by Geoff Wolak
When it was full light 2 Squadron moved north in a long line, and they stood waiting as the Marines moved platoon at a time to the west, 2 Squadron placing pairs of men about fifty yards apart, some left over for local patrols.
Haines grabbed a spot on the roof with us and tested his radio, a different frequency to us. He could reach all his teams and his sergeants. I stood with him, and we accepted sandwiches and cake that Sambo brought up to us, soon getting a brew on.
Swifty came up the steps. ‘What we doing?’
‘Get all the British Wolves in one place, check wounds and kit and supplies, ready to go, but I'll rest them a day.’
‘Some cuts and scrapes, sprained wrist, they're OK.’ He headed back down.
When Crab and Duffy appeared I sent them to the American Wolves tented camp, to help with supplies there, and some training.
My phone trilled. ‘It’s me,’ came Tiny.
‘Get the bomber?’
‘They got me, I was kidnapped.’
I was immediately worried. ‘Kidnapped?’
‘It was two local staff at the hotel who planted the bomb, and when I suspected them they bundled me into a room and held me at gunpoint, gag around my mouth. But when they searched my bag they found my dildo, thought it was funny so handed it to me – they didn't tie me up, too small and cute you see.
‘When they panicked, yapping on the phone to someone, I got the knife out, stabbed both in the neck. Bit of a mess, carpet will need replacing.’
‘Are you hurt?’
‘Got a black eye, sore wrist. And the rascals touched me up.’
‘Stand down for a few days, go to La Palma maybe. Oh, that phone -'
‘I already called London with it.’
‘Good girl.’
‘Do I get some compensation?’
‘Did you empty their wallets?’ I countered with.
‘Well … yes, but that’s not compensation.’
‘How much?’
‘Five grand.’
‘Enough for a black eye, and be careful eh, don't wander around by yourself, you're small enough for someone to stuff you in his suitcase.’
‘I'm not that bloody small.’
‘Get some protection, then get some rest. That’s an order.’
‘OK, grumpy.’
I called Tomsk, finding him awake. ‘These guards at your hotel-'
‘OK, OK, I check them careful, but we do, and they know what will happen to them.’
‘They must have been offered a shit load of money. Burn the bodies and photograph them, show the staff. Not the ladies.’
‘I will,’ he threatened. ‘And the ladies.’
‘Any idea who they were after?’
‘Could only be your double, but he's back here now.’
I called London. ‘You got a phone hit from my girl, Tiny.’
‘Yes. GCHQ is running it.
‘Put me through please.’
‘Wilco?’ came a familiar voice.
‘Yes, you run that phone?’
‘Yes, and it links to a few Panama City numbers.’
‘Send that list to the 14 Intel girl, Tiny, in Panama. Tinker has her number. What else you got?’
‘A phone hit in Costa Rica, a payphone, but from that location we can tie in the Canadians as were. But we also got a hit to a ship from that payphone, last night, so we're tracking GPS courses, we now have a huge database of ship's tracks going back since they started to record them. Should have something soon.’
‘As soon as you do I want it.’
He was back to me twenty minutes later. ‘That ship, it’s off Colombia, Pacific side, name of Don Pasa, and it has an odd track.’
‘What do you mean, odd?’
It sailed south from Nicaragua, performed a box shape, and is now heading north. Reminds me of an old German mine laying track.’
‘The fucking Nimitz group is off Colombia, steaming north!’
‘Bloody hell, but they have anti-mine warfare, they'd see the mines.’
‘Not if Terotski designed them. Give me the coordinates.’ I wrote them down. ‘Update David Finch at SIS quickly.’
I rushed to the radio operator. ‘Contact the ship, I want the exact location of the Nimitz group, they're off Colombia.’
He made the call, and we waited. I gave Morgen the coordinates of the Don Pasa as the Colonel listened in with Franks and Dick. Morgen showed me the position on the map.
The radio operator finally got the location of the Nimitz group, and Morgen checked the map. The Nimitz group was fifty miles south of the box.
