Wilco- Lone Wolf 8

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘And what can you tell me about the men that held my brother?’

  ‘How’s he recovering?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s a slow process, and they’re treating him as if for an anorexic.’

  I nodded. ‘Once muscle and fat is lost from the heart it’s damn hard to get it back. Most suffer heart attacks.’

  ‘Well, we’re hoping for the best, and he has put on some weight. And my question...’

  ‘What is it that you think I can help you with?’

  ‘I know that our men landed and took the hostages, but that your men did the work, and that you personally got the intel.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘Was the President of Monrovia involved?’

  I glanced at the Ambassador, the US Marines holding back. ‘When you were told that you might be shot ... they were not joking. Both of you need to keep what we discuss under wraps, because both the British Government - and the CIA - would be very pissed off if this got out.’

  They exchanged looks.

  ‘As I said, I sit on the Intelligence Committee.’

  ‘And I’m an Ambassador for Her Majesty’s Government,’ came a testy and terse statement.

  I took a moment. ‘I asked the President to buy the group of hostages that contained your brother.’

  ‘Buy them?’ the Senator queried.

  ‘Around here, gangs buy and sell hostages.’

  ‘Did you know my brother was in the group?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You just asked that he buy a group?’

  ‘Yes, so that your men looked good rescuing them.’

  ‘It was staged?’

  ‘As per your government’s desires,’ I told him.

  ‘So are there more hostages?’

  ‘Lot’s more, but our governments only care when those hostages get some publicity. There must be ten thousand around Africa, languishing, no hope – most with black faces and so low done the list.’

  ‘And western hostages?’

  ‘Dozens, probably some within fifty miles.’

  ‘And the impetus to go get them?’ the Senator nudged.

  ‘When the press get involved,’ I told him. ‘I have thirty men, and it’s a big planet, only so much I can do.’

  ‘And the group that grabbed my brother?’

  ‘From Mali, a number of which I put in the ground.’

  ‘There are still some out there?’

  ‘The men who were most directly responsible for grabbing your brother are still out there.’

  ‘And do you know who they are?’

  ‘I could follow the trail back, and the President of Monrovia could help there, he has the contacts.’

  ‘And why would he cooperate with us?’

  ‘That’s hard to explain, but he’ll do whatever I ask.’

  ‘You’ve met him?’

  ‘Yes, and we talk most days.’

  ‘But he’s a wanted man, sanctions in place..?’

  ‘There’s the world you see, Senator, and then there’s the layer underneath. There’s what people like you say to the press, and what people like you chat about behind closed doors. People chat to the dictator over there behind closed doors, and your government has the morals of an alley cat.’

  ‘The CIA talk to him?’

  ‘Through me.’

  The senator turned to the ambassador. ‘And the British talk to him.’

  ‘And the French,’ I added.

  ‘You’re a captain in the army,’ he noted.

  ‘On my day off I do other things,’ I quipped.

  ‘Well I’d like to track back the men who took my brother, so maybe I could meet this dictator on the border.’

  ‘No need to meet, I’ll just call him and set the ball rolling.’

  ‘Well I’m here now, and I’d like to do more about the hostages, a new pet interest since my brother’s abduction.’

  ‘Again, I can make some calls.’

  He stiffed, and sized me up. ‘And I’d like to be seen ... to be doing something positive.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you say you wanted a photo opportunity. But I might want something in return.’

  He glanced at the Ambassador, most put out. ‘In return?’

  ‘You could help nudge various governments to go for the hostages.’

  ‘That’s what you want?’ he puzzled.

  ‘That’s what most people want, but for someone who specialises in hostage rescue ... it’s a bit of a given.’

  He made a face. ‘As I said, it’s my pet project, so working with you to get others back would be desirable. But from what you said, you meet resistance.’

  ‘Our governments don’t always care as much as they should, and if I rescued a group in secret – no newspaper story - they would be most put out. You want the photo op, so do they.’

  ‘I’m in a good position to call for action, when I know there are hostages somewhere.’

  ‘Then I’m more inclined to get you an introduction, and a working relationship with our friend over the border. But ... you will have to work at not reacting to things, and not discussing things over there, and not discussing my role.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘I’ll get a chopper. Your Marines will have to stay here.’

  ‘Is it ... safe?’ the Senator asked.

  ‘Yes, very safe.’

  I stepped inside and asked our Navy FAC for a Lynx for a flight to Monrovia. He had to query the destination. Back outside, the Ambassador and Senator chatting, I made a call. ‘Mister President?’

  ‘Ah, Petrov.’

  ‘Listen, I’m bringing over the British Ambassador and an American Senator, we’ll land on your lawn. Make sure there are not too many men with guns visible, and be very welcoming.’

  ‘Yes, of course, but ... why are they coming?’

  ‘The British want to talk about peacekeeping forces, and the Senator wants you to help him find hostages in the region. His brother was in the group you bought – for which he is thankful.’

  ‘Oh, I see, well ... yes, I will expect you.’

  ‘Make sure no one shoots at the damn helicopter.’

  ‘I’ll warn them all now. When are you coming?’

  ‘In half an hour or so. And Mister President, do not answer any questions about me and Mister Tomsk, just say that I am a friend. These men are not part of the inner group.’

  ‘I understand.’

  Phone away, I was trying not to smile, pleased with myself, and what I could do to bolster the Petrov back story. I wondered what David Finch would say, but I also knew what he wanted, and he would not always say what he wanted. This was a risk, but worth it.

  Inside, I handed Colonel Clifford my rifle and asked that he look after it for a while, taking my captain’s pips off. I checked my pockets and left a few items behind, grabbing an AKLM from a crate, checking it. Seeing a disposable camera, I pinched it away, plenty of snaps left.

  Back outside, the US Marines were not happy at leaving the senator, horrified at the idea of him flying to Monrovia, but the Senator was insistent. The Marines did not look happy with me.

  ‘Guys, get some chow in the tent, and relax,’ I told them, a Lynx soon coming in to land. I faced my guests. ‘Over there, don’t use my name, nor captain. Just refer to me as – our friend.’

  ‘Our friend?’ the Senator queried.

  ‘Just that, or you’ll be in trouble.’ I led my guests across and aboard the Lynx. Inside, I closed the door, and got the headsets on. To the pilot I said, ‘Fly south down the river, then east twenty miles, you’ll see the city. I’ll direct you in. Oh, can you shut down the engines and re-start?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s not always 100%.’

  ‘In that case, leave and come back in one hour, no later.’

  ‘It’s a bit of an unusual request,’ the pilot noted as we took off, and when he turned his head I could see that it was our hero pilot.

  ‘The Ambassador is going to chat about peacekeeping her
e, we are expected, so relax.’

  We sped down the river and banked left, high speed at five hundred feet, the city soon looming large.

  I told the pilot, ‘See the river going inland, follow it, green grass on the east, white square building. Land on the lawn and then leave us.’

  Little more than six minutes later we bumped down, a few guards seen dotted around. I opened the door and helped my guests out, and as the Lynx pulled off I caught sight of our host and his staff, most stood in military uniforms.

  We walked across to them.

  I began, ‘This is the British Ambassador, and this is Senator Lieberson from America.’

  They shook, false smiles adopted.

  ‘Come inside, we have some cold drinks.’

  Inside, the palace was cool, and very nicely decorated, the President not suffering any here. I caught sight of a courtyard with a fountain, and a swimming pool. We were led into a large room that reminded me of Buckingham Palace, waiters on hand.

  The Russian man I met before was there, and I closed in on him, hands shaken.

  In Russian, he asked, ‘How goes the fighting?’

  ‘Nearly finished, but we want them dead, not prisoners in some fucking Red Cross camp.’

  He nodded, my Russian words being noticed by the Ambassador and the Senator. As they sat, I sat on the edge of a table.

