by Geoff Wolak
I turned to Major Bradley. ‘I got to go wash and change, up to London for a grilling, be back in a few days, sir.’ I faced the gang. ‘You did very well with the poison, but you may never get the recognition or the thanks you deserve, and the people of Paris don’t know you exist.’
I took out my new medal and handed it to Major Sanderson. ‘Put in on the wall in a glass case, please, because it’s yours as much as mine. And you can each wear it for a day if you like.’
Sanderson pinned it on Tinker’s tie, making them laugh.
Tinker said, ‘This don’t mean I have to do something daft, like run into a building full of nerve gas, does it?’
‘Daft ... was the key word in that sentence,’ I told him with a smile. ‘Remind me not to do things like that in the future.’
Changed into civvy clothes, holster on and pistol checked, I locked the house and joined MP Pete, who was also now in civvies. I dumped a small bag in the car and we set off, Pete wanting all the detail.
On the M4 I called Max. ‘Listen, quote for you, you can name me. The poison was never likely to be released from the air, the terrorists wanted to put it in the water supply, so respirators for police officers would have made no difference at all. If all police officers had respirators, chemical suits and suitable training, then it would be a huge waste of tax payer’s money.
‘This was the first such attack ever, and there may not be another one for twenty years, so we need to plan with cool heads and realism. As for the preparedness of military bases, the poison would never have gone near a military base, but the military does still have an outdated Cold War mentality in some areas.
‘What’s needed is a limited-size chemical reaction team for London, with access to helicopters to get them around the country, a part time reaction team, but they may just do nothing for twenty years.’
‘OK, got all that. You trying to wade into the debate?’
‘No, just stating the truth. We shouldn’t panic for something that may never happen. Run with it quickly, and I’ll pop by for an interview soon, on the way up now.’
Phone away, MP Pete said, ‘Can’t give every copper a fucking NBC suit.’
‘Police chiefs don’t want to piss me off, so my statement may cool the debate – keep the fucking Prime Minister happy.’
‘Elections in May, and he’s not running.’
‘Great, some new idiot,’ I said with a sigh.
At the MOD building I signed in.
‘Welcome back.’
I lifted my head to the sour-faced elderly clerk. ‘That’s the first time in four years you’ve done anything other than grunt at me or criticise my fucking hand writing.’
I left his colleagues smirking at him and climbed familiar stairs, soon into David’s assistant, who led me along to a conference room, a dozen bodies in it already, white boards set-up. I had known that this was possible, but my shoulders dropped anyhow.
Coffee made, they wanted a detailed timeline, and it took four long hours, sandwiches brought in, and David only appeared at the end.
David began, ‘The French are very happy with you, and us, and the Prime Minister is happy, but what could leak about this operation?’
‘Leak?’
‘Things where you stretched the law.’
I straightened. ‘Having met with Colonel Bennet, my legal counsel, and thought about it, I’ve decided not to discuss that, not even with you. If you want an answer, I’ll put it in writing the same day that you put my instructions in writing. Clear enough?’
‘Then ... perhaps we can discuss such matters in private,’ he said, appearing a little shocked, and led me out with his assistant. In his office, his second office since he had one in Vauxhall, we sat.
‘Is there ... a problem?’ he delicately nudged.
‘Problem is me trying to stay out of prison, and a lack of clear direction from you. You know I bend the rules, and downright break the law, and the list is growing month by month. Someday real fucking soon I’m going to face charges whilst doing what you, the Director, and the Prime Minister wants. You want results, and you don’t care that much how I get them, and you’ve never warned me not to cross the damn line.
‘So I do what’s necessary, and I kill and torture, and get the result that everyone wants. But a year from now some journalist or some politician will drop me in it. Panama is a big risk, the cartel job was a big risk, getting the ambassador’s son was a big risk, and now this French job – a huge fucking risk!’
He took a minute, a bit shocked by my outburst. ‘Did ... Bob Staines warn you not to cross the line?’
‘No, he keenly sent me off to kill people.’
‘Well, I’m not sure what the answer is, or ... what the particular issue is other than we’ve stretched the rules -’
‘I’ve tortured people in front of witnesses, played at Petrov, transported ten tonnes of fucking drugs! Those are not rule stretches, they come with twenty-five years each!’
He nodded. ‘And ... this latest job with the French has brought this to the fore more.’
‘There were a dozen incidents where I broke the law in three fucking days – I had to move quickly.’
‘And we are all very grateful for that...’
I sighed, and looked out the window at the grey buildings opposite. ‘I knew what I was doing, and I would have done anything to stop that poison. I balanced up my life and my career, and I chose to throw away both if it meant stopping the poison. But then you wake up the next day and life goes on, enquiries held, post mortem done, difficult questions asked.’
‘And ... your particular frustration?’
‘A growing fear of a prison cell, for one. My list of actions is growing rapidly; one will get out.’
‘Well, we’d do all we could to stop that, and we can be effective when we want to be, and the Home Secretary will assist. If you stand trial, so do we.’
