by Geoff Wolak
I told them, ‘You can release the good news, that we got ten of the missiles.’
David put in, ‘Unfortunately, that just confirms the threat.’
‘I’ll know more today, but … but I think the cartel will sneak missiles north and hit Washington and New York.’
‘Jesus,’ came from a few unseen people in the COBRA meeting.
‘This is about revenge?’ the Prime Minister. ‘Revenge for the missiles stopped in Panama and the fighting there?’
‘I hurt the cartel, Prime Minister, I hurt them badly. A plane load of British tourists will even the score to the men in the gangs.’
‘And the Americans were jointly responsible for causing the cartel its losses,’ he noted.
‘Yes, Prime Minister.’
‘A second punch on the nose for the cartel with the loss of this cash you mentioned.’
‘They will be miffed, sir, yes.’
‘Your men not hurt?’
‘Not so far, but we are holding the position and not withdrawing yet, more searching underway. Should be out of there soon, but we have the entire US Navy with us, ocean full of ships.’
‘Well good luck, and keep us posted. Thank you, Major.’
‘Sir.’ I cut the call and faced Harris. ‘Most flights to Cancun have been cancelled.’
‘People will be mad, but grateful to be alive,’ he noted with a shrug.
‘I’d not get on a fucking plane heading this way, and I’m fucking crazy!’
Inside, the commander asked, ‘Some news, Major?’
‘Most flights to Cancun have been cancelled, the British ones at least.’ They all stopped to listen. ‘Your news is reporting that fact, and your citizens are voting with their feet and not flying, lawyers to chat to no doubt.’
The Admiral stepped in. ‘It’s chaos, coast to coast and along the Mexican border. Flights cancelled, troops deployed on US soil, first time since the sixties. So far those soldiers are just finding refugees in threadbare sandals.
‘Pentagon believes that by midnight not a single plane will be in the skies over Mexico, and the FAA is banning overfly sometime today, so that will affect South American routes.’
‘What’s the ceiling of a Stinger?’ I asked the officers.
‘Twenty-five thousand on a good day,’ a man reported. ‘Airlines cruise over Mexico at 39,000ft.’
The Admiral put in, ‘Question of safety, since a plane may depressurise and drop to 10,000ft, or divert with a fault, and then it could be a target. Some rules about alternate airfields on the route, safe ones.’
I nodded. ‘Fingers crossed.’
‘How’s the hip, Major?’
‘Can’t feel it, sir, which is great.’
‘Been at it all night?’ he nudged.
‘Trust me, sir, this is easy for me.’
‘Don’t get punchy at a key moment, Major,’ he warned me.
‘Missile lock on!’ was shouted. ‘Strike group was targeted, twelve miles north.’
The room became a flurry of activity for a minute.
The Admiral finally stated, ‘No damage, flares deployed.’
‘Where was your F18, sir?’ I pressed, wondering just what they were doing inshore.
‘Support flight for the men on the ground, box circuits at ten thousand, close to the coast, ready for ground support. They’ll circuit further out to sea, tanker with them.’
I nodded my understanding.
‘Your men withdrawing soon, Major?’
‘Did you recover your ratings, sir?’
‘Yes, and the cash is being taken to the Marines helo carrier.’
‘There are underground rooms, sir,’ I lied. ‘Maybe more cash, some drugs. We’ll liberate the cash because it sets the cartel back, and we’ll destroy their drugs for the same reason – a kick to the teeth, and some good news for the folks back home.’
An officer announced, ‘Admiral, White House, for Major Wilco.’
Shocked, the Admiral took a moment, and he finally pointed to a desk phone and called for hush. And I was not sure if he looked put-out with me or not. An officer said into the desk phone, ‘This is Kitty Hawk, ready when you are.’
‘Major Wilco?’
I eased forwards, all eyes on me. ‘Here, sir.’
‘Standby.’ We waited.
‘No Girl From Ipanema music,’ I whispered.
The commander’s eyes widened, before he whispered, ‘I think that’s for elevators,’ making me smile.
