Wilco- Lone Wolf 19

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Not my job to be happy with what you do.’

  ‘Some appreciation might be nice...’

  He glanced at Franks and Dick. ‘I'm sure those above you appreciate you.’

  ‘Actually … no, they lose a lot of sleep and threaten to shoot me.’

  ‘That I can believe.’

  I smiled. ‘You got the rockets?’

  ‘Yes, and the rifles, and the ships' captains and crew will stand trial, a big show of it Stateside.’

  ‘You're welcome,’ I carefully mouthed.

  ‘Petrov was seen last night, in Panama City, at a top function – with government ministers,’ he complained. ‘You … flew in and out of Panama this week, didn't you?’

  ‘Never been there,’ I told him with a straight face. ‘But they say he looks like me, similar build, a few scars, handsome chap.’

  ‘Damn Panamanian Government is sheltering him. They had a National Petrov day!’

  ‘I hear he's doing good things for the community...’

  ‘Ha.’

  ‘And he rescued some lady doctor.’

  ‘He did, the exact same time that you were supposed to be in Mexico...’

  ‘Well, not even I can be in two places at once.’ I faced Franks. ‘What do you reckon?’

  ‘We have no intel on your being in Mexico.’

  ‘Us neither,’ Harris confirmed. ‘No claims for daily subsistence, beans or tortilla.’

  Manstein shot him a look before he faced me. ‘And if you came across Petrov..?’

  ‘I'd buy him a beer and talk about sniping.’

  ‘You're supposed to arrest him!’

  ‘I have no orders to that effect.’

  ‘As an officer, you are mandated to arrest known criminals.’

  ‘No sheet of paper to that affect has ever landed on my desk.’ I held my hands wide. ‘Send me a memo on it, through my government.’

  He stormed out.

  Harris turned his head to me. ‘Good to see you mending fences with the FBI,’ he quipped.

  An hour later the captain sent for me. I met him up on the bridge. He began, as he sat in his comfy leather chair, ‘I just told some FBI jerk to fuck off. What’s his problem?’

  ‘I saved his life, twice sir, but he's still not happy. Problem is he thinks the FBI police the world. In West Africa, I seized guns from a Russian arms smugglers, but we opened the crates and used the weapons – came in handy. Manstein shouted because he wanted to catalogue the guns and use them as evidence.

  ‘I let him have a nose around the jungle base, then sent him packing, and an hour later five hundred rebels moved on that base, armoured personal carriers, the works.’

  ‘He would have got his throat slit, so he should be happy with you,’ the Captain noted.

  ‘On another occasion, sir, when I knew he was flying in to catalogue arms we seized, I tricked your young Marines into opening all the crates and firing off all the weapons.’

  He smiled widely. ‘Little shit. No wonder he loves you. And this Petrov fella?’

  ‘Don't exist.’

  ‘No?’ he puzzled.

  ‘Your CIA have several body doubles, and use his persona to kill people off the books.’

  ‘Ah...’

  ‘Best keep that to yourself, sir.’

  ‘No shit.’

  ‘What’s the news Stateside showing, sir?’

  ‘This operation is coast to coast, got more air minutes than anything else, sixty minute special on it – so Admiral Jacobs will be jealous. I called my wife and she and my daughters had seen it.’

  ‘How old are your daughters, sir?’ I puzzled.

  ‘In their twenties, but they're visiting their mother.’

  ‘What do they do? Navy?’

  ‘Hell no. One's a lawyer and one is a stock trader.’

  ‘So they're both crooked then.’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘In school they wanted to be doctors, and at twelve they wanted to join up. Still, they make good money and don't ask me for money any more. And you?’

  ‘A daughter, another on the way, but the mother is a high society doctor and not at all interested in having me around. Long story.’

  ‘You got a clean shirt, Mister?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Go borrow one from the SEALs.’

  ‘Right, sir,’ I said with a grin.

  At 5pm I stood on the viewing platform and checked my phone, missed calls coming in with single beeps. I called back Tomsk. ‘You after me?’

  ‘A bomb has gone off in Panama City, many dead, and rockets are coming from Costa Rica, the border, hitting border towns, and some small airfield had its radar blown up by a missile!’

  ‘Shit … I'll get to Panama as fast as I can.’ Inside, I shouted, ‘Captain, what were your original orders?’

  ‘To … support your operation,’ he puzzled.

  ‘Is there a time limit? Have you been ordered off?’ I urgently got out, officers staring my way.

  ‘No, no time limit...’

  ‘There are more rockets, on the Panama/Costa Rica border, raining down on towns, civilians being killed, an airport’s radar hit. They're the same rockets, and they're being fired into Panama to piss me off, they know I have ties to Panama. Can you turn this thing around?’

  ‘Turn around?’

  ‘And steam to the border. I need to go get those rockets.’

  ‘It’s … within our original remit.’

  ‘Fast as you can, sir, and I'll need all helos and all Marines, and the SEALS.’ I stepped back out and called Langley. ‘Deputy Chief.’

  ‘He's in the White House.’

  ‘Put me through! Now!’

  ‘Hold on.’

  I waited.

  ‘Wilco, you're on speaker-phone.’

  ‘Who's with you?’

  ‘Joint Chiefs, National Security Advisor.’

  ‘I think Catfish is alive, and there are more guided rockets. An airport radar in Panama was hit, rockets raining down on their border region. And a bomb has gone off in Panama City. They know I have ties to Panama, so they're hitting civilians. I've asked the captain of this carrier to steam south and help me get my men ashore.’

  ‘This is the National Security Advisor. I want those rockets, so we'll order those ships south.’

  ‘This is General Boltweir. I want those rockets, I want the men firing those rockets, I want the guy who cooked their fucking lunch, and I want his pet dog. I want them all to be in a position where they don't fire rockets again.’

  ‘Understood, sir.’

  ‘You'll have every assistance.’

  ‘Start with the diplomatic process, sir, because you have a frosty relationship with Panama despite still having bases there. I'll talk to the Panama Government and make sure that they welcome additional troops with open arms.’

  ‘You have an odd relationship with the government there, Major.’

  ‘Funny, they say that about my relationship with you lot. Oh, the American Wolves are sat in Belize getting a tan. Can you move them quickly to Panama – after chatting to the government there?’

  ‘We'll look at that now.’

  ‘Wilco out.’ Inside, I told the captain, ‘I just spoke to the Joint Chiefs and the National Security Advisor. You'll be ordered to assist me.’

  ‘Pretty damn powerful phone you have there, Major.’

  ‘And I'm on call with it 24hrs a day.’

  ‘We're turning around, aircraft and helos recovered, we'll steam south, a hundred and sixty miles to the border, so we'll be there tonight – we're as fast as our slowest ship, the helo carrier.’

  ‘SEALs back aboard, sir?’

  ‘This morning, yes.’

  ‘Captain Running Bear?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Hispanic CIA team.’

  ‘Ah, them. Yes, back aboard the helo carrier.’

  ‘You can leave the FBI in the jungle, sir.’

  He wagged a warning finger and hid his grin.

 
; I added, ‘When you get to within twenty-five miles go to General Quarters, sir, and expect a missile or two up you backside.’

  His officers looked worried.

  I told them, ‘You said that the carrier groups in the Red Sea had all the fun. Well, get ready for a taste of it. The White House is watching closely, the media is very closely watching, so no mistakes, gentlemen, or it will be death by media.’

  ‘No pressure,’ the captain wistfully stated, his officers looking worried.

  I went and found Franks in the main planning room. ‘There are more rockets, being fired across the Costa Rica border into Panama, and a bomb has gone off in Panama City – to get back at me.’ All eyes were on me.

  ‘Who's still out there?’ Franks asked, worried.

  ‘Russian defector Catfish is alive we think, a.k.a. Kebowski maybe, and he handed rockets to a drug gang on the border, a gang that Tomsk hit. He knows about my alter ego through Hollister in London.’

  We could feel the ship turning. A tanoy came life. ‘All hands, this is the captain. We're turning south and moving towards the Costa Rica and Panama border region, where guided rockets are being fired at civilian targets and airports. When we arrive we'll be involved in combat operations.’

  Officers started to move around with a purpose. I headed down to find Moran and the others, leading them to the teams and the teams to the original maintenance area, where they assembled.

  ‘Listen up!’ I shouted, my words echoing, naval ratings glancing our way. ‘Tonight we get to the Costa Rica/Panama border region, where drug gangs are firing guided rockets into Panama. We'll go ashore and try and find them, and split up. Check kit, replenish water, grab some rations here, eat well, have a shit, rest this afternoon ready for insert after dark. In your teams, sort kit.’

  ‘Our crates are back in that villa,’ Rizzo complained.

  ‘Borrow from the Americans.’

  I left Moran to sort them and I asked directions for the SEALs, finding Katowski after negotiating busy corridors. All heads lifted as I entered their room. ‘Get ready for insert after dark, rest this afternoon, check kit now, have a good meal and a shit before you go. And ask the officer in charge of the Marines to pop over here for a planning session, with Captain Running Bear.’

  ‘Who?’

  The Hispanic special forces captain.’

  ‘Ah, him.’

  I found my way to the viewing platform and looked up a number for the Panama minister as officers glanced at me through the glass, aircraft below being brought up to the deck and moved around before being tied down.

  ‘Si?’

  ‘Minister, it’s Petrov.’

  ‘Ah, you have heard about this attack?’

  ‘Yes, and I will be returning soon, but I know that the American Navy is rushing to you as well, their special forces, to go find these men in Costa Rica firing rockets.’

  ‘That is good. This is linked to the activities in Nicaragua?’

  ‘Yes. I know that your people are not so fond of the Americans, but I ask that you cooperate with them fully. The enemy of my enemy...’

  ‘Is my friend, yes.’

  ‘I think the Americans will contact you soon.’

  ‘You seem to know much of what goes on with the American military...’

  ‘I do their dirty work sometimes.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’

  ‘And I ask that you welcome them publicly, to mend a few bridges.’

  ‘You sound more like a politician … than an assassin, and we hear strange things about you and the Americans.’

  ‘You can be sure of my best intentions towards your people always.’

  ‘Of that I am sure, old friend. You sound like you are on a mountain.’

  ‘There is some wind here yes.’

  ‘You were in the city last night.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No? I saw you.’

  ‘I have a body double.’

  ‘My god, he looked just like you.’

  ‘In my line of work, Minister, being in two places at once is a benefit.’

  ‘Yes, of course, an alibi when needed.’

  ‘Please speak to your government, and urge them to welcome American assistance.’

  ‘I will do so, and when we meet you explain your political role, eh.’

  ‘Maybe, sir. I will be in Panama tonight.’

  Call cut, a missed call registered. I called back Colonel Mathews.

  ‘Wilco, what’s the panic?’

  ‘The rockets we found, they're not the only ones, there are others, being fired into Panama as we speak, an airport hit.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘We'll steam south and go after them, the Panama Government will cooperate.’

  ‘You say that as if you know for sure...’

  ‘I do. I've requested the American Wolves be moved, and if you have anyone else who can get here in time then send them.’

  ‘I'm starting to make plans now, but what is the plan here?’

  ‘Seek and destroy, helo insert, sneaking about at the border.’

  In with Franks and Harris, the naval officers were looking at maps of the area, but we were called to a command meeting above, many officers cramped around a large central map table in a room full of electronics around the walls, things hanging from the ceiling. I had to duck.

  The captain stood with his team, and he introduced a few officers, job titles such as Surface Warfare, Air Operations, Undersea Warfare, Strike Group. ‘Major, outline as best you can what our aims and objectives are here.’

  I pointed at the map. ‘There's a drug gang sat in this border region, at war with the Panama authorities these past few years. The rockets are being fired south from their region, so either it’s the gang themselves - or oddly enough someone they gave permission to transit their area and bring down the wrath of the US Navy on their heads. My money is on the gang wanting revenge.

