by Geoff Wolak
He nodded. ‘And your confirmed kills?’
Swifty made a face and shrugged. ‘When you’re shooting fifty sixty men a day, every day, you don’t count. We’ve seen action every month for two years.’
‘And Sierra Leone?’ he nudged. ‘Up against our own.’
Swifty nodded. ‘We shot dead about ten ex-troopers, out there training the bad boys ready for a coup. Including Trellasy and Malloy.’
‘I knew Malloy well, knew Trellasy – a bit unstable. I’d say he would sell his own mother, but I guess he actually did.’
‘He took blood diamonds,’ I put in. ‘And he trained a bad bunch, so he stepped over the line. In that kind of work, always best not to upset London. And they knew we were SAS, and attacked us anyhow, a bit low.’
‘Yes,’ Malcolm agreed. ‘But some of the lads will do anything for the right money, they spend it all, then back to the next job ... till something goes wrong. Like a prison cell or a shallow grave in the jungle. I’d not go that route, I’d get a job as a security guard first, but this is not a bad number.’
‘Been shot at here?’ I asked.
‘Once, random rooftop idiot. You get those, and the communists of course, the odd shot. Here’s not too bad, quiet enough, but up north is hell itself. Some of our lads do private bodyguard work up there, and that’s dangerous work. Upset the cartels and they’ll slice you up, upset the communists and they’ll slice you up.’ He made eye contact with Swifty. ‘You know Haggarty?’
‘Met him a few times,’ Swifty acknowledged. ‘Right fucking idiot.’
‘He went north, bodyguard, and one day a shot is fired at his principal, 9mm pistol, no one hurt, but Haggarty opens up on a cafe with an M4, kills the sister of a cartel boss. The cartel approached Haggarty’s principal, who handed him over, and Haggarty was strung up outside that cafe, castrated, eyes cut out, tongue cut out, left there to die. Took ten days to die they said, not a pleasant way to go.’
‘Pleasant spot,’ Swifty quipped.
‘There’s a coastal town up north, and if you get caught by a rival gang they chop you up and drop your bits in the sea, under the houses on stilts. It brings in the sharks at night, not a place to bath or swim, but the local kids swim in it. Bit of a fucked up place.’
‘And the communists?’ Swifty nudged.
‘They caught one recently, and he turned out to be a local well-respected school teacher, just donning the boots on the weekend for a bit of fun. Married, three kids, merit awards for charity work. Go figure, huh.’
Malcolm sipped his coffee, studying me. He addressed Swifty whilst pointing at me. ‘He as good as they say?’
‘Just lucky,’ Swifty told him with a smirk. ‘Three or four times a week he’s lucky, kills the bad guys, rescues the hostages, gets out alive. Just a lot of luck.’
I smiled. ‘I keep telling people that, but they don’t listen. All comes down to luck.’
Swifty added, ‘In Sierra Leone a round hit a magazine he was carrying, otherwise it would have gone right through his chest and heart. Blind luck.’
I nodded. ‘In Bosnia I was hit eight times in the chest, each striking a magazine. An inch to the left and we’d not be having this chat. Being a national hero with a great reputation ... is the result of long series of lucky breaks.’
‘Well,’ Malcolm began, ‘let’s hope your luck holds out a bit longer, eh, Captain, or at least till I get that recommendation. Send it in before you’re shot.’
‘Your concern for my safety leaves me with a warm glowy feeling,’ I told him, Swifty laughing.
‘And if I wanted better jobs in the future?’ Malcolm nudged.
‘You’d have to prove your abilities,’ I told him. ‘And your resolve. You’d have to pass some of my tests.’
‘I’m not twenty five anymore,’ he complained.
‘And I’m sure that the world’s terrorists would give you a head start before chasing you, factoring in your age.’
Swifty laughed at Malcolm as our old timer sat back looking peeved.
Sat eating lunch in the busy canteen with Swifty and Napoleon, Rizzo and Tomo asleep, a suited man approached and sat.
‘Remember me?’ he asked me.
I took a moment. ‘The award ceremony.’
