Wilco- Lone Wolf 15

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘I prefer the training of men and green-field soldiering to the spy work, sir.’

  ‘Yet the CIA label you as the world’s most valued intel asset, and since value in that world is measured by how many people try and kill you – they’d be right, eh?’

  ‘I’ve had some successes, and as I said to a Mossad agent just this week, sometimes you just need to sit down with a cup of tea and ask nicely. The bad boys want something, you want something, so negotiate – don’t shoot at each other.’

  ‘How the hell did Panama get started?’

  ‘My boss in Intel sent me in to infiltrate a Russian gang, little more than that. I figured I would stay a few weeks and learn all I could.’

  ‘As Petrov, the world’s most wanted dead guy that just walked out of a London morgue,’ another general put in.

  ‘Many years ago the real Petrov died in London. He was small time. I looked like him, had the scars from Bosnia, so I pretended to be him for just one small job, but it grew, and we faked the backstory crimes. London wanted me inside Russian gangs in the UK.

  ‘In Panama I trained Russian men and shot-up the rivals to Tomsk, and it grew from there, and I developed a friendship with Tomsk, and his men followed me more than him, some even wanted me to replace him.’

  ‘Were you tempted?’ a general asked.

  ‘No, sir, not my thing.’

  ‘How much could you have walked off with?’ the same man asked.

  ‘Hundreds of millions of dollars.’

  They exchanged looks.

  I continued, ‘So I trained the Russian men, killed the rivals, attacked the FARC as being a good idea, then persuaded Tomsk to tip off the CIA and London, then Paris, about drugs shipments. Those countries got their good newspaper headlines, Tomsk got protection from arrest.’

  ‘Who offered him that?’ an admiral puzzled.

  ‘No one, it was implied. If your Navy has been getting tip offs from a drug gang for three years, you gunna put the drug gang on the stand to admit that? The media would sink your ships for you.’

  ‘But that is the case, my ships have been getting the tip offs!’

  ‘The CIA got the tip offs, sir, they updated you, so the CIA are in trouble if Tomsk takes to the witness stand.’

  ‘And what do you understand as being the thinking … with the status quo in Panama?’

  ‘Better the devil you know, sir, just the one devil, a man that tips me off about terrorists around the world, a man that supplies me with funds for illegal operations, and works deals with various people around the world to the direct benefit of … us lot, point in question being Camel Toe Base.’

  ‘How so?’ the admiral pressed.

  ‘He introduced me to various gun runners, sir, and they tipped me off about weapons delivered to the factions attacking us at Camel Toe Base.’

  Boltweir began, ‘We interviewed our men there, and they say you got a call before every attack.’

  ‘I did, sir, and I could have timed it to the minute, and what the serial numbers of the rockets were.’

  They exchanged looks.

  ‘And the Russian mines delivered by an AN12?’

  ‘That AN12 was … a UN flight that got lost and landed, and they offloaded … flour. Mines, what mines were they, sir?’

  They laughed.

  ‘And London approved that?’

  ‘Hell no, I told them afterwards.’

  Again they laughed.

  Boltweir turned to Marsh. ‘He doesn’t answer to you?’

  ‘No, sir, thankfully. I’m his landlord and I lend him men.’

  He faced the Brigadier, and waited.

  ‘I was the old boss of the SAS, now with the UK Special Forces Directorate, my presence here being a fudge to keep the Army happy, but the Army are aware that this unit operates Intel missions and politically motivated missions such as Guinea. I have input, but I don’t set direction. Wilco discusses plans with me, asks for advice, and briefs me on most things

  ‘With a job like Guinea my task was to liaise with London and to double-check the political orders and relay them to Wilco, as the middleman. The Army wanted someone like me here, so that Intel don’t get it all their own way. This unit is as much about operations like Guinea as it is about pure Intel work.’

  ‘And Wilco’s spy work?’

  ‘It overlaps, and … I lose a lot of sleep.’

  They laughed at that.

  ‘And the reason for today’s visit?’ the Brigadier rudely nudged.

