by Geoff Wolak
He sighed, ‘Yeah, need to look at that one. But you helped, so thanks for coming.’ He stood. We stood.
‘We came to get some money for saving the Nimitz,’ I told him.
They laughed. ‘We're tight bureaucrats unfortunately.’
Out the White House we reclaimed the vans, and we headed to Tiny's hotel with a Secret Service escort assigned to us, and since it was a posh hotel they would not mind. I hoped.
I had a chat to the manager, and when he found out who I was he could not do enough to accommodate us. Up in the room I thanked the Secret Service guys, and two stood outside the door. I told them we were jet lagged and might sleep some.
‘Are you jet lagged?’ I asked her.
‘Not really.’ She peered out the window. ‘White House is over there and left, past that big old horrid brick thing. On the TV this looks nice, but this ain't nice.’
‘We could get a tour.’ I checked my watch and called David.
‘Ah, I just caught it on the news.’
‘It was live?’ I puzzled.
‘Yes, did you clean your teeth?’
‘Ha ha, I had a mask on.’
‘You set them straight, a good jab to the throat of Congress though, so avoid them for a while. The CIA will be happy with you, you shouted their cause loudly enough.’
‘I showed the President a speech, then binned it.’
‘Ah, so we can expect a complaint or two.’
‘No, they were happy, they're Democrats, they don't get the good bribes from big business. I'll avoid the Republicans.’
‘That congressmen is a Republican, links to weapons producers.’
‘What a shocker.’
‘You let the bad boys off the hook a little...’
‘I needed to water it all down, or the CIA suffer and we suffer. Chat tomorrow.’
Call ended, it bleeped, so I called back the Deputy Chief. ‘You after me?’
‘That speech, they checked it first?’
‘They checked the one I had prepared, not the one I gave.’
He laughed. ‘Little shit, I knew it was not approved.’
‘Was it to your liking?’
‘Of course, and the team here are all happy, brighter faces on a few. And I'm sure that the FBI love you to bits.’
‘Maybe they won't try and kill me, I can get a tour in. And my girl, Tiny, she got a gold plaque from the Navy for saving the Nimitz.’
‘Sell it.’
‘She will.’
‘Come visit, meet the team.’
‘Any day, just call and we'll come. How far is it?’
‘An hour's drive.’
‘No flash helicopters?’ I teased.
‘Not on our budgets, no.’
After a shower, and sex on the bed trying not to be too loud – Secret Service outside the door and Tiny giggling, we ordered room service and watched TV, and I was soon seeing myself on the screen.
‘Do I look fat there?’
‘No, big frame, and it's the jacket.’
CNN had a debate with a panel, debating just who was to blame, some criticism of those politicians that took money and set an example. But they were echoing what I said, that the rank and file were not to blame.
Our Delta, the one that had clobbered me, was seen being loaded to a USAF plane in handcuffs and ankle chains, hood over his head, followed by the Berlin FBI Chief seen being bundled into a van, again handcuffed. We were making progress, but it was all out there.
My phone trilled. ‘Major, it's Senator Delaney, you in the middle of something?’
‘Not if you're buying I'm not.’
He laughed. ‘I can be at the hotel in half an hour.’
‘Not been spying on me I hope.’
‘Certainly not. Room 501 yeah?’
‘Yes.’
We cleaned up the room and they took away the trolley, but I called down to the front desk and told them when Senator Delaney arrived to bring up a trolley up of tea and coffee and nibbles. Seems that they were used to these sorts of things.
Half an hour later we heard voices, a knock at the door, and I checked the peep hole, Delaney with his own bodyguards. Door open, I said to my Secret Service guys, ‘Check him out, he could be an imposter.’
They smiled, Delaney leaving his guards to chat with mine, and he came in with a second man I had not met. Delaney was short and a little fat, wild hair that was light grey, his assistant younger, tall and thin, clipboard and notebook in hand, bag over his shoulder.
