by Geoff Wolak
They laughed at her as I walked off. I checked with Mitch that he had a rota before I climbed to the roof. Standing in the dark with the two Wolves on duty, I peered out at the shanty town.
‘Fire burning over there, Boss, where you were.’
‘Our distraction, yes. Probably burn down the entire city by dawn.’
They laughed.
‘Could do with being burnt down,’ one complained. ‘It’s a right old tip. And it smells, even up here.’
‘But it’s getting better, and we’re going to help with that, one street at a time.’ Kneeling, I took aim and scanned the shanty town around us. Seeing a tall naked man with a machete, a girl at his feet and crying as he threatened her, I put a round through his head.
The girl looked around, startled, and finally stood, putting on some clothes. A look down at the body, and she lifted the machete and hacked at the man for ten minutes, a mess made before she ran off.
Ten minutes later and I was scanning the area south, soon seeing crates loaded to a truck; weapons. ‘Take aim,’ I told the Wolves. ‘See where I’m aiming.’
They had a look then knelt near me.
‘See the truck being loaded?’
‘Yeah, Boss.’
‘Hit the wheels, driver, then the armed men. Three, two, one, fire!’
I hit the man in charge, but then aimed at a box as it rested on the back of the truck. On round number eight the box blew. ‘RPGs in the box I think.’
I had them hit the fuel tank repeatedly, finally a fire seen. Standing, we observed as the truck burnt, and twenty minutes later the RPGs started to blow, the truck blown to pieces, locals running for cover. The final blast had men here in the hotel running up onto the roof.
‘That was a box of anti-tank mines,’ I suggested as Mitch drew near. ‘And they had RPGs. You Wolves, keep aim on that area, any more armed men there and kill them.’
‘Right, Boss.’
‘We gunna piss off the local warlord?’ Mitch posed.
‘Hope so, because we came here to kill him, and everyone working with him.’
Tomsk called half an hour later. ‘There was an explosion in Monrovia.’
‘Yes, that was us. We hit a local gun runner.’
‘They heard it in my hotel! The oil workers!’
‘Tell them that I’m here and that we’re cleaning up the city -’
‘Can you do it quietly!’
I smiled. ‘I’ll try. Promise.’
Downstairs, I grabbed a team and we drove to the nice hotel used by the oil workers, past wary armed guards on the gate. Inside the hotel bar I shouted for order. Fifty surprised white men stared my way.
‘I’m Major Wilco, British SAS, and as some of you heard we’re cleaning up the local armed men, the criminals and others. We also rescued a white man tonight. Our mission here is to find those that might be a threat to you, and to deal with them, and to take their weapons off them.
‘There may be a few loud bangs, some shots fired, but no need to worry, because I have a large team here. Now, were any of you up at the mine with me when it was attacked?’
‘Three raised their arms.’
‘So you can tell the others that they have nothing to worry about by me being here.’
They laughed as I stepped closer, beers ordered with stolen dollars as a barrage of questions were fired at me. Facemask on, and they posed for photographs, none seemingly worried about their security here, many a question asked about the Valmet – and could they shoot someone with my rifle from the roof?
Back at the hotel, I found my old nurse, Sarah, in my room with Swifty. But dressed. ‘So when the boss is away….’
‘Be away more often,’ Swifty told me as Sarah left, a smile and a nod at me from my nurse.
Kit off, I took a drink of water from a bottle and lay down with a sigh.
‘Back still hurting?’
‘It twinges. And going up those stairs earlier … that hurt a bit.’
‘It takes time. Sit and coordinate, send Moran out. Where you been?’
‘Local nice hotel, oil workers, bought them all a beer after they heard the explosions.’
‘Fuck ‘em, they get double time tax free.’
‘They are on good money, yeah.’
In the morning the President popped in, his convoy outside, which was odd given that he could have walked here in five minutes. In the bar I got him a coffee and we sat.
