Wilco- Lone Wolf 15

by Geoff Wolak

  He stared at me, his features hardening. ‘I very much believe in Echo, I’ll not let some spy shit ruin my career, and as for my balls -’ He took in the carnage. ‘- we’ll see how my nerve holds when I start taking calls from upon high, loud calls.’

  ‘Perhaps, sir, you make some calls and ask for support to stop Mi5 wrecking Echo.’

  He considered that, and nodded. ‘Yes, go on the attack.’ I led him inside, and we sat with the Major, teas made.

  The Major suddenly burst out, ‘I didn’t get a commission in the Army to be targeted by some terrorist scum, nor one of our own shits!’ Everyone in the building heard him. ‘This is not what we are here for! We’re the good guys, we rescue the fucking hostages and get them home to families! Why are these bastards doing this!’

  I sat calm, staring into my tea. ‘Because they think they know best, because they want to shape the world their way, because they meet in secret groups and plot and scheme, and because power corrupts. Give a man some power and he loses his head, starts to look at maps and make plans. And power is a drug, they want more and more of it.’

  The Major slumped into his chair.

  The Brigadier quietly stated, ‘You’re not like that, and you have power and influence.’

  ‘I never went to a posh school, nor joined the right clubs; I don’t think I have a God-given right to rule the masses. I … just want to get some hostages home, to see the looks on the kids faces.’ I faced the Major. ‘Be a miracle if I’m still here next week, or even later today. You take care of Echo in your final – what – three weeks. I’ve already briefed Moran.’

  He burst out again, ‘How can you just sit there and take this!’

  I stared into my tea again. ‘I gave Max the reporter a story, enough to get me court martialled.’ I lifted my head. ‘Final act of defiance, I suppose, last shot fired.’

  The Brigadier stared into his tea. Quietly he began, ‘If the media have it, then maybe the shits will run and hide behind the rock they crawled out from.’

  The Major began, but quieter, ‘The old Prime Minister would have listened to you. Will this new PM listen?’

  ‘After the media storm hits, he’ll listen,’ I assured the Major. ‘Provided I’m not in cuffs, or discredited today.’ I sipped my tea. ‘You all packed?’ I asked the Major. ‘Sun cream, fishing rod?’

  The major coughed out a laugh. ‘Be glad to be gone, I can tell you. Never thought I’d see so much corruption in high places. Sickens me. That lady, Pamela, the JIC shit. How many more?’

  ‘A few more, yes, but … I have an idea who’re pulling their chains at long last. And those aircraft attacking us in Liberia, same group.’

  The Brigadier’s eyes widened. ‘Same … group?’

  ‘Don’t repeat that, sir, especially not in London. It’s a work in progress.’

  The Major asked, ‘What do these shits want?’

  ‘For the most part it’s about money, but money and power go hand in hand. When you have a lot of money you have a lot of power, and you think you should shape the world the way you want it. History repeats itself, over and over, same deal; power and money, empire building, then empires crumble and someone new comes around, a new empire to build.’

  The Brigadier nodded, ‘From Rome to London. Two thousand years of plotting and scheming, and for what?’

  ‘People will never change,’ the Major scoffed.

  I faced the Brigadier. ‘If they move me aside, will you go on, sir?’

  He stared back, a look exchanged with the Major. ‘Not sure I could stomach it, knowing that they removed you because you’re a threat to some double-dealing scheme.’

  ‘If you quit, sir, then they win.’

  He considered that. ‘Then we do what we can to fight back. I’ll go see the Joint Chiefs and have a quiet word. Tomorrow. Today we need a sweeping brush.’

  ‘If you can rally the Intel team, sir, that would help.’

  He nodded. ‘I need some rallying myself, some moral fibre at a difficult time.’

  ‘Sir, this is not the Army, nor the Government, this is two or three shits in Mi5, so don’t lose faith in the system.’

  He considered that. ‘Yes, you’re right, we need to keep sight of that.’

  Back outside, Max was walking up, a sly grin on his face. ‘Got a tin hat?’

  ‘You released it on Reuters?’