Door closed, they sat, and the trolley was just a minute behind them, let in, the maid withdrawing.
I poured the coffees. ‘This is Tiny, a British agent, and she saved your Nimitz.’
‘Ah, that lady.’
‘I got a crummy gold plaque,’ she complained, and they laughed.
‘Typical Pentagon.’
‘I'll value it and sell it.’
‘She is a bit … mercenary,’ I told them. ‘We always find the dead enemy agents with empty pockets.’
‘They won't miss it,’ she told them.
I finally sat. ‘So, how are my ratings?’
‘Your ratings are excellent, and they showed the two-hour specials on Panama, an up-tick in recruitment.’ He gestured towards Tiny. ‘Is this young lady in the loop?’
‘Yes, and she works outside the law and off the books, not for London.’
‘London … is normally a bit lame.’ He waited.
‘I created my own team outside their gaze, but they know, and we're self-funding and we follow direction, but we have no oversight. I was thinking of calling it … Euro Deep State, like Euro-Disney.’
They smiled widely. ‘A colourful name.’
‘You know about Chevron?’
‘What … about Chevron?’ he puzzled.
‘They've been bankrolling the FBI Deep State.’
My two guests exchanged a look. ‘You are an annoyingly well informed man. What action is being taken?’
‘CIA London know, they have the files, but no one is pushing yet. We're hoping to do it quietly. Their subsidiary, West African Oil and Gas, is the operational body. Money flows out from it.’
‘We'll have a look, because I know the head of Chevron.’
‘I think he's been less than candid with you.’
They again exchanged a look.
‘And the FBI men?’
‘Berlin FBI Chief was picked up, he was linked to the Russian that helped another man manage the ship with the uranium. The Russian was just the hired help. No other senior men found, and the Toronto chief talked.’
‘Your people?’
‘You might think that, I could not possibly comment.’
‘Well, they've been doing a good job, better than lame old London would have ever done.’
‘I push back, London has rules.’
‘And your opinion of our own foot soldiers?’
‘We'll see how well they do after your reorganisation.’
‘This room..?’
‘Booked by Tiny here, random choice, no one has had access or the time.’
He nodded. ‘How are our Wolves doing?’
‘All good men, and ideal at irregular warfare and battlefield spying, good for assassination work as well.’
‘Senator Phillson's death was … textbook, and made a lot of people smile. But please, if you know who might have been behind it, no hits with the prints of Elvis left behind.’
‘Elvis, I'll keep that in mind.’
‘So the Wolves could be used for irregular warfare, penetration behind the lines, sneak peek or shoot someone?’
‘Yes, walk in or parachute in. My British Wolves are in Kosovo, and I won't lose any sleep over it. There are just two teams of four, but no one will ever find them, and if they did find them … they'd lose forty men in the first volley.
‘Tiny here asked me how good they were compared to how I performed in Bosnia the first time, and the fact is they're better, they've benefited from me training
them and designing the kit. They've all gone across borders, no evidence left behind, and no stress evident.’
‘And this man Murphy?’
‘A super soldier in all areas, but he sounds odd. He'll walk a hundred miles behind the lines, shoot someone a thousand yards out, and walk back without being seen. He grew up poaching game in Kentucky. We take the piss out of him because he sees a bit of fresh road kill and wants to eat it.’
They smiled, shaking heads. ‘Road kill don't stay there in Kentucky, it goes home to be cooked. And what's the key to recruitment?’
‘SIS developed a profiling technique that we gave you, and we combine that with a good camaraderie, in that the older men pass on the attitude to the younger men. We have no idiots, no stiff officers, no punishments, no bullies. A good team spirit helps.
‘The profile is of someone with potential that is under-utilised and bullied in their original units, a bit crazy but not too crazy. We give them a pride and a team, and they excel.’
‘And some could be recruited for … civilian work?’
‘Yes, but if you separate them from the team that would be a mistake; they need somewhere to go home to afterwards. My Wolves do jobs for London and tell no one, not even me.’
