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

by Geoff Wolak

Calling Tinker, I asked about recent attacks around here, and he pointed towards the refinery, so playing along I asked for details of the groups attacking it, and could GCHQ plant devices to get radio chatter and some warning.

  He called me back an hour later to alert me to a group of hostages that may be held at a location north, about two hundred miles north east, village name given. I asked for listening devices to be planted nearby, and suggested we would go get some eyes-on anyhow in a day or two.

  Gorskov called. ‘I have some additional information. I bribed a man, who got another man drunk, some drugs, and Izillien has loaned money from The Banker.’

  ‘I have not met The Banker yet. Is it true that he funds terrorists?’

  ‘Not directly, is the simple answer. He works like a bank, but only through a dozen intermediaries. He would not know the end user of the money.’

  ‘He’s a cautious man,’ I guessed.

  ‘Few have ever seen him. Rumour has it that at the end of the Soviet era, 1991, he left Russia with a van full of the Peoples gold, and started his business. Most likely he is in Monte Carlo, fake papers.’

  ‘Would The Banker kill Izillien?’

  ‘Unlikely, he’d not get his money back. More likely Izillien has leveraged something he owns. If I find out more, I tell you.’

  ‘I’m a day away from Nigeria, back door in.’

  ‘Ah, maybe we have coffee.’

  Call cut, I tapped my chin with my phone, and decided to call Tomsk. ‘Listen, you know this guy The Banker.’

  ‘Everyone knows of him, few have met him. I know a man that can get loans from him.’

  ‘Do me a favour. Contact that man, tell him you have spare cash, and could The Banker turn it for you. Think of a percentage you want, chat with him. Try and chat direct to The Banker, tell him how much you’re worth.’

  ‘I was thinking about some investment like that, but he loans money to all sorts, so maybe the FBI are even more pissed with me.’

  ‘Be discrete, FBI will never know.’

  ‘I let you know.’

  ‘And this guy Izillien, he owes The Banker a lot of money.’

  ‘Ah, I could put pressure on. Good, I fuck this black some.’

  Sat back on my bed, I glanced at the explosives, but then told myself not to be stupid, they were safe. Mostly. I hoped.

  At 9pm, secret agent Scorpio, a.k.a Lard Arse, was at the cafe and calling me. Ten minutes later I walked over the road, unarmed and alone, noticing the taxi in a dark side street, Sambo sat with Mutch.

  I eased down, a beer ordered. ‘Well?’

  ‘We got in OK, no problem, and I met an old friend in there, a South African, we did a few years together, a few funny stories recalled,’ he enthused. ‘I got an update from him about the attacks, pretending to write it all down, and he handed me his own security reports.

  ‘He showed me around, I asked about risk and he pointed out a few areas where costs were cut, and I had a look at the outflow controls, all in my mind.’ He turned to Sambo.

  Our trusty taxi driver began. ‘I put the two devices in places with not much people, sir, but not strong metal.’

  I took out my phone, and my notepad from a shirt pocket. ‘You are sure there’s nothing left in the car.’

  ‘Oh, yes, sir.’

  ‘We’ll be dead quickly if you’re wrong,’ I teased.

  Mutch was looking worried. ‘Bad enough driving there with them in the damn car.’

  I punched the first number, getting a ring tone for a few seconds. Same number punched again I got an odd tone. Second number punched in, then a tone. ‘Call your mate, ask about a beer tomorrow.’

  Mutch recalled a number. ‘Andy ... what? Bloody hell. No, no, I’ll call tomorrow.’ Phone down, Mutch said, ‘He has his hands full, explosions, critical electronics damaged.’

  ‘Oh dear. Anyway, have a think about the best way to hit them, what my lads would need to do. If you teach it to Sambo here, he’ll be on the job anyhow.

  ‘Tomorrow, if you can meet this guy, suggest that we’re here and maybe able to help him. After which ... your first mission will be complete.’

  ‘Not my first mission,’ he said with a coy smile before Sambo drove him back.

  An hour later, the lads sat about, David called. I stepped outside and stood under street lights, being bothered by moths. He began, ‘News on Reuters, two bombs at that plant.’

  ‘It was secret agent Scorpio – as he likes to be referred.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The tall fat bastard.’

