by Geoff Wolak
‘From England.’
‘England!’
‘I have his wallet already. He is a Michael Milton.’
‘I … don’t think that’s a real ID. What does he look like?’
‘Big and strong, many scars.’
‘Is he handsome as well?’
‘How would I know?’ Fred protested.
‘I want him delivered to me here, any time. You will be well rewarded.’
‘There are two black men with him, accent of Ivory Coast.’
‘Deliver them as well.’
‘And payment..?’
‘Will be good, don’t worry.’
‘I bring them later, yes.’
Off the phone, I said to Swifty. ‘There’s a big strong white guy with scars in the local brothel, ID on him says Michael Milton.’
Swifty laughed so much he nearly fell off the roof. And I nearly pushed him off. ‘Is he ugly?’ Swifty finally asked.
‘We should know soon enough.’ I sighed. ‘Smells like a trap.’ I lifted my head. ‘Get down from the roof!’ I transmitted, ‘Pack up ready to run, grab the kit, get ready to disperse!’ I stood tall. ‘Robby, you hear me?’
‘Yeah, go ahead.’
‘Get ready for trouble, like being bombed.’ I climbed down with Swifty, my snipers getting down in a hurry. ‘Rizzo, take your troop northeast 500yards and spread out, lay down. Take some of these supplies!
‘Slider, take your troop southeast 500yards, same deal. Take the Wolves here as well, and the instructors. Pack up everyone, grab kit!
‘Mister Haines, I want your men over the runway, there are ditches over there, get in them.’ Men started to rush around. I stepped towards the medics tent. ‘Medics. Grab kit and walk east to Robby, you have five minutes to pack up. Use the jeep and bogey if you want, keep the jeep over there. Move it!’
I led Swifty, Mitch and Ginger south with Slider. Phone out, I called Admiral Jacobs as we walked. ‘Sir, I’m expecting an air attack at my new location, I need a Hawkeye and some top cover, but don’t get close and spook them.’
‘I’ll check the status board now.’
‘Have Marines and medics ready to come out, could be a photo opportunity for you.’
‘What you expecting?’
‘Hard to tell, but they know we’re here.’
Next call was Moran, and he would have Chinooks and medics on standby, plus a Hercules since we had a good runway.
After two hundred yards I stopped and glanced back. I transmitted, ‘Anyone still at the air Traffic Control building, get the fuck out of there!’
Thinking, as I walked, I had Slider’s troop and the Wolves follow me, and I found a suitable dry ditch 200yards from the access road and at the start of the runway, a few bushes for cover. ‘Get in the ditch in teams, spread along, aim at the road and runway. Don’t bunch up too much, no lights.’
I eased into the ditch and placed down my rifle as men filed past and on.
‘What you expecting?’ Swifty asked, Max close by.
‘Someone is taking the piss, someone who knows all about us, an insider in Intel.’
‘That kinda makes it hard to dodge the bullet,’ Swifty’s dark outline complained.
‘They don’t control the US Navy, so that helps, and I control these teams, so I can make random moves – like this one. They won’t expect this, and that idiot with the Mustang probably reported us bunched up around the ATC building.’
My phone trilled. ‘Major Wilco, sir, it’s Mission Commander Tellerson again. Can you hear me?’
‘Just about, loud background noise.’
‘We’re heading your way, and we have alert teams up and more ready. What are you expecting?’
‘I’m expecting an attack on my position, but intel is sketchy. Could be an air attack or ground attack, and it could be anytime in the next 24hrs. My guess is that it will take place soon though.’
‘We can set up a rotation, we have good loiter capability, sir.’
‘Thanks, appreciate it.’
‘Standby…’
I waited.
‘Sir, we have a large blip east of you, no transponder code so that’s odd, not a commercial flight.’
‘This is a smugglers paradise, so no surprise there.’
‘It’s on a vector directly for you.’
‘Track it for me. Can I call you back on this number?’
‘You could use your radios, we’re at 8,000ft and closing in, we’ll pick them up.’
‘Thanks. How long till that plane gets here?’
‘Estimated twelve minutes, sir, it’s at 5,000ft.’
