Wilco- Lone Wolf 11

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Ask around for me please, they had Russian pilots.’

  ‘Then I ask a man who knows all Mi24 pilots. I will get back to you.’

  Tapping my chin with my phone, Swifty and Moran exchanging a look, I called The Banker

  ‘Ah, Petrov, I was just about to call you.’

  ‘Why … were you just about to call me?’ I wondered.

  ‘Casper.’

  ‘What’s he done now?’ I wondered.

  ‘He got some information, passed it to another man to sell to me, but I’m not supposed to know. And this information may be of use to the British and French, maybe to you, not so much the Americans I think.’

  ‘I am intrigued.’

  ‘Mi24 attack helicopters.’

  ‘Now I am worried. They were in action in Somalia.’

  I heard a sigh. ‘You are indeed an annoyingly well-informed man. Yes, in Somalia, one warlord attacking another.’

  ‘And the man pulling the strings?’

  ‘CIA.’

  I stood and walked away from the gang, getting curious looks as I went. ‘Fucking CIA?’

  ‘A special unit, off the books, Russian speaking pilots plus some real Russian crewmen. They are going to hit some warlords for Aideed, and in return Aideed will make a few concessions, a flow of intel to Washington.’

  ‘And Casper..?’

  ‘Infiltrated the group.’

  ‘Wow, that’s impressive work,’ I commended.

  ‘I lent a hand, some money spent when I thought him in danger.’

  ‘There’s a task force off Somalia, Americans, British, French, men on the ground hitting al-Qa’eda fighters.’

  ‘And you are … where?’

  ‘North of Mogadishu with my men, ambushing convoys.’

  ‘I won’t ask about the geo-politics, or your paymaster…’

  ‘Best not to. And thanks for the intel, it may help me avoid some attack helicopters.’

  ‘Would it be fair to say that Aideed will be around a while?’

  ‘I think so, yes. Why?’

  ‘He has asked for a loan.’

  ‘In that case, tell him the loan is dependent on Petrov landing in the area of the fighting east of him unhindered, after the Allies leave.’

  ‘I have a call to make through a middle man. And your interest in that area?’

  ‘High value al-Qa’eda men, a nice big reward.’

  ‘Ah, just your sort of work. I’ll do what I can. Oh, and after that stunt in the nightclub in Marseilles your distorted reputation has reached the Kremlin, if they were not already aware of you. I now have a working relationship with them, so … would you take a call – they did ask?’

  ‘I’ll take a call, especially if it helps you, Leon.’

  ‘You are a more trusted friend than some that I have known my entire life, a man of his word, a rare thing these days. Don’t go getting shot.’

  I laughed. ‘I’ll try not to. Bye.’ I turned and faced the lads, soon tapping my chin with my phone again. First call was SIS, and the Director.

  ‘Wilco?’

  ‘Are you sat down, Ma’am, stiff drink in hand?’

  ‘Oh gawd. I’m not going to like this, am I?’

  ‘Depends. You know those Mi24.’

  ‘Yes…’

  ‘Langley.’

  After a long pause came, ‘Propping up Aideed?’

  ‘You may think that, I could not possibly comment.’

  She sighed. ‘One stiff drink coming up, soon to followed a by a few more.’

  ‘I’m mopping up around here, bad boys have withdrawn, or are dead in the sand, so there should be no more bad news from this pleasant spot.’

  Call cut, I got hold of Max, who was now in the office, and I detailed a story for him, with a little spin. Or maybe a great deal of spin.

  Next call was Franks.

  ‘Wilco, what’s happening over there?’ he began.

  ‘Gone quiet, so stand down the alert, get some sleep.’

  ‘And those Mi24?’

  ‘Well, here’s the thing. Imagine someone from Langley stood behind you with his finger up your arse, a wry smile on his face.’

  He sighed long and loud. ‘You ever wonder about a different career path?’

  ‘No more than twice a day, or when I’m getting shot at. And you, you’re not allowed to let anyone know that … you know.’

  ‘Washington … struck a deal with Aideed?’

  ‘You’re a smart man. But not smart enough to be … in the loop obviously, or senior enough.’