  ‘Mutch? Well, he has the skill set, worked in plants like that for twenty years. He really refers to himself as Scorpio?’

  I laughed. ‘No. I gave him the codename of Lard Arse, but he didn’t want that one.’

  ‘Really, can’t think why. What’s next?’

  ‘Mutch will suggest to his man at the refinery that we’re here and could protect the mine, and that gives us access. If not, we do it the other way. But to do it the other way we need to be seen to be in two places at once. I’ll need two trucks, get Thornton on it. Need to move some men unseen.’

  ‘Leave it with me.’

  At 11pm, as the men were settling down, my phone trilled so I stepped out, the base roads quiet.

  Tomsk began, ‘I spoke to my contact, and later The Banker called. He said he has been meaning to call anyhow. I’m going to invest two hundred million to start, eight percent.’

  ‘You spoke about Izillien?’

  ‘Yes, and The Banker has concerns about this black. When I said that I’ll spend some money to kill Izillien he was worried. He asks that I not kill his client for three months, but I tell him Izillien attacks me. We left it that I will think about it.’

  ‘It all helps to put pressure on Izillien, and I just set off two bombs at his oil refinery. That will cause more delays, more costs.’

  ‘We squeeze him good, no.’

  ‘He has a nightclub.’

  ‘I have a man that can bomb it -’

  ‘Don’t, I want to target Izillien there when he visits.’

  ‘You shoot him?’

  ‘If I can.’

  ‘Ah, good.’

  ‘You using that treadmill?’

  ‘A few days a week. Now I’m on a coffee diet. Never used to take coffee much, now a lot, and I lose weight.’

  ‘Not good for your heart, Dope, go back to tea.’

  ‘Not good?’

  ‘It speeds up your heart, then it slows, then fast again. Gentle exercise is better.’

  ‘Well ... maybe. You go for Izillien soon?’

  ‘A week or less.’

  Call ended, it rang a minute later and I stepped out, recognising the number.

  ‘How is sunny Brazil?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m in West Africa at the moment. And I spoke to Libintov, and an old friend in the FBI.’

  ‘What did the FBI tell you?’

  ‘That you are the world’s most wanted, a big reward.’

  ‘Nothing new. And Libintov?’

  ‘Talks highly about you. And would I be right in assuming that you are in Niger as we speak?’

  ‘I had some bombs to plant.’

  ‘We just heard about it, modest damage, but it sets them back, and Izillien is stretched.’

  ‘Two bombs went off, there are nine left, phone detonators,’ I lied.

  ‘Ah ... in which case they will be very delayed.’

  ‘Would you like to assist me with something?’

  ‘My bosses are keen to assist you in this endeavour.’

  ‘Call back your FBI buddy, tell him that Petrov is actually an Israeli agent.’

  ‘Israeli? Are you?’

  ‘No, Stupid. But I want them wasting some time.’

  ‘They will not know what to do, the Americans don’t like to upset the Israelis.’

  ‘Exactly. And who do you think drugged them in Nicaragua, DEA in Panama.’

  He laughed. ‘They have not had much luck, no.’


  ‘Make that call now please, it will torment them.’

  ‘OK, it will be fun.’

  The night passed without large explosions, either here in the barracks or at the refinery, and without my knowing Mutch went back the refinery early, a chat to his friend, a two hour drive there, two hours back.

  He called me on the way back. ‘I just met my old buddy at the refinery. The damage was considerable, not least because I told Sambo where to put the bombs. One of the heaters is down.’

  ‘Heaters..?’

  ‘It splits out the oil molecules ... it makes petrol. And it represents twenty percent of the output on volume, forty percent of the revenue.’

  ‘Good work then. You mentioned us?’

  ‘Yes, he’ll talk to his boss first.’

  ‘Good. Leave the country, send Sambo back to us, taxi left over the road.’

  ‘I can wear that medal in the office now.’

  I smiled. ‘You certainly can, Scorpio.’

  Thornton turned up with two trucks, refrigerated trucks that had no refrigerators in them. Still, they were big enough, soon parked down the road, keys to us, tanks full. I sent out Rocko and Stretch to drive them around and get used to them.