I faced the radio operator. ‘Send to ship, to send to the Nimitz, from me. Mines laid in your path, fifty miles north, ship's name Don Pasa. Stop ship and board it.’
‘Jesus,’ the Colonel let out, horrified.
I called Colonel Mathews. ‘Sir, Wilco. I need an expert on anti-ship mines.’
‘I'll chat to the Navy -'
‘You have fifteen minutes, sir, or you lose a ship.’
‘On it now.’
Call ended, my phone trilled, David Finch. ‘Wilco, anti-ship mines, I know a great deal about them.’
‘Can they be detected if they're not metal, it they're rubber or plastic or fibreglass maybe?’
‘Not unless you know what to look for, and are actively looking. They ping like a biological.’
‘A what?’
‘A whale or a dolphin.’
‘I warned the Nimitz, but she's steaming right for them. And I'm wondering if Terotski is good with plastic mines.’
‘I'd bet good money on it. And the technology is not that hard. Difficult part is the proximity fuse, because there's little chance of contact. Best bet is to tie pairs together with rope, and the rope gets caught and the mines touch the side of the ship and detonate.’
‘Would they hole a carrier?’
‘They'd buckle a plate and it would slowly take on water. Carrier would have to beach itself safely, and that’s easier than it sounds because they have flat hulls; they stand their own weight in dry dock.’
‘Thanks, got to go.’ I turned to Franks. ‘Send to all US Naval vessels close to Central America waters: mines in the water, undetectable ones. Plastic!’
‘What the fuck they supposed to do?’ Franks asked.
‘How would I know, you must have some defence? Ask your damn Navy, eh.’
He exchanged a horrified look with Dick and took out his phone, the Colonel and Morgen stood looking horrified as well.
‘Undetectable?’ the Colonel queried.
‘Plastic we think, not metal,’ I told him. ‘Maybe the Navy has something to counteract them.’
‘A carrier takes seven years to build and costs billions!’ the Colonel noted.
‘I think Terotski knows that, sir. So maybe now is the time for your armed forces to think about terrorist attacks, not Russians.’
Colonel Mathews called back. ‘Wilco, handing you Commander Midlake.’
‘Major Wilco?’
‘Yes. Tell me about theoretical plastic mines laid by a civilian ship in the path of your naval vessels.’
‘Such mines, they could be plastic or similar yes, and they show up as dolphins to a sharp-eyed operator.’
‘Send a signal to the Nimitz group, to avoid all dolphins! And to send a destroyer ahead. Do you have anti-mine warfare ships?’
‘Dedicated ships, yes, not with the Nimitz as standard.’
‘Will a destroyer's sonar pick up a dolphin?’
‘Yes, if we warn them.’
‘Then warn them, they're closing in on the track where we think the ship laid the mines. And fast please.’ I cut the call.
I paced up and down with the others, hushed and heated debates going on, but was informed that supplies had gone to the SAS with Doc Willy. Moran and Ginger had returned.
My phone trilled. ‘Major Wilco?’ came a gruff voice.
‘Yes..?’
‘Admiral Kurkhold, Nimitz Strike Wing. What do
you know about these mines?’
‘We linked a phone from a man with a bomb, sir, to the Russian defector at the heart of this problem, Terotski, and then linked the phone to a ship just ahead of you, fifty miles. British GCHQ, like your NSA, got the ship's GPS track, and it arrived on station, performed a box shape in front of you, and left the same way.’
‘Ships don't do box shapes, ever, unless they're up to no good. Box shapes are for laying mines. You enter the box, a ship takes a hit, you break left and right and take more hits. Germans did that.’
‘Have you changed course, sir?’
‘Yes, now steaming northwest, nose into the wind to launch. We'll have fixed wing and rotary over that ship in ten minutes, and god help the sons of bitches – no one lays mines in my path.’
‘We have enough evidence to link the ship, sir, not to sink it.’
‘We'll board her, and these dirtbags will get the electric chair. I'll be stood watching! Anyway, thanks for the timely intel, Major, or we'd be in the boats.’
