Wilco- Lone Wolf 17

by Geoff Wolak

  I could see Miller’s grey matter working away. He finished his drink. ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘Your boss. I went to Jamaica and … hurt a few people, got some information quickly. I spent a night in that hotel where you watch other guests having sex.’

  Carlos turned to me. ‘I saw that on the TV.’

  I faced him and shook my head. ‘All old ladies, don’t visit.’

  ‘Hedonism not your style?’ Miller asked me.

  ‘Rumour has it … I don’t like being seen naked.’

  Carlos laughed, Miller shooting me a look.

  I faced Carlos. ‘Dump him at the border, please, tonight.’

  Miller stood.

  Carlos asked him, ‘Do you have a need of my services, and … products, if I can assist?’

  ‘You’re too well known, and too close to the border. But I’ll pass the suggestion up the line.’

  I fetched out dollars for Miller. ‘When you get over the border, Big Mac and fries on me.’

  Carlos hid his grin as Miller drilled me with his look.

  I added, ‘And a taxi into Tucson.’ I handed him a betting stub from Vegas.

  Miller studied it. ‘You stopped off in Vegas?’ he angrily demanded.

  I shrugged. ‘I had never seen it, wanted to have a look. But you know what they say - the house always wins.’

  Carlos spoke to his men in Spanish for a minute, Miller led out, and no doubt glad to be alive. With Miller in a jeep, staring at me, they drove off. Carlos noted, ‘He will be mad at you.’

  ‘Funny, I thought he was mad at you. They might send a B2 bomber here.’

  ‘Hah, Americans never come here,’ Carlos scoffed. ‘They don’t even repair the border wire, and the Mexican government here will not venture into these parts.’

  ‘That’s because it’s full of men like you.’

  ‘I am not like the others, I don’t kill for fun.’

  ‘Ah, so that’s why they call you The Jackal,’ I teased.

  ‘I got that name when I was young, running drugs over the hills and being chased. It is not supposed to mean that I am … like an animal. And now, thanks to my son, I am running a corporation!’

  ‘Call you C-E-O then.’

  ‘That is the next step yes,’ he said with a sigh.

  Inside, we re-claimed the table, food ready.

  I asked, ‘What is the town here like?’

  ‘This town is OK, I control it, but the next town is like a war zone, several gangs, all competing. Here, I have a dentist that I pay for, to help the people. And I pay for the kindergarten.’

  ‘A generous benefactor,’ I noted. ‘Tomsk pays for schools, he builds hotels, and he fixed the roads. And we lowered the crime rate, got rid of the gangs. That helped Tomsk, but it also helped the local people.

  ‘In Africa I spent time with the tribes, living in villages, and then the black soldiers came and started killing women and raping the young girls, so I killed all the soldiers, then I went to the next town and killed all the soldiers, and I left a thousand bodies in the mud.

  ‘All the villagers need is for the boot to come off their necks, they don’t need a hand-out, they just need some hope.’

  Carlos noted, ‘You are more than I imagined, and I was suspicious of how Tomsk grew so quickly. You are a thinker, like my son.’

  Sasha put in, ‘In Panama, at the start, Petrov led us to a small town one day, and we climbed up trees with sniper rifles, and I wondered why we were wasting our time there. He told us to shoot any armed man, or a criminal.

  ‘I saw a big man raping a nine year old girl, and I shot him dead. And I realised … that all it took was a fifty cents bullet, and the will to do it. So we went town to town, and we put all the armed men in the ground.

  ‘After the helicopter crash, Petrov organised my rescue from Colombia, and I had a choice. Work with Tomsk and make good money, or sit in a tree and shoot criminals.’

  ‘You chose to follow Petrov,’ Miguel noted.

  ‘I’m doing something worthwhile,’ Sasha told him. ‘We put a lot of bad men in the ground. I hold my head up high, I am not just a bodyguard for a drug dealer. And in Africa I saw what they did to the villagers, so I enjoy shooting the militias there.’

  Carlos asked me, ‘And Tomsk pays you…’

  ‘No,’ I replied. ‘I have several people pay me, contracts, but if I can take money off someone I shoot I will do, enough to survive. I have money put aside.’

