Wilco- Lone Wolf 15

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘You trust them?’ David teased as he eased up.

  ‘If I don’t I can always shoot them. Oh, get me some 9mm ammo, please, I’m out.’

  Downstairs I was handed ammo, my magazine topped up as several people observed me, a spare magazine handed over – suitable for a browning, and I was led to the vans, some of the same men present. We set off without a police escort, five vans, no way for a deadly assassin to know which one I was in, and through south London we swapped position often.

  On the M4 from Chiswick we also swapped positions, but did so in a sedate manner, an hour to reach Swindon and to turn north towards Brize Norton.

  An hour and a half after leaving Vauxhall we arrived at my gate, and I stepped down after thanking my driver and minder, the vans turning as MPs closed in, firing questions. They drove me around to the hangar, but we had to stop short due to the new rope barrier and sign: no vehicles.

  I nodded at a surprised MP at the hangar entrance, another surprised MP at the foot of the stairs.

  ‘They said you’d been arrested, Boss.’

  ‘Not yet.’ I ran up the stairs and in, and to the Intel room. They all stopped dead, those on duty, which seemed to be most of them.

  Captain Harris bound over. ‘They said you’d been arrested.’

  ‘No, just … escorted for a quiet chat.’

  Tinker stepped out. ‘DGSE officers were beaten up in Paris, and the guards who handled the DGSE chief have been arrested, one was beaten senseless apparently, and four people have been shot whilst driving, high velocity rifles.’

  ‘Sounds like Paris is a place to avoid for a pleasant weekend break,’ I quipped.

  Captain Harris began, ‘News is reporting a senior Mi5 man arrested.’

  ‘Lewis, the man who drove Casper to the drop off. He stabbed Casper in the neck.’

  They exchanged horrified looks.

  Mutch began, his belly out, ‘Dutch workers in Monrovia were snatched, ransom demand to follow.’

  I pointed at Marcel after he came out of his office. ‘You still have a job?’

  ‘I ‘av no idea, no one answering the phone in Paris.’

  ‘Stay here for now, don’t try and kill me, makes me irritable.’

  ‘The men you shot, now they find the dirt.’ He shook his head. ‘Bad business.’

  Henri stepped in. ‘I saw you arrive. In France, DGSE officers with the Army, some get hurt. DGSE staff with French Echo get kicked out the barracks, no clothes on.’

  I smiled. ‘At least it’s summer for them.’

  ‘French soldier joke: stupid mistake, only ten men sent to kill you.’

  ‘My escorts were twitchy, amateurs, otherwise they would have had me.’

  ‘Why the fuck go alone!’ Captain Harris complained.

  ‘Some of the things I do, I do alone.’ I shrugged. ‘I’ll try and take some men next time.’

  ‘Not least for handy witnesses,’ Mutch noted.

  I nodded. ‘Anything happening in Sierra Leone or Guinea?’

  ‘Nothing in Sierra Leone, Guinea has gone quiet,’ Harris reported. ‘US Marines still there, some Army General back to take command till elections are called.’

  I nodded. ‘And we all know what they’re like for free and fair elections.’

  A lady captain placed down her desk phone and faced me. ‘That TV station in Guinea you protected, it’s collapsed, no one in it at the time.’

  ‘Collapsed?’ I queried. ‘Like fuck. It wasn’t that badly damaged.’

  ‘There was a dust cloud, then it fell down in on itself they’re reporting.’

  ‘Controlled demolition,’ Tinker noted. He made eye contact. ‘Good job those Americans weren’t in it still.’

  ‘Fucking good job, yes, but they still complain that I shouted at them to leave.’

  Reggie put his head out and attracted my attention. I gave Tinker a nod and we closed the door behind us. We sat. ‘Four men were shot dead in their cars, all four directors of two subsidiary companies, one in NordGas. Odd thing is, shares are in their wives names.’

  ‘Hiding the trail,’ I suggested.

  ‘Not very well,’ Reggie quipped

  ‘Then look for other wives on the share register,’ I suggested. ‘Oh, there’s a version of you in Panama, French guy hiding out, they tried to blow up his car and blew off his foot.’

  Reggie straightened. ‘David Cohen!’

