Wilco- Lone Wolf 9

by Geoff Wolak

A man got me the embassy number and I called. ‘Captain Wilco, SAS, I need the ambassador. Now.’

  ‘Moment.’

  ‘David Fenster, Deputy Ambassador.’

  ‘Fenster, German word for window?’

  ‘Yes, and I also speak German, a few around here do. You’re Captain Wilco?’

  ‘Yes. Listen, British Ambassador in Bogota, his son was kidnapped -’

  ‘Yes, we got the alert.’

  ‘We’ve found a link to a secretive Bolivian drugs cartel.’

  ‘I know the people you mean, and they’d be the last people to get involved with something like that. And they’d leave no evidence behind.’

  ‘Sounds like you admire them?’

  ‘Not admire them, but they are of interest to us, just very frustrating. They’re tied into everything here, so no one would ever get a lead on them, they’d be tipped off. Politicians here are on the payroll, police, everyone. But unlike the cartels in Colombia they don’t do street killings and punishments, but people do disappear.’

  ‘Try very hard to think of a link, even an outlandish one.’

  ‘I’d be stunned if they were involved, and there is no link other than the fact that they’re drug exporters - and Colombia is full of drug cartels.’

  ‘British SAS were credited with getting the Cali Cartel. Could that have ruffled anyone’s feathers?’

  ‘Not down here, no. They’d be glad to see the Cali Cartel gone.’

  ‘I spoke to the Cali boss just now, they had no dealings.’

  ‘You spoke ... to the Cali boss, in prison in America?’

  ‘Yes, I have ... connections.’

  ‘Crikey.’

  ‘Next question. Who do you know, rich local man, that speaks German, runs a vineyard, likes classic old cars.’

  ‘There are a group of men like that, well established in business around here. Vineyards are all south of La Paz, towards the coast, and I have seen a classic car show or two being held.’

  ‘Got a list?’

  ‘Could get one.’

  ‘You have thirty minutes, and not a word to anyone else at the embassy please. Do I need to get the PM to shout a little?’

  ‘No, I’m glad to help. But I think it’s a waste of your time.’

  ‘Please, just do it, details to GCHQ Cheltenham. Thanks.’

  I approached the team’s coordinator. ‘South of La Paz, towards the coast, are vineyards, several German speaking owners, the odd classic car meeting.’

  ‘We got a few newspaper listings, classic cars for sale. They list phone numbers and area codes, so it’s all going into the computer. Have a pattern soon. And we have the location of that phone and nearby masts.’

  ‘Match its location to known wine growing areas,’ I suggested.

  I called SIS, London. ‘It’s Wilco, SAS. I need your Research Department to find any links between the British Government and Bolivia, something legal, someone arrested or held here in London. Get back to me urgently.’

  Tinker came and sat with me. ‘Exciting stuff this, real time. Normally a bit boring around here.’

  ‘Looks like a Bolivian gang grabbed the Ambassador’s son.’

  My phone trilled, a US number again. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘Deputy Chief, Langley. Got a minute?’

  ‘Fire away.’

  ‘FBI listened in to that call to the cartel boss, now asking awkward questions, no idea who this Morris man is working for British Intel, and now very interested in this Bolivian man. We are as well, he killed one of ours, but so far all we can prove is that he exists, nothing else known about him. Are you ... planning on paying him a visit?’

  ‘If he has the British Ambassador’s son, then yes.’

  ‘You know who he is?’

  ‘Not yet, but we are closing in on him.’

  ‘Well, we will exert pressure on your government. We want him, and we’ll assist you in getting him of course.’

  ‘My aim is to get the Ambassador’s son back, you can have his captors.’

  ‘If you find out anything, let us know.’

  ‘If I find out anything, I’ll put the Ambassador’s son first, just in case you spook the man or move on him. I hope I’m being clear.’

  ‘You’re always blunt and to the point, unlike those you work for. Be in touch.’

  I faced Tinker. ‘CIA are not happy, they want this guy. Just one more thing to make my life harder.’

  An hour later an SIS researcher was led in to me after a helicopter ride down. We shook. He began, ‘You’re interested in this Bolivian gang.’

