by Geoff Wolak
‘What?’ came a whisper.
‘Yes, they want the oil.’
‘Shit, we are so … going to lose our good relations with the Brazilians. Fuck. Is there evidence floating around?’
‘You want it suppressed?’
‘I’ll deal with them, we hold all their gold in New York.’
‘Then apply some pressure, I won’t talk to the press yet.’
‘Damn it all to hell, we need them on our side.’ He sighed loudly. ‘I’ll get back to you.’
Ten minutes later Miller called. ‘Wilco, you’re looking at Petrobras?’
‘Yes, they’ve been behind the attacks on us, maybe some link to the bank, or they just want to get in here for the oil without a link to the bank.’
‘There is a link to the bank, a fucking great big one; the bank founded Petrobras!’
‘Shit … I was looking in the wrong place. That detail wasn’t in the bank records.’
‘Was done thirty years back, that’s why. Bank holds the company bonds.’
‘They know I’m onto them, and if they don’t pull back I’ll have no choice but to hit them hard.’
‘Hold off on that, Buddy, that would cost us.’
‘Then pull your finger out, Mister Miller. If I lose men killed to them, all bets are off.’
‘Give me a few days, hide your men. Please. Take a fucking holiday!’
‘One more wrinkle,’ I began. ‘I have in my custody a surgically altered lookalike, a lookalike of me.’
‘That’s … hard to do, and expensive, but you just gave me a clue about something, a plastic surgeon mentioned in an intercept.’
‘The bank?’
‘London.’
‘London?’
‘Someone in London with a loose link to the bank. I’ll get back to you on it.’
‘You have a few days.’ I called GL4 and got put through to Tinker at home. ‘We missed something big. Petrobras, the Brazilian oil company, it’s owned by the bank.’
‘Shit…’
‘And Petrobras has been funding some of the attacks. Work backwards from Petrobras and find out what you can.’
‘Jeremy Michaels insures Petrobras, with Devauden.’
‘That’s a start point. Update Mister Kitson in the morning. Oh, and we grabbed my surgically altered lookalike.’
‘You … what?’
I went and found Max, and had him photograph my double with a flash, then to photograph me with my face next to the man. Doctor Morten used a torch, and examined our groggy friend, finding signs of plastic surgery – expensive surgery. With my double’s mouth opened, he examined scar tissue.
‘They did a lot of work by entering through the inside of the lips, fewer external signs. Good work, and expensive.’
The nurse turned her face up to me. ‘Need a nip and a tuck, Boss? This guy could put you in touch with someone.’
The medics laughed as I left their tent.
The morning’s news was not good, not good for Petrobras given that thirteen of their executives, the men visiting Panama, were found disembowelled and hanging from lamp posts. The Petrobras team in Bogota did not fare well either, all twenty killed quietly in their sleep, all shot. The company’s offices in Nicaragua and Costa Rica suddenly burnt down.
I figured that Langley would not be pleased, nor Miller, but I didn’t care, I wanted revenge. Enough people had taken shots at me, so I was going to shoot back. At least, I would sit back and watch Tomsk strike back for me.
Max had sent out images from here overnight, and The Sun had its spread for this morning, images syndicated to the States since the Americans believed that US special forces were here. Hell, we had Mitch with us.
In the daylight the carnage became clear, Max taking more photographs as men inspected the burnt out vehicles and the bodies. Problem now was a blocked runway. I stood taking in the runway, and I made a call; we were leaving.
I got Sasha to call in all Wolf teams, the remainder told to pack up ready to leave, and not to leave any valuable supplies behind. A Hercules was available – as well as the Chinooks, so it was asked for, the crew warned about the blocked southern end of the runway.
In the medical tent I found our prisoner, my doppelganger, still groggy. A nurse lifted her face to me. ‘How come he looks like your twin, sir?
‘He was sent to misbehave, use my name, to get me into trouble down here. But I also think he was bait for a trap.’
Morten took in our prisoner as the man blinked his eyes. ‘Someone went to a lot of trouble and expense to find him. Someone who knew what you looked like!’
