by Geoff Wolak
‘Yes, he funds terrorists.’
‘And what were you doing for him?’
‘Moving weapons to the blacks up-country, and money.’
‘And what motivates him?’
He shrugged. ‘I get paid, I do what I am told.’
‘And what does he have planned?’
‘He will organise attacks here.’
‘Such as … three small aircraft, now burning behind you.’
He glanced around. ‘Er … yes,’ he said with a puzzled frown.
I told him, ‘There is a US Navy carrier battle group off the coast, fifty miles away. What chance does he have?’
‘Americans are here?’ he puzzled.
‘You are not well briefed, are you?’
He shrugged.
‘Tell me something useful.’ I waited.
‘Something about an attack, a mortar attack on a town.’
‘That … would be an issue for us.’ I turned and glanced at our three mortar tubes, now covered over. ‘When will that be?’
‘Tomorrow I think.’
I waved over an Engineers sergeant. ‘Get some men, take this idiot into the town, cut him loose but keep a gun on him, don’t … search him.’
The sergeant headed inside as I counted out notes and stuffed them in the trouser pockets. ‘That is enough to get you a long way away. And if you want a job, contact the President of Monrovia, mention Major Wilco.’
They bundled him towards the jeep, and into the back, soon heading down the runway.
‘What was all that about?’ Dicky asked as he came up behind me, his bald head sweaty.
‘Don’t ask,’ I told him, handing him a thousand euros. ‘Beer money, exchange it when you get back.’
‘And … me bonus?’
‘Will be in British pounds, don’t worry.’
Phone out, I looked up the number for The Banker, the real one.
‘Da!’
‘It’s Wilco.’
‘Ah, how goes the fight?’
‘Not good. Do you know a big fat bald Russian called Ludwig?’
After a pause came, ‘Unfortunately, yes. He was my business partner when I first left Russia, but he liked his drugs and hookers, a security risk, so I cut him loose. He … never forgave me.’
‘And did he think he got a fair share, when you cut him loose?’
‘Probably not, no. How did you come across him?’
‘He’s supposed to be in Northern Cyprus, and he’s been hiring men in Guinea to attack me and the British forces whilst convincing people that he is The Banker.’
‘He’s been using that title?’
‘He has, and has somehow got some money, some good connections, and a link to the bank. I think we know who wanted Casper killed with a message.’
After a long pause came, ‘I should have silenced him, now this, now Casper, but I felt sorry for him.’
‘Pity gets a man killed.’
‘Yes, it would seem so. I’ll … deal with it, with him, and quickly.’
‘Try not to hurt any innocent people in the process.’
‘Meaning..?’
‘Meaning … that the Bastion explosion was a mistake, a bad mistake, girls hurt, their fathers grieving for them, mothers at their bedside.’
‘I … had not intended that, the contractor got it wrong.’
‘Be careful, Leon, I don’t want my bosses to send me after you because of a stupid mistake.’
‘Well … no, let’s hope not.’
‘Find Ludwig quickly, but I need him alive and questioned. Perhaps you can hand him to me in Cyprus, and I’ll make sure he hangs in Oman.’
‘Oman? That … would seem punishment enough, yes.’
‘Question him first about the bank. Talk soon.’
Inside, I had a glance at the map, telling Sasha that we needed to recall all patrols, and fast. He had a list, of teams and sat phone numbers, and would make a start. Looking at the map, I tried to figure where someone could fire mortars at the town from, which roads could be used. There were not many, but there were dirt tracks.
I grabbed Morten as he walked past. ‘Go into the town, dollars in hand, tell people there that the bad soldiers are north and will fire rockets and mortars at the town. Do that soon.’
‘Will they fire mortars?’
‘Not if we stop them, but I want the town’s people on our side first. Go!’
Outside, I interrupted Rizzo’s lesson with 14 Intel. ‘Listen up. Get kit, get stocked up ready to patrol, we have men with mortars moving in. Rizzo, take them, plus Dicky and Mouri, northeast and around, so that you’re a mile or two east of the town, look for anywhere a truck can offload mortars and fire on the town. Go fast!’
