by Geoff Wolak
‘Massage with happy ending?’
‘Not sure, but I think we'll find out.’
Half an hour later and loud Seahawks set down on the lawn as I sat with a cold beer in my hand, SEALS out with heavy bags, all staring around.
‘Has this lot never seen a hotel before?’ I asked.
‘Not on a job,’ Swifty noted.
Looking left around the vast horse-shoe shaped hotel, I could see men on balconies peering out. Peering down, I could see Slider and Rizzo running and diving into the pool, my snipers sat at the pool bar as the SEALS walked inside.
Our crates turned up, so we headed down in robes and lugged them up, soon throwing dirty items into the shower and running hot water over them, socks soon drying on the balcony.
Swifty noted, ‘We're in a posh hotel and we're drying socks on the fucking balcony.’
‘We're British tourists, it’s expected of us.’
‘Your mum still in Benidorm?’
‘Yes, and I'm glad that she likes it down there. One less thing for me to worry about. Will you visit your mum?’
‘Doubt it, hard to talk to her, just nonsense comes out. It would screw with my head if I stopped to think about it, but looking at her – I want a bullet. I sure as hell don't want to get old and end up like that.’
‘You have your uncle's money...’
‘And do what with it. Retire to Benidorm, open a bar. I'd be dead in a month, dead from boredom and being a nobody. Fuck that.’
The Greenies arrived an hour later in six loud Seahawks, the hotel grounds now looking busy, a few men seen playing football, some playing volleyball.
The Colonel finally appeared on a balcony. I stood and waved, and met him in the corridor.
He smiled at my robe. ‘Odd to see you looking like that.’
‘Well if you don't look like exactly this in ten minutes flat I'll have the men throw you in the damn pool. Take the broom out your arse, sir, and kick back.’
‘Yes, Major. And this was organised by...’
‘Grateful citizens of Panama.’
‘Balls. Whose hotel is it?’
‘A drug lord's, but I wouldn't advertise that fact.’
‘No shit. And the Press?’
‘Not allowed within twenty miles.’
‘Is there … beer?’
‘All free of charge. And massage girls in the basement.’
‘Well, when in Rome I can always blame you.’ He headed back into his room.
Back on my balcony, Moran joined us. He suggested, ‘We should always start a job like this, and end one like this, a week before and a week after.’
‘The lads would get to expect it,’ Swifty complained. ‘And go soft.’
With a Seahawk landing the three wounded 2 Squadron men I rushed down and met them.
‘You lot all healed?’
The first man reported, ‘Just a ricochet for me, sir, dug out and stitched up, antibiotics to take.’
The second man showed me his scrape, and the attached skin graft. ‘Just needs time, sir. And no sunshine they said.’
‘Kick back and rest, sleep on your left side,’ I told him.
‘That’s the hard part, but I have a plastic thing to put over it.’
The final man showed me his pads. ‘They said there were no complications, sir, but that I need to see the M.O. when I get back, or every five days.’
‘Any pain or problems, and we get a doctor in here. Don't eat too much, just relax here. And we can get a wheelchair, save you walking around.’
‘Hurts more when I sit. Gunna sleep standing up.’
‘Well you have a good story to tell over a beer.’
‘Good story! We shit ourselves! None of us like ships much, and that medical bay was like down in the bowels of the fucking ship, no portholes, and it felt like a submarine.
‘And then the alarms sounded, and people got life jackets ready, and the heavy doors closed, and we all thought we'd fucking sink. I hate enclosed spaces, and that was hell, sir. Never again, no more fucking ships, I'll stick to the jungle.’
‘I have some cash for you, after your ordeal. And I don't like submarines either.’
Inside, I grabbed keys and fetched water bottles for them. Upstairs, I told Haines which room they were in. He headed down, still complaining.
I found the Colonel sat on my balcony with the others, but in a robe and swimming trunks.
He noted, ‘Your men smell better.’
Swifty told him, ‘Shower in there is big enough for six people. Odd, how some people live.’
