Wilco: Lone Wolf, Book 10: Book 10 in the series

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Baker,’ I told them.

  ‘Hard to keep track,’ O’Leary complained.

  I jogged over the rubber mats and up the stairs, soon into Baker’s office. He closed the door. ‘FBI ... have a special task force, thirty men, tasked with looking for this Petrov fella.’

  ‘They may have a hard time finding him. And I don’t think the Panama Government will cooperate any.’

  He walked around his desk and sat. ‘They think he’s in Nicaragua for some reason.’

  ‘Send a shitty note from me up the line: if they succeed, no more valuable intel.’

  ‘Not sure there’s much Langley can do,’ Baker warned.

  Back outside, I stepped through the metal doors and into a chill wind, calling Tomsk. Big Sasha answered. ‘It’s me. Listen, tell Napoleon that the FBI team put together to find me is in Nicaragua, and to have some fun.’

  ‘Where are you, Nicaragua?’

  ‘England, snow on the ground.’

  ‘I’d kill to see some snow, I miss it. I grew up in Murmansk.’

  ‘Yuk, I like deserts. Petrov out.’

  A few lads wandered up to the offices, just to check that they had the right day and were not supposed to be somewhere, a few swapped kit or returned kit, but most sat around the canteen.

  Swifty and I washed our greens, then our browns, followed by some civvy clothes, many of the radiators covered, the windows steaming up. And from now on we would take both browns and greens with us.

  That evening many of us met in the pub down the road, and since it was curry night we all decided to sample the curry after a few pints – the landlord a good salesman. He had given us all free samples, after which he knew we’d want to buy more.

  Rocko said, ‘You bollocked Crab?’

  I nodded.

  ‘He trying to be a hero, something to prove?’

  ‘I hope not, and he’s been fined, with Duffy.’

  ‘Fuzz coming back?’

  ‘Yeah, and he could come back now, but the doctors insist on a certain number of weeks.’

  Rizzo said, ‘Who was them fuckers in the An12?’

  ‘You’re not supposed to know, so don’t ask. But they were associates of our good friend in Panama.’

  ‘Any more jobs for him?’ Rizzo enthused.

  ‘Maybe, in the future. But you’re alive because he helped out, so send him a Christmas card.’

  ‘”D” Squadron got a bollocking as well,’ Rock noted.

  ‘They left without orders, and left that road wide open, the rebels just walking off.’

  Mitch sat near me.

  ‘How’s the warm piss beer?’ I asked him.

  ‘I grew up in Maine, and we had British ales, lots of them. This Speckled Hen stuff for one. If you drove around where I grew up you’d think you were in England, it’s very similar, from the early settlers. Apple trees, hedges, similar houses.’

  ‘You any good in the cold weather?’ I asked.

  ‘Hell no, give me the desert any time. American military don’t have many bases up north anyhow.’

  ‘Two live jobs now, so how you coping?’

  ‘Two live jobs in a month, which is two more than the past five years. I was in Somalia, 93, fired a few shots, but I was not on the main operation. Buddy of mine was killed. And since I joined you I’ve seen desert, jungle, and more desert, hardly been out of uniform apart from today.’

  Rocko complained, ‘We got any hostages some place warm?’

  ‘Maybe soon, we wait the intel.’

  Rizzo told us, ‘I loved those caves, sandy bottom, good OP. I could have stayed there a few weeks. Better than back here in this fucking weather.’

  ‘Were French Echo pissed off?’ Rocko asked. ‘They did fuck all.’

  ‘They got a long walk, blown up, more walking, blown up again, some waiting around, got blown up again, a walk back, what more’d they want,’ I posed, the guys laughing.

  The next day, a Saturday, and it was quiet around the base, more snow having fallen, but seeing someone with cross-country skis I stopped to observe, finding that it was Hamble. He skied towards me.

  ‘I used to be quite good with these,’ he said, puffing. ‘And we only get a few days a year to practise typically.’

  ‘It’ll keep you fit. You been to Norway?’

  ‘Yes, with the Engineers before I went Regiment. I don’t mind the snow, but I prefer the jungle.’

  ‘Your head any better?’