‘Major Wilco?’ came the dry voice of the President.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘How’s your lady spy? Did she sell her gold plaque?’
I smiled widely when thinking about Tiny. ‘She still has it apparently, sir, proudly mounted on a shelf at home.’
‘Are you well, they said you were injured again?’
‘Just the hip, sir, and the spinal injury. They twinge.’
‘Twinge? That’s an understatement! What new information do you have for us, Major?’
‘My men found and catalogued ten Stinger missiles, and the CIA has the serial numbers by now. We also liberated a great deal of used dollars tainted with cocaine, now searching a compound for anything else of value.
‘We know that a truck is driving to Cancun with missiles - we’re tracking it, not sure how many missiles, and we learnt an hour ago that a few missiles are in Mexicali on the border.’
‘What are they going to do with the missiles?’
I glanced up at the Admiral. ‘My sources tell me they want to shoot down aircraft taking off from Washington and New York.’
I could hear the chorus of hushed conversations in the background, the assembled officers here recoiling, horrified.
‘How well do you trust you sources, Major?’
‘There’s an old saying, sir. In politics and warfare, never trust the good news but always trust the bad news.’
He laughed. ‘Damn right.’
‘So the question is … do we err on the side of caution, sir?’
‘I need to discuss this with the FBI and others, not sure what we can do to protect so many airports against one man with a small missile. Apparently they fit into the trunk of a car.’
‘Five feet long, sir, so yes.’
‘We’ve sealed the border, every vehicle being searched -’
‘Sir, the cartel operates well-worn secure routes north for their drugs, have been operating them for decades.’
‘So you’re saying we can’t stop them..?’
‘You have no chance at all to stop them, same with the drugs. Only hope is the intel - and my people on the ground.’
‘You’re confident about your people?’
‘They’re bribing Mexicans with hard cash, lots of it, and the Mexicans all like a fistful of dollars.’
‘Who’s fronting the cash?’ he asked.
‘Trust me, sir, you don’t want to know. But let’s just say that the Tijuana Cartel have enemies amongst other cartels.’
‘You talk to cartel leaders?’
‘No comment, sir. And I’ve never been to Mexico.’ I could hear laughter.
‘You’re also a sneaky shit, Major, like that speech you gave. But are you confident of finding the other missiles?’
‘Some will get through, sir,’ I warned.
‘And the downside here?’
‘Three airliners shot down.’
‘Jesus, there’ll be panic,’ he noted.
‘That’s the aim, sir, the mind-set of the street gang. You hurt them, so they want to appease their lower ranks, measure their cocks and get an extra tattoo done, a Stinger on their arms.’
‘Is that really the motivation here?’ he challenged.
‘You live in the White House, sir, not in a street gang, where fear is key to maintaining control of your subordinates, people set on fire after their throats are cut. If you lose control of your gang they turn on you, there’s no retirement plan available, no way out but a bullet sooner or later.’
/> ‘You’ve worked closely with such gangs I suspect…’
‘Yes, sir, rubbing shoulders, but I never got a tattoo.’
‘Is there a foreign government involved here?’
‘Not to my knowledge, sir, and few would work with the cartels. Terotski was not working for the Russians nor the North Koreans.’
‘And your recommendations here?’
‘Worst case scenario is that they get fourteen missiles north of the border, a plane shot down every day, but after ten planes you’d have to ground all aircraft and face financial ruin, company bosses not meeting, salesmen not flying, no contracts signed, no mail or parcels getting through, the population of America wanting your head on a plate.’
‘Don’t gloss it over, Major, speak your mind,’ he quipped.
‘Mister President, get this one wrong and your country regrets it for the next decade.’
‘And the action we should be taking?’
‘The very capable Deputy Chief at the CIA, my boss, is already three steps ahead of you, and you’re already doing everything possible in the time constraint we’ve been working to. And if you close your airports you give the cartel what it wants without a shot fired and you cause just as much harm.