‘Yes, someone did go to a lot of trouble, now out of pocket. Take him when we go, he gets handed to the British police. Impersonating a major in the Army is a serious offence.’
With all the Wolf teams finally here, headcounts done, the drone announced the arrival of the Hercules, the Wolfs sent off with their instructors, plus 2 Squadron and the medics – one unwilling groggy prisoner. And, with the wind low the Hercules spun around and took off north.
The Chinooks arrived together half an hour later, Robby’s troop - plus some heavy supplies, boarding with Sasha and his team.
I led my team into the second Chinook after a headcount, and we rolled down the runway and eased off, soon heading south at speed, a thirty minute flight. Bumping down at the FOB, Sierra Leone, it was good to be back, Moran walking out to meet us with Crab and Duffy, both men having lost weight.
‘No wounded?’ Moran asked.
‘No, all good to go.’ I faced Crab. ‘You still alive?’
‘Hope I don’t go through that again, feel drained.’
‘Eat, sleep, and rest, some gentle exercise,’ I recommended.
Moran pointed, I turned, our prisoner being led in. ‘What the fuck..?’
‘My twin.’
‘You have a twin brother?’ Crab puzzled.
‘No, dopey fuck, he was found and recruited to try and impersonate me.’
‘What the fuck?’ Moran repeated with a deep frown. ‘They got a lookalike? How many people in the world look like you?’
As I glanced at my double I had to wonder how they found him, how long it took, or was it all down to plastic surgery. They had to get someone the right age, height and weight and build.
Inside, kit dumped in my old room, I gave Moran and the Army staff here a rundown of what had happened, Moran laughing at the APCs attacking with their headlights on.
Taking a break, I called Colonel Mathews and asked him to consider what to do with the Green Berets over in Liberia. For now he wanted then kept busy in the jungle. Updating Liban, he wanted 1st Battalion kept in place but would check with Paris; Paris wanted the uranium mine protected. Final call was to the Brigadier, asking him to chat to Marsh and to see what to do with “D” Squadron’s men still at the mine.
Wolf Murphy stepped in later. ‘You back, sir?’
‘How’re the balls?’ I asked.
‘Still a bit sore, sir, but getting better. Reckon that doctor was correct, you know, two weeks off.’
‘Take it easy then, no long patrols.’
After my brew I had Wolves placed at the ambush points, a rotation set-up, two Wolf patrols sent north up to the Dead Village and the bridge, Moran updating his map table before diligently updating Captain Harris back at GL4. I detailed 14 Intel for him, now on their long trek back.
I made a point of spending time with Sergeant Tobo and his men, extra dollars for them – for a job well done, and they were very pleased. I also indicated that they would get wages from the British Army – and that when we left they would be coming to cold old England.
The MPs arrived from Freetown, our prisoner handed over, people looking at him then at me, deep frowns adopted.
I told them, ‘I want him arrested for impersonating a major in the British Army, and impersonating an intelligence agent. Get him to London as fast as you can, cuffed and escorted. Oh, and put a facemask over him or people will think I’ve
been arrested.’
The MP Captain was stunned as he cuffed our man, still a groggy man.
I told him, ‘Take no chances, the people who sent him may try and grab him back. And when he wakes he may try and convince you that he’s me.’ The MP Captain stared back. ‘Hold on.’
I stepped inside, grabbed the permanent marker pen I noticed, and outside I wrote TWAT on my double’s forehead, going over it several times, Moran and others laughing. It would take some scrubbing to get the letters off. What the hell, I figured, so drew a moustache on him, a silly French moustache.
I finally pulled down his trousers. ‘Ha! Doctor Morten,’ I shouted. He came over, I pointed.
‘Ah, this chap has been circumcised, you haven’t. Can’t add skin back on.’ He faced me. ‘From now on, if your identity is in doubt, just get your dick out!’
I finally let our prisoner go, after showing the MP Captain my cock. ‘I’m the real one. See.’
‘Please put that away, sir, it’s turning out to be a really odd day.’