I testily stated, ‘You can hide behind plausible deniability, and that I went too far. And with little shits in the JIC wanting to see me taken down, it’s not just about being careful, it’s about some shit deliberately sending evidence to the media.’
David’s assistant cut in with, ‘The French are very happy, and the soldiers who shot up Hammad’s villa are national heroes right now, jokes made about a man they executed in cold blood. So ... how about we chat to the French, ask a favour, and some soldiers get a minor reprimand for doing the things that you did. You can’t be charged later on if someone else has already been charged with it.’
‘It’s a long list,’ I told him.
‘Then we work down the list,’ he insisted. ‘And we muddy the waters. As for Panama, how about the French sign a piece of paper that accepts you were under their control 100%, and they ordered you to do it.’
I frowned at the man. ‘You think they’d go for it?’
‘We can ask. CIA might help as well.’
David said, ‘I’ll meet with my opposite number in France very soon and at least start the process, and we’ll start a process here of losing evidence and talking to people. You’re right ... in that there have been a great many operations launched recently, and all come with the inherent risk of getting out there, myself answering questions under oath – and I’d rather not do that. If you’re worried, I’m worried also.’
David’s assistant asked, ‘You’re starting to have doubts about this kind of work?’
I told him, ‘It’s not the work, it’s shits in the JIC and on select committee who’d love to see me taken down a peg or two. But the work gets harder when you’re worrying about that select committee. And for the record, I have no intention of sitting in front of a select committee again, they can call you or Colonel Dean. If I’m not there, then I can’t be accused of lying.’
David noted, ‘The JIC cannot call a captain, they should call a unit commander, but you’ve cooperated in the past. A lack of cooperation now may alert them to something.’
‘I’ll tell them I’m pissed
off about Gibbs.’
They exchanged looks. David said, ‘That could work, for a while at least. And they can’t have you arrested and dragged before them.’
David assistant asked, ‘Have you ... considered working for someone else?’
‘Considered it this week, because I doubt the CIA would have me called to account, nor the French.’
David said, ‘Give us some time to muddy the waters and get into gear, and we’ll go step by step through anything the police could be interested in, and we’ll create back-stories. And we can block the JIC and the select committee, they should stick to protocol and call the Director herself anyhow.’
A man stepped in, a glance at me and a forced smile. ‘The Sun newspaper will run a story tomorrow, quoting Captain Wilco, and stating that issuing police officers respirators would be a waste of time, and that these things happen rarely.’
David considered that. ‘Should keep the politicians happy, and the police won’t upset Wilco right now, and it’s true – such attacks are very rare. This was the first.’ He focused on me. ‘You anticipated what was needed.’
‘No, I just wanted the truth out there, not hysteria. Press went too far with this, panicked people.’
A nod from David and the man left us. David began, ‘Those in the Intel community are secretly delighted by the turn of events, it helps us ask for a bigger budget.’
I shook my head at him. ‘They only decided to attack the UK after it was reported in the French media that I was after them. And the chances of them getting that poison somewhere useful were slim. The poison also had a four day shelf life, and they were on day four when they flew with it. When they opened the tin they may have found a damp squid inside.’
‘I got the report,’ David noted. ‘And you’re probably correct. Still, the press don’t need to know that.’
I again shook my head at him.
‘How are the police doing?’ his assistant asked.
‘Getting there after a slow start,’ I replied. ‘They learn quickly, but keep their fingers on the trigger a great deal and accidentally discharge now and then.’
David’s assistant put in, ‘They have some old ex-SAS instructors now, as advisors at their base. They have a mock-up of a train, a bus, and have access to an airliner at some airfield, and they’re starting to look at complex entries.’
‘As they should,’ I firmly stated. ‘Leave the SAS for small wars.’
After the meeting I headed to my usual hotel for a bite to eat and a shower, but got a call, the Director wanting to see me. Food inside me, a car turned up with a police escort, MP Pete tagging along, and I chatted to the SO13 driver and escort about rank and file attitudes to armed police work.
In Vauxhall I got the lift up, being escorted, and into the posh offices of the Director, having been here just twice before. I admired her view of the twinkling city lights as she poured tea. We finally sat.
‘David is concerned about you, about maybe losing you.’
‘You might lose me to a police cell if things get out,’ I told her.
She eased back. ‘We have started a process, and we can be good at it when we put our minds to it, we’ll alter evidence and hide it – as much for our benefit as yours. You have been very active these past few years, there’s a long trail of evidence out there, so we’ll go looking for it, and I’m sure the French will assist. Do you ... have doubts about David?’
‘Not really, but I had fewer doubts about Bob Staines. David is a nice chap, but he needs more kill instinct.’
She nodded, deep in thought. ‘And how do you get along with Mister Hunt?’
‘Fine, but it didn’t really work out as I had hoped for. I kind of hoped someone would tell me what was - and was not - allowed step by step, but when terrorists are moving poison to Paris both he and I agreed that the rules go out the window – and that the result mattered more than the methods.’
‘Indeed, in such extreme circumstances. And which incidents of rule breaking are you most worried about?’
‘I tortured information out of a few people, and without that information we would never have got the poison.’
