by Geoff Wolak
‘You need to understand that the MOB find men with weaknesses and exploit those weaknesses, money offered, large sums of money. And even if we get them all, today, more will come around in a year's time.
‘Men in power will always seek money. What's needed is for the men and women of the CIA and FBI to keep an eye on their colleagues and bosses, to report odd things, and not to be taken in by a moral political tale – that our politicians cannot be left to run things.
‘When you're being fed a story about how you could be part of an organisation that will re-shape things, make things better, just remember that it's about money, millions of dollars being tucked away, and that the ideology is just a front.
‘Rumour has it, that the head of the FBI's counter-terrorism unit ordered the assassination of Senator Phillson, because Phillson was dirty, a few senior men in the FBI playing at being God, taking the law into their own hands. But I think God pushes back when the need arises, and he moves in mysterious ways.
‘If you want to make the world a better place, do nothing other than vote at election time.’
Miller's boss called me at 9pm. ‘When I read your Reuters statement I was shocked, stunned, about to fall down. Then I read it again, and you are brilliant at this, the MOB blamed, money at the centre.
‘And CNN is now looking at a certain vehicle crash as being divine intervention, so we survive this without any damage.’
‘And the players?’
‘One had a heart attack today, which is odd because he's a marathon runner and very fit. And one just died from carbon monoxide poisoning as he drove home.’
‘Did he not notice the tube from the exhaust?’ I teased.
‘Not in time, no, crashed and died. And our friend at the DOD is having to explain why someone shot out his kneecaps, and what he was involved with. FBI are going through his home, and they will find a link, we made sure of that.
‘Anyway, you're winning friends over here with your statement, and that last sentence, that's up in Time Square, and the White House was happy with it.’
‘Get me a list of men linked in, men outside the States, and we'll make sure they don't seek future employment by using their past given skills.’
‘I have a list, some in Europe and Africa.’
‘Quickly please, before they end up at my gate.’
I went and found Sanderson. ‘What happened to the Yank, Stenson?’
‘They recalled him weeks ago, while you were away. Did no one tell you?’
‘No,’ I complained. ‘And the French guy, Pascal?’
‘He comes a few days a week, rest of the time at the embassy. We cooperate on Africa a great deal.’
I nodded. Thinking. Outside, I called Langley and asked that Stenson be traced, and straight away.
He called half an hour later. ‘Wilco, you after me?’
‘I was just wondering if you're still alive, not being tortured for information.
‘Hey, don't wish that on me.’
‘Tell me what was written on your office mug?’
‘It was a Simpson's mug. Doh!'
‘And the nice lady captain here...’
‘Had perky nipples.’
‘Just checking, I was worried about you.’
‘Well, you cut me out the loop by dealing direct, so they figured it a waste of time, and dangerous for my health. And I'm glad I ain't been there this week.’
‘Been quiet, we've all been fishing in the canal.’
‘Ha.’
‘You take care now, and if anyone takes an interest in the layout of this base, you let me know.’
‘I will do, yeah, but I put my papers in, I got the years in. I'm off to Arizona.’
‘Change your name, go off grid.’
‘Well that's what I was figuring on doing.’
In the morning I wandered around chatting to Echo men, most of them taking it easy, but Billy brought me some good news – the British Wolf with a nail in his lung would pull through. I spoke to the new MPs, all of them wary of being shot or blown up, but I assured them that we had dealt with the men responsible. They did not seem reassured.
The physiotherapists were now here, daytime only, and also wary. The lady masseuse was less than concerned, and I had a massage on my leg and around the stitches as my nurse looked on, the lady masseuse having been married to a soldier for twenty years and not perturbed by anything - apart from my scars when she first saw them, some colourful language used.
Echo men, those not injured, all had a check-up, the physiotherapist reporting that some had issues with old injuries. I told him to do the best he could for them. Billy had work on his back, and had been hiding an old injury from me. He was desk bound apart from his jaunt into Panama, so it did not matter.