‘You have a sharp eye, and a good memory. I work with Bob. Sorry, I work for Bob, would not want to get assassinated.’
I smiled. ‘Bob wouldn’t hurt a fly, unless it was in his way.’
‘Exactly. I used to be level with him, but he caught some lucky breaks thanks to you. And Petrov is the golden asset, so here I am, in sunny Bogota.’
‘Drugs?’ I asked.
He nodded. ‘Since the end of the Russia House, or the shrinking of it, we tackle major crimes and drugs, gun runners.’
I nodded, knowing exactly how it all worked. ‘Anything interesting ... down here?’
‘We were instrumental in accidentally catching a break on Charlo. His plastic surgeon had a whore that he boasted to when drunk, and that led Charlo to a chilly British prison cell. But still, we claim that it was all down to hard work.’
I smiled widely and sipped my coffee.
He added, ‘Chuck, of the London CIA, was here a few weeks back, and I took no pleasure in taunting him over your abduction.’
‘He was vexed, to say the least,’ I said, grinning. ‘And now he owes Bob big time after we captured a handful of Russian gun runners in Africa.’
‘Yes, and Bob has let no one ... forget about such successes. Tell me, how did you capture Oleg?’
Swifty put in, ‘His helo developed a fault, hit the concrete, skidded to a halt right in front of us, and he jumped down six feet in front of us and gave himself up.’
Our guest tipped his head back and laughed. ‘Of course, the story going around is of good intel, of you tracking him through the jungle, a lengthy gun battle...’
I told him, ‘That’s the version we prefer.’
‘Your secret is safe with me.’
‘Is this threat credible?’ I asked.
‘As credible as the other ten we’ve had this week. But, since Charlo is in a damp cell, and the locals like their revenge, it makes some sense.’
‘Only way to attack a bullet proof car is to destroy it,’ I pointed out.
He nodded. ‘They’d go for a paid janitor at some function. You know, some people actually volunteer for such jobs because their family gets the pay-off and are set for life, so a father with three kids about to go to college might tackle such a job, even knowing he’d be killed.’
‘That makes my job so much harder,’ I said with a sigh. ‘One-time disposable assassins.’
‘Let’s just shoot all the janitors,’ Swifty quipped.
That evening, after their duty shift, I met the three other bodyguards, one an ex-military policeman with a good attitude, one ex-SBS with a reasonable attitude, one other “E” Squadron with a bad attitude. Still, after I cocked my pistol, winded him and shoved my pistol into his groin he got the message - that I would not dick about, his dick feeling my pistol.
In the morning we had our briefing on how to behave, normal protocols with the Ambassador and his staff, the building layout, the city spots of interest, normal routes and alternate routes, rules of engagement.
The briefing lasted till lunchtime, notes handed out as well as maps. I had my sat phone with me, Swifty as well, and we programmed numbers; the direct line here to the security coordinator designate, the local English speaking security police, the Intel officers, the FCO guy back in London responsible for all embassy security worldwide.
That guy was key because he was supposed to be the man with all the latest intel on any threat level anywhere in the world, and he would have the updated intel on Charlo and his in-laws.
I called him over lunch.
‘Duty officer.’
‘Mister Burridge?’
‘Yes?’
‘Wilco, SAS.’
‘Ah, calling from sunny Bogota. How’re
things?’
‘Was about to ask you that.’
‘The answer is ... no change, but a very credible threat given that we’re holding the prize turkey here in London.’
‘Are there mugshots and names of locals?’
‘Not worth a damn no, they tend to pay people with clean records to take pot shots.’
‘So I heard. Any change, please let me know.’
‘One small update; his brother-in-law was banged up yesterday, minor charge. Local authorities are trying to pressure him, not least with a stay in an open area of Bogota’s maximum security prison. Rumour has it ... it’s not a very pleasant hotel.’
‘I can imagine. Wilco out.’
I sat thinking for an hour, and then called Bob. ‘You awake, Bob?’
‘We’re ahead of you here by four hours, so yes.’