David Finch called lunchtime. ‘Some news. Petrobras has had its assets in the States frozen, which is like your bank manager freezing your bank account. They’ll be in dire straits within days, unable to pay staff and debtors. The Justice Department is citing an investigation into irregularities.’
‘Good old Deep State, they are useful sometimes.’
‘They suggested they would do this?’
‘Yes, and they asked that I take a holiday and not hit Petrobras.’
‘And did Tomsk get that message?’
‘He does his own thing when people try and kill him. Petrobras wanted a face to face meet with him.’
‘A face to face meet? With a drug lord? Dear god. Is the Israeli lady still alive and well?’
‘Yes, she’s fine and now fitting in, a good soldier.’
‘And how much does she know about what’s going on?’
‘Seems not to be in the loop, or she’s a great actor.’
‘I say a great actor either way, a Mossad operative.’
‘She does research her roles well,’ I agreed. ‘Listen, my double is in custody, be very careful with him, make sure he gets back and stands trial – facemask on. Do a DNA test, then see if he wants to make a deal.’
‘It will be an odd day in court.’
‘Oh, I’ve never been circumcised, my double has, so … update a file somewhere and don’t let him convince you that he’s me.’
‘I’ll chat to him, and if he’s polite I’ll know it’s not you.’
David was back on to me an hour later. ‘We have a slight wrinkle, with Doctor Abrahams the senior.’
‘He’s dead already…’
‘Yes, but we checked old records, and he was suspected of being a Russian agent from university.’
‘And he finds the uranium mine, or the test samples, and reports them to Moscow, and gets killed for his troubles. And the younger Doctor Abrahams?’
‘Clean as far as we can see, no left wing affiliations.’
I sighed. ‘I’ll tell her, when I see her. Let me do it.’
‘OK, it’s not an active file.’
Echo lads lounged around and took it easy, making good use of the mess tent during the day, kit sorted and cleaned. At 5pm, 14 Intel walked in.
‘That was quick,’ I noted. They were grinning. ‘Dicky, what did you do?’
‘Well, there was these two long boats, looked like they were abandoned an all -’
‘So you lazy bastards floated downstream a few miles,’ I shouted. I nodded to myself. I quietly stated, ‘Good thinking, always cheat. Find somewhere to sleep, unpack, then – Dicky – get them training hard, weapons and navigation, and we’ll start on para drops soon.’
Inside, I asked Moran to check with Freetown about para instructors and chutes.
‘There’s a small team at the airport, they teach HALO here now.’
‘I need enough static line chutes for 14 Intel, ten drops each say. Add Monster and Parker to the list.’
At 5pm David called. ‘Some additional news I’m afraid, from Brazil. The Petrobras main offices suffered an explosion, their building now on fire.’
‘Those that live by the sword…’
‘Indeed, but we could do without this.’
‘No, Boss, we need this, we need the murdering bastards out there to realise that if you plot and scheme and organise coups that there’s a price, that if you attack my men there’s a price, a heavy price. So yes, we need this, we need more of this, we need the little shits to suffer, not be quietly told to just go away and please don’t do it again – or they will do it again.’
‘Well, perhaps, but we try and do things quietly.’
‘And where has that got us? All this shit down here, the conspirators in London. Perhaps you need a re-think on strategy. The Israelis would have bombed the fuck out of someone.’
‘We’re not Israelis, and we have oversight.’
‘Short-sighted oversight.’
‘Could you talk to Tomsk?’
I sighed. ‘OK, I’ll call him.’ I took a walk first, observing men training or just sat around, most just sat around. Finally I called Tomsk. ‘You have been busy.’
‘Yes, I’ll get the little shits.’
‘London and Washington hereby formally ask that you stop.’
‘Oh. I stop tomorrow, I have some men to kill.’
‘Tomorrow is good for me, that works for me. How’s the hotel business?’
‘I have a large complex on the east coast, large swimming pools, beaches, it’s doing well.’
‘Sounds nice, I’ll have to visit. What’s the crime rate like?’
