Wilco- Lone Wolf 7

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Do you want me to approach him formally?’ Bob asked.

  ‘No, let me call him, I need a good working relationship with him.’

  ‘And SBS?’

  ‘Yes, same deal, patrols led by those SBS lads embedded with me.’

  Bob took a call. ‘He’s in with me know. OK.’ Phone down, Bob said, ‘PM wants a word, probably about the French.’

  After ten minutes chatting about Panama, and the next Wolves intake, they escorted me out, one of theirs driving me to the back of Downing Street and leading me through. I met the PM in the COBRA room, General Dennet in attendance with the Defence Minister, a few civil servants sat behind the PM.

  ‘Ah, Wilco, come in, sit,’ the PM began. ‘Not injured are you?’

  ‘Not this week, sir.’ I sat where directed.

  ‘Good to hear. Could you give us a brief and candid appraisal of the operations in Morocco?’

  And I did, over fifteen minutes.

  ‘And the mood of your men?’ he asked, echoing Bob’s question.

  ‘Fine, sir. They all need their heads examined, they love this kind of work.’

  The dignitaries laughed.

  ‘And you’ll soon be involved with young officers..?’

  ‘Yes, sir, experience is key to maturity, and we’re making plans now.’

  He eased back. ‘Some ... quite loud debates going on about the downsizing of our armed forces. What’s your take on it?’

  ‘The nature of our armed forces is dictated by the threat we face, and the Cold War seems to be over, Northern Ireland gone quiet. Barring a nuclear war, most likely we’ll be involved in many small wars.

  ‘As such, I would not cut the Armed forces five percent a year every year I would cut twelve percent now, and give three percent extra to the front line units; Marines, Paras, RAF Regiment and Special Forces – because they would fight that small war for you.

  ‘If you want a good result, and a good newspaper headline, Prime Minister, then you need those units kept up to speed, if not expanded, and to get rid of some of the Guards and a few obscure units. Most likely ... we’ll find ourselves in a Falklands style conflict, or a political conflict somewhere, a small war.’

  ‘Yes, a good point, as ever. And something we are considering at the moment. And the French are going to copy your team for their own hostage rescue team outside of France...’

  ‘They’ll struggle, because their officers don’t think, they obey Paris.’

  ‘I have a suspicion that you may communicate that point to them in a ... quiet and delicate manner.’ The group laughed. The PM added, ‘I understand that the French colonel in charge was impressed with your bluntness.’

  ‘He had a bad plan to start with, so I told him I would withdraw my men.’

  ‘And in no uncertain terms,’ the PM said with a smile. ‘Their senior staff will be over soon.’

  ‘I shall practise being polite, sir,’ I said with a smile.

  General Dennet put in, ‘Could you visit Sandhurst, a lecture or two?’

  ‘Yes, sir, if I’m in the country and upright. Just tell me when.’

  ‘Anything you need?’ the PM asked.

  ‘Luck, sir, more luck.’

  ‘Then we wish you luck.’ He took in the faces. ‘Give us five minutes, please.’

  They all stepped out, worrying me.

  The PM eased back. ‘Panama, and your good friend, is both a great benefit, and a very great risk. If it got out ... it could be seen as turning a blind eye to the drugs trade.’

  ‘You were not elected to govern Panama, nor police the world.’

  ‘Yes, quite, and I might remind people of that.’

  ‘There’s very little evidence, little written down, some phone logs, and the Americans and the French would cooperate. If push comes to shove ... you say it was a joint venture.’

  ‘That does help, yes. But how stable is this man Tomsk?’

  ‘He’s fine, sir, and he’ll co-operate. And in the Congo he was invaluable.’

  ‘How so?’ the PM puzzled.

  ‘He worked the deal to get the hostages moved, and to deal with Colonel Roach, no evidence left behind.’

  ‘I was not sure of that till now. And you’re sure that none of this is out there?’

  ‘The Americans know, and they’re the risk if we upset them; a change of President could see a change of policy there. But I’m not sure if their president even knows.’

  ‘He’s never mentioned it, so he may not know. And the fact is, both we and the Americans are getting good newspaper headlines from it. Not sure what the Panamanian Government thinks.’