  I had everyone involved assemble, thirty men and two ladies sat facing the front, the SIS guy on the spot, but he knew his stuff, a twenty minute lecture on our gang and their known activities and affiliates.

  My phone trilled. ‘Quiet everyone!’ I shouted. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘SIS, London. You were after a Bolivian link, well we found one. A twenty-three year old man, German passport, Spanish speaker, flew in from Brazil but onwards from La Paz, Bolivia, man sat next to him also from La Paz and suspicious, known associates in the drugs trade.’

  ‘What do you have on this young man?’

  ‘Nothing solid, but Americans want his travel buddy and asked us to hold him. They both had rooms in the same hotel, enough of a link, but no drugs found on them.’

  ‘So ... he’d be released?’

  ‘Americans might extradite him.’

  ‘I need his details, in particular his father, and his phone number.’

  ‘Passport lists two next of kin.’

  I wrote them down, and the number. ‘I’ll need to speak to this lad today.’

  ‘Tricky.’

  ‘Arrange it, or the Ambassador’s son is dead. Send it up the line.’ Call cut, I turned to face the gang. ‘Young lad being held in London, German passport, but from La Paz, and his travel companion is dirty, wanted by the Americans, this young lad about to be extradited or questioned by the Americans. So I’m thinking his father grabbed our Ambassador’s son, and this is nothing to do with the Cali Cartel.’

  I read out the detail, a mad scramble to get to computers. Ten minutes later we had the lad’s home address, a winery, close to the mobile number they were tracking. They took the father’s name and ran it through Interpol and other databases, the man clean, so clean he had never even had a parking ticket. Other than the name there was no proof that he even existed.

  A man approached me. ‘The man in Bolivia, who spoke to the cleaner at the dentists, he has a Nokia phone, and we can hack it. What’s needed is that he calls someone important.’

  ‘Have someone with a Colombian accent call him, and ask if he knows how to get hold of Petrov, simply that, then hang up.’

  They got to it, a man behind a glass screen. That man eventually stepped out to us. ‘That spooked him.’

  We hovered behind another man bent over a computer, a screen full of flashing lists. He eventually put a finger to a number. Number noted, it was traced to a vineyard, the one where the German lad lived – Vineyard El Paso. We now had the lad’s father, and maybe a senior figure in the cartel.

  After checking with Interpol, this man had no passport and had never been anywhere, which made him all the more of a suspect if he existed – which was now in doubt.

  I found a quiet spot, and called Langley.

  ‘Wilco?’ came from the Deputy Chief.

  ‘Yes. And it’s trade off time.’

  ‘What do you know?’

  ‘That a lad being held in London for extradition to the States is the son of a senior figure in this Bolivian cartel.’

  ‘So we have leverage.’

  ‘Not if I persuade my Prime Minister to let the lad go. Remember, they have our Ambassador’s son.’

  ‘Your government would not give in to bribery from a drugs gang.’

  ‘No demands have been sent yet, and there’s no evidence against this lad. He could be released.’

  After a pause came, ‘What’s the tr
ade off here?’

  ‘You trust me to get a good result?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Standby to drop the extradition.’

  ‘I’ll make some calls, see what the young man is wanted for.’

  ‘If it’s a case of the Ambassador’s son, or our future working relationship, I’ll save the son.’

  ‘Not quite seeing the big picture, but it doesn’t surprise me. If we fall out over this, no more access to Tomsk?’

  ‘Maybe we can have our cake and eat it. Trust me.’

  I called David Finch. ‘There’s a German lad on remand, being held pending extradition.’

  ‘I got a note about your enquiry, yes.’

  ‘I need to chat to him on the phone.’

  ‘Could say it’s a solicitor.’

  ‘Like right now.’

  ‘I’ll get them to call you from the prison, will take half an hour I guess.’

  ‘I asked Langley to drop the extradition, and Petrov is coming out to play.’

  ‘This young man is the reason our Ambassador’s son was grabbed? Because they would never trade, at least, never be seen to trade.’

  ‘No need to trade, no evidence on the lad, no demands yet. You just quietly let him go.’