In the Intel Room, Mutch proudly showed me his letter of commendation from SIS London.
‘So now you can do some laps and become a proper spy, eh?’
‘Well, let's not go that far. I'm a civilian. Still, right now I could beat you in a foot race.’
‘For a few weeks more,’ I noted.
Tinker stepped out. ‘Just picked up a Canadian at Heathrow, linked in. Also had the police raid an apartment in North London, cleaned out in a hurry, but we have his face so he won't get on a plane.’
‘Some progress then, I might live longer.’
Sanderson stepped out. ‘The RAF Facilities Manager is at your house, team of men, and they say they'll have it sorted quickly, new lick of paint and furniture.’
‘Can I get bullet-proof glass?’ I teased.
‘I'll ask, and they have glass that fits over the outside, so it'll be applied to the Officers Mess and other buildings with windows. Anyhow, MOD is happy to split the base, visitors in the west, fence and gate, that's going ahead. The wooden huts here will be moved, canteen built, pipes plumbed in from the old farm house.’
‘How's the new range, the village?’
‘Outside is done, many houses done, bare grey concrete for now. Army was thinking of a pre-deployment combat course for NCOs, sharpen them up.’
‘Sounds good, some practical training before a deployment.’
An hour later I was introduced to the four new 14 Intel lads outside the hangar by Sergeant Crab, the supposed good boys. ‘When did you get here?’
‘Two days ago, sir.’
‘So you had your christening then.’
‘Is it always like this, sir, because they did promise us some fishing time?’
I smiled. ‘It's like this when I upset people, and come spring the fishing will be good, yes, we have a mile of canal with ponds, and we stocked them with small fish.’
I pointed at the first man, in his late twenties and looking the part, a face that had taken a few hits. ‘Name and experience.’
‘Mascal, Engineers, para qualified, marathon runner, karate black belt, Everest climber, sir. They call me Muscles.’
‘Everest, eh. Good.’ I pointed at the second man.
‘Dobson, Welsh Guards but I'm not really Welsh, para qualified, marathon runner, electronics man, sir. They call me Dobbin.’
The third man was a good two inches taller than me.
‘Smith, RAF Regiment, para qualified, double marathon runner, and I speak Polish and Russian, sir. Call me Jonesy.’
‘Jonesy?’
‘Alias Smith and Jones, on the TV, Butch and Sundance.’
I nodded.
‘Snark, sir. Devon and Dorsets, then Paras, time in the Glasshouse, para qualified, marathon runner on a good day, scuba expert and underwater demolition. They call me Shark.’
‘Can't think why. OK, so you all want to do something foolish and dangerous, yes, drop behind the lines and shoot some people. So, we'll train you and test you, and if you do well you get to drop behind the lines and get your bollocks shot off.
‘Sergeant Crab, weapons training and testing, then a 24hr speed march for them, we'll see what they're made of.’
That evening I sat in Moran's hou
se with Ginger, Swifty and my nurse, a take-out curry fetched, Ginger nursing a leg wound, Moran displaying a slight cut above an eye.
On the video machine was Assault on Precinct 13, as recommended by Miller's boss. The black police lieutenant fired twenty rounds, from a hunting rifle, howls of derision in the lounge.
‘How many fucking rounds did he fire?’ Swifty challenged. ‘That's a bolt action rifle, no magazine. And that guy with the pistol and silencer, he had six in the chambers and fired twenty.’
‘It's Hollywood,’ I told them.
At the end of the movie the convicted murderer who helped out said, ‘I have moments.’
‘I have moments,’ I repeated. ‘I said that to a Yank and he recommended this film.’
‘Good music,’ Moran noted. ‘I listened to that as a kid. Lets' get the movie called The Keep.’
‘About the monster killing Nazis?’ Swifty asked.
‘Yeah, good music in that as well,’ Moran told him.