  ‘You take no pleasure in tormenting me, do you…’

  With my own wry smile, but definitely not with my finger up anyone’s arse, I said, ‘Wilco out.’

  The Seahawk burst into life, the lads observing it as I closed in. Rotors wound up, the tail rotor was now working - at least it looked OK to a non-expert like me.

  With pilots aboard, no crewman or engineers – they were stood well back, it lifted up, wobbled, nose down and flew off with a wicked shake, soon heading down the valley and out of sight, another Seahawk following it, F18s overhead. I shook hands with the crewman who had spent the night with us, two Seahawks closing in, one down, the mechanics departing, and it soon grew quiet again.

  ‘So what’s the plan?’ Moran asked as I joined the camp fire now roaring, a very non-stealthy camp fire.

  ‘We get a good night’s kip, some food, check supplies and wounds, then get down to the valley without breaking necks. We get phones, paperwork, prints maybe. Then … then we have a job for the nice man in Panama.’

  ‘More like it,’ Rocko approved.

  ‘Bit of a bonus?’ Rizzo nudged.

  ‘Definitely,’ I told them.

  ‘We fly to Panama?’ Rocko asked.

  ‘Nope. The job is here.’

  ‘Here?’ they puzzled.

  I took in their faces. ‘A few years back, quite a few years back,’ I lied, ‘an illegal deal went wrong, the men fell out, killed each other, the loot buried on the coast near here.’

  ‘How much loot?’ Rizzo pressed, Moran shooting me a quizzical look.

  I told them, ‘A few large boxes of gold bars.’

  Swifty’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Worth a few quid then.’

  I nodded as they exchanged looks. ‘Worth a few quid, a cut to us, bonuses paid, holidays taken. But, you know, never to be repeated in polite company.’

  ‘How much … of a bonus?’ Rocko risked.

  ‘More than you got before, Staff Sergeant.’

  He exchanged a knowing look with Rizzo. ‘We’re keen and able, Captain. Sir.’

  They laughed as Moran led me away, kicking up sand. ‘We stretching a few laws again?’

  ‘Can’t let the locals get the gold,’ I posed, and he stopped to consider that. ‘Can’t let al-Qa’eda get it.’

  He reluctantly nodded. ‘And London?’

  ‘Will be kept informed, yes.’

  ‘Meaning that the intel never came from London!’ he hissed.

  I smirked and shrugged.

  My phone trilled. Liban. ‘Wilco, we have no one to shoot, they go home!’

  ‘Move back to the Joan de Arc, get patched up, we’ll be pulling out soon, just collecting paper and phones.’

  ‘We have phones, some papers, yes, we take them.’

  ‘See you on the ship. Wilco out.’

  After a quiet night, and a good sleep, Tomo led us down a sandy slope, no risk to life or limb - just sand in boots and pockets, and half an hour of zig-zagging delivered us safely to the abandoned mortar positions, a few fighters not so dead and finished off as they lay moaning, the wounded men now covered in flies.

  Finding a wounded young man – an Arab and not a Somali, not much of a beard grown yet, I patched him up and called in a Seahawk. On that helo we put papers and phones, after I had used the phones to call London first – to track them.

  I found motor oil in a jeep, instructed a few of the lads, and oily paper was used to get prints off dea
d Arabs, not Somalis, two hours used up. Jeeps were set alight, mortar tubes loudly blown by Stretch, abandoned weapons stripped down, firing pins and slides removed and buried, ammo stocked up on as we moved south down the valley.

  By 3pm we had reached the group of fighters that we had hit that first night, no weapons found, all jeeps already burnt out, so I led the teams west up the slope, and to where Tomo had encountered his quicksand. Finding the cave entrance, I had a stag set-up, many teams told to cook and rest, senior men led into the cave.

  ‘OK, start digging, and keep digging,’ I told them.

  ‘That body,’ Moran pointed. ‘You said a few years ago, not like 1920!’

  ‘I said quite a few years ago,’ I told him as I dumped my kit, knelt, and I started moving sand.

  ‘And we expect to find…?’ Mitch asked.

  ‘A clue maybe,’ I told him. ‘Too far inland for there to be any gold here.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be involving a US citizen in something dodgy, would you?’ he teased.

  ‘The gold came from the Bank of England, so no.’