Doctor Abrahams approached me as I returned to the building. ‘Got a minute?’
‘Sure.’
‘I … had an idea, for a romance novel, in fact a series. Intrepid lady archaeologist gets herself in trouble in Africa, gets rescued by this Wilco chap.’
I grinned. ‘And would he involve himself with her, after rescuing her?’
‘He would, yes – that’s the whole point. Alone in the jungle.’
I nodded. ‘And you wanted to use the Wilco name? It’s not my name, I have no copyright.’
‘I wanted to check that you’d not object, or the Army.’
‘No, no objection, and the Army has no copyright either, so fuck ‘em. But tell me, does this mean you have to be nice to me, dinner now and then paid out of the royalties?’
‘If it was a cheap dinner, then maybe,’ she offered with a coy smile as she headed off.
‘I wonder if the heroine will have a really big pair…’
As the sun set Slider made contact and led in his Paras, all thirty of them.
‘Flipping blink,’ I let out, observing the long line. I found them rooms facing the mine, legs and boots all wet and muddy, the medics cooking as the building started to smell damp. Slider sat with Rizzo and Stretch and caught up as I greeted the Paras and had a chat to a few. Most had been here during the coup, and most had made both drops.
David Finch called, so I stepped to a window. ‘Any clues as to who sent those planes?’ he began.
‘The former and original business partner of The Banker, some link to the bank, and wanting revenge against The Banker. This guy, called Ludwig, has been hiring out bad boys to attack me whilst pretending that he is The Banker.’
‘To get his old business partner the blame. What a rascal.’
‘We also now have the report of a mortar attack on a town tomorrow, probably to get us the blame, so alert Freetown, have roadblocks out everywhere, and roadblocks in Liberia for our forces and the French – could be another town that gets hit. I’m assuming that my town here will be hit, so we’ll surround it.’
‘Seems a prudent move, yes. Wounded today?’
‘Three Green Berets, all nasty wounds, one man with a foot blown off. They were taken to the aircraft carrier, they’ll all make it. RAF Regiment will be pleased, we have some great video of their men shooting down a plane.’
‘The Sun newspaper has been running it daily, I get it delivered now. Oh, Germans arrested their Defence Minister, dragged him from a meeting, and our JIC friend wants to cut a deal. He did so after they suggested we’d extradite him to Oman.’
‘And he was working for?’
‘He believed he was working for the CIA.’
‘They have a man on the JIC panel, not so much the need to spy on us,’ I noted.
‘We have his contact numbers Stateside, the real CIA running them. They were … upset, to say the least.’
‘Lots more bodies down here,’ I cautioned.
‘I have a file copy of the original programme, sent from the real CIA. They had a psychological profile - of an under-achiever with potential, all Canadians who spoke without an accent or who studied in the UK or Europe – some speaking French and German obviously.
‘They took a hundred candidates and tested
them, got it down to twenty, trained them like spies and then inserted them into neutral positions to see what would happen. Three gave up, four were caught, thirteen lasted more than a year without a hitch.’
‘So someone got the blueprint, and profiled men – as we do for our Wolves?’
‘Yes, but this profiling had been tested and developed since 1943, for use in the war. The man chiefly responsible for it was … dealt with many years back when he attempted to recruit women agents, for his own needs more than anything else.’
‘Someone knew the process and copied it. And no links to Deep State?’
‘They may have monitored it, to see if it worked, and it does work, it works well – hence four men in BP for twenty years.’
‘How many more, eh?’ I sighed out. ‘And is my man Mutch a double agent?’
‘Could be a few more, yes, and Mutch is double everything, not least shirt size. Two more British bodies where you are, and the police team has the FCO list and have narrowed it down. Dental records will be used, and DNA testing. Oh, men on their way to you to look at that uranium mine, and uranium has a fingerprint, a distinct fingerprint, so the IAEA will find out where it went.’