  ‘A Jew?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, a reporter from various papers in Paris. I met him one, brief chat, nervous man.’

  ‘I’ll get you sharing info, but things have changed. We think the American members of the board are flexing some muscle, sorting out the factions, and that they killed the men in cars.

  ‘Also, we found out about the inland oil in Liberia, and so we’ll have a consortium pump it – which will include the bank. That should deflate their interest in me.

  ‘What we now know … is that the inland oil test reports were hidden, and that the oil seam stretches across Guinea, northern Sierra Leone and into Liberia – hence their interest.’

  ‘Fuck me,’ Tinker let out. ‘No wonder they’re pissed at you, you’ve been there every month stopping the coups.’

  ‘This whole thing has been about that oil seam, and my men keeping them away from that oil seam. My favourite FOB is in a good spot for us, a bad spot for them.’

  ‘You were ordered there by London,’ Reggie said with a hint. ‘So we wonder, what did London know about the oil?’

  ‘Since it was BP that did the secret testing – they knew everything all along,’ I quipped. ‘But we have no oil presence there.’

  ‘Not yet,’ Reggie pointed out. ‘But the city must have been whispering in the ear of the old Prime Minister, and Maggie Thatcher.’

  I held my hands wide. ‘They kept sending me in, not keeping me out! Odd way to do business, seeing as the city is in bed with the bank.’

  Tinker pointed out, ‘Echo is semi-autonomous, you answer to Mi6, so their influence was limited.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I agreed. ‘But I think they’ll go quiet, a bloodletting.’

  ‘You letting them off the hook?’ Reggie complained.

  ‘Fuck no, I’ll hunt them down like dogs. Just don’t want to get caught doing it. Have a good look at Bastion Defence Services, I want to damage them a little, a message to deliver.’

  Outside the hangar I found MP Pete waiting, jeep there. ‘Next time, you take me to Paris with you!’ he complained.

  ‘If I did you might be dead now.’

  ‘Or I plug them full of holes.’

  ‘Been getting on the range?’ I teased as we mounted up.

  ‘I can match Tomo, we were on the range for a hour today.’

  ‘You can match Tomo?’ I scoffed.

  ‘Ask him. I’ve come a long way, and on your signature I use up five hundred rounds a week.’

  ‘My signature?’ I puzzled as we drove the short distance around.

  ‘I forged it. Lot of ammo.’ He shrugged.

  ‘Fucker,’ I said with a smile.

  Outside the house we found an MP stood with a spaniel. I stood staring down at it. ‘It needs to get to the gym, that Alsatian.’

  ‘Bomb sniffer dog, Boss,’ the MP said with a grin. ‘We checked your house, like eight times, rest of the base, found some biscuits hidden, some old ammo, a live grenade in the hangar.’

  ‘Good work,’ I commended as Pete opened my door.

  ‘I searched it today, and just now, no bombs or assassins.’

  ‘Did you find my secret porn stash?’

  He squinted at me. ‘No.’

  ‘Not very good are you.’ I knocked on the kettle.

  ‘I was looking for bombs, not magazines. Found three odd socks, and twenty-three quid.’

  I smiled. ‘I’ve lost a few socks. RAF Regiment gone?’

  ‘Yeah, still a troop of regulars, extra CT police, and those police are nervous around here.’

  ‘Put a man in a jeep at t
he side of my house as I sleep,’ I suggested. ‘He might get a sniper.’

  ‘So what happened in Paris?’

  We sat, teas made, and I gave the detail of the van shoot-out.

  ‘Fucking amateurs,’ he agreed. ‘Men needed to dismount the van to shoot. You don’t carry your pistol cocked?’

  ‘Not around the UK, and not on a plane – no.’

  ‘Mine is always cocked ready.’

  ‘You’ll fuck the spring.’

  ‘I can swap the spring, need that fast trigger action. That guy Hamster is switched on, we had a chat, tales of your time at Brize Norton.’

  ‘He was fat, and he slept all day, hence the name Hamster.’

  ‘He explained it, couldn’t sleep well in the daylight no matter what, so he was always tired on night shift. I was like that once, always tired when working nights, and I was getting plenty of sleep in the daytime. Some people just can’t work nights.’