  Sasha told them, ‘Tomsk offered him $100 million to be his right hand man. Petrov said no. And in Colombia, when we hit the Cali Cartel, Petrov had the bank codes of the cartel - and the cash, and handed it all over.’

  ‘You are not motivated by money,’ Miguel noted.

  I told him, ‘Feel my skull.’

  He leant in and felt it. ‘All smashed up.’

  ‘I was shot in the head three times, and the bone fragments are moving. Three years ago the doctors gave me six months to live, but I’m still here, always wondering if this day will be my last day.’ It was a well-worn story, and to me sounded corny, but for these guys it was the first time hearing it. Besides, they dare not upset Tomsk.

  ‘So no desire to get rich,’ Carlos noted. ‘Money is no good when you are dead. And these soldiers…’

  ‘You can turn them back if you wish, this is your land, or we attack your rivals.’

  ‘If you hit small gangs, then no one will mind, but if you hit a rival of mine, such as the Lobos, then they will send men here.’

  ‘If they send men here … then they will run out of men before we run out of bullets. Don’t worry, we have the men, the weapons, the training, and the advantage. I’ll also have listening devices planted on roads and in the hills, we’ll get early warning.

  ‘My preferred method would be to bring them here rather than hit them in their stronghold. Let them send men across the mountains. They won’t see my men, or hear them, till it’s too late. And if we do it right they won’t know it’s you. Are there spies in the town?’

  He shrugged. ‘Everyone in Mexico knows that good information gets good money, so even the kids would sell information.’

  ‘You have a place outside of town we can use?’

  ‘Yes, my packaging warehouse is two miles over the hill.’

  ‘A place suitable for soldiers, a good defensive position?’

  ‘Yes, it has flat land around it, good walls.’

  ‘Then think what you want us to do, this is your home,’ I told him.

  He shrugged. ‘Well, if you can work some miracle and clean up the next town, then … yes, a good idea.’

  Our allocated rooms for the night were very nice. Not as grand as at Villa Tomsk, but palatial still. And unlike Tomsk, Carlos offered no ladies, his wife and mother introduced in the kitchen.

  It had been a disappointment, no challenge of my back-story, a drug lord who lived with his family, who loved his family, an infamous and deadly drug dealer according to CNN. The famous “Jackal” had his KPIs set by his American-educated son and his bed time set by his wife.

  In the morning we had breakfast in the kitchen, pancakes made by the ladies. As I sat there Bob Staines called.

  He began, ‘Petrov, comrade, I spoke to The Banker and he will buy the portfolio for 70% of face value less fees your end.’

  ‘That is good. Does he need to buy it through the same New York broker?’

  ‘Yes. Get me the number of the broker, and the portfolio certificate number, and alert him to the call.’

  ‘Hold on.’ I faced Miguel. ‘Portfolio certificate number?’

  He rushed out and returned with a sheet. I detailed the number, and the broker’s name and number.

  ‘Leave it with me.’

  ‘Thank you, Mister Robert.’

  ‘What are you up to there?’

  ‘Contract to kill some drug dealers and gunmen, about twenty thousand of them. Should keep my Uncle Sam happy. Pukka.’ I faced Carlos. ‘Call your broker, alert
him to wait the call, but that the man calling may have various names, but he will ask about the certificate number.’

  Carlos grabbed a sat phone and stepped out, keen to make the call, very damn keen.

  I asked Miguel for a map, and he found one, soon detailing the various dangerous towns, the dangerous roads, the very dangerous towns, and the really fucking dangerous roads. There were not many safe roads south of us.

  When my phone trilled it was Rizzo. ‘That Petrov?’

  ‘Is that the man with the stupid moustache?’

  ‘Fuck off. And yes, it is. We’re in the Azores, refuelling, small jet. What we up to?’

  ‘Job in Mexico via Panama, a few weeks hard work for you lazy holiday makers.’

  ‘And a … bonus?’ he risked.

  ‘Always a good bonus on jobs like this.’

  ‘Monster is with us…’

  ‘Brief him on the past jobs.’

  ‘We got no kit!’

  ‘Grab it from Tomsk in Panama, get some well-worn boots. Get desert browns and some greens, weapons will be sent on, webbing, the usual. And facemasks, make sure you have facemasks, although you look like a Mexican bandit anyhow.’

