by Geoff Wolak
Graveson fired again, then ran to our doorway and shouted, ‘Fake military police! I shot one, one on foot.’
I eased up in pain and stepped to him, grabbing his radio. I transmitted, ‘This is Wilco, we have an intruder inside the wire, near the Officers Mess. All men are to group-up, no one alone, he's alone - so go find him.’
To Graveson I said, ‘Go move that fucking jeep, it could have a bomb! To the centre of the airfield.’
He ran to it, door opened, body dragged out and unceremoniously dumped down. He jumped in and drove it around in a tight circle, bumping over the legs of our fake MP, and towards the runway.
I called London. ‘It's Wilco, and we just had two fake MPs drive in, one killed the other being pursued. I want every police officer in Gloucester and Oxford mobilised, armed units up from Swindon. Close all the fucking roads five miles and ten miles out, shut it all down tight! Get me the CT police from London, in a helicopter!'
Phone down, I heard the footsteps in the dark and saw Graveson run in. He had reached me, a little out of breath, when the flash had me turn and shove Swifty down again. ‘Down!'
The blast washed over me like a kick to the ribs, windows shattering in the Officers Mess, my hip killing me.
I eased up slowly, in agony. ‘Anyone … hurt?’ I croaked out. ‘Besides me.’
‘I'm OK,’ came from Doc Willy. ‘You don't sound great.’
‘Sarah!' Swifty shouted up the stairs.
‘I'm OK!' came back down.
‘I'm hit,’ came from Graveson, and we rushed out, Doc Willy allowed to take the lead and check a leg wound.
‘Nails,’ Doc Willy told me. ‘Bomb had nails.’
Rocko came limping in. ‘Wilco, we have wounded all over the fucking base, dozens of them!'
I stood and raised my phone. ‘It's Wilco, we had a car bomb, many men hurt. I repeat, we have a mass-casualty situation, I need twenty ambulances and all available medics from Brize Norton. And fast!'
'All available units, all armed response teams and designated counter-terrorism teams, bomb blast at GL4, we have a mass casualty situation. Three intruders shot dead, duty commander recommending that SOCO not approach the base till after sun-up tomorrow, bomb disposal on their way. All roads in the vicinity are to be blocked, all vehicles checked.’
Shots sounded out, and I looked up to the barracks roof.
Graveson strained out, ‘They got the intruder.’
I turned my head to Swifty. ‘Get that nurse active!'
She rushed out with her bag of tricks twenty seconds later, Rocko being her first patient. She cut his trouser leg and had a look, removing a nail to some loud and colourful language, a pad taped on. ‘You need stitches, but there's no arterial bleed. Go shoot someone.’
Rocko limped off as Dicky and Henri limped in.
‘Oh for fuck's sake!' I shouted.
Dicky had blood down his face, Henri holding a leg wound.
‘Can't you two not just stay down and hide!'
The nurse wiped Dicky's forehead and got a pad on.
‘Will I still be pretty afterwards?’ Dicky asked her as Doc Willy looked at Henri's thigh, a nail removed, trousers cut open, pad on and taped up.
Doc Willy told Henri, ‘No stitches, might get away with it.’
‘I ‘av another dentist visit today. I limp in, no.’
Tomo came in with Nicholson, in uniform but with his stupid white plastic bicycle helmet on.
‘Tomo, what the fuck you doing in uniform!' I shouted.
‘Base alarm went, so I got dressed.’
‘You hit?’
‘Got a piece in the leg, Nicholson as well. But we got the nails out and taped them up. One of the CT police got a nail in the eye, so that's his career over.’
‘Shit,’ I let out, a glance at the barracks roof, flashing blue lights now at the main gate.
Graveson told me, after listening to the radio, ‘One of the tank crew is dead, hit in the neck.’
'David Finch,’ came a sleepy voice.
‘Sorry to wake you, sir.’
‘I fell asleep reading files in the hotel room, it's not late.’
‘Massive bomb blast at GL4, many men hurt, reports of fatalities.’
‘Hell and damnation. Keep me updated.’
