Wilco: Lone Wolf - book 1: Book 1 in the series (Part of an ongoing series)

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘He’s selling secrets!’

  ‘He believed, and still believes, that I speak no Arabic, so ... when I dropped him off I went and found the military intel boys and had a word,’ I lied. ‘They were aware of him, and so asked me to keep driving him to ... listen in, sir, so I have been, a right little spy. Then, a few days later, the nice chaps in Intel asked me if I would take part in a backstreet bare knuckle fight.’

  ‘Jesus, Wilco, that sounds illegal! As well as damned dangerous!’

  ‘The fight, sir, yes it probably is illegal – and dangerous. So ... anyway, the Intel boys were interested in the fight promoter, who is also selling our secrets to the Iraqis. So I entered the contest and won.’

  ‘Hardly surprising.’

  ‘Yes, sir, and the purse was twenty grand -’

  ‘You got twenty grand?’

  ‘No, sir, Intel took it and gave me a few grand.’

  ‘A few grand of illegal money, my lad.’

  ‘A few grand, tax free ... towards our out-of-pocket expenses, sir.’

  He considered that. ‘Would buy a great deal of beer and Indian food.’

  ‘Indeed, sir, and since your birthday is due again ... next week, we can make use of some of it.’

  ‘You’re a little rascal, you know that. And these Intel boys should not be recruiting our lads without discussing it with us.’

  ‘Then let’s arrange a meet between you and them, sir.’

  ‘Yes, and soon.’

  ‘There is a war on, sir, and driving you around is less important that stopping some shits from selling our secrets, would you not agreed?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I just hope that these Intel boys know what they’re doing.’

  Settled into his room, I made him a coffee and called Bob Staines, who came straight over; I had already discussed the Air Commodore’s return with him. Bob knocked on the room door little more than twenty minutes later and I let him in.

  ‘Bob Staines, Air Commodore Loughton,’ I said.

  ‘Good to meet you, sir,’ Bob said, seats soon grabbed.

  ‘And your ... position?’ the Air Commodore asked, his serious face on.

  ‘What you would call a project manager, a senior manager, at SIS.’

  ‘And your ... project here?’

  ‘All a bit of a shambles, since no one expected this type of conflict, so we cobbled together who we could that spoke Arabic and rushed down here, and my small team are tasked with shadowing people like yourself ... to see who’s interested in you. And down here it’s a right hotbed of intrigue, spies on every street corner.’

  ‘Yes, I can imagine. And this Bahrain Colonel is selling secrets?’

  ‘He’s not the only one,’ Bob emphasised. ‘But we have been feeding him a few morsels. It works two ways.’

  ‘And you wish to continue utilising Wilco?’

  ‘Very much so, if we can, because he’s well placed, has a unique set of talents, and ... we’re damned short of staff.’

  ‘Bloody typical of the MOD, but ... our own staff are running around like headless chickens. All the planning in the world goes out the window as soon as there’s a real flap on.’

  Bob handed over a card. ‘You can chat to my boss if you like, when you’re back in London, and we are asking formally for assistance.’

  ‘Well, we’re all on the same team I guess, but I’m responsible for Wilco, and if he gets hurt ... there’ll be hell to pay.’

  Bob took a moment. ‘When our troops finally move across the desert, hundreds may be killed or wounded, and valuable intel may save lives. How many infantrymen is Wilco worth, sir?’

  The Air Commodore stared back at Bob, not happy. ‘Well, when you put it like that, this is a conflict, and risky in its very nature and, as you say, many may die – hopefully not many. Are these leaks going to have an effect on us?’

  ‘We’re working on the assumption that solid plans will be altered later on ... and that those doing the leaking will be picked up before any plans are finalised,’ Bob explained. ‘My reports go up the line to the Defence Secretary.’

  The Air Commodore took a moment to consider things, and then faced me. ‘You’re a smart lad, so I’ll leave it up to you to judge the risks, and the fall out, of any given required action – but I definitely don’t want you picked up by the Saudi police for something illegal.’

  Bob said, ‘We have the Saudis by the balls, and have already gotten a serviceman or two out of jail. The Saudis think Saddam may attack their oil platforms, so they’ll not annoy us.’