‘You could select some?’
‘Yes, in time. I would need to spend time with them. But if you need someone hit in Europe or Africa, let us know.’
The second man gestured towards Tiny. ‘And this lady's area?’
‘She'll seduce you, slit your throat, cut off your cock and toss it out the window, and empty your wallet.’
He swallowed as Tiny grinned at him.
Delaney noted, ‘A departure from London's lame days.’
‘Circumstances dictate; people keep trying to kill me. I'm simply trying to stay alive a week longer.’
‘That bomb at your house was a bit lame...’
‘Yes, they could have done a better job of it. It would have been placed against the window where I was sleeping, and might have killed me, but that was not certain. It blew when he primed it, five yards from the window.’
‘Not a pro,’ Delaney noted. ‘But well placed in the Wolves, something that annoyed me greatly.’
‘You really had no idea about the FBI?’ I pressed.
‘We heard things, but they never crossed our path or interfered in anything. They did a damn good job of keeping it all quiet.’
‘Spying on you all along via the idiot in the DOD.’
‘Yes, but I think he regrets his life choices.’
‘Any more organisations … out there?
‘We'd know, so I'd say no. That colonel in the Pentagon was a surprise, but we've found no other penetration of the military.’
‘Groups come and go. Another will come around in a few years,’ I told them. ‘As for their motivation, I'd have to lean towards them wanting a war in Iraq.’
‘We do as well, we don't want to leave Saddam there.’
‘Saudis like the buffer with Iran, I'm sure.’
‘They'd also like their oil fields secure, and Saddam is close to them.’
‘He's given up his rockets and chemicals..?’
‘Yes, but his army is large and a threat to the region.’
‘Kill him, and some other idiot will take over, and that idiot might be just as bad.’
‘It would need a policy that brought a functioning government, and that means inclusion.’
‘Sunni and Shia at the same table. Good luck.’
He shrugged. ‘Next year’s headache.’
‘Any objectives in Kosovo?’
‘Waste of time, no strategic value or resources.’
The second man put in, ‘Liberian inland oil will flow in days.’
‘Does that help, in the grand scheme of things?’
‘Oil outside the Gulf is always a good thing, just in case.’
I nodded. ‘I was fighting there for years without knowing the full story.’
‘There's always a story behind the story,’ Delaney told me. ‘But you did well there, developed the team and the tactics, built up the reputation.’
‘Nearly lost Echo a week back, that car bomb was very well planned. Could have got me and most of my men.’
‘Then I hope you keep men separate to some degree from now on.’
‘We have extra bullet-proof fences and sandbag walls, to lessen the effect of a car bomb, and the bar that the men use outside the base is now off limits, we have an internal bar instead. If you saw the sandbags at my base you'd think it was 1941.’
‘Doesn't have to be pretty, so long as it works. And you're not inclined to quit?’
‘Hell no. I get angry, not want to run away. I want to catch all the shits trying to kill me, and that's the personality trait that pushed me on. When people saw me do well they wanted to cut my legs off, and that just pushed me on. It's a trait that I see in some of the Wolves.’
He nodded. ‘Your comments about our medics led to a shake-up, and those medics you complained about were punished; they all had a month in tents and rations. Still, they're supposed to be ready, not whining about it.’
‘Small wars are great for developing your teams.’
‘We know that now, had a good shake-up.’
The second man asked, ‘Desert Sands. You know who was behind the attack?’
‘The Saudis. But the man who paid for it got hit by a long-casing Teflon round apparently.’
‘Along with his family,’ the man noted.
‘Mahoney was family to me.’ I held my stare on him.
‘And the motivation?’ Delaney asked.
‘I would have thought you knew, or had the contacts. I can only speculate that the Saudi system is an octopus with many legs, none talking to the other.’
‘We talk to their government, who need our military. We take their oil, they get to stay in power and treat their royal subjects any way they like.’
