Wilco- Lone Wolf 22

by Geoff Wolak

  We were soon heading east, arms folded and eyes closed for most, but I noticed Stickler reading a paperback. He was indeed Wilco Junior.

  The weather in Washington was shite, the night coming on, cold rain hitting us, the lads all complaining – none had jackets. The bus warmed us up, a barrack room found for us at Andrews Air Force base. Colonel Mathews met us, jeep and driver waiting for him outside.

  ‘Problems, sir?’ I asked.

  ‘On my way west, just happened to be here and they mentioned you.’

  I led him inside and we sat at a small table as the lads plonked down. ‘Any more trouble at the border, sir?’

  ‘Not since last night. I called in just now, but they’re tense – waiting for something.’

  ‘They might just shoot illegals crossing over,’ I warned.

  ‘They’ve arrested four hundred in the last 24hrs alone. Need to be sure they’re not cartel men.’

  I nodded. ‘Did you get much rest, sir?’

  ‘Got fuck all rest, be sleeping on the damn plane. That’s the one good thing, a restful red-eye.’

  I smiled. ‘Always pays to be dog tired when flying. What’s happening with LAX?’

  ‘It re-opens after midnight tonight, along with San Diego, and all flights resume to Tijuana – if they have the passengers. Even talk of flights to Cancun resuming. You sure we got all the missiles?’

  ‘Even if we haven’t, job was called off, but … I can’t discus that with you.’

  He glanced at the lads from under his eyebrows. ‘These FBI mob shits?’

  I nodded, also a glance at the lads.

  ‘They been dealt with?’ he pressed.

  ‘A job in progress. But let’s just say that when they’re caught they won’t be read their rights, and that they will regret their chosen career path.’

  ‘But that ship – it was supposed to get to Panama for the cruise missile attack?’

  ‘Yes, sir, but got delayed, then … then the plan changed and evolved somehow. We don’t have all the pieces of the puzzle yet.’

  With Mathews gone most of the men settled down, the chance to sleep in beds instead of in an uncomfortable plane, but my phone trilled at 10pm.

  ‘Major, it’s the Duty Officer, Langley, and we’ve been notified that the White House want you there tomorrow if possible.’

  ‘I’ll check my busy social calendar and disappoint some super models.’

  He laughed. ‘We’ll update you in the morning. And you have an audience with the Saudi monarch booked. He apparently never queried the need for the meeting.’

  ‘I’ll be up early, but I’ll need some clothes.’

  ‘I’ll call the Visitor Centre there and get them to sort something. And your men are booked on a C5 at 10am.’

  At 11pm a nervous young officer poked his head in and then came in since I was awake and dressed, as were a few others, a few asleep - but most had slept on the flight here. ‘Major Wilco, sir, we have some clothes for you. As well as a clean uniform.’ He handed over the bags and I found a suit in my size, shirt and trousers, socks but no shoes, so I guessed that I was wearing my boots.

  Clothes hung up, I had a warm shower, and that helped my back. I eased into bed with a sigh after glancing out at the armed guards patrolling around.

  ‘Back still hurts?’ Swifty asked from the next bed.

  ‘You know what I reckon it is, it’s aircraft seats and sitting down too much, not moving,’ I told him.

  ‘Fucking right,’ Slider put in from across the room. ‘My back is always worse after a long flight or just sitting around doing fuck all.’

  Several others agreed with him, a chorus of grumbling.

  ‘Where’s Rizzo, Boss?’ Stickler asked.

  ‘I asked them to keep him away from us,’ I suggested, the lads laughing. ‘I mean, his arse leaks normally, but more so now.’ I turned my head to Moran. ‘You lot are booked on a C5 at 10am, so get them up and ready, eh. And don’t leave Rizzo behind, even if tempted.’

  ‘Be back in GL4 in the cold,’ he noted. ‘But it’s good to have a bed tonight, hot shower and some food, because they could have flown us west coast to east coast and then straight across the Atlantic.’

  Slider noted, ‘Be fucked when we got back and good for nothing. Even if it was that smart plane, it’s still a plane for twenty-four hours straight.’ He lifted up and faced Swifty. ‘Someone’s missing his nurse.’

