by Geoff Wolak
‘For a good bonus I’ll risk it,’ Rizzo offered.
‘And never use the name Wilco, I am Petrov, as in Panama.’
Rocko noted, ‘Petrov, world’s most wanted assassin … according to those FBI plonkers.’
‘That’s a different Petrov,’ I told him. ‘I’m Petrov the trainee assassin, hoping to get my first job soon.’
Rocko and Rizzo exchanged looks as Sasha’s team laughed at my troop sergeants.
‘We’re working for a fibber of an officer,’ Rocko told Rizzo, who nodded.
An hour later a French Puma came in, doors open, boxes thrown out onto the sand as we closed our eyes and cursed, hands finally waved and off it went. The team started to load the boxes, gold bars clanking. And I only had to threaten to shoot three of the lads regarding the gold bars.
My phone trilled; David Finch.
‘Right boss. You did get the message about not calling me..?’
‘Yes. According to Mister Hunt you just had wooden boxes delivered for weapons you collected up … but wooden boxes could be used to move gold as well.’
‘The gold will be moved after dark, Russian helicopter, and handed to Aideed.’
‘Handed to Aideed..?’
‘After which, The Banker puts the value into a nominated account for us, and Langley becomes very happy that Petrov is close to Aideed. Three birds with one helicopter ride.’
‘Dear god. I feel another stiff drink coming. I’ll get back to you.’
We sat and cooked, many of the lads sleeping in the heat. When my phone trilled it was David again.
‘Just had a chat to the PM, after the Director, and all are in agreement, agreement that we disown you.’
I laughed.
‘Also in agreement that it works well, another good intel coup, Washington happy. So … good luck later, and no – we won’t be writing this down anywhere.’
‘Just as well. I’ll call you tomorrow if we make it back to the ship. And don’t forget, no calls whilst I’m over there. Wilco out.’
Next call was Franks, who sounded awake and with it. ‘Listen,’ I began. ‘I have a job for your bosses, about to take a ride in an Mi8, so make sure no one targets it.’
He sighed. ‘I really am going to have to pull that finger out of my ass.’
‘I’d tell you if Langley lets me. Get some rest.’
‘We’ve stood down General Quarters, but still alert, some people catching up on some much-needed sleep.’
‘A well-earned rest, yes, folks back home happy, Washington happy.’
‘I’m not happy,’ Franks quipped.
‘You’re a cog in a wheel, but someday you may be Deputy Chief,’ I teased. ‘Anyway, no calls till I say otherwise. Wilco out.’
My team loaded up a box as the rest got a tan, till we figured the box was too damn heavy to carry, so we split the gold across four boxes, and between eight of us we just about managed to lug the heavy boxes – but not far. All we needed to do was to load the helicopter and unload, so we would not have to struggle too far.
The day grew hotter, the occasional F18 seen above, a snake and a gerbil seen on the sand, a few men sat cleaning rifles, others sat chatting in small groups.
After sundown I got a call from a Russian pilot, the man shocked that he would be ferrying the famous – if not suicidally dangerous – Petrov. He needed some reassuring that it was just a simple delivery job, and that he would get a good bonus from Tomsk.
At 8pm the air was disturbed by two Pumas, and those Pumas took many of the lads away in the dark. A return of the Pumas, and my usual team departed, just leaving Sasha’s team, Rocko and Rizzo and the boxes, the puzzled French crewman wanting to load the boxes but firmly waved off.
Forty minutes later we heard a familiar drone, this time coming down the river basin, and we flashed torches. The Mi8 set down a hundred yards from us, so we had to lug the heavy boxes, working up a sweat as we struggled with the weight, sand sticking to that sweat as eyes were squinted against the raging sandstorm.
Boxes eased aboard, no crewman in the back, we boarded. Door left open, we lifted off, probably a little overweight, and set off southwest down the coast at low level - a dangerous manoeuver at night, but the pilot was using the ocean as a navigational aid. I knew we would be visible to several radars, so I worried a little, Sasha expressing his concerns.