  ‘And Petrov will secure the deal?’

  ‘A threat or two might be levelled, a visit made to Bolivia. If they don’t release our man, Petrov grabs some of theirs.’

  ‘I’ll pretend I never heard that.’

  ‘After the lad calls me, allow him to call home, private call.’

  ‘Glad the JIC are afraid of you this week.’

  I sat with Tinker as people rushed around. ‘Making progress,’ I suggested.

  ‘We’re getting other numbers linked to that mobile.’

  ‘I might need to go down there and have a quiet word.’

  He cocked an eyebrow. ‘A quiet word?’

  ‘Sometimes ... all you need is to bluff.’

  They got me a meal in the canteen, and as we got back to our busy command room my sat phone trilled, an unknown London number.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Your client is here to talk. Hold on.’

  ‘Hello?’ came an accented voice.

  In German, I began, ‘This call may be listened in to, so careful what you say.’

  ‘Who are you?’ came in German. ‘You are not German.’

  ‘My name is Petrov.’

  After a pause, came, ‘Petrov from La Palma, Panama?’

  ‘Yes, that Petrov.’

  ‘What ... what do you want with me?’

  ‘I have persuaded the Americans to drop their extradition request, and the British will let you go. You will then be in my custody, or shall we say ... my care. You see, your father has grabbed the British Ambassador’s son in Bogota, and you ... you are piggy in the middle. If the Ambassador’s son is harmed, you get sent home one finger at a time.

  ‘Now, make a note of this number, and ask your papa to call me from the Vineyard El Paso, south of La Paz.’ I gave the sat phone number. ‘I will recognise your father’s number, otherwise I might not answer the call. It ends with 477 I think. Make the call now, they will let you.’

  I cut the call, expectant faces waiting. ‘Time for some play acting. I need background noises that suggest I’m on an aircraft carrier. Get to it.’

  David Finch was on five minutes later. ‘That German man called Bolivia.’

  ‘Good, I await a call. Get off the line please, Boss.’ Call cut, I waited in a room with video machine, a VHS copy of Top Gun in the machine, a finger hovering over a button. I picked up the video sleeve and then shook at a fist at a few people. They lowered heads and looked embarrassed.

  Ten minutes later my sat phone trilled, and I knew the Bolivian country code. The room hushed, all eyes on me as I stepped into the booth, an operator sat near the video machine.

  ‘Hallo?’

  ‘Petrov?’

  ‘Yah.’

  In modest broken Russian, he began, ‘You got the British authorities to let my son speak to you, very impressive, but also very odd.’

  In German I answered, ‘Things are never what they seem, and Petrov, he died many years ago. I took his place.’

  ‘And you are...?’

  ‘A British agent.’

  ‘And Tomsk is an idiot who could never have got to where he is without a great deal of help. I would be surprised if he would tie his own shoe laces.’

  ‘So would most people.’

  ‘You assisted him.’

  ‘Let’s just say that we have an understanding. He regulates the drugs traffic, we get tip-offs about drug shipments and regular arrests and seizures.’

  ‘And the Americans have an odd relationship with him which I have observed. The DEA attack Tomsk on a regular basis but never catch him. And that raid on a nursing home?’

  ‘The CIA arranged it to embarrass the DEA.’

  ‘Like cats and dogs. And who holds your muzzle?’

  I tapped my guy on the head. ‘I work for the British, with Washington’s blessing.’ I waved down the volume, a fist shaken just before Tom Cruise said something.

  ‘Are you ... on an aircraft carrier?’

  ‘Off the coast of Colombia, steaming south to Bolivia, some vineyards to destroy. Unless of course you want to make a deal.’

  ‘And this ... deal?’

  ‘Will see your son go home, the ambassador’s son go home.’

  ‘And you will just forget about the whole thing...’

  ‘No, you’re on our radar now. So after the two men go home to their families, we either strike a deal ... or you get a rude wake-up call as my men land.’

  ‘Russians, that don’t know who’s really pulling their chains.’

  ‘You’re a smart man, I’m sure you can figure out how the world really works.’