‘They say … that when a nuke goes off there’s a fingerprint.’
‘There is, a technique developed in the Cold War.’
Call ended, I hit the numbers for Libintov as people looked over our smouldering wrecks. ‘It’s Petrov. Listen, three small planes with rockets on the wings were used today in Liberia, any clues?’
‘Yes, they track back to The Banker.’
‘No, they don’t, just that a guy called Ludwig is trying to frame The Banker.’
I heard a loud sigh. ‘I really don’t like it when people lie to me. I have a conversation to have with a man, gun in hand.’
‘There are people moving to grab Ludwig, so stay clear, there could be shots fired and some harsh language. He’s supposed to be in northern Cyprus.’
‘Here? What does he look like, this Ludwig?’
‘Large, fat and bald.’
‘Ah. I think he may use the name Leon.’
‘Not his real name, trust me. But if you know where he is, let me know.’
‘I shipped some weapons for Malon Ubel, to Monrovia. I did not ask what was in the crates.’
‘Best not to. Pukha.’
I called Mike Papa. ‘You had a delivery of weapons.’
‘Yes, late in the night. They are in the safe storage area.’
‘Open the crates, check carefully always for bombs – just in case. Move the crates outside first.’
‘You don’t trust the man who sent them?’
‘I do, but consignments can be tampered with. Be careful.’
‘I will have them moved and checked, yes.’
‘We had three small aircraft attack us up here, but I traced the man responsible and he’ll be dealt with quickly.’
‘And his motives?’
‘He’s linked to the bank, but also wanted to frame an old business partner. Try and find out what airstrip they used in Guinea.’
‘I will make some calls now, and have some bastards shot, stabbed and crucified. These men are trying my patience. Oh, wooden huts on the way, and supplies.’
‘Thank you, Mister President.’
We now had many Paras wandering around, many having a look at the wrecked planes, all eyes lifting when a Seahawk came in and landed. Franks and Dick jumped down and moved bent-double before straightening up, the Seahawk flying off south.
‘Franks. Dick,’ I greeted them. ‘What you after in this quiet neck of the woods?’
Franks dropped his bag and glanced around. ‘White House is jumping up and down, and the Pentagon; someone here sent back video of today’s attack, and of the wounded men. Pentagon wants blood. Well, they’re happy as fuck with the coverage – but pretend to want blood. And what you may not realise … is that CNN has been running this non-stop for like five days.
‘Folks back home think we have a thousand men here and that World War Three is unfolding. Still, White House is happy, ratings are going up, test surveys are good, military happy.’
‘Test surveys?’ I queried.
‘They ask people in the street what they think about the fighting here, get opinions. They survey everything.’ He took in the mine as a patrol came back in, British Wolves.
I waved them over. ‘Get resupplied, get back out there, north of the town, we have word that someone will fire mortars at the town tomorrow and blame us. So spread out, and figure where someone might fire a mortar from. Rizzo is east of the town with 14 Intel. Move out in an hour.’
They filed past.
‘Mortars?’ Franks repeated.
‘To be fired by a dumb minion who works for a Russian in Guinea who thinks he’s working for The Banker.’
‘Thinks … he is?’
‘The Banker’s old business partner wants revenge, and he wants The Banker blamed for the attacks on me.’
‘He doesn’t know you’re friends with The Banker!’
‘It’s not something we advertise outside Intel circles,’ I quipped. I led him inside. Seeing Slider, I asked, ‘Got any men that are good to go? We have trouble.’
‘Paras are all fit, and they got some sleep last night.’
‘Take as many as you can, south down the road to the junction with the town, stop vehicles and search for weapons – in this case mortars. Send a second team a mile south, same deal. Grab men and jeeps from here if you like.’
‘I’ll sort them now, borrow a truck and driver, lads can sleep in the back and rotate it.’
Back outside, I stood at the edge of the mine as the police methodically dug test holes in neat lines, right across the mine, two old AK47s found so far.
