Wilco- Lone Wolf 20

by Geoff Wolak

  Noses and faces wrinkled.

  ‘You're Major Wilco?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘How did this get started?’

  ‘We had word from the CIA of an attempted coup down here, so we flew down. Teams were called in from Sierra Leone and Mauritania, so we had a large force.

  ‘We had just arrived here when we got word of transport aircraft on approach, low and slow, no radio contact, and we had been warned that rebel soldiers would land somewhere. We fired on the aircraft as they came in to land, the damage as you see it, three An12 aircraft destroyed.

  ‘A few rebels made it off the planes, but we killed them all. We then got word that the remaining three aircraft hand landed in the east near Emjolo, so we flew there in RAF Chinook helicopters. When down, we came under attack from four Mi8 helicopters, but the Royal Navy destroyer, HMS Northumberland, fired missiles at them and shot down three of them.

  ‘We captured one on the ground and shot down another, near Emjolo. We advanced on Emjolo and the next town, and killed the rebels we found, after which many simply ran off.

  ‘We got word from the CIA that aircraft would land up in Guinea, so we flew back here, but the US Navy SEALs remained in Emjolo. When we got back we dispersed the men and called in all the oil workers, to be protected here by more than three hundred men.

  ‘The rebels were numbered at less than four hundred, so we were never in much danger of being overrun. The rebels attacked the oil derricks, but were killed and repulsed.

  ‘Some of their number headed this way, small groups, a few of our men wounded from close-up jungle fighting. We heard helicopters approaching, and made ready to fire at them. But seeing that one was a civilian S61 with it's lights on I ordered that the men not fire on it.

  ‘It landed as the two Mi8 attack helicopters fired on us, oil workers killed in this building behind me. We shot down the two attack helicopters.

  ‘The S61 helicopter was not damaged, and hostages got off, but I considered it a trick.’

  ‘Why?’ a lady asked.

  ‘How the fuck would twenty hostages from the Congo get here, a thousand miles, into the middle of nowhere, into a fucking war zone!’

  She shrank a little.

  ‘It was a trick, the S61 wired to blow. But we got eight hostages off before it blew, the remainder burnt to death. If it had been legit it would have used its radio, or landed somewhere like an airport, not here. The hostages were sent because of my hostage rescue work, a sick joke.

  ‘Since then it has gone quiet, and we're starting clean up the dead here. Any questions?’

  ‘How many dead and wounded on your side?’

  ‘Two dead American Wolves, maybe a third, about thirty men wounded on our side, the most serious being up at the oil area, where the American Wolves fought a jungle battle.

  ‘We had a lady medic from the RAF shot, a young British soldier here with a bad leg wound, the rest just minor wounds. Four civilian oil workers died, another four wounded.’

  ‘And the rebel soldiers?’

  ‘About three hundred died here when the planes crashed, another hundred near Emjolo and the next town, a hundred up at the oil areas, men on the helos, so … at least five hundred were killed.’

  ‘And where did they come from?’

  ‘Most came from the Congo, some were recruited in Guinea.’

  ‘And who sent them?’

  I was ready for the answer. ‘The CIA have yet to name him publically, a man called Rufus Van de Berg in South Africa, working in concert with a warlord called Mgolo in the Congo, that warlord selling blood diamonds through Van de Berg.

  ‘My government, and the American government, will be pursuing him for an act of terrorism against British and American military personal, numerous acts of rape and murder, kidnapping of hostages in the Congo, and the supply and use of illegal weapons, and for insurrection and organising a coup here.

  ‘We are already advanced in our planning for a move into the Congo with British and American soldiers and aircraft, to deal with Mgolo. Countries dealing with him, such as Uganda, will face sanctions. You can now ask questions of the officers here, and the civilian oil workers.’

  I stepped away called David. ‘I just named names to the media here, might do some good and spook the players, get people talking. And I don't think Mgolo in the Congo is feeling secure right about now.’

  ‘I saw the images, and the costs is astronomical, well beyond the value of capturing Liberia, and certainly beyond the value of destroying the oil infrastructure – or at least setting it back.’

