by Geoff Wolak
‘You're popular with the Spanish,’ the PM told me. ‘We had a formal thank-you. They're terrified to think what would have happened if that ship had blown up and sunk.’
‘They would have had to close all their beaches,’ I told them. ‘For the next thousand years.’
‘And the Spanish economy would have died a rapid death,’ he noted.
‘And Europe with it,’ David noted.
‘Some of the papers are mentioning that you went into Mexico...’ the PM floated.
‘You loaned me out to the CIA, you're not responsible, sir. And I've never been to Mexico, my alter ego has.’
‘And your odd body double?’
‘Is in Panama, pretending to be my alter ego. His presence will scare-off some of those that might want to move on the territory.’
‘You could have used him here!' the PM noted
‘In hindsight, yes, but the Wolf with the bomb would have known and not been fooled. And we found another American Wolf recruit that had been approached by the CIA, at least the phoney CIA. The Americans arrested the man.’
‘American military recruitment is up,’ the Defence Secretary noted. ‘And we're turning young men away. Can you do something for the Navy?’
I smiled. ‘Their ships and Lynx helicopters got a good write up in many of the world's regions.’
The next meeting was Mi5, not far to go. They welcomed me, a room for my posse, boots glanced at.
I sat opposite the Director, Mister Kitson, and his top team around a new oval table of light brown wood. ‘I just spoke to the PM, and he's now aware that we need to monitor the CIA teams here in London. And before you complain, we have no fucking choice – they were the ones trying to kill me.’
‘If we get a formal note then we can create a team, quite a large team, since we think they have sixty people here.’
‘I'm going to chat to them. They cooperate, or else I bury them in the media.’
They exchanged looks.
‘Has that injury made you mad at them?’ Kitson asked.
‘No, but we need this sorted so that I can go do some work, not hide under the bed.’
‘You'll recover fully?’
‘If I'm breathing then the phone will be ringing.’
‘And do we expect more American interest?’
‘No. The Americans now have a complete picture, since a senior man spilt the beans. They have all the players, maybe a few sub-contractors out there, but … there are people working down the list as we speak.
‘But you can be damn sure that one or two of the faces going in and out of the American Embassy here have done work for the bad boys whilst thinking it was sanctioned from the top. I want them all photographed, I want home addresses, and GCHQ can do the proximity hits.’
‘The Americans might not like that...’
‘Tough fucking shit. I have a direct line to the Deputy Chief and the National Security Advisor, and they'll cooperate – or else. And it's in their interests, because if any more CIA contractors are caught up to no good the President will flip and start shooting people. The CIA will go to great lengths to keep it all quiet.’
‘As would we, we've had enough shit the past year. Be nice to have a quiet year.’
‘I second that motion. Try and make it happen, eh.’
‘We'd like a small team at GL4, plus the local police, a hut.’
‘Sure, saves time and hassle. But be sure of your men, because my men are twitchy. Oh, houses up for sale in the village, MOD going to grab them, so you can rent one, keep an eye on the locals.’
‘Good idea.’ He made a note. ‘Local police have petitioned the Home Office for more money, since they spend a great deal on Broken Arrow jobs, and the last alert tied up two hundred officers for a day.’
‘Gives them something to do,’ I scoffed.
‘Still, they are complaining. And you need them.’
‘I'll go meet with them, have a chat. Will the Home Office pay up?’
‘Yes, but they tend to move slowly.’
‘Me too.’
Next meeting was the American Embassy, an Mi5 minder with me and an Mi6 minder, my posse left at the MOD building, CT police with us in a van.
Before stepping down I put on my facemask. Oddly enough, the two Marines on guard saluted and so I saluted back. Inside I got odd looks till I took off the facemask, led upstairs after refusing to hand in my pistol. I did sign-in however.
In a large meeting room, I left the minders outside, and I sat down with the Station Head, his deputy and Chuck.
‘Chuck, you old dog, haven't they retired you off yet.’ We shook across the table.
