Wilco- Lone Wolf 15

by Geoff Wolak

  They stood looking worried, glancing at Rocko.

  ‘If you have such an attitude, lose it quickly or leave quickly. Within a few days you’ll be in Liberia, people trying hard to kill you, you killing them first - hopefully. You wanted to do the job, so we’ll see how well you do the job, living in the jungle, sleeping on the floor, walking through minefields, getting shot at … and shooting back. Ladies, get caught and you’ll be gang-raped by a hundred black soldiers.’

  They were all looking suitably worried.

  ‘You can have a think overnight and leave in the morning if you wish. Ladies, you bunk in with the men, start getting used to it; in the jungle there are no separate toilets, you shit on the mud. Cut your fingernails tonight, wipe off the make-up and keep it off.’

  I turned to Rocko. ‘Kit them out like us, and if needs be we delay the flight tomorrow. Give the ladies an M4 as their standard weapon, pistols for everyone, tourniquets and first aid packs.’

  ‘I can handle a Valmet, sir,’ the tall lady informed me.

  I considered that. ‘Give her one,’ I told Rocko. I pointed at the first man, in his thirties. ‘Background.’

  ‘RAF Signals, sir, then Engineers, then got bored. I used to run marathons, still fit, good with ordnance.’

  I pointed at the second man.

  ‘Navy, sir, signals, did the medics course, switched to bomb disposal. Professional diver as well.’

  I nodded, and pointed at the third man.

  ‘Marines to start, sir, six years, quit, some security work in Africa and South America, re-enlisted to Engineers, also good with ordnance. Free-fall expert, civvy free-fall. ’

  I pointed at the fourth man, who appeared to be forty.

  ‘RAF Regiment to start, sir, time with 2 Squadron, passed SAS selection, did a year before I punched out one of the DS and got kicked out, went back to the RAF Regiment, straight transfer to the Paras for a few years, then 18 Signals Intel.’

  ‘A bit long in the tooth aren’t you?’

  ‘Not dead yet, sir, still fit.’

  I pointed at the fifth man as I moved along the line.

  ‘Was territorials for ages, sir, then Light Infantry full time for a few years, then got an exchange posting with French infantry and Foreign Legion, did three years, won a medal. Came back and moved to Engineers for a while, then applied for 14.’

  I turned my head to Rocko. ‘Find Henri, please.’ I would check the man out. I pointed at the sixth man.

  ‘Started out in Transport, sir, did the medics courses, switched to Paras for three years, passed SAS selection, two years and got kicked out for no good reason, back to the Paras then RAF Regiment, applied to 14 when I got bored.’

  I nodded.

  The final man began, ‘I started in the territorials as well, sir, got called up for Bosnia – which was boring as hell, Green Jackets, transferred to Engineers and did ordnance, Engineers Commando for a few years, two years in the States on an exchange, and I speak three languages.’

  I stood in front of the tall butch lady.

  ‘I was an MP, sir, but I speak Serbo-Croat - from my grandmother, and I was undercover in Bosnia for a few years, applied to 14 two years back. Karate champion, sir.’

  I nodded and moved along to the first good looking lady, in her late twenties and 5’10”.

  ‘I was Air Traffic Control to start with, sir, an officer, got busted for having an affair, switched to RAF Police, did the close protection course and was favoured for lady VIPs – I can follow them into the toilets. Applied to 14 when I got bored. I speak French, Spanish and German, sir.’

  I turned my head to the final lady, the best looking, and she stood at 5’6”.

  ‘I’m small, cute, and great undercover.’

  The line snickered as a smile broke out on my face. ‘Any … relevant experience?’

  ‘Army Admin for three years, good runner, did Karate, did a two year exchange posting to Kenyan Army – and survived, took up parachuting, then did a six month stretch for running over my ex – an officer.’ I cocked an eyebrow. ‘Moved over to 18 Signals Intel, time in Hereford, applied to 14 a year back, sir.’

  I stood back. ‘Interesting qualifications, all useful stuff - apart from running over officers. What you need to do this job … is simply a desire to do the job, to have no desire to be someplace else, no one waiting for you with flowers when you get home, dog whimpering for you.