Swifty appeared at my side. ‘If that bomb had gone off somewhere planned we'd have lost half the men.’
We exchanged uneasy looks, and Doc Willy exchanged an equally uneasy look with the nurse; she was getting a hell of a time here when all she was supposed to be doing was watching my stitches.
My phone trilled. ‘It's David, what's happening there?’
‘We had a decoy in the south woods, killed him, then two men dressed like military police, and their IDs got them though the gate. One was hit in the jeep, body here near me, one ran and was shot. Their jeep blew, packed with nails, and we have thirty wounded men, some dead.’
‘Hell and damnation. They're stepping up their game, they mean to have you.’
‘They do, so they're mad about the uranium and need me out the way for what comes next, whatever that is.’
‘Whatever it is, it's worth a huge risk, and they've expended some good men in trying to get to you, expensive resources used up, so they're desperate to get to you. I can move you to London-'
‘No, safer here. Up there they could have a dozen men, all CIA and thinking that they're answering to Langley but not. I'll go sleep in the range warden's hut, it's bullet proof. That or the armoury.’
‘The armoury, yes, sleep there.’
I called No.1, finding him awake, and I updated him.
He noted, ‘The bodies and the jeep should throw up clues, so too the decoy man. We will get a lead on them soon, but it seems that they have some good teams, and a good working knowledge of the UK military. Those MPs would have taken ages to train and equip, so who's clever enough for that besides the CIA?’
‘Deep State say they don't know the players in the FBI Deep State.’
‘Which means that the FBI Deep State has a jump on regular Deep State. Maybe even a mole inside.’
‘That … might explain a few things, yes. Chat tomorrow.’ I called Miller's contact number and he called back as ambulances arrived, the first few men ferried off in groups and with an armed MP. But I had insisted that any man that could be patched up here would remain.
‘Wilco, you after me?’
I stood staring at the chaos near the main gate. ‘We just had an attack at the base, a very sophisticated attack, so sophisticated I doubt that even you could have pulled it off, so your FBI Deep State are better than you, and we think they have a mole in your ranks reporting out.
‘That would explain a few things, so why don't you be a love and get up off your lazy fat arse and do the fucking job you're supposed to be capable of doing.’ I cut the call.
I stepped to the body and pulled out his wallet, finding a perfect UK ID, complete with photo of a woman and kids and Tesco club card. I called London and gave the name and details, as a priority to check them.
Checking the body as Graveson covered me, I had a look at the back of the stiff's shirt, and it was MOD issue, but his underwear was Canadian.
London called back fifteen minutes later. ‘That MP sergeant is at home with his family, and not at all dead.’
‘The police here can get the prints and a face photo, he has Canadian clothing.’
‘MI5 team on the way, more CT police, roadblocks set-up, officers called in from many areas. Prime Minister has been shouting.’
‘We can't protect ourselves from people this good unless we live in underground bunkers with no outside contact. These are FBI and ex-CIA professionals, the best there is. Only hope is to put them all in the ground till none are left.’
‘As with Lord Michaels.’
‘Just like that,’ I agreed.
Within the hour we had MI5 and the CT police here, none allowed to go anywhere alone, and all of my wounded had been seen or
removed to local hospitals. Some had even returned from those hospitals, stitches in place, pads on.
The body of the second man was now lying next to his buddy, SOCO warned off approaching the base till after sun-up – just in case. We had the would-be assassin’s prints and their personal effects, and a phone, so I hoped we would get lucky.
As the grey dawn made an appearance I was exhausted, on edge and pissed off, and in need of some quality sleep, the meds refused for now, just in case of further surprises.
I finally lay down after Doc Willy and my nurse nagged at me, the Officers Mess surrounded by armed men limping, men inside on guard duty, including Tomo – who was banned from moving unless it was to shoot an intruder in the head with his pistol.
I woke five hours later and had a pee, my nurse asleep and probably exhausted. Downstairs I met six men, most wounded, and got myself a cuppa, no batmen from Brize Norton with us today.
Rocko was asleep in a comfy chair with Dicky next to him, Henri awake – but he looked tired, his leg bound, Tomo asleep in his bicycle helmet, Nicholson alert but displaying a bandaged leg and complaining quietly that it stung like hell.