  ‘Yes, and syndicated it all around the world. When editors saw your name and the wording they all bid high. BBC just got word of it.’

  My phone trilled. ‘Here we go.’ I heaved a sigh. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘It’s David, what the hell have you done?’ came a strained whisper.

  ‘Tell me, Boss, has anyone tried to kill you lately, or ever at all?’

  ‘No,’ came after a moment.

  I kicked a fragment of metal with my boot. ‘Well my chances of surviving to the end of the week are slim, two attempts this week, several in Africa this year. Do you know what that feels like? No, you don’t, you’re a pen pusher, safe behind a desk, sending men out to die.

  ‘Put yourself in my shoes, and think about all the good work I’ve done, the hostages rescued, my life about to be ended by some sneaky little shit in Mi5, no more hostages going home to their families.

  ‘I have to walk around here and try and do a job knowing that my own intelligence agencies are trying to kill me. Any why? Because I did what you, David Finch, ordered me to do, what the Army ordered me to do, what the British public want me to do.

  ‘And the thanks I get? A gun to the head, a bomb on a bus. And in case you haven’t joined the dots yet, in case the penny has not finally dropped, this is about West Africa, about money and power, about people with so much influence they could probably have your family killed, Mister Finch.’

  ‘Who … who are you referring to?’

  ‘You’re the spy chief, go figure it out. Now, what were you calling about in particular on this cold August day? Was it my story on Reuters?’

  ‘It’s gone all around the world. Director needs a Valium, Prime Minister is screaming, top level enquiries called for. You labelled Mi5 as killing the boy, and the people in this country believe you more than us.’

  ‘Good, so I might do some good before they kill me.’

  ‘The Royal Family in Oman will get the story in minutes.’

  ‘I didn’t make the world the way it is, I did not encourage Mi5 agents to take money, to plot and scheme, I’m just in the way of their plans.’

  ‘They?’

  ‘Not on the phone, and … there may be those near you who are in league with … they.’

  ‘I’m making a list of those calling for your head, some odd people on the list already, making me suspicious.’

  I put a hand in my pocket and took in the north field. ‘You’re paid to be suspicious, so do some digging. Am I still operational, as far as your people are concerned?’

  ‘Well, yes, but we’re not supposed to give you orders anyhow, it’s supposed to come through the MOD, so we could never tell you to cease operations.’

  ‘Fine. Then I have a war to win. Fortunately, there are ghosts and spectres that I can call upon to assist me.’

  ‘That is the one ace in the hole, one they don’t know about. Wilco, if I have ever seemed flippant about your safety then I apologise, but you’re not someone that needs a pep talk or protection, you’re the one people turn to when we need protecting. When the monster is attacking the village folk, we send you out and all hide behind closed doors.’

  ‘Monster slayer, eh. I’ll sharpen my axe, so you have faith in what I’m doing, just … that you may need a stiff drink.’ Call ended, I faced Max. ‘What a fucking day, eh.’

  ‘Does your boss have your back?’

  ‘They all look to me for protection. I’m not the one who’s supposed to need protecting.’

  The “G” Squadron troop sergeant walked up, bandage on his head. ‘Who the fuck did this?’ he demanded.

  ‘Middle
manager in Mi5.’

  His eyes widened. ‘You know who?’

  ‘I have some ideas, but there are rules about me killing Mi5 managers.’

  ‘Only if we get caught,’ he snarled. ‘I could get some volunteers if you need them.’

  ‘Kind of you, but today … watch the wire and check the visitors, don’t take your eyes off them, some might not be who they seem.’

  He eyed the police. ‘I’ll sort the boys now.’

  A loud Chinook set down at the north end as we all observed, troopers running off, the men kitted for war. The troop sergeant walked up to us. ‘We’re here to protect this place, boss sent us.’ He took in the scene. ‘Fucking … hell.’

  ‘Spread out, watch the wire, pairs of men out patrolling the woods. Oh, try and find me some fresh tracks in the woods south, from the road in.’

  He squinted at me then called names.

  The Brigadier and the Major appeared behind me.

  I turned. ‘Colonel Marsh kindly sent us some help.’