‘I have men collecting the dead from the place you attacked, and where the truck exploded. Actually, they removed the bodies late last night and cleaned up, an idea from Mister Tomsk. These men go around at night and look for bodies, dogs, and take garbage, and they pour chemicals in drains.’
‘All good ideas, makes for a better city.’
‘The men with the weapons and explosives was a worry, but they do buy and sell weapons here. You will remove them all?’
‘Yes, unless they are friends of yours.’
‘My friends live northwest of me, the best area.’
‘We will avoid that area then,’ I offered him. ‘Tonight we’ll hit the drug dealer in the east.’
‘Ah, them, yes. I have known for some time, but they do not bother me.’ He studied me. ‘They say you met the American President, gave a speech…’
‘Yes, he needed to stop doing business in public, so I altered his thinking a little.’
‘You are indeed centre stage, as they say. And these FBI men they said wanted you dead?’
‘A secret group, like mine, but not so powerful. We killed them all.’
‘And these drugs that made people sick..?’
‘We stopped the men behind it, and for a while the price of cocaine doubled, and Tomsk sold a lot of stock. His dealers have test kits that show up a bad batch of drugs, so his dealers and users are safe. He made a lot of money.’
‘He already makes a lot of money…’
‘Yes, but he does some good with it, local schools and hospitals. And he adopted a local boy, ten years old.’
‘I have many children by various ladies, but I do not raise them.’
‘Maybe if you had a son, and taught him, he would help you when you are old and in a wheelchair.’
‘Perhaps. But … it is hard to trust people.’
‘Then maybe, when I have cleaned up your city, and when you have spent some money here, your people will one day walk down the street without fear, like Ghana.’
‘Ghana is said to be very nice, yes. I must learn from them.’
‘Bring down experts from Europe, have them assist you; you need only copy what we have in England. Police, law courts, hospitals, jobs for the masses. It has all been done before. And then, maybe, when you’re dead they raise a statue to you.’
‘A statue? I … had not thought of that.’ He nodded to himself. ‘It would be good to be remembered well.’
‘You have the oil money, so there is no reason why you do not become a small rich nation, as good as Ghana. It is all up to you.’
‘You place a heavy weight on my shoulders,’ he noted.
‘See it as a fun pastime, how to build a new nation. It’s not like you need to work for a living, is it,’ I teased.
In the morning we made plans, plans to hit the drug dealer in the east. 14 Intel drove around the city in sweat-stained civvy shirts, Swifty and a small team sneaking up on our drug dealer via the local swamp, which I was sure would lead to some loud complaining – and a group of men smelling badly.
The swamp rats returned at 3pm, smelling badly and complaining, so I had them all shower with their kit on after shouting at them. Swifty appeared barefoot fifteen minutes later in shorts and t-shirt, Forester cocking an eyebrow at the clothes.
‘Report,’ I told Swifty as the senior men stood around the map table.
‘Won’t be as easy as the first job, this guy is awake and alert, even got a mounted fifty cal on a jeep. Tall wire fence, barbed wire, and guards that can stay away more than five minutes.’
‘And the best way in?’ I nudged.
‘The way we took, through the swamp. It takes you to within a hundred yards of the back of his warehouse, most of the armed men at the front, just one guard at the rear.’
Forester nodded. ‘We go in from the swamp then, after dark, kill the lone guard and get position before they realise we’re relieving them of their stock of drugs. Second team hits the front after a few minutes, jeeps first, medics in the buses.’
I suggested, ‘Insert time should be around midnight, to hit them around 3am, sir.’
He nodded.
I told everyone, ‘Rest the people now who need some rest, get them ready for 11.30pm, same teams as the last job, Swifty to lead us in.’
‘In some damp kit,’ he complained. ‘That fucking swamp stinks like a sewer, that’s why they ain’t guarding it!’
I told everyone, ‘Good for us, but the breach team need only be ten men, rest in the front way – or this place will smell bad afterwards.’
‘I’ll get some kip now,’ Forester suggested, Moran to join him, Ginger to hold the fort for now after he checked in on the airport detail.