‘We need to find the missiles whilst keeping one eye on an emergency plan, enacted when the first plane is targeted. That’s the best middle road option, sir.’
‘You should be in here with me.’
‘I get that a lot, sir.’
‘I have a plan to oversee, and right now I’m hoping you’re as good as they say you are.’
‘I keep telling people, sir, I have twelve thousand people behind me; I just answer the phone. Most of the intel came from British GCHQ, like your NSA.’
‘I’m going to talk to your Prime Minister today.’
‘Your CIA planted agents years back, sir, and today they’re feeding me the intel on the hour, so don’t give me too much credit.’
‘They have people in Mexico? In the cartels?’
‘They have people throughout Central America, sir, well placed people, but these are not the sort of people you’d invite around for coffee and cake and introduce to your daughter.’
‘I can imagine. We’ll talk again, Major. Good luck.’
An officer hit a button, and I was wondering about the Stinger serial numbers as I straightened; there had been no mention of them.
The Admiral noted, ‘I bet your heart beat never lifted above fifty, and I’m crapping myself talking to the White House.’
‘Maturity comes from an accumulation of life’s disappointments, sir, which means … I’m very fucking mature.’
He smiled. ‘Every set-back ages you, eh.’
‘I have the scars to prove it, sir, inside and out.’
Franks asked, concerned, ‘What plan could they get together in time?’
I heaved a giant breath. ‘Nothing worth a damn, save close all your airports.’
‘Then the cartel wins, as you said.’
‘They’re winning already, with the panic,’ I told them. ‘They don’t need to shoot down a plane, just have a missile discovered Stateside. They hold all the cards, and they’re up against a nervous populace.’
My phone trilled. ‘Excuse me.’ I stepped out to the platform with Harris. ‘Wilco.’
‘It’s Rick at GCHQ.’
‘Get any sleep?’
‘Some, not much, same shirt on.’ I smiled. He continued, ‘We have a phone hit near Mexicali.’
‘I know, weapons being moved. Yanks have closed the border tight.’
‘That phone hit is tracking east, not getting closer to the border. Got a paper and pen?’
I stepped back in and wrote down the coordinates, and pointed at the map. Back at the door I said, ‘Can you keep me updated, and get a fix if they stop for a coffee?’
‘On this particular phone, yes, they’re lit up like a Christmas tree.’
‘Do so.’ I called Colonel Mathews. ‘It’s Wilco, and I have a truck with Stingers in, moving east from Mexicali, and we’re tracking it. I don’t want you to bomb it, I need attack helicopters and men to check the contents. Then you can bomb it.’
‘We can handle that.’
‘Contact the Kitty Hawk and ask for my position data and updates as a top priority.’
‘On it now.’
Inside, they showed me the position. ‘We could hit that from here,’ the commander informed me.
I shook my head. ‘We need them to stop, and then we need helos to land men and check the Stingers.’
‘Out of effective helo range,’ the commander conceded.
‘Pentagon, Colonel Mathews, will want that position, and any updates, he’ll request it. They’ll call in a helo assault.’
‘We can send it, secure messaging,’ they assured me.
On the viewing platform, a roar from an F18 taking off, I called Carlos. ‘It’s Petrov. Listen, the Tijuana Cartel has a truck or jeep moving east from Mexicali, and they won’t want to be stopped.’
‘I know the route they take, police paid off.’
‘Have people close by, use some money, and when I call you next I’ll give you the position, and see if your people can identify the truck or jeep, or several of them.’
‘If they go this route, it will be just one jeep.’
‘Move fast, get ready, and write this position down.’ I stepped inside and read out the numbers. ‘Get your son to look it up on the map.’
‘I can do that!’ he complained.
‘Spaceaba.’
‘Spaceaba?’ an officer repeated.
‘My kid sister, she’s learning Russian.’
They exchanged looks, and grins.
‘Your kid sister, does she have big hairy arms and tattoos?’ the commander asked.
‘You should see her, she’d kick your ass!’ I faced Franks. ‘Stingers in a jeep tracking east from Mexicali, right into Jackal territory, trap waiting.’
