by Geoff Wolak
‘Still, a good sitrep once a day wouldn’t hurt.’
I gave him a pointed finger and wagged it. ‘I’m on the phone all day long.’
‘Americans get a good sitrep, do they?’ Bradley complained.
‘They do, then they come bomb the bad guys for me. You don’t send F18s…’ That shut him up, the Brigadier smiling.
Drinks finished, we led the 14 Intel officers out and showed them the facilities, one of theirs coming out of the canteen and walking over for a chat. Up on the barracks roof I pointed out the features, and explained the two Scorpion tanks.
The colonel would send a second team, and two captains to do the paperwork, but what I figured they wanted was MOD approval followed by a few good newspaper inches.
With our guests driving off I spotted Dicky, and so waved him over. In with the Major I opened the safe and counted out twenty thousand pounds, and handed it over.
‘What’s that for?’ Bradley asked, loudly.
I sent Dicky away. ‘He found a blood diamond and handed it in to me.’
‘Big diamond, was it?’ he complained.
‘Worth fifty million dollars.’
‘Bloody hell. Where did that go?’
‘To the MOD … indirectly, with other diamonds worth three hundred million, so we can ask for some extra kit.’
‘It’s no wonder so many people want to get at that place, with diamonds like that laying around! One diamond and a man set-up made for life.’
‘When are you off, sir?’
‘Next week, counting the damn days!’
I took a sealed packet from the safe, my signature on the seal, clear tape over it. I cut it open, a silver pocket watch handed to the Major. ‘Your going away present, your granddad’s watch.’
‘My what?’ He examined it with a puzzled frown.
‘Have it appraised in a reputable shop in New Zealand, it should fetch fifty thousand.’
He blinked at me. ‘Fifty grand?’
‘Yes, so don’t lose it.’
‘Where did this come from?’ he asked as he opened it.
‘A drug lord.’
‘Yeah? Well fuck him, he won’t miss it.’
‘No he won’t.’
Outside, I called David. ‘Can you get me about a hundred thousand, some extra cash here and bonuses for the men Monday. And I need to convert some euros to pounds or dollars, always need dollars when I’m in Africa.’
‘I’ll make a note now. Your Prince Kalid has asked for extra training aircraft, a nice order. He mentioned you in the order, so British Aerospace were puzzled. I told them it was a side line of yours, selling aircraft.’
‘I should be on a commission yes. You know, the Yanks complained that this base was too cheap.’
‘Compared to their bases, yes.’
‘American Wolves will be here some of the time, so send the Yanks the bill.’
‘We will do, you can be sure of that.’
‘I am sure of that, that’s what worries me about you. Oh, is my double talking yet?’
‘No, he’s holding out. DNA test has been done, and fingerprints, no hits on the British computer so we’re widening it. And they had trouble washing off a rude word from his forehead, the magistrate questioning it.’
I went and found Henri with Tobo’s men, and they had all eaten well after a night in the huts, some of the men sharing rooms but not minding. They now had standard British Army jackets, so they would be warm enough.
I asked Henri to take them for a run, then some range time with the Valmet, to be followed by pistol work, and to keep the men busy. Crab and Duffy would be tasked with helping out, and to issue kit.
Bob Staines called at 4pm. ‘You wanted to know the source of the missile that Malon Ubel bought. Well they were organised by Steffan, and picked up near Rostov-on-Don and moved through the Ukraine to make it appear as if they came from the Ukraine. So in answer to your question, they’re Russian – factory wrapping paper still on them.’
‘Then I need to discuss it with the CIA and others, because we need to stop the missiles. Rifles and tanks are OK, missiles are not.’
‘Steffan would not admit ownership, so … how would we influence him?’
‘That … I need to think about. I want the link so that we can get into the Middle East, so … I’ll give the headache to the CIA. They want me selling into the Middle East, so they can have the headache.’
It was Friday night, and the pub was full to bursting, many American Wolves here and not wanting to fly home – no sign of Tobo’s men. I had cash, so the bar snacks were free, as well as the beer. Fortunately, there were four armed MPs outside, one police car and two armed officers. We were covered.