  An hour later, as we sat eating in the cafe, Sambo pulled up in his taxi, parked down a dusty track, keys handed back to me – chicken ordered.

  After lunch I met Thornton, taxi keys handed over, thanks given. He would take it back to the lady he had hired it from.

  When my phone trilled it was Mutch. ‘Hey Lard Arse,’ I offered.

  ‘It’s Scorpio. Just had a call from my buddy, and his boss most definitely does not want British soldiers at the plant.’

  ‘That means Izillien was consulted. Bugger. If you can’t get a flight out within an hour or two, get a small aircraft and fly out, or drive across a border, just disappear off the radar – cash payments for hotels.’

  ‘Hotel and plane are in the company name.’

  ‘That helps. When’s your flight?’

  ‘Was about to book a 6pm flight.’

  ‘Go sit in the airport, take no chances, check in early, sit in departures.’

  ‘Now I’m worried, be packed and gone in ten minutes.’

  Phone down, I tapped my chin with it. ‘OK, Listen up. Get those trucks, get packed, we are leaving inside half an hour. Move it!’

  I walked around to the HQ building, and asked for a map, wanting their input – at least pretending that. I pointed out a village north of the refinery by two hundred miles, and they had a small base nearby, the men there to be alerted. I thanked them for their hospitality.

  Outside, I called Thornton and expressed my concerns, and detailed the relocation north. He would go to the airport and look for Mutch, and get our secret agent a side room.

  The trucks were back, crates being loaded, the explosives being carefully loaded, Sambo now back in his browns, Sandra in browns.

  ‘Sandra, if anyone asks, you’re a nurse.’

  ‘I am good with the nursing, yes.’

  Tomo told her, ‘I have this big blue vein for you to look at.’

  ‘Ah, boiling water or ice is good,’ she responded.

  ‘I ... don’t think so, Luv,’ he responded with a frown, suddenly not wanting any medical assistance.

  Sasha asked, ‘We go back to the desert?’

  ‘We need to be seen to be away from here.’

  ‘Ah.’ He nodded.

  ‘Did you ever hear of a rich Russian called The Banker?’

  ‘A man I worked for, before Tomsk, he knew this banker. This banker made loans to a shipping company, Northern Cyprus. He loans money to those hiding out.’

  ‘Where we off?’ Robby asked, Hamble at his shoulder.

  ‘The desert. Not so much as a stray camel. And where’s Captain Harris?’ I sent Nicholson to find him.

  Stood there waiting, Hamble noted, ‘I glanced at that box of explosives a few times.’

  ‘It worried you?’

  ‘What sensible person wouldn’t worry about something like that? Fear is good, keeps us alert and safe. But I got off to sleep anyhow, resigned to my fate – should the building blow.’

  ‘Some people face such dangers and crack, others mature.’

  He made firm eye contact for several seconds, and then nodded.

  My phone trilled, so I stepped away.

  ‘It’s David. Your photographer friend, Max, he’s been shot and wounded, here in London. Someone, a black man, fired five rounds. One hit Max’s camera, one hit him in the shoulder, rest missed.’

  ‘Max is known as our unit photographer, so someone we hit wants revenge. Maybe Izillien, maybe someone else, it’s a long list. Take care of him for me.’

  ‘He has a police guard now, and at his home – where the shooting took place. We have the cartridges, and prints.’

  ‘Work fast, it may be relevant. And persuade him to move house.’

  Phone away, I informed the lads, all now concerned for Max as we loaded up. I sat up front with Moran, Rizzo driving, and we set off out the gate after finding Captain Harris. His crate was shared and so his things had already been packed anyway.

  Map out, I told Rizzo where to go. ‘Stay on this road for two hundred miles, then left.’

  Moran laughed. ‘Tough directions to follow.’

  After an hour, and seeing an isolated roadside cafe and petrol station, we pulled over, the lads let out the back to stretch legs and to pee. Tables adopted, the keen staff sold us chicken, cold cans of Sprite for everyone.

  ‘Are we nearly there yet?’ Tomo asked.

  ‘Less than half way,’ I told him.

  Rizzo asked, ‘Where are we ... compared to where we were before?’

  ‘We were about three hundred miles northwest of here, the border with Mali.’

  ‘All looks the same,’ Robby noted. ‘Just shite desert and a few little villages.’