‘For a moment there I thought you said loyal subjects.’
He smiled. ‘Some are, the rich at least.’
‘Anything you want me looking at in the months ahead?’
‘More training, more teams getting some exposure. Kosovo doesn't interest me.’
‘Liberia,’ the second man put in. ‘It would help if it was clean and trouble free.’
‘That I can help with, yes. A labour of love for me.’
With the visitors gone we sat and ordered tasty burgers with sauces and chicken wings, and we watched a movie, the TV offering up hundreds of channels. But I had carefully checked the chairs where they had sat – for any bugs, none found. Still, I whispered at Tiny for her to be careful in here.
In the morning we asked our minders about a tour, and the hotel could organise one, vans organised. Tiny was the rich one out of the two of us, a card from Bob Staines, so she paid, and we were soon on our way back towards the Pentagon and to the vast Arlington Cemetery next door.
I asked our keen driver, ‘Do they have an index at the cemetery?’
‘Yeah, you can find relatives on the computer.’
We arrived at the visitors centre and caused a reaction with the Secret Service, ear pieces in and the men being obvious. Around here they knew an agent when they saw one. I asked about the index, and a nice lady attended the computer for me.
‘Do you have a name and date of death?’
‘Mahoney, Captain, recent, two years I think.’
‘Not so many recent entries,’ she said as she typed, soon finding it, Section 21b, grave 478. I wrote it down and handed it to our guide.
Outside, we ran straight into a reporter, who took in the agents and then frowned at me, blocking my path.
‘Who are you?’ I asked.
‘Washington Post. And I recognise you even without the facemask, that actor in Camel Toe looks just like you.’
‘You can take a photo if you agree not to hassle me, and I'll agree not to punch you out.’
He tagged along in the vans, the agents keeping
an eye on him, and we stepped down in a long avenue, a small hill behind us, and I could see the Egyptian obelisk, known here as the Washington Monument, raised by the Freemasons. Those same Freemasons created Liberia, and gave the population the name: The Masonic Peoples of Liberia.
It was very odd to think back to men on horses debating the creation of a homeland for the slaves as I stared down the long road and all the grave markers. ‘So many,’ I told him.
He knew Mahoney's grave, and Mahoney had a physical grave, not a marker or a name on a wall. I placed on my facemask as we found it, other visitors staring our way, and I allowed him to photograph me as I read the inscription.
It hurt to think of him in there, his burnt and broken remains decaying, a cold lonely grave, and I was soon angered again at the Saudis; I wanted to kill that prince all over again.
I had not noticed the people walking our way, some in uniform, a young Marine in uniform and clutching a flag. When I turned he saluted, the reporter snapping away. ‘Thank you, Marine. You have someone here?’
‘Yes, sir, my father and my grandfather.’
‘Which wars did they die in?’
‘My grandfather died at the end of the Second World War, sir, and my father died in Iran, 1979.’
‘The revolution, and embassy siege.’ I shook his hand, said hello to his mother and reclaimed the vans, Tiny wrapped up warm.
Next stop was a long drive, an hour or more to Gettysburg, and we stopped in a diner for some food, Tiny paying for everyone. The chat on the way was about me killing the French agents in Paris, MP Pete's shoot-out and Tomo's shoot-out. These agents loved a good shoot-out.
‘I love these diners,’ I told the agents. ‘We don't have many like this in the UK, and these are better, good menus.’
Outside, we paid a fee and received tickets, the agents not having to pay after badges were flashed, and a guide with a thick accent was soon informing a group about the battles here. I led Tiny away and looked at the old photos in glass cases in a stiff cold wind.
‘In those days, if you got shot, the lead ball stayed inside you - the surgeons were basic, and you died slowly.’
‘My great grandfather was here.’
I was startled. ‘He was?’
‘Fighting for the south. His son then fled to England having stolen some money, started an estate in Hertfordshire, our family fortune.’