  I kicked white dust with my boot. ‘We kill or wounded five hundred rebel soldiers around here, so that will affect the balance of power in the Congo. Apparently he sent his best men, so all that's left in the Congo are the crap men.’

  ‘The question remains as to who those men were, and what they would be doing if not dead and burnt – which side they would be fighting on. But yes, a shift in the power dynamic on the ground there.’

  ‘I named Uganda as supporting him, so sabre rattle a little, and make threats to South Africa about Ven De Berg, a white man trying to topple a black regime - they'll relate to that. And see if the PM will do something about Ivory coast.’

  When my phone trilled it was Tiny. ‘It's me.’

  ‘Hey me, you with the penguins?’

  ‘They're on the coast, I‘m in Johannesburg, but I'll go visit them, give them some bread.’

  ‘Er … I think they like fish, not bread, they don't live in a pond in Hyde Park. So do you have a game plan?’

  ‘I saw him on the TV yesterday, being hounded by reporters. He's at his big house. I thought I might get Bob to get me a fake ID, Amnesty International, and then go meet him.’

  ‘Amnesty?’

  ‘They'll take his side, anything to piss off the Americans.’

  ‘Good idea. But be careful, and always remember – when undercover try to come across as stupid and clumsy.’

  ‘I'm a great actor. And too small to be a threat.’

  ‘Then do some research on how to delay his extradition, he'll like that.’

  I did the rounds, getting men ready to patrol, supplies checked, water levels checked. And I told most to have a quick wash.

  At 1pm, later than I had planned, I dispatched Swifty and the Wolves due north to Guinea, 1st Battalion due west for a patrol, and the SAS to patrol close in and to check bodies. The young Liberia soldiers were issued with masks and gloves and given the task of collecting up bodies; we had the lime.

  Tiny called back. ‘I'm damn annoyed.’

  ‘Your five star hotel mini-bar not up to scratch..?’ I teased.

  ‘My mark, Van de Berg, he just got his head blown off by a sniper, it's on the news.’

  ‘Ah. Still, might not be him, might be a trick to fake his death. Get a tan, go feed some penguins on expenses. I'll call you back.’

  I called David.

  ‘You heard?’ he began.

  ‘Yes, someone shot Van de Berg, so maybe Deep State, or … maybe someone who he owed money to. But do me a favour, nudge them to check teeth and DNA, just in case he comes back to life next week.’

  ‘Yes, good idea, you never know, he could have staged it. Washington is now sabre rattling.’

  Colonel Mathews called half an hour later, as I stood on the roof chatting to the 2 Squadron lads, the mine starting to smell. ‘Wilco, I have B1 bombers on Diego Garcia getting warmed up, waiting White House approval.’

  ‘To bomb who, sir?’

  ‘We had a look at the satellite images of this place where Mgolo lives. He has a big house on a hill overlooking a sprawling barracks. I've asked to hit the barracks and accidentally hit his house as well. I told the White House they targetted Americans deliberately, and they know about the hostages – four Americans.

  ‘Media is going crazy, calls for revenge, and – oddly enough – the African Union is condemning him.’

  ‘He tried to topple an illegitimate
regime, so yeah – they're all worried about that.’

  ‘White House is pressuring Uganda as well.’

  ‘Let me know.’

  ‘How are the teams?’

  ‘They got some rest, food and water, and now we'll patrol out and get any stragglers, clean up the bodies, a few days.’

  Military medics arrived from Freetown, as well as UN and Red Cross coming by jeep and truck , fifty local men paid to don plastic suits and to wear masks, bodies bagged up and limed – plenty of lime to hand. Some of these men had undertaken this very same task previously.

  As they did so, many of the oil workers drove up to the oil areas to see what the damage was, and to reclaim the old huts they called home, and to find things that they had left behind – hopefully not stolen by Rizzo.

  The fat old guy who had complained, I found him remonstrating with Max. ‘You, fat cunt, I've spoken to the President here, and your visa has been cancelled. You leave now or face imprisonment in Monrovia.’

  ‘What? You can't do that!’

  ‘Already done it. If you're here tomorrow I arrest you. Or shoot you.’

