by Geoff Wolak
‘If you hang him publicly then they will worry greatly how you have such friends in high places.’
‘I have sold my interests, and they will know very soon about that, so I don’t care what they worry about. I have taken steps to distance myself from them. When the building is found to be faulty they will be explaining it to the Americans, Swiss and others.’
‘We wait word from the man. Good night, sir.’
At 3am Bob woke me. ‘You were sleeping I guess.’
I let out a sigh. ‘It’s 3am. I do sleep some of the time, yeah.’
‘Sorry. Listen, we got the solicitors files and accounts, his office burnt down, so we have the next man up the line, Rene Bastion. He runs a security firm, interests in Africa.’
‘Ah, in that case worth waking me for, yes. Good work. Name of the company?’
‘Bastion Defence Services.’
‘A bit naff, a pun like that. Bastion, castle, fortification…’
‘We thought so.’
‘Some news for you, No.1. The man lost in Belgium somehow turned up in Oman, in custody,’ I reported.
‘How very odd. You’d have to question why he would fly there at his own expense,’ Bob teased.
‘Does seem like a badly planned vacation yes. I think, when he woke and the bag came off his head, that he was … shocked.’
‘Does British Airways put bags over passengers’ heads?’
‘Just introduced the policy, to keep the noise levels down.’
‘Seems like a great idea, I always get a baby next to me. Good night.’
In the morning, David was on the phone early. ‘Our phone trigger man has just been paraded on TV, in Oman, a bit of a shock too many people in many countries – not least in Belgium.’
‘Daft, him flying there First Class, he’s wanted.’
‘Very daft indeed, yes, some very puzzled people here, some very worried ministers. We’ve formally denied we rendered him.’
‘Do you know who did render him?’ I posed.
‘No, do you?’
‘I’d have to ask my Uncle Sam.’
‘Ah. Well that gets your uncle in the good books of the Oman Royal Family. Two birds with one stone. Are we … expecting some intel from the Oman police? Has he said anything?’
‘I expect he’s a bit uncomfortable right now, you know, long flight, jet lag. But I would expect him to make a full confession yes.’
‘He’s a British citizen now, passport, so we have to formally ask about his rights.’
‘I’m sure his rights will be respected as they publically hang him.’
‘That … could be an issue.’
‘And do we have any influence over Oman?’
‘Not … really, no.’
‘And there is that British Aerospace deal we want.’
‘Indeed, so the noises made will be quiet ones. And when the interested parties see his face, in Oman, they will be … stunned, and worried.’
‘We can only hope so, Boss. We can hope they make a mistake. Oh, I heard a rumour. Bastion Defence Services, a Belgian company, up to no good in West Africa.’
‘We’ll have a look at them.’
I wandered up to the Intel room. Tinker was in early. ‘You heard?’ he angrily asked me.
‘What?’
‘Princess Diana is dead.’
I stopped and froze. ‘She’s dead?’
‘In Paris, a car crash. Paparazzi were chasing her car at speed, hit a wall, she died in hospital.’
‘That’ll be a big funeral,’ I said with a sigh. ‘And now … Charles can marry Camilla.’
‘Did he bump her off?’ a lady Intel captain joked.
A shiver went through me, but I dismissed it, a glance at Tinker. He squinted at me for a moment.
An hour later Bob called, as I sat in the canteen with the RAF Regiment lads. I stepped out. ‘How goes it, No.1?’
‘You seen the news about Diana?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Her substitute driver, he was on our books. Usual driver and car wasn’t used last night.’
I stopped dead and stared across the airfield, then at the oil slick. ‘You sure?’
‘Yes. And he liked a drink. Would be easy enough to put something in his drink, a drug that makes people drive very fast.’
‘If they did, then … we need to keep that to ourselves.’
‘There’ll be a hell of an enquiry.’
‘Don’t discuss it, nothing we can do.’
‘If they had asked you to silence her..?’
