Wilco- Lone Wolf 9

by Geoff Wolak

‘The American helicopters could have got him away -’

  I held up a hand and cut him off, a glance at the friendly minister as he put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘I am medically trained, but that is not why I ended his life.’

  ‘Then why!’ the father angrily demanded.

  ‘Because I know your culture. They had ... cut his arms and legs off, castrated him, eyes cut out.’

  The father maintained his angered pose for a few seconds, but I could see his eyes swelling, and he collapsed in a heap, caught by the minister and two soldiers, a horrible noise released for a minute as men looked away, the Huey engines still roaring down the base.

  They finally righted the minister, who tried to compose himself, and he focused on our prisoner.

  ‘He is the one who did that to my son?’

  ‘He is. He can stand trial, or ... you do whatever you like.’

  The father walked forwards, and we followed. Our prisoner was looking decidedly nervous, and now stank – the same clothes for a few days. The father asked terse questions, getting pleading answers.

  Our friendly minister whispered to me, ‘He says he was just following orders.’

  The father landed a good punch, then a second, and he kept going till he collapsed; he was in his sixties after all. Helped up, he asked a soldier for a pistol, cocked it and checked it. Aiming carefully, he put a round through our prisoner’s foot, a cry issued, soon the second foot, left knee, right knee, the pistol handed back as our prisoner wailed.

  Trousers pulled down, knife handed over, our prisoner lost his cock, blood spurting, the penis tossed into the trees, a horrible noise given off by the former owner of that cock.

  The father offered a few sentences in Spanish, and finally turned to me. ‘Leave him to die slowly, then put his body in the jungle for the animals to feed on.’

  I nodded.

  The father closed in. ‘I am ... ashamed to admit you are correct, I would not have welcomed back my son as less of a whole and strong man. I ... do not hate you for what you did.’ He lowered his head and turned.

  ‘If you spend the rest of your life affected by this, then they have won and you have lost. If you wish to defeat them, take your wife out, hold your head up high, look to your remaining family. Defy the grief, defy the cartel.’

  He now looked up. ‘You are wise for young man. And on behalf of the people of Panama, and my family ... I thank you for what you did.’

  ‘And the cartel families...?’

  ‘I ... struggle with them being here, but we are not animals as they are, we will show compassion, and securing a trial is best – we don’t want them going home.’ He carefully regarded me. ‘You are a strange man, Senior Petrov.’ He shook my hand before he headed off to the waiting Hueys.

  With our guests gone, I lined up the soldiers, No.3’s death seen in their faces. I began, ‘I shot dead No.3 because he asked me to move on Tomsk. I did not kill him because Tomsk asked me to, or to protect Tomsk. I killed him ... because he dared ask me to move against the man who pays me, houses me, and feeds me. I have honour, and I will never do such a thing.

  ‘If any man here were to ask me to move against Tomsk, I will kill that man. If you are not happy working here ... do not return from your holidays, go quietly, say nothing to anyone. If you do leave, and you talk, I will come and find you, and you will die slowly. You make good money here, so be grateful for that work.’

  After dark, at a posh residence in west Panama City, a building security guard was led away, pistol in his neck, money handed over, CCTV disabled. A dozen men with heavy equipment followed myself and Sasha up to the penthouse, the door levered open, no other apartments on this floor to worry about.

  Inside, we found it dusty in places, freshly cleaned in a few areas, a cleaning rota left on display for the absent owners to scan when they visited. I moved to the fireplace, hands on hips. ‘OK, break it down quietly.’

  Kettle knocked on, Sasha made tea as the wall was demolished, not as quietly as I had wished for. I stood staring the city lights with Sasha, this penthouse offering a great view to its absent owners.

  ‘Here,’ a man called, an Hispanic.

  I walked over, tea put down, and he pulled out a dusty holdall covered in plastic. Plastic layers cut away, bag opened, I inspected the cash, all large dollar bills. Ten bags later, and we had a large hole, debris all over the nice marble floor. On the cleaning rota I wrote: ‘Needs a bit of a sweep.’

