Wilco- Lone Wolf 19

by Geoff Wolak

  David called me back an hour later. ‘Our friend the mole, he was passed over for promotion several times, and ended up in research – not on the front line as he desired.’

  ‘Reason enough to want to strike back at the establishment, and at us, to show us how smart he is. Was he gay?’

  ‘There were rumours, nothing proven, but these days that does not rule a man out; we have many gay technical staff. In the time of Philby, Burgess and Maclane it was an issue, less so now.’

  ‘What did he study in university?’

  ‘Chinese.’

  ‘And a few trips to China?’

  ‘Yes, when in university, all declared.’

  ‘We need to link him to the Chinese or the Koreans, or Singapore.’

  ‘Ah, Singapore, something in the file. I'll call you back.’ He did call back, ten minutes later. ‘He was stationed in Singapore for six months twice, so a year in total.’

  ‘And our paymaster is from Singapore. Need to find the paymaster, and see if he actually exists.’

  ‘Why say that?’

  ‘Maybe it’s a smoke screen, another one, someone to blame when our mole gets caught, a deal struck with you – he knows how you work in cases like this. Could just be a dead letter drop for the North Koreans, but how did he make contact with Nicaraguan drug gangs, they ain't listed in the phone book?’

  ‘I saw something in the file. I'll get back to you.’ He was back on fifteen minutes later. ‘He was involved with drug gangs here linked to Central America, in 1982, and afterwards he handled research on such gangs when Mi5 went off Russian work in 1991 and looked at organised crime. He interviewed gang members that we caught.’

  ‘He could be the spider at the centre of it; he went looking for North Korean agents and Nicaraguan gangs and got them together, just to spite you. You can't let him near a phone.’

  ‘He's in a hotel, being watched...’

  ‘Move him tonight.’

  ‘I have some calls to make. Talk in the morning.’

  I sat with Swifty, the TV turned down low. ‘You might be right, and we're being played. This Mi5 man they caught, he had links to China, Korea and Nicaraguan gangs, and reason to want to piss off the establishment. He could be the spider at the centre of it all, but … he's out the picture, so what worries do I have on this job?’

  ‘The worry … is doing his dirty work for him.’

  ‘Knocking back a gang in Nicaragua? All sides want that!’

  ‘Maybe they pissed him off, didn't pay or something.’

  ‘So … there's no trap.’

  ‘There is, because he wants you dead and Echo shot up. We go at the gang, get most of them, they get some of us – and you. Winner, winner, chicken dinner.’

  ‘That saying … comes from cock fighting in Bangkok, nothing to do with London cockneys. The winner is the cock and his owner, the other cock is chicken dinner!’

  ‘Best hope we don't become the losing cock then.’

  We exchanged a look.

  I called David. ‘How did they find my doppelganger?’

  ‘Not sure, something about a man having his hair cut.’

  ‘I'll call you back,’ I told him, and went and found Gay Dave in his allotted room. I sat on a chair as he sat on the bed. ‘Settled?’

  ‘They smile at me, but they're not the worst bunch I've dealt with. Better than prison.’

  ‘How did they find you, originally?’

  ‘I used to cut the hair for this guy, Simpson, and he hung around a gay bar I knew. He introduced me to an older man, Claridge, and he liked me, had a lot of money to splash around, swanky apartment in Regents Park.’

  ‘Hold that thought.’ I called David. ‘Claridge, apartment in Regent’s Park.’

  ‘Our mole is Morris Claridge Hollister, and he has a family apartment in Regent’s Park.’

  ‘And he's as gay as they come. Who is Simpson?’

  ‘Ah, under suspicion, works in research with Hollister.’

  ‘Simpson found our doppelganger, introduced him to Hollister in a gay club.’

  ‘So Hollister saw the opportunity, to discredit you. Pegs him as dirty, yes, but a dirty mole … or the main man.’

  ‘Hold on.’ Phone down, I asked, ‘Did you ever see Hollister with other men?’

  ‘Sure, he liked his young boys.’

  ‘Any older men, James Bond types?’

