Wilco- Lone Wolf 9

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘How extraordinary. Still, good I guess, and I’ll start a high level enquiry in the morning.’

  ‘I’m thinking it’s Mi5.’

  ‘Someone with a grudge possibly, yes. One of ours would have no reason. Have you considered the Americans?’

  ‘The file has still images from cameras at the MOD building.’

  ‘Ah, so one of ours then. I’ll update David in the morning.’

  My second call was to Mi5, and their director called me back after loud death threats were levelled down the phone.

  ‘Wilco, why are you threatening my staff?’ the man angrily demanded.

  ‘Shut up and listen, whilst you’re still in the job, which may not be long. Someone ... sent Tomsk a detailed file about who I really am.’

  ‘Oh ... fucking hell,’ came in a whisper.

  ‘That file has still camera images from the MOD building, so I’m thinking one of your little shits was behind it. Start an investigation before the Prime Minister kicks you out onto the street.’

  ‘If one of mine is behind this ... I’ll make sure they get what they deserve before I lose my job, you can be sure of that.’ The line clicked dead.

  An hour later Tomsk was back on, the detail of the courier company. I checked my watch and called.

  ‘Si?’ came a lady’s voice.

  ‘You speak English or Russian?’

  After a pause a man came on. ‘Hello? I speak English.’

  ‘I want to speak to the man in charge.’

  ‘And who are you?’

  ‘Petrov, from La Palma.’

  After a long pause came, ‘The Petrov, the Russian soldier?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A great honour. Moment.’

  After another delay came, ‘Hello, I am Senor Barrata, how may I help you, Senor Petrov?’

  ‘You delivered a package yesterday, to a Tomsk in La Palma.’

  ‘Yes, I remember, it was an unusual request.’

  ‘The men who sent it were trying to get me killed.’

  ‘Ah ... that is not good.’

  ‘Anything you can tell me about it, about them?’

  ‘It came from a courier company in Belize.’

  Images of the JIC staff and their aides flashed into my mind. But also Franks and the CIA. ‘When was it sent?’

  ‘It was sent two days after it was handed over, a special request to delay it. Four days ago.’

  ‘Thank you, you may have helped me to live a little longer.’

  ‘A great honour, Senor, indeed a great honour.’

  I walked down to where Sasha lived, two of his team sat watching the TV. I led him outside into the chill evening air.

  ‘Problem?’ he asked as we stood on his concrete path, and he knew how to read me.

  I zipped up my jacket. ‘Someone in Intel London sent Tomsk a file about who I really am?’

  ‘He knows the truth?’ Sasha gasped, his breath frosting. ‘And about me?’

  ‘He knows it all, but he’s fine with it, and he has little choice.’

  ‘He fears you, yes, but ... but what do we say if we see him again?’

  ‘We tell the truth. He knows you don’t hate him, and I told him you didn’t like the heat and the bugs.’

  ‘That’s true!’

  I kicked a snail away. ‘So no issue then, for you with him.’

  ‘What has David Finch said?’ Sasha asked.

  ‘I’ve reported it, they’ll investigate.’ I blew out, seeing my breath in the cold night air. ‘I wonder how much more of this shit I can take before I quit.’

  Sasha studied me. And waited.

  ‘I think the men behind it are from the JIC, our bosses, the men who govern the intelligence services.’

  ‘If you know who, then some drugs injected, it looks like a stroke.’

  I nodded. ‘Maybe, but it would be investigated, they’re important men.’

  ‘You ... feel like quitting?’

  I stared across the airfield. ‘My bosses sent pictures of my daughter to Tomsk, hoping he might harm her.’

  Sasha sighed loudly. ‘Bastards, yes, and a warning for me about working with such people.’

  ‘You’re not famous,’ I quipped. ‘No one wants to chop you down to size.’

  ‘But what you do ... London tells you to do it. Why do they have a problem with you?’

  ‘When you figure that one out ... let me know.’

  ‘The more famous you get, the more people want to trip you up, no.’

  I nodded, the chill evening air cooling my face.