Sambo stepped in with Sasha, neither of them hurt. ‘You OK, Boss?’ Sambo asked.
‘Better than most of this lot.’
Sasha told me, ‘Twenty one Echo men hurt, six British Wolves. We stand down, no.’
‘We stand down, yes,’ I told him.
‘MP Rodden – who liked the fishing, he is dead they say, and the man from the tank.’
My shoulders dropped, and I took in their faces, feeling pretty damn helpless right now. ‘We're taking a fucking beating, and on our home turf.’
Nicholson quietly stated, ‘We spotted them, stopped them. Just a pity about that bomb. Should have driven it to the range.’
‘My orders to Graveson, first thing that came to mind. My fault, not his.’
Sambo told me, ‘One British Wolf man, he have the nail in his chest, hurt bad, he be gone a long time, Boss.’
I sullenly nodded, and sat with a brew.
Ten minutes later the Brigadier drove in and came in, his own MP bodyguard now. He sat and faced me, a glance at the sleeping men and wounded men, a glance at the broken window. ‘How you coping?’
‘Meaning?’
He stared back at me. ‘Someone's trying very hard to kill you, and they seem very capable.’
‘They are very capable, yes, but we have a clue as to who they are and where they are. I just need time to fit the evidence together.’
‘Doesn't seem that we have much time...’
I sipped my tea. ‘I don't have a target to go hit, sir, not yet. I told David Finch I'd sleep in the armoury.’
‘There is a cot, so why not.’
‘You getting a lot a shit, sir?’
‘Prime Minister is furious, early meeting today will have the MOD, MI5, MI6, GCHQ and the police, and they'll all get some shit, not least because between all of them and the SAS we still can't defend ourselves, or you.’
‘We're up against the best men from the best organisations, and they had that Wolf in place for a year or two. They're playing the long game, sir.’
‘You coping?’ he repeated.
‘I'm not about to quit, sir. And to answer your question, I hurt all over and my guts are turning, but … but it's becoming the new normal for me, and when I hurt I get angry and want to strike back at them.’
‘How many men are we down?’
‘Almost thirty.’
‘Jesus, that's most of you.’
‘I can still limp and shoot, sir,’ Nicholson told him.
‘Regular SAS will be here today, ‘D' Squadron, all of them, so you can take it easy,’ the Brigadier told us.
Graveson limped in, looking rough.
‘Should you be in a hospital?’ the Brigadier asked him.
‘I have stitches, sir, they released me.’
I asked him, ‘What spooked you about that driver?’
‘I jokingly asked him what the base password was, and he panicked.’
‘Base password?’ the Brigadier repeated.
‘We don't have one, sir,’ Graveson informed him.
‘Good work,’ I commended. ‘You save us. Saved me.’
‘More MPs arriving today, with bags,’ Graveson told us.
I told the Brigadier, ‘Even if we have a thousand men here, we're vulnerable to the man walking through the gate with a perfect ID.’
‘So we limit the visitors,’ he suggested.
‘You just hear who's arriving today..?’
‘I think we can trust the SAS, and the MPs, and no one will be allowed to go anywhere alone,’ he insisted. He stood. ‘And tonight you sleep in the armoury.’
Colonel Bennet called later.
‘Relax,’ I told him. ‘Stickler got a minor wound in his arse.’
‘Who?’
‘Your lad. They call him Stickler, as in stickler for the detail.’
‘Stickler eh. I'll have to remember that.’
‘He got a nail in the arse cheek, he'll be fine.’
‘I wanted to call when that bomb went off at your house -'
‘Relax, sir, and trust to luck. He lives or dies, a roll of the dice. You knew that when you sent him.’
‘Yes, but...’
‘But he made it, and he's fitting in and making friends.’
‘He's … making friends?’
‘Yes, with my bunch of bad boy misfits. He's right at home.’
David Finch called at 4pm. ‘The FBI building in Berlin was just raked with machinegun fire, a dozen people wounded.’
‘That's … odd. Maybe Deep State is sending a message.’