My phone trilled, Mitch. ‘We’re coming back in, what’s the panic?’
‘Where are you?’
‘Not far from those trucks we torched.’
‘Get to the same spot, set ambush, we have a report that someone will arrive tomorrow and fire mortars on the town.’
‘The town? We might get the blame!’
‘Yep, that’s what they’re after. There are British Wolves north of the town, 14 Intel east with Rizzo, Paras south with Slider.’
‘We’ll set ambush and make camp, see who turns up tomorrow.’
A Seal team arrived a few minutes later, with Salome in tow. ‘Gentlemen, all … OK on your patrol?’
‘No wounds, no issues,’ a sergeant reported, Salome cocking an eyebrow at me.
I gestured towards Salome. ‘And how is the Major’s fieldcraft?’
He glanced at her. ‘She knows her stuff, sir, good in the bush.’
‘And what’s her cooking like?’ I asked, Salome putting hands on hips.
The sergeant grinned. ‘They were rations, sir, but she warmed them up OK.’
‘Snoring?’
‘I don’t snore!’ Salome told me.
‘No snoring detected, sir,’ the sergeant said with a grin.
‘Replenish, but you need to go back out to your old area and then south, we have bad boys moving in with mortars. Go find some mortars for me. Move out when ready.’
They filed inside, Salome stood staring at me. ‘You like to tease me, no.’
‘I like tease you, no,’ I mocked her.
‘I am a good soldier!’
‘Your abilities were not in doubt, just your willingness to get along with people in small teams in difficult situations.’
‘And…’
‘And I think you can stay a while, but before we do a job in Yemen you’ll need to know the personalities of the Echo men, so make a start, talk to them.’
She made a face and shrugged a shoulder. ‘I am good at assessing men.’
‘You got me wrong.’
She huffed and walked inside.
Morten came back in from the town, with his escort of Engineers. He began, ‘I warned people, and I found the town elders and warned them – t
hey knew my face anyhow from the medical tent. I also asked if any worked in the mine, and one man had done. He worked underground after the European white men left and the Russian men arrived.’
‘Russians!’
Morten nodded. ‘He worked for two years, then they left when a new warlord forced them out. The Russians blew the mine entrance.’
‘We found an access hatch, but it’s not somewhere you’d move men and equipment in and out from. Good work, Doc, and not a word to anyone.’
He nodded and headed inside. I called David Finch. ‘We have some news, the pieces of the puzzle starting to fit. After NordGas abandoned this place the Russians mined the uranium for two years.’
‘That makes sense, they tried to hide their ore mining from the UN watchdog, and back then they sought alternate mines on the quiet. And in the 1970’s they were busy offering money and weapons to any African nation that might boot out the Western influence and install some communist regime, or at least a dictator that would talk to them and not to The West.
‘So yes, that dovetails nicely, and I’ll look at some old records. My people will be able to get the fingerprint on the uranium, and estimate how many tonnes were removed.’
‘Is that mine worth re-opening?’ I asked.
‘Depends on what’s left, but I guess they depleted it. Good quality uranium is worth more than gold.’
‘More than gold, eh. That could interest the bank.’
‘Only if they got IAEA approval and license, but I guess that they would have the right connections. If it was good quality ore then France might buy it.’
Through the day several patrols came back, most sent straight back out, some kept here to react to a mortar attack the next day. The forensic teams came and went, bodies moved and then removed by truck, Doctor Abrahams assisting them in the search.
At 9pm I sat with Parker after his patrol came back in. ‘How you getting on?’
‘Well, haven’t had my balls shot off yet,’ he began, smiling. He sipped his brew. ‘When I joined you I figured on lots of tests and training and some bullshit, but I shipped out pretty quickly and … well … since then it’s been non-stop, no time to catch my breath.’
‘But are you enjoying it?’
‘I feel like a soldier is supposed to feel, that I’m doing something useful and shooting up the bad guys.’