  I said nothing to Swifty, and I went to bed wondering just which little shit wanted me exposed, and why, my mind on the London Marathon again. I was so angry I could have killed someone then and there with my bare hands, so sleep was out of the question.

  In the morning David called me early, sounding terrified that the story of relationship with Tomsk getting into the public domain, but then doubly mortified when I pointed towards the JIC.

  ‘We don’t need this is a public courtroom,’ he emphasised.

  ‘Then let’s try and make sure it doesn’t get to a courtroom.’

  ‘Those men are JIC, the have power and influence, and they’ll be missed, a thorough investigation.’

  ‘I have friends in high places, some in low places, so it’s time to shake them up a bit and call in a favour of two. I’m driving up to London today, leaving soon.’

  I grabbed MP Pete, told Swifty to inform those left on the base that I would be out, and we set out as it started to rain. I could see Swifty staring after me; he knew something was wrong.

  ‘Tired?’ Pete asked after a while.

  ‘Just fucked off. Don’t ask.’

  We drove in silence most of the way, the radio on, crappy old tunes listened to, the news listened to, London traffic pissing me off even more today. Some of these commuters were a small step away from getting shot by me.

  We headed to the MI5 building, Pete dropping me off and heading for a car park and a cafe breakfast. Inside, they were puzzled by my demand to see the Director, and I waited, pacing up and down. I was eventually led inside and up, and to a bland and quiet meeting room, two tough-looking men stood guard, maybe in case I shot the Director, a lady with files held covering her chest hovering in the corridor.

  ‘I had a good shout this morning,’ he began, clearly angered. ‘They’re all now investigating.’

  ‘I think I know who it was.’

  ‘Who?’ he puzzled.

  ‘JIC.’

  ‘What!’ he hissed. ‘You can’t accuse them, they police us and tell us what to do! Tell you what to do!’

  ‘Four days ago, two JIC mandarins were in Belize to meet me. File was sent from Belize on that day. Can you get their names, and any aides with them. Like ... now.’

  He lifted the lonely desk phone and made a call, writing down names. He paused at a name, underlined it, and made a second call. He finally faced me. ‘Martin Dobbs, JIC, was in Belize, but someone mentioned a few weeks back that he had run some background checks on you. Not unusual, and we help with such things, and they are allowed to do that. It would not have set off alarm bells.

  ‘A detailed file was handed over, at least a copy of it, photos in there, and don’t be surprised - we have a very thick file on you, and on many other SAS staff, that’s routine.’

  ‘I would have figured that anyhow,’ I told him as I took in the bland magnolia walls. ‘What’s his gripe?’

  ‘Hard to say, but he’s guilty of handing classified material to a criminal gang, so lots of years in a cell. Problem will be a public trial and what he might say at that public trial. In similar trials, in the past, there were just three judges present and no jury, no press, all kept quiet.’

  I nodded, took out my phone and recalled a number, getting through the Chief Cabinet Secretary whilst being curiously observed. ‘It’s Captain Wilco, I need to speak to the PM today.’

  The Director cocked an eyebrow.

 
; ‘He’s very busy-’

  ‘He’ll be out of office when the news hits, so find a slot for me’.

  ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘MI5 building.’

  ‘Come around now, he has EU ambassadors all day.’

  Phone away, I said, ‘Can you come with me?’

  He made a face, stood, and led me out, a posse soon with him, coats placed on, people carriers with tinted windows taking us the short distance, police outriders at the front. I did not feel honoured or privileged, I self sickened by the whole London scene and wanted to be away from here.

  ‘You OK?’ he asked, the windows misting a little.

  Without detracting from my study of grey London streets, I said, ‘I feel sick.’

  After a moment he said, ‘Not car sick I’m guessing.’

  ‘No, sick of risking my life and my men for you bunch of shits.’

  The driver glanced around at me.

  ‘Well, inter-agency rivalry is nothing new, here or abroad, and it can be nasty at times. But you’re the star boy, so plenty of people want your legs cut off. Human nature I’m afraid.’

  ‘Was a time when I would have just gone for the man and dealt with him, but now I’m a captain I try and do it by the book a little more. Maybe that’s what annoys me more, a trial, rather than me slicing the guy up.’