‘You have a flat hull, sir..?’
‘Yes, and we could beach her if holed, but the chances of success are slim – a carrier after launch is too damn heavy, she'll buckle under her own weight. And I'll be damned if I'm losing our flagship to half-ass terrorists.’
‘Update me later, sir. Wilco out.’ I took in the expectant faces. ‘They changed course, so … fingers crossed. And I hope they don't kill a bunch of cute dolphins for nothing.’
The Colonel took a call, a phone handed to him from his nice lady assistant. When he re-joined us he began, ‘Pentagon is on a war footing, Navy is beyond mad with rage, President is reported as livid. DOJ has posted a hundred million dollar reward for Terotski, so maybe the cartel will give him up.’
‘I doubt they ever met him, or know where he is, sir. Would you trust a cartel?’
‘Well … no, but then again I'm sane.’
I called Tiny. ‘Well done, girl.’
‘What did I do?’
‘You killed those two men, got their phone, and that led to another phone, that led to a ship, and we just stopped an American aircraft carrier running into a minefield.’
‘Bloody hell. I must be due a bonus now.’
I laughed. ‘Yes, now you are, because that carrier cost twenty billion dollars.’
‘So I could get say … ten percent?’
‘I'll ask the Pentagon for you, shall I?’
‘Please.’
‘Take a day off, you earned it.’
Half an hour later the Admiral himself was back on, not a subordinate. ‘Major Wilco, we bombed the water around that ship and made some loud noise, strafed the deck, and they're surrendering, helos roping down Marines.’
‘We need the crew's sat phones, sir, and we need your JAG officers to interview the men whilst mentioning the electric chair – we might get some timely intel from the crew, and that saves lives on the ground here.’
‘I'll sort the JAG officers now, yes, and we have destroyers closing in on the box, all shipping warned away, we can't leave mines there for some oil tanker to hit.’
‘You have minesweepers in San Diego, sir?’
‘Already requested, something for them to do.’
‘Sir, the intel came from a lady agent, a British agent -'
‘A woman, by god.’
‘She's small and cute but good at the job, sir. But here's the thing. She knows how much your tub is worth, so she said to ask for a ten percent commission...’
He laughed loudly. ‘I'll mention it up the line, yes. That'll be an odd conversation.’
‘Let me know if the captured crew say anything, sir.’
‘Will do.’
‘Wilco out.’
My phone trilled, the Deputy Chief. ‘Wilco?’
‘Don't shoot the messenger!’ I got out first.
He sighed loudly. ‘I slept in my office, many did. And now these mines. Navy wants blood, White House is screaming. We had hoped to keep Terotski quiet, but CNN just plastered his details coast to coast.’
‘I don't think it will be easy to find him, he's a slippery one.’
‘You wouldn't believe how manic it is up here, and in the Pentagon. Lot of people with five o'clock shadows, rings under their eyes, coffee in hand.’
‘Good to have something to do. These pen pushers should follow me around for a few days!’
‘You got a heads-up on what comes next?’
‘No more rockets seen, just the mines, a few paid locals taking pot shots at us, so they seem to have run out of steam. The cartels will always want to get this territory, and move me aside, but that’s a process that will take years.’
‘Navy is getting shit for not quite knowing if they're vulnerable to cruise missiles or not. They do have Phalanx guns and anti-missile missiles, but they don't test the theory often.’
‘I get the feeling they will now.’
‘No shit. Listen, if you actually have some good news, call.’
‘They giving you shit? Not your fault and not your area, this is DEA and FBI territory.’
‘Attacks against the US military moves this back to us. They understand, but they have little patience.’
‘I'll try and get you some good news. And saving the Nimitz is good news.’
An hour later, and the CNN team asked about the new threat. I was in a mischievous mood. ‘Some of the vital intel was passed to us by a local Russian gunmen, name of Petrov. We can't usually be seen to be dealing with people like that, but the intel panned out and saved lives.’