  ‘If you can live under a flysheet in the jungle and actually enjoy it, and not want to be home, then you’re suited. If you find that you would rather be someplace else, then quit and get a flight back, because if you’re in two minds about it you will get yourselves or your mates killed.

  ‘We may be gone for six weeks, and if you’re worrying about something or someone back here then you’re not being a professional focused on the job, and that’s how people get killed. Your best qualification … is a lack of desire to be someplace else, so think about that when you’re in Liberia.

  ‘You lot are assigned to me now, and that means fireworks, shots fired in anger every week. Some love the work, others quit, some fear the outside world and a job in civvy street. If you’re any good we’ll find something dangerous for you to do, and just by standing here you’re in danger.

  ‘This is GL4, and around here we get bombs on buses, snipers firing at us, armed attacks. So whilst you’re here you try and relax whilst never letting down your guard. Always check your car if you have one here, drive out and double back, check who’s following you.

  ‘Simply by working on this base you’ll be a target, a good chance that someone will take a shot at you or stick a bomb under your car. Apparently, I’ve pissed off a few people.’

  They snickered.

  ‘Up on the roof are my men, CT police, so don’t wander around near the fence, they will shoot you dead.’

  Rocko appeared with Henri, and as I led them inside he started to jabber away in French to the French Army exchange guy. The group grabbed beds, bedding already laid out, and had a look around at their temporary quarters.

  ‘Sergeant Major, give them the ten dollar tour, show them the canteen and the recreation sheds. All of you, you don’t go into the hangar unless you have business there, and you don’t go up into the offices unless invited and escorted. Uninvited and you might get shot dead.

  ‘There are some strange people on this base, including Intel staff, Army Intel, foreign Intel staff, some dodgy visitors. If you ask questions you get kicked out … after you get your teeth kicked out.’ I faced the cute lady. ‘Shag a foreign Intel agent and you get a nice cell all to yourself, time enough to grow old and grey.’

  ‘Who me?’ she teased.

  ‘Fortunately they’re all old, and the good looking French soldiers have left.’

  ‘I am still here,’ Henri offered, the group laughing at him. He held his hands wide. ‘What?’

  A lady ran a hand over his scarred head. ‘You use that head for opening doors?’

  Henri ran a hand over his scarred head. ‘I av to get a wig.’

  I checked in on the overnight Intel team, any faxes that were relevant, and called Moran for a catch-up. He was wary about the new 14 Intel team. ‘Some hot women in the group,’ I teased.

  ‘Yeah? Well … that could be OK then, communal showers an all.’

  An hour later I checked on the main recreation shed, finding most of the 14 Intel team in, some making toast, others with cups of tea.

  Nicholson tipped his head so I stepped to him. ‘Tomo bet Henri, loser has to shag Maggy here.’

  ‘Maggy?’

  ‘The … er … tall lady.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘She agreed, telling Tomo she’d suck him dry.’

  I hid my grin. ‘We’ll use the word lady sparingly, eh.’

  I made a tea and chatted to a few as Sasha chatted to one in Russian. Tomo lost to a loud cheer, and Maggy led him out by the hand. At least she never put him over her shoulder, and she could have.
/>   ‘You not going to stop them?’ the cute little lady asked.

  ‘Since it’s Tomo … no. Serves him right. What’s your name?’

  ‘Tiny.’

  ‘Tiny?’

  ‘Real name is Susan, but I had four tall brothers, and when they found my nickname - in the military - it stuck. Why’d they call you Wilco?’

  ‘In Basic training I used wilco, over and out, and they thought it was funny.’

  She adopted a frown. ‘Technically, that’s correct. Will comply, over and out.’

  ‘They never knew that. So … your brothers bullied you?’

  ‘I became excellent at hitting a pair of balls. They avoided me.’

  I nodded, hiding my grin. ‘If you’re any good you should go work for Mi6, not 14 Intel.’

  ‘You get all the good jobs, so they say, and you’re in the papers every week. How much Intel work do you do?’

  ‘Could be three months undercover or three months soldiering, or a mix.’

  ‘You have French and Russians here…’

  ‘Had two Russians, one killed recently, two French – one lost an eye, got a New Zealander, and an American officer. We have French and American Intel men here, and in Sierra Leone we have black soldiers working for us.’

