Wilco- Lone Wolf 15

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘Some excitement at your base, a CT officer..?’ David floated.

  ‘He’s now on the run, and if he makes it to the south of France I’ll line his pocket with extra money. He thinks he can get the link between Lord Michaels and Bin Laden.’

  The Director stiffened, horrified. ‘Perhaps … we forget that link, since the Americans are running the middleman.’

  ‘Up to you. If you say bury it, I bury it,’ I emphasised. ‘But what if Michaels keeps an interest in me – bomb on vans?’

  ‘We can’t hurt him,’ David suggested.

  ‘He could suffer a heart attack,’ I floated, and they exchanged looks.

  ‘We’d not risk such a venture,’ she adamantly stated. ‘And you are hereby … requested firmly not to undertake such a venture.’

  ‘So noted. But do we still investigate, or do we let them run amok and kill people?’

  ‘We are still investigating the car bomb and other incidents, from the bottom up,’ she pointed out.

  I considered that, eased out my phone and called the Cabinet Office. ‘It’s Wilco, Chief Cabinet Secretary please.’ I waited as they puzzled what I was doing.

  ‘Hello? Wilco?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I just wanted to check the spelling of your name, Sir Richard Bell.’

  ‘My name? Bell, as is sounds and rings out.’

  ‘Pity, I was hoping I was mistaken, sir.’

  ‘Mistaken?’

  ‘About your life-long devotion to the CIA.’

  After a long pause came, ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘How many years do you have in, sir?’

  After another pause came, ‘Twenty-seven years.’

  ‘Get a good pension, sir?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Would being revealed as a spy alter that pension, sir?’

  ‘It … would, yes.’

  ‘Then I expect to read about you resigning in the papers, pension collected, family time enjoyed. Got a family?’

  ‘Two in university and one in school.’

  ‘And what careers do they wish to follow, sir?’

  After another pause came, ‘RAF, medicine and music – the one black sheep in the family.’

  ‘Are they proud of their father?’

  Another long pause preceded, ‘Yes they are.’

  ‘Then go enjoy your retirement, sir. If you go quietly then this call never took place. And … have a nice day, as they say in the States.’ I ended the call.

  David and the Director looked horrified, Mister Kitson amused.

  I faced the Director. ‘There are things that I can get away with that you can’t, so while I’m still upright and breathing – we make use of that. The Yanks want me and my men. Fine, we horse trade.’

  ‘Jesus,’ David let out, in need of a drink.

  I faced the Director. ‘Do they have anything they can use to get rid of you? Recent issues that could call your judgement into account? Petrov, for example.’

  She considered her answer. ‘You briefed the previous PM on Petrov, and this one, so they can’t complain about it – assuming there are cabinet notes, but there are numerous things that have stretched the rules, just a question of whether or not they know, or have witnesses. If I was put in front of a Select Committee I could not lie, I would have to be vague – and they don’t like us being vague, certainly not in the current climate.’

  My phone trilled, Bob Staines. ‘Hey No.1,’ I answered whilst being observed.

  ‘The Banker did something, kept it quiet, just informed me.’

  ‘Does he not trust you fully?’

  ‘He does, but he’s very cautious about the bank, a bit secretive and moody lately, understandable really.’

  ‘So … what did he do?’

  ‘The sprinklers went off at the Antwerp headquarters.’ I smiled widely. ‘Odd really, given that they’re high-tech and that there are two independent sets on each of ten floors. He hinted at lasers.’

  ‘A technique we shall have to adopt,’ I encouraged. Phone down, they were waiting. I informed them, ‘It seems that the bank’s sprinkler system was faulty, a few million in damage, some pissed off power brokers no doubt.’

  Kitson laughed out loud as David and the Director shot me disapproving looks.

  ‘Nasty red wood glue?’ David asked.

  ‘Not sure,’ I responded. ‘But it helps the all-powerful to believe in themselves a little less.’

  ‘They’ll be mad at you,’ David noted.

  ‘If they could pin it on me, which is unlikely.’

  ‘They’ll know the link to the newspaper here and to Nigeria,’ David pointed out.

  I faced the Director. ‘You may want to check the fire system here, just in case.’

  She adopted a deep frown. ‘I have no idea how it works here.’ We all took in the ceiling tiles, no sprinkler system seen.

  Back at GL4 I walked to the hangar feeling a little better, one small victory against the bank, if a childish one. In the Intel room, Reggie was smiling. ‘A certain building had its sprinkler system set off. Owners of that building will be mad.’

  ‘They’re already mad at us, that’s the problem. But at least now they’ve been baptised, eh.’

  Captain Harris read a fax. ‘That man from Mi5, Lewis. UK government just got an extradition request from Corsica, France, for the rape and murder of a local woman.’ He faced me, puzzled as others turned towards us.

  I shrugged and made a face. ‘Seems like our murderer was a bad boy on holiday. But how’d they know it was him?’

  Tinker put in, ‘Scotland Yard, they released his prints and DNA, photo, a worldwide sweep – an unusual move that his solicitors challenged. Solicitors have a court hearing tomorrow, to argue that was illegal and that we have nothing on Lewis.’

  ‘We do now,’ Captain Harris noted.

  Another fax arrived, after I had sat with a cup of tea for a catch up. French police in Lyon wanted Lewis, for rape.

  I called Bob from a quiet side room. ‘You seen these extradition requests for the Mi5 man, Lewis?’

  ‘Just been discussing it with Leon. We saw the Interpol details on Lewis, and Leon did a search. Lewis has parking tickets, one car accident, plus two genuine cases – both assaults on girlfriends in France, French police taking no action. So Leon figured there’s no smoke without fire, and he had his people alter some old fingerprint cards and statements in a hurry, some money spent – if not a great deal of money spent.’

  ‘Good work, I think Lewis will be worried.’

  ‘I know an ex-Circus man, called him, and Lewis was cautioned for harassment of female co-workers, improper relationships in the office, and use of hookers in Europe. Things that like can lead to blackmail of Mi5 agents, so they clamp down on them. Lewis got away with it, but what else did he get away with?’

  ‘No smoke without fire,’ I repeated. ‘Good work.’

  In the Intel room there were two more faxes. Calais police wanted Lewis for a serious hit and run, and Amsterdam police wanted him for assault against a hooker. I grinned as I read it.

  Half an hour later two more faxes arrived, the genuine assault cases listed - against a British woman that Lewis had been on holiday with.

  I called Max and sent him the faxes; he would have fun at Lewis’s expense.

  David Finch called me at 9pm. ‘You’ve seen the news about Lewis?’

  ‘Yes, and I know someone that knew him in his early days, assaults against women, harassment in the workplace, hookers, the works. This is not being made up.’

  ‘He must have had friends in high places to stay with Mi5, would have opened him to blackmail.’

  ‘And we need to find those friends.’

  ‘Kitson is looking at that now, old disciplinary records. But this will be bad all around, and tarnish us all, a middle manager behaving like that. Prime Minister was shouting loudly earlier. Oh, Queen has agreed to move back down to Buckingham Palace tomorrow from Balmoral, and Diana’s body will be back tom
orrow.’

  ‘And the driver’s tox report?’

  ‘It shows some alcohol, not much, no drugs in his system.’

  ‘So maybe someone there did what I asked.’

  ‘We can only hope so. And finally, our friend’s building with the sprinkler problem is on the news in Europe, down as a deliberate act by a disgruntled member of staff, an arrest made.’

  ‘For that they have insurance, I bet, not for an accident.’

  ‘Yes, quite. Damage is huge, so a huge claim will follow.’

  ‘After they’ve dried off some paper to write on.’

  ‘Some odd news from France, I mean it’s not odd but extra to what we chatted about. Fourteen police officers arrested, six DGSE agents, one magistrate. Opinion polls put the left wing now well ahead and set to call for early elections. They could get a landslide after this debacle.’

  ‘Their mess, they can clean it up. But you have to wonder about cooperation from now on, especially in West Africa.’

  ‘I’d say they don’t dare upset us right now, it would seem like another conspiracy.’

  Bob called as I sat in my house with Sasha and MP Pete, an old war film on the TV. ‘Leon has been busy, if not … obsessively and angrily devoted to screwing over Lewis.’

  ‘He has the right to be angry.’

  ‘We traced Lewis’s trips to France, which were plentiful – some questions as to what he was up to. We have a team on that, but Mi5 should be looking as well.’

  ‘I’ll talk to them.’

  ‘We got lucky. Lewis was in the same hotel as Paul Dickson a month ago, give or take a mile and some altered records. German TV will get the grainy CCTV images, the altered records and a hint, and tonight.’

  ‘The tox report on Diana’s driver was clean, no drugs, that was what I asked the director of the DGSE to do, so … maybe his staff managed it without him.’

  ‘Or there was no drug, just Paul Dickson getting the low down on Diana’s movements.’

  ‘Possible, yes, but for maximum blackmail potential they would have at least tried,’ I pointed out.

  ‘We may never know. Anyhow, that hotel where Dickson stayed, woman was raped around the corner – records altered, daughter of a police chief, shit storm about to hit. Thing is, he matches the description perfectly. Woman said that her attacker spoke French but sounded English.’

  ‘Good work all around, but from what you said – Lewis was dirty anyhow, and Dickson – who knows what he got up to on his day off. Oh, how’s Leggit doing?’

  ‘He has a steady woman, they seem happy, and he performs well, all missions completed successfully. He flew to Cyprus and killed someone for Leon, no body found, no evidence.’

  ‘Pity he went off track, he was a damn good soldier.’

  ‘Now a damn good assassin.’

  I switched channels to the news at 10pm, and we sat keenly observing as Lewis’s extradition warrants were listed, the French police chief wanting blood.

  At 11pm Bob called back. ‘Still awake?’ he began.

  ‘Yeah, just sat with Sasha watching the news. It is indeed pleasing to see them trashing Lewis.’

  ‘Pleasing for The Banker as well. Anyhow, something not related, but something I wanted to get involved with. The DGSE director, his wife – his widow rather - will run for office as Mayor of Paris, she was a politician for years.’

  My eyes widened. ‘Bob, I think you may be onto something. Spend some money, and trash her opponent as only you can, and I don’t mean steal his favourite pen. And, when things settle here, I’ll stand on the podium with her. When’s the election?’

  ‘Three months away.’

  ‘Go interfere with the free democratic processes, No.1. And have some fun.’

  At 3am I got a call, cursing. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘Duty Officer. We have some news: Lewis took his own life on remand, quick stab to the throat. He was on suicide watch anyhow, but bled out.’

  ‘Pity, I knew someone that wanted a private chat to Lewis.’

  ‘There are a few around here that wanted ten minutes alone with him. Goodnight.’

  I lay back down, impressed with Lewis; he was a tough operator, a professional, and he’d not sit in a cell for the rest of his life.

  In the morning the news was full of it, the Metropolitan Police making a statement – that Lewis had been on suicide watch and that his stab to the neck was recorded, the IPCC on the case.

  Mister Kitson called me at 9am. ‘I checked the records, and Lewis’s misdemeanours were smoothed over by the former Deputy Head here, Bob Littlewood, who now – wait for it – works for Lord Michael’s insurance assessor business, called Global Risk Analysis.’

  ‘Risk analysis? They’re the ones creating the damn risk!’

  ‘Hence a good business to have as a side line; scare someone then offer them insurance. He’s now one of our most watched individuals, and I got permission to bug him.’

  ‘Why’d you need permission?’

  ‘We always need permission, sometimes a court order. Those checks and balances prevent the government of the day spying on political rivals, or on our lot running amok. Police need court orders.’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose,’ I sighed out.

  ‘I’m building a case that Bob Littlewood knew of the rapes and covered it up. That’s conspiracy, comes with twelve years in a cell.’

  ‘So we’re making progress.’

  After several hours of mundane paperwork with the Major I walked to the hangar entrance and stared out across the airfield at the tanks. It was nice to do the paperwork for a change, something simple and normal, and it made me feel like an Army officer - and not the world’s most hunted man. It seemed peaceful here today, the events of the past week seemingly having passed into record and gone.

  My phone trilled. ‘It is Mike Papa.’

  ‘Papa Victor here,’ I quipped.

  ‘I had two Dutch men questioned, then buried alive. One knew nothing, the other knew of the coup attempt in Guinea and here. He mentions MetroTrans Mining as being the place where money and men move about. He also admits that he was spying on me, my movements and habits.’

  ‘Good job that you are suspicious.’

  ‘Good job … that I have you, my friend. Oh, we started to build a road north, a new road, men paid in cash from Tomsk, Monrovia empty now of some idle hands. And we start to make the criminals disappear as we paint the city, new areas of grass to be made, new hotels.’

  ‘Sounds good. The British and others are working to remove sanctions. In the meantime, double your efforts to buy old weapons around the country, and store them. Some may be sold later, but we need fewer armed men seen by the UN.’

  ‘I will do so, we are cash-rich these days.’

  Call ended, I went and found Tinker. ‘MetroTrans Mining, go all out, they’re our No.1 target. I want details today.’

  I called David and had him search on the company.

  At 3pm I sat with Reggie and Tinker. Reggie began, ‘MetroTrans is owned by a Belgian company, a shell company called West Africa Facilities Group, and they track back to NordGas. NordGas quite cleverly don’t own the shares, but hold all the debt – so same difference.

  ‘MetroTrans has large offices in Ivory Coast, several mines there, and seems to own an airfield.’

  The three of us keenly dug out a large map and had a look. I began, ‘Here, near the border, was the airfield that the Yanks bombed, and this new place is – what – eighty miles southeast, closer to the capital.’

  Walking outside, I called Moran. ‘I have a job for Sergeant Tobo and his men.’

  ‘They’re good lads, disciplined and keen, they can never do enough for me – unlike our lot. Someone stole my tin of pears!’

  ‘They did with me at Camel Toe Base, same little perisher I’d bet. I’ll get Mi6 on the case and we’ll track him down. How’s the Recon team’s aim?’

  ‘Good to start, now much better, we have them kitted like us, moving like us. Oh, we hit
a ten man patrol yesterday, twenty miles north, no ID on them, no clue as to who they were or what they were up to.’

  ‘Lots of gangs there. Got a paper and pen?’

  ‘Hang on … go ahead.’

  I detailed the airfield. ‘Send our Guinea boys across in civvy clothes, get them a jeep maybe, tell them not to wash for a few days. See if Tobo can get a job there and spy on them, reporting back to you. He can say he was Guinea Army during the coup but fled.’

  ‘We going to hit this place?’

  ‘Depends on what Tobo finds. But that airfield is run by the group that organised the coup in Liberia, and Guinea, ones that sent aircraft to bomb where you’re stood.’

  ‘So we should go see them!’

  ‘Maybe, and maybe soon. Make a plan.’

  ‘What’s happening back there, we keep getting the Army tell us things.’

  ‘We’re starting to strike back at them, the people behind the coup in Liberia, but they’re all part of the old boy network and backed by the Americans.’

  ‘Why the fuck would British and American men attack us here?’

  ‘They’re part of an investment bank, and they knew there was a shit load more oil than anyone figured, a shit load; a few miles north of you will be like the Klondike soon.’

  ‘No wonder they were so determined, the little shits.’

  He was back on an hour later. ‘We got movement, five miles north, beyond the druggy village, white man seen with black soldiers. Looks like they’re setting an ambush above a road, but fuck knows why because we don’t use the roads.’

  ‘Maybe for regular army or someone else. Have the American Wolves go stretch their legs, team of eight, Greenie in charge. Oh, how many men in the ambush?’

  ‘Six.’

  ‘Send the Wolves, have them make a plan and discuss it.’

  ‘OK, I’ll sort that now, they can move after dark, something to do.’

  ‘And have a rescue team nearby, helos, let’s not get any complaints right now, I have enough people wanting my head.’

  At midnight Greenie called me. ‘OK to talk, Boss?’