by Geoff Wolak
‘Indeed. Be nice to Lord Mitcheldean please.’
‘I’d not want to get stabbed in my sleep,’ I quipped.
My guest arrived at 4.30pm, in his own good time, a Bentley with a police escort. MP Pete did not search him. The cars parked at the rope barrier and I met them alone, armed MPs nearby.
The Bentley driver opened the door for some old guy, who eased out and had a look around. Focused on me, he walked around the rope barrier, appearing to be a hundred years old and displaying a grey waistcoat with a gold pocket watch.
‘You must be Major Wilco,’ he noted as he neared, a glance into the hangar. He cheekily gestured me towards the north fence, something that was normally my prerogative.
‘Welcome to GL4, a quiet rural backwater.’
He cocked a disapproving eyebrow at me as we walked. ‘Hardly quiet.’
‘What can I help you with today? Perhaps the return of three ceremonial freemason daggers?’
‘Daggers?’ he puzzled. ‘You found daggers?’
‘We did, plunged into Lord Michaels chest as he lay in bed.’
He stopped, lowered his gaze as he considered that, then walked on. ‘Not something I would have approved of. A message I would guess. And I don’t control all of our freemason brothers, nor could they be controlled – point in question. Lord Michaels recited the words, but he lived by a different code. What do you know about the Antwerp Bank?’
‘They funded the coup in Liberia, which has vast inland oil reserves as well as the continental shelf oil.’
‘And Lord Michaels involvement?’
‘He ran several security consulting businesses for Africa, to protect and insure oil and gas installations, people like Bob Littlewood, but that was just a front. Those companies were involved in assassinating African politicians, killing unruly tribesmen, putting down the mine workers, and organising coups – as well as the murder of British servicemen in West Africa.’
He shot me a worried and puzzled look. ‘It was rumoured to have been Nigerians.’
‘The Nigerians got the money - and the nudge - from the bank.’
‘I see. And Princess Diana?’
‘Was killed.’
He stopped and faced me. ‘You say that she was killed?’
‘I had the driver’s tox report suppressed by French Intel. He was slipped a drug, a drug that makes people paranoid – and to drive much faster. Mi5 used it in Northern Ireland, and it was used on an ex-SAS man that shot at my men. French DGSE also used it to kill a man whilst making it look like a simple car accident.
‘Diana’s driver was on the books with Mi6, reporting Diana’s antics back to the Queen. That driver met with an Mi6 agent hours before his death, and that agent died suddenly the next day.’
‘Too much of a coincidence,’ he noted as we stared at the green fence. ‘And Lord Michaels involvement?’
‘All roads lead back to Lord Michaels, for a dozen terrorist attacks, for attacks here, for the Omani boy’s murder.’
‘Disgusting behaviour, utterly disgusting.’ He faced me. ‘We are cleaning house, as the Americans say, our own internal investigation.’
‘Took you long enough.’
He shot me an angered look.
I added, ‘They were going to blow up a tall tower in London. What would that have done for city prestige?’
‘Madness, sheer madness, but we’re not police nor spies, and we don’t spy on people or tap phones and listen in.’
‘Good job you have me then, isn’t it,’ I testily told him.
He shot me a look. ‘And do you stay inside the law?’
‘Fuck no. I break the law every day, clean up messes for the government, bodies never found. And it’s a good job that I have a loose leash here, because I used it to stop the Paris poison, to stop a tall tower in London from coming down, and a hundred other attacks you’ll never get to know about.’
He nodded. ‘Good men sleep well at night because bad men are prepared to do violence on their behalf.’
‘The former Chief Cabinet Secretary was one of yours?’ I asked.
‘Yes..?’
‘He was reporting out to what he thought was the CIA, but was in fact Deep State.’
His eyes widened. ‘And what do know about Deep State?’
‘We work closely together and cooperate.’
He straightened, shocked. ‘What … what do they want?’
‘Now that Russia is on its arse they want to invade the Middle East, at least to plan it on paper. They’re interested in me for hitting terrorists in the Middle East.’
‘And Mi6 knows of your links?’
‘Of course. But Deep State and the CIA are one and the same, except that Deep State tell the CIA what to do, the CIA then ask me nicely. Two sides of the same coin, common interests. One works openly, the other in the shadows – a bit like the freemasons in the police and the courts.’ I waited.
He studied me carefully. ‘We don’t start wars.’
‘But you meet in secret, not stand for election. You, sir, are Deep State with a pleasant British smile.’
‘They said you were a sharp operator, I can see that, I just hope that you do the right things, and for the right reasons.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ I emphasised.