  ‘We like what this unit has done, we very much like the New Lone Wolves, we like good newspaper inches and recruitment stats on the up and up, so we’re wondering what more we can do. Desert Sands started and ended quickly, and we wonder about larger operations.

  ‘We want to keep the recruitment and training going, and to let you guys know that we’ll cooperate where we can, loan you hardware, more rescues to handle.’

  ‘And down the line?’ Marsh nudged.

  ‘We’d like to do more, but first we have to get the White House to let us, and to do that we need the track record and the confidence, and every time we make a plan some asshole mentions Vietnam, then Somalia, and nothing gets done. Do you … have an opinion on that?’

  Marsh considered his answer. ‘We came to fight, not read about it in a paperback. That’s the unit motto here, and should be for my lot. If someone works hard to get into special forces, was it just to show off, do a year and get a job as a bodyguard?

  ‘I have a mixed bag of men that I would like to be more like Wilco, but they’re just human, married, kids, and want to go home not get killed.

  ‘If the question is … support small wars, then yes – I’m in favour, but we have a culture that is the same as yours, time-served NCOs with three kids. Wilco’s Lone Wolves are a better bet.’

  ‘Brigadier?’ Boltweir asked.

  ‘This unit is a political tool of the British Government, assisting you when it suits that government, don’t ever lose sight of that; they’re double-dealing snakes, and they have their own plans.

  ‘As for my opinion, I’d say that managed small wars are great all around till a genuine need comes along, like the Falklands War – but even that was more politics than practicality.

  ‘This unit, and the Lone Wolves, provide a small sharp knife to be used for political ends, as well as a genuine need, Wilco’s favourite pastime of rescuing hostages. But these past weeks have shown us that we sit with one foot in the Intel camp and deal with snakes and their car bombs, not so much the soldiering.’

  ‘And if we wanted your men for a larger operation, say … to go after Aideed in Somalia.’

  I cut in, ‘I’ve met him, loaned him some money, he’s in my phone. If you want something done there, just ask me.’

  ‘You met him?’ they puzzled.

  ‘Does your CIA not tell you everything?’ I teased.

  ‘Obviously not.’

  ‘I’m also in contact with Russian SVR.’

  ‘As Petrov.’

  ‘Yes, sir. As for Aideed, tell me what your objectives are and I’ll see what I can do. If those objectives are revenge for your fallen men, then you can forget it.’

  ‘Is that London making the decision, or you?’ Boltweir asked. ‘That’s me, sir, but I do take direction from them.’

  ‘Up to a point,’ the admiral noted. ‘They give you a long leash?’

  ‘Yes, sir, they do, because I sit between them and the Army. The Army are afraid to shout at Intel, and Intel is not supposed to give me orders, so I exist in a vacuum that all sides tolerate and support.’

  ‘Odd set-up,’ a general noted.

  ‘Yes, sir, but it gives me flexibility. Recently, I investigated on my own and using my contacts, and stopped men in our own intelligence services from blowing up a large London tower full of American companies.’

  Boltweir eased up and stared at me.

  ‘I guess you weren’t briefed,’ I told him with a cold stare. ‘Gentlemen, you may find
my vacuum a bit odd, but it saves lives when I move fast and investigate the people who should be regulating me. I stopped the Paris truck bomb, I stopped Hammad and his poison heading to Paris, and I’ve stopped many terrorist attacks, most dealt with quietly.

  ‘London has enough confidence in me to give me that long leash, and I turned down money from Tomsk to be here, a dozen of my own country’s Intel staff trying to kill me, and I know what land has been bought in Uzbekistan, by whom and why, and how Baluchistan plays into your future plans.’

  Boltweir cocked an eyebrow at me. ‘There’s … a hell of lot more going on here than I realised. Just glad you’re on our side.’ He exchanged a look with the admiral. ‘Tell me, Major, what motivates you to get out of bed in the morning?’

  I considered my answer. ‘Hostages for one, I like to get them home to their families, that justifies what we do – the dead men and the wounded. But the thing I like the most? I often go out alone in Africa, and I did in Panama.

  ‘I would pick a lawless town, get up high somewhere with my sniper rifle, hidden, silencer on. I’d see some guy go at a girl with a machete, and blow his head off. I’d see some guy raping a nine year old and put a round through his heart. I found that … to be quite satisfying, yet frustrating, because there are more men with machetes than I have bullets and hours in the day.’

  Boltweir nodded. ‘You’d shoot the dirt bags rather than be kingpin drug baron. Few would take that road, most would take the money, the yacht and the ladies. Not sure which path I would have followed, hope it would have been the right one. Ya making me feel kinda small right about now, Major.’

  The Brigadier put in, ‘Hindsight is a wonderful thing, and I wish I could have gone back and done what he’s done. But I followed the path prescribed, no deviation. Wilco sees the path and says “bollocks, what does this job require?” then goes off the path and gets it done.

  ‘That vacuum is a legal oddity, but recently … recently I could have knelt and wept at the level of double-dealing back-stabbing I’ve seen from our own Intel people and politicians, and I don’t know how Wilco gets out of bed – he has to deal with them all the time.

  ‘But when push came to shove, followed by a punch, a kick, and a gun to the head, Wilco showed restraint, calmness, and a willingness to do what was right for this nation and not what he was being asked to do. If he had followed orders he and his men would have been killed, bombs going off, a system gone mad.’

  Boltweir cut in, ‘I’m up to speed on some of it, but … there seems to be more going on than I know.’ He waited.

  ‘Money, General,’ I told him, sighing. ‘The coup in Liberia which my men put down was funded … close to home. There are vast oil reserves inland, secret tests done, and some people will stop at nothing to get in there. And to get in there they need only bribe a corrupt African dictator or remove his small army in a coup. Some of your NATO allies funded the coup.’

  ‘Jesus. They fund it, you put it down, all friends in Europe.’ He shook his head. ‘And Guinea?’

  ‘The coup was partly inspired by Moscow, a new dimension to worry about, but other interested parties had their candidates waiting, a free for all – and the poor people got massacred in the middle.’

  ‘You ordered the withdrawal,’ the admiral noted.

  ‘What role do soldiers play in a civil war with ten factions? Who do we fight, who do we support?’

  ‘Bad business,’ Marsh snorted out.

  ‘Very bad business,’ the Brigadier added.

  ‘We have resources we could swing your way,’ the admiral offered.

  I smiled and shook my head.

  ‘What?’ the admiral asked.

  ‘American assassins, paid by American power brokers, are busy killing many of the Europeans that led the coup down there – as we speak. They’re assisting me, for their own reasons.’

  ‘CIA?’ the admiral posed.

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘There is more to the world than you know, Admiral. My undercover work pulled back the layers so that I could have a look.’

  ‘Snakes,’ the Brigadier put in. ‘In the sewers.’

  Boltweir eased upright. ‘So the whole fucking CIA and NSA – with their billion dollar budgets - don’t know what you know?’

  ‘Some might, and they’re keeping it to themselves, sir. I updated the CIA on the Russian element in Guinea, and on many other things. I have access to the underworld at a level that Mossad envies.’

  They exchanged looks.

  ‘World’s most valued intel asset,’ the admiral repeated. ‘And the most hunted it seems. You got any long term plans, Major?’

  ‘No, sir, I take it a day at a time.’

  ‘Are you happy enough to take forward projects like the Wolves?’ Boltweir pressed.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And planning and leading a small war someplace?’

  ‘If my government says yes, and I believe in the politics of the plan, then yes.’

  ‘Would you … assassinate Assad in Syria?’

  ‘No, because whoever replaces him might be more of an issue. He has fifty-five percent of the nation behind him, Alawites. He would be replaced quickly with a carbon copy, same politics.’

  ‘Smart analysis, Major,’ the admiral commended.

  ‘Would you … go into Iran and destroy a nuclear facility?’ they asked.

  ‘Most likely … because if I did it there would be less fall-out than the Israelis doing it, and they would eventually.’

  They exchanged looks.

  ‘Take-out a terror group based in Yemen?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Hit another cartel in Colombia?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Hit a terror training camp in Pakistan, without getting caught.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Hit a Hammas weapons stash in Lebanon.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ I could see Marsh bristling.

  They exchanged looks.

  Another general asked, ‘We know what you can do for us, but what can we do for you?’

  I shrugged. ‘Helo support and fixed wing when needed, as in Somalia, sir.’

  ‘And these snakes in the sewers?’ Boltweir floated.

  ‘Not much you can do there, sir, it’s spy work not soldiering. Any pressure on my government is pointless, they know less than I do.’

  After ten minutes of idle chat we led them out, a look at the Killing House and the pistol range, a general trying his hand – not a bad score.

  Outside the hangar I saw the bodyguards suddenly interested in something, heads turning. I unzipped my jacket ready, a glance right at Tomo and Nicholson as they dragged a bloody-faced CT police officer towards us, everyone now focused on them.

  They threw him at my feet.

  ‘We disarmed him, Boss,’ Tomo told me.

  Nicholson cut in, ‘Said he was at the FOB in Sierra Leone, but he had the runway in the wrong place, and the river.’

  I knelt. ‘You can talk to me, or we render you to Oman,’ I whispered.

  ‘Fuck you,’ he hissed out, a knife from somewhere, but a rifle butt to the head knocked him down and sideways. Tomo stamped down on the knife hand, the knife dropped. Back on his knees the man looked up as Boltweir shoved in, grabbing the man by the neck and lifting him off his feet.

  ‘You wanna fuck with me, Mister!’ Boltweir roared into the man’s face as he strangled him. And Boltweir was a big man.

  ‘Extradite him, sir,’ I suggested. ‘For all we know he was coming for you.’

  Boltweir landed a good blow to the stomach, our man bent double and down. ‘I want your police to hold him till we get the paperwork sorted. Then we’ll see how this fella looks in orange.’

  ‘Leave now, sir, just in case.’

  ‘God damn,’ the general let out, shaking his head. He strode towards the helos, a hand signal to increase rotor speed, and they made it without shot fired as our MPs handcuffed our CT officer.

/>   I called Donohue as angry words were directed at our spy, the Blackhawks pissing off everyone in the village as they shook buildings. ‘We just worked over one of your CT officers, now in handcuffs, Americans wanting to extradite him. Come collect him, charge him yourself.’

  ‘What the fuck did he do?’

  ‘He’s not himself. Hang on.’ I searched the man’s pockets for ID. ‘Name is Gallaher, John P, Sergeant.’

  ‘Hold on … he’s on the list.’

  ‘He chatted to my lads about the FOB in Sierra Leone, only he got all the detail wrong.’

  ‘I’m on my way. With his file photo.’

  ‘Bring someone who knows him personally. And then send a team to his house, chat to his wife if he has one.’

  I had the MPs hold our man in the gate house, Major Bradley about to burst a blood vessel, the Brigadier furious.

  Colonel Marsh led myself and the Brigadier towards the runway and onto the grass. Marsh began, ‘There’s no way in hell I’d lend men for a job in fucking Lebanon, or Iran!’

  ‘I’d be against it as well,’ the Brigadier put in.

  ‘I’d not look at such a job unless I made the plan myself, and my Russians got me in there without suspicion. I’d not fly in on an American helo. And I’d look at the intel and the benefits first.

  ‘But we go where London wants us to go, and someday we may have a war that’s unpalatable. What if they want to remove Saddam Hussein, a planned year-long conflict?’

  ‘We’d lose half the men!’ Marsh snorted.

  ‘And if London bows down to pressure from Washington, as they always do?’

  ‘I’d hope I don’t see that day,’ Marsh firmly stated.

  ‘And if Yemen attacks Oman, and the SAS is committed for three years to shoot up the villagers?’ I posed.

  ‘We’d have little choice,’ the Brigadier sullenly noted.

  I made eye contact with Marsh. ‘If war comes, we go, and we may not have a choice in it, sir. London will send us, but London will never just throw lives away, unless … unless it was something major, another Falklands war.’

  ‘Another Falklands is one thing, volunteering for Lebanon a whole different ball game!’

  ‘I’m cautious about the lives of my men, sir, you know that, but we lose men each year, and next year – who knows – another Falklands, another helo goes down with ten men on it.’