Rocko was sat with Monster and arguing about who started the fight in the bar in Kettering that they had trashed, about to start a fight here. Monster’s recollection was of Rocko throwing an ice cube on the cleavage of a fat lady with a large husband. Rocko’s recollection was of stopping a fat lady punching Monster.
As Rocko and Monster moved on to slagging off people they knew, I stood with Parker. ‘Nowhere to go?’
‘Not really, no. You?’ he asked with a glint in his eye.
‘Not really, no.’
‘Your woman, the pregnant one?’
‘Would probably be happy to see me for an hour or two, then we’d argue.’
‘That sounds familiar,’ he quipped. ‘So what’s next?’
‘Some down time, because I feel guilty taking them away all the time.’
‘Some talk about having a nice holiday some place, but they get bored on holiday and want to be back.’
I nodded. ‘They get bored quickly.’ I closed in on recruit Murphy. ‘How’re the balls, Murphy?’
‘Getting better, sir.’
‘Nowhere to go?’
‘Folks are in Minnesota, sir, so I’d have to take three flights, then a bus, then a taxi. It’s a farm, isolated, not real easy to get to.’
‘You could travel around Europe…’
‘I may do that, sir, I want to see Italy.’
‘You’ll get some extra cash Monday, so go have fun, some down time, heal some wounds.’
I moved along to Slider as he spoke to a British Wolf. ‘How were the Paras on that long walk?’
‘A good bunch of lads, no issues. But one day this Para does a pssssst, and points, says there’s a man in the bushes. I look, others look, can’t see anything, we go to move on, he insists there’s a man there. I skirt around, nothing, so he insists he go get the man.
‘Wild boar runs out, big fucking thing, and he sticks ten rounds it in, and it’s still coming at him. I shot it three times, and it’s still pissed off and wanting at him. It finally coughs blood and drops. He walks over, foot on it and posing, then it rolls over and bites his boot to a scream, so I shot it again.’
I shook my head, smiling. ‘Good story for him over a beer, but I bet the size of the boar will increase each time.’
‘We could have lived off it for a week, big fucking thing. How’re Crab and Duffy?’
‘Skinny, they lost a lot of weight, liquid diet and the shits all day long.’
‘I had it for a few days, nasty it is, night fevers.’
‘Night fevers could be malaria, have yourself checked in Brize Norton.’
He nodded.
I stepped to Tiller and Brace. ‘From Monday I’ll move you over to Echo, you made the grade.’
‘Thanks, Boss,’ Tiller said.
Brace asked, ‘We won’t have to do anything dangerous, will we?’ Tiller laughing.
I shook my head. ‘All mundane, lots of paperwork.’
‘When you going to get some tasty ladies in Echo?’ Brace asked.
‘14 Intel have ladies for irregular intel gathering, we’re supposed to be soldiers - I think.’
‘Are we allowed to shag them?’ Brace asked.
‘You can do, but if you were on a job with one and she was wounded right in front of you..?’
>
‘I don’t get attached to birds I shag,’ he assured me.
‘Perhaps you should offer them a few quid.’
‘Where’s the tasty Israeli Major?’ Tiller asked.
‘Up to London for a break.’
‘You and her…’
‘Nope.’
‘You slowing down, Boss, could be dead next week.’
‘If I get involved then it’s an issue if she’s killed, because I do care for the girls I date. And I don’t want a girl asking for or expecting special treatment from me. Can you imagine a briefing - with a girl I’m shagging in the room, and I tell her off or don’t include her in something?’
‘Be no nooky after that, Boss.’
‘It would be awkward, and I don’t want awkward, my life is awkward enough as it is.’
‘That Doctor Abrahams had a big pair,’ Brace noted.
‘She did, yes,’ I agreed. ‘And where would that big pair be when she’s on her back?’
‘Under her armpits,’ Tiller noted. ‘Best she gets on top, big boobs slapping you in the face.’
‘If I see her again I’ll suggest that.’
‘If you see her again, Boss, we want polaroid snaps!’