  ‘Well, that’s good, I suppose,’ the Air Commodore agreed. He took a moment. ‘OK, you can have the use of Wilco when it’s necessary, but I still need my driver.’

  Bob nodded. ‘We’ll plan things around that. So long as Wilco can drive our bad boy twice a week or more...’ He held his hands wide.

  ‘That would be fine, I have meetings that last all day, and some days just working in here.’

  With Bob gone, the Air Commodore faced me. ‘Not too many risks, because I’d get the blame.’

  ‘There are no real risks, sir, just the risk of getting a black eye fighting,’ I offered him. ‘That could be put down to a boxing bout, all legal and above board. Besides, I have no intention of taking risks for that lot.’

  At 6pm the next day, Sergeant Spence in the motor pool cornered me as I was heading to the gym in civilian clothes, making sure that no one was in earshot. ‘That Italian you drive -’

  ‘Colonel Bioti?’

  ‘He’s off his fucking face and about to get us some bad press. Told some guy earlier that he was going to jump off his balcony.’

  I blew out. ‘Not a word to anyone, I’ll go see him, then get the MPs involved if necessary.’

  I headed up to Bioti’s room and listened at the door. Nothing, so I knocked, hearing muffled sounds. I knocked harder, but he did not open the door. Since his room was three over from mine, and the balconies were close, there was an obvious solution – albeit a risky one. And did I give a shit about him, I wondered as I stood there.

  I headed to my own room, keeping the lights off, dumped my bag and stepped out onto the balcony and into the sticky heat, soon staring down ten floors at the darkened rear of the hotel, and wondering if I cared about Bioti enough to risk myself like this. I sighed. I could see no one else on their balconies nearby, and the lights next door were out, so I jumped over, my heart skipping a beat.

  Two more jumps and I landed on Bioti’s balcony, the lights on, the balcony doors ajar. I peered in, and my heart stopped. He was covered in blood, a teenage lad unconscious on the floor, a trolley of food overturned. I opened the door and stepped in being both utterly shocked and utterly disgusted at the same time, Bioti naked and with an erection, but incoherent.

  Kneeling, I checked the pulse of the lad, finding none. Lifting him up, I could see a typical hotel knife sticking out of his chest. I stood, breathing heavily, and considering my options. Calling the police would be option one, but with all of the publicity that would follow.

  I turned to the phone, my hand hovering, but then decided against using this phone. Back on the balcony and in the heat, I checked both ways, and clambered back to my own room, grabbing the phone and calling Bob Staines.

  ‘Hello?’ came his calm voice.

  ‘It’s Wilco, got a situation.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘That idiot Bioti has killed his teenage bum chum, and now he’s off his face on drugs.’

  ‘Jesus. Does ... anyone know?’

  ‘No, he’s in his room, I hopped across the balconies.’

  ‘Can you ... keep this out of the lime light?’

  ‘Do you know what you’re asking?’ I hissed.

  ‘I’m asking ... if you’re as good as we both think you are.’

  ‘Do you think my pride runs my fucking head, you idiot!’

  ‘It would help us all ... if this was made to go away.’

  I took a long time to think it thr
ough. ‘I’m not going to prison for you.’

  ‘You didn’t kill the boy.’

  ‘But if I cover it up I’m an accessory.’

  ‘We could help with that -’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  There was a long silence. ‘I’d owe you a big favour, and if this gets out ... you know the harm it will do. Think about it, call me back in an hour, I’ll see if I can put a team together to deal with it.’ He hung up, and I sat on the bed.

  Could I do it, I wondered. Could I spirit away the body and get Bioti out of here without getting caught, could I be a real spy?

  After a few minutes my pride became an issue, and in this hotel I felt supremely confident. I lifted up, and nodded to myself.

  Back downstairs I found Sergeant Spence. ‘I think Bioti is asleep; no noise, no answer. If you see him wandering around naked ... let me know, eh.’

  In the bar, I bought two large bottles of Cola, saying hello to a few people.

  Back in my room, I grabbed my first aid kit, stuffed it into a large plastic bag, added the Cola, and clambered carefully back to Bioti’s room like Spiderman. Nothing had changed.

