by Geoff Wolak
My phone trilled. ‘Excuse me.’
‘It's Tinker. We got that list from the American Embassy, electronic format, ran it and just got two hits.’
I sighed. ‘I was expecting some. Pass it to Mi5, but first to the CIA Station Chief here, and like right now.’
‘Will do.’
‘And keep working that list, every which way.’
Phone down, David asked, ‘What was that?’
‘The CIA list, two hits already.’
‘They may be dealt with quietly,’ he suggested. ‘Alaska perhaps.’
I told them, ‘Those men probably thought they were working for the White House or something.’
‘They'll get the Q&A and a chance,’ she noted. ‘They won't be shot.’
I grinned. ‘Do the FBI still want to interview me?’
David scowled at me. ‘Not just now, I think they're kind of busy.’
‘And the JIC?’
‘PM has blocked them, and they work for him,’ David told me.
‘What's the mood of your lot these days?’ I asked them.
She answered, ‘They have more to do, more than research, so like GCHQ they're happier in their daily lives and feel like they're doing something worthwhile. The Duty Officer position was moderately important, but is now very important thanks to you, and they work four-hour shifts with long breaks, and the night shift is the coveted spot – the best people are on at night.
‘When you call, it flashes up and they all jump into action: Broken Arrow. Mi5 have a similar team, and the police team in Oxford is sharp by all accounts – albeit in need of some quality sleep.’
I smiled. ‘I'll go see them, thank them.’
My next meeting was in the MOD building, General Dennet and his senior staff in attendance around a large table, an old tatty table, all enquiring after my health.
He began, ‘We've bought the land behind you, and we'll fence it off, MPs there of course, huts and canteen, and we hope to use your men for the training of NCOs from other units.’
‘If we're in the country, sir, but if we do have a job on I have some men with minor wounds that are no longer allowed on jobs. They can still teach, they have the years in, just that they don't run quite so well these days.’
‘Like you.’
I smiled. ‘I may surprise you yet, sir, and be back jogging.’
‘Let's hope so. Oh, they're making a mini-movie about that drop onto the ship.’
‘Not so mini,’ an officer told him. ‘It's two hours long.’
‘Two hours?’ he puzzled. ‘More like a documentary then.’
‘And the Americans have two two-hour specials on Panama, documentary style, actual footage plus graphics and commentary. Be ready soon they said.’
I told them, ‘That little shit, Max from The Sun, he's a celeb over their now, people recognise him wherever we go. He has a slot on CNN.’
‘You made him famous,’ the General noted. ‘So … how many men could you put through the ranges in a week?’
‘Could easily put a hundred men a week through them, sir. We have three outdoor ranges, outdoor 25yard range, and two indoor ranges, plus classrooms. If you have huts for a hundred men, canteen, we split them, and it's just groups of say twenty men, and if some are jogging around the track then it's less than that, sir.’
‘And the format of a combat ready course..?’
‘Time on the basic ranges, then straight onto the moving ranges, which is the part they're missing, sir, plus lectures on real action and what to expect – some advanced trauma first aid. The model village will be the final exercise, for men to move through a make-do village whilst live firing, and to learn what to do.
‘That should get them ready to step off the plane in a bad spot and not panic or shoot themselves in the foot.’
‘Could you work out a programme soon?’
‘Be ready in a few days, sir,’ I assured him. ‘I need only teach them that which I teach my new lads.’
‘And 14 Intel?’
‘Their teams with me now have the experience and are good soldiers - or irregular warfare spies, sir, but they lack the superstars. Where they do produce superstars I pinch them away, and they've altered their vetting process to be the same as the British Wolves, and we have four men under test as we speak, and they could all be superstars in the making.’
‘And you have American Wolves with you?’
‘Yes, sir, two, and … if you met them you'd not be impressed, they talk like hick town teenagers, but in the jungle they're fucking supermen. They'll go three days without sleep, they'll shoot you in the eye a thousand yards out, and they kill and eat …. anything, enough to turn my stomach.’