  11.30pm, and we checked the house again, and he would be outside for a while till his shift ended – to the minute, and I settled down in my little-used bed, pistol on the bedside table. Lying there, I stared up at the ceiling, and as a jeep drove around it threw a dull yellow light across the walls.

  I figured that the new oil deal would see an end to this madness, but there was no way I was about to let them walk away from this, no matter what London or the new PM wanted. I would bide my time, collect data on them, then strike, the image from that desk in Paris clear as day, a proud smiling man with his wife and three kids. What his family must be going through right now.

  And they had killed Casper, his image still in my mind.

  Sleep would not come easy, but I felt dog tired, my alert mind fighting with my need for sleep till fatigue won out in the end.

  I woke at 6am feeling like shit, a stretch needed, another stretch followed by a hot shower, a cup of tea alone in my kitchen, alone with my thoughts for an hour.

  At 7.30am I headed to the canteen in uniform, four men up on the barracks roof and clearly silhouetted. But that was the point, I realised, to deter the assassins.

  In the canteen I found a few CT police and two MPs, plus Hamster. ‘What you doing up this early?’ I teased.

  He offered me a cheeky grin. ‘I went for a run, nice track here, no interruptions.’

  As I ate breakfast, our canteen ladies still with us for now, the breakfast news came on. When I saw the French President I stepped closer to the wall-mounted TV, my features hardening.

  The translated words at the bottom of the screen said, ‘… yesterday was a dark day for our republic, an attempt to kill our democracy. Our democracy is not dead, but a man has died defending that democracy, all flags at half-mast today.

  ‘I have suspended all operations within the DGSE, and all staff have been suspended, a full and thorough investigation under way, handled by the police of Paris with oversight from civil servants and politicians.

  ‘What I can reveal today is that the police escort of British Major Wilco were conspirators, and enemies of France, enemies of democracy. If they were not dead they would deserve the guillotine for their actions.

  ‘Those men did not act alone, and we have arrested others, the search is widening, and the people of France can be certain that we will find the men behind this. The apparent suicide of the Director of the DGSE is being investigated, and all guard officers who may have had contact with him in detention have been suspended.’

  ‘Why was he in detention, arsehole?’ I whispered at the screen.

  ‘Overnight, some action was taken against our officers by members of the public and by our soldiers. I ask that the people give us time to investigate, we are moving quickly, and we are determined to get to the truth.

  ‘Our republic is strong, our democracy is strong, our rule of law is strong, and we will prevail as we have always done, and we will prevail together, as one nation against tyranny…’

  ‘Bollocks,’ I said to no one in particular and sat back down.

  ‘That the French President?’ one of the CT police asked.

  ‘Yeah, and he’s playing to the cameras, telling them what they want to hear, but he’s afraid, and hiding something.’

  ‘He’s a politician, he lies for a living.’

  I nodded as I ate.

  ‘My relatives all ask about you, you’re more famous than the Queen now, always in the news.’

  ‘That’s not good,’ I said with a sigh. ‘I’m supposed to be a secret operator. But what do you tell them?’

  ‘That you’re short, fat, ugly…’ His mates laughed.

  Walking up to the hangar my phone trilled. ‘Wilco, Air Commodore Loughton.’

  ‘Hello, sir, how’s your wife?’

  ‘Worried about you, as ever. Listen, I’ve arranged some extra protection for you. Tanks.’

  ‘Tanks?’ I asked as I glanced at the oil stain.

  ‘Yes, two of them, be with you soon.’

  ‘Tanks?’

  ‘Scorpion tanks.’

  ‘Ah, good. I was trained on them.’

  ‘Yes, 1985, back up at Catterick before we closed it. Disbanded now, 51 Squadron.’

  ‘I can maintain the Scorpions, and the 30mm gun. That armourers course I did will come in handy.’

  ‘2 Squadron have Scorpions, but these are 27 Squadron, who still operate them for now, due to merge with the Army. Their Scorpions are fitted for an NBC role, but they are armed.’

  ‘Are the men volunteers, sir?’

  ‘I don’t give a fuck if they like being there, they’re trained for war, they go where they’re sent not shy away.’