I considered that. ‘She was set to marry an Egyptian, a Muslim, and that would upset many in the old boy network I’m sure, and … being the mother to the heir of the throne. I can see them doing it, but they never asked me, and if they had done – well, she would have spent her life lambasting the royals, and the UK government, not good for business.’
‘No, not good for business.’
‘If you come across any evidence that it was us, bury it deep.’
‘OK, will do.’
Off the phone I stared at the oil slick. ‘Heir to the throne, drug to make someone drive fast, the old boy network, Christians not Muslims. Jesus, it was them.’ I shook my head.
I called back Bob. ‘It was them.’
After a long pause came, ‘They have the means, and the motivation. Yes. Do we use it?’
‘No, at least not yet, the city of London would be hurt.’
‘You’re becoming a pragmatist.’
‘Sell my soul to catch a killer. Yes, that is the way it goes these days, use one snake to stop another. Talk later.’
I walked up to the north field, soon picking sheep hair off the barbed wire fence, thinking, quietly mad that they had killed her.
Reggie drove around and stopped when he saw me. ‘You heard about Diana?’
I nodded, offering him a stone cold stare. ‘Them.’
He nodded solemnly, and moved his car.
Ten minutes later the Brigadier drove in, and stopped near me. He drew level. ‘Diana.’
I stared at him for a moment, the released the sheep hair on the wind. ‘Say nothing, sir. Put that idea out of your mind.’
‘Was she killed?’
‘If I was a suspicious man I might think that … that the people who want me dead killed her.’ I faced him. ‘Keep your thoughts hidden deep, sir, real deep. We are making progress, good progress.’
‘The man from here, the phone detonator man, he turned up in Oman! How the hell did that happen?’
‘Interested parties wanted him dealt with, and we’re starting to get our second wind, starting to clean the mess up, one day at a time, sir. We might yet win this.’
‘At what cost?’ he left me with, and I stared at the sheep as they stared back.
The news that day was all about Diana, the TV news at least, the papers running my story from yesterday, some TV outlets showing the Prince’s visit here, at least last night they had.
Crowds gathered for Diana, and we watched it in the Intel common room, and I had to wonder if I would have killed her to keep her quiet. I was forty-sixty in favour of killing her, but the British public would not have agreed with that.
I had to wonder when I started to look at the big picture, when I looked at what was best for the British pubic, but did I have the right to make that choice? And was I doing the right thing?
I was sure that stopping bombs going off and buildings coming down was right, but we were using scumbags to stop other scumbags, and breaking laws as we went – to stop the lawbreakers, our bad guys against their bad guys.
Later, I found the Brigadier in his office. He eased back and waited as I sat. ‘If a trooper … is a nut case who likes getting an erection from killing people, any people, and we send him to kill a terrorist, saving lives – no bombs going off, are we as bad as they are?’
‘Wow, start with difficult questions.’ He blew out. ‘SAS have debated that one for a long time. Answer is, we do just that. Should
we, are we justified, where are the morals?
‘If we over analyse it then we’d not send out the best trained men, the man most capable, we’d send out someone who was sorry to kill that terrorist. But we don’t do it that way, we can’t do it that way, we send out Rizzo to kill the terrorist, under orders from the Cabinet Office. Stop the terrorist, stop the bomb.
‘And stopping the bomb is the right thing to do, in any culture or country, always. Does the end justify the means? No one knows what Rizzo thinks when he pulls the trigger, or if he enjoys it, nor should they ask. Soldier, policemen, spy, they do what they’re ordered to do, they don’t think for themselves - hopefully.’
‘I think for myself, sir, often. I make the call.’
‘And we know you have a good moral compass.’
‘Do I? If they had asked me to silence Diana I would have considered it, so where does that leave my moral compass?’
‘You operate at a different level, you rub shoulders with power brokers and snakes, you live in the sewer and try and sort one shit from another. Most of the rest of us don’t have to, thank god.
‘Let’s say you had a hand in whisking our bomber away to Oman. That would break the laws we’re here to protect, but on the other hand he set off a bomb and killed people, killed a boy.