  The lads laughed.

  Swifty eased up. ‘She has large breasts, and is better to look at than you lot.’

  ‘Be married soon,’ Ginger told him.

  ‘You’re all just jealous,’ Swifty told them.

  ‘Slider banged the second nurse,’ Moran informed everyone.

  ‘He did?’ Swifty queried. ‘Kept that quiet, you little rascal.’

  ‘Just the once,’ Slider admitted. ‘She likes me, and likes my cock, but doesn’t want to be involved with a Jar Head.’

  ‘Jar Head?’ Moran queried. ‘Those are American Marines, you were a Royal Marine.’

  ‘She don’t know the difference,’ Slider complained.

  ‘Rizzo might get laid now,’ I told them.’

  ‘Huh?’ Slider grunted.

  ‘The British newspapers, they had a pull-out page of him naked. Apparently, teenage girls have it up on their walls. He’s a pin-up model.’

  They exchanged incredulous looks.

  Moran suggested, ‘When we get back, we do a calendar, the lads naked apart from a face mask, rifle in hand. Slider can do February.’

  They laughed.

  ‘That’s not a bad idea,’ I agreed, and they laughed harder.

  ‘I’m up for it,’ Tomo insisted.

  ‘Sambo will be popular,’ Swifty noted, the lads laughing loudly.

  ‘Where you off?’ Moran asked me.

  ‘Washington, a chat to the President and a few others.’

  Stickler eased up. ‘What’s the President like?’

  ‘He got caught getting sucked-off by a young trainee, after shoving a cigar tube up her apparently.’

  ‘Well if I was the President I’d want some perks,’ Stickler noted. ‘They gunna kick him out?’

  ‘Impeach him, yes, but that won’t remove him from office. To do that they need a two-thirds majority in the Senate, and the Democrats tip the balance against them.’

  ‘He’s married?’ Stickler noted.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So I bet his missus was not happy with him. Did she walk out?’

  ‘No, still with him, it gives her something to do. She wants to be a senator or something. And the lesson here, Stickler, is to never be impressed by Prime Ministers and Presidents, they’re just ordinary people, only worse – much worse, they’d sell their mothers to get some extra votes.’

  Moran asked, ‘Does he take your advice?’

  ‘He does, yes, where it relates to counter-terrorism in Central America, not on global fiscal policy obviously.’

  ‘Ask him about the aliens in Area 51,’ Tomo piped up with, the lads laughing.

  ‘I will, yes, be top of my agenda, you plonka.’

  In the morning I woke at 6am, a twinge in my back eased by a long hot shower, Swifty stirring.

  After a communal breakfast at 7.30am I left the gang and – looking odd in my grey suit with boots – I was driven to the White House, where I sat and waited for over an hour. Still, they fed me and gave me biscuits as I waited, a lady glancing at my boots.

  Finally ushered into the Oval Office, I was surprised to find just the President, Vice President and his Chief of Staff. But it was not completely unexpected.

  I sat where shown, tea and coffee offered. ‘I just had ten cups, Mister President.’

  He eased back. ‘So what could you not say on the phone?’

  ‘The Stingers came from Saudi Arabia, from a dissident group that supports al-Qa’eda, and the real target was the Saudi Royal Family flying into LAX.’

  ‘Jesus,’ the President let out, looks
exchanged with his Vice President.

  I continued, ‘They would have shot down the Royal Family’s plane then a few others, hoping that the Cartel would get the blame - and that no one would figure who the real target was. All the missile men were ex-military, and white men, none were cartel men. When we showed the face of one of the men on the news their boss pulled the plug and abandoned the jeeps and missiles.’

  ‘And who the hell was their boss?’ the Vice President asked.

  ‘Part of what we called the FBI mob, a middle manager still in place, but … we have an idea who he is. He was bank-rolled by the Saudi dissidents, same group that supplied the missiles to shoot down your Desert Sands special forces team.’

  ‘Christ.’ The President stood and peered out the window. ‘Will they be dealt with, due process or otherwise?’