  ‘There was one, I saw them through a crack in the door. Tall and thin, silver haired, a real dash chap, spoke French. Had a few fingers missing. He spoke to Claridge like he was the boss.’

  I lifted the phone. ‘Tall silver-haired man, spoke French, missing some fingers.’

  ‘Debonet, Canadian, CIA. Reported as deceased a good five years back.’

  I lowered the phone. ‘When did you see this man?’

  ‘Six months ago.’

  I told David, ‘Rumours of his death have been greatly exaggerated. He was alive six months ago.’

  ‘Bugger, that could be an issue, CIA lied to us.’

  ‘I have some calls to make.’ I thanked Gay Dave and walked back in the cold, CT police insisting they accompany me. I called Miller's boss and left a message.

  Miller called back a few minutes later. ‘You after me?’

  ‘A few fingers short of a full hand, Mister Debonet.’

  ‘What … about him?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘He's dead, five year back.’

  ‘Guess again.’

  After a long pause came, ‘If I had a gun I'd shoot you, you know that.’

  ‘Don't shoot the messenger. Does his lack of deadness concern you?’

  ‘I'm about to explode, and kill large numbers of people!’

  ‘British Mi5 man, Hollister, was the spider at the centre of the web, now in custody. He was passed over for promotion, he was gay, and he visited China and Singapore, where he created a fantasy about himself, and betrayed us. He got the Koreans talking to the Nicaraguan gangs, just to piss us off.’

  ‘Those motivated simply by money are the easy ones to find...’ I heard the sigh.

  ‘Who am I missing here? Deep, Deep, Deep State perhaps?’

  ‘We've used Canadian contractors for decades, and there was talk that some grouped together, disillusioned with us, seeking other paymasters. They were reported dealt with, by the CIA.’

  ‘They're all alive and well, and making mischief, so go do your job, Mister Deep State. I'll do mine in Nicaragua.’ I cut the call and hit the numbers for Langley as I walked. I asked for the Deputy Chief to call me back.

  He called ten minutes later, as I reached my house. ‘Wilco, you after me?’

  ‘There are some people after your head, for gross incompetence.’

  ‘What..?’

  ‘Sub-contractor Debonet, and his friends in Canada.’

  ‘Debonet is dead, his gang dealt with...’

  ‘There's a British word that fits: bollocks. They're all alive and well as we speak.’

  ‘What!’ he hissed.

  ‘Pull your finger out, while you still have a job. Wilco out.’

  ‘Jesus mother of fucking...’ He cut the call.

  Before bed I walked into the Gate House, the MP Captain there. I sat, they waited.

  The Captain began, no energy in his voice, ‘I've spoken to my CO, and they informed his family. London has the body, delayed release because it’s a terrorist murder.’ He held his hands wide and let them drop. ‘He was popular, bit of mood.’

  I faced Graveson. ‘You have a good reputation with a pistol, if you're dumb enough to volunteer to drive me.’

  ‘I'll do it, sir. No more dangerous than a cold night around this place.’

  ‘Pete's car is to be sent back here, it’s MOD property,’ the Captain informed me.

  I nodded, and stroked a dog.

  ‘We know who sent those men, sir?’ Graveson asked.

  ‘Yes, one in custody, others to follow. I'll not stop till I get them all, but … Pete got
them already.’

  Outside my house I hesitated, then called Cecelia.

  ‘Hey you.’

  ‘Listen, I'm shipping out soon, job on, couple of weeks maybe.’

  ‘Oh. Well, I figured this might happen.’

  ‘Sorry, but it goes with the job.’

  ‘The man that was killed with you..?’

  ‘My driver and bodyguard, and a good friend.’

  ‘My god. It’s hits home, something like that; James Bond loses people around him in real life.’

  ‘Listen, you're in danger, so -'

  ‘I'm on an RAF base with high fences, don't worry.’

  ‘I will worry though.’

  ‘And I'll be worrying about you and watching the news.’

  ‘Keep an eye on Central America. Fingers crossed, I might make it back...’

  ‘Don't be morbid, your always survive, a few extra scars.’

  ‘I have a body double now, so maybe that will help.’

  ‘My god, is the guy crazy?’

  I laughed. ‘It’s a long story. Anyway...’