  First things first. Putting on surgical gloves from my first aid kit I righted the food trolley, put back the items, forged a signature on the receipt, and eased the knife out of the lad’s chest, cleaning it thoroughly before placing it back on the trolley. Listening at the door, I could hear no one, so popped my head out, then the trolley, closing the door and locking it, a chair up against it.

  Bioti moaned to himself as I stood over the boy’s body. Opening the cupboards, I pulled out a spare white sheet and shook it out, soon folding it in half. From my first aid kit I pulled out two tampons, one for the boy’s rectum, one for his mouth – since dead bodies leaked fluids, sticky tape used on the chest wound.

  Lifting him, I placed him on the sheet and wrapped the ends around him, tying a knot whilst thinking of ancient Egyptian burial rituals. Retrieving a brown blanket, I repeated the exercise, the body soon well covered. Wondering about being disturbed, I dragged it to the balcony and closed the curtains. No one would see it unless they themselves clambered over to this room.

  Back inside, I grabbed toilet paper and tissues and started to clean Bioti’s naked body but, frustrated with that, I dragged him by the arms to the bathroom and plonked him in the bath, soon soaking him with the shower head. When I figured that most of the blood was off him I gave him a Cola shampoo wash, Cola being the best agent for destroying traces of blood.

  Leaving him in the bathtub, and damned sticky should he wake up, I applied liberal amounts of Cola to the carpet, soon scrubbing it with my gloved fingers, twenty minutes spent rubbing in the Cola, and I was certain that all blood stains would be gone once the carpet had dried out. Seeing the cocaine, I flushed it away, the paper that had held it tossed off the balcony.

  Freezing, my heart in my mouth, I heard the trolley being taken away ... and started breathing again as the sounds diminished. Standing, Cola and cloth in hand, I inspected the room, finding blood on the bed and sponging it down. I checked under the bed, moved the bed, and then checked for blood spots anywhere else, wiping the balcony doors and the edge of a chair.

  Back in the bathroom, I turned the shower onto cold and soaked Bioti, covering him with shampoo, the idiot stirring and opening his eyes.

  Stood in the bedroom with my hands on my hips I surveyed the scene, happy that I had done a good job, just the small matter of the body on the balcony. Grabbing my first aid kit, and the plastic bag with my prints on, I slipped onto the balcony, took a moment to stare down at the brown blanketed body, and clambered back to my room. Once there, I considered the blood-stained sheet and blanket.

  Next door to me was an Arab officer, but not one I knew. I stepped out to the corridor and casually knocked on his door. Nothing. Backing up through my room, I clambered over to his balcony and found his balcony doors unlocked, sliding them apart, a sheet and a blanket soon pilfered away, his balcony doors closed again. Back in Bioti’s bedroom, I replaced the missing sheet and blanket, since they would be noticed by housekeeping – as well as found on the body.

  Stood there, I considered my options, soon standing over the body on the balcony. Peering down, I could see the kitchens, a cook sat smoking on a step, tall metal rubbish bins, a wall, and then fifty yards of scrubland out to the road.

  Checking my watch, I returned to Bioti, but he was still out of it, and would be for a while. Not wanting to use the phone in Bioti’s room, I clambered quietly back to my own room, nearly slipping, and called Bob Staines after disposing of the gloves.

  ‘Hello?’ he answered.

  ‘No need for your team, I am ... dealing with it. Give me till the morning.’

  ‘Good, because I have only one man free to assist at the moment.’

  ‘Then you’d best hope that I’m as good as we both think I am.’ I hung up.

  Opening the mini bar, I twisted off the top of a bottle of fizzy water with a hiss, soon enjoying it, not realising just how thirsty I had become. I washed my face and hands, and under my armpits – not realising how much I had been sweating.

  With a fresh t-shirt on, I stood on the balcony and stared down, half an idea forming. The other half of the idea was already in place.

  Ten minutes later, and having risked my neck again on the balconies, I dragged a damp and naked Bioti to bed, covered him with a sheet and injected him with a modest dose of medical morphine, enough to keep him in bed till the morning.