  ‘And who sets direction for Echo?’ she pressed.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Do they tell you what they want done?’

  ‘Some of the time, and sometimes I go looking for trouble, and sometimes the French or the Americans want us to do a job. Americans are more involved these days, which is good because I can make a phone call and have some place bombed. There’s a carrier group off Sierra Leone at my disposal, one off Somalia, French and British warships.’

  She cocked an eyebrow. ‘I’m getting horny; so much power.’

  ‘Behave yourself, I’m your boss. And I don’t let the men have families on this base because if I met their kids I might have second thoughts about sending them on a job. If you’re with me, and the job requires it, I’ll send you on a one way trip.’

  ‘Oh, well that doesn’t sound like fun.’

  ‘It would need to be a very important job, many lives at risk. I’d not throw your life away just to get some information or to rescue a few hostages.’

  ‘Good to know.’

  ‘We’d have to be at war. And if London said to send you and I was not sure I’d tell London to fuck off. I make the choices, not someone behind a desk. So, why risk your life?’

  ‘I got fucked about a lot, developed attitude, anger inside – I could never sit in an office and watch the clock. Being busy helps.’

  I nodded. ‘I got fucked about a lot, developed attitude, anger inside.’

  She smiled widely. ‘We’ll have to compare scars.’

  ‘With my clothes off I look like Frankenstein’s monster.’

  Rocko stepped in.

  ‘That guy check out?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah, and he’s solid. Passed Pathfinders and SAS, just a short fuse for idiots.’ He lowered his gaze to Tiny. ‘Marta Hari, eh.’

  ‘Are you saying I’m good looking, or just a slut?’ she teased, hands on her hips and looking sexy.

  Rocko glanced at me, suddenly lost for words.

  ‘She’s a handful, Sergeant Major, they all are, all selected for good qualifications … and shit attitudes to life and Civvy Street.’

  ‘Fit in well around here then.’

  ‘Tomo lost the bet, and had to bed the tall one.’

  Rocko grinned from ear to ear. ‘That’ll teach the little twat.’

  I faced Tiny. ‘Tomo is a cheeky lad, but he’s a superb sniper and better than me with a pistol.’

  ‘Wow, because you’re known to be handy with a pistol. Ten dead French police officers would agree.’

  ‘Eleven,’ I corrected her. ‘And we’ll teach you to shoot like that. Someday you might need to, to stay alive.’ My phone trilled, no number listed. I stepped towards the door. ‘Hello?’

  ‘It’s Miller.’

  ‘You should say, it’s Miller time.’

  He laughed. ‘They don’t show that beer ad any more. Anyway, oil.’

  ‘How about Atlantic Oil?’

  After a long pause came a joking, ‘Are you bugging me?’

  ‘Certainly not. And I’ll have Atlantic invited in within days. And thanks for Lord Michaels.’

  ‘Nothing to do with me,’ he quipped.

  ‘And that shoot-out on the street, no survivors…’

  ‘Most think it was perfect, no third parties involved, but you’re suspicious.’

  ‘I am, especially of the two Canadian witnesses. Listen, you know 14 Intel here in the UK?’

  ‘Yeah..?’

  ‘Run background checks for me, please. That will keep you in my good books.’

  ‘You suspect someone?’

  ‘No, but they do have people with exotic backgrounds.’

  ‘And your own people?’

  ‘May be compromised.’

  ‘OK, I’ll make the request.’

  ‘I’m only interested in any links to our friends.’

  ‘Gotcha. Listen, that airfield in Ivory Coast you mentioned to our forces … is now devoid of our valued assets, up to a point. Should you decide to hit it.’

  ‘Depends on the close look. I’ll be down there within days. Oh, Mossad, they have a job in Yemen.’

  ‘I think I know who they want, and by all means waste the whole tribe.’

  ‘OK, but I have your Wolves to train first.’

  ‘How they doing?’

  ‘Superb men, superb potential, great attitude for lone missions.’

  ‘There’s plenty of people they can hit, good newspaper inches to follow.’

  ‘The new candidate for Guinea president?’