‘Just checking. Listen, do me a favour, and find out if there are any Russian bad boys languishing in Bogota’s nasty prisons.’
‘Why..?’
‘Charlo’s brother is banged up, and ... Petrov.’
‘Ah ... oh, that would be good.’
‘Would have to look genuine, and you’d have to get me out of prison.’
‘I’ll give that some thought, check the records.’
The next day would be our first duty shifty, Tomo on stand-down. And the next day we just sat around, the hours passing, the Ambassador making one quick trip to an English school for British ex-pats, no one taking pot shots at him, not even the janitor.
We were back for 3pm and stood down till 7pm, when we escorted the Ambassador to his plush residence. He invited me in, the lads told to wait in a side room, and he introduced his son, now visiting, and about to attend Sandhurst. The young officer-to-be almost fainted when his father explained who I was.
I ate with the family, good food and plenty of it, much talk of my rescues, and what Army life would entail for the lad. We discussed military law, code of conduct and ethics, and I gave him a few scenarios, good preparation for his upcoming studies.
Driving back, the lads were all curious, and then all whinging that I got to eat with the ambassador and his family when they just had coffee and biscuits.
Bob called that evening. ‘Are you alone?’
‘Yes, sat in my small room.’
‘There’s a Russian gang we’re interested in, we’d love someone on the inside, and they smuggle arms to the criminals and drug dealers alike. Mostly they hide in Panama, have a presence in a border town. Question is ... how you meet them and offer your services.’
‘Could make it look like I’m on the run, which Petrov is. But we need someone who knows him.’
‘There are few of our local men who know him, but one wrong word and they’d shoot you.’
‘Well ... is it a high priority?’ I asked.
‘Taking down that gang, yes.’
‘Capture them, or just make them go away.’
‘Whichever is easier.’
‘And the brother in prison?’
‘Could put you in a cell next to him, but I’d say do that after some involvement with the gang in Panama. Otherwise, how do we explain your jail break?’
‘Do people escape jail here?’ I asked.
‘They used to, guards bribed, but not anymore,’ Bob insisted.
‘So ... I meet the gang up north and then get captured.’
‘It’s dangerous, and if you were killed...’
‘No more dangerous than anything else I do,’ I suggested. ‘Helo could go down anytime.’
‘PM is down in two days, you’ll need to be there, but after that ... it gives us time to plan something.’
‘Small select group, Bob, keep it very tight, don’t put anything on paper or in the computer, the bad boys down here have enough money to bribe people in London.’
‘It’ll be kept quiet,’ he assured me.
The next day we drove the Deputy Ambassador to meetings, getting into the swing of it, Tomo with us.
Coming out of the third meeting, Tomo drew quickly but held off firing, the Deputy Ambassador rushed into his car as I closed in on a street sweeper with his hands up.
‘Pistol down his pants,’ Tomo calmly reported as the police moved in.
The uniformed officers searched the man, an old revolver found, and took the man away.
‘Well done,’ I told Tomo. ‘Glad you never shot him.’
Inside the vehicle, the Deputy Ambassador was looking nervous before we pulled away, and an hour later Malcolm came and found us eating.
He sat. ‘That guy with the revolver, he’s clean, he just had it for protection, as many people do around here.’ He faced Tomo. ‘Good eyesight, son. But why didn’t you shoot the fucker?’
‘No need,’ Tomo insisted. ‘He was rumbled, no one else around, and he’d have a hard job to pull it from where it was.’
‘Good work,’ I told Tomo. ‘We don’t need the local press giving us shit for nothing.’
In the morning the Ambassador asked for me, and I explained the incident.
‘Your men are calm under pressure, but I suspect the other four would have plugged that street sweeper with twenty rounds.’
‘Which would you prefer, sir?’
‘Your way, no shooting unless absolutely necessary.’
I nodded. ‘My preferred way as well, sir.’
The next morning the Prime Minister arrived with his posse - and he greeted me warmly before we sat with the Ambassador and discussed stability in West Africa and the rescues, the Ambassador having spent a few years in Africa.