When my phone trilled it was No.1. I walked out of reception and towards the local army guards. He began, ‘We have a chance at increasing the arms sales in your neck of the woods, so … question is … do we risk drawing attention to our little operation?’
‘It was the idea of the CIA and Yank Security Advisor, so they can’t fucking complain, can they.’
‘FBI are not in the loop,’ he cautioned.
‘If they’re not, I’ll have a word, since we’re doing what the White House wants, a way to get access to Middle East arms buyers.’
‘Got a lead on a man in Somalia that wants some weapons.’
‘Aideed?’
‘No.’
‘I’d say yes – we sell the weapons, but then I tip off Aideed and keep him sweet.’
‘Got some good deals around Africa as well.’
‘I’ll check if anyone Stateside is sniffing around.’
‘I sent a man a copy invoice when he wanted the paperwork for his filing, and it has a logo and the title of Spectre.’
I laughed. ‘I’d love to see that invoice land on the desk of the FBI director. What’s the logo?’
‘A sinister man with a cat.’
‘We are soooo … taking the piss here.’
‘I have cartridge cases with the prints of Elvis ready for you.’
‘Ah, good. And Bob, change the mug you have, it needs to say Evil Little Shit.’
‘I’ll have one made up,’ he joked.
I grabbed two hours sleep in the evening heat, then felt awake and so had a bite to eat with Stickler and Muscles, a cold drink as we waited the stroke of midnight.
At 11.30pm I blew a whistle and sent team leaders around, our buses and jeeps ready. With the senior men assembled in the command room, Forester detailed the map and the plan, but it was all straight forwards enough. Swifty and his enlarged team were sent off, the men already cursing, Rizzo to command the assault. But he was used to bad smells.
An hour later, and Tomo and Mouri were up a phone mast, men down below to cover them, my snipers aiming at the warehouse and reporting the movements – just four armed men seen.
Tinker called as we made ready to move out. ‘We got a phone hit, from one of the cruise missile ships, to a man in Aden, but oddly enough also to Monrovia.’
I was shocked. ‘Where … in Monrovia, and when?’
‘Today, this morning, got a paper and pen?’
I wrote down the coordinates, hung up and checked the map with a purpose. The call had been made from our drug dealer’s warehouse, men in the command room exchanging puzzled looks. ‘Job is on hold,’ I told them.
I stepped out and called Tomo. ‘It’s a trap, they know we’re coming. Update Rizzo, then kill the guards, shoot anything you want to shoot, but don’t enter.’
Back inside, Moran was concerned. ‘What could be the link between that drug dealer … and the shits in Nicaragua?’
‘Us. In particular … me; it smacks of a trap. Double the men on guard here, extra men on the roof.’
He rushed out with Ginger.
‘You expect an attack here?’ Forester worried.
‘Something here stinks, sir, a link to the cartels, so I think it’s a trap. People know I’m here, and how I think, so … the cartels anticipated a move against the drug dealer, and … the local police might have sold that information. But we’ll probe that warehouse from a distance and then see, 24hrs eyes on.’
Worried men sat about waiting as the teams were stood down, cold drinks sipped.
My phone trilled fifteen minutes later. ‘It’s Tomo, and we shot the guards, and the lights, and the jeeps. No movement now.’
‘24hrs eyes on, shoot all the armed men, report back anything odd, any white men. Have Rizzo pull back and wait, somewhere less smelly. Wilco out.’
Tinker called. ‘That phone, it called a ship mid-Atlantic a week ago, no ship found so far, then a hit in Panama.’
‘Panama? I want the location.’
‘We checked, and it’s the canal, a ship moving through the canal.’
‘So this ship went from the Atlantic side to the Pacific side..?’
‘They do, often you know,’ he teased.
‘Keep looking, we have eyes on the location here.’
Sat in the command room, cold drinks in hand, my phone went half an hour later.
‘It’s Rizzo, and that fucking warehouse blew! If we’d been near it we’d be toast.’