‘Still got a few years in before I get that big pay-out and go back to the farm.’
I faced the Station Chief. ‘Do they get a big pay-out?’
‘Like hell. Pension, slow drip.’
I wagged a finger at Chuck. ‘Don't be tempted to go work for the bad guys, I'd have to shoot you.’
‘And have you … shot some of ours?’
‘Your contractors, many, ex-CIA … a few. Like Charley Rose.’
‘Charley!' Chuck gasped. ‘You killed him?’
‘He was leading two hundred FARC rebels towards your southern border.’
‘Jesus … mother a fucking …' He ran his hands through his hair.
‘Be careful who you trust,’ I warned him.
‘And these FBI shits?’ he asked.
‘Dealt with. We have a list, from the Toronto Chief.’
‘He talked?’ the Station Chief asked.
‘He wanted to go home to his family, so they sliced bits off him till they had a full list of who was involved. I have list of contractors, we'll get them all.’
‘Jesus,’ Chuck let out. ‘Terotski was a shock, I met him here when he came through. Seemed genuine, but we never knew he was sick.’
‘He was riddled with cancer, from Chernobyl, sister lived there.’
‘A man with nothing to lose,’ the Station Chief noted.
I nodded. ‘Anyway, time to upset you.’
They looked worried. ‘Upset us?’
‘I want a list of all your people here, home addresses and phones, or we get it ourselves the hard way.’
‘What would you do with it?’
‘I wouldn't see it, it would go to GCHQ, and they'd run phone hits and proximity, report back to you but also to us if we get a hit. And if we don't get the list I call the Deputy Chief and apply some pressure, and if that doesn't work I'll go public here and roast you, you career down the toilet. You want that in writing?’
‘No, ya mean son of a bitch, we heard you. But I have to check up the line.’
I held my hands wide. ‘All you're doing is running a security sweep against our database, and our database is fucking fantastic these days. We bought and stole all sorts of data from around the world, and if a man sits in a cafe and uses his phone, sat next to a bad boy, we can link them, and get their car registrations.’
‘Your tech boys did well in Cali, and Panama, so yeah – one hell of a database. We might want to use it.’
‘Send a request in to trace a phone, and I'm sure they'll help you. Give them a cafe or hotel, and we'll tell you who's been there. And if you have someone that needs to disappear, don't do it yourself, we will.’
They exchanged looks.
‘Since when has London sanctioned that?’
‘I have team outside of their control. They know, and they trust me, and … people are dealt with quietly, no messy public trial, no embarrassment for the agencies and governments. French lend a hand, Tomsk, all done off the books, no JIC enquiry to answer to, no track back.’
‘And have you dealt with anyone Stateside?’
‘Yes.’
They exchanged looks.
‘The lame fuckers you work for wouldn't have dared.’
‘I'm not them, and people keep trying to kill me. So before they get me I'll get most of them.’
‘That book editor?�
�
I gave him a dangerous smile. ‘No comment.’
‘And no evidence left behind. And the Belgian bank?’
‘Fucked with the wrong people.’
‘Those al-Qa'eda men got to Europe without leaving a trail, nothing.’
‘I have no comment to make. But when faced with extreme situations, us lame-ass Brits now push back. And it was blind luck that we prevented your carriers from being sunk. Well, blind luck and GCHQ linking phones and proximities.’
‘I'll have to go visit, pinch some ideas.’
I faced Chuck. ‘In Mexico, your Hispanic special forces team realise that the NSA are listening into Cholo's CB, none of the local phones working, so they transmit over and over – the NSA are a bunch of over-paid transvestites in small cubicles.’
They laughed.
‘One of my spies, a girl, five feet tall, she got the phone link to the ship laying the mines for the Nimitz. When she realises that she's saved the ship she insists I ask your navy for some money.’
They again laughed.
‘So I call the Admiral, Kurkhold, and I mentioned that, and he actually passed it up the line.’