‘It was you that damaged that bank’s computers?’
‘It was. If someone tries to kill me, and I live, there’s a price to pay, a high price. And they killed one of my men, a friend.’
‘How do we find all the people involved?’
‘Look at Lord Michaels business interests, his friends, and then British directors of the bank, and British investors in the bank. But you don’t need to do anything, my people have most of the pieces of the puzzle, and the foot soldiers will be picked up and dealt with – and rendered to Oman.’
‘They hung that chap, and shot him.’
‘More to follow.’
He shot me a look. ‘Not a pleasant way to go. And no respect for a fair trial.’
‘And Lord Michaels was all in favour of fairness…’
Again he shot me a look. ‘Given what has transpired we cannot claim the moral high ground, and we should be able to.’
‘If you want to be useful, then look at the building in E2 designed by Prince Kalid of Oman. It was built badly, by the Antwerp bank, corruption involved from start to finish. If you can unravel the knot in the rope there it will help the city of London. That building will need to be demolished – at great embarrassment to the city.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll look at that, yes.’ He shook his head. ‘Dear god.’
‘Was there anything specific you wanted from me today?’
‘Just an understanding of what went on, and your role.’
‘My role? I am the cleaner of high level messes, and defender of the realm, even when those running the realm go mad with power.’
He considered that. ‘But who polices the police?’ he stated as he ambled back towards his waiting car.
I observed as his car turned around and drove off, no loud explosions to worry the ladies in the canteen today.
The Brigadier drew alongside. ‘Who was that?’
‘Head of the British freemasons. He was concerned that I operated outside the law with secret groups.’
‘Fucking cheek. What do the freemasons do? Operate outside the law in secret groups!’
‘He’s going to clean house. But, given his age, I think he’ll take a nap first.’
Inside, Reggie waved me into his office. ‘We think we have this man Kruger, and GCHQ got a hit in Freetown, a conversation suggesting that O’Reilly was on the helicopter that went down. Kruger could be Tutger Kruger, Belgian with a South African heritage. He runs a facilities company for oil and mining companies, everything from catering to pipes. That company is in twenty-six African nations.
‘His link to Antwerp is hidden, but we found is link to NordGas, a large loan ten years back and kit handed over, pipes worth a hundred million, and you
don’t hand over money like that unless you’re sure about someone.’
I nodded. ‘Where would I find him?’
‘Ivory Coast,’ Reggie said with a wide grin. ‘That airfield has a hundred tonnes of his kit sat there.’
My thoughts went back to Miller; he had removed his assets, so he said. ‘Who would you say owns that equipment?’
‘It’s listed as being owned by Kruger’s business, but his debt is held by NordGas.’
I considered that. ‘I want Kruger, I don’t want to damage that equipment; bank ownership will change hands.’
‘Hard to damage half-inch metal pipes anyhow,’ Reggie noted with a shrug.
‘Have Tinker get GCHQ to bug that airfield, the buildings and the signals.’
‘He already did.’
Sat in the common room with the nice lady captain, MP Pete came and found me, a package in his hand. ‘Letter for you. No bombs in it, just paper.’
I opened it, cautiously, and had a look. It was from Panama. Smiling widely, but not explaining it, I rushed to Reggie. ‘It’s Christmas time. This is from David Cohen, so you have some reading to do.’
Reggie excitedly opened out a large A3 sheet of paper. ‘My god, it’s all here, most of what we know.’
‘Don’t leave that laying around the canteen,’ I joked.
The Brigadier came and found me in the common room. He sat, ‘General Dennet has been on, happy with Field Recon, and the men will be paid through the MOD direct, not the SAS, and they’re happier about that than the original way. Who would be the CO?’
‘You run this base, sir, and Echo, that needs to stay in place, so how about Major Sanderson?’
‘They’d have to make him up.’
‘He’s overdue anyhow, so I hear.’
He nodded. ‘How about two or three troops, eight men each, sergeant in charge, training officer, then the Intel team, then the admin team for the men’s welfare’.
‘Sounds good, sir.’
‘MOD have increased the budget for this place.’
‘They have? No one ever tells me these things.’
‘General Dennet suggested that 14 Intel could become No.2 Field Recon Company, or that 14 Intel have two troops with us.’
‘I’ll test their people in Sierra Leone, sir, but they seem well qualified and well suited. Some of them I’d like to pinch away.’
In the upstairs pistol range I observed the ladies moving and shooting, Maggy a natural, Tomo assisting her. When she had finished I took Tomo to one side. ‘How was your losing bet?’