  ‘They should be OK inside their tanks, it’s the walking around that’s dangerous, sir.’

  Inside the Intel room Tinker was sat with Mutch, tea in hand, Mutch with a biscuit in hand. Tinker lifted his face to me. ‘You heard?’

  ‘What? French President’s speech, preaching to the voters?’

  ‘He’s formally apologised to the British Government for the attempt on you. It’s on Reuters.’

  ‘If only the world’s terrorists would apologise to me after trying to kill me,’ I quipped. ‘Send a few quid, little card.’

  ‘And this Diana plot?’ Mutch gruffly asked.

  ‘Not open for debate, so keep your thoughts to yourself,’ I told him. ‘The fall out could be … bad all around.’

  ‘Not least for the Royals,’ he hinted. ‘Already a few commentators suggesting Charles was involved.’

  ‘He may have liked her to go away and be quiet, but a public murder is another step altogether. They had no way of knowing that the alternate driver would be used, which car, or if they could drug him. The drug may have just sent him to sleep or given him the shits. Too many variables for a good murder plot.’

  ‘You knew about it?’ Tinker pressed.

  ‘There are many things I know … that you lot don’t, and you’d not sleep at night if you did know.’ I blew out. ‘Anyone else killed in France?’

  ‘Two in Belgium shot.’

  ‘Look at all accidental deaths of rich people for me, anyone linked to the bank. And heart attacks.’

  I stepped into Major Sanderson’s office.

  ‘You look tired,’ he noted.

  ‘Been a rough week, apparently, so the newspapers reported.’ I sat next to him and pointed at his computer. ‘Can you do me a fax, a press release?’

  He opened a new page. ‘I’m a dab hand, I type fast.’

  I dictated, ‘The British Government, in concert with the French Government, will move to stabilize Sierra Leone and Liberia, as well as offering stabilization assistance to the new government in Guinea, in the hope that oil exploration and pumping will generate revenue of a benefit to the region, a region subject to abject poverty, little employment for locals, and a high rate of factional military in-fighting dating back decades.

  ‘It is hoped that European and American oil companies will move into the area and assist with infrastructure projects and stabiliz
ation projects as part of a pan-national integrated inland oil development strategy.

  ‘Working in concert with the governments of Sierra Leone and Liberia, we hope to open the region to oil development within the current and future UN framework of sanctions on certain nations, selective sanction lifting to aid in the improvement of the grinding poverty and hunger suffered by many in the region.’

  He finished typing. ‘You secretary to the PM now? Extra pocket money?’

  ‘No, I’m his poorly paid security advisor. Fax that to the Cabinet Office, from me, I’ll call them.’

  He printed it out and then faxed it after looking up a number. I called the Chief Cabinet Secretary. ‘It’s Major Wilco -’

  ‘Ah. Well, I have a request: please stay in bed today.’

  I smiled. ‘A nice thought. I just sent you a fax, ask the PM to release it. No one will see it, especially not with the current news frenzy, but those in the oil industry will see it, which is what we want. Thanks.’

  The PM called half an hour later. ‘Wilco, this fax, it’s designed to send a message.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Chancellor thought it an excellent idea, since it involves everyone, the hope being – no more coup attempts down there.’

  ‘Yes, sir. And if we had done this a few years back then we’d have none of this current shit.’

  ‘Hindsight, a tool much sought by politicians. When you build that time machine, let me borrow the damn thing.’

  I smiled. ‘You’ll release the fax?’

  ‘Yes, some extra wording. You saw the French President’s apology?’

  ‘Yes, sir, and his bullshit speech aimed at the voters.’

  ‘He’s a political leader, like me, so I feel for him.’

  ‘He’s doing as much as is needed, no more.’

  ‘Feel free to chat to the Press, they trust you more than us.’

  ‘I’m on your side, sir.’

  ‘I know, so blab away by all means.’

  An hour later a convoy of jeeps and large trucks were reported, and they loudly drove around the airfield being curiously observed, the two Scorpion tanks covered over. Halted, tarp removed, clamps removed, and the tanks eased down the ramp, driving around to me. I met them with the Major and the Brigadier.