  ‘Them Russian lads were kitted like us before. Lads coming down?’

  ‘Tomo, Swan and Nicholson, plus Sasha’s boys, plus ten Russians.’

  ‘Good little team then. How many we up against?’

  ‘How many gunmen are there in Mexico?’ I countered with.

  ‘Millions of the fuckers.’

  ‘Then we’ll thin them out a bit. Tell Stretch he’ll have a sitting down job.’

  Rizzo laughed. ‘He’s been keeping fit, we all have.’

  ‘Try and talk to Tomo and gang, warn them about what to say and do, same for Stretch and Monster, but Tomo and gang were with you before.’

  ‘Yeah, they know the drill. And Tomo loves that Tomsk dude.’

  ‘Our host in Mexico is a family man, no hookers, I don’t think. Oh, that 14 Intel girl, Tiny, she’s with Tomsk, so warn them all. It’s OK that you know her from mercenary work, no mention of 14 Intel or GL4.’

  ‘She spying on him?’ he puzzled.

  ‘No, she’s assisting him in his posh hotel; he has pickpockets and jewel thieves. She’s undercover there, Panama City, so you may not see her. Call me when you land.’

  At 2pm Carlos got a call, and his smile spread wide. He now had a few quid back in the bank, and I was persona grata. His first bank transfer would be to a Cayman Islands bank account, used by Tomsk. Carlos could now pay his debt.

  In my room, I called Bob Staines. ‘It’s Wilco. What happened with that portfolio?’

  ‘Leon thinks it’s undervalued, and when the bank is sold off or split up he could make thirty-five million clear.’

  ‘Good deal then, and my host here is happy.’

  ‘Who sent you there?’

  ‘David Finch is … looking the other way, plausible deniability. I needed to get back the Deep State guy, but next I’ll thin out the gunmen around here, to keep my Uncle Sam happy.’

  ‘Dangerous work, I’d say, to anyone other than you. Oh, I sat down with Leon and his son to watch the film about Camel Toe Base. He now has an appreciation of your day job, and that actor had you down perfectly.

  ‘Good film, well shot, I could feel the heat and the dust, and after we all needed a cold drink.’

  I smiled. ‘The great Hollywood propaganda machine.’

  Call cut, I lay down, thinking. When my phone trilled again it was Miller. ‘Mister Miller, did you get a Big Mac and fries?’

  ‘You never went to Vegas, you just wanted to taunt me.’

  ‘Mister Miller, are you glad to be alive and free?’ I pressed.

  ‘I am, and I’m grateful, and my bosses think you walk on water now. It was fast work in Jamaica.’

  ‘Just luck, Mister Miller. Do you have any long-lasting injuries? ’

  ‘No, I’m OK, some sleep to catch up on.’

  ‘Then before you sleep you can assist me. Get me signals intel for any gangs within a hundred miles of where you were held. I’ll then start thinning them out a bit.’

  ‘I’ll get that sorted now. There are listening posts, and there have been projects from time to time, but the gangs south of the border are not stupid, they know radios can be intercepted.’

  ‘Then hack the phone masts and land lines.’

  ‘We’ll have a team on it, but it will appear to come about after a chat to the Deputy Chief.’

  I fetched out the contact number for Franks and punched numbers, thinking about VHS video porn. A lady answered, a hoarse voice offered. ‘Corner Video Store.’

  ‘Mister Franks, the pervert, please.’

  ‘Hang on,’ came gruffly down the line.

  I waited.

  ‘Franks here.’

  ‘It’s Petrov, in Meh-ee-co, at the nice home of The Jackal.’

  ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Fine, all on track. Pass up the line a request for signals intel, phone towers hacked, within a hundred mile radius of me. And what’s happening in Guinea?’

  ‘Your men snuck up on some place and had a look, talk of assaulting it, and the Guinea-Bissau rebels drove home as best they could, to find their president snatched by the Marines – and handed to the FBI. The African Union has condemned us.’

  ‘That’s because they’re all crooked.’

  ‘And the idiot general who was supposed to organise the coup is interim leader there, so we handed him the top job.’

  I laughed at that. ‘Chat soon, not much happening.’