  ‘Bank of England?’ Moran queried as they all dug holes in the sand.

  ‘From a British sub on its way to the Far East,’ I told them.

  Swifty had decided to be clever, and he dug down below the late R.S. Skinner, having moved the man’s remains first, and ten minutes later came ‘Bingo!’

  We all rushed across on hands and knees.

  Swity lifted a dusty old backpack, a damn heavy backpack, two gold bars removed and shown around, a hand written note passed to me.

  I read, ‘I find myself doubting the sincerity of my travelling companions, so I have hidden that gold which I removed from the boxes, and I sit here at dawn penning what may be my last few words.

  ‘I doubt that this note, nor my remains, will ever be found, and I believe that my soul shall wander this wretched land forever. If you find this note, the gold in is in cave some three hundred yards above the river basin. A man is not without honour except in his home village…’

  ‘Mark, 6:4,’ Mitch put in. We all stared at him. ‘Father was religious.’

  I read on, ‘London has a temperate latitude -’

  ‘Fifty one degrees north,’ Moran cut in with.

  ‘And I shall miss the walks through Regent’s Playground -’

  ‘Regent’s Park,’ Moran noted. ‘Not playground.’

  And that was the end of the letter. I began, ‘So, 64 and 51, and park.’ I took out a map, and we keenly laid it out.

  Mitch began, ‘Is it just me, or is anyone else getting a hard-on right about now?’

  ‘About to cream my pants,’ Rizzo reported as my finger went down the coast.

  ‘Here,’ I told them. ‘Second digits are 64. And … here, second digits are 51, looks like a dried river bed hitting the coast, so north to the ridge, find a spot three hundred yards up.’

  ‘Big area to search,’ Moran warned.

  ‘What does “park” mean?’ Swifty asked.

  ‘Here,’ I said, a finger on a ridge. ‘In Arabic that’s Red Gardens.’

  ‘Gardens can be parks,’ Moran insisted. ‘Regents Park would have gardens.’

  ‘X marks the spot, people,’ I told them. I stood, folding the map. ‘Moran, hold those gold bars.’

  Rizzo reluctantly handed over the bars to some taunting.

  Outside, I gave everyone time to get a brew on before leading them off south.

  David called as we trudged along kicking sand. ‘Ah Wilco, how’s it going?’

  ‘We got phones and prints, one live prisoner, so some good intel. Now walking to the coast.’

  ‘Why are you walking? There are helicopters.’

  ‘Do some research about Skinner’s Gold -’

  ‘I’m well aware of it, and what do you know that we don’t?’

  ‘You trust me, Boss?’

  ‘Up to a point.’

  I laughed. ‘Listen, if we recover Her Majesty’s property, it could go to the tax man, or…’

  ‘Or … what?’

  ‘Or be made available for other things. Go see the Director.’

  ‘After another stiff drink.’

  Smiling, and enjoying imagining the look on his face right now, I kicked up sand as the day grew hot.

  The hills grew smaller, and more rounded, and I found a track that was parallel to the road, that road some four hundred yards distant, and I followed it after warning everyone not to walk on the track itself, old mines seen.

  We only glimpsed distant sheep herders as we undulated up and down over rolling hills, Swifty recalling the story of our first job here for Mitch.

  At sundown we came across an area of sand dunes and so threaded around the dunes, making good progress as it grew cooler. Finding a deep crevice in a rocky outcrop I had the lads get in it as we neared 10pm, the air now cold, guards posted up top, cookers going before I let them bed down on the soft sand.

  When my phone trilled I stepped away, Swifty moaning at the noise. Up on a smooth rock, a cold breeze and a good view of the surrounding area, I hit the green button. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘Deputy Chief. Can you talk?’

  ‘Depends on what it’s about.’

  ‘You’re tapped into the Russian arms-dealing world, so I wasn’t that surprised when you noticed who sent those Mi24s.’

  ‘You can’t shoot your man Franks, I told him, not the other way around.’

  ‘We won’t be shooting him, or anyone else, we’re not quite as bad as the movies portray us.’

  ‘You did well with those Mi24, moved them around the world unseen. I’d guess at a converted cargo ship rather than a carrier.’

  ‘Correct, an Israeli ship. May I ask … where our people slipped up?’