  After checking his room top to bottom, and cleaning possible blood spots, I returned to my own room and lay down for a while; I needed people in the hotel to be asleep.

  Having considered that for a moment, I decided that trying to move a body late at night would be more suspicious. I lifted up, went through my plan a few times as I paced up and down, and decided to be bold.

  Back on Bioti’s balcony, I surveyed the pleasant view and the nearby buildings, most of which seemed to be offices; there were no other hotels or apartment blocks nearby. Looking left, I checked the balconies on this side of the hotel, followed by those on the right, those underneath and those above, noticing a few lights on.

  Given that the outside was hot and sticky, and inside was air conditioned, few ever opened their balcony doors – and that worked in my favour.

  I lifted the body, got it up onto my shoulders – he was not very heavy, up onto the flat palms of my hands and balanced like a weightlifter in a competition and - bending my knees a little and bending my arms - I launched the body out, soon checking to see if anyone was watching as it tumbled towards the scrubland.

  It fell short, hitting the top of the wall. I considered that if the lad was not dead already ... he would be now. The body bent in the middle and slipped off the wall. A cook, dressed in white, came out and looked around, but soon headed back in.

  Step one was complete, the body disconnected from Bioti, but I was sure that the boy had been seen coming in with him, so discovery of it below would make it easy for the police to connect Bioti.

  Back in my room, I discarded my t-shirt and jeans and put them in the bath to soak, placed on my military uniform, pistol on hip, and out I went.

  ‘Working tonight?’ an American asked as I passed him.

  ‘Yeah, officers drinking across town at some function.’

  I made a point of looking in on Sergeant Spencer.

  ‘You working?’ he puzzled.

  ‘Bunch of officers across town at the Indian. If they need to go to Dhahran tonight I’ll shoot the fuckers. You seen Bioti?’

  ‘Nah, mate.’

  ‘Must be sleeping it off. See you, Sarge.’

  I collected the jeep, knocked on the air con and headed out, driving straight to Haseem, and to part two of my plan. Parking in his underground car park, his staff recognised me, and one escorted me up in the lift.

  ‘Are you on official business?’ he asked with a smile as I entered his sumptuous apartment. ‘And ar
med!’

  ‘No, sir, I got a serious problem, and ... I wondered if you could help.’

  Haseem dismissed his staff. ‘Problem?’

  ‘I drive an Italian Colonel around some of the time, and ... he likes small boys and cocaine.’

  ‘Ah. But who are we to judge.’

  ‘Well, tonight I found him naked, high on drugs, and his boy was dead. The colonel had stabbed him to death.’

  ‘Goodness, that is ... a problem, yes, because such a thing would be best kept from the authorities, and the newspapers, no.’

  ‘It would, sir, yes. Anyhow, I cleaned up the bedroom, no traces, and I got the body outside the hotel. I ... was wondering if you could assist. You know this city well...’

  ‘Yes, yes, I am ... connected. But still, it is ... a risk.’

  ‘I’m sure the colonel would be most grateful, when he wakes up.’

  Haseem nodded. ‘And so he should be ... given friends like you and me.’ He straightened. ‘OK, I will help you, because it is you, and I hope to make much money. A ... favour.’

  ‘Thank you, sir, I was kindof lost thinking what to do next.’

  ‘The body, you said...?’

  ‘Wrapped in a brown blanket, just outside the hotel wall near the kitchens.’

  ‘Go back, speak to no one about this, I will deal with it quickly and visit this colonel ... tomorrow. All will be well, it was just a rent boy, probably homeless.’

  ‘I’ll introduce you, sir.’

  ‘Good, good, now go, don’t worry about anything.’

  I headed back, trying not to smirk to myself till I was driving away, and I returned to my room, soon sat on the balcony in the dark. Little more than fifteen minutes later and two jeeps pulled up near the scrubland, and then backed onto the scrubland, halfway to the body.

  My heart leapt when what looked like two police officers climbed down, soon loading the body. Since they checked that they were not being observed I figured them to be on Haseem’s payroll. I went straight to Bob Staines’ hotel, still in uniform, finding him in the bar with another man. I plonked down and joined them, and they stared back, their poker faces on.