‘If it descends it could be landing, a smuggler. In which case we’ll grab them.’
‘Roger that.’
Off the phone, Swifty said, ‘AWACS up there?’
‘Yes, and F18s.’
‘So we’re covered.’ He eased back. ‘Could do with some RPG.’
‘Against a plane?’ I queried.
‘Yeah, hit the engines when it lands.’
‘We got the Elephant guns, they’ll do enough damage. And I want the cargo, crew alive, not roasted.’
As it cooled we waited in the dark, crickets chirping loudly, soon hearing a steady drone, faces peering up and around.
‘It’s not going to have lights on, is it,’ Swifty scoffed at the men.
‘Hear that?’ I said a few seconds later.
‘Yeah, it throttled back its engines.’ He peered up and around. ‘Can’t see it yet.’
The flash registered first, all men peering up, the almighty blast registering with us a few seconds later as burning debris fell across a wide area.
Swifty casually noted, ‘Primed the bomb, got a spark. Dopey fucks.’
I stood tall and transmitted, ‘Robby, you hear me?’
‘Just about.’
‘Get your heads down!’
My phone trilled. ‘It’s Wolf team Two, sir, but I guess you saw that plane.’
‘Yeah, and heard it surprisingly enough. No wounded here, stay put.’
Something hit the trees and exploded, a bright flash.
‘Robby, you still alive?’
‘That was like 200yards east, we’re OK here. What the fuck happened?’
‘Someone primed a bomb to drop and it blew early. Stay down.’
‘Tellerson for Wilco,’ came over the radio.
‘Go ahead.’
‘Radar screen is clear, sir, in all directions.’
‘Thanks, loiter while you can, the night is young.’
My phone trilled. ‘It’s Wolf team Three, sir, and we got some heavy armour coming up the road.’
‘Armour?’
‘Ten APC with turret guns, jeeps with 105mm, trucks.’
‘Move in closer to the road to get any stragglers as they leave.’ I stood tall, ‘Wilco to all teams, APC coming up from the south, 105mm mounted on jeeps, trucks with infantry. Get ready. Wilco to Hawkeye, do you have assets in range?’
‘Hawkeye, Wilco, we can have aircraft on scene in minutes.’
‘Standby for ground attack. Do they have night attack ability?’
‘Hawkeye, Wilco, affirmative on the night vision.’
‘Hawkeye, I don’t want this runway damaged, use cannons only.’
‘Hawkeye, Wilco, acknowledged.’
Swifty’s dark outline noted, ‘Those APC would have had us running for through the trees – and them driving over us and squishing us!’
‘Yep.’ I transmitted, ‘All teams, when I say – aim at the tyres of the APC, at men in the jeeps, and aim into the back of the trucks. Standby.’
I could now hear the growl, and Swifty started to laugh with others when we saw the headlights on.
‘It’s Slider, and this is embarrassing.’
‘Safer for them to drive with their headlights on,’ I told him. ‘Let’s not judge others, eh. Men with Elephant Guns, aim at APC tyres only.’
We stayed low as the APC drew level, a hell of a growl, the
ground shaking as they passed us, soon seeing the mounted 105mm jeeps - four of them, soon four trucks, also with headlights on, Swifty still laughing.
I stood tall, and waited for the final truck to draw level with me. ‘All teams, open fire!’ I dived down as the cracks began, aimed, and I pumped rounds into the backs of the trucks, the front end of the convoy oblivious to what was going on back here, the drivers of the trucks not realising that the men in the rear were getting killed.
A truck burst into flame, the game up, and the lead APC turned right and halted, obvious that a tyre was out. Its turret gun opened up on the ATC building, tracer streaking towards our former happy home.
I could see our own GPMG tracer hitting the APC tyres, just as two of the jeeps made a dash for it, speeding around and south towards us. One came straight for us, getting faster, drove past us, hit the ditch and somersaulted. The second jeep rolled.
‘Wilco, Hawkeye, it’s turkey shoot time. Aim for the centre of the runway only, approach from the north.’