‘And the British Wolves these days?’
‘Most have regular operational postings from Intel, and they do a damn good job, sir, no screw-ups. For something like Kosovo they're a damn good tool in the box, on par with the SAS.’
‘We still have issues with the SAS attitude,’ and officer put in. ‘They're better, but they're not ideal.’
I nodded. ‘An old culture, sir.’
‘And you have many wounded men?’ the General asked.
‘We're stood down as a unit, sir, thirty men wounded.’
‘And the investigation into the attack at your base?’
‘Is making good progress, and I sleep better now, sir. Other than that … there's little I can say.’
‘And that American Wolf with a bomb, that was CIA?’
‘No, sir, that was an individual linked to the MOB with his own agenda, mostly money - my efforts kept them out of Panama, and there are certain Americans that would like to take over the drugs trade there. But I can say … that the Americans are cleaning house and I'm happy with their rapid progress.’
An officer piped up with, ‘It was the damn Yanks that invited you into Panama with your team!'
‘Yes, sir, that was the proper CIA, not the rogue units.’
‘What a joke!'
‘We walk a fine line, sir, when it comes to the Americans,’ I told that officer. ‘The PM does not wish to upset them, yet we need to deal with the bad boys. Actually, we don't need to deal with them, but the PM loans me out to the CIA, and they wanted me to deal with them, so … my team got caught in the middle of an internal issue which should have never involved us.’
‘A lesson to be learnt for the future,’ the General told me.
‘By all means, sir, go tell the PM how to do things.’
He shot me a look. ‘They'll keep loaning you out to the CIA?’
‘I would think so, sir, my team has the skills, and my Intel team has the skills.’
An officer asked, ‘This really fat chap who shot the intruders in Gibraltar..?’
I smiled widely. ‘Is an undercover agent, and a top man.’
‘What! He's twenty-two stone in weight!'
‘And if he was in a bar stood near you, sir, would you think him a spy?’
‘Well … no, he's a big fat lump.’
‘Then his cover is a good one, sir. I also have a lady working for me, five foot tall, and she'd tear your fucking head off after sneaking into your top security base at night, and leave no evidence behind, your cock detached from your body.
‘In Panama, two bad boys kidnapped her, but failed to tie her up properly. She got loose and slit both their throats, nicked their cash, got a taxi back to the hotel and ate a hearty meal.’
The men exchanged uneasy looks.
‘A colourful team you have,’ the General noted,
‘A very effective team, sir, much admired by the foreign governments. And if you have a target in Belgrade, we'll go get him, no evidence left behind.’
‘When I saw the footage of your man shooting last week in Bosnia I was reminded of when you worked as my bodyguard, that same laid-back attitude, cool under pressure.’
‘They get that from me, sir. My fault.’
‘Well it seems to work, ten men shoot dead like that. Had a few am
bassadors and ministers ask if they can take your men when they go to Africa.’
‘They keep us busy, sir, but I have a few men left who don't have a limp. Oh, the two men that were hurt with me on the para drop on the ship, they were both wounded by the bomb blast.’
‘Christ, they must be pissed off by now,’ he noted.
‘The team is everything, sir, home and family. They'll not quit. And if wounded, they teach, and if they can't stand they sit and teach. I don't get rid of people with good knowledge and skills.’
‘And how many would pass a medical?’ a colonel asked.
I smiled. ‘No comment, sir, that's classified.’ They exchanged looks. ‘And no, I wouldn't pass a medical either.’
‘We're happy to see you teaching, even if sat down!' the General noted. ‘But can you visit a few bases, new recruits, young officers?’
‘Yes, sir, just send me the details – now is a good time in my calendar year.’
Back at base, via the vans, I not only found speed bumps in the road painted with diagonal yellow lines, but two uniformed and armed local police at the start of the road, a small rain-proof shelter for them.
