Wilco- Lone Wolf 19

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘All arrested, or dead already. I hope.’ I tucked into the curry.

  ‘People think it was you and your men who killed them…’

  I shook my head. ‘We don’t operate on British streets, not allowed. If it was allowed … we might have dealt with the shits a year or two back. But they were all well connected, and the police considered them too powerful to question.’

  ‘My C.O. knew some of them, he was shocked. He’s well connected, old Etonian.’

  ‘People will never change, there will always be rich and powerful men meeting behind closed doors, up to no good.’ I dipped the narn bread into my curry sauce, hungry.

  She nodded. ‘Were any of your men hurt in Yemen?’

  ‘Just minor wounds, we were lucky. Americans lost men, and lost arms and legs as well.’

  ‘I got all the radio chat as the medivac helos came and went. It was a tense time, but all good experience for me, something on my resume for the future.’

  My phone trilled.

  ‘Sorry, but is always interrupts me.’ I held it up to an ear and stood. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘Wilco, you're on speaker-phone,’ came David's voice. ‘Prime Minister and cabinet members here.’

  ‘Go ahead, Prime Minister.’

  Cecilia shocked upright.

  ‘What do you know about this ship?’ came the PM's calm voice.

  ‘Big bomb on board, but it’s not about terrorists, I just learnt that it has drugs on board.’

  ‘Drugs!’

  ‘Yes, sir, so I'm thinking that one dealer is trying to scuttle another dealer's precious cargo, literally scuttle it.’

  ‘Why blow it up in a UK port?’

  ‘Don't know yet, sir, hope to get more information soon, just to stay that this is not a terror attack.’

  ‘Well, a bomb in a British port is a problem regardless of who the hell sent it!’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ A glance at Cecilia, and I unzipped and pulled out my cock and balls.

  She gasped, but smiled as she did so, moving closer, soon a mouth around my end.

  The PM continued, ‘Well we have the Navy moving out to intercept it, but it’s well ahead of its intended route and schedule, so something is already amiss with that ship – was not due to dock for days, and then in Rotterdam.’

  ‘I should know more soon, sir,’ I lied.

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘In a nightclub with three super-models, sir.’ I could hear the laughter as Cecilia bit down on me playfully.

  ‘You work more than I do,’ the PM noted before the line was cut.

  ‘No really, her name is Cecilia, and RAF officer -'

  She jolted back and stared up, horrified.

  ‘- and she does a great blowjob.’ I put the phone away, grinning down at her.

  ‘You little shit, my heart stopped! Very sexy to be fooling around with the Prime Minister on the phone, but don't scare me like that!’

  I moved my hips forwards. ‘It was worth it, to see the look on your face.’

  She swallowed again, but I cut her short before I came.

  ‘Good technique, but let’s not waste the damn food, eh, I'm starved.’

  Sat back down, she asked, ‘What ship?’

  ‘Small cargo ship heading here from the Caribbean, packed with drugs and explosives.’

  ‘James Bond alright.’ She tried some of the chicken.

  With the food mostly finished off, I pulled out my pistol, not cocked. Accented, I began, ‘You, British Military woman, stand.’

  She frowned but stood.

  ‘Now, clothes off, or I shoot.’

  She ran a finger slowly along the slide.

  ‘The guys in work never do that to my pistol,’ I joked.

  ‘Should hope not,’ she said as she whipped off her jumper, her boobs bigger than I had reckoned on. Bigger than Trish.

  ‘Bigger boobs than Trish, but otherwise you're the same size.’

  She eased her bra off, the boobs falling, but they were still well held, my left hand judging the weight. Pistol up, I ran the muzzle against her nipples, shocking her, a gasp issue.

  She lifted my pistol and ran a tongue around the end.

  ‘No, the guys in work definitely don't do that,’ I noted.

  Pistol away, I carried her to the bed, soon making her scream as I hit her clit with my tongue, and she came quickly. My cock was still out, and still keen, but when I thrust into her wet pussy it seemed like she was about to have a heart attack.

  I held my position, clothes still on. ‘OK, British Military lady?’ I asked, accented.