‘Citizens obey the law, but the shadowy figures in Intel don’t need to, but they do need a moral compass. The guy placing the bomb on the bus had no moral compass, you - trying to stop it - do have that compass.
‘There’s a difference, but you both break the laws. You’re paid to act in the British interest, and you do, and sometimes … that means breaking a lot of laws and killing someone, someone acting against the British interest.’
I nodded and glanced at the map on the wall. ‘I doubt myself sometimes.’
‘Good. So you should. Rizzo wouldn’t.’
‘Did you get anywhere in London yesterday, sir?’
‘There were dissenting voices, till I asked them what else we should have done. They’re quick to criticize, slow on providing alternate plans. The newspapers lambasted anyone wanting his son protected more than others, a few embarrassed generals, and your press statement laid it out; you had operational control on the ground, PM said so.
‘When I mention that they have nowhere to go; orders are orders. And they know you talked the Crown Prince around, and they were shocked yet very grateful – they thought we’d lose all the defence contracts. British Aerospace owes you a drink.’
I smiled. ‘Popular somewhere at least, if I need engine parts and some really well made aero-engine ball bearings.’
‘New armourer gets here today, and a Sergeant from Brize Norton will come over when your men are in residence, and he’ll check on things.’
I nodded. ‘Good.’
‘Guy named Hamster.’
‘Hamster!’
‘You know him?’
‘Yeah, I worked with him. He slept 23hrs a day, that’s why we called him Hamster!’
‘Well he’s a sergeant now, and runs marathons.’
‘Hamster? Running? This I gotta see.’
I found Hamster coming out the armoury. ‘You!’
He stopped dead. ‘Hey Wilco.’
‘It’s Major Wilco!’
‘Right, sir.’ He saluted.
I stopped in front of him and looked him over. ‘Have you grown a few inches?’
‘Doubt it, but I lost weight.’
‘You were such a lazy useless cunt!’
He smiled, but then forced it away. ‘I got married, then got divorced, then took up running, not bad at a marathon time, was in the RAF team. I can stay awake now, all day. Sir.’
I shook my head. ‘You can drop the sir. Hamster. Well I’ll be buggered.’
‘It was a long time ago. You, er, won’t be telling anyone about those days, will you?’
‘Of course I will,’ I said with a smile. ‘And they’ll ask why you’re called Hamster.’
‘So what happened to Bongo?’
‘Apart from the fact that we was a useless lazy fat cunt?’
He laughed. ‘I met him a few times over the years, and he hadn’t changed.’
‘He got blown up, so quit for a quieter life. What about you, you afraid to be here?’
‘Fuck no, I’m solid these days. Kung-fu, parachuting, the works.’
‘Bloody hell, a hamster with some balls, eh. You have come a long way.’ I got us a coffee and he filled me on his life, and on life back at Brize Norton, people I used to know, and it was good to connect with the past.
Back in the Intel room Reggie waved me over. ‘We’ve got the insurance details, they have to be made public anyhow, and we know who ramped up the insurance recently. It’s a shell company, seventy percent owned by another, and that tracks back to NordGas, a Norwegian gas and oil company that I know is a front for them.’
‘And NordGas in West Africa?’
‘In a dozen countries, mines and oil. No gas!’
‘In Nigeria?’
‘Yes, a dozen areas.’
‘In Niger?’
‘Some big plant close to the border, the one that was hit and set on fire.’
‘Interesting. They lost money there?’
‘They owned the majority, but through Nigerians, hiding the detail.’
‘Come across a guy called Izillien in the detail?’
‘Yeah, he was closely linked in. Got shot last year.’
‘Was Izillien rich?’
‘Got some paper records that say no, he borrowed from them.’
‘Borrowed, or they invested?’ I pressed.
He shrugged. ‘Same difference.’
‘Keep digging. Thanks.’
Outside, I called The Banker. ‘It’s Petrov.’
‘We’re making some progress. Do you … know anything more?’
‘Izillien was a front for them.’