  ‘Good of him,’ the Brigadier noted. ‘I’ll call him now.’

  With a cool wind blowing, a typical British summer’s day, we observed as the troopers dispersed, Max photographing them from behind.

  Tinker stepped out. ‘Wilco,’ he urgently got out. ‘We got a phone hit, south woods, when the bus exploded!’

  ‘Then ask GCHQ to call all out, but tell your boss to expect interference.’

  He rushed back inside.

  ‘Phone detonation,’ the Major noted.

  ‘Timed to kill me, some delay.’

  ‘You’ve used up your nine lives! And then some!’

  I nodded, taking in the Regulars as they dispersed. Holding my phone, I called Kate. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Christ Wilco, what have you done now?’ she began. ‘You’re all over the damn news again.’

  ‘Mi5 tried to kill me.’

  ‘Mi5? Those little shits, I never liked them. Uncle Charles was with them, and the stories he told…’

  ‘They set off the bomb that killed the boy.’

  ‘My god.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Bournemouth, symposium just ended.’

  ‘Go off-grid, be very careful.’

  ‘I’m driving to London, we’ll be in father’s house.’

  ‘Turn your phone off, take a different route, check your car or hire one.’

  ‘You serious?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have we no benefit from law and order in this damn country!’

  ‘Not at the moment, no, so be very careful. Can I send a man to your fathers?’

  ‘I suppose, but he won’t be happy.’

  ‘Listen, I … I’ve arrange for some money for you … for after…’

  ‘After?’

  ‘After … I’m not around.’

  After a long pause came, ‘Find the shits and do what you’re good it. Shoot the bastards! Don’t take it lying down.’

  ‘They have powerful friends.’

  ‘So do you. Call in some favours,’ she insisted.

  Off the phone, I stared across the airfield. ‘Friends, eh.’ I heaved a sigh and called the Air Commodore.

  ‘Christ Wilco, utter fucking turmoil here, some very loud voices.’

  ‘Do I have any friends left in the MOD?’

  ‘There are a few that want to see you strung up for risking their sons -’

  ‘Are their sons more important that those from a working class school, do I check a boy’s pedigree before I rescue him or do I leave him behind?’

  After a long pause came, ‘No, I’d hope not.’

  ‘I need some RAF Regiment lads, at my base, we’re short of men to protect me till some get here from Africa,’ I lied.

  ‘And who’s after you this time?’

  ‘Middle managers in Mi5, they were the ones that put the bomb on the bus, a secret inner group that … wants to remove the Prime Minister.’ I made that last part up, but I had to wonder just how far fetched it was.

  ‘Jesus, those little shits. I’ll sort some protection now, sit tight, my boy.’

  ‘Sir, if someone tells you to remove that protection, you’ll need to read between the lines and wonder about the plotters and schemers, the meetings behind closed doors of those that think the country should be run a different way.’

  ‘Dear god.’

  ‘Be careful, sir.’

  ‘You think I’m in danger?’

  ‘If you’re on my side, then yes.’

  ‘I … have some calls to make.’

  I had a lunch in the officers mess, little said, and as I walked back up two RAF Pumas set down, 2 Squadron RAF lads stepping down kitted for war, an officer with them, a Fl. Lt. I recognised.

  I shook his hand as he glanced at the taped-off area. ‘What you here for?’ I asked, already knowing.

  ‘Air Commodore sent us, to help protect this place – and you.’

  ‘Some SAS just landed, but we need all the help we can get, my lads are all down in Sierra Leone. Put four on the roof and rotate it, rest around his hangar, rotate food breaks and tea breaks, use the barracks for down time.’

  I greeted many familiar faces, all wanting the gossip, so I stood and spoke to them for ten minutes. Max was still here, so I led him to one side. ‘Did you photograph those men arriving?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Put the photo out in tomorrow’s paper, saying … RAF Regiment defy the MOD and send troops to help protect Wilco.’

  ‘Can I put that on Reuters?’

  ‘Sure.’

  When my phone trilled next, as I stood at the hangar mouth, it was the CIA Deputy Chief. ‘Wilco, what the fuck’s going on over there?’

