by Geoff Wolak
‘We need a man in Mexicali, just the one, a man we can do business with. The others … we will kill. So what ambitions do you have?’
‘I am ambitious, yes. What … er … what can I do to help you?’
‘You supply information on those you want killed, we will kill them soon. That is all, and you do not take the blame. Also, some product at a good rate for you.’
‘Well, it is my birthday early I think.’
‘A man will call you in ten minutes. Sit with a coffee and list all of your rivals, but please, don’t put your wife on the list.’
He laughed loudly. ‘I wait the call.’
I told our new manager to make the call when he had paper and pen ready.
Next call was Carlos. ‘You know a man in Mexicali City, Thomas?’
‘Yes, he buys from us, and maybe he is one of the strongest.’
‘Does he owe you money?’
‘Yes.’
‘How much?’
‘Close to a million. They pay upfront 75%, remainder after they sell it.’
‘Call him later and cancel the debt, a gift from me. Adjust it with Tomsk.’
‘What do you do with him?’
‘He will list his rivals, we will kill them, leaving him the strongest, and he will buy from you.’
‘He is the strongest now, but small compared to Tijuana.’
‘The influence of Tijuana slips by the hour.’
‘So I hear, yes.’
‘To let you know, I spoke to Los Vetas, and they will work with us against the other cartels.’
‘They are old, and strong, and they have Mexico City in their pocket and the tourist area Cancun. It is good to have them as friends, yes.’
After lunch, our new manager approached.
‘What is your name?’ I asked. ‘I forgot.’
‘Joe, sir, short for Jose.’ He tapped his sheet. ‘Thomas in Mexicali has listed a great many men and their businesses, and the Tijuana men and their locations, and which police officers work for Tijuana.’
‘Good work,’ I commended. ‘Ask him also for the phone numbers of his main rivals. Explain that we can track the phones.’
‘I will do, sir. There is one thing, he hears of men planning to attack the Americans.’
I was immediately concerned. ‘Attack where?’
‘Near Mexicali.’
‘And who do these men work for?’
‘The man he lists is an old Mexican Army colonel, and he works for pay. He is not a dealer or mule.’
‘Tell Thomas he gets a good bonus if he finds out who’s paying this man. And to get me this man’s phone number.’
With Joe gone, Tomsk asked, ‘Who pays him?’
‘Not the Tijuana Cartel, someone else,’ I suggested. ‘And when we find out I think we don’t like it.’ I stepped out and called Langley.
‘Duty Officer.’
‘It’s Wilco. Put me through to your narco team manager.’
‘That’s Ted Khrushchev.’
‘Khrushchev? Jesus.’
He laughed.
‘Wilco?’ came twenty seconds later.
‘Yes, comrade.’
‘Ha bloody ha. You after me, Comrade Petrov?’
‘Intel for you, through channels. They’ll be an attack against American interests in the Mexicali border area soon. I’m waiting further intel.’
‘We’ll send it up the line and get the NSA listening, teams hidden on the border. Chief told us about the Wolves and Carlos, so … can we insert a man or two?’
‘Yes, I would have suggested that.’
‘And I know the helo pilots mentioned.’
‘They any good?’
‘When sober, yeah. These guys were in Vietnam, now white-haired and peeing through a tube.’
I smiled. ‘Being crazy is part of the job description.’
When Thomas sent us the phone number of the ex-Mexican Army colonel bad boy I sent it to GCHQ as a priority.
They came straight back on. ‘Wilco, that number, it links to the cruise missiles.’
‘So we have a big fish, a facilitator. Track him, we want him.’
‘He’s just south of Mexicali.’
‘Static?’
‘Seems to be.’
‘Standby.’
I called Colonel Mathews. ‘It’s Wilco. Do you still have soldiers on the border?’
‘Some, most stood down.’
‘Standby a raid south of Mexicali, top priority, a big fish.’
‘Who is he?’