  He studied me for a moment. ‘I don’t think I’m unstable.’

  ‘You hit a trooper...’

  ‘So did you.’

  ‘If you were a regular you wouldn’t have hit him.’

  He made a face and looked away, his cheeks red from the cold.

  I told him, ‘You’ll be on the next job, but don’t let me down. Let me hit the cheeky troopers.’

  ‘That guy Mitch, he OK?’

  ‘So far no whinging, but he’s not seen any close-up action.’

  The snow was too deep to risk venturing far, so Saturday night found me and Swifty sat in watching the TV, curry in a tin warmed up, “Where Eagles Dare” now showing, Clint Eastwood.

  At 11pm I got a call; Langley. ‘Wilco, Deputy Chief, can you talk?’

  I stepped to the back room. ‘Just sat in watching an old Clint Eastwood movie, snow on the ground outside.’

  ‘Here too. Anyway,’ he sighed. ‘White House is reeling, again. The FBI team looking into all thinks Petrov was found with drugs and prostitutes, recalled Stateside, CNN running it.’

  ‘Oh dear. Don’t they have any clean agents?’

  ‘These men were clean, they were drugged, by Tomsk no doubt.’

  ‘Well, you might think that. But if people go landing in Central American, asking around the local taverna about this Petrov fella, Tomsk will react of course. Perhaps the FBI should be discrete in its investigations, avoid talking to people.’

  ‘This is serious -’

  ‘Not for your department it’s not.’

  ‘If people here found out what we knew, we’d look guilty of interfering with another agency.’

  ‘Perhaps you need to speak to the boss of the FBI, the chap in the White House, and drop a hint, before it’s too late.’

  ‘Been kinda delaying that one. He might love it, or shoot me.’

  ‘You can point towards the success with the Cali Cartel, and start from there, while it’s still getting newspaper inches. Or you pressure my boss, and Petrov is proven to be dead, case closed.’

  ‘We still want the intel, and now a link to Libintov has people excited, he knows a few bad boys we’d like to get a line on.’

  ‘Then you need to have a chat up the line, because if the FBI sends another team to Central America the same thing will happen, and keep happening. I follow orders, so talk to my boss by all means.’

  ‘He knew about this?’

  ‘Hell no, I always tell him afterwards.’

  ‘You just said you follow orders!’

  ‘I do, but in the absence of firm orders I do what I think is in the spirit of what he might want. That ... and I enjoy shocking him.’

  ‘Can I ask you, as a favour to us, not to do something like this again?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘If the FBI get close I go to jail, my boss here failing to protect me. So no. Unless you have some get of jail card for me? Well, do you?’

  ‘We could change your ID, but ... we like what Petrov is doing.’

  ‘Can’t have it both ways; if I keep playing Petrov the FBI keep looking, Tomsk will keep embarrassing them. And tell me you didn’t smile just a little bit at their discomfort.’

  ‘I’d never admit to that, but I am meeting with them tomorrow.’

  ‘Gloat a little; false sympathy always makes a man feel better.’

  He laughed. ‘I’ll have to make a choice soon, on telling the President, but he could hardly be seen to stop the FBI investigating. Besides, if they did that people m
ight suspect Petrov.’

  ‘These are not people from some James Bond movie, and most are a bit dumb and easy to play, like Libintov. Real world criminal masterminds are just ordinary people, so don’t give them too much credit.’

  ‘You went to that base in Senegal with thirty men? Up against six hundred.’

  ‘We had a little help from some keen French pilots. They dropped a home-made bomb from a helicopter that killed or wounded almost two hundred rebel fighters, then dropped ten tonnes of cement and choked the bastards.’

  ‘If I put that in an official report they’d think me crazy, but I think we’re going to add cement to our list of available ordnance, it seems to work well!’

  ‘Often a good way to get things done is not the obvious way, the frontal assault. And as I said earlier, if you pressure my boss he will instruct me regarding Petrov, after which I will follow those orders.’

  He sighed again. ‘I need a beer, or two, and a quiet think about this. I’ll get back to you.’

  ‘I’ll be indoors wrapped up warm. Oh, hang on. What if ... you said Petrov was an Israeli?’