  ‘Tomsk’s rise to power was a great mystery, but I was suspicious about who was assisting him, and I had a great deal of information collected on you. Up till a few years ago you were unknown, then suddenly all this activity. You were even reported in two places at the same time!’

  ‘Back story.’

  ‘And what deal will we strike?’

  ‘The deal is ... that we leave you alone if you co-operate, regular tip-offs about small drug shipments, seized by the US Navy and Coastguard. And the deal will start with the Ambassador’s son, who you will place in a safe house in southern Colombia, on the coast, a few men that you don’t like guarding him, and the Americans will land and get him.’

  ‘And get their story on CNN!’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Is that what really motivates them?’

  ‘It’s what keeps the politicians happy.’

  ‘Such children.’

  ‘So, do we have a deal, or do I strip you naked and slowly burn off the rest of your skin off as you observe your family killed?’

  After a pause came, ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘Your man, who paid the cleaner at the dentist’s in Bogota, he was very sloppy.’

  ‘Thank you for that, but he is married to my niece – I can’t beat him to death. The idiot will be sidelined and put somewhere he can do no harm – like standing on grapes!’

  I laughed. ‘The Ambassador’s son..?’

  ‘Will be on the coast tomorrow, I will give you the location.’

  ‘If you can stomach it, call Tomsk, make friends, mention me, maybe you have some deals to do.’

  ‘I will lower myself to call that dwarf Soviet dumbkopf, yes. Tag.’

  I stepped out, everyone waiting. ‘Ambassador’s son will be rescued tomorrow by the Americans, we know where he is.’ They cheered. ‘Well done, everyone, great work, and quick work.’ I pointed at my sound effect guy. ‘All the money this place has, and you use a fucking Top Gun video?’

  I called David as people celebrated. ‘I struck a deal, I’ll get the location of the Ambassador’s son tomorrow, on the coast of Colombia, I’ll have the Americans
mount a rescue.’

  ‘Bloody hell...’

  ‘I need that German boy released, or it’s no deal. Pass it to the PM right away.’

  ‘Already sent a note, and the boy is clean other than by association, just the issue of the Americans, but we could find a full stop in the wrong place on the extradition form. And an appeal to extradition takes three months, the lad free to walk around London.’

  ‘I’m sure his father could get him a false passport.’

  Next call was Langley, and the Deputy Chief. ‘Tomorrow I’ll get the location of the Ambassador’s son, on the coast of Colombia, your people to launch a raid and get him, a handful of lame guards to deal with.’

  ‘How the hell did you arrange that? And so quickly!’

  ‘Over a glass of Bolivian wine. Have a tub in position, southern end of Colombia, TV crew onboard. Oh, and the Prime Minister will screw-up your extradition paperwork for the German lad.’

  ‘You got intel on this cartel in Bolivia?’

  ‘Well, here’s the thing ... you know what I did with Tomsk.’

  ‘What! You struck a fucking deal!’

  ‘Regular tip-offs and drug seizures.’

  ‘Jesus, if anyone found out they’d hang me! Or shoot me! Or hang me then shoot me! Fucking FBI would lock me up forever! You’re a soldier, you’re supposed to fucking shoot the bad guys, not make deals and help them! ’

  ‘Pretend we never had this conversation, get that tub in place. And ... have a nice day.’ I cut the call, smirking, wondering why I enjoyed teasing him.

  In with the Director I had a cup of tea, the events of the day debated before I collected Tinker and headed off, many of the super-nerds now with ties loosened and sleeves rolled up.

  Back at GL4 it was coming up to 5pm, a post mortem held but with just certain people, some detail held back, Tinker sworn to secrecy about Petrov. Tomorrow, Echo would fly down to Sierra Leone, my new intel team looking for hostages whilst we were away, the SAS awaiting the go signal in Niger.

  I called the Chief Cabinet Secretary and told him that the Ambassador’s son had been located - which stunned him, and that the Americans would launch the rescue – which pissed him off.

  Late that night, as I was just turning off the TV, a call came in, its detail making me smile, Swifty laughing his head off when I explained it.

  In the morning we all gathered in the briefing room, many stood at the back, no need for a heater in here now.