I closed in on Tiny and her mate. ‘Nowhere to go?’
‘We’d have to report back, and we can’t be bothered to do that,’ Tiny told me. ‘Might go shopping in Oxford. Could you … prove who you really are, Boss, you could be an imposter.’
I shot her a look as they giggled, but handed them each 500 euro notes. ‘From an African warlord, so don’t tell anyone.’
‘Thanks, Boss,’ Tiny offered, kissing me on the cheek.
‘Easy, girl, I’m the boss. I might have to discipline you some day.’
‘Spank me any time,’ she said with a grin.
‘Were you recruited for your morally casual attitude?’ I teased.
‘Yeah, pretty much. But we had a test, to get from London to Glasgow with no money, and I got there the fastest, not seen.’
‘Train?’
‘No, guy in a fast car, blowjob as we drove up the M6,’ she giggled.
‘Good improvisation,’ I commended.
I closed in on Greenie. ‘Nowhere to go?’
‘Long flight back, and expensive. I get one flight free per six months, and then on a tour, and this is not classed as a tour.’
‘If you want to go I’ll pay your ticket.’
‘Yeah? Well that might help, but I want to see Italy.’
‘Take recruit Murphy, he wants to see Italy as well. Do you want to see the castles, or Italian girls?’
‘A bit of both,’ he said with a grin. ‘And the Israeli Major..?’
‘Is off up to London somewhere, spy stuff.’
‘She a spy?’ he puzzled.
‘All Israelis are spies.’
‘She’s good in the bush, but she needs to cover that cleavage, not fair on the guys. She washed in a stream with us, damn off-putting. A guy could lose focus.’
‘You got boobs on patrol; how many soldiers could claim that, eh?’
He nodded towards Tiny. ‘These Intel girls…’
‘You’d want to wear a condom, you don’t know where they’ve been.’
‘Any rules regarding them?’
‘Nope, knock yourself out. I don’t think it would be hard, but you might want to offer some cash, shopping or dinner – or just the cash.’
‘I haven’t seen a single guy ask them out,’ he noted.
‘They all have the same caution as you do, sex with someone on the base – what happens afterwards?’
‘Yeah,’ he sighed. ‘Be sat eating in the canteen and wondering if she was gossiping about my technique.’
Tomo walked in with Nicholson and Swan. ‘Right, Boss.’ He moved on to Tiny. ‘Any chance of a shag, Luv?’ he loudly asked.
‘You buy me a pint first,’ came back.
I faced Greenie. ‘Ignorance is bliss.’
‘And a great deal of ignorance means a whole lot of bliss, soon followed by a tonne of shit and regret.’
‘You think Tomo’s brain works well enough for him to regret something?
‘Good point. Lucky bastard.’
David called me Saturday morning. ‘Can you be in London Tuesday, first day of the enquiry chaired by Lord Cohen. 10am.’
‘I’ll travel up Monday, do the Q&A with your people. Surprised that you want me to speak, it’s a big risk.’
‘They insisted, and the PM agreed.’
‘That he could live to regret. Are my words written down?’
‘Yes.’
‘Under oath?’
‘Yes.’
‘If they ask me the wrong questions we’ll all live to regret it.’
‘You can be evasive, and we’ll coach you on what to say.’
Mike Papa called Saturday evening at 6pm. ‘I have a group of young soldiers ready, so … what shall I do with them?’
‘I will arrange for training outside your country, away from distractions. Will they miss home?’
‘They are keen young men, keen to earn some money as well, and working away from home is common here, men are away much of the time – no 9 to 5 as with the UK.’
‘I’ll get back to you soon with a plan, a training plan.’
On Monday morning, early, I drove up with MP Pete, both of us in suits, bags lugged. With the car left near my usual hotel, but in a paid lock-up, we got a taxi across town and to the MOD building.
I had left instructions for Major Bradley, two thousand pounds in cash for each man of Echo and the British Wolves, and that anyone wanting two weeks holiday could take it. American Wolves would get euros, sure to be questioned, and 14 Intel would not get anything, also sure to be questioned.