‘Ex-Army colonel, Mexican Army, and his phone links to Terotski.’
‘Jesus, they’ll want his ass.’
‘Standby the teams, planes to drop some bombs and make some dust first. Target time is sundown.’
‘I’ll get them ready.’
I called back Thomas. ‘You have men near this army colonel? He is south of the city.’
‘How do you know where he is?’
‘He uses his phone, and we can track phones.’
‘Oh. Well I can have people watch him, yes.’
‘Do so, and confirm his position, but your men must run away when the bombs fall.’
‘Bombs? My god.’
‘If the Americans get him, you get a bonus.’
‘How do the Americans know this?’
‘I have friends in the CIA. Rumour has it … I do their dirty work and will never be arrested.’
‘Ah…’
‘Get the men in place, my friend.’
‘I will do so, yes.’
‘And if it is a trick, I come for you personally.’
‘No trick, I assure you.’
An hour later and Langley called, the Deputy Chief. ‘Wilco, what’s this link to Terotski?’
‘Wish I knew. But this guy we’re tracking was on the phone to Terotski.’
‘Then we have some questions for him, plus an electric chair. White House is following the action.’
‘Best hope for no screw-ups then.’
Thomas called our manager, Joe, to report men in place, and that our naughty colonel had “just been sighted” in a compound south of the city.
The Deputy Chief called me back. ‘I just found out, we got word of this colonel and his location a few hours back, a local source. They were sitting on it awaiting confirmation.’
‘Well at least it confirms the detail. Wait. This source, tell me about him?’
‘Old drunk gringo who sells information now and then. Was a Marine twenty years back.’
‘Got his phone number?’
‘Hang on … in the system … somewhere.’ He read it out.
I called GCHQ. ‘Run this number for me, all known associations.’
‘Hold on. Mexico, Panama -’
‘Panama. When was he in Panama?’
‘A few months back. Also in Nicaragua, Barbados, Europe.’
I called back the Deputy Chief. ‘Old drunk you said?’
‘Yes.’
‘He’s been travelling around the world and holidaying in Barbados.’
‘What? No way, he’s broke.’
‘You and me, we were played. Call off the attack, it’s a set-up. The attack on you was a double negative; you get the intel, send in the troops, they get shot-up and seen on CNN dead in the sand.’
‘Son of a bitch.’
‘Your old drunk is no old drunk. Question is: who he’s working for. What’s his name, and where does he hang out?’ I wrote down the detail, and called Thomas. ‘You were played, that compound south of the border is a trick.’
‘A trick?’
‘Yes. Look for this man.’ I gave the detail. ‘He’s a top agent, pretending to be an old drunk. Grab him, make him talk.’
‘I will do so,’ he threatened.
‘You get a bonus for good information.’
Fifteen minutes later Colonel Mathews called. ‘Wilco, they scrapped our mission.’
‘It was a set-up, we just found out.’
‘Set-up?�
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‘Your men would have been shot dead on approach.’
‘Jesus. Who’s behind it?’
‘That’s a work in progress, so have the teams on standby and rotation. My local contact is trying to grab the man who passed the false intel. He poses as an old drunk, yet holidays in Barbados.’
‘No old drunk then.’
‘Stand down, sir, and wait.’
‘Could have been a bad newspaper headline,’ he said, sighing.
‘That’s exactly what someone wanted.’
I explained it to Tomsk and Joe.
‘Who is behind this? Tijuana?’ Tomsk puzzled.
‘No, too smart for them. Maybe the men linked to the FBI mob.’
‘Why they want to kill their own men?’ Tomsk puzzled.
‘Hard to know till we get some of them and ask them.’
Thomas called back at 9pm, as I sat in my room with Tiny. ‘I have that man, strung up. I cut off a finger but also offered some money.’
‘Has he said anything?’
‘He is afraid of someone.’
‘Burn his feet, offer him a quick death, but keep him alive till he talks. Do it now, call me back.’