  ‘Well ... good to know that you’re using the system and the chain of command, shows maturity.’

  ‘My guts don’t seem to like the maturity.’

  ‘You’re in a strong position, an enviable position, people are jealous of that. How many other Army captains have rung the Prime Minister today and scared him shitless?’

  Around the back of No.10 we were ushered in, and to the COBRA room, which only then did I notice had nothing to do with snakes. It stood for Cabinet Office Briefing Room “A”.

  The PM appeared five minutes later. We stood. He clocked the Mi5 Director, but not with his happy face on, greeted me with cold formality and sat. ‘There’s a problem?’

  I began, ‘Four days ago, a JIC member sent the Russian gang in Panama a file detailing my true identity.’

  ‘He ... what?’ the PM whispered, looking like he would faint.

  ‘Not to worry, Tomsk already knew,’ I lied. ‘That relationship is still strong.’

  ‘It is?’ the Director and the PM asked at the same time.

  I nodded. To the PM I said, ‘Problem will be what the JIC guy says in a courtroom.’

  ‘Hell yes,’ the PM let out, and eased back, shaking his head. ‘What a little shit.’ He faced the Director. ‘Any clues as to motive?’

  ‘Not yet, Prime Minister. And ... as you are aware, we’re not allowed to investigate them.’

  ‘Not normally, no, but you’ll have a note from me within an hour. You do whatever you feel is necessary, Q&A of all JIC members and support staff but with the Chief Cabinet Secretary organising things.’

  The Mi5 Director nodded.

  I put in, ‘The Americans will not be pleased that one of ours tried to fuck up the operation in Panama.’

  ‘No, they damn well won’t,’ the PM emphasised.

  ‘So we use that,’ I added. ‘How about this guy is extradited to the States?’

  The PM began, ‘If a civil servant was extradited there would be uproar amongst the rest of the civil servants - who they all went to school with. They’d crucify me.’

  I offered, ‘I can arrange for this guy to be accused of serious crimes here and abroad, but how do we stop him revealing all on the witness stand?’

  ‘We can arrange a special trial, three judges,’ the PM noted, thinking to himself. He faced the Director. ‘You know what to do, and do it fast, and make sure a D-Notice is in place, and that he has no time to send a file to a journalist.’

  The PM stood, and we stood with him. ‘I can only apologise for what this little shit did, and the danger it put you in.’

  I stared dispassionately at our nation’s leader. ‘He sent details of my daughter in nursery school.’

  ‘My ... god, what a bastard.’ He shook his head. Facing the Director, he said, ‘Make sure that he never leaves prison, or ever talks to anyone.’ He turned and left.

  As we reversed route, the Director said, ‘It will be tricky, there are ways he could get some detail out. Still, men his age suffer heart attacks all the time.’

  ‘That they do,’ I agreed.

  As we drove, he began, ‘We have field agents that could do with some training, and they do go overseas now and then despite what some people think.’

  ‘I’m happy to assist, I have no issues with your lot, never did, Pamela aside. Send them, tell me what you want to achieve.’

  ‘Want to toughen them up and to get the skills for when things go wrong. They do climb buildings now and then, house burglary, in through a hotel window, across a border unseen.’

  ‘I can help with all of that.’

  ‘And ... David Finch?’

  ‘Is a pen pusher, and half the man Bob Staines was. He needs more aggression. People like the JIC give me shit for the operations I run, yet I should be told ... what to do step by step.’

  We exchanged a look.

  From the Mi5 building I met MP Pete, and we drove the short distance around to the MOD building and in, and I went up familiar stairs to meet David.

  ‘I just met with the PM and the Director of Five,’ I said as I sat, no energy in my voice, David sat with Bob’s old assistant. ‘Police will move on the man, Martin Dobbs, soon.’

  ‘Five ... identified the man?’ David puzzled.

  ‘No, Tomsk tracked the courier company, I spoke to the courier company as Petrov and they helped, told me the package came from Belize four days ago.’

  ‘And the JIC were in Belize,’ David noted.

  ‘This man, Martin Dobbs, was getting detail on me from the MI5 files recently.’