He grinned. ‘She fucked me ragged, Boss. Does a mean blowjob, go on top and kept going. Gave me a massage after.’
‘You got a massage? I never get a massage after!’
He smiled widely. ‘Got to know how to treat a lady,’ he cheekily told me. ‘And to always go for the ugly ones. That girl, Tiny, she’s hot. Threatened to bite my balls earlier.’
‘She meant it literally, and she would, and it would hurt – so be careful. How’s their aim?’
‘Some are shit hot, worst would scare the bad guys.’
‘Keep them at it, the worst ones I mean. They’ll be in the bush tomorrow.’
In the morning we packed up, crates checked, 14 Intel now with bandoliers and webbing, most with a green Valmet. Crates loaded to the RAF buses, I mounted a jeep with MP Pete and we set out with a police escort, taking no chances – our escorts wary.
We made it without shots fired, but as usual the RAF did not have us down on the passenger manifest, calls made. An hour later we boarded, a Tristar full of soldiers on rotation, and the whispers shot around the interior when they clocked me.
We landed at sunset in Freetown, an approach over the muddy brown estuary, and as the door opened I heaved a big breath of warm and African air, a hint of estuary mud on the breeze.
A squad of MPs met us, taking no chances, a Chinook sliding across to us after our crates had been unloaded, and I put my small team and 14 Intel aboard our loud ride – crates on the trucks. Some of the 14 Intel team looked nervous, others appeared to be keen and excited.
Arse end up, we slid across the airfield gaining speed, over the estuary as we climbed, soon over orange points of light, over individual abodes, small villages seen, small towns, mines all lit up.
A flash lit the cabin from one side, as if daylight had arrived all at once, and we were rocked left, several windows smashed or blown in. Fortunately the ramp was down still, and I stepped towards it, halting and kneeling, waving terrified dark faces towards me, my team running in and getting ready, rifles held, some of those rifles getting cocked.
With the vibration coming up through my knees, a roar in my ears - and now the smell of burning in the dark hold, I glanced at the crewman as he leant out the escape hatch peering up then down, and our arse end lowered as we shimmied, rocked and vibrated. A glance over my shoulder, and we were no more than a hundred feet up, a car seen on a road. I shouted, ‘If we have to, we jump! Don’t hesitate!’
My team got ready, the ladies terrified and hanging on tightly, a roar assaulting our ears, and I could see flickering flames as we lost height and slowed. I lifted up Tiny as she fell, accidentally getting a hand full of boob.
‘Hang on!’ I shouted, and grabbed straps on the wall as I faced out of the ramp, looking for features in the black night sky.
A dark road, a car seen passing under us, trees.
‘We’re going to hit!’
The nose came up, a bump, a jolt forwards, and shredded branches bounced across the ramp. We were slow now, so I held off jumping out the back, Tiny spitting out leaves near me.
We hit with a thump and rolled for ten yards, shredded branches filling the ramp, the air thick with green leaves as the cabin lights came on.
I stood, and helped up Tiny. ‘Everyone out now! Run!’
My lot grabbed 14 Intel and shoved them out as I peered out the escape hatch at flames, my nostrils full of what seemed like burnt rubber. The crewman had moved forwards, and to the pilots, so I followed down the empty hold.
The pilots appeared, big green helmets tossed away in a hurry, the men frantically grabbing webbing, rifles pulled from a metal crate, good discipline shown as smoke wafted into the hold.
I picked up three Valmet and three sets of webbing left behind by 14 Intel and lugged it all out into a hell of a blizzard of leaves and branches – the blades still turning, soon looking around to see the rear engine on fire on the starboard side.
I ran through the trees when I saw torch lights, and onto the dirt strip, only now realising that we had hit the trees at the FOB.
Monster was stood there. ‘Ten minutes I’ve been with you, ten fucking minutes and I get shot down.’ He shook his head. ‘Everyone off the helo?’
‘Yeah, all off.’ I shouted, ‘14 Intel people who left their kit behind, come get it – or you get billed for losing it!’
I handed out webbing and rifles as Moran closed in.
‘Any landing you walk away from,’ he quipped, torch in hand, men running in with fire extinguishers.
‘It was a missile or an RPG. Fuckers knew we were coming, watching the airport.’
‘Who?’ Moran asked.
‘Fuckers in Ivory Coast I think.’ I assembled the 14 Intel team into a line near the building and took in their shocked faces. ‘Anyone hurt?’ They were all OK, a few strains and sprains. ‘Check your webbing, check weapons, get some chow in the tent, we’ll find you a place to sleep.’ I smiled. ‘And … welcome to the FOB.’
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