  Red faced, he stormed off as Max called him names.

  Stepping to the burnt shell of the S61, I stared dispassionately at it as they removed the bodies.

  A lady Red Cross worker stepped up to me, mask down. She was in her late thirties, but very good looking. ‘Do you ever get used to it?’

  I stared into her eyes for a moment, then took in the bodies. ‘You always try hard to save as many as you can. But it does affect us, when we can't save them all.’

  She stood next to me for five minutes, oddly making small talk. One word was mispronounced, and she sounded South African.

  ‘Where are you from?’ I finally asked.

  ‘Canada originally, don't get back much, cold in Winter.’

  I nodded. Seeing the local captain with his team I waved them over. ‘Take this lady into custody.’

  ‘What?’ she protested. ‘You can't do that!’

  ‘Sergeant, restrain her. Corporal, search her.’

  ‘Touch me and I take you to court!’ Now she was sounding South Africa.

  I moved quickly, a jab to the nose, and she fell back into the Sergeant, who grabbed her. The corporal started to check pockets as a grey haired man strode over, the corporal handing me an ID and a passport, a Canadian passport. I studied them as the grey haired man approached.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ he demanded.

  I ignored him for now, checking the IDs. They did not look like the same person. I called London as the captain asked the man to step back, our lady bleeding. ‘Run a passport and an ID card for me.’ I read out the detail.

  ‘Hold on.’

  A crowd was starting to gather, the lady resisting.

  ‘They're two different people.’

  ‘She's working for an agency, for find out which one, and fast.’ Phone down, I turned to the grey haired man. ‘You know this woman?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How well do you know her?’

  ‘She's worked on a few jobs with me around Africa.’

  ‘Can you explain why her ID and her passport belong to two different people?’ I waited.

  He glanced at her. ‘Well … no.’

  I faced the captain. ‘You have local authority, so you're arresting her for espionage. Tie her up, have the female medics search every orifice, then she'll be handed to the President of Liberia.’

  ‘No, you can't! I want to cut a deal.’

  I faced the grey haired man. ‘Cut a deal, she said.’

  He faced her. ‘Who are you working for?

  I told him, ‘She's working for the men who flew those hostages here, and burnt them alive.’ A nod, and the NCOs dragged her off, our prisoner screaming loudly. ‘When you take a lunch break, check the ID of all of your people, before I start shooting.’

  I called Langley as I walked to the main building.

  ‘Wilco, you after me?’ came from the Deputy Chief.

  ‘Run this passport.’ I gave him the detail.

  ‘She was a contractor, released three years ago.’

  ‘She just turned up at the mine.’

  ‘Working for who?’

  ‘Van de Berg in South Africa would be a good guess, but I think she was Deep State. Do some digging for me.’

  ‘What will you do with her?’

  ‘President here has jurisdiction.’

  ‘They'll gang rape her and kill her!’

  ‘I'm not seeing a downside. But they will get her to talk.’

  Inside, I found the lady tied up, the local manager questioning that. I told him, ‘She works for the warlord who attacked us.’

  She shouted, ‘You can't hand me over to the Liberians!’

  ‘Why not, maybe you'll like be gang raped,’ I told her. ‘Still, they'll burn your body afterwards. Ashes to ashes.’

  ‘I want to make a deal.’

  I sat, a coffee grabbed, taking my time. ‘I think I know everything, so I doubt you have anything I need.’

  ‘And if I do..?’

  ‘I drop you in the town.’

  The captain asked, ‘Would it be … legal to release her?’

  ‘Let me worry about that.’ I faced her. ‘So, surprise me.’ I sipped my coffee.

  ‘I can give you the key players Stateside.’

  ‘Phillson is dead, Gomez is dead, Raywood is dead, Charley Rose is dead, Solictor … is dead, Terotski and Li Xing are dead, Delaney is cooperating.’ I waited, and she seemed deflated.

  She finally said, ‘I have a mole in the UK establishment.’

  ‘Might be worth your life.’ I checked my dirty fingernails as her bloody nose was tended by a nurse. ‘Was this mole active here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘For money, for ideology or … what?’