  ‘Israeli? Well, the FBI would probably back off a bit, and the White House would realise it was futile to try and get the Israelis to do anything – it always is. When we catch their guys spying here we just get a shrug from them, and they carry on.’

  ‘Think about it.’

  Sat back down, Swifty asked who it was.

  ‘The FBI sent a team to Central America looking for my doppleganger, but they were drugged and then filmed with hookers and drugs.’

  He laughed loudly. ‘DEA never did too well either.’

  At 11pm, beer cans in hand, Tomsk rang. I eased up. ‘You been having fun?’

  ‘You seen it on the news?’

  ‘I had the CIA complaining about it. They’re worried that someday the FBI will find out what they know and be mad as hell.’

  ‘They don’t like each other, FBI and CIA, Frank says so.’

  ‘True, but they also don’t like bad publicity for America in general.’

  ‘I got some information about this black, Izillien. His competitors tried to kill him, and they are in bed with this idiot dictator in Senegal.’

  ‘Not a dictator, just that he lost the election and won’t leave. Who are his backers?’

  ‘Petrobras.’

  ‘Brazilians? Well, it is just across the water I suppose. Maybe they’ll help us with the Nigerians.’

  ‘I could talk to them.’

  ‘You’re a wanted man.’

  ‘So are you! More wanted than me!’

  ‘You have contacts in Brazil?’

  ‘I am now friends with the people the German-Bolivian fucked over, and they have good contacts in Brazil.’

  ‘Then get the name of Petrobras’s head of security, and his private number.’

  ‘OK, better you talk to them, you know how to play these people. What did the French do in Senegal?’

  ‘They dropped a homemade bomb on that base, killed two hundred, then they dropped ten tonnes of cement bags and choked the fuckers. The man in charge ran off, the rest ran off. When I saw it empty I called Libintov and he got his weapons back, so he owes me. Owes Petrov, so he owes you.’

  ‘The man who lost his Mi8 and small plane was not happy, but he blames the French.’

  ‘Who was that man?’

  ‘French black man, Dupree or something like that. He does planes in West Africa. I thought it might have been Victor Klosno, but he pointed me to Dupree.’

  ‘Maybe if I meet the dictator in Senegal you get another oil rig.’

  ‘No need, we get all the oil we can handle from Liberia, talk of a third rig.’

  ‘Good money?’

  ‘Yes, very good, and it keeps the government here very happy.’

  Call ended with Tomsk, I called SIS and gave the detail of Dupree, and the name Victor Klosno. I made no mention of Petrobras for now.

  The next morning I looked out at six inches of snow, cursing. It would be a quiet Sunday inside reading a book. The canteen ladies failed to make it in, so many of the lads trekked to the pub, which sold out of most things. The village shop was raided, making good money, some of the guys threatening to open ration boxes.

  Fortunately I had a shit load of tins in the cupboard, bought but not used, enough for three days maybe, so with Swifty I warmed up baked beans.

  At 3pm Big Sasha called me, a name and number, a Roberto Branco. I waited till 8pm, and then tried the man’s mobile.

  ‘Alo?’

  ‘You speak English or Russian or German?’

  ‘English yes,’ came back accented. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘We can help each other, since I think we did not like what happened in Senegal last week, Major Dodoo’s attempt at power backed by the Nigerian, Izillien.’

  ‘And you are..?’

  ‘My name is Petrov, I work for Mister Tomsk, Panama.’

  ‘I have heard the name, but we do not normally associate with criminal gangs.’

  ‘Really? In Russia we have a saying: he who sings loudest in church has most to hide.’

  He coughed out a laugh.

  I added, ‘And how much would you have lost if your oil concession in Senegal was cancelled?’

  ‘What do you know about Izillien?’

  ‘That he was targeting you, no designs on power, and that he will try again – since you tried to kill him.’

  ‘You wish to sell information?’

  ‘I wish you to consider a sharing of information and resources, to our mutual benefit in stopping Izillien. I stopped him in Liberia, and now I have stopped him in Senegal.’

  ‘The rig off Liberia, that belongs to your boss?’

