us.

  Billy came over at 9am. ‘Tomo is in a Zagreb hospital, being flown back today. He had three skin grafts, so a bit painful I guess. No complaints from the hospital yet about his behaviour.’

  ‘That's a benefit, no nurses slapping him.’

  ‘The Sun newspaper made a show of it. Apparently, Tomo killed ten men in six seconds. The CCTV was aired in Bosnia. You can't see it's Tomo clearly because his face his covered in blood. Can't show it over here, people being killed and all.’

  At 9pm the MP Captain came in, with a VHS tape. I sent for Moran and Mitch, and we sat down together, Swifty operating the VHS tape machine.

  Swifty began, ‘Look at the brazen idiot.’

  Tomo could be seen walking calmly over to the pavement, pistol down at his side, first two men killed with headshots, a spin around, second four men killed on the opposite side of the road, a turn back, four men hit as they rushed in, all heads snapped back.

  Tomo swapped his magazine as he backed-up slowly, glancing around, but he never cocked, so he had one in the chamber, Nicholson joining him, but Nicholson's face was not clear, the shot from the side.

  ‘Good shooting,’ Swifty commended. ‘All that time on the range paid off.’

  ‘Ruined his suit,’ Mitch noted. ‘You don't get blood out of a grey jacket.’

  ‘I'll buy him one,’ I put in. ‘And those men he killed, they’re the ones we're supposed to go in and train and fight with.’

  ‘Oh great,’ Moran let out. ‘Tomo will meet their mates in the trees and wind them up.’

  ‘Be a shoot-out,’ Mitch warned before he took the tape over to the recreation shed to show the Wolves and the rest of Echo.

  Moran noted, ‘We have a good reputation on the pistol. First MP Pete, now this. Those wanting to shoot at our politicians must be worried.’

  ‘A benefit,’ I sighed out.

  In the morning The Sun newspaper had still images from the tape somehow, but Tomo could not be identified. I called Bob, and he would have the tape put onto these new CDs things they used for video, and he would send it to the media in the States and around the world. At least the French were not claiming credit, I told him.

  He called back that afternoon. ‘Team in Salzburg with Tiny, and Tinker used the database I sent him, parking fines, and we have someone of interest, calls made to the wrong countries for just an innocent local civilian.’

  ‘Grab him, make him talk. Oh, what's happening about that German publisher?’

  ‘He's fighting extradition, still not giving up the writer.’

  ‘Take the gloves off, make it loud. Send a message.’

  ‘One loud message coming up.’

  In the morning the news was not pretty, the German news. The editor had been found hung-up and mutilated, his driver shot dead.

  Bob called at 10am. ‘The editor gave up a name, so we're tracking him down, he's hiding in Switzerland.’

  ‘And the man in Salzburg?’

  ‘Tiny has had him overnight, and he's working for a Russian gangster, no links to Deep State yet or to South Africa, but he is definitely linked in, he knew about the ship – he organised fresh water and fuel for the ship and got the four-man team on board, the bad boys you killed.’

  ‘That Russian is being paid, and maybe he doesn't know who he's really working for.’

  Tomo returned to us via an RAF ambulance, civvy clothes, a loose fitting tracksuit when he came in to me with Doc Willy, plastic pads on the scrapes, a silly white bicycle helmet on his head.

  ‘It wasn't my fault,’ he got out first.

  ‘We saw the tape.’

  ‘Tape?’

  ‘CCTV from the traffic lights, all the lads have seen it, so … good shooting and well done, you'll get a cash bonus and a new suit. Take it easy or those scrapes won't heal, no movement at all, just sit down or lay down or you'll fuck-up the healing.’

  With Tomo gone I sent for Rocko. ‘Have someone watch Tomo, because he's a twat and will open up his skin grafts. He needs to sit still for a week, so rotate a bodyguard detail. And no beer or girls for him!'

  ‘Can I lock him in the armoury?’

  ‘Actually, that's not a bad idea, but don't let him clean weapons, no movement at all. And go see the Brigadier, tell him I want two MOD physiotherapists here for the lads, and a massage woman – not a good looking one! Use the medical bay.’

  With Rocko gone I got my trainers on with some help, and wrapped up warm I stepped out with my nurse. It was a pleasant day but cold, so I strolled slowly down to the canteen and around to the hangar, American Wolves seen in teams jogging past. At the hangar I cut through to the range as the cracks sounded out, soon stood observing Wolves go over the left-firing range, a chat to Sergeant Crab.

  Walking on, I stopped to greet two MPs fishing; it was their day off. Now I could see the new green fencing beyond the canal, barbed wire as well.

  Back at the hangar I walked slowly in, my nurse at my elbow, and we progressed very slowly up the steps. In the Intel room I sat, a tea made for me.

  ‘Getting better?’ Sanderson asked.

  ‘Slowly.’

  ‘MOD wants to have permanent medics here, if we're to have outsiders using the live firing ranges.’

  ‘Seems like a good idea.’ I turned to my nurse. ‘Call Mister Morten, explain that to him, RAF medics here when we have live firing, which is most weekdays I guess. Two medics for each range, and ask him for an old RAF ambulance to be here, stretchers. Tell him to type it up and send it up the line, but to send someone here straight away please.’

  She got on the phone.

  Sanderson noted, ‘MOD want to close RAF Lyneham.’<
br />
  ‘More cutbacks,’ I responded.

  ‘The Hercules squadrons will go to Brize Norton. Two or three years they estimate.’

  ‘Close enough for the staff to move. And there are empty barrack blocks at Brize Norton.’

  ‘Any clues as to who was behind the uranium?’

  ‘We know about the South Africa link, but we're missing a few American gentlemen. Just got a link to a Russian, but I'm thinking he was just the hired help.’

  ‘American … ex agency?’

  ‘Ex something, the men were not waiting tables for a living.’

  ‘They had to be quite well connected to get the men in place to attack your hospital in Gibraltar.’

  Harris cut in, ‘It was all over the news in Spain and Europe, sir, no great intel coup for them. They had 36hrs to get men in place. But amateurs, a rushed job.’

  ‘Yes, amateurs,’ Sanderson agreed. ‘Since they fell to Mutch's sword.’

  Faces creased into smiles.

  Thinking about Mutch, I called London from a landline.

  ‘Duty Officer.’

  ‘It's Wilco. Given what my man Mutch did in Gibraltar, I think he should receive an award.’

  ‘An award!' the man protested.

  ‘And a letter of commendation, good work, etc.’

  ‘You're doing this just to taunt me, aren't you!’

  ‘Not at all, pass it up the line,’ I said with a grin.

  ‘I'd rather shoot Mutch.’

  ‘Don't be jealous of another man's great skills.’

  ‘Great skills..!'

  I cut the call, Harris having heard.

  ‘Secret Agent Scorpio, MBE,’ he suggested.

  ‘Do they hand MBEs to hired consultants?’ I puzzled.

  ‘Anyone can get one.’

  Billy stepped in. ‘Ah, Wilco, I sorted a dentist for Henri, Oxford, expensive as fuck. Two three-hour operations.’

  ‘I hate dentists,’ I told them. ‘Will it be strong afterwards?’

  ‘Stronger than before, pins in place,’ Billy told us.

  ‘And Dicky?’

  ‘Cracked a tooth, yes, I'll send him. Henri will set us back five grand.’

  ‘Five grand? Fuck. Sort some courses for Henri and some training,’ I told Billy. ‘He has to at least know what it is to be a captain.’