‘I think, Mister, that the rich folk that holiday here find your chosen occupation to be the odd one. Parachuting from height, sneaking through the jungle and shooting people.’
‘Well … yeah, it is unusual.’
The Colonel pointed at Salome.
‘Best to just pretend you don't see her, sir,’ I told him.
‘Well, I now have a five star hotel room … as she asked.’
‘Go for it, sir, but … be careful. And I absolve myself of any responsibility for injuries you may sustain.’
Moran laughed.
‘She's difficult?’
‘She's Israeli, sir.’
Moran told him, ‘A few of our men have tried, sir, a good slap the result.’
He pointed at the jetty. ‘Those boats..?’
‘For us to use, swordfish to catch.’
‘Yeah?’ He suddenly lost interest in Salome. ‘I'll be on that boat early in the morning.’
The next Seahawk landed eight MPs in uniforms, bags lugged, pistols on hips.
‘MPs?’ Moran queried.
‘To keep us safe here,’ I told him. ‘And to stop the ratings fighting later.’ I pointed, a grey destroyer or three on the horizon.
The Colonel asked, ‘Here to protect us?’
‘And to run ashore. They'll rotate it, sir, been at General Quarters a week, all strung out and in need of some clean socks.’
As we sipped cold beers in the sun a number of launches came in and docked, men – and ladies - lugging bags down the jetty.
Moran noted, ‘Our navy have women ratings, but the French don't yet apparently.’
‘We've had many, since the Second World War,’ the Colonel noted. ‘Seems normal now. Command staff always have lady officers.’
‘No lady captains yet, or admirals,’ I noted.
‘Well, no, but there are lady captains of rank in admin, but not ship captains.’
As the sun set most of the men were asleep, the restaurants quiet, but those restaurants got busy around 9pm, the bars then filling up, the pool bar busy, a mixing of accents. We even had a group of French sailors, Sambo and Henri chatting to them.
I did the rounds and chatted with many, getting the perspective of being on the receiving end of the missiles – and how they took meal breaks and toilet breaks at General Quarters.
Tomo was winding up US Marines, and I hoped they would not hit him, all built like Rambo. I diverted him with mention of the massage ladies. No one had told him and he rushed off, Marines following.
I was still awake and on the balcony at 2am, people around the pool bar still, men seen on balconies sat smoking or drinking. Hearing a scream, I jumped over to Salome's balcony and ran in, finding her staring up at a Gecko, now stood in a white bikini. ‘It’s just a Gecko, not poisonous.’
‘I hate them. Since I was a girl. It ran across my feet.’
‘I thought you were tough.’
She squinted at me, fists on hips. ‘I am, but I hate lizards.’
Using a pillow cover from the cupboard I swiped at it, and knocked it down. Stunned, I grabbed it by the tail and launched it from the balcony window, to bushes below.
Back inside, she said, ‘So, I should be grateful, and do something for you…'
‘Yes, you should. For the next few days ... be nice.’
‘Is there … nothing else I can do for you?’
‘I have some paperwork you could tac
kle.’
‘What is wrong with you, are you gay!’
‘No, but I work with you.’
She closed the gap. ‘I haven't been with a man for a long time.’
‘So you're desperate. Thanks, I feel so much better.’
‘No, just that I find it hard to respect a man. I like powerful men.’
‘The Colonel likes you.’
‘We had dinner, he's OK.’
‘But...’
‘But I would prefer you.’
‘Major. If we're working together, and risking our lives, I won't be involved with you, because I would worry about you and … it would be awkward to send you on a patrol and worry about you, and I have enough worries as it is.’
‘Ha. Then I grab the first Marine I find.’
‘Why just the one?’ I said as I left. Closing the door in the corridor, Moran was there.
‘Did you?’ he asked.
‘No. She had a lizard in her room.’
‘What’s wrong with lizards?’ Moran puzzled. ‘They eat insects.’
I pointed him towards her room. ‘Go try your luck.’
And he did. But he was back on our balcony two minutes later.