  ‘The paymaster might be a not-so-dead former Russian defector, a missile engineer that has gotten involved in shipping arms from North Korea to the Congo, whose ships we've intercepted - such as the Cortez. Blood diamonds go to West Africa, oil goes to North Korea, drugs get sold to pay for the oil, a trick to avoid North Korea being found out.

  ‘The rockets being fired have been supplied in spite, in revenge for our attacks into Nicaragua and the seizure of the drugs. But, within a few short weeks the people involved will be out of cash and … looking for more dangerous pass times to fill in the hole in their bank balances.

  ‘The plan is to insert many small teams, my men, American Wolves, your SEALs and Marines, to comb the area and find the rockets – that is the top priority, as set by the White House.

  ‘Problem will come when our soldiers meet local drug gangs and clash. I have no doubt we'll win, so long as our soldiers stay out of towns and villages, and stay camouflaged in the bush.

  ‘The local drug gangs wear jeans, white cowboy hats, and drive jeeps. They do not … like the jungle. I've had men in white cowboy hats try and sneak up on me.’

  ‘Smart fellas,’ the captain noted.

  ‘But dangerous in the towns, sir, where everyone is an informant.’

  An officer put in, a finger on the map, ‘Local TV news is reporting this small airstrip hit, its radar damaged.’

  I had a close look. ‘Ten miles from the border, I guess, so that'll be our Forwards Operating Base; La Ninga. I'll clear it with the Panamanian Government, I've already spoken to them.’

  ‘Nice cosy relationship you have there...’ the Captain noted.

  ‘My men helped them against the FARC rebels on their southern border when the FARC took delivery of heat seeking missiles. It was kept quiet, your CIA with us on the ground.’

  Heads nodded.

  I continued, ‘Let’s assume that we take that airstrip, and use it as a base, helos based there, Marines to protect them, stores moved over, local police and army on the wire, medical tent set up. From there we radiate outwards, search and d
estroy missions.’

  ‘And air support?’ the captain asked.

  ‘As and when we spot a truck convoy with some rockets we'll call you in, to strafe or to bomb. You may have reservations about bombing a target where civilians could be involved, but these are drug gang members, so not what I would call civilians. If a drug boss has his wife and kids in the truck with him ... his fucking problem, sir.’

  ‘If the truck has rockets, we hit it,’ he stated. ‘The collateral damage is the fault of the guy moving the damn rockets around. But if the truck is in a village we'd wait for it to be moved, not flatten a village.’

  ‘I agree, sir. Oh, which is your fastest ship?’

  ‘One of the destroyers, why?’

  ‘Have it steam ahead to the border region, sir, close in-shore, let itself be seen, and to speed around the area with its radar on, the hope being that they fire rockets at it.’

  ‘What the hell for?’

  ‘First, I doubt the rockets will hit it. Second, they have a limited number of rockets, and I'd rather they fire them at a ship than a hospital in Panama. And third, if your ships can't defend themselves against homemade rockets then … then you'll seriously get your arses kicked by Congress.’

  The Captain cocked an eyebrow at me. ‘Those rockets won't penetrate a destroyer, but they could wreck the radar array, which means the damn ship hauls ass back to port for a new one. So we have to justify it.’

  ‘As I said, sir, these are homemade rockets, so if they pose a threat to you - your bank balance or otherwise, you need a strategy and some practise dodging them. There will be an enquiry afterwards, so … are you vulnerable to a rocket made in someone's garage?’

  ‘If we are there'll be a hell of shit storm about it. So I guess I'll dispatch a destroyer to play chicken.’

  I asked, ‘Who's a missile expert?’ A naval officer raised his hand. ‘How long, the flight time, for a missile with a range of twenty-five miles?’

  ‘Two minutes, just about.’

  ‘Your radar would show it up?’

  ‘Yes, at the apogee.’

  ‘Time enough to manoeuvre we'd hope.’

  ‘We'll soon see,’ the Captain noted.

  I asked, ‘Anti-missile missiles?’

  ‘Yes,’ the same officer replied. ‘And Phalanx guns. But hitting an incoming rocket with another rocket is damn tricky, and not 100%.’