  ‘I am, sir, I chat to them regular.’

  ‘And what’s their take on this?’

  ‘Their take ... is about ten percent to look the other way.’

  ‘I might have figured that.’

  ‘They also ask Tomsk to dispose of people they don’t like.’

  ‘So they would never risk turning him in.’ He nodded. ‘I think your friend will never see a court room.’

  ‘Hell no, the CIA would go to great lengths to avoid that.’

  ‘Someone in Mi5 ... recently tried to suggest to me that you cleaned-up a mess or two in this country.’

  ‘If I did there would be no evidence left behind, and some messes need to be cleaned-up before they hit the newspapers.’

  ‘I’ll pretend I never heard that. But be damned careful, don’t trust the Intel snakes too much.’

  Outside, and in the car, Bob called, and I could have timed it. ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘Yes, he just wanted an update on Morocco and the French, my view on the future direction of the UK armed forces, and an update on Central America.’

  ‘Is he ... concerned ... about things?’

  ‘Yes, but ... no more than before. It’s not an issue. We have an issue free environment.’

  ‘Good to know.’

  ‘I need to see you anyhow, be there soon.’

  When I got back to the MOD, I took Bob to one side. ‘Someone high-up in Mi5 has been suggesting to the PM that I do naughty jobs on UK soil.’

  Bob was horrified. ‘You know who?’

  I shook my head. ‘He’s not overly concerned, since I told him that should I ever be tasked with a naughty job there would be no evidence left behind.’

  ‘You didn’t confirm anything?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And when you went to Essex?’

  ‘Phone off, unregistered car, no speeding tickets, no sat phone on me, no prints, nothing left behind, witnesses placing me elsewhere at the time.’

  ‘They know about that man, and that he went missing, so ... they may just be putting two and two together because we wanted him gone, since they can’t have any evidence. In fact, they bugged the journalist, who now suspects that man to have been spirited away. They’re guessing. And our friend?’

  I made a face. ‘If someone builds a new bypass through a woods in twenty years ... he may be found. But where those woods are ... very little chance of that.’

  ‘In twenty years no one will care, and no evidence will be left,’ Bob said.

  ‘And I won’t be around in twenty years,’ I told him.

  ‘Oh, I forgot. Someone looking just like him boarded a ferry to Holland, same name, booked into a hotel. I’ll have him book back into that hotel in a year’s time.’

  ‘You are indeed a spymaster, Bob.’

  I collected a very bored MP Peter, whinging, and we set off through the traffic.

  The next day the base was quiet, few about. I had tackled a long run in the morning, a leisurely breakfast in the canteen with Swifty. Bongo, Crab and Duffy were hanging around, and after a few hours tackling paperwork with the Major and O’Leary I keenly hit the gym, our small base gym, and keenly hit the punch bag for an hour, working up a sweat.

  After lunch, I called Rawlson at Credenhill.

  ‘Captain?’

  ‘Powers are interested in me opening a training base in Sie
rra Leone, sir, since it has jungle – and an element of danger. We’ll send down new young officers, aircrew on survival courses, but given how close it is to Liberia, and the chance of a shoot-out, I wondered if you wished to make use of the new base, men down there for a few weeks, patrols out for those who lack experience.’

  ‘Yes, I’d be interested, I’ll chat to Major Bradley soon. The men already get jungle training, but not with shots fired, so this is the next step.’

  ‘The aim, sir, is to avoid the gunmen, but no law against the men defending themselves from the bad boys.’

  ‘They could pop into Liberia?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Plenty of danger over the border.’

  I briefed the Major on what was said, and what the MOD desired from the new programme.

  With the sun coming out I borrowed Crab, kitted myself out as if off to war, rifle in hand - loaded, and with Crab providing safety cover I swam lengths of the canal on my back, shots taken at the metal plates, floats created, a variety of strokes used, and I clocked a tiring twenty lengths.

  Back at the house, Swifty took in my sodden state.

  ‘I did a few lengths of the canal, haven’t swum in kit for a while,’ I told him.

  ‘You’re keen all of a sudden.’

  ‘Keen not to be left behind as I get older, and my injuries worry me, so I’m using the time to get fit.’