  She could hardly speak, so I just lay there, a few slow movements as her pussy muscles pinched my cock. When she had recovered some I built up speed, making her scream. It was a good job we were in a cottage, or the neighbours may have called the police, and I was hoping the damn phone wouldn't ring.

  When I was close to finishing I pulled out and came over her stomach, soon lying next to her. The tissues were right there so I grabbed a few and cleaned up her stomach. ‘If you get sperm in the belly-button you get pregnant. I read it in a book.’

  She was still in a state of shock. ‘Kids' book maybe.’ She took the tissues and placed them on the floor.

  I had to wonder which kids’ books mentioned sperm as I eased up, my clothes eased off, her skirt off, and we cuddled under the duvet. ‘This is so much better than sleeping on the cold sand,’ I noted.

  ‘I should hope so, quality lady I am.’

  ‘Now, but not at seventeen.’

  ‘Well, no, I was a rebel.’

  ‘Still a rebel, sucking off men when the PM is on the line. You should have stood to attention.’

  She coughed out a laugh. ‘You're just like I imagined.’

  I took in a bare brick wall, but it was tastefully coated with something like varnish, old wooden beams above us. ‘So why do women find me attractive?’ I wondered out loud.

  ‘Famous, dangerous, powerful. It’s like a drug.’

  ‘Fuck knows why they like me, and I keep finding posh totty, like Trish, and then Kate. I think, in my early days in the RAF, I liked lady officers in uniform. Did you know I passed officer selection?’

  ‘I think Trish did say, yes. Then you went to prison.’

  ‘Military prison, for three months, but it was not what it seemed. They figured it was a screw-up on day one, offered to send me back, but I asked to stay, to sit and think, and they allowed me, plus the longer I stayed the more compensation I was due...’

  ‘Little rascal. And you ran the marathon twice.’

  I sighed. ‘Not much luck with either event, tripped then shot.’

  ‘I read The Ghost, got a feel for what you do, and we saw the film about Camel Toe base.’

  ‘And that didn't put you off me?’ I teased.

  ‘Quite the opposite.’

  After an hour's snuggle time we enjoyed a shower together, all the more fun because it was not big enough for two people, and I made her scream afterwards, good job it was a cottage.

  In the morning I had a quick pee, a wash, then made her scream again before I made my excuses, a detachment to run, which was more like a regiment these days.

  I said I would call, but that she should not be pissed off if I disappear for three months.

  Back at base, now 8.30am, I had a breakfast in the officers’ mess and caught up on gossip. At one point I told them I had spent the night with a beautiful blonde.

  ‘Yeah, right,’ was the consensus, leaving me worried about my reputation for the ladies, or the lack of it.

  Off the coast of Cornwall, a hundred miles out, a Royal Navy destroyer and a frigate crowded the Grenada Star II and issued warnings over the radio, warnings that they would open fire if the ship's crew refused a boarding party, a Lynx helicopter buzzing overhead.

  Crewmembers of the target ship were then seen to throw things overboard, the Navy not close enough to see what it was that was being dumped, a few small items, certainly not a large horde o
f drugs. It pegged the crew as being suspicious though.

  The Grenada Star's captain was being evasive, stating that he was in international waters, and that the Navy should not be hassling him like this. With a Lynx close by, the bomb blew, the ship cut in half, the Lynx crew uttering a few rude words as they dived away, the ship below the waves in seconds, a large area of bubbles left as the Navy launched a search and rescue mission.

  David called me. ‘That ship, it blew up and sank, all hands lost.’

  ‘Bugger. From what I heard, some were innocent, most in on the old drug smuggling game. No one made it off?’

  ‘No, none.’

  ‘How deep is the wreck?’

  ‘They said a hundred and fifty metres.’

  ‘Someone might try and fish it up some day.’

  ‘Rough ocean, deep enough for specialist kit, so I think they would have a hard time. Be a major enquiry, already on the news.’

  ‘The PM knows about my sources, and we did our bit, so I don't see any issues … do you?’

  ‘No, but they will ask questions of sources.’

  ‘I'll deflect them, tell them it was the Israelis.’

  ‘That might work, yes, it will certainly confound them.’