At 3pm the Deputy Chief was back on. ‘Wilco, you arsehole!’ came a shout.
‘Who me?’
‘You told CNN you get intel from Petrov!?!’
‘I muddied the waters a little, relax.’
‘Relax? I've had formal requests asking if we cooperate with Petrov!’
‘Which you can deny. He sends me information, a one way street.’
‘It’s on CNN!’
‘The people of Panama will be pleased.’
‘I don't give a fuck about the people of Panama!’
‘Look, if I say he's helped us it might help further down the line, when I'm exposed here. And with all the various groups that know about me … that’s becoming a real possibility here.’
‘I asked for some good news, not a kick in the balls!’
‘OK, I'll go look for some good news, grumpy.’ I cut the call.
Franks walked up, shaking his head. ‘Are you mad?’
‘Your boss is, hopping mad at me. But I have a plan, so … relax.’
‘I've got people asking if I accepted intel from Petrov.’
‘You didn't, so relax eh. At least it’s not raining.’
After a cup of tea with Moran and Ginger, Bob Staines called.
‘Hey No.1. You been following the action?’
‘Yes. I get the papers, I have a Reuters feed on my computer, and I watch CNN avidly.’
‘I'd call, but I've been busy.’
‘I can see, yes. Anyhow, I have something for you. I had a look at these ships, and their insurer, a subsidiary of Lloyds of London, and using shell companies I figured out that the main insurer is the same company.’
‘He's out of pocket then.’
‘No, then yes.’
‘Come again?’
‘If a ship is sunk by the Navy, or an act of terrorism, or a criminal act, he doesn't lose out, which is why those aspects are always ruled out of insurance deals. But … in this case he allowed them, and he'd have to be mad to do that.’
‘So why did he do that?’
‘The contracts are odd, and very non-standard, and he's lost a billion dollars in total perhaps. But let’s assume that a man with that money is no fool.’
‘It was deliberate? Who gets the money?’
‘Terotski.’
‘What!’
‘We found the beneficiary company, the company that ran the ships but didn't own them, but they hid it well. Leon helpe
d me, he knows people in shipping, and the pay-out money goes to a company, and if you track back to the final owner you get a company in Toronto with its assets in the Bahamas, banking handled in the Cayman Islands.’
‘Why the hell do you think it’s Terotski?’
‘This company never existed till Terotski landed in Canada, and I spoke to the clerk that validates new company start-ups, and he remembers the suspicious man with the Russian accent - description fits, a newly issued driving license used. We got the license and the photo is him, or as he was without a few years aging and some plastic surgery no doubt.’
‘Why would Terotski be that lax?’
‘Not so lax. Did the CIA find this? London?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘I did, and it was hard work, people bribed and threatened.’
‘You're a genius, and a suspicious little shit, they're not.’
‘Thanks.’ And he meant it.
‘So who's the paymaster?’
‘Hong Kong billionaire, Li Xing.’
‘Chinese? Jesus, Bob, the fucking Yanks will go to war.’
‘I have his legend here. His wife is a Vietnamese who fled at the start of the war, and his son is on death row in California. The son killed his wife in an up-market restaurant in Los Angeles, no mistake in the evidence.’
‘So this is about revenge?’
‘Possibly, when you factor in that Li Xing got financially burnt during the war in Vietnam, some of his ships sunk by mistake by the US Navy. And here comes the kicker. His financial records show that he could not have survived the impact of the loss of those ships, but that he became cash rich in the years that followed.’
‘Drugs or guns or … something illegal I bet.’
‘Something very illegal, and his ships have permission for Chinese territorial waters, and North Korea. We suspect he was selling goods to North Korea, exporting weapons out.’
‘And the Chinese?’
‘No evidence that they're linked in, and they'd never get involved with attacks on American soldiers.’
‘Any clues as to where Terotski is?’
‘A document was signed in the Bahamas a few months ago, one in Switzerland a year ago.’
‘So he got on a plane and might have left a trail. Can you send that to London anonymously?’
‘Off course I can, I'm brilliant.’