  ‘So no curry later.’

  ‘I’m getting fit, not joining a monastery.’

  With Bongo and Crab up for a curry, as well as MP Pete and his mate, we set out in the minibus for Cirencester, finding a nice wine bar.

  Stood at the bar, the lady next to me smiled nicely, and my heart melted. Peering down at her great cleavage, I noticed a scar. ‘Broke your collar bone at some point, pin in.’

  ‘You do indeed have a keen eye.’

  ‘Only for beautiful women. If you’d been fat an ugly I wouldn’t have noticed.’

  ‘How shallow of you,’ she teased.

  ‘Yep, I am sucker for good bi-lateral symmetry.’

  ‘You sound like a doctor.’

  ‘No, but medically trained, military medic.’

  ‘Ah. I’m a nurse, I work in the hospital, radiography.’

  ‘I have a bad back that needs an occasional rub.’

  She cocked an eyebrow. ‘I just got rid of one needy man,’ she said with a coy smile. ‘I married a doctor, just divorced him.’

  ‘Ah,’ I let out, Swifty now listening in. ‘I had a child with a lady doctor who decided that I was not posh enough for her.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to compare scars,’ she said. ‘Internal and external.’

  She took in my gang. ‘All medics?’

  ‘Er ... not really, no.’ I took in her gang. ‘Yours?’

  ‘Nurses.’

  ‘We like nurses,’ I emphasised.

  ‘I’ll ask my lot if they want to join forces.’

  ‘We were planning on a curry.’

  ‘Us too.’ She headed off, a back glance and a cheeky smile.

  Swifty closed in. ‘You in there?’

  ‘Maybe, and maybe they want to join us for a curry.’ I faced the gang. ‘Listen up. Best behaviour, group of nurses that may join us, so think up an alternate career quickly.’

  ‘I work in stores,’ Crab said. ‘In a factory.’

  ‘I’m police,’ MP Peter said, his mate echoing that.

  ‘Minefield clearing for the Red Cross,’ Swifty put in.

  ‘Yeah, that’s better,’ Crab said. ‘Sierra Leone.’ They nodded.

  A car coming through the wine bar’s window was unexpected to say the least, a hell of a smash, glass everywhere, people diving away, screams rising.

  At first I thought it was a simple accident, till the driver got out with a sawn-off shotgun. He approached a seated couple.

  ‘He better than me, you bitch? He richer? He better in bed?’

  I moved forwards, my potential new lady in danger, cowering with her friends behind tables as they screamed. As I approached, I raised my hands, the jealous ex raising an eye to me, followed by raising his shotgun.

  ‘Listen,’ I began. ‘I just want to get to my wife over there in the toilets.’

  ‘Get back.’

  Out the corner of my eye I could see Swifty moving out the door. I kept going. ‘I just want to see if she’s OK.’

  ‘Probably fucking some stranger in the toilet.’

  ‘Not every marriage goes bad, there are a few nice girls out there,’ I told him. Glancing at his shotgun, I could see the hammers forwards. Sighing, I dropped my arms. ‘Fucking amateur.’

  ‘You what?’ he growled.

  ‘I said ... you’re a fucking amateur!’ I shouted at him, Swifty behind the man and hearing me. ‘Now, I’ll give you one chance to put the weapon down, or we’ll kill you.’

  Swifty had his pistol out, and he loudly cocked it. The sound had the man freeze, and he slowly turned his head, soon peering down a barrel. By time he turned back I had cocked my pistol, now also pointed at his head, the couple in danger not sure which way to look – or who to fear.

  MP Peter moved in from the side. Addressing the gunman, he began, ‘If you’re going to fire that shotgun, need to pull the hammers back first, dickhead,’ and delivered a monster kick to the man’s groin, our hapless gunman bent double, his shotgun snatched away a moment before MP Peter landed a bone breaking elbow down on the man’s back.

  Grabbing the man’s collar, Pete yanked the man back so hard he flew back through the window and landed at Swifty’s feet.

  I loudly began. ‘OK, everyone, we’re armed police, just take it easy.’ I pointed at the bar manager as I put my pistol away. ‘Call the local police, we’re not from around here. Tell them it’s safe to attend.’