The previous rain-shelter that the MPs used was now longer, and came with its own sandbag position, sandbags now up against the wall of the guardroom.
I shouted through the window, ‘We expecting trouble?’
‘Don't you know there's a war on,’ came sarcastically back. ‘Save your ration coupons if you want to use the canteen, sir.’
Past the gate I could see a large lorry with a crane, offloading pallets of sandbags, ready-filled. At my house I stepped down with Graveson and thanked the CT police, some money for a curry for them, and they headed back up to London as I took in the decorating work being undertaken on my house. It looked like I would be able to re-occupy it soon.
Stood there, I could see a new cabin next to the guard room, sandbags being placed. I led Graveson that way and found Rocko coming out.
‘This is for the spies,’ he told me.
I had a nose inside, desks and chairs being unwrapped, two MI5 men hard at it with local police and CT police. On the wall were numerous posters taking the piss, such as “Don't you know there's a war on”, “Keep calm and hide under the desk”, “Idle talk costs lives”, and “Wilco speak”. I stepped in and had a look at the last one as men greeted me.
Wilco speak.
‘Might see some action later.’ - ‘Hell on earth is about to descend upon you.’
‘Dig some trenches, just in case.’ - ‘Dig your own graves you lazy bastards, the gravediggers were all killed yesterday.’
‘Nice spot, this.’ - ‘No water for a hundred miles, landmines, and ten thousand hostile rebels.’
‘It should be quiet now.’ - ‘We killed this lot, but the next wave is coming over the hill and really pissed off.’
‘Get some rest now that it's quiet.’ - ‘Expect a very large explosion.’
‘Incoming.’ - ‘The last word you will ever hear. Say a prayer as you hit the dirt.’
I faced the men assembling furniture. ‘So you're saying that I understate the dangers...’
‘Yep,’ came back come four mouths.
‘Well there's no point in panicking,’ I told them.
‘We're putting sandbags around this hut,’ one warned me.
‘We got the men trying to kill me, should be quiet now.’
Three men pointed at the “Wilco Speak” poster.
‘OK, so it should be quiet for a few days, till we piss off the Serbs and they send someone.’
‘You're off to Kosovo?’
‘When I have a few men that can stand up. Where you living?’
An Mi5 officer replied, ‘Big old house in the village was up for sale, the owner gone, so London signed a year's rental contract and guarantee of purchase at the end at a good price.’
‘Safe there?’
‘It has its own grounds, high hedge, gate, and we'll put up cameras linked to here.’
Outside, Mally pulled up.
‘Where you been?’ I asked him.
‘Me and the boys were in Colombia for a while, when you were in Panama, so we were worried that the bad boys might come for us.’
‘You still use that hut?’
‘When there's a few of us here, which is not often these days.’
‘Check it for bombs before using it.’
‘We fucking do!' he growled before he drove off. I made a note to stop upsetting my staff. It was just that I had no idea how to do that.
I led Graveson and my nurse to the canteen, but the time slot meant that the American Wolves were in. We managed to find seats and we grabbed food, chatting to the Wolves about what they had been up to. Many had been stitching sedated pigs, some had just come back from The Factory.
In the officers mess we found Swifty and Doc Willy sat chatting to a resident Intel captain and we joined them for a cuppa.
In the morning the Brigadier told me that London was worried about the pub outside the base, and that the locals had now stopped using it.
‘How about a base bar, and that the local landlord has a franchise for it to keep him happy?’
‘I'm sure we could swing that, we have a good budget here, and with visitors here more often we can label it as a visitors centre. I'll get on that today, because it would be safer than using the pub. And if our lot are banned from using that pub the locals will go back to using it – fewer complaints from the locals.’
‘There's an empty brick building behind the Officers Mess, sir, so … how about that's the main bar area and kitchens, but that we have a big metal shed - like the ones we have now - bolted on. Be quick to set it up.’