  ‘Some shits in Mi5 tried to kill me, several times.’

  ‘White House just threatened your Prime Minister to sort this shit, President is due to call him in an hour. Pentagon is screaming at your MOD right about now.’

  ‘Listen, in order to deal with these shits I may need some … outside help, off the record.’

  ‘Well, we’d be in trouble with your government if we shot one of these players.’

  ‘Not on UK soil.’

  ‘That would be easier, yes.’

  ‘How far you prepared to go to assist me?’

  ‘Buddy, we got a filing cabinet full of intel from you at Camel Toe Base, you’re persona grata with us, and more TV minutes than we could ever wish for. What you after?’

  ‘Got a paper and pen?’

  ‘Shoot.’

  ‘Royal Bank of the Netherlands, their parent company, the investment bank. Do a deep forensic accountancy search, any and all links to West Africa, and if some powerful figures your side of the pond start to question it – and try and stop you – I want those names. I also want the bank to know you’re looking.’

  ‘What do they have to do with you?’

  ‘Their investments in West Africa were upset by my actions, and they were behind the coup in Liberia that the British Army dealt with.’

  ‘So how does that connect to these Mi5 fellas?’

  ‘Old British money is invested in this bank, powerful British men on the board of directors, and the Mi5 shits are working for those men.’

  ‘That damned British old boy network, that figures. OK, I’ll get a team on it, then see who wants it shut down.’

  At 4pm Reggie arrived, a fake GCHQ pass used to blag his way past MP Pete. Still, he mentioned Tinker and Mutch, so got himself in. Tinker met him out the car, and I led our guest inside, a cap on his head, dark shades, and a silver-grey beard to keep his facial features hidden.

  In the Intel section I said, ‘This is…’

  ‘Norman,’ he cut in.

  ‘Norman from GCHQ, works with Tinker, and you will all cooperate with him.’ I led Reggie to an unused office, and closed the door.

  ‘Good to finally meet you,’ he began. ‘Tinker tells me the tales.’

  ‘Unfortunately, they’re all true,’ I told him.
I rubbed my face.

  ‘Rough night?’

  ‘Rough year.’

  He nodded. ‘You’re after the bank then…’

  ‘If the evidence leads that way.’

  ‘They’re big in Africa, and I can see why you’ve upset them. When the fighting was going on in Liberia I was shaking my head at the TV screens. I knew,’ he said with a sly smile.

  ‘You’re in danger being here,’ I pointed out.

  ‘I’m careful, don’t worry. So … you want to know how to get to them?’

  ‘First off, do you know who in the British establishment is involved?’

  ‘Was a time when I thought that they were Freemasons, and the City of London is all Freemasons, all the judges, senior police, thee civil servants, all of them. You don’t advance in the city unless you’re a brother, bend at the knee, pray to Baphomet.’

  ‘Baphomet?’ I puzzled.

  ‘It’s a word made up of three ancient Egyptian gods. The masons, they’re mostly Christians and the lower ranks say prayers akin to Christianity, but it’s a ruse, it’s all ancient Egypt.’

  ‘How … odd. But it’s not about Freemasons?’

  ‘No, but many of the board members are masons here and in Holland.’ He raised a finger. ‘British mason got kicked out for being part of their group and not declaring it to his master here.’

  ‘Ah. And the master that kicked him out?’

  ‘Now Lord Taverstock, sits on the House of Lords Defence Committee. His underling is Minister John Grieves.’

  ‘Underling?’

  ‘Lower rank, servant, helper. It’s all about climbing the ladder. Most masons think that the third degree master is the top of the chain, but there are thirteen more levels a man can climb to. Malta and Russia, they have princes at the top – prince of the masons.’

  ‘And who’s the top dog here?’

  He grinned. ‘Chairman of the City of London Corporation, Lord Mitcheldean. Nearly always someone from the corporation, who’re the largest private company in the world, a trillion pounds of property under management. You know, people don’t realise, but the Square Mile in London is technically a separate country with its own law, under the corporation. The old laws were never removed.’