  Back at the villa, I had the British line up outside the bunkhouse. ‘Listen up. If you have anything on you that you shouldn’t ... hand it over now, because on landing in Belize the MPs will strip search you, torch up your arse. Crates will be examined in great detail.’

  They exchanged looks.

  Rizzo handed over a bag of diamonds. ‘I forgot about them, in my webbing like.’

  ‘Of course,’ I quipped. ‘Anything else?’

  Tomo handed over a wad of dollars. ‘Was going to the cat welfare people.’

  ‘I’m sure it was. Anything else?’

  They exchanged looks.

  I said, ‘They’ll be bonuses for you back in the UK, don’t worry. But if you have any drugs on you, anything else, it’s a long prison term. Think about that before you board the plane tomorrow.’

  Five minutes later I handed the diamonds to Tomsk. ‘British had these, turn them into some cash.’

  ‘The soldiers had them?’

  ‘Yes, but they’d never know how to sell them.’ I placed down the wad of dollars. ‘Don’t give them anything to take back, have it delivered in the UK. We’ll all be searched when we get back.’

  Tomsk nodded.

  DEA Frank appeared, newspaper in hand again. ‘Story about you in the Washington Post.’ He handed me the paper. I read, ‘Petrov: world’s most wanted, or a national hero in Panama?’

  I read the detail to Tomsk.

  Frank said, ‘Panama Government would never hand you over to the FBI. Talk of a Presidential pardon for past crimes.’

  I shrugged and made a face. ‘Nice to be popular.’

  ‘Problem is,’ Frank began, ‘that people Stateside are questioning your role with the cartel raid. Some papers say it was British soldiers, some say it was you and the Russians.’

  ‘The cartel bosses will say that it was British soldiers,’ I told Frank. ‘Part of my deal with them.’

  One of the house guards came in and stopped. ‘That money, eighty million dollars. Deeds to a hotel.’

  ‘Ah, another hotel, good,’ Tomsk noted.

  I faced Tomsk. ‘Forty million to the cartel family, rest to the victims charity. Talk to the minister, make sure the families get the money.’

  Frank put in, ‘Some have gone to Europe already, some to Canada. FBI have found three hundred million dollars in US banks and grabbed it. Cartel bosses land in San Diego today.’

  ‘End of an era,’ I noted. ‘End of the all-powerful drug cartels.’

  Frank put in, ‘Army is in control of Cali City. And some day you’ll have to let me know how you coordinated with the CIA and our military.’

  Without looking at Frank, I said, ‘If you ever discover that I’ll have no choice but to put a bullet in you.’ Only at the end did I make eye contact.

  ‘I’m not prying,’ he insisted, now worried.

  ‘You ... fly at 3pm?’ Tomsk asked, as if a child asking his father about an unwelcome absence.

  I nodded at Tomsk. ‘I’m at the end of the phone. Any ideas ... call me.’

  ‘I will, yes, and you visit more, eh.’

  I nodded.

  ‘And these spies, I have the names of the men in Europe.’

  Again I nodded. ‘We’ll deal with those men, sure.’

  At 2pm I had to prize the British lads away from the hookers, voice raised, threats made. Kit was checked, crates checked, showers had – with the hookers, farewells given to the ladies, and we made the short trip to the air strip.

  Waiting there was the friendly minis
ter, a Hercules with its engines turning, and sixty Panamanian soldiers. A sergeant called the soldiers to attention, the minister shaking my hand, the soldiers seemingly an honour guard for my departure – an odd move.

  ‘Well done, and thank you. We have made sure the cartel families get this money, and the victims, so don’t worry about that, it is sorted. We send a team to Cali, and they help find the bodies, now maybe a hundred people at that site, a second site discovered.’

  ‘Maybe a few families will get some closure at last. And how is the boy’s father?’

  ‘He will bury his son tomorrow, many people expected, all police and soldiers on duty for this. We will declare a national day of mourning, followed by a national day of celebration that the cartel is no more. They gave us problems for many years, many families here in exile, now an end – perhaps a pause to these types of men.’

  ‘Should any reporters ask about me, especially Americans, say I was killed ten years ago, and that you witnessed my death.’

  He smiled widely. ‘I will do so, but with a smile.’