Tiny had been listening in. ‘I’d make him talk.’
‘He’s more afraid of his boss than he is of being burnt alive,’ I told her.
‘Then his boss has a way to find him, good connections.’ She studied me, and not with her happy face on. ‘Are you doing the Americans dirty work here?’
I slowly sipped my beer and took in the view out the window. ‘When I first got here, I went out alone and climbed up trees close to small towns south of us, and I shot gunmen, drug dealers, and one time I could see a man raping a nine-year-old and I blew his brains out.
‘In Sierra Leone, I took the lads out and did the same thing, gunmen shot dead, the villages soon quiet, people going about their daily lives. That’s the real me, that’s what I love doing.
‘Shooting up the cartel men? I see the women and kids of the men they hack up, and it pleases me greatly to kill the bastards. Who’s using who here? They trained me, pay me, and I get to do what I really want to do.’
I took in the view. ‘I could have discouraged the White House, mentioned the law and the Congressional Committee investigations, but I nudged them along. This is my idea, my campaign, I’m pulling the strings here when I could be back in the UK marching up and down and playing toy soldier.’
I turned to her, a hand on her knee. ‘No one controls me, but I let many people think they influence me. I play the White House, the CIA and London, they don’t play me. And I could sit up that tree all day long and shoot the bad men, the good people going about their lives without threat.’
She reached over and gave me a big hug. ‘But I control you though, don’t I.’
‘Definitely,’ I mocked. ‘You’re the boss. You and your little boobies.’
An hour later and Thomas was back on. ‘He is working for the Medellin.’
‘Ah. Is he alive?’
‘Yes, but will need a doctor and a very long holiday.’
‘Patch him up, then drop him across the border where he’ll be found by the police. Do that tonight.’
‘OK.’
‘And you get a bonus.’
‘Carlos called me, so I am already better off today.’
‘Dump that man quickly. Thanks.’
I called Langley. ‘Duty Officer.’
‘It’s Wilco. A drunk old gringo with be found on your side of the border tonight, near Mexicali City, hurt bad. He’s linked to Terotski, and was an informant for you but played you.’
‘We’ll check the hospitals later.’
‘Twenty bucks says you never make him talk.’
‘Then he gets an orange jumpsuit and some unsavoury cell mates.’
I went downstairs and found Tomsk. ‘That man who set-up the Americans, he was working for the Medellin.’
‘What are those idiots playing at now,’ he loudly let out, throwing his hands in the air. ‘Why can they not just sell drugs and go home. Why all this shit, eh?’
‘We may find out soon, and I may have to deal with them sooner.’
‘Those idiots,’ he sighed out. ‘Why play games? And why attack the Americans?’
‘The Americans bombed their roads, remember.’
‘That hurt them yes, car jams for months.’
Back up in the room I called Langley.
‘Duty Officer.’
‘It’s Wilco. Our intel suggests that the trap for your special forces near Mexicali City was paid for by the Medellin Cartel. Let the Chief know, and your narco unit.’
‘Will do.’
In the morning, Khrushchev was on. ‘Wilco, Premier Khrushchev here.’
‘I think he’s dead.’
‘OK, so Dog’s Body Khrushchev here.’
‘Better.’
‘We got the gringo, so called, Matt Pierre DeBlanco his full title, ex-Marines - and a tough old boot apparently. And apparently he doesn’t look too good right about now, a few fingers missing, the skin burnt off a few areas. He’s in a hospital, but will be moved to a state penitentiary hospital under heavy guard.
‘He was awake for a while and they asked him about Terotski, the FBI mob, and did he want a big black cell mate before he got the electric chair. So he spilled the beans, and has been working for Medellin for a decade, spying on others, setting them up, and this past year and a bit he was working for some quite-dead FBI managers.’
‘Who was running him this week?’ I asked.
‘Medellin direct.’
‘His phone suggests that he was following me around, but … to do what? He never took a shot at me.’