Mitch burst in. ‘Massive blast to the east!’
I pointed at my phone and nodded at him.
Rizzo added, ‘Was packed with nails, they hit trees near us, but we’re in a brick pumping station or some bollocks like that.’
‘Withdraw all teams, and carefully. Wilco out.’ I took in their faces. ‘A tonne of explosives, wrapped in nails.’
Worried expressions were exchanged, not least by Forester.
He asked, ‘And if the teams had gone in?’
‘You’d be explaining a lot of dead men, sir.’
My phone trilled, Mike Papa. ‘You and your men are OK? There was a large explosion.’
‘We’re all fine, we knew it was a trap. I need to know everything about this drug dealer, he has some information I want.’
‘I’ll send a man to you, we know where he lives, outside of Monrovia.’
‘Thank you, Mister President.’
Phone down, Moran began, ‘If his warehouse is wired, so is his house!’
‘Would you wire your own house?’ I challenged.
‘No, but the man behind this might wire it for me,’ he pointed out. ‘No loose ends.’
‘Agreed,’ I told them all. ‘So we get 24hrs eyes on and then decide, but that drug dealer is now our top priority here. He has a link to the cartels and the cruise missiles.’
‘I thought you got them all?’ Ginger complained.
‘We got most, still a few middle managers out there I guess. Leadership is gone, so I’m surprised that this guy – whoever he is - has any money to play with.’
I stepped out and called Tinker. ‘It’s me. Go all out on Monrovia, that place was a trap, wired to blow.’
‘Still a few players out there,’ he noted with a sigh.
‘We’ll track the man who owned a warehouse that blew, get eyes-on his nice suburban abode, then see. I’ll send you his location. You on late tonight?’
‘Nightshift, I do one a week.’
‘Have Reggie and the team updated with this as well please, a note for London. This is now a live job.’
An hour later the local police detailed the location of our drug dealer’s home, and when a smelly Rizzo and team returned I sent them straight back out to set-up an OP and to have a sneak peek.
In the morning, the local police reported that the bodies of only four men had been found at the blast site, so the warehouse had be
en empty. And no drugs were found to be scattered around, so the main man had slipped his stash out earlier.
I idly commented to Moran, ‘Why does he need a warehouse for drugs? The drugs would fit onto a table top.’
‘They probably have benches and lights and grow the crops. Weed.’
I nodded. ‘So he wasn’t importing, he was growing his own.’
Rizzo called.
‘Sergeant, you awake early?’
‘Been up all pigging night, my turn to rest soon.’
‘What you got?’
‘Wires in the trees near his house. Big old house, high stone wall, alert guards with dogs, lights on all night. We’re 400yards away, up a slope on some long grass, but the team that went closer saw the wires so went around, and there’s more fucking wires, in the trees around his place.’
‘That’s cheeky. Shoot the guards and the dogs, and his windows. Damage the place from a distance, see who comes out to play. And watch your rear!’
I had a team made up, transport arranged - with the benefit of a local crooked police escort, and I dispatched the large team to a point that was half a mile away from Rizzo. They would hide, and wait some unwelcome reinforcements sneaking up on Rizzo. And if those unwelcome men were downwind then they would fix Rizzo’s position well enough.
Half an hour later, and Rizzo was back on. ‘We hit the guards, damaged his place, some return fire – like accurate sniper fire, so there’re some good lads in that house. Now the team behind us reckon they have movement.’
‘Leave four men aiming at the house, rest turn around and get ready for the team coming to ambush you. Get that ambush team between you and the others. And I want phones and IDs, and if you take some alive make the bastards talk.’
I updated the senior men, the map annotated.
David Finch called half an hour later, as I stood on the roof peering out. ‘You have some trouble down there?’
‘A trap set for us, a link to the cartels and FBI Deep State.’
‘I thought FBI Deep State was gone.’
‘It is, but it seems that some of the contractors and middle managers are still out there. They must have had many people working for them.’