‘It's close enough to the Wolves shed, so … a second shed joins it at 90degrees, a third shed the other side, for NCOs and visitors. Could be knocked together quickly, and it forms a wall around the huts. I'll chat to the RAF facilities manager.’
‘These sandbags..?’
‘MOD sent them, thousands of them. A wall of sandbags will be thrown up around the parking space in front of the canteen, and at the back of here, so the effect of any car bomb will be lessened.
‘There'll be sandbag slit trenches in a few places, where men can duck and hide, and more of that green fencing, so that a stray round doesn't travel far, more fencing around the side and front of the houses.
‘They've dug trenches and laid pipes out near the farm house, it already had electricity which was suitable for a few bulbs in the new huts, and they're digging an extension to the canal again – the dirt piled up into a mound seven foot high, so no line of shot on the huts or the farmhouse afterwards.’
I nodded. ‘I'm going to arrange a service for the MPs and others killed here, if you can invite down the MOD, sir, the MP's bosses, a padre, and I guess we'll need a podium and microphone.’
He made a note. ‘I'll get that sorted today. You'd invite in the Press?’
‘Just Max, with editing rights. We'll invite down the CT police bosses, the tank crew bosses, the RAF from Brize Norton, representatives of 2 Squadron and the regular SAS, the Colonel.’
‘I'll chat to most of those today. When would it be?’
‘Any weekday when we have the weather, sir, and soon, before we ship out again. Say … Monday if the weather holds, if not we use the hangar.’
No.1 called after I left the Brigadier. ‘Hey No.1, how goes the evil empire?’
‘I was organising those village houses, but got a hint from London and they're organising it themselves after I put some money in their slush fund.’
‘Well, same difference. MI5 lads have rented a house. Where's No.7?’
‘She killed our friend in Prague, after luring him into the toilets. She has his phone and wallet, some interesting links being thrown up with Berlin's FBI.’
‘The head of Berlin FBI is linked in?’ I asked.
‘Could be, we're following the leads.’
‘FBI Deep State were in operation f
or decades, so they had more than just the men we killed, and they had a banker.’
‘I was considering their funding yes, and we still don't know who sent money to Van Den Berg. If the Berlin chief is linked in we'll follow the money trail.’
‘Might get to liberate some of it...’
‘Well … if we do we don't mention it anyone, especially not the other Deep State.’
‘No shit.’
CIA Chuck called an hour later. ‘We sent four men back to the States, two in handcuffs.’
‘Ouch.’
‘The second two men were following orders, but admitted that they operated outside of normal channels. They'll get the Q&A Stateside. Everyone here is worried, and I'm checking that I don't overstate my damn lunch allowances claim!'
The next day the inside of the hangar received a wall of sandbags, to make the doors blast-proof to some degree, and the MP at the bottom of the stairs got himself a small sandbag position to hide in.
Cameras turned up from London, and men were seen installing them and running wires. Stretch had been busy, and had a laid a mine field.
When my heart started again, and after he stopped laughing at my expression, he explained that they went ‘poof' and would not blow anyone's leg off, a bright flash of phosphorous issued. At the ambush point, he had laid them in lines after the field had been ploughed over, that way to hide the mines, many mines laid in the trees and bushes that were the most obvious route into the base.
I liked the idea. ‘I want a thousand of them.’
‘What? Each one takes like fifteen minutes!'
‘Get some fucking help then, and lay them everywhere inside the wire.’
I left him mumbling and complaining and had a look at the new live-fire range. The green fencing was now up all around and over the top, wooden railway sleepers being applied to the walls in many places, thick rubber being nailed onto the outside.
I halted the Army Engineers, pistol out, and fired into a black rubber wall, no ricochet; the round had been absorbed nicely.
Monday morning and I was dressed smartly, in that I had clean combats on, boots cleaned. I still had no No.1 dress uniform and was not about to borrow one. Echo were in combats, as were the American Wolves, the officers mostly in No.1 dress uniforms, the civilian Intel workers in sombre suits.