  ‘Money, that and the fact that he hates you.’

  ‘Ah. Another jealous wanker. You would need some evidence to back that up.’

  ‘He took a trip to Canada, last September, met Terotski, Hyatt Hotel, Toronto. Terotski left an evidence trail, so that the Brit would be caught.’

  ‘As he did with others.’ I took out my phone and stepped out, calling David. ‘We have a high ranking British mole. Supposedly he met with Terotski at the Hyatt, Toronto, in September. Run all names quickly, but Terotski is supposed to have left an evidence trail.’

  ‘Hell and damnation.’ He sighed. ‘I'll get a team on this now.’

  ‘Can you think of anyone who was in Canada?’

  ‘Not off the top of my head.’

  ‘JIC?’

  ‘I'll check the cost disbursements quickly.’

  I sat with the 2 Squadron lads on the roof and had some food, a tin of meet and a brew as we chatted, the lads all looking tired.

  The two Chinooks roared in, the SEALs set down. I could see Moran greeting them. ‘Wilco for Moran, offer the SEALs some huts, check the wounded with Morten.’

  My phone trilled. ‘It's David, and JIC official Bob Keer was in Canada then.’

  ‘Any trips to South Africa?’

  ‘Three in the past year.’

  ‘Somewhere in the hotel records is a clue from Terotski. I think we need more before you give him the Q&A.’

  ‘We'll have the hotel records soon.’

  I met the SEALs near a hut and asked after the action as tired men grabbed beds.

  David called back fifteen minutes later. ‘We have a clue, and Terotski signed in with a Russian name, similar to catfish. His room was next to Keer.’

  ‘Keep digging.’

  ‘Can't leave him with access to files, so I have no choice but to give him the Q&A and suspend him. I'll update the Cabinet Office now, but Mister Kitson will do the Q&A.’

  Back in the main building I sat and faced the lady. She was now in just a t-shit, a nice large pair pointing out to the sides. ‘Your information pans out, so far. What else have you got? What's your link to Van de Berg?’ />
  She glanced at the faces, reluctant to talk in front of witnesses.

  ‘Take her outside,’ I ordered, soon stood with just the two of us, soldiers close by.

  She began, ‘Van de Berg was selling blood diamonds and dealing with Raywood.’

  ‘Was Van de Berg Deep State?’

  ‘No, he never knew about them.’

  ‘And who killed Van de Berg?’

  ‘He's dead?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Probably Deep State, cleaning up loose ends.’

  ‘And your position in the food chain?’

  ‘I was a contactor, but after meeting Raywood … no stomach for what that nutcase had planned.’

  ‘You and me both, as well as Terotski. What motivated Terotski?’

  ‘Deep State faked his death, wanted him to work on missiles, supply them to various regimes, to keep the threat level up, more funding from Congress. He turned against the idea.’

  ‘And your involvement here? Today?’

  ‘Bannaczek sent me, to get close to you, find out how you knew so much about what was happening, and where the leak was.’

  ‘And this man..?’

  ‘Was a contactor, and Deep State. He was let go a few weeks back, so sought out Mgolo and Van de Berg, a retirement plan sought.’

  ‘And sent you to your death. If they, or you, thought you could snuggle up to me then you're idiots, not professionals.’

  ‘I'm … normally good with men.’

  ‘And how many of the men you met have lived my life, killed as many men, lost as many friends?’

  She lowered her head and looked away.

  ‘Where do I find Bannaczek?’

  ‘He was on his way to Jo-burg,’ she said, stood with her arms tied behind her back, her nice boobs pointing out.

  ‘Describe him.’

  ‘Fifty, overweight, average height, thinning brown hair, sun spots on his forehead.’

  ‘What singles him out in a crowd?’

  ‘He likes tall thin half-caste blacks, Ethiopians especially, the high life, good hotels and casinos.’

  ‘And what motivates … you?

  ‘After Raywood I was disillusioned, couldn't go back to the agency either, tried some freelance work, then Bannaczek contacted me, the offer of good money. He knew that I had worked here for Deep State.’