‘Sat phone position triangulation,’ rolled off the tongue in a southern accent.
‘Sat phones can be intercepted?’
‘Not very easily, need some gear the size of a truck, but they all leak bandwidth. Your phone, it goes up to a satellite and then down to GCHQ, then onwards, so no one can track back, and your software changes the code slightly every day, and what you say is compressed and sent as binary, not clear speech.’
‘You been spying on me?’
‘I do the tech stuff, and phone security is my thing.’
‘So can I be tracked?’
‘If they have your proximity, your number, plus the ten-digit factory code and some luck, then yes – but the kit is big and bulky and you need a good jeep. He has one, we know that, and if he drove around near La Ninga he would have zeroed your position if he was lucky.’
‘Well the rockets and mortars were well off, so if he zeroed me then he passed that detail to some right useless fucks.’
‘Well, it’s as I keep telling people: if I give you good intel and you’re a moron … that ain’t my fault.’
I laughed. ‘True, very true. But this guy must have been in touch with the FBI mob as well, so keep asking him questions. Maybe he’s telling you want you want to hear. Oh, who’s his contact in Medellin?’
‘Jose Manuel Ortega, aged fifty, ex-Colombian narco police.’
I went and found Tomsk and detailed the name.
‘I know that name.’ He checked with his managers, a file opened, and they found the name, plus a phone number.
I called the number and it was still live.
‘Si?’
‘Jose, it’s Petrov. You speak English or Russian?’
‘Yes, Senor Petrov, how can I help you?’
‘Your man, Matt Pierre DeBlanco, was caught in America and has now entered the witness protection programme, and … the CIA want you dead, a large amount offered.’
‘I … have not seen that man in a year, we could not trust him,’ came a worried voice.
‘I believe that.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes, because he had a story ready to sell to the CIA. Why don’t you save your own life, and find out who he was really working with in Mexicali.’
‘I will,’ the vo
ice promised.
‘Call me back.’
I called Langley, and they put me through to Khrushchev.’
‘Wilco?’
‘I just spoke to DeBlanco’s handler in Medellin, and you’re being played. It was a story.’
I heard a loud sigh. ‘Someone must like orange jumpsuits. I’ll chat to the man handling it.’
At 3pm the National Security Advisor called. ‘Major, we’re considering action against the Medellin.’
‘Don’t, you’re being played, they were not involved. The man you have, DeBlanco, is a top-flight agent, well briefed, and he had a story to feed you to get you interested. He’s linked to what we labelled as the FBI mob.’
‘You’re certain of that?’
‘Positive.’
‘Two FBI men are missing…’
‘If you check their phone logs you probably won’t like what you find, a link to cartel money laundering as well as Terotski.’
‘We’re widening that investigation, yes. Thank you, Major.’
I called Miller’s contact number. ‘You awake?’
‘It’s daytime, it’s office hours, I’ve had my coffee, so yes,’ came testily back.
‘The two FBI men…’
‘Have a long history of working for those FBI managers now deceased.’
‘After their bosses bit the dust, who kept nudging them?’
‘Medellin Cartel.’
‘Try again. They fed you a story you would believe.’
‘I … have a conversation to have with some interrogators, and it could be a loud conversation.’
‘Don’t blame your guys, the story was well created over many years. Call me back. And check the story against that of DeBlanco.’
Bob called. ‘Some news. First, I spoke to a man that’s connected to the dodgy brothel in Northern Cyprus, and he fell out with the man running it, and will assist my team to attack it – with some relish it seems.
‘Second, our Saudi friend in London is alive but a bit brain dead, the hooker with him in a similar state. The police found drugs, cash, a document on where Britain’s security services were located, and a link to some al-Qa’eda chaps.
‘London called Riyadh, and the Saudis don’t want the man back, so there’ll be no pressure brought to get him out of the hospital, or prison hospital, should he ever wake up. It’s hit the news here.’
‘A few names off the list then, some progress.’