  ‘Yes, Mister President, and soon I think. But I have asked for an audience with the Saudi King, he’s in town.’

  The President faced me. ‘You’ll tell him the truth?’

  ‘Only if you agree to that, and I would tell him that you sent me, so he would not have any issues with you about it. I think it would sound better coming from me.’

  ‘It would, yes,’ they agreed.

  The President asked, ‘Can we expect more trouble from the mob?’

  ‘Less and less each day, sir, we are making progress. The main men and the serious players have been dealt with, that just leaves the arms producers.’

  ‘The arms producers?’ the Chief of Staff repeated.

  ‘They’re not keen fans of democracy, they think you’re a bunch of jerks, and they want a war in Iraq.’

  They exchanged angered looks for many seconds.

  The Chief of Staff finally asked, ‘Could they be dealt with?’

  ‘No,’ I told him. ‘There are too many of them, and they’re too well entrenched in your industrial military complex, too many factories and jobs on the line, to many senators taking cash. They’ve been at this since 1945, so if I shoot one of them he’ll soon be replaced.’

  ‘And we don’t dare expose them,’ the Vice President noted. ‘They make up half our damn stock markets.’

  ‘Correct,’ I told him.

  The President studied me. ‘They suggested that you had back-channels to the cartels…’

  ‘I have back-channels to some of the cartels, sir, and they provided key information during the fighting in Panama and during this recent episode, not because they love us but because they hate the other cartels.’

  The President sat and faced me. ‘Could you pit one against the other, and keep them all down, less of a bother to us?’

  I heaved a sigh, and considered my answer as they studied me, exchanging looks. I finally said, ‘A long time ago I was sent out to infiltrate various groups and to shoot a few people. Instead I recruited those people, and I got them working with each other, and London and Washington finally saw the sense in that when I started to get fantastic intel on gun runners in Africa and the Middle East, and in Central America.

  ‘If what I did ever got out I’d get a thousand years in prison, but the intel is too valuable to lose, so the intel comes through me so that you lot keep your hands clean.’

  ‘What do you need to do more, and to keep the cartels off our border?’ the Vice President asked.

  I shrugged. ‘Cash.’

  ‘To bribe them?’

  ‘To facilitate certain operations, to bribe the road guard and crooked policeman south of the border, and to expand the territory of those cartels that are friendly.’ I raised a finger. ‘But, and it’s a big but, gentlemen. Ten years down the road those cartels will be large, and if someone found out … then your successors would have a hard time explaining it.’

  ‘Shit, we throw billions into Central America and it does no fucking good year after year,’ the Chief spat out, waving his arms. ‘And some of that money ends up in fucking Swiss bank accounts. They’re all corrupt, and we’d never account for where the money went.’

  The President was nodding. ‘It’s a sink hole for cash.’

  ‘Well, I can help,’ I offered. ‘And if I controlled the information flow and the cash you can be sure that no one will ever find the paper trail.’

  The President noted, ‘You recovered cash before, in several places. Never tempted to take some?’

  ‘And do what with it, sir, go sit on a beach? No, sir, I like what I do, an anger towards the world’s gunmen. I get a stiff dick by shooting these idiots.’

  They laughed.

  The Chief asked, ‘What was the issue with the Navy medics? They want you grounded.’

  I eased up, jacket off, shirt undone as they puzzled that move.

  ‘Fuck me,’ the Vice President let out as they stared at me boggle-eyed.

  ‘Lower half is even worse,’ I told them. I eased my shirt back on. ‘But it’s superficial, the scars, I can still operate well enough, sore back now and then.’

  ‘I can see why they want you dismissed,’ the President noted. ‘Our servicemen don’t normally look that bad.’

  ‘I’ve looked like this for five years or more, sir, and functioned well enough in that time.’

  ‘So … you could attack the cartels some, and help to keep our border quiet?’ the President pressed.

  ‘It would have to be kept very quiet, sir. Perhaps you could channel the money through various joint ventures, such as Camel Toe Base and Mauritania, and the Wolves training programme. The money could all have my name on it, and then I would re-direct it.’

  I held my hands wide. ‘But, I don’t need much, I was kind of heading that way in policy over Mexico anyhow. I would have helped the good cartels.’