‘Good bit of luck,’ he agreed.
‘Call it in,’ I told him. I faced Harris. ‘Update GL4.’
He nodded and stepped out as my phone trilled. ‘Hey No.1.’
‘I have a lead on your man in Ivory Coast, who’s now in Paris, the fool.’
‘Grab the idiot,’ I urged.
‘In motion, Tinker has him zeroed to a tacky hotel.’
‘I need his phone book and recent calls.’
‘They know to get the paperwork, yes, a good team.’
‘And No.7?’
Officers glanced at me.
‘In Panama with Tomsk, sniffing around for strangers.’
‘And Gay Dave?’
‘Stuck a knife in a man, who lived. Still, the man drew the knife first, so Dave grabbed the wrist and stuck the knife up into the man’s chin. Tomsk admits that the move was luck more than skill, the man a bit drunk and slow. Still, it added to the Petrov reputation.’
In Russian, I added, ‘Make sure that you check on Tiny regular.’
‘I will, don’t worry, focus on what’s in front of you.’
I added, in Russian, ‘Carlos the Jackal is about to stop some Stingers for us.’
‘A good move, to recruit him.’
‘You can shoot a man, or sit down and have a cup of tea,’ I told him.
‘Wilco the diplomat.’
‘Wilco the diplomat, signing off.’
The commander noted, ‘Major, I get the feeling you’re some sort of spy.’
‘Not a very good one, but I am learning.’
‘You stood there using that phone, it’s just like the movie; Camel Toe base.’
‘Sir, Press is here,’ a young officer cut it. ‘CNN and ABC news.’
‘Shit, I’d forgotten about them,’ the commander sighed out.
I pointed at the young officer. ‘Yes, I’ll chat to them, but make sure they know who not to film without a mask, or someone gets put up against a wall and shot.’
‘Navy officers with them, sir, the censors,
’ he assured me.
I faced the commander. ‘You have censors?’
‘We have to run Press releases by them, permission for interviews. They don’t interview drunk sailors off duty!’
‘Just as well. I wouldn’t let my lot talk to the Press.’ My phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’
‘It’s Moran, and the Mexican hordes are approaching the Alamo.’
‘How many?’
‘Fucking loads of them, trucks and buses, stopped a mile off. And they have a cheeky police escort.’
‘Could be a bus load of tourists,’ I teased.
‘Armed tourists!’
‘Let them get close then kill them all, then get phones and IDs. I want a high body count, but don’t take risks here, it’s not worth it.’
‘Marines got all the cash away earlier, and some Stinger boxes, some live Stingers to take back. And when the cash was loaded there were like three cameramen in the helos.’
‘Good publicity for us.’
‘What’s happening out there?’ Moran asked.
‘Panic coast to coast, flights cancelled, British tourists inconvenienced.’
‘Well if they can afford a holiday to Mexico they can afford to lose the money,’ he scoffed.
‘Our buddy the Jackal is helping out,’ I reported. ‘Some Stingers in a jeep heading his way.’
‘Good to have friends in low places,’ he quipped.
Call ended, I faced the commander. ‘Standby strike wing for close air support, please, helos support, and medivac, we have a large force moving on the compound.’
‘Why not extract your men?’ he complained.
‘Because this game isn’t over yet, and someone in that large force has a phone linked to a man who knows where my missiles are. So if we kill him and get his phone we might get a lead on other missiles – and that’s the priority here.’
‘And would you risk your men, and lose some?’ he posed.
‘To stop the Stingers, yes. If we fuck this up, thousands die when your 747s start to fall from the sky and hit residential areas or city centres.’
‘That’s … not a pleasant image to work with,’ he complained.
‘Fingers crossed then.’
‘You don’t let it get to you, the pressure…’
All eyes were on me.
‘It’s a game of numbers. Save as many as you can while you can, no plans for tomorrow. Ignore the shits above you, those left and right, and save the ten people in front of you if you can. That way you operate better.’