  ‘Yes, but through a clean Russian company.

  ‘He wants into Senegal?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you want Izillien gone.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you think you could get to him?’

  ‘I’ve never failed to complete a contract.’

  ‘And you don’t seek anything from us?’

  ‘No, just information. You may have a piece of the puzzle that we lack. So, where is Izillien vulnerable in his business empire?’

  ‘You hit him in the pocket first?’

  ‘Always the best way.’

  ‘He is just finishing off an inland plant, Niger – not Nigeria, a lot of local problems, local politicians paid off, local gangs not happy, some rebels there; bombs had gone off. He has spent a lot on bribes and a lot on security. If it does not come online soon and do well he will be stretched.’

  ‘Interesting, since I know a few men in that region.’

  ‘There’s something else, maybe of use. He has bribed the dictator in Sierra Leone about oil concessions.’

  My heart skipped a beat. ‘Not sure that helps. I’ll get back to you if I have more questions.’

  ‘The problem in Senegal was dealt with by French and British soldiers...’

  ‘I was inside the town, bombs placed, radio transceivers placed for the French Army, my men sniping at Major Dodoo. We left when the French force arrived but held the perimeter for Libintov to get back his weapons.’

  ‘I have a friend who knows Libintov, I will chat to him.’

  ‘Please do. We’ll talk soon.’

  I called David Finch straight away. ‘Got some intel from my friends in low places. Our good friend the dictator in Sierra Leone has taken bribes from a Nigerian oil company for concessions there.’

  ‘He ... what?’

  ‘Figured that would get your heart beat up. I guess our dear Prime Minister was promised those concessions. Anyway, I think that a few of my lads should take a trip down to Freetown, some training. Let me know if you think that a good idea.

  ‘Also, our good friend Izillien was targeted by Petrobras, and the coup attempt in Senegal was all about pissing off Petrobras, who are now chatting to my friends in low places. They pointed out that Izillien is str
etched, and that should his shiny new inland plant in Niger continue to suffer bombs from local activists it could cost him.’

  ‘I need to meet the PM, after a stiff drink. But good work, exceptional intel, and timely.’

  ‘Have a think about stretching the rules.’

  I sat down with a cup of tea, thinking, and called Langley, asking for the Deputy Chief to call me back urgently.

  He called fifteen minutes later. ‘Wilco?’

  ‘Yes. Listen, I need some ... off the record opinions. How would you lot feel if the Nigerian Izillien suffered greatly, slipped on a bar of soap and died?’

  ‘Well ... our oil industry boys would be delighted. We suspect him in a bunch of things, not so much the proof, not least that he supplied money and guns to local rebel groups in various places that targeted mines and kidnapped people – including Americans, and that he did it to piss off his business rivals. FBI would love to get him on some charges.’

  ‘So you don’t mind if he slips on a bar of soap?’

  ‘Is that ... likely to happen?’

  ‘Not sure, but people slip on soap all the time. So I need to know if your lot want the soap removed, or more added, and soon.’

  ‘I’ll talk to the right people Monday.’

  ‘Wilco out.’

  Monday, after breakfast, I was told that a helicopter was on its way for me. I was summoned. Jumper on, holster on, jacket on, I was ready, but grabbed a plastic combat jacket as well.

  The Regimental Agusta set down, Colonel Dean aboard. I eased in and buckled up, headsets on as we lifted off, my shoes making a mess.

  I began, ‘Driving up not much of an option, sir?’

  ‘Roads are very slow, would have taken all day, plus lots of accidents, people abandoning cars. Us Brits don’t handle snow well.’

  ‘You in a meeting with me, sir?’

  ‘No, just catching a lift, JIC to see – about your lot, which they know is a fudge.’ He opened his file, and started to go through each point as we sped across a white winter wonderland under grey clouds, and the time passed quickly.

  He finally asked, ‘This problem with “D” Squadron leaving their position early..?’

  ‘Discipline the fuckers, they had no orders to move, and they failed to tell me that they repositioned. I was counting on that road being blocked, a serious issue. Lives were not lost, but part of the operation was left undone because those fuckwits could not be bothered to pick up the phone.’