by Geoff Wolak
‘I’m Stateside soon, we’ll meet.’ We shook.
The Seal captain cut in with, ‘So that guy Tomo lied to me about crashing the Space Shuttle...’ the room reverberating with laughter.
Out of the ready room, Franks led me outside. ‘Publicity was huge,’ he began. ‘But good publicity, powers are happy.’ He shot me a look. ‘Fucking nuclear bomb...’
I smiled widely. ‘Found by accident. So what if it was just rusted metal, it said “bomb” on the side and had large fins.’
‘I was cursing you; I had calls all night long! What’s this guy Dupree got to do with it?’
‘He leases planes to bad people, some of who tried to bomb the shit out of us thinking we were American.’
He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Dupree knew that?’
‘Unknown. But he’s on my list of people to shoot.’
‘And this British oil guy?’
‘Greedy in the extreme, very foolish or very brave, he tried to play the Nigerians and the gunmen. He knew there was old pesticide in that bunker that was deadly, so he might have had a buyer for it, but was mostly interested in some missing blood diamonds in the area.
‘Dupree’s old school buddy, Nathan Williams – a black British passport holder, was on his way to meet our oil guy at the dam, but your Seals shot him dead.’
‘French handed your citizen to us, to the FBI, so he’ll have a long stay in a small cell, orange jumpsuit, along with the captain.’
‘Captain?’
‘Captain Obango, picked up at the dam.’
‘Ah, my men grabbed him at the camp over the hills. He was being funded by the Nigerians, a Mister al-Sheek, who was in bed with Izillien last year.’
‘They were pissed at you?’ he puzzled.
‘No, they want into Senegal, after destabilising it a bit.’
He nodded. ‘The idiot President of Senegal lost the election but is still there.’
‘Do me a favour, and try and get to the crashed An12 near the dam, get DNA from all on board, IDs if you can.’
‘I’ll mention to the French, get a DNA team since I guess the crew are a bit toasted.’
‘Plane blew to bits when it hit the deck, munitions in the back.’
‘FBI can do that, they have a team here.’
‘Manstein?’ I teased.
‘Not sure, but a nuclear bomb would probably be his remit, it’s a weapon after all. How long you here?’
‘A week or two training the Wolves, then Sierra Leone and Liberia.’
‘All quiet down there now, and a new airline, prop-driven planes going from one end to the other and Sierra Leone.’
‘Paid by Tomsk.’
‘And you have Casper with you, I hear. I was a bit surprised, and if the fucking Admiral found out ... let alone the FBI!’
‘We have a new ID for him,’ I said with a smirk. ‘Relax.’
The next morning I set tasks for the various teams, and all were to undertake the Wolves standard range test, scores to be pinned up. I spent the day with the various teams, splitting my time twelve ways, getting the views of the men - and giving them the views I wanted them to foster.
After the morning briefing, teams set to be on standby, different teams set to undertake my sneak-and-peek scenario, the French major in charge of logistics stepped in.
‘Some news,’ he solemnly began, his English very good. ‘Thirty miles southwest, on the coast, a bus was attacked, a man with an AK47.’ He took in the faces as we stared back at him. ‘Twenty dead, twenty wounded, all women and children.’
My shoulders dropped, and I tossed my pen down onto the map table as looks were exchanged.
Ginger put in, ‘One step forwards, three steps backwards.’
I faced the Seal captains. ‘This is what I meant by us losing the battle. All they need is one man with a rifle, we need an airfield full of men and expensive equipment ... and some timely intel just to have half a fucking chance of stopping them. And we can’t stop all the men in the world who have a rifle, only the organised groups, and then when we’re lucky with the damn intel!’
I walked out, and I needed a walk to clear my head.
Max had hung around after the raid at the dam, and now drew alongside me as I stood on the apron watching the ground crews keenly tend planes and helicopters. ‘You OK?’ he asked without detracting from his own study of the busy apron.
‘Look at it all. All this equipment, all these men, and we’re making fuck-all of difference.’
‘You ... want me to run a story?’
‘No, in a word, because it gives them what they want ... the media coverage. They play to the media more than we do. If no one reported these types of attacks the terrorists would be well pissed off.’
‘Then I’ll leave it to someone else.’
A nod at Max, and I went for a walk, the day growing hot, teams jogging, some on the range. When my phone went it was David Finch. ‘Right Boss.’
‘Some news, and it’s bad news I’m afraid.’
I sighed. ‘It’s a bad news day anyhow. So shoot.’
‘We’ve identified your rapist.’
My heart sank as low as my shoulders and I wanted the ground to swallow me up. It was “my” rapist. ‘And..?’
‘Leggit.’
My surprise coloured my face, and if anyone had seen me it would have been a picture. ‘You sure?’
‘Two hundred percent sure.’
‘He’s so quiet, such a good man...’
‘We all have dark secrets.’
I took in the desert scrub and the distant hills before closing my eyes for a moment. ‘Do the police know?’
‘No, and we’ve ... made sure they don’t.’
‘There’s that at least.’
‘Will you ... deal with the matter?’
I wanted to reach down the phone and rip his throat out. Instead I sighed. ‘I’ll deal with the matter.’
Call cut, I walked on, now wanting to kill large numbers of people, with my hands and my teeth.
At lunch I saw him and said nothing, I needed time to think about this. The lads could see that I was down, but they figured it the bus attack. I had, at least, that to hide behind – for now.
But bad news came in bundles, and the day was about to turn cold, despite the boiling sun. At 2pm my phone trilled.
‘It’s the Duty Officer, can you talk?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Bad news I’m afraid -’
‘It’s one of those days.’
‘You oil liaison, Lesley, she’s ... she’s dead I’m afraid, signs of torture – substantial torture over many hours, body was found an hour ago.’
I had stopped dead near the apron, the background roar of helicopters drowned out, my face flushing hot then cold. Torture. They had tortured her to get information about us. This was my fault, I had brought her in.
‘You there?’ the voice asked.
‘Yes. Who ... who else knows?’
‘Very few, we’re keeping a lid on it for now, D Notice.’
‘I’ll ... I’ll make some calls.’ I cut the call, a ground handler puzzling my expression as he stood nearby.
I turned away from the man and walked around the long way, and to the command room. Captain Harris could see my look, and he puzzled it. Others stopped to face me.
‘Back in the UK ... our oil liaison ... Lesley ... they kidnapped her ... tortured her for hours ... killed her.’
Captain Harris stood visibly shocked; he and his wife had been to dinner with Lesley. And all of a sudden this was all a little close to home for him; his family was now in the firing line.
I turned on a heel and headed out, and I slowly walked to the bar. They were not serving, so I pointed my pistol at the barman, and now they were serving. Whiskey down my throat, cold beer in hand, I stepped outside to an empty patio and claimed an empty table.
Stood staring ahead at the scrub, I had no idea how much time had passed, but three quarters of my beer had gone, and wh
en I sipped it I found it flat and warm.
Someone sat next to me, the movement registered, but I held my gