Wilco- Lone Wolf 19

by Geoff Wolak

  I took in the treeline north. ‘I'm getting a headache trying to figure this all out. And Manstein, he's no fool, he would need some serious backers for him to get involved. Maybe someone high up in the FBI.’

  ‘Deep State?’

  ‘I'm in touch every day, they're not trying to get rid of me.’

  ‘Someone else? We unearthed that group who sent the sleeper agents to Liberia.’

  I nodded. ‘Could well be, yes.’

  Franks took a quick call. He faced me, ‘Manstein's wife, and thirteen year old daughter, they both have cancer.’

  I sighed loudly. ‘Reason enough for a man to take a risk, and to say – to hell with them all.’

  ‘He now has motive, a lack of reason to live.’

  ‘We need his backers, because if you arrest him they keep going. And if Manstein is any good, why are we winning here?’

  ‘You out-foxed them, that’s why,’ he adamantly stated.

  ‘Did I, or was I supposed to be led here. A lame attack in London, a lame attack at my base, evidence leading to more evidence. I get the feeling that Terotski is brilliant in his thinking. He's Russian, so he grew up playing chess.’

  ‘He lost a plane full of rockets to the Israelis, he lost the drugs, his Canadians are all dead or captured. If this is his master plan then he's losing all his pawns and knights to go for the check-mate. Be just him left soon.’

  ‘Maybe he's not averse to it being just him left.’ I faced Franks squarely. ‘Who's a big enough player to back Terotski?’

  He pulled a face and glanced at Nicholson. ‘North Koreans are crap, Russia is poor and on its arse, China would not want to be involved – and their agents are crap.’

  My phone trilled. ‘It is Carlos.’

  ‘Carlos the Kitten, how are you?’

  ‘I'm not a kitten, but I now know it is you,’ he said, containing his frustration.

  I smiled. ‘How can I help you, old friend?’

  ‘I was just wondering what you were doing in Tijuana.’

  My face fell. ‘I was seen, in Tijuana?’

  ‘One of my men, a glimpse, but he did not give you away.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Today.’

  ‘I have been in Panama a few days, and I have never been to Tijuana.’

  ‘He was certain.’

  ‘I think you may have just helped me. Talk later.’ I faced Franks. ‘Petrov … was positively identified in Tijuana, Mexico, today.’

  ‘What? Another look-a-like?’ he puzzled. ‘Three of you!’

  ‘Who's in Tijuana?’

  ‘The biggest cartel, close links to the Medellin Cartel.’

  ‘I think we just found out who’s big enough to try and topple Tomsk.’

  ‘They have the money, and the clout, and the men.’

  ‘So why the lame-arse action here?’

  ‘Beats me, they have a shit load of money. They can hire the good help.’

  ‘But here they're sending the cannon fodder my way. Why would they deal with Terotski?’

  ‘Maybe Terotski approached them, said he could move Tomsk aside. Be tempting enough.’

  ‘They must have fallen out, because the people who lost those drugs are all dead, sliced-up and dead.’

  ‘Might not have had anything to do with Terotski, could have been Debonet who screwed up.’

  I called Tomsk. ‘Listen, we found a link with the Tijuana Cartel and the Medellin Cartel, and the plot to get rid if you.’

  ‘Medellin? Those two-faced shits, they've been talking sweet of late, and the Tijuana Cartel.’

  ‘The Tijuana Cartel have a body double of me, he was seen today. So they'll use him to discredit me before they move on you.’

  ‘You move on them first?’

  ‘Maybe, if I can identify the key players. But they can create a film of my look-a-like and discredit me, and soon.’

  ‘So the double in Panama City is OK?’

  ‘Looks that way, but be careful, very careful.’

  ‘When can you sort these shits?’

  ‘When did it become my job, eh? I'm supposed to be a captain in the British Army, arresting people like you!’

  ‘I can pay well, you know that!’

  ‘I don't need the money, well...’

  ‘Well … what?’

  ‘If Spectre had more money I could do more.’

  ‘You find these shits, eh.’

  ‘Leave it with me.’ I faced Franks. ‘Call the agency, have the NSA look for phone patterns, Tijuana to Medellin to here to Costa Rica to Nicaragua to Toronto. Tell them I said that they're pants if the British do it first.’

  Smiling, he lifted his phone and stepped away. I called Tinker. ‘Listen, I may have figured this out. We think that the Mexican Tijuana Cartel is siding with the Medellin Cartel to discredit me and to remove Tomsk, they have a body double.’

  ‘Another one!’

  ‘Yes, that’s three of us. Get GCHQ to map phones with Tijuana, Medellin, here, Costa Rica, Nicaragua and Toronto, and links to any know phones. Fast as they can, all out before my double gets seen on CNN. And I told the NSA that they're pants and that you'll do a better job of it.’

  He laughed. ‘We cooperate with them daily.’

  As the sun hung low, loud Hueys coming and going, I stood staring out at the activity from the roof.

  Major Morgen appeared at my side. ‘You hiding from us?’

  I glanced at him. ‘The real work is done on my phone, and in my head. This -' I waved at the airfield. ‘- is a giant distraction from the real game, the real players hidden, the real agendas hidden.’

  ‘I'll leave the intel shits to you. Never liked working with the CIA. We on track here?’

  ‘It’s slow attrition for a few days, and … this is good practise for the teams here. They go back with some experience, and some maturity.’

  ‘I've tightened up along the treeline, static ambush points, shouted a little at a few NCOs. They're sharper now.’

  ‘It’s a learning curve. Better to learn here, than when a war comes along.’

  ‘My family are all watching this live on CNN and Fox. The way the media is reporting this it looks like a full-on war.’

  ‘Media always exaggerates it, good for their ratings.’ My phone trilled. ‘Excuse me. Wilco.’

  ‘Deputy Chief, and the NSA just dropped the bomb on Manstein.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Got calls from payphones near is home to Toronto, to a payphone we already knew about, other calls to Tijuana, Mexico, an area that no sane person would ever dare tread, and to a payphone at a gas station in Nicaragua, one that London says is linked in.

  ‘His cost sheets says he stayed in a motel with his team, Costa Rica, and calls from a payphone nearby hit known phones in Toronto. And last week he was in Panama, a hotel, and the lobby courtesy phones link to Toronto and Tijuana.’

  ‘You know about his wife and daughter.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he sighed out. ‘Enough to push a man over the edge.’

  ‘I need to make him talk.’

  ‘You can't, too many witnesses, and he's FBI. Arrest warrant will be issued -'

  ‘Trust me, and think about where I'm stood right now.’ I led Major Morgen downstairs, and collected Franks and Dick, but I stopped when I noticed the ship's Captain walk in, men saluting. I heaved a sigh.

  ‘Special Agent Manstein!’ I shouted, loud enough to stop everything, sixty people turning inwards. Manstein turned to me, puzzled.

  ‘Special Agent Manstein of the F – B – I.’ I stepped closer, right up to him as he looked puzzled and annoyed, everyone focused on us. I moved quickly and broke his nose, and he fell at the feet of his colleagues.

  ‘Major!’ the Captain shouted.

  Manstein was eased up as I stood with my legs apart, rifle slung, thumbs in my webbing.

  ‘Special Agent Manstein, we have a problem. You, Mister FBI man, conducted an interview with the man who's been firing rockets at us, in L
ondon in 1990. Yet you failed to mention that fact to the CIA here.’

  I pointed at one of his colleagues, that man shocked and angered towards me. ‘Did he tell you that he interviewed Terotski in London, 1990?’

  The man glanced at Manstein as the blood flowed, adopting a frown. ‘No...’

  ‘Well here's the thing, Agent Manstein. I'm a suspicious individual, so I had the CIA and the NSA check your telephone logs, and the payphones close to where you live, payphones in hotels where you stayed, and … an arrest warrant is being prepared for you.

  ‘Passing secret information to drug gangs and terrorists, conspiracy to commit murder, conspiracy to commit acts of terrorism agents the military of the United States of America.’

  ‘What!’ the Captain shouted. ‘He sold us out?’

  ‘He did, but he won't be getting an orange jump suit in an American jail.’

  ‘He won't?’ the Captain puzzled, all eyes now on us.

  I waved forwards Hispanic Major Spencer, then faced Manstein as he bled on the floor, his two colleagues having stepped back and withdrawn their support for him. ‘This is Panama, not an American military base, not a dependency or protectorate, no war here. This is sovereign Panamanian soil, and Agent Manstein is not a soldier, and not a diplomat, and as such … the Panama authorities have jurisdiction here.’

  ‘They do?’ the Captain asked.

  ‘Major Spencer, I hereby formally convey to you that Agent Manstein here is subject to arrest in America for conspiring to fire rockets into your country, and to commit acts of terrorism in your country. We can provide details within a matter of days.’

  Manstein was puzzled, and I was sure he did not fancy a stay in an American prison, or the electric chair.

  Major Spencer waved over his soldiers. ‘Agent Manstein, we are detaining you pending further enquiries, and I point out that here in Panama we shoot people for acts of terrorism.’

  With a smug look on my face I watched as they bundled him towards a Huey, Manstein shocked and silent.

  ‘God damn!’ the Captain shouted, staring after Manstein. ‘A fucking FBI agent sold us out?’

  ‘He did, sir, but now the local authorities will make him the kind of deal he would be stupid to refuse.’

  ‘Talk, or the firing squad.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Jesus Christ, that son of a bitch was a guest on my ship!’

  I closed in on Manstein's colleagues. ‘I assume that you didn't know, but you are both hereby suspended, and will return to the States via civilian airliner, where you'll spend a year answering awkward questions, a torch shone up your arse. Pack up and get out, or I'll start shooting.’

  They fled, Max watching them go.

  Major Morgen complained, ‘I could have done with ten minutes alone with him.’

  The Captain turned around, beyond livid. ‘Take a number and get in line, Mister.’

  I faced Max. ‘Reuters. Now.’

  The Captain glanced at Max. ‘Should we not check up the line first?’

  ‘I know what I'm doing, sir, and why. Anyway, shall I show you around?’

  He shook his head. ‘Jesus.’ He followed me to the roof as we started to lose the light. I called Langley. ‘Moment, sir.’

  ‘Deputy Chief,’ finally came.

  ‘It’s Wilco, and the Panama authorities have taken Manstein into custody.’

  ‘They have jurisdiction, I checked. FBI badge doesn't get you diplomatic immunity when it comes to something like this.’

  ‘They'll make him a deal, he'll then be found hanging. No deal and it’s the firing squad.’

  ‘We'll try and extradite him, but that gives them time to question him, and we haven't sorted the new extradition treaty yet. I wouldn't fancy a stay in Panama City jail, I hear the food is terrible.’

  ‘The tattooed inmates are not too nice either.’

  I gave the Captain a rundown of the operation so far, the various teams and inserts.

  ‘Get down!’ Nicholson shouted, and I threw the Captain as if a judo opponent, stopping him from hitting hard as I knelt next to him, two rounds cracking the air above me, one hitting the wall. Tomo fired outwards, Nicholson joining in, several loud rounds discharged.

  ‘Got them,’ Nicholson informed me.

  I lifted the Captain. ‘You OK, sir.’

  ‘Hard surface.’ He shook his hand.

  ‘Better than a bullet, sir.’

  ‘Damn right,’ he quipped as Marines ran out the gate. ‘Who the hell are they?’

  ‘Local idiots paid to attack us, and to distract us.’

  ‘Distract us from what?’

  ‘That’s the question, sir, but we are getting closer to finding out.’ I led him down, and suggested he not hang around. He asked questions of teams, thanked a few people, chatting to Max before getting a ride back to ship, his wrist hurting.

  Major Morgen asked me, ‘When do you sleep?’

  ‘When do you sleep?’ I countered with.

  ‘I've always been good with just catching an hour or two here and there.’

  ‘Then you get a few hours and I'll hold the fort, then we swap.’

  ‘Deal.’

  Max bound over. ‘Syndicated that story, it’s gone everywhere. Be a shit storm on CNN tomorrow.’

  I sighed. ‘Yes, but what you don't know ... is that Manstein's wife and daughter have cancer.’

  ‘He has nothing to lose,’ Max realised. ‘Poor sod, but you support your family - not turn to terrorism. He's no good to them now, and I doubt they'll pay his fricking pension over.’

  Up on the roof, I loudly said, ‘Tomo, you having fun here?’

  ‘Doing the job like,’ he sheepishly answered.

  ‘Did you get a rest?’

  ‘I'm OK for a while.’

  ‘Get two hours then swap with Nicholson, that’s an order. Grab Rizzo's bolt hole.’

  He headed down, and I could see Henri and Sambo in the bolt hole.

  Nicholson noted, ‘That FBI prick was dirty then.’

  I nodded as we lost the light.

  ‘He always liked to give you a hard time in Africa, and there he was selling his soul.’

  ‘His wife and daughter have terminal cancer.’

  ‘Ah, he lost it. Glad I don't have a family to worry about.’

  ‘You do have a family, you have Tomo.’

  He laughed. ‘Can't choose your family, and you're not allowed to shoot them. But he's run up a good score here. That captain almost got his balls shot off. I think he'll stay on ship now.’

  ‘He shouldn't be risking his life anyway, waste of the years of training if he's killed.’ My phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘It’s Swifty, and Mad Dog Rizzo just led a charge into the drug labs.’

  ‘Any of ours hurt?’

  ‘No, we sniped most of them first, a few near misses. He's now rounding up the drugs.’

  ‘I told him to. Put them somewhere they can be found later, hidden, a marker, bonuses to be had.’

  ‘Ah, that would explain the keen fucker. But there are Wolves here.’

  ‘Tell them that we're hiding the drugs for pick-up by the Yanks later. How much drugs?’'

  ‘I'll have a look now.’

  He called back ten minutes later. ‘We got about a hundred kilograms of drugs in plastic.’

  ‘Good, hide it. Tell Rizzo to stand on the spot and call London for a GPS trace.’

  ‘This lot worth much?’

  ‘Get you a couple of grand each. When you leave, burn the place down, eh'

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘And get the lads to wash the damn cocaine off their fucking hands and uniforms!’

  Laughing, he cut the call.

  ‘What was that?’ Nicholson asked.

  ‘Rizzo and Swifty, they hit a drug lab, so bonuses for you.’

  ‘Ah, good, I need some new fishing tackle.’

  ‘When the hell do you fish?’

  ‘I used to love fishing, and the MPs an
d others now fish at that canal on the west side.’

  ‘They do?’ I puzzled.

  ‘Yeah, some nice fish in there, better in the summer.’

  ‘I asked them to make it much larger, as a barrier for intruders.’

  ‘Great, more room to fish.’

  I called GL4, getting the night staff. ‘It’s Wilco. How's that canal extension going?’

  ‘It’s six feet deep, five hundred yards long, and wider in places.’

  ‘Is that for our security, or your fucking fishing!’

  ‘Well … bit of both, Boss.’

  ‘Is it full of water?’

  ‘There's a stream in and out, so it filled up, and it rained like hell.’

  ‘Talk to Sanderson in the morning, tell him to spend some money on fish fry for the new pond and that I sanctioned it, plus a few wooden pontoons and benches.’

  ‘Good of you, Boss. Be nice in spring.’

  ‘Any trouble?’

  ‘Not a sausage, it’s all where you are.’

  ‘And 2 Squadron?’

  ‘They rotate it, use the ranges, especially the new range, they love that. There's a scoreboard up, and Rocko is No.3 at the moment, Stretch at the bottom. Regular SAS were booked in today but it’s pissing down sideways here. Still, the weather keeps the gunmen away.’

  ‘True. Gunmen hate the rain.’

  Mitch called in half an hour later, the sun now gone.

  ‘How are my spies?’ I asked.

  ‘They're keen and able, learning as they go. Just an update, and to say we killed four gunmen in jeep, not much else happening around here. We're moving south, some tight hills, so maybe something hidden in them. Murphy got a bag full of phones and ID cards.’

  ‘Good. Got enough supplies?’

  ‘OK for a day or two more. And there's some good fruit around here, and game. We won't starve, and Murphy likes to cook fresh road kill.’

  Smiling, I cut the call.

  The Greenies called next, busy de-facilitating the drug areas. They had found a large patch of marijuana, and were using sticks to chop it all down, five gunmen killed.

  Running Bear called in, perched above a village and now killing anyone with a weapon, a jeep shot up.

  At midnight I swapped with Major Morgen and got a few hours in Rizzo's bolt hole, two green mats under me.

  Tiny called at 1am. ‘Hey, Boss, and we tested Dave, but Tomsk told me about the other look-a-like, so that’s a four-way a girl like me could enjoy.’