‘What about the movie, Bravo Two Zero?’ Ginger teased.
We all laughed. Loudly.
Doctor Morten stepped in after Swifty opened the door.
‘What you doing here with us hard working types?’ I asked without getting up, curry offered to our visitor.
‘The combat medics will have a team here, still a flight with 2 Squadron. I'm at Brize tonight, just checking on the house here.’
‘When your medics here don't have things to do they'll get training on the ranges,’ I told him.
He nodded. ‘All good for them, and being here will sharpen them up, the thousand yard stare. They asked about sandbags around the house.’
‘If they want to fill them, fine by me,’ I told him. ‘Bullet proof glass will be placed over the windows.’
‘They want a nuclear bomb shelter, they said.’ With the men laughing he faced Sarah. ‘How's my nurse doing?’
‘Looking after me, yes. And she helped during the bomb aftermath, all good training.’
‘She's down to rotate here,’ he noted.
‘We like her,’ I told him. ‘She's tough. If she goes back to a hospital and some old guy has an erection...’
The men laughed as the nurse scowled at me.
‘Where's 14 Intel?’ Swifty asked.
‘On courses, their own type of courses,’ I told him. ‘Back in time for Kosovo they said.’
In the morning I sat in the recreation shed for an hour, chatting to the British Wolves, as well as Murphy and Terry. Murphy had a shoulder wound, Terry had a cut ankle, but they just needed ten days down time.
Miller called lunchtime. ‘We have the CIA handler for the Wolf, and a second man. The Army was given correct orders regarding the visit, so we can't discipline any of them. And we have the CIA handler for the second Wolf, but he's a fake, or he was till he buried himself in a mud pit.’
‘Someone might find him in a thousand years.’
‘We won't be around to worry about that. I have a list of people for you to look at.’
I gave him Tinker's email address, and he would send it.
‘How did you know about the Toronto FBI chief?’ he asked.
‘I have a good team, Mister Miller, and they're getting better all the time,’ I threatened. ‘We're getting a great deal of practise, and improving all the time.’
‘So it seems, yes. Your Reuters release had me worried at first glance, but you muddied the waters nicely, a shift away from ideology to money, a good ploy.’
‘And is your house in order?’ I pressed.
‘We now have a tree-structure hierarchy, and no one is allowed to keep secrets, so everyone has an idea about what everyone else is doing, smaller number of people involved. And they've all been warned that doing their own thing comes with a very slow death.’
‘So, peace on Earth and goodwill to all men, eh.’
‘I wouldn't go that far, someone took my stapler.’
‘If you find it, check inside for bombs.’
‘I'll run the prints, then fix the guy's chair to collapse.’
Smiling, I cut the call and went and found Tinker. He received the email half an hour later – labelled up as ‘golf prospect enthusiasts', and sent it off to Reggie, a few men to be dealt with quickly. I finally thought that I could relax a little. I relaxed less when he pointed out that the email had been sent by ‘[email protected]'.
Tinker told me, ‘Deep Throat is a character on the X-Files, my favourite show.’
‘And Scully and Moulder were in the FBI,’ I noted. ‘Some of these guys need to get out more often.’ Tinker tested the email address later, and it was dead already. GCHQ traced it to Antarctica.
I walked once around the track with MPs tagging along, my hip still twinging, but I was sure that it was getting better, and I said hello to the numerous ‘D' Squadron teams here – all of whom were complaining about being here. In the upstairs range I observed as Crab worked the four new lads.
He told me, ‘They've had fuck all practise with a pistol, so they need to put in the hours first.’
‘Do so,’ I told him. ‘No hurry.’
Salome returned to us.
‘Where you been?’ I asked her outside the hangar.
‘Home. And I met my boss and his boss, and they are pleased with me. I told them we sleep together.’
I cocked an eyebrow. ‘Major, that was not a true statement.’
‘Maybe someday it will be, and I don't think they check. Would you say anything?’