‘Not Spectre?’
‘I'll ask, but I never asked for any reprisals.’
‘Wait … FBI building in Toronto was just raked with machinegun fire, twenty people wounded, head of Toronto FBI was seen being kidnapped.’
‘David, the game is afoot. I'll get back to you.’ I called No.1. He sounded tired. ‘No.1, you been busy..?’
‘I'm mad as hell, we could have lost you and Echo in one go, so payback is a bitch – as they say Stateside. I hit the FBI building in Berlin, and that will have the Americans asking awkward questions, so too the building in Toronto, but we got lucky.
‘I took a gamble, figuring that most of the CIA and Deep State contractors are based in Toronto, so we grabbed the head of the FBI section there, and strung him up. He's talking, and he's involved, he's given up names and wants to see his family again.
‘Head of FBI Deep State is a Mal Chester, and he's head of their counter-terrorism department. Below him is a Bob Freniki, then Art Cheblonksi. They're the main men, a link to the head of procurement in the DOD, Sam Westmore.’
I grabbed paper and pen and wrote down the names and Bob spelt them.
He finally said, ‘And they have a link to a Colonel Levenson, Pentagon.’
‘I'll have a word with Deep State, but feel free to shoot any of this lot.’
‘I have teams moving into place, and I spoke to Tomsk, and he has a good team of enforcers Stateside for people who don't pay. They're on their way to Washington.’
I called Miller's contact number and he called back half an hour later. ‘Mister Miller, you making any progress?’
‘Some.’ He sounded as tired as I was. ‘We think we have the CIA handler that recruited the Wolf.’
‘Get a paper and pen, because I'm sat here doing your job for you – as usual.’ I detailed the men involved. ‘I suggest that they're dealt with quietly, or the folks back home will lose faith in the FBI, and that's not what we want here. If you don't move, I have teams moving into place.’
‘And the FBI buildings hit?’
‘A ghost lent a hand.’
‘And the head of FBI Toronto?’
‘Is singing like a bird.’
I called Colonel Mathews. ‘You know a Colonel Levenson, Pentagon?’
‘Yeah, just down the
corridor.’
‘We just linked him to FBI agent Manstein and Terotski.’
‘You … what!' he hissed.
‘Go isolate him if you can, don't use the FBI, they're involved here.’
Colonel Mathews walked quickly down the corridor with purpose, and into a meeting room stuffed full of senior officers and generals. Faces looked up towards him since it was a private meeting. He stepped to Levenson as Levenson attended a coffee machine, and landed a punch that knocked Levenson clean across the room, a nose demolished.
‘Colonel!' the general in charge shouted as shocked officers stood, ladies as well as men.
Colonel Mathews stood over Levenson, ignoring the melee around him. ‘I just had the fucking British on the phone,’ he shouted. ‘They've linked you to FBI agent Manstein and to Terotski! And I wondering why you were on the fucking phone to Terotski.’
‘Terotski!' the general shouted, closing in. ‘He sold us out!'
People in the corridor stopped at the sound of the shouting.
‘Well?’ Colonel Mathews shouted down at Levenson as they lifted him, all eyes now on Levenson, and all wanting to tear him to pieces.
Levenson stared back, but said nothing, finally lowering his eyes.
‘I'm gunna see you get the electric chair!' the general roared.
‘We can't trust the FBI, sir, this has to be handled internally,’ Colonel Mathews insisted.
The general considered that, red in the face. ‘Send for the MPs! Colonel Levenson, you are hereby placed under arrest for espionage, you piece a shit!'
With Levenson finally led out in handcuffs, bleeding on the floor, a second colonel loudly began, ‘Sir, he had access to fucking everything! All our passwords! Everything!'
The general rubbed his face. Quietly, and wagging a finger, he began, ‘You get whatever staff you need, you get the coffee on, and you change every damn password we have, and you work all night. Screw the FBI and the CIA, we do this ourselves, we track back everyone he had contact with.’
The colonel rushed out.
The general pointed at a major. ‘You get a big team together, his staff file, and his diary, and make a start. I want to know what he had for breakfast each day.’