I stared down at the coast, thinking. I was supremely confident as Petrov, but then stopped to worry about the lads with me. When I glanced at Rocko and Rizzo I worried less; they were too damn ugly and too damn stupid for me to be worrying about their safety. If they didn’t care, why should I.
Twenty minutes later I could see villages, then towns, soon a city – but devoid of any high-rise blocks, and we slowed, aiming for a black patch next to a brightly lit two-storey building. I could soon see the local blacks, all heavily armed, finally a few white faces, also heavily armed.
We hit with a bump, men down and out, boxes awkwardly lugged, those boxes dumped at the feet of who I considered must be Aideed, but the man was not in uniform, just in a casual brown summer suit.
He waved men towards the boxes as our ride pulled away, which made me wonder what the pilots instructions had been; we were staying for a while whether we liked that or not.
I closed in on Casper as he cradled his rifle, Sasha at my side, five Russians behind Casper, all similarly dressed. ‘Nice rifle,’ I told him. ‘You learnt how to use it yet?’
‘I was waiting for you to show me where the trigger was,’ he replied.
I pointed at the men behind him. ‘And this bunch of girl scouts?’
‘They had an hour’s training,’ he quipped, the men smiling.
A face I recognised from La Palma closed in. He had been one of the soldiers I trained. ‘You quit Panama?’ I asked him.
‘Too many flies, and … too much Tomsk.’
I nodded. ‘You are not the only one who disagrees with the little Napoleon’s way of doing things. When he screwed over the Cali Cartel there were … dissenting voices.’
‘And No.3?’ he nudged as the others observed me carefully.
‘He wanted me to move on Tomsk, something I would never do. If I accept a contract, I keep to it.’
He nodded as Sasha moved forwards.
Sasha began, ‘You still owe me fifty dollars for that hooker.’
‘She robbed me, your fault!’
‘Hey, I arranged it and paid for your birthday, your fault if your technique was so shit she robbed you.’ The men behind Casper laughed as Sasha gripped the man around the neck in an embrace. ‘Besides, I heard she had a cock.’
‘May well have done, I was so drunk that night.’
Rocko shook Casper’s hand, a nod exchanged. ‘Any food here?’
‘English?’ one of Casper’s men puzzled.
I explained, ‘British ex-SAS mercenaries. They work with me in Africa mostly, but they were with me when we hit the Cali Cartel.’
‘You parachuted in to Cali?’ a man asked.
‘From 14,000ft. These two are experts in that type of drop.’
‘And the Cali drugs..?’ Casper nudged. ‘Supposedly blown up by the Americans?’
‘We got twelve tonnes out to a ship,’ I answered with a smile.
‘A good bonus,’ Casper suggested.
‘I took no money, I just wanted to know I could fuck a cartel in their beds and get away with it.’
Aideed closed in, tall and thin, his skin jet black, his nose like an eagle’s beak. ‘You are Petrov?’ he asked in refined English with a hint of an American accent.
‘I am, Mister President.’
He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Whether or not I am the president depends on who you talk to,’ he quipped. ‘Come inside, we’ll get some refreshments for you and your men.’
He led us inside, Rizzo asking about beer, but then being reminded that it was a Muslim country. A large room had been set-up ready, food laid out, waiters on hand – all stinking and not
a good advert for the local food hygiene, chairs laid out, cushions on the floor. Both groups dumped rifles and webbing, my staff sergeants heading for the lamb kebabs, local black guards hovering around the door.
Aideed began, as if testing me, ‘I was surprised as to …where exactly you came from today.’
‘We landed on a remote strip, up near Somaliland, then helicopter down here, but hit some mechanical faults, and the gold … was not originally meant for you.’
‘Ah, I see, that would explain the sudden appearance of it. And this other … group?’
‘You know I would never discuss such matters. Either their business with you, or your business with anyone else.’
‘I have heard stories about you, and I made a few calls today. They suggested that you are a man of your word, yet … dangerous and reckless and … best avoided.’