  ‘I'll see you when I see you. Don't fret. Bye.’ She hung up.

  In the morning we got word of a C5 available that evening, but I was reminded of not putting all our eggs in one basket. I checked with RAF Brize Norton, and there was a Tristar bound for Belize the next day, soldiers on their way for jungle training. I would put half the teams on that plane, half on the C5, but the C5 would drop us in North Carolina before a hired aircraft took us to Belize.

  Thinking, and chatting to the others, I scrapped the C5 ride in favour of some men on the Tristar, some on a hire jet. We could get twenty on the small jet, to Belize. Kit would go on the Tristar.

  Most everyone was in jungle stripes for breakfast, but most everyone complained and then wrapped up warm when I gave them the flight schedule. I checked my crate with Swifty, and we both packed swimming costumes since I told him we'd try and get some down time after the job was done – if we were still alive.

  The green Valmets were counted and cleaned, green magazines loaded ready, enough for each man to have two. The rest of the ammo would come from Tomsk.

  At 11am, all of those that would attend sat in a briefing from Major Harris, white boards and maps displayed.

  He began, ‘Nicaragua has a history of political unrest, with various communist groups forming at times, and with the CIA pissing about and trying to stop the various communist groups forming. The land is straddled by the Caribbean on one side, Pacific on the other, a large polluted lake on the west side, and the east side is sparsely populated, shit jungle and swamp, but some good coffee growing areas.

  ‘The capital, and the main population centres, are on the west coast, and the main north-south highways are in the west, the drug routes up into America. Most of the cocaine that finds its way into the States is believed to traffic that corridor.’

  I did not correct him about how Tomsk's operation worked, because Tomsk used ships.

  Harris continued, ‘There are some small areas of coca production, but mostly it’s marijuana -'

  ‘Hold on. Where did the large lump of cocaine come from on the ship that sank?’ I asked.

  ‘Not grown locally in Nicaragua, but it has been suggested that marijuana is swapped for cocaine. The marijuana goes by the well-establish land route, some of the cocaine to Florida.’

  I excused myself and stepped out, calling Tomsk after checking my watch. He was asleep, so I would have to wait, but ex-DEA Frank had just arrived. I adopted an accent. ‘Frank, where would the Nicaraguan cartels get a tonne of cocaine from?’

  ‘We were discussing that last night, and a rumour says it was Mexican cocaine.’

  ‘Mexican? Why not send it north across the border?’

  ‘They get a better price in Europe for it, more than the States, and the European batches don't get stopped as often. You're on your way here?’

  ‘Yes, to start a war with Nicaragua. Do me a favour; when he is awake, ask about the origins of the drugs on some boat that blew up.’

  ‘We've been asking around already. The Puerto Rican cartel are just middle men, they don't grow it, and I don't know why they would even be involved in such an operation. Would be simple to just ship it from Nicaragua, because ships from Puerto Rico are even more suspicious to customs in Europe, but there is a regular coffee boat - and that was the one that sank.’

  ‘Does Mexico grow cocaine?’ I wondered.

  ‘Never found any evidence of it.’

  ‘So this lump of drugs goes from Colombia to Mexico, to a ship off Puerto Rico?’

  ‘Odd, yes. Unless...’

  ‘Unless what?’

  ‘There was a rumour, a month ago, that a large consignment was intercepted in Mexico, several, but that they disappeared from the police lock-up before they could be burnt. Mexican Government said it was burnt.’

  ‘Ah, the penny drops in the toilet.’

  ‘Uh, Petrov, it’s … the penny finally drops, into a slot to open the toilet door. Like a public toilet, but in old England.’

  ‘You paid to use the toilet then?’

  ‘Yes, one old penny.’

  ‘I learn something new, thanks.’ I cut the call, smiling at my own acting skills, now noticing Sergeant Crab with Doc Williams, off to the pistol range for some practise.

  Back inside, I listened in, and studied the map as Harris went through the geopolitics.

  Franks then took over. ‘East of the capital, Managua, it’s a wilderness, very few roads or villages. You could walk thirty miles through the scrub and see no signs of life. The main trade is in coffee, west and central northern areas, east coast is sparsely populated, so if someone wants a drug operation in the east they certainly won't be bothered by bored passing police officers.