  ‘There could be others involved,’ David noted, nodding to himself. ‘And we’d prefer you didn’t take the matter into your own hands.’

  I blew out. ‘I’m tempted. Injection under the hair, no public trial, but Five hinted that they might arrange a heart attack.’

  ‘It has been done before, yes.’ He eased back. ‘And your meeting with Colonel Mathews and the CIA..?’

  ‘I wanted to get their opinions on the Tomsk set-up, since whilst it’s in place it can be used – and should be used. They have a few ideas on targets in Central America and ... my relationship with Tomsk might be soiled next year.’

  ‘But Tomsk is not mad at you?’

  ‘No, he loves me to bits. Oh, I’m going to pick up some money as Petrov, some bonuses for the lads, slush money for you, some money for kit for my team. Cash.’

  ‘If it’s cash it’s easier, we’ll get you an escort, all off the books.’ He glanced at his assistant, who nodded.

  ‘Any shit coming from Nigeria?’ I asked.

  ‘All the major players are dead, so ... no. But the Nigerian government is investigating, as competent as they are, and they believe our good friend Petrov to have been behind the bomb. It would appear that someone claimed responsibility as Petrov – deliberately.’

  ‘Keeps blame away from the UK government.’

  ‘Well, since we were not involved, that’s good.’

  I countered with, ‘But you were involved, in your desires expressed indirectly through me, and I work for you.’

  ‘Well ... yes. But Tomsk hit them to save his oil deal, not to please us.’

  I nodded. ‘Do I have any orders ... as far as Panama and Liberia go?’

  ‘Well, nothing has really changed, Americans very happy, and we get a benefit. Any rift with the idiot in Monrovia and our enlisted men are in the firing line. Besides, this has been the largest intel coup since ... forever. It’s just that it’s all highly unusual and against the rules. So it’s a case of ... they need us and we need them. For now.’

  Back at GL4 many of the lads were off on a break, here on base but not se
en to be training in the cold rain, those who had been in Colombia all given some time off. I asked O’Leary to get a safe and to put it in a strong metal shed next to the Admin Portakabin, keys to himself and the Major. And to get it quickly.

  That evening I called Tomsk, and he gave me the name and address of a man to go and see for some money, the name sounding familiar. I called the man, and asked when I could pick up some cash. He had some waiting for me, more would take a few days.

  I made up a team of four police lads with pistols, plus MP Pete in civvy clothes, our unit minivan to be employed, and we set out at 6pm. On the way I called David and he would have two men meet us, plus a police car escort.

  In the van I chatted to the coppers about progress, and they had been given their first real job, a team of four dealing with a man brandishing a shotgun. They had been on standby, Valmect rifles ready, but had not fired in anger, the situation diffused – as 99% always were.

  ‘You used our rifles?’ I puzzled.

  ‘No, they bought some, stored in London.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Always nice when I find out after things happen. And never forget that with a Valmect your round will pass through the poor bastard you’re aiming at and kill his wife. Pick the shot carefully.’

  ‘One of ours shot a Pitbull dog with one, knocked it twenty yards down the street, blood everywhere. Locals accused him of using a shotgun on the poor dog – that had just bitten ten kids, but when you shoot a dangerous dog every fucker in the street is against you.’

  ‘Think yourselves lucky,’ I began. ‘In Bosnia I was crossing a field, wounded, shot a few times and half dead, and four hundred yards away I see twenty dog handlers and twenty dogs. Next thing, the dog handlers have released the Alsatians with a cry of “kill!” When you see twenty angry Alsatians charging at you - you panic. I shot the last dog down the throat with my last round as he bit my pistol, or they would have torn me apart.’

  ‘Boss, do you actually have any pleasant stories?’ a man asked, and they laughed loudly. ‘You know, happy ending, sun shining, Little Red Riding Hood doesn’t get shot, stabbed and sliced up?’

  I told them about the dark wood over twenty minutes.

  The same man said, ‘That’s it, I’m definitely having nightmares tonight.’

  I told him, ‘If you sneak up on a place at night, armed man inside, he may have a dog – or six, and let them loose. Be ready for the dogs always – as we trained you up at The Factory.’