I smiled. ‘Good advice to those who double deal.’
He took the meaning, and flinched a little. ‘And … are you available to be … hired out?’
‘You don’t need to hire me out, I was asked to assist you, since those investing in you don’t want you killed.’
‘Ah, I see. And they pay you?’
‘It is not just about money, Mister President, it is about good long-standing relationships, working with people you can trust rather than a quick pay-off for one job.’
He made me a tea and handed it over. ‘I would have thought that longevity was not something you considered.’
‘Three years ago they gave me three months to live, so maybe someone is watching out for me.’
‘Why three months?’
‘Feel my skull.’ I leant forwards and he examined the ridges.
‘You were injured.’
‘Shot three times. Bone fragments are moving around and will kill me someday soon.’
‘A man I spoke to suggested that you take you shirt off, as a way to verify that you really are Petrov.’ He waited.
I smiled, put down my cup, and unbutton as Casper and his team looked on. Shirt off, Aideed stared wide-eyed at me.
Casper said, ‘The bottom half is even worse.’
Aideed glanced at Casper, and said to me, ‘You have been shot many times, and they say you have little fear of death. I can see why now.’
I eased my shirt back on. ‘Maybe the CIA will find someone who looks like me, give him the scars so that he can pretend to be me.’
Casper and his crew laughed as Aideed glanced at them. Aideed said, ‘I do not think there will be too many volunteers to take your place. And the skull damage could not be reproduced, even by the best of surgeons.’
I glanced at Casper. ‘I’m hoping that Casper will get caught by the FBI and say he’s me.’
Casper’s crew laughed, but I could see the look on Casper’s face, his smile forced. ‘I would get life in some American prison, orange jumpsuit. So you would have to persuade me the food was good.’
Four Russian pilots wandered in, most in their forties, sweat stains under their arms, so that meant the Mi24s were around here someplace.
One of the pilots stopped dead. ‘You the crazy fuck?’
‘A soldier can be crazy, or lucky. I’m just lucky.’
‘I know Libintov, most of us do, and he thinks you’re fucking crazy. You went into a town in Senegal housing six hundred heavily armed blacks, fucked them over and got Libintov’s weapons back.’ He waited.
‘I was just lucky, I keep telling people that.’
‘You joining us?’
‘Joining you … for what?’
He glanced at Aideed. In English he said, ‘Will Petrov help us?’
Aideed answered, ‘It would seem so.’ He faced me. ‘These Russians will launch attacks on my rivals.’
‘I can hang around a while, help protect the investment made in you.’
Aideed explained, ‘There is a group on the border, support from Ethiopia, mountainous terrain.’
‘Mountains we like.’
Aideed was handed a sat phone, and moved away for a minute. He finally handed me the phone. ‘The Banker.’
I lifted the phone as Casper curiously observed me. ‘Put down that glass of wine,’ I told Leon.
He laughed. ‘I just opened the bottle to let it breath. All going OK?’
‘Delivered and handed over, but I’ll hang around a while; Aideed wants us to hit some of his rivals.’
‘Helps my investment, and since Tomsk will underwrite some of it – it helps your boss’s investment as well.’
‘Two birds with one stone, yes. I’ll make an assessment before I leave on how stable things are around here.’
‘I’d appreciate that, yes. Is … our friend with you?’
‘He is, alive and well,’ I said without making eye contact with Casper.
‘Good to know.’
I handed the phone back and Aideed stepped out, my staff sergeants eating the lamb. I sat near Casper, but with earshot of his crew. ‘You trust this black fuck?’
Casper shrugged. ‘We have our paymaster, you have yours.’
‘And this job on the border?’
‘We hit them with the helicopters, but get the men in first to find the targets, then snipe at them from above.’ He made a face. ‘Seems OK.’
I told him, ‘I have an idea, a job for you and some trusted boys, long term, good pay, but ... you would have to make it up with our good friend on the French Riviera.’
Casper stared unhappily back.