  ‘Mister President,’ the Ambassador began. ‘We would like to thank you for your kind assistance in this recent campaign, and I’m here to discuss peacekeeping after the fighting has ended, to our mutual benefit. We want a quiet border, you wish a quiet country, free of bandits.’

  ‘Indeed, yes, and I am most happy to cooperate on such matters.’

  I turned off and clocked the nice paintings as the Ambassador did his bit for ten minutes.

  The Ambassador then asked about the presence of UN peacekeepers as well. The President turned to me, and I shook my head, noticed by the Ambassador, who worked hard to maintain his cool.

  When asked about a French presence, the President again glanced at me, and I nodded.

  The Senator finally cut in with his bit. ‘I would like to thank you for what you did for my brother, but ask ... could you locate other hostages in this region, and in return ... we could assist with breaking down a few of the sanctions.’

  ‘That would be most agreeable, but the hostage takers are not the most reliable of people, and they move around. I will do what I can of course.’

  I cut in, ‘If there are hostages to be bought, buy them, bring them down here, we talk money later.’

  The President nodded as I took out the camera and wound it on. ‘Senator.’

  He stood, the President following him up, and they shook as I took three snaps.

  Sat back down, the Senator asked, ‘What would be a first step for you, in advancing the interests of your people towards a prosperous future?’

  I tried not to laugh.

  ‘Well, any lifting of sanctions would be a benefit, yes, any trade deals. We have oil offshore.’

  ‘I’m assuming that my government would pressure you for free and fair elections -’

  ‘Hah!’ I let out, getting stared at. ‘Like those in Russia, China, and most countries in Africa – who your government deals with, no sanctions.’

  ‘That ... is a fair point,’ the Senator agreed.

  ‘What is a fair point,’ I told him,’ is that you bully small countries like this, yet beg China for more loans. So maybe you can illustrate that point in The House, that not all dictatorships are treated equally.’

  ‘Indeed,’ he said with a false smile.

  The Ambassador handed over a document. ‘For you to look at and consider, and my fax number and email is on there, Mister President.’

  The sound of our Lynx finally penetrated the nice room.

  ‘I will be in touch soon,’ the President offered as he stood. They all shook hands. The President then handed me a bag. ‘For your men. A little thank you.’

  ‘Most kind,’ I told him, glancing inside at the cash. ‘If you find some hostages, let me know.’

  ‘I will do.’

  And with that I led my guests out and to our ride, clambered aboard, and waved at our host. Door closed, we lifted off, and soon sped low level back.

  ‘What’ll you do with that?’ the Ambassador shouted to make himself heard, pointing at the money.

  ‘It’ll go where it’s supposed to go, to the poor people of Liberia.’ I forgot to mention that it would go to the poor people in Echo first.

  Landing back at the FOB I helped them down, the Marines sat eating with Mally and his men, but jumping up when they saw us and coming over. The Lynx pulled away.

  The Senator held a flat hand to the Marines and they stopped far enough away. He faced me. ‘That man waited on your advice, so there’s more going on here than I know.’

  ‘Lot’s more,’ I told him.

  ‘And he gives money for you and your men?’

  ‘Ask the CIA to explain it. If they do, fine, if not ... that’s between you and them.’ I led them inside, handing the bag to Colonel Clifford. ‘Look after that, sir, money for burial parties over the border, and a few projects. Just don’t ask where it came from.’ I put my pips back on and grabbed my rifle.

  The Senator studied the map board, keenly interested. He finally faced me. ‘If we get details on hostages ... you’ll go after them.’

  ‘If my government let’s me.’

  ‘And you’ll risk your life, and the lives of your men.’ He waited.

  ‘It’s what we do, Senator. We’re a hostage rescue team, and we like what we do, and we like reuniting people with their families, and we like putting the bad guys in the ground.’

  ‘Would your government object to me contacting you directly?’

  ‘Many from across the pond already do, but I’ll discuss it with them. For now I’d say it was fine to do so.’ I turned to Franks. ‘What’d you say, Mister Franks? OK for the Senator to contact me directly.’