  ‘They didn’t, but other Russians were suspicious of the pilots, paid some money to find out, but the pilots were not aware they were being followed or bugged, so you don’t need to shoot them either.’

  ‘And containment?’

  ‘As far as I can see, 100%.’

  ‘And the Russian paying the money for his curiosity?’

  ‘Owes me his life, and a few quid, and would never talk, and the FBI could never find him anyhow.’

  ‘Not Tomsk.’

  ‘No. He can be found by anyone, he’s in the phone book.’

  ‘He does have a high profile yes,’ came down the phone, sounding like a complaint.

  ‘Whilst I’m here, I figured … maybe Petrov introduces himself to Aideed.’

  ‘Well … we have back channels with him -’

  ‘And I’m sure he tells you everything,’ I teased.

  ‘Would be good to get a second opinion, yes, just in case he’s trying to play us. Do what you can. You pulling out?’

  ‘I have a job, a local job, Russian paymaster.’

  ‘Oh, well … if you need some help let us know, and … will this job net us anything useful?’

  ‘I’d say yes, so stay by the phone.’

  ‘The white man helping the Arabs we were worried about…’

  ‘Dead and buried, or at least picked clean by the vultures.’

  ‘Closes that chapter. And he was..?’

  ‘Ex-IRA, looking for some paying work,’ I reported.

  ‘A few of those in Libya. And the paymaster who wanted your chestnuts roasted?’

  ‘Saudi working out of Switzerland.’

  ‘We think we know who he is, but … well, we walk a fine line when it comes to the Saudis as you know.’

  ‘Indeed I do.’

  ‘And the arms dealer in the middle?’

  ‘Warned off these parts.’

  ‘He supplied missiles!’

  ‘If my orders are to go after him, then I will, or Petrov meets him and gets some intel, now and in the future.’

  ‘Go for the second option, because if we get the guy then someone else replaces him. Better the devil you can get a line on.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly, which leads us to a delicate m
atter. Aideed has asked some bad boys for a loan. Do I block it, or do we make use of Petrov as middle man?’

  ‘Let Petrov get close to Aideed, definitely.’

  ‘And the loan?’

  ‘We had considered it, but with all the inherent risks. This way is better, much better, we’re not involved.’

  ‘Anything you want me to look out for?’

  ‘Pipelines; Arab fighters moving through the region heading for The West.’

  ‘I’ll keep an ear to the ground, but we got a shit load of phones and prints today.’

  ‘We’re already getting some good links from it, and after Eritrea we’ve set them back, White House happy.’

  ‘Any shit from the loss of a plane here?’

  ‘Went out to the press as a mechanical fault, not least because that was what you leaked to Reuters ahead of us. Press coverage has been good, White House happy, pictures of the carnage in the valley displayed, and the fact that there was a coalition of nations has pleased many here, makes it look like we didn’t want revenge for Mogadishu.’

  ‘We did even the score some,’ I suggested, not happy at my own words.

  ‘You need that group kept offshore?’ he asked.

  ‘For a few days more, yes. They can catch up on some sleep.’

  ‘I heard they were strung out. Still, it’s what they train for. Goodnight.’

  Phone away, I called Tomsk, hearing music after he answered. ‘It’s Petrov.’

  ‘You still in Somalia?’ Tomsk asked.

  ‘Yes, a little job for The Banker, so if anyone asks you know where I am, you sent me, and I will need a helicopter, Mi8. Talk to your arms dealer friend, try and get me one, he’ll be well paid.’

  ‘What’s The Banker interested in down there?’ Tomsk puzzled.

  ‘Loaning money to the provisional government; these boys have less money than Liberia.’

  ‘A good investment?’

  ‘No, but good intel for our friends.’

  ‘Ah, I see. Leverage, yes.’

  ‘Yes, lever you out of prison and that orange jumpsuit,’ I teased.

  ‘The Americans let my friend go, he’s here, fake death – so I owe you on that one. You made me look very good.’

  ‘Buy me a beer someday. Any shit from Colombia?’

  ‘Talk of some groups forming in Cali, but I am buying from the farmers direct now, so are Medellin Cartel.’

  ‘Watch those bastards.’