‘That ship is worth $70billion,’ the Station Chief noted. ‘With the planes on her.’
‘You came close to losing her, thanks to these FBI shits.’
‘What the fuck was their motivation?’
‘We think, the same as the uranium. Create an outrage, get the folks back home all worked up, then go invade some country.’
They exchanged uneasy looks.
‘Dangerous fucking game,’ Chuck noted.
‘Be thankful you have my team, or you'd wake up to a whole different world. Now, get me that list and let's clean house before you're explaining it to Congress.’
In the MOD building I met the posse, and we utilised the same vans to get around to Chelsea Barracks, soon in very dated accommodation. I handed the Duty Officer CT a large wad of money, and he sent men out for take-away curry.
David called at 10pm. ‘Deputy Chief is flying in, wants a 9am meet.’
‘Christ, his eyes will be closing.’
‘They call it the red-eye for a reason. Our building, 9am, we'll send vans.’
I spent a few hours laughing and joking with the SAS CT lads, many known to me, then got six hours kip, my nurse on a second bed in my small room, a few rules being broken here. And she had no issue in walking around me in bra and pants.
In the morning we were up at 7am, my nurse not too bad and seemingly awake and fresh, as well as displaying a nice large pair in a bra. After breakfast in the Sergeant's Mess, not the Officer's Mess, the vans turned up and whisked us around to Vauxhall. In the lift the man that met me glanced at my boots.
‘I have a pistol,’ I told him. ‘And from his distance I could probably hit you.’
‘Well if you couldn't hit me from this distance then what use are you to the Army.’
In the meeting room I found the Deputy Chief with David and the Director, but the Deputy looked awake and fresh. ‘You look OK, given a night flight?’
‘Private jet, comfy as hell.’ We sat, tea made. ‘Where are we in the grand scheme of things?’
‘FBI Deep State have been dealt with, a few foot soldiers still out there, but I have men hard on their heels.’
‘A truck crash, a heart attack and carbon monoxide poisoning?’
‘Don't look at me, go talk to the inventive chaps at Deep State.’
‘And those three men..?’
‘Were the top tier in FBI Deep State, but we're yet to know if they were chatting to any Senators.’
‘I have a team looking. And the Pentagon is handling that colonel themselves, which they are allowed to do, but the FBI are shouting that it's their job.’ He sipped his tea. ‘You gave us a good write-up, that helps, but you also hinted that we work outside the law.’
‘The average voter assumes that anyway. You have been watching all those Hollywood movies these past few decades?’
‘We're not allowed to operate on US soil, so those movies are shite.’
‘Will you sit before a Congressional Hearing?’
‘Next week, hence the visit.’
‘You can blame me and my team, they can't call me.’
‘Can't blame you when you're in a hospital bed, they all know about that.’
‘But you can deny taking unlawful action, and they won't find any evidence, just that … a gap exists, men dealt with, no one taking the credit – or the blame.’
‘I approved your request for the list of our people here, to be checked.’
‘Some will be linked in.’
‘They'll get posted to Alaska for a year, then dropped.’
‘Eaten by a bear?’ David quipped.
‘Bears gotta eat.’ He faced me. ‘That uranium?’
‘On its way to the Middle East, at the hands of FBI Deep State. We don't know what the plan was, but I would take a guess and say that they dump it in Iraq and claim that Saddam Hussein was hiding it from the UN inspectors, war coming next.’
‘Just like Vietnam,’ he said with a sigh. ‘So, they want a war, which makes me wonder who they were tied into, politicians and the arms producers. We'll have a good look. But what you said about the MOB, that will have them running scared, no one will want to be associated with them now.’
He faced David. ‘Your idea?’
‘No, Wilco has a brain and does use it now and then. He worries us greatly, then we realise the sense in what he's doing and saying. By blaming the MOB he let the other Deep State off the hook, and given who they are … we don't want to upset them.’
The Deputy Chief took in the faces. ‘So we all just pretend it's OK and go about our daily lives!'