  The lads were now aboard the plane, so I waved at Tomsk and walked aboard, a final look back as the ramp closed.

  Five hours later we set down in Belize in the dark - the pilots thanked like family, met by two JIC mandarins and a few Cabinet Office guys. I sighed heavily, my shoulders dropping. At least the lads had no contraband on them, and neither did I. At least I hoped they had no contraband I considered as I sent the lads off to the base. I had some questions to answer, it seemed.

  Sat in a private room, guard on the door, they made me a coffee, asking after any injured men, all very politely. But I was soon sat opposite four men, one versus four, and I quietly objected to this; I answered to David Finch. But since he answered to the JIC and Cabinet Office, they were his bosses, so they were my bosses as well technically.

  ‘We have some questions, so ... I hope you’re not tired,’ the JIC man began with a false smile.

  ‘No, I’m fine.’

  ‘First, if you could, give us a candid appraisal of what your mission was ... exactly.’

  ‘Tomsk called me as my alter ego and mentioned the problems with the Cali Cartel. I mentioned that to SIS, who passed it up the line, the PM not keen to be involved, but pressure from the States altered that. I was told to go help Tomsk -’

  ‘And thereby keep him in position, as numero uno drug lord in these parts.’

  ‘I think the motivation was to stop Cali Cartel setting off bombs and killing people more than propping up Tomsk,’ I suggested. ‘When the US Embassy was hit, London got a firm nudge.’

  ‘To do their dirty work..?’

  ‘However you want to word it. Revenge ... I think is what was called for, face saving on the international stage. The usual bollocks.’

  The man cocked an eyebrow. ‘I see. And the plan was...’

  ‘Fluid. And mostly left down to me to plan and execute, a lot of what-ifs in the plan, assess as I went.’

  ‘And you assessed that a daring news-grabbing raid on the Cali Cartel was best policy for the British Army...’

  ‘I discussed it with London and Washington, then formed a plan to attack Cali as Petrov, at least as Petrov till the job went well, then as British SAS.’

  ‘So if the job had gone wrong ... the Russian gang would have been blamed?’ he puzzled.

  ‘Yes, and that was discussed with the Americans.’

  ‘And what exactly did you do...?’

  ‘I provided the Russians with HALO parachute training, kitted them out, then arranged a number of decoy aircraft as we flew in on a Panamanian Air Force Hercules, dropping from 14,000ft.’

  ‘And the Panama Government...’

  ‘Assisted Petrov, who they like.’

  ‘They ... like?’

  ‘He’s a national hero of sorts, posters up in bars. Talk of a presidential pardon for past crimes in Panama.’

  ‘How extraordinary. And they loaned you a Hercules?’

  ‘Yes. And we dropped northwest of Cali city and snuck in, then hit the villas hosting the main men after GCHQ had done an excellent job of hacking their phones.’

  ‘The parachutes were found,’ a man put in. ‘Complaints made about damage to greenhouses apparently.’

  The JIC guy continued, ‘The role of GCHQ was ... what?’

  ‘They analysed phone patterns, and pinpointed clusters in the jungle, the secret bases. They also pinpointed the leadership villas, a very great help to the mission.’

  ‘And setting fire to the villas..?’

  ‘My official report will say that we left after the Americans picked up the prisoners, a mob coming up the hill.’

  ‘And ... unofficially?’

  ‘Unofficially ... I was never even there.’

  The Cabinet Office guys smiled, not so the JIC men.

  ‘I see. And the drug labs?’

  ‘We found them, hit them, let the women and old men go, Americans came in and blew them up after we had moved on.’

  ‘The local militia were attacked and many wounded, a few killed..?’

  ‘London contacted Bogota, who said those men were on the payroll of the cartel, and to wound them if they approached me.’ I shrugged. ‘They approached me.’

  ‘And the Americans rendered assistance to those men...’

  ‘After I asked them to do so.’

  ‘And the mass grave?’ a Cabinet Office guy asked.

  ‘I struck a deal with the cartel bosses. I figured that a trial might collapse, and I was informed that their families were being hunted by angry citizens, so I worked a deal. They confessed, and I asked the Panamanian Air Force to pick up the families, which they did.’