  I stepped across to my nurse, a hand offered, and she stood. ‘Still up for a curry?’

  ‘Told me you were a medic,’ she playfully scolded. ‘Just met me and already lying to me.’

  ‘I have it on good authority ... that beautiful women expect to be lied to.’

  ‘Oh yeah, and who told you that?’ she said as her friends stood.

  ‘It’s in the Bible,’ I said with a grin. Stepping over the glass, I lifted my phone and dialled.

  ‘Duty officer.’

  ‘It’s Wilco. Cirencester High Street, Mario’s Wine Bar, armed incident, no shots fired, safe for local officers to approach, but we flashed our pistols. Get containment on it eh, I’m trying to chat up a bird.’

  I could hear laughing as I cut the call.

  A local patrol car stopped, unaware of the shotgun, and they ran over, thinking it a simple accident, albeit an odd one, the car half inside the wine bar. MP Peter flashed his badge and took over with his mate.

  Back inside, I grabbed my drink, Swifty now back at the bar with Crab.

  Bongo came out the toilets. He lifted his drink, took in the mess with a slight frown, and casually said, ‘Best move on to the curry house then. Might rain.’

  ‘It is raining,’ Swifty noted, and I glanced out of the broken window.

  My nurse and her gang walked over. ‘We need a stiff drink, so if you’re buying we’re accepting, and getting plastered.’

  I smiled and nodded. ‘Barman, paper and pen.’ He handed over a sheet of paper and a pen. ‘Ladies, names and addresses and telephone numbers for the officers outside, they will want a statement next week.’

  The ladies started to write down their details as patrol cars rushed up, lights flashing. Names down, I led the enlarged gang out and handed the sheet to a policewoman.

  ‘These ladies are leaving the scene with us, names and addresses there for statements.’ I lifted my head. ‘Pete, join us at the curry house – and explain it.’

  He nodded as I led the ladies off, now mixed in with Crab, Swifty and Bongo.

  My nurse linked arms with me. ‘So you’re an armed officer.’

  ‘Military police, base is not too far away.’

  ‘You would
n’t be fibbing to me again, would you?’ she teased. ‘You see ... my dad was a red cap.’

  ‘Ah...’ I let out. ‘Swifty, what was that cover story we were going to use?’

  ‘Red Cross, mine clearance.’

  I glanced down at my nurse as we walked along the High Street, a little rain falling. ‘Mine clearance.’

  ‘I could tickle it out of you.’

  ‘And I’d let you.’

  ‘What rank are you?’

  ‘Captain.’

  ‘A captain in the Red Cross, eh. And your former girlfriend?’

  ‘An RAF doctor, yes, and posh with it; Cheltenham.’

  ‘My ex never wanted kids, so maybe that was part of it.’

  Reaching the curry house, we ducked in. ‘Good evening, sir, good to have you back again.’

  ‘Table for ten, please.’

  ‘This your local curry house?’ my nurse asked.

  ‘We’ve been here a few times.’

  Seated, drinks ordered, poppadoms ordered, the ladies were excitedly recalling the experience. Fortunately, one was late thirties and plump, Crab chatting to her, one a little older, Bongo chatting to her and not at all fussed on the quality of his lady friends, Swifty with a slim lady around twenty eight, two left over for the MPs.

  When my phone went I stepped outside. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘It’s Bob, what happened?’

  ‘Some jealous guy rammed his car through a plate glass window, shotgun in hand, his ex in the wine bar we were in. No shots fired, but we flashed the hardware and gave the guy a good kicking, now in a curry house. Deal with it, eh.’

  ‘Should be straight forwards enough. OK, leave it with me.’

  The MPs joined us as starters were ordered, and I moved a lady a seat over so that the men and women were broken up, several conversations going on at once.

  At midnight we were still there, the lights dimmed, a subtle sign for us to fuck off home by the tired staff. Stretching a few laws, we squeezed the ladies into the minibus and dropped them off, Crab departing with his lady, Bongo with his. The MP’s ladies did not invite in their men but gave phone numbers, Swifty and myself dropped off at my nurses house for ‘coffee’.