‘No luck,’ I surmised.
‘Not sure if I want to hit her or shag her.’
‘Must be like that - being an Israeli husband. Mating must involve alcohol.’
Bob Staines called. ‘Can you talk?’
‘Yes. It must be very late there?
‘It’s morning, get an atlas - world is round and it rotates.’
‘What you after, grumpy?’
‘I ran the ships that service Tomsk's oil field in West Africa, but there's no obvious link, nothing hidden, apart from a name in a document, Charley Rose.’
‘Ex-CIA, working with the FARC. I killed him.’
‘You killed him?’
‘He was in the trucks hit by us, then hit by the American Apaches. But he faked his death a few years back.’
‘These documents were signed six months ago.’
‘There's no way he used his real name after faking his death.’
‘I spoke to a clerk in an office in Nigeria, and the description did not fit, man was tall and thin, and Russian, and in bad health. So I checked hotels for that date, a day before and after, and a certain Terotski signed in.’
‘Terotski used his own name, and signed a form as Charley Rose?’
‘Yes.’
‘Terotski was giving up Charley Rose, pointing us at him.’
‘What..?’ Bob puzzled.
‘Terotski and Debonet and their gang, they used to work with Deep State, but fell out. It’s possible they knew what Deep State wanted, the New World Order, and disagreed with it. I think Charley Rose went from ex-CIA to Deep State, then rogue Deep State.’
‘To what ends?’
‘Money.’
‘Money?’
‘What’s been on my mind is the money the cartels have, that Tomsk has. What if they saw what I did with Tomsk and figured they could do the same, but on a larger scale?’
Bob noted, ‘Corner the drugs market, buy from the growers and cut out all the middle men – like the Mexicans, deliver the drugs direct. It has been tried before, and the CIA nearly got caught – one of their aircraft crashed, ten tonnes of cocaine in the back. As far as I know they were warned off continuing the drug shipments in 1985.’
‘What if Deep State want to fix the drugs trade and get at the money, use the money for small wars?’
‘That idea has been around a long time as well, it’s nothing new. You think they want Tomsk gone?’
‘I think they want the whole show for themselves. I did it, so why can't they do it?
‘Yes, a temptation, and the money would come in handy for secret operations.’
‘Keep looking, No.1, maybe Terotski left us other clues. And work backwards on Charley Rose, but be careful, they will have his name flagged. If you have phones you want run I can do it. I want the man above Charley Rose.’
‘Some money arrived from Tomsk, four million dollars.’
‘I liberated some drugs, so I guess that’s the pay-out.’
‘I have a nice side line going with Leon. We spy on company directors and bug them, and then make money from takeovers. I bought sixteen million pounds worth of shares and just about doubled that amount.’
‘I hope Deep State never find out about you, they'll come for you.’
‘They'll have a fight, I'm prepared.’
‘David recognised your style in that fax and said thanks.’
‘Well, nice to be appreciated. Did he … say why I left?’
‘He said you slipped on a wet floor and wedged your cock in a small boy, Fire Brigade got you out.’
‘Well I doubt he worded it quite that way, and the lad was seventeen, I'm not a child molester.’
‘I don't care, I judge you on the job only. How could I judge the morals of someone who kills people?’
‘Well, in London it’s all about the supposed exposure to blackmail.’
‘Stupid, and a waste, to get rid of you like that.’
‘I'm doing better now than I was before, and making a big difference.’
‘No grudges against the realm?’
‘No, I'll fight and die for Queen and country.’
‘I'll make sure it’s OK for you to return to the UK, fake ID. And they'd not know or care.’
‘I'll retire down here, I like the area.’
‘What'll you do if I'm killed?’
‘Not sure.’
‘What I'd like you to do is to contact my intel team and offer your services.’
‘I would have done, yes. I built Echo, it was my baby.’
‘And now world famous. Be proud.’
‘I am, I have all the newspaper clippings.’