An hour later, and with fake moustache in place, sunglasses on, I led my team down to the vehicles, the parking area now full, and we drove off following the PM’s vehicle along dead straight roads, police motorcycles ahead of us, and we got back at 4pm without incident, all day in and out of air-conditioned vehicles or air-conditioned conference venues. I was developing a cough.
At 5pm the Mi6 guy came found me in a hurry. ‘We have credible intel, armed men ready to shoot at the ambassador’s vehicle tonight.’
‘Get me a beaten up old vehicle, or two, and keep the Ambassador here. We’ll go for a drive to the Ambassador’s residence and back. Have his usual driver briefed – and reassured.’
I collected the lads, collected the four original bodyguards, and led them to the common room. ‘OK, listen up, then tool up; we have a little job. Intel has credible information on an attack tonight, so we’ll have the Ambassador’s vehicles follow the same route, but we’ll be in civvy cars, one ahead, one behind. I’ll be in the one ahead, Rizzo in the Ambassador’s car - you’ve been promoted to Ambassador.’
I pointed at Malcolm and his team. ‘You follow behind, and – if there is an attack – you hit them from behind.’
‘Hang on,’ the ex-copper said, looking worried. ‘If we have intel then the local riot squad sets a trap and nabs them, we don’t go all guns blazing.’
I faced Malcolm. ‘Is that normal procedure around here?’
‘Yes, we’d not go on the offensive.’
‘If we call the local police, what’s likely to happen?’ I asked him.
‘Well ... they’d have a few extra cars out, and investigate themselves.’
‘They must already know something,’ I insisted. ‘The intel must be local!’
‘Maybe,’ Malcolm agreed. ‘But the local police would never let us set an ambush.’
‘We’re not setting an ambush, we’re simply ... testing the route before the Ambassador drives home,’ I quietly insisted, my hands wide. ‘Now tell me, if the police are present, will the gunmen simply fuck off and try again next week?’
Malcolm’s team glanced at each other. ‘Probably,’ Malcolm agreed.
‘So ... next week we won’t be here, you will,’ I pointed out. ‘We put them off with a few flashing blue lights, and you ... get a round up the arse next week.’ I sighed. ‘OK, I can’t risk you guys, we’ll test the route and see what happens, you stand down.’
‘OK, your choice. My lads, take the M4s.’
They stood.
The ex-SBS guy stood. ‘I volunteer as well.’
‘So noted, get ready, we leave when we have tail vehicles.’
I left the last two old timers sat looking perplexed, and we opened our metal box, M4s handed out and checked, ammo handed out, smoke grenades and flashbangs, small French flashbangs that contained CS gas.
The smaller radios would be used for this job – wire earpiece, and were handed out and tested. Malcolm and the others possessed hand-radios, encrypted, but ours could be switched onto permanent transmit, and they either worked well or squealed static.
I called the FCO.
‘Duty officer.’
‘It’s Wilco, SAS, Bogota. We have a credible threat this evening, we’re going to drive the route without the Ambassador in the car and see what happens. Am I required to notify the local police?’
‘No, they’re required to notify you and protect the Ambassador.’
‘Are we doing anything wrong by driving the route heavily armed?’
‘No, not at all.’
‘Rules of engagement, given that we suspect an attack?’
‘Same as usual, defend yourselves and the principal, very careful who you shoot at, don’t spray it around.’
‘Smoke grenades OK?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘You’re being ... very cautious, Captain?’
‘I don’t need another pigging enquiry, I’ve had a few.’
‘I understand, but you’ve ticked all the boxes, and you’re being professional by making this call and checking.’
‘I’ll update you later, sir. Wilco out.’
Next call was Bob. ‘Listen, we have intel on an ambush -’
‘I just heard, yes. What’ll you do?’
‘Drive the route without the Ambassador in the car, see what happens. Most likely nothing will happen.’
‘OK, keep me posted.’
In the garage we met the usual drivers, and I assured them that most likely nothing would happen, and they seemed quite bored. I guessed that this was not their first false alarm.