The same sour-faced man greeted me when I signed in at the MOD. ‘Morning, sir, how was Liberia?’
‘Morning Clarence,’ I loudly stated, his colleagues laughing. ‘And Liberia was warm and dry – unlike this place.’
Upstairs, Pete now sat in a room with his paperback, I started shouting at the assembled team from the get go. ‘I’m under oath, so if I lie they can prove that and have me arrested! Whatever I say will be looked at closely by my enemies and used! The transcripts will be available for the little shits up to no good.’
We went around in circles for an hour, some questions that I could and could not answer gone over. But it was a mess, and when David Finch arrived I told him so. He had sent a note to the Americans, and they had sent a note to the Prime Minister, but our PM was standing firm.
After a great many hours I had a few defences to cite, some evasive answers to give, but the Americans were the key – and I had a plan.
That evening in the hotel I was wound up, a great many things going around in my head; I needed Tomo to coach me on his life technique. I finally got off to sleep at midnight after distracting myself with an old war movie.
Up at 5.30am, I made a tea in the room and ate shortbread biscuits whilst looking out at dirty rooftops and pigeons under a leaden grey sky, waking Pete at a sensible hour. We had breakfast in a random café, two anonymous men in suits – yet armed.
He asked, ‘Will we hand in weapons at the court?’
‘Supposed to, but I won’t, and David said that I would be allowed an armed guard. Some of his people will be there, to take my pistol after the judge starts threatening me with arrest.’
‘Can he do that?’
‘Not sure, it’s an enquiry not a court of law, serious yet not quite legal. Those wanting me gone will try and use it to discredit me. And if the judge is linked to the bad boys … it could be bad all round.’
‘No pressure then,’ he quipped.
Fed well, tea down us, we arrived at the MOD building in time, David’s assistant waiting there, and the three of us jumped into a mini-bus with tinted windows, two others in our convoy, and we set out for the enquiry venue, a civil magistrates courtroom booked for the duration – which could be three months, no came
ras apparently, security to be tight - apparently.
We pulled in at the rear, driving down into an underground car park with armed police nearby, Pete out first, eyes everywhere, ready for trouble. Up the stairs we trekked, past whitewashed and bright walls, useful signs on the walls for prisoners and guards alike, and at the top we waited in a side room for ten minutes, idle chat with the armed police about SO13 and their training.
Called in, I heaved a sigh, and we walked along a bland whitewashed breezeblock corridor, through a security door, and past a few civilians – no idea who they were. And they had no idea who I was, so that was good.
At the door two armed police stood either side, but did not ask if I was armed. Down the corridor and through the glass in the doors I could see metal detectors, people passing through them, so hopefully the highly trained assassins would not be armed. It seemed I would be going hand to hand today.
David’s assistant opened the door, and I glimpsed the judge up on his podium as he glimpsed me, a look over the top of his glasses. I clocked the nice pale wooden podium, and the numerous desks in this large room, desks full of legal types, behind them a row of what looked like spectators.
David’s assistant pointed me towards a witness box, and held back. This was not my first enquiry, but I was nervous today. On my right, hidden from view up to now, was a row of reporters sat slightly elevated behind a pale wooden barrier, Max smiling, other reporters sat ready with notepads in hands.
I clocked the man straight away, left arm holding in his jacket, right hand poised, sat one man over from Max.
I took two steps.
He peered out at me from under his eyebrows, anger in those eyes. Hatred.
Another step.
I clocked his teeth, rotten and black, and puzzled that, soon seeing a hand touch the wooden barrier, fingers brown at the ends from smoking rollies. I was momentarily confused.
Drawing level with the man his hand moved towards what I figured was a pistol.
I stopped and drew my pistol in an instant, aiming at his head as gasps went up, reporters diving clear, Max suddenly wide-eyed but not running.
‘Major Wilco!’ came a call, the man I was aiming at focussed on the judge and not on me, and his eyes had not moved from the judge.
The man finally looked at me as reporters got down, leant away from the man I was aiming at, or ran. He seemed confused, annoyed, and he puzzled me and my gun, soon turning his attention back to the judge.