‘Ah, and we hurt him badly, so they lost out badly.’
‘They owned most of that plant in Niger.’
‘The one that suffered a mishap. So you cost them greatly. And … Casper?’
‘We’re still working on the players, now looking at Bastion Defence Services.’
‘They have Belgian mercenaries in the mix, that we now,’ The Banker pointed out. ‘And Casper worked with them.’
‘We’ll get there. We’ll find the men responsible.’
‘His body?’
‘Police here have it, denying that it’s Petrov, FBI think it is.’
‘No chance of burying him?’
‘Bodies go missing all the time, leave it with me.’
I called Bob back, a body to snatch. It would not be easy for his people, but would be a challenge he relished. Not least a chance to pull the wool over the eyes of Mi6.
Back inside I grabbed Rocko, the Major and the Brigadier, and we sat in the Major’s office, paper and pens ready, Rocko with his clipboard.
‘OK,’ I began. ‘Parking, and car bombs. Where people park now, near the visitors centre, I want a sandbag wall around it, five feet tall, three bags thick. We could build a wall but sandbags are best for distributing force. Get the RAF facilities guy, I want a thousand sandbags – filled, and pronto. It’s dangerous around here.’
‘Damned dangerous!’ the Major loudly stated.
I faced the Brigadier. ‘You remember what I told you, sir, when you first came?’
‘To keep my head down, wear a pistol. I thought you were joking, wish you had been.’
I shook my head, offering an apologetic look. ‘Next, opposite that space, on the grass, I want a ten foot strip covered with concrete, parking lines draw into it, room for twenty cars at least.
‘Then I want a rope barrier fifty yards down from this hangar, no cars get close, same on the north side. Behind the hangar I want a good fence and barbed wire, fifteen yards out, no one gets close to the back of this hangar, put a shit load of razor wire in there.
‘Then we want more green fencin
g with the slats, for the north fence, but with a gate. Then, Rocko, get a few men or the RAF and get rid of all the bushes out the south woods, then thin out the trees a little, make it hard for someone to sneak about.
‘Northeast of the para portakin, the MP Captain suggested a road.’ I faced the Brigadier. ‘Make that a priority, sir, alternate way in and out.’
He nodded and made a note. ‘Yes, the existing route means everyone in the village sees our movements.’
‘And more cameras, sir, more infra-red, have them placed in the north woods and south woods. We won’t stop the expert, and if we do he’ll hit us as we drive in and out, but we can try.’
I left them to get on with it and headed for the barracks roof, finding Tomo and Nicholson. ‘You on stag?’
‘Nothing else to do,’ they noted. ‘Figured we’d spot the next shooter.’
‘I might send you back down to Sierra Leone, but there’s a good chance of a naughty job here.’
‘We like naughty jobs,’ Tomo said with a cheeky grin.
David called as I stood there. ‘It appears … that the solicitor who got our trigger man released in Belgium was found in a garage lock-up, hung-up naked, his entrails hanging to the floor.’
‘That sounds uncomfortable. I guess he was mixing with the wrong sort.’
‘Indeed. And his offices burnt down overnight. The local investigators say that his safe was opened.’
‘Cat burglars I reckon, you know what cats are like.’
‘Indeed I do, we have one, and he gets into everything at home. He has a patch over his eye, to fool the CCTV cameras.’
‘Crafty they are, cats. Has anyone … called for my head very loudly?’
‘Indeed they have, and we think we’re onto something.’
‘Methinks they do protest too much. Shakespeare, smart man.’
‘He did indeed have a good understanding of human behaviour,’ David noted. ‘Anyway, parliamentary special committee has been set-up, and a public enquiry to be headed by Lord Cohen.’
‘Can I be called?’
‘Hell yes. But a facemask would be allowed in your case. Public enquiry is months away, parliamentary enquiry a few weeks away.’
Bob called me an hour later. ‘I was curious about Princess Diana’s driver, so I started digging. The man he met with just before the accident, Paul Dickson, just wrapped his car around a tree outside Paris, dead.’