‘Hawkeye, Wilco, roger that, aircraft on approach.’
The APC still had their lights on, a truck well alight and illuminating the runway, men jumping down from vehicles but being hit quickly.
I aimed and fired into trucks, but hearing the screech I stopped and looked north. I saw the flashes, soon seeing bright sparks fly off the APC, a jeep bursting into flame followed by a truck, and it sounded like pennies being dropped onto a metal roof – really large pennies.
A horrendously loud screech had us ducking as an unseen F18 passed overhead, the stricken convoy attacked again a few seconds later. But rounds were cracking overhead and hitting the dirt near us, rounds fired by our own people over the runway.
Heads were kept down as the convoy was torn up a third time, another loud screech making people wince, and looking up I could see the jet exhausts of an F18 climbing away in the blackness. Two more passes, and I asked our Hawkeye to cease fire, before some of mine got hit.
‘Hawkeye, Wilco, damage assessment over.’
‘Wilco for Hawkeye, spot on, convoy destroyed, thank your pilots for me, and thank you. If you have any Top Gun music, play it now, play it loud.’ I stood tall. ‘Wilco to all teams, back to previous positions, don’t approach the convoy. When you get back: ceasefire - tea break!’
Laughter rippled along the trench as men eased up, and I led them north, stopping to glance at the convoy, firing at movement as we went, many of the APCs well alight. Max knelt and took snaps as we walked along the edge of the runway.
At the ATC I had them headcount teams as the jeep came back in.
Salome drew level with me. ‘You are doing this every week?’ she asked, glancing at the funeral pyre that had been our attackers.
‘Yes.’
‘My god, like being in a war all the time,’ she noted as men filed inside.
‘Are you getting to know the men?’
‘Rizzo is good, but is insecure.’
‘Correct.’
‘Stretch is lonely, even with men around him.’
‘A good insight.’
‘Tomo is an idiot.’
I laughed.
‘Nicholson is my favourite.’
‘Mine too. Keep studying them, find out who keeps stealing my tins of pears.’
‘I will investigate, yes.’
‘Does your boss not want you back?’ I asked.
‘Back? Why?’
‘You must be busy, you’re a major, team leader.’
‘Projects take years. It’s the result that matters.’ She shrugged a shoulder. ‘Polchok took two years of my life after six month study of the back story.’
‘A proper agent.’
‘Ha, you mock me. You are the proper agent, you fooled them all.’
‘I had the drug money in my hands and handed it over, they could not understand why.’
‘You were not tempted?’
‘What would I do, sit on a beach?’
‘You are like me,’ she insisted.
‘You mean stupid.’
She laughed as she walked off.
I called SIS. ‘It’s Wilco. Update all parties. A transport aircraft approached our position but exploded mid-air, perhaps after badly priming a bomb. A convoy of ten APC, four jeeps with 105mm, and some trucks with infantry then approached us and attacked. We shot out tyres, then the US Navy strafed the convoy, no survivors seen.’
‘Do you think that tomorrow you could, you know, just sit and pick blades of grass maybe, enjoy the weather?’
‘I’ll try that, that sounds relaxing.’
As I sat up on the roof the Wolf teams called in, worried about us, but they were told to stay put for now.
Half an hour later Miller called. ‘You were attacked…’
‘Yes, but your Navy helped us out.’
‘That much hardware, and a cargo plane, that’ll cost someone a great deal, so who am I missing here?’
‘It has me stumped, because whoever it is has good Intel penetration.’
‘Ours or yours?’
‘Hard to tell, but they know my movements.’
‘I’m going to have the NSA look at all signals intel for where you are, I don’t like puzzles.’
Call ended, I stared at the dark phone for a minute, wondering if the leak was Miller himself.
‘Vehicles coming!’ someone transmitted.
I stood tall and saw a jeep, and heard the Mustang. ‘Don’t shoot, let them approach.’ I scrambled down, previously having considered shooting Fred, but no one would be so stupid as to try and play me twice.
The Mustang growled to a halt, jeep behind it, and Fred eased out, soon staring at the burning vehicles. ‘What the hell happened?’ he asked as I drew near.