‘You're asking me to lie about sleeping with an attractive woman. That's a tall order, Major.’
‘Maybe I walk around naked more often, just to annoy you, till you give in.’
I smiled. ‘I have no issues with you walking around naked, you're easy on the eye. And no, I won't give in, but I will avoid answering questions about your sexual technique if asked.’
She shrugged a shoulder. ‘Good enough.’
The next day I was summoned, a trip to London on the cards. I would, however, be sleeping in Chelsea Barracks, the SAS CT teams to protect me, or else. They had been warned by the head of the Army.
Graveson could limp well enough and so would come along, Nicholson and Swan to limp along with me. Taking no chances, an RAF Puma was sent for, and it whisked us up to Horseguards, my nurse still with me, all of us in uniform.
I walked well enough around to the back of No.10 and inside, my posse to wait in a side room. I met David Finch, and we were led in, the PM with the Defence Secretary and the Home Secretary.
‘Are you well?’ the PM asked me.
‘Just a limp and a little pain, sir.’
We sat, tea made.
‘You let the Americans off the hook with your statement, and just as well I suppose, we can't be seen to be accusing anyone when the evidence is light.’
‘And how the evidence was obtained … would be an issue, sir.’
‘Yes, quite. But where do we stand on this damn mess?’
‘I've been in touch with the Americans, and they've cleaned house, and those men that we know were involved are … no longer walking the streets, shall we say.’
‘One got rammed by a truck with no driver,’ the Home Secretary noted. ‘CNN joked that an angel was driving it.’
‘The American public can deal with the idea of an actual angel far better than the truth here,’ I told him.
‘Which is..?’
‘That right from the days of J.Edgar Hoover there was a Deep State group buried within the FBI, links to army officers and ex-CIA contractors, and a direct link to Manstein and the cruise missiles, and to the drugs and the Panama trade. But what I can tell you … is that dozens of key players involved are no longer walking the streets.
‘And … if I was not so famous, and my team were not in the spotlight, we would never have gotten involved in Panama. I made a rod for our own backs.’
‘With your successes, yes,’ the PM noted. ‘And now the CIA prefer to use you instead of their own damn people.’
‘I have the underworld contacts, sir.’
‘Will it go quiet now?’ the Defence Secretary asked.
‘It will be quiet ... in so far as the idiots causing problems in Panama have most all been dealt with, the remainder running scared. The head of the operation has been cut off, just the foot soldiers out there. And the CIA agent that recruited the Wolf to kill me has been caught.’
The PM put in, ‘Army gets a great deal of shit for not being able to defend a small base a mile across in rural Gloucestershire!'
‘We're up against some of the best spies in the world, not soldiers sneaking in. These men had been in place for decades. And, Prime Minister, you have to direct MI5 towards monitoring Americans and Canadians in London.’
They exchanged looks.
‘If that got out...’
‘Don't let it get out,’ I told him.
‘We'll look at it, yes. And your base will be reorganised, and split, more training for regular soldiers...’
‘Yes, sir, and courses for NCOs before they get deployed. We are giving back to the Army.’
‘Unlike the regular SAS,’ he unhappily noted.
‘We know who pays our wages, sir.’
‘Your men are all hurt?’
‘Most have small wounds, and we need ten days before you send us off to war.’
‘Kosovo will kick off in a month, so we think. At least that's the NATO timescale.’
‘We'll be ready for that, sir.’
‘Just mention of you being there will cause the Serbs to pull out,’ the Defence Secretary noted.
‘Then we'll enjoy a nice walk in the woods and pick-up no wounds,’ I told him.
‘That would be good.’
‘The Telegraph is running a story about the German book editor, the one that was going to expose you. He met a grisly end. Any clues?’
‘The CIA probably wanted him dealt with, and they use sub-contractors, so … it could have been any one of a hundred groups, most not even knowing who they're working for. But my men are all accounted for, and I was asleep.’