  ‘You ... struck a deal?’

  ‘Yes ... little old me. Problem with that?’

  ‘Just curious as to who you were working for, because I foolishly believed it was us.’

  I smiled at him. ‘It’s called plausible deniability. And as an officer in her Majesty’s Army I am expected to show some initiative.’

  ‘Quite,’ he said with a false smile. ‘And who do the Americans think organised these deals, and air strikes?’

  ‘The CIA know about me, the rank and file have no clue, some had contact with Captain Wilco, some had contact with Comrade Petrov. The official American line is that British SAS grabbed the cartel and handed them over, no Russians seen – nor Russian words heard.’

  ‘Any ... booty or drugs found?’

  ‘Lots, handed to Tomsk, as my alter ego would have done, some handed to the Americans as evidence.’

  ‘And your men were not tempted?’ he teased.

  ‘I searched them and took away the offending items that had accidentally fallen into their webbing. Search them if you like, they have nothing on them.’

  ‘But they did have...?’

  ‘Prove it.’ I stared at him.

  ‘And how does Petrov’s relationship with Tomsk sit as a result of all this?’

  ‘He misses me, wants me to return.’

  ‘So the relationship will continue...’

  ‘If that’s what the PM wants, yes,’ I said, going over the man’s head deliberately.

  ‘Quite.’

  I added, ‘And if the PM wants it, I’ll destroy the Medellin Cartel as well.’

  ‘No more drug lords?’ he teased. ‘Apart from Tomsk of course.’

  ‘Others will come around, but perhaps they’ll be less ... organised.’

  ‘Whilst you were busy, a bomb went off in Nigeria, in fact three bombs. One killed the entire board of Delta Oil, one bomb killed their head of security – and his family. Any clues...?’

  ‘None at all, I was busy. Nigeria, where is that, Africa someplace?’

  The Cabinet Office guys smirked.

  ‘The men who died ... were directly implicated with the coup attempt and attacks on our people in Liberia whilst you were there.’

  ‘Really? Good that they’re dead then, saves me the job.’

  The Ca
binet Office guy cut in with, ‘What are the dangers here, as far as the press go?’

  ‘Danger is that someone Stateside mentions the Petrov name. Panama is secure enough I think, Tomsk is secure, just that someone Stateside might have mixed up the name Petrov with Captain Wilco. But I think the White House will go to great lengths to disclaim any mention of Petrov.’

  ‘And your men?’

  ‘They know not to blab, and ... are too stupid to understand the politics and the implications.’

  The second Cabinet Office guy asked, ‘Has Tomsk ever offered you money – to stay?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And..?’

  ‘Millions. A few days ago I had two hundred million dollars in my hands, bank codes for a billion, and I handed it all over – to answer your question. The first time I worked for Tomsk he offered me twenty percent of a few hundred million dollars.’

  ‘Those bank codes?’ the second JIC mandarin nudged.

  ‘Aboard one of Her Majesty’s ships as we speak, soon to be bound for London in some diplomatic pouch no doubt.’

  ‘Be interesting to see what they reveal,’ the first JIC mandarin noted.

  ‘Americans will want any cash, part of the investigation,’ I told them.

  ‘Do the Americans know about the codes?’ the first Cabinet Office guy asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then fuck ‘em,’ he let out, getting a look from the JIC men.

  After half an hour of detail, I had a military police escort to the training base, arriving as Echo returned from their evening meal.

  Moran said, ‘The lads you took on the job are being tight lipped.’

  ‘Yeah? Then that’s more than I credited them with. Assemble everyone, please.’

  All the lads squeezed into one hut, but there was enough room.

  ‘Listen up. As some of you will have realised ... me and a few of the lads were in Colombia, and British SAS will get the credit for grabbing the Cali Cartel leadership. What that means ... is that we’ll need a better fence back at base.’

  I let them think about it, looks exchanged.

  ‘Those who came with me have been told not to discuss it, rest of you are hereby told not to ask. Not to ask about the hookers they got, two per man -’

  A chorus of murmurs swept around the room.