  ‘Above my pay grade.’

  The Senator cocked and eyebrow. ‘You’re American, and ... embedded with the British military here?’

  I cut in, ‘One of my team is a Boston-born Delta Force lieutenant. All one big happy family.’

  ‘Any Russians in your team?’

  ‘Yes, and two French soldiers, one New Zealander.’

  ‘Quite a mix.’

  ‘All one big happy family,’ I repeated as I stepped out. I called David Finch. ‘It’s Wilco. I just took the British Ambassador and a US senator across the border to meet our dictator friend.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘It went well, and the back-story for Petrov has been greatly enhanced in the eyes of our dictator and those around him.’

  ‘You played Petrov ... in front of them?’

  ‘No names were used, they’d not know that name.’

  ‘Bloody hell. Next time, how about warning me, time enough for a Valium.’

  I smiled widely, enjoying this. ‘If I warned you then you might have stopped the trip, and then this would be no fun at all. But at least this way you have plausible deniability.’

  ‘What did this senator want?’

  ‘To be seen ... to be rescuing stranded hostages, like his brother.’

  ‘Ah. And are there any?’

  ‘Might be, our friend over the border will look around for some.’

  ‘And the Ambassador..?’

  ‘Chatted about peacekeeping, document handed over.’

  ‘How’s the campaign?’

  ‘Unfolding as if stage-managed, and on track.’

  ‘News here is full of it, and the video of that Lynx attack got a lot of air time late last night and this morning. MOD recruitment film team heading down, should be there by now, plus some documentary crew.’

  ‘Can’t blame them; once this is over those soldiers go back to paper targets for the next ten years.’

  Back inside, I was informed that 1 Para had
landed, two hundred men, the ambassador chatting to Colonel Clifford, the senator chatting to Franks. I called Captain Harris. ‘Have the para school boss send off the used chutes, and to try and get some more, maybe from Kenya. He could send the chutes to Kenya and get them back re-packed.’

  ‘OK, I’ll chat to him now, but there are rows of chutes lined up in the terminal.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Hundreds.’

  ‘OK, thanks.’

  South of the old rebel HQ the Marines were now patrolling south, French Echo were patrolling north east, and Echo was sneaking about and finishing off small groups. Since the Marines were getting some practise in I was happy enough.

  The Gurkhas had pushed along the road, firing on a few small pockets of rebels, and were now just a mile from the Marines. Unfortunately, the Gurkhas were pushing a sizeable group backwards towards the Marines, who could now hear gunfire west.

  Without my input the Lynx were called in, and they strafed a vehicle column, as well as rebels walking along the road, missiles put into the trees. The rebels scattered. I got the report, and just nodded.

  The Ambassador’s ride finally came in, and he guardedly thanked me for my assistance, the Senator hanging around, the US Marines taking snaps of him – which made me smile.

  At sunset the Senator thanked me before flying off, and I gave him my sat phone number. Back inside, reports were coming in that the Gurkhas and Welsh Guards had reached the Marines.

  ‘That’s as far east as the British will go,’ I told Colonel Clifford. I had the Welsh Guards turn around, and to head back to the last junction, thereafter to turn north.

  The French, meanwhile, were not happy to be sneaking about the jungle south of the old rebel HQ, still a great many small groups hiding there. They pulled back till the morning after picking up wounds.

  2 Para was reported to be in the airport terminal, 1 Para nearby, 2 Para to get some rest and a clean-up. The other report was that four key junctions were now being held by the Monrovian Army, just a handful of Gurkhas left there – and well fed by their hosts.

  I called Lt Col Marsh and asked him to chat to his opposite number in 1 Para, and to count the chutes.

  ‘What do you have in mind?’ Marsh asked me.

  ‘Drop 1 Para in the same place as you dropped, and they patrol south, then drop you in the same place, and you patrol west – still lots of rebels in threes.’