  Downstairs, at 4pm, Carlos said, ‘I have some money for you.’

  ‘And I have a task for you, something to do with that money. Go buy some barbed wire, metal fence posts, and run a line of barbed wire along the border.’

  He stared back with a deep frown. ‘What the hell for?’

  ‘It will confuse an American man I know, and make some others laugh, and … I’d love to see how they report it on CNN. Oh, how much were you going to give me?’

  ‘To start, a hundred thousand dollars.’

  ‘So, a hundred thousand dollars worth of barbed wire.’ I held my stare on him.

  ‘You will explain this at some point, yes?’

  ‘Yes. Make a start please, delegate a team, a form to be filled in.’

  ‘Don’t start that, I get enough of that from my son!’

  That evening a large group of jeeps threw their headlights across a nearby stretch of straight road, lamps laid out, a green strobe light initiated.

  A matter of minutes after the strobe was initiated a Cheyenne twin prop came in at fifty feet off the deck, down smoothly, many hands quickly unloading the cargo, the Cheyenne powering away, a hard turn whilst banked over, and it disappeared into the night sky.

  At the villa, jeeps appeared, crates handed down, and I was there as they were opened. Since the crates had been sent to me via Carlos I took the lead, checking Valmets and ammo, webbing and clothing. Sasha and I soon had most of what we needed, and I asked our host to get a large comprehensive first aid kit, plus rubber tourniquets - fifty of them.

  Carlos noted, ‘These are the famous Valmet rifles.’

  ‘Yes, and this -’ I lifted an Elephant Gun. ‘- is a long-casing 7.62mm. This will punch a hole through a jeep engine, and kill a man a mile away. We fire Teflon rounds.’

  I had the crates stored in an outhouse, checking with my host if I could keep kit in my room. He offered me and Sasha a bunkhouse room to use, nice enough, a communal kitchen and common room with a handful of men.

  Sasha and I stripped and cleaned weapons as the other men keenly observed, questions asked, but their English was not great. Webbing and bandoliers were adjusted, but we had no ammo in here. We had green military clothing, no signs of any browns yet, but the hills behind us were mostly green, and winter was coming, so they would stay green for months.

  Sat there, I used a black marker pen to add stripes to my gree
n trousers and shirt. We would also need jackets, it was chilly at night. The bunkhouse men had spare boots, and I found black boots that fitted me very well.

  In the morning I went through the crates carefully with Sasha, facemasks and gloves found, telescopic sights found, green boots found, silencers, and some jackets. Opening ammo boxes, we set about loading magazines, a few men keen to assist us.

  The telescopic sights were not our usual small sights, nor our usual large sights – those used by my snipers, but kind of halfway between the two. Peering through them, I was happy with the magnification. They were also green.

  After lunch, I told Carlos that I would go out that night and have a look at the next town.

  ‘Just the two of you?’

  ‘We won’t be seen, and if we are seen … we’ll shoot. Don’t worry. You have men west of here, in the hills?’

  ‘Close to the town, on tracks this end only.’

  ‘Then we need jeeps to get us past the first hill and to drop us off. Warn your men that we are in the hills.’

  ‘Someone might sell that information,’ he cautioned.

  I grinned sadistically. ‘Let’s hope so.’

  I enjoyed a good lunch, plenty of protein, and had a nap at 4pm, up at 7pm and rousing Sasha. Changed into our green kit, the household guards were all keenly observing us as we stepped out ready for war, Carlos and his son coming out from the villa.

  I placed on my facemask, Sasha copying.

  Carlos noted, ‘If they see you, they will not know who you are, but … but no one dresses like that save some Federales.’

  ‘Then maybe the Federales will get the blame for any shooting.’

  He wished us well whilst sounding cautious and unsure of this course of action, and we mounted a jeep, two jeeps to follow us as escorts out of town.

  Sasha said nothing till we were in the hills, our escorts driving off. ‘What is the plan here?’

  ‘The plan … is to see which of his men is selling us out.’

  ‘Ah. We get a warm welcome, no.’

  ‘That would be the conventional thinking,’ I quipped.

  ‘So … we think like a large group of people in a large hall.’

  ‘Stop reading that damn dictionary.’