  ‘Mexican Army is out in force in Tijuana,’ the Chief put in. ‘For all the good it will do.’

  I told them, ‘I’ll step up my efforts in Mexico, I have a few ideas.’

  ‘You need weapons?’ the Chief asked.

  ‘No,’ I said with a wide smile.

  ‘Damn place is awash with our rifles,’ the President noted.

  ‘Yes, sir. So, about the Saudi King..?’

  ‘You can meet him later today, we’ll arrange it,’ the President offered. ‘Can you speak to the Press?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘What the hell are you wearing?’ the Chief asked, noticing my boots.

  ‘They handed me a suit, no shoes.’

  ‘We’ll find some your size, and a tie.’

  ‘Democrat tie?’ I teased, making them laugh.

  Half an hour later, and in nice borrowed shoes, a plain blue tie, facemask on, and I walked out to the podium. Again they stood and applauded, which was odd.

  I told them, ‘You don’t even know who I am inside this mask, I could be anyone.’ They laughed. When they settled, I began, ‘To answer the rumours about my health, I have been shot many times but I still function well enough. My recent broken hip gives me twinges, and I take pain killers. But, as you can see, I am still upright, and still handsome.’

  They laughed.

  ‘To update you: the Stinger missiles that we knew about have been accounted for, and no new information has come to light regarding more missiles. I hear that LAX and San Diego airports are now open, and that the air travellers are no longer inconvenienced – although having your plane shot out the sky is to be avoided, even with great air miles on offer.’

  Laughter rippled around the room.

  ‘The Navy did an excellent job, so too the SEALS and the Marines, and a great many intelligence officers worked hard behind the scenes. Please spare a thought for the managers and staff at the CIA building, Langley, who have all learnt how to live in a three-day-old shirt.’

  They again laughed.

  ‘Unfortunately, some returned home today to find that wives and teenage kids had not even noticed their father’s recent absence.’

  The reporters laughed loudly.

  ‘I would like to take this opportunity to apologise for one of my men appearing naked in the
media. He was next to a toilet that was hit by a grenade, and efforts to clean him up failed, so he abandoned his clothes in favour of some fresh air, the officer on the ground throwing buckets of water at him before allowing him to return to ship.

  ‘He was photographed on ship, by a reporter that I will … identify and shoot.’ They laughed. ‘And a British newspaper produced a full page pull-out of him, teenage girls and middle-aged women alike hanging up the poster. My own manager in England threatened me, a few loud words used, when his teenage daughter brought home a copy.’

  Eyes were wiped by many, a large fat black woman at the front almost crying.

  ‘My wounded man is currently on a military medical flight back to England, but he will be fine I’m glad to say. None of our men were killed, no serious wounds were seen, and we got the cartel cash. Unfortunately, it was too soiled with cocaine to be used, so will be burnt apparently, the Federal Reserve adjusting a balance sheet somewhere. OK, questions.’

  A man to the side of me pointed at a lady.

  ‘Major, why does our military favour your team. Are we short of men?’ she curtly asked.

  I smiled within my mask. ‘My team is international, and we have French soldiers as well as American soldiers. On this job we had five American soldiers in the mix,’ I lied, ‘and we operate whilst being in hourly contact with Langley.

  ‘Langley helped pay for the training and selection of the men, and often facilitates our air travel. We’re not mercenaries, but we are very good at what we do, and – under some circumstances – I can imagine that we give your military some element of plausible deniability should things go wrong.’

  The man pointed at the second lady.

  ‘The ship, Evanco II, sailed from the Middle East, but the CIA have stated that the serial numbers came from a batch of Stingers in Colombia?’

  I was ready with my answer. ‘We don’t know what was on the ship when it sailed, but we do know that it transferred boxes off the coast of southern Panama, Caribbean side. The Stingers could have come aboard then, but we don’t have the crew to question about that. It would seem very unlikely that anyone in the Middle East would be in contact with the Tijuana Cartel, let alone send them weapons.’

  The man pointed at the third journalist.

  ‘Major, can we expect more border incidents?’