I added, ‘Think about it, it will be a good opportunity, and ... you would get to work closely with me.’
‘And take orders from..?’
‘Me ... most of the time.’
Ten minutes later and I heard the blasts, three in a row, getting closer. ‘Rockets! Get down! Under the tables!’
I had shouted at Rocko and Rizzo in English, and we had just got under some solid wooden tables when the windows blew in, two waiters killed. Ears were ringing.
A pause, and the building took three hits, but on the far side, away from us.
Casper said, smoke wafting, ‘The warlord on the border, he knows we are here.’
‘Either that or I upset someone’s wife,’ I told him as I eased up, a look at the bloodied waiters. Peering out the window I could see a panic amongst the local men as Aideed and his cronies stepped in, his men all armed to the teeth and looking worried.
I met him in the middle of the room. ‘This man you want to attack, he’s paid off someone local.’
‘That is possible, yes.’
‘We leave, now,’ I told him, surprising him. ‘The local spy reports that fact, and you add to the story – saying there were dead Russian pilots. We hit your enemy a week or two from now, when he thinks we have gone.’
Aideed considered that. ‘Yes, perhaps best. A surprise attack when he least expects it.’
I told him, ‘Those rockets have a range of more than five miles, but you might still catch the men firing those rockets. In the meantime, get me a truck and an escort, take me north up the coast, I’ll arrange a helicopter.’
‘And your report to The Banker?
‘Will be the truth, and I don’t think this small attack weakens you any.’
He reluctantly seemed to accept that. ‘I will arrange transport very soon.’ He gave instructions to his cronies, one running off.
‘Who’s not happy with us?’ Rizzo asked.
‘The guy we were supposed to attack, and that attack is now put back a week or two. Get ready to leave.’ I stepped to Casper. And took a moment. ‘You trust me?’
‘About ... what?’
‘You life, your well being, and your future career...’
He stared back. ‘Why?’
‘Come with us, I want a long chat, a ... job proposal.’
‘And if I don’t like the proposal..?’
‘I would never harm you, given my working relationship with our friend on the Riviera.’
‘And we are going..?’
‘Surprise
, big surprise. Make a choice, we leave soon.’
‘I have a job to do here.’
‘And you would be free to return to do it in a few days.’
I rallied Sasha and his team, and we got ready, soon getting notification about a truck. As the team moved towards the door, bloodied bodies being moved, I waited for Casper. He told his team he would be back in a few days and followed on, but he did not look happy.
Our truck revved as it waited, several jeeps and pick-ups out front as escort, heavily armed men sat in them, but I was not confident of the abilities of those men; they looked like a shower of shit. All aboard, we set off through the dark, Rocko asking about bonuses.
Sixty miles north, we watched the dawn rise over the ocean as I studied a map. I gave our driver instructions, which he puzzled, and finally we pulled up. The escorts puzzled our plans with the driver, but I reassured them in Arabic, talk of a helicopter coming for us. From where ... puzzled the hell out of the escorts.
Setting out on foot, a track that a jeep could not follow, I led the team off, Casper behind me, and my guest had said little.
As the sun came up I made a call on my sat phone, to Franks, and three miles from the jeep drop-off, and in a deserted and bleak moonscape, I had the team halt.
‘Choppers will pick us up from here,’ I shouted.
Sasha glanced at Casper, then back to me. ‘And we explain him ... how?’
‘Leave that to me.’
Casper had heard, and he spoke English well enough. ‘Explain me to who?’
‘I asked if you trusted me, and you know who I work with, so ... just trust me, but be ready for a shock. And don’t shoot anyone. Make safe all weapons!’
I made safe my own weapon, and had Casper throw away two grenades. He had a pistol, which I did not try and remove.
Ten minutes later, and three Seahawks roared into view, Casper staring at them a little dumfounded.
‘They are American?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ I responded. ‘But the food on ship is OK.’
The roar grew.
‘Ship? American carrier?’ Casper asked, now looking worried.