‘Rocko is now Sergeant Major, his eye fucked. Stretch fucked his knees but hid it, so he now teaches with No.1 Field Recon. Rizzo is still going strong, Slider, Tomo is doing well.’
‘I never thought Tomo would last.’
‘He's a bit of a lad, but excellent at the job.’
‘Swifty OK?’
‘Yes, he's fine, I have him in charge of the British Wolves training. Oh, you said you get stock market tips. Get me some, for a friend, Carlos the Jackal.’
‘He lost money to the Belgian bank...’
‘Yes, and now he does his own stock picking.’
‘I'll send you some tips, yes. You'll build him up?’
‘I hit Lobos on his east side, a town on his west side, and the Tiujana Cartel on his far west side. He's growing, but I wonder if Deep State is watching, and jealous.’
‘I'd say yes. If you follow this down the line a few years, then Carlos runs Mexico and Tomsk runs Panama and the president in Monrovia has that oil. You must be a tempting target for them.’
‘They help me out, and keep me alive, apart from this recent episode, and I think my contact in Deep State is just an underling.’
‘Don't trust them.’
‘I have a fine line to walk here, with the American military.’
‘No arrests of the men firing the cruise missiles,’ Bob noted.
‘No, and as time goes on that will become more and more of an issue with the media.’
‘If Deep State are involved with the missiles, why the hell fire them at their own ships. They'd lose face in the world, and they most definitely don't want that,’ Bob noted.
‘What if the middle man organising the missiles was ex-Deep State and very pissed off with them?’
‘Someone they tried to kill, killed his family maybe.’
‘There are a few threads here, Bob. First the attack on me and Tomsk, after the money. Then the clever set-up to get me to Panama and get me killed. Then the cruise missiles attacks on the ship seem to be out of kilter with that plan, and the mines aimed at the Nimitz.’
‘Something unexpected happened.’
‘What did happen, about that ti
me, is that Deep State killed Terotski and Li Xing.’
‘FARC lost faith in someone and launched the cruise missiles in response, in anger. Some double dealing.’
‘Well, its Deep State, double dealing is putting it mildly. But if you were Deep State, what would you use cruise missiles for?’
‘As were demonstrated, I'd use them against known cartel bosses, fired from a distance. No way anyone could get close to them, not after what you did in Cali.’
‘Could that be it, the original intended use, to hit Tomsk, Medellin, Tiujana cartels, clean up and grab all the trade?’
‘That Central American trade is estimated at nine billion a year. Who would not be tempted? Apart from you.’
‘Apart from me?’
‘You like a hole in the ground. You did well in that forest in Bosnia because it was home.’
As I was settling down my phone trilled.
‘Wilco, Admiral Jacobs.’
‘How's the search going, sir?’
‘We found squat, so we looked at the ships tracks after talking to the Pentagon and the CIA. At the same time as the cruise missiles were being fired at you at that airfield … a ship showed up an odd track, close inshore.
‘We asked the CIA to talk to the local fishermen in Monrovia, and one said he saw small plane crash in the sea and sink.’
‘A cruise missile.’
‘Yeah, and it was a dud. They fired it from a ship, Constana, which is heading for the Caribbean. Our ships there will board it.’
‘Best do that before it makes landfall, sir.’
‘It’s on track for Puerto Rico, and we have ships near there.’
I called Mike Papa and gave him the story, and he would reclaim his palace, and I updated Tinker.
I called back Bob Staines. ‘Ship called Constana. It fired a cruise missile at the Presidential Palace, Monrovia, but it fell short, local fishermen saw it. It’s now in the Caribbean, Yanks will board her.’
‘I'll check the paperwork again, but she's clean as far as I can see.’
The next day, at noon, Major Harris arrived with the ship's Captain. Harris had his bags, the captain just visiting. I met his Seahawk near the pool, dressed in a green t-shirt and swimming shorts, white fluffy slippers.
‘Major, you look different. Can't put my finger on it. Had your hair cut?’
I smiled. ‘Welcome to Panama, sir. Drink?’