‘They attacked us.’
‘Those vehicles never came past my business, they came from Mali!’
‘Mali,’ I repeated, and stared out at the fires.
A white man was thrown from the jeep with two blacks as my men surrounded our visitors.
Monster lifted the white man, the man’s hands tied. ‘He’s drugged up, eyes in the back of his head.’
‘Take him to the medics, I need him alive.’
‘He looks like you,’ Salome noted, and she was right, Swifty agreeing with her.
The local blacks were also trussed up, but not drugged. I stood over them as they were thrown to their knees. ‘You can talk to me and walk away with some money, or you go to America to sit in prison till you die, orange jumpsuit. But they don’t charge for the orange jumpsuit, they’re free, a variety of sizes.’
A face turned up. ‘I will make a deal.’
His friend spat out a sentence in a language I did not understand.
I faced Fred. ‘What language is that?’
‘From Senegal.’
I kicked the second man in the solar plexus, eliminating further comment. I faced the first man. ‘Talk quickly.’
‘We work for Mupont, he work for Petrobras.’
‘Petrobras,’ I repeated with a sigh. ‘Fred, can you drop them somewhere, not together, cut them loose.’
‘Yes.’
I took out a wad and counted out money, some for the man talking, a great deal for Fred. He bundled the two men back into the jeep a happy man, and sped off in his Mustang.
I transmitted, ‘Troop sergeants, set a stag, be careful here.’ I stepped away into the dark and called David Finch. ‘We have a problem, in fact two, but we may also be near ending the puzzle. Mupont works for Petrobras.’
‘Petrobras! Well, they would like to get at the oil I’m sure, they’re in Senegal, I think they have a rig off Guinea as well.’
‘We need a link between Petrobras and the bank.’
‘I’ll start investigating a link, but Petrobras have never been on our radar. What was number two on your list?’
‘I have in my custody here a very good lookalike.’
‘Lookalike?’
‘A man what looks like me,’ I moc
ked.
‘Ah, a lookalike. Bloody hell. Did he have plastic surgery?’
‘I’ve no idea, but he does have my scars copied pretty damn well, so someone spent a great deal of money on him.’
‘Someone who knew what you look like. You’ll need plastic surgery yourself soon enough at this rate.’
I looked up an old number and hit the numbers for Branco.
‘Allo?’
‘It’s Petrov.’
The pause was too long. ‘How are you, my friend?’
‘Still alive, stood at an airfield in northern Guinea with ten APC on fire, a cargo plane shot down. I would have thought that by now you figured out who I really am.’
‘You are Wilco.’
‘And who do I work for?’
‘The British.’
‘Wrong.’
‘Not … the British?’
‘No, I work for American Deep State, the people behind the CIA. And you, my friend, just made it to the top of their list of people to capture. Not to kill, that would be too quick for you.
‘You should have wondered why the US Navy kept assisting me, why the CIA intercepted all your communications, shot down this cargo plane and shot up your APC.
‘I was just a spectator, and Tomsk – he was recruited to do a job. When you screw with me and Tomsk, you screw with Deep State. So … enjoy your last few days of freedom.’ I cut the call.
After a heavy sigh, I called Tomsk. ‘You awake?’
‘It’s late afternoon here!’ he complained. ‘So of course I am awake!’
‘Some bad news. We found out who was funding many of the attacks on Liberia, and your oil.’
‘Who?’
‘Petrobras.’
After a moment came, ‘They are talking to the government here, and in Colombia. We were due to meet.’
‘They would have poisoned you.’
‘Those two-faced … I’m going to deal with them, you watch me.’ He hung up.
‘I would love to watch you deal with them,’ I said with a sigh. I called Langley, knowing that Miller would get his update soon. Question was, who was Miller in bed with?
‘Deputy Chief.’
‘It’s Wilco.’
‘Call you Stalin now.’
‘Stalin?’ I puzzled.
‘Propaganda expert he was, but you do it better. We got coast to coast TV minutes.’
‘Yeah, well I’m about to spoil your day. Many of the recent attacks in Liberia were funded by Petrobras.’