  ‘Have a word with the police, since those drugs were coming here, a major consignment. And I never knew we had powerful drug gangs here.’

  ‘We don't, that’s the point, a new worry. Police were unable to think who it was heading for. Paperwork says it was heading for Rotterdam, which is where most of the drugs enter Europe.’

  ‘Could it be … that they would offload a small amount in the UK and then move on?’ I puzzled.

  ‘Possible, yes, but a risk for them.’

  I got back to the admin work, Tomsk calling me at 3pm. ‘That ship, it sank, the news is saying..?’

  ‘Yes,’ I confirmed.

  ‘Some are saying that your Navy sunk it.’

  ‘No, the bomb went off, Navy never fired.’

  ‘I just found out, there was a very big consignment on board, like three tonnes.’

  ‘Three tonnes? Of cocaine?’

  ‘Yes, and five tonnes of marijuana, all in small plastic bags.’

  ‘Small plastic bags … shit.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do you know who sent such a large consignment; it was supposed to dock in Rotterdam, Holland?’

  ‘The Puerto Rico gang is a front for a Nicaraguan gang, I hurt them last year. The Puerto Ricans are small, but the Nicaraguan gang is linked to their government and military.’

  ‘And the man putting the bomb on board?’

  ‘My sources says it was your Bolivian friend.’

  ‘He … doesn't deal with Central America, only South America,’ I puzzled.

  ‘So I heard, yes.’

  ‘Well, it’s done now, nothing we can do, they can fight amongst themselves. Watch your back, eh.’

  ‘No one knows I tipped off the Bolivian, don't worry, I used a middleman.’

  ‘But I do worry about you. You eating properly?’

  ‘Bollocks.’

  I smiled widely. ‘Bollocks? Where'd you learn that word?’

  ‘From Frank. He said to use it on English people, so I used it on someone in the hotel who was complaining.’

  ‘And...’

  ‘He stood staring at me for a minute. I like this word.’

  Laughing, I ended the call and hit the numbers for SIS, getting through to David. ‘Is the PM in today?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I need an emergency meeting, with the PM, Home Secretary, Defence Secretary, police drug chiefs, and the Navy. I'm on my way up.’

  ‘And the topic of the meeting?’

  ‘End of the fucking world, you'll lose some sleep.’

  ‘Oh gawd.’

  ‘Sort it, let me know, I'll set off now.’

  I grabbed MP Pete, he changed clothes quickly, and we set off out the gate and towards the M4 motorway, soon heading up to London.

  David called en route and he would meet me there, and I would have time for a meal on the motorway. We arrived at the rear of Horseguards at 5pm, police waiting for me, and they led me in, the others already there and chatting about the strange events of the day off the coast of Cornwall.

  Faces looked up as I entered.

  ‘Come on in, Major, we're all sat waiting, and worried.’

  I sat near David. ‘Sorry for presuming to call such a meeting, I know you are all busy important people -'

  ‘When you have a worry, we panic,’ the PM told me.

  I took in the faces, a pause. ‘I received more information about the ship. It was carrying three tonnes of cocaine -'

  ‘What?’ the police asked. ‘Coming here!’

  David noted, ‘That would be a very big consignment, unheard off, unless it was due to be dropped in Rotterdam as planned, but even then … it’s a monster load.’

  I pointed at the Admiral. ‘Could it be fished up, sir?’

  ‘It’s in a hundred and fifty metres of water, so … yes, with specialist kit.’

  ‘Why fish it up?’ the Home Secretary asked.

  I suggested, ‘To stop anyone else fishing it up.’

  ‘Could they?’ he asked the Admiral.

  ‘For that value in drugs … yes, but we'd notice them, a three day operation perhaps.’

  I cut in, ‘That’s not the big issue here, the one that will keep you all awake.’

  ‘Oh gawd,’ the PM let out. ‘There's more?’

  ‘The drugs are always in plastic bags, which float, and the cocaine was travelling with five tonnes of weed in small plastic bags, so ten days from now – wind and tide permitting – thousands of baggies will wash up all along the south coast.’

  A loud chorus of expletives shot around the room, the PM looking like he was going to have a heart attack.