‘We’ll chat to the French and hide evidence on that. There were many witnesses?’
‘Twenty French soldiers, a few civvy French police,’ I replied. ‘For some incidents just a handful of my men. And I killed Hammad as he lay on his bed dying.’
‘Well, there are apparently a few thousand French soldiers who would love to take the blame for that one.’
‘In Colombia I moved two hundred million dollars of Cartel booty to Tomsk, and drugs, playing the role.’
‘And we can hide behind the fact that you were playing the role. But just your men witnessed it?’
‘And the Russians who work for Tomsk, should they ever know I’m British.’
‘Evidence from Russian hired guns will hardly stand up in court,’ she insisted.
‘FBI are after Petrov, that I do know; they suspect that there’s more to Petrov than meets the eye.’
‘Then I’ll chat to the CIA, see what we can do. And the chance of a leak about Petrov?’
‘High. Some CIA guy rang my sat phone and Tomsk paid three million dollars bribe money for information.’
‘But he thought you were Petrov..?’
‘Yes and no. Yes, he maintained the pretence that I was Petrov, but his codename was Philby.’
‘Ah ... an insider’s joke. So he may know about you.’ She made a face and nodded. ‘We’ll start to muddy the waters step by step. So how’s your new Intel team doing?’
‘They were instrumental in stopping the poison, but that’s not what they were there for. I wanted fresh intel on hostages, not poisoners.’
‘And what was your thinking ... exactly?’ she pushed.
‘That my days are numbered, and that I do what I can while I can.’
‘Given how dangerous your work is, I can understand that feeling of a ... time constraint, yes. And Colonel Dean and the MOD did not object?’
‘They sent a Major, Sanderson, possibly to stamp their authority on the team, but they’ve not voiced any concerns, and if a select committee does voice a concern then we point at Paris.’
‘And you wish to avoid such committees..?’
‘I wish to avoid direct questioning, because my answers will have to be lies. I can’t tell them the truth. If I tell the truth I get arrested, and if I lie I run the risk of getting arrested. So best not to be questioned.’
‘We’ll assist with that, yes, till we’ve muddied the waters and have a clear timeline of events, some practise Q&A for you.’
‘I was planning on speaking to The Sun newspaper, unless you have some objections.’
‘You’re a smart chap, you know what not to say, but what in particular will you give them?’
‘Like the Liberia campaign, a timeline, military stuff. All good for recruitment.’
‘It is, a big spike upwards in general military recruitment, a trebling almost, a sharp rise in the RAF Regiment applications, and the SAS. They had all been in decline, so the MOD is very happy with you. Even a small spike with us.’
‘Would you like more of a spike?’ I asked with a smile.
‘Our target audience is small and selective, so I don’t think popular interest is applicable, and anyone influenced by recent events and wanting some excitement would be a bad candidate.’
I smiled. ‘In Riyadh, Bob Staines delicately suggested working for you, and I turned him down firmly, then when I was in trouble I said I worked for you, and that got me out of trouble.’
‘I recall, and you were caught having sex in a rooftop pool with an American TV presenter, yet told a general that you were a spy and trying to snare her.’
‘And he believed me,’ I said with a smile.
‘And have the Americans tried to tempt you away from us?’
‘Delicately, but no salary nor conditions listed.’
‘And have you considered working for
them?’
‘Only as an escape route, should the police here want me in the witness box. I know how the American military works and it would never suit me.’
‘And CIA work?’
‘Not sure I’d agree with their politics. I know that the UK government sometimes sends my men where we have business interests, but for the most part I agree with my missions and with the politics behind it. If the Americans had another Vietnam style war I’d not want to be part of it.’
‘No ... ambitions or desires?’
I shrugged and made a face. ‘Get as many hostages out as I can, train some men. I don’t really think long term.’
‘And you’re certainly not financially motivated, you could have walked off with a great deal of money.’
‘Can you see me sat on a beach sipping martini, either shaken or stirred?’
She smiled. ‘Do you ... find yourself getting angry towards David?’
‘It’s not him, it’s the system. You want good results, you want the terrorists stopped, and sometimes you need to bend and break the laws to get the results. Then after the terrorists are stopped, emotions cool, and you wake up to find that life goes on ... and that you now face charges for having saved the world.
‘Batman never had a select committee to sit before, nor an oversight committee, no Q&A about the particular methods used to get The Joker behind bars. Shooting the bad guys is easy, figuring out the legality is not.’
Out the meeting, which I knew was an assessment of my current metal state, my ride took me and MP Pete back to the hotel. Getting there, and now 9pm, my phone rang; Kate.
‘Hi,’ I hesitantly began.
‘Still alive?’
‘Still alive,’ I confirmed. ‘Just got back yesterday, had the third degree all day up here in London, just finished.’
‘We’re here as well, my uncle’s place in Kensington, you could pop in.’
‘Many ... people there?’
‘A few, not a crowd. Are you afraid of people these days?’
‘Afraid of hitting one of your friends or relatives.’
‘You held off hitting them in the past.’ She waited.
‘OK, I’ll pop in for an hour.’