  ‘Hard to tell if he’s just as corrupt as the rest, probably is, but he won’t interfere with the oil.’

  ‘Liberia. I was thinking of training some of their men, reasonably sure they’d not turn on us down the line.’

  ‘Great idea, they can protect the oil from Belgians.’

  ‘Does anyone stateside actually know where Belgium is?’

  He laughed loudly. ‘Someone on Fox News thought it was in the Middle East.’

  I shook my head. ‘Pop in for coffee sometime.’

  ‘I may visit Guinea and Sierra Leone. Any good hotels?’

  ‘Fuck no, and don’t drink the water!’

  He laughed. ‘That FOB place?’

  ‘Camp bed, concrete floor with cockroaches and snakes, a stream to wash in...’

  ‘See ya, buddy.’

  Call ended, I lost my grin and stared hard at the phone for a minute, wondering if I was doing the right thing. For now I would play for time, the most powerful men in the world having a need for me. A shiver went through me.

  At 7am David called me, as I sat in my kitchen with a lonely cup of tea. Oddly enough, I had woken up thinking about Kate.

  ‘You’re up early,’ I noted.

  ‘In a hotel in town, wife with me at least. Anyhow, don’t fly just yet, Lord Mitcheldean is on his way to see you, 4pm pencilled in. He’s spoken to the Prime Minister, so you are ordered to take the visit.’

  ‘Chief freemason himself, eh. What does he want?’

  ‘Not sure. But we’d not want to upset him.’

  After breakfast I went and found Rocko. ‘Grab some lads and start training the 14 Intel team, pistol and rifle, and how we use our kit, I have a visitor at 4 o’clock so we’re not flying.’

  In the Intel room I notified Captain Harris, and he would chat to the RAF in Brize Norton about our flight. He was back on to me an hour later, the next flight being in the morning at 10am.

  David called midday. ‘Prime Minister has been shouting, and people have been shouting at him – more at him than him at them I guess. The government of Oman just hung the trigger man, live on national TV, then they shot the poor chap in front of a large invited crowd.’

  ‘
It’s good to be thorough,’ I quipped.

  ‘He was a British citizen, with rights. Still, his colleagues in Mi5 will sit up and take notice. Apparently, the body will hang for a few days.’

  ‘If they let their KPIs lag, they get sent to Oman – and attract flies.’

  ‘Indeed. How are the 14 Intel team?’

  ‘Some exotic qualifications, and many got busted for something and did time. They all have attitude, so we’ll see if it’s the right attitude.’

  Bob called me an hour later, after I had been tackling paperwork with the Major, much talk of the proposed new Field Recon Company.

  ‘Maddocks – the fool - he walked into a two star hotel in Brussels, fake ID, and straight into one of mine. We have him.’

  ‘I’ll call Libintov, arrange transport in a box, so sedate our friend. He’s off to sunny Oman for a nice holiday.’

  ‘I didn’t know British Airways did boxes, I thought that economy was the cheapest.’

  ‘Economy on British Airways is worse than a box,’ I quipped.

  ‘Indeed. At least in a box you can lay down.’

  I called Libintov, arrangements made, and Bob would now call him, a package to deliver to northern Cyprus. I called Prince Kalid, and he would have a private jet land in northern Cyprus late tonight.

  ‘The man who ordered my son’s death?’ he finally asked.

  ‘Hard to know which man it was, but the late Bob Littlewood must have passed on the order. Lord Michaels is now in a coma, he was poisoned. Do you … suspect a connection with your own family?’

  ‘I suspect it yes, but I have no evidence.’

  ‘If some evidence arrives I will let you know. Enjoy torturing Maddocks.’

  David Finch called half an hour later, as I observed 14 Intel on the ranges, Tiny always offering me a coy smile. He began, ‘We have an issue with Lord Michaels, which will be kept quiet – hopefully kept quiet. He was found in his hospital bed with three ceremonial freemason knives in his chest.’

  ‘And I’m about to get a visitor from the guy who polishes those knives.’

  ‘I don’t think Lord Mitcheldean plunges daggers into people, he has people to do that. Still, a message was sent.’

  ‘That the men doing the stabbing were upright, level and balanced.’