  ‘But if they are in the east then they have no drugs grown, no good routes to traffic them. The main gangs operate in the west, but have hidden areas near the coffee growing region, a route from Panama through Costa Rica, and up through Nicaragua and on towards the States.

  ‘But, in recent years, the drugs trade in Panama has altered, and overland movement is now rare, so boats from Colombia drop drugs on the coast of Nicaragua, but the drugs trade has dropped off due to … things happening in Panama. The traffickers go around instead of using the roads as they used to.

  ‘The government officials in Nicaragua are corrupt, so too the police, and few arrests are made. Drugs are seized, but they're a tiny percentage of the overall shipments. In the central eastern area, a conservation area actually, there are drug staging areas.

  ‘They come in bulk, are tested and sorted, then sent on to places where the buyers offer the most money. Europe offers more money than the States, but then you have to get it to Europe in a ship or a plane obviously – a risk.’

  At the end of the briefing I had a look at the map, and a parachute insert was a possibility, but also a road landing of a Hercules. The east offered a few long straight roads, no telegraph poles I figured. Landing by ship would mean a long walk, fifty miles.

  Later, Tinker came and found me in the hangar, a warm jacket on. ‘GCHQ is busy with Nicaragua, and they're using the same technique as before, the one you used with the Cali Cartel. They have the suspected locations of drug centres in the east, and we have old packet data, satellite phone data, plus old mobile usage from a year back, and the computer has thrown up patterns.

  ‘One pattern fits, in that it has satellite calls to a spot on the map where the maps says there's no spot, back to the capital, plus vehicles in motion along roads. We got links to Miami, and Puerto Rico. And, wait for it, we worked backwards from the ship's comms system, the Grenada Star.’

  ‘How?’ I asked.

  ‘GPS fixed the ship's track, they do these days, so we matched its track to packet data and got some hits. We figured there are no pay phones mid Atlantic.’

  I smiled.

  ‘So we have a link from the ship to Puerto Rico and Nicaragua, and we'
re widening it. Some sat phones linked in are linked to a blank spot on the map.’

  ‘Good work, keep at it. Oh, what about recent London phones?’

  ‘We're widening that net already, so far no links to Central America.’

  I called David from outside, a chill wind blowing, our two cold tanks stood ready for trouble. ‘It’s me. Is Claridge come Hollister talking?’

  ‘He now realises that we are onto him, and tomorrow he gets charged with espionage – and thirty other charges, unless he changes his mind today.’

  Ten minutes later my phone trilled; Langley. ‘Can you talk?’ the Deputy Chief asked.

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘I've dispatched our best American and Canadian teams to Toronto, and we'll find the shits. Do we get access to the man you caught, Hollister?’

  ‘He was offered a deal, but was playing us; he knew we'd offer him a deal. He's not the mole, he's the mastermind, pissed off with us because he never got promoted. Talk to David Finch, but at the moment Hollister is sat facing thirty charges and a hundred years in a cell, and he has till morning to decide which way it goes. His family is his weak spot -'

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Son in the Army, an officer, second son is a barrister, wife was a politician.’

  ‘So he wants it kept quiet.’

  ‘And have you declared this up the line?’ I teased.

  ‘Like fuck, we're trying to contain it best we can. Two former managers have been arrested by the FBI, falsifying documents, more to follow.’

  ‘And what do your ex-employees do, and want, and what motivates them?’

  ‘That’s the question, since they've disappeared off the grid. They ain't running guns or drugs or … doing anything that would arouse suspicions.’

  ‘We have a link between them and North Korea.’

  ‘Well if that got out it would be my head for sure, but we can't find a link yet other than your man Hollister.’

  ‘Hollister was subservient to Debonet, that we know, so what information was being traded? Hollister had access to London Intel, but your ex-employees were cut off from the intel source.

  ‘Hollister had the chance to make some money, but so far no sign of the money, and if he passed secrets to Debonet to pass to the North Koreans then they could have made money, maybe selling to the Chinese.’