  Sandra put a hand over her eyes and took in the horizon, still no bra under her t-shirt. ‘It is very flat, yes. I have not been to a place like this since I crossed the desert, into Libya.’

  I told them, ‘Sandra crossed the Sahara, as an illegal migrant, a long journey from the Congo.’

  ‘Resourceful lady,’ Mitch noted.

  I sat with Sasha and his team. In Russian, I said, ‘I think the man we came to attack knows about my plans and wants to get to us. Maybe I was being too confident, but I figured the people in the refinery would not call him every day for small detail. If we stayed at that camp we might have come under attack.’

  ‘And where we are going..?’ Sasha asked.

  ‘Open ground, men on stag.’

  ‘That is better, yes,’ Sasha agreed.

  ‘Tomsk is on a coffee diet.’

  ‘Coffee?’ they queried.

  I explained, ‘It speeds up the heart and metabolism, so some people think it burns fat. I don’t know, but too much can give you palpitations.’

  Setting off after a good break, the lads a little warm in the back, it was under an hour of straight road before I stopped again, cold drinks bought, and four hot hours after starting out we reached the base, and we were expected – the refrigerated fish trucks puzzled.

  Parked up, we claimed two huts, basic and dusty, mattresses that had seen better days. But we had open ground around us, a stag rotation set-up. The base offered a long range, a mortar range, a few brick buildings, a basic canteen, and outside the wire sat a cafe and petrol station, shacks and a small shop, kids playing.

  In with us were around fifty soldiers, all black and not Arabic in features, all puzzling the strange white soldiers. The CO, a captain, came and found me. When I explained that we were SAS hostage rescue he could not do enough for us, his men at our disposal. I asked for extra armed men at the gate.

  When my phone trilled it was Mutch. ‘I’m just about to get on the plane, all safe, I have escaped with my life from the jaws of certain death.’

  ‘And now the passengers sat next y
ou have to suffer your stomach spilling over the arm rests.’

  ‘You’re not the kindest of benefactors, your know that.’

  ‘Safe flight, Scorpio. And well done.’

  The lads wandered around the small base and had a look at everything, dollars used in the local shop, the food sampled in the canteen. After dark I had them run around the range in teams to stop them stiffening up. Afterwards, most just sat around reading in dull bulb light, a few seen playing cards.

  The dawn light penetrated dusty old windows at my end of the hut, the windows facing east, and I eased up, facemask taken off. Bandolier on, rifle grabbed, I quietly wandered outside, Stretch on stag with Tomo.

  ‘All quiet?’ I asked.

  ‘Nothing moving,’ Stretch reported, holding his rifle like it was a baby. ‘I like this time of day, still and calm.’

  ‘What’s the plan, Boss?’ Tomo asked, his rifle slung.

  ‘Some of you will get eyes on the hostages, some will go visit that refinery, but we need to convince the locals that we’re all on the hostage job.’

  ‘Poor old Max, taking a round for us,’ Stretch noted.

  ‘Unless he was shagging some big black guy’s wife,’ I suggested, the lads laughing.

  I walked the quiet perimeter, happy that we were isolated up here, and I took ten minutes out to stare down at a gerbil as it stared back at me, filling its cheeks with seeds before scampering off across the sand.

  It was quiet, peaceful, the desert starting to change colour, the creatures of the night off to their burrows, to holes and caves, the creatures of the day – the hawks, out looking for the unwary gerbil late to bed.

  A striped brown snake slithered over the sand leaving a trail behind, and I stood observing it with a smile as it sought something to eat. That gerbil came to mind.

  When the cafe opened up many of us sat and ordered food, rifles to hand, a leisurely hour-long breakfast with local kids running around – and getting some scraps.

  After breakfast I sat with Moran and Hamble on my bed, a map studied. I began, pointing, ‘Ten miles away is the target village, a valley, hostages supposed to be in it, and south twenty miles is the mining area – where the hostages were pinched from.

  ‘The plan is that we all drive off and get eyes-on, but my team will drive south and have a go at the refinery. If we’re not seen then people will think we’re all up here doing our jobs. Trick is not to go keenly rescuing any hostages whilst my team is at the refinery, but to wait till we get back.’