‘You have a suggestion?’ my Director tersely asked him. ‘We don't dare upset them, and you'd be wise not to. So yes, we go about our daily lives and hope for the best, because a conflict with them would hurt you and hurt us.’
I told him, ‘They have enough evidence against me to wreck SIS and to send me to jail for a thousand years. So we ignore the family member with a fondness for small boys and … it's business as usual.’
‘And if they step out of line?’
‘They already have, and I stopped their plans and put their people in the ground.’
David noted, ‘Us doing their dirty work for them. We should be on a commission. Panama was Deep State left hand fighting Deep State right and ... a total internal screw-up.’
I put in, ‘They say they've reorganised, a top down structure, no longer separate groups for security reasons, or people doing their own thing. But they still need to tighten up, because my contact had his office stapler stolen.’
Faces smiled.
David noted, ‘Around here we label them clearly.’
The Deputy faced me. ‘They're going to invite you Stateside, White House and Pentagon.’
‘When I can run fast enough to avoid the assassins! Not before.’
With the Deputy Chief gone, on his way to Berlin for a quick visit, the rest of us headed to the Director's office.
She asked, ‘You'll recover fully?’
‘What if I don't, I'll still answer the damn phone.’
‘No … anger towards anyone?’
‘I have a shit load of anger towards lots of people. Did you have anyone specific in mind?’
‘The Americans, to start.’
‘I don't blame the White House when the White House doesn't have a clue what's going on, and I don't blame their military, or the voters, just a handful of shits out to rule the world their way. So no, no anger towards the Americans in general.’
‘And the establishment here?’
‘The same issue, a few individuals not an institutional problem. I have no issues with authority or the Army.’
‘You jumped … when asked not to,’ David put in.
‘He requested I not jump, he never demanded it. If ordered not to jump … I don't jump. Same applies to req
uests from you. If you say I must definitely not do something, I won't, but you tend to leave me to my own decisions.’
‘We can't be seen to give you rigid orders like that,’ she noted. ‘It's a fine line.’
‘But you can give me a rigid warning about doing something, and then I wouldn't do it.’
She nodded. ‘And our Friend in France?’
‘Got angry, and acted without me, thinking I'd be dead very soon and Echo destroyed, an understandable reaction given that he created it. He went for the FBI Toronto Chief, and it paid off. He's now aggressively pursuing the foot soldiers before they get a chance to come for me.
‘Without that lucky break … we'd have seen more attacks and better attacks, a desperation to remove me from the game. And a mere lucky break, random chance, saved Echo and me. Right now you should be looking at a file of thirty dead Echo men, me with them, your hopes and all your hard work down the toilet.’
‘A sobering thought,’ David noted. ‘And it scares the hell out of me how close we came to that. We need to learn from it.’
I shook my head. ‘Up against people like that … fuck all we can do. They had top-tier spies in place for decades, people we never knew about. Those fake MPs were perfect.’
‘How were they spotted?’ she asked.
‘An MP jokingly asked them what the base password was, but we don't have a base password and he saw the reaction in their eyes. If that MP had done his job and walked off ... I'd be dead now.’
‘A lucky break,’ she noted.
‘We can't fight the expert spies, we need to deal with the people who send them. We either make friends, as with Deep State, or we destroy them or alter their motivation. If the policy is to just keep shooting the foot soldiers we'll be very fucking busy; they can always find more foot soldiers.’
‘Is there anyone left out there that's motivated to attack you?’ David asked.
‘The cartels for sure, plus remnants of FBI Deep State, people who will run scared for a while then get angry. We never knew about HTZ in Holland till it was too late. Oh, Mi5 want a team at GL4 with the CT police and local police, I said yes.’
‘Good idea,’ David noted. ‘It is their job more than ours.’
‘Well, when your overseas projects cause a reaction, I'd say it was your job as well, if not more. And I asked Mi5 to monitor the CIA teams here.’