  The police put in, ‘Every drug addict and gang member from Glasgow to Brighton will camped out on the south coast!’

  I pointed at the Admiral. ‘Sir, any chance that the drugs are still on the ship?’

  ‘It blew to pieces! So no!’

  ‘But they could be in a forwards hold, sealed off, and consigned to the depths, sir?’

  ‘Well … maybe, but judging by what they said, every bulkhead blew and it sank it three seconds.’

  ‘Sir, the first step is to have your ships searching for anything floating, to judge the wind and the tides, then we see. We might be lucky.’

  The PM turned to the Admiral. ‘I want divers down on the wreck.’

  ‘It’s winter, Prime Minister, storms moving in...’

  ‘Shit,’ the PM let out, frustrated. ‘Start a search immediately, get us some advance warning at least.’

  ‘Advance warning?’ the police queried with an incredulous look. ‘What good will that do? We'll have every druggy in the country beach combing, bad weather or not!’

  ‘There is a silver lining to all this,’ I put in. They waited. ‘It’s winter, so … think of the boost to south coast hotel trade.’

  ‘That’s not funny!’ the Home Secretary barked at me as the PM hid his grin, David hiding his grin, the police looking like they wanted to shoot me.

  The Home Secretary added, ‘We don't have enough police in the entire fucking country to cover that coastline!’

  The Admiral suggested, ‘Based on wind and tide, they could wash up along the South Wales coast, north Cornwall and Devon, and the south coast right along to Dover. A thousand miles of coastline.’

  I faced the PM. ‘Perhaps we best alert the French as well.’

  He nodded, and blew out. ‘What a mess.’

  ‘We might be lucky,’ I suggested. ‘The drugs could be stuck in a part of the ship that’s intact.’ I faced the police. ‘Do drugs last?’

  ‘The dry weed in bags, two to three years, the cocaine – no, needs to be used inside a year or the druggy kills himself with a bad mix.’

  I added, ‘So come spring, after this leaks,
someone might try and fish them up.’

  The PM faced the Admiral. ‘As soon as the weather permits, get down onto that wreck and have a look.’

  I faced the police. ‘Can you ask Interpol who, in Holland, is missing some drugs. It is relevant to one of my ongoing operations, and … no questions asked.’

  The PM nodded at the man. ‘So we wait some weather reports, and news from the Navy. We may be lucky, or … or the south coast economy gets an unwelcome winter boost, the M5 motorway clogged, the service stations doing a brisk trade to people with dreadlocks.’

  I smiled, then forced it away.

  ‘What?’ the PM asked.

  ‘I was just wondering -' I took in their faces. ‘- who'll break the news to the Chief Constable of Cornwall?’

  Laughter broke out, heads shaken.

  ‘He'll have a heart attack,’ the PM noted. ‘Then we'll have to mobilise the Army.’

  David turned to me. ‘Some day, just pop up with good news, eh, a cat rescued from a tree perhaps.’

  I apologised for being the bearer of bad news, and the meeting broke up.

  Driving back, David called. ‘Some odd news, grave news, and since it’s from Holland I thought it might be connected. Someone just shot and wounded our ambassador in Amsterdam.’

  ‘Ah … bollocks.’

  ‘You think it’s connected?’

  ‘My friends in low places said that rumours were circulating, rumours that our Navy sank that ship.’

  ‘And the owner of those drugs, now missing a few hundred million euros, is mad as hell. I'll get back to you, don't go anywhere.’

  Phone away, Pete asked, ‘Problems?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I sighed. I called the base. ‘It’s Wilco, I'm driving back. Put the base on alert, stay sharp, might be a threat to me.’

  Phone down, I said to Pete, ‘Next roundabout, off and circle.’ I checked my pistol, Pete now worried.

  No one was following, and we made it back in one piece, a chat to the MPs before I headed to the canteen. Rocko had six Wolves out on patrol, a patrol around my own base, warm sniper gear on. I had two CT police change into civvy clothes and patrol the village, dropping in on Robby to alert him.

  At 7pm, walking to the pub with Sasha and Moran, I diverted to Robby's house by myself.

  ‘Boss?’ he puzzled, and let me in.