‘It’s much lower, and when a gang appears I silence them quick, no bodies to be seen.’
‘Good for you.’
‘This Atlantic oil is in Liberia now, yes?’
‘Yes, and a French-Canadian company will mine the uranium we found.’
‘I got shares in Atlantic already, through another company, and my facilities company in Monrovia is the only choice for trucks, roads, pipes, so I make some money.’
‘Good. What about hotels in Monrovia?’
‘I am building a big one, on a beach, tight security, armed guards, helipad on the roof.’
‘Sounds ideal, yes, you should get some helicopters and offer a service.’
‘This we have planned, the oil workers can fly in and out. Got two commercial S61 coming, pilots.’
‘Making progress. Kill your men, then take a break, eh, get London off my back.’
‘OK, and if I want to kill more I do it quietly, no bodies found.’
‘The Petrobras security chief, Branco, make him suffer.’
‘I will, yes,’ he threatened.
In the morning we dispatched Tobo’s men with 14 Intel to Freetown airport, some of the 14 Intel team having never undertaken a para drop, others being experts. All of Tobo’s men had made twenty drops.
The novices would have a one-day intensive course, something I arranged after much wrangling and raised voices with the RAF – they wanted ten days. The rest had a half-day refresher to look forwards to, kit allocated and checked, and they were dropped a few miles east of the airport at 2pm, all down without broken legs.
The next morning I dispatched a large Echo team north by truck, to patrol the border, to drop in on the mine but then to reverse course, not staying at the mine overnight.
Miller called midday. ‘I see that Tomsk has been busy.’
‘Any evidence that it was him?’
‘None at all, nor would I expect there to be any, just by implication and geographic locality.’
‘And their frozen assets?’
‘They’ve been told that any more activities in Liberia or Guinea, or regarding you and your men, would see them banned from the international banking system and prevented from trading oil – which would shut them down. So they’re crapping themselves right about now.
‘And the news hit about
their executives being sliced up, so questions are being asked as to what shady deals Petrobras was working on. Certainly, none of their executives would dare fly to Central America for … a year or ten.’
‘It’s about time we took the gloves off, this has been going on for years.’
‘I got some signals intel from Guinea, and we’ll deal with a few individuals quietly.’
‘So I can get a tan then?’
‘We hope you sit back and do nothing for a while, we got the TV minutes.’
‘I’ll sit back and do nothing then, I have some men to train. Oh, if you ever find my body, I’m not circumcised, my double is.’
‘Be damn hard to add some skin back on and make it look real, damn hard. But promise me, when we meet again, we shake hands not show each other our cocks.’
In the morning I observed as Tobo’s men and 14 Intel dropped from a Hercules over a large flat tract of land, all of them in on the drop, and none of them broke an ankle.
Tiny came bounding up with a huge smile as an RAF Flt Lt stood with me. ‘Like a roller coaster, Boss, I think I had an orgasm.’ She carried her bundle away.
The Flt Lt turned to me, a shocked look displayed, but he said nothing. He checked his watch and walked to the RAF jeeps.
Sergeant Tobo rounded up his men, all diligently folding chutes and carrying their packs back in, and in a straight line.
Back at the FOB I planned the final stages for the Wolf training with the Wolf instructors, and the veteran Wolves would be in on it. I alerted the French in Liberia, now back from Guinea, that my Wolves would sneak across their patch – and to try and capture them without injuring them.
‘Yes, they have live ammo,’ I explained. ‘No, you can’t shoot at them! Dogs? Yes, send dogs after them, definitely.’
Each man would HALO in from 14,000ft with no rifle, just a pistol, some rations, a poncho, a knife, a map – and a sat phone. He would be required to navigate west through sixty or more miles of jungle and swamp, avoiding gangs and armed locals, as well as keen French soldiers.
At dawn a Hercules took six men up, all dropped at intervals, to the east of the French base and close to the border with Ivory Coast. Down from the drop, they all called in, and all now realised my trick. They had to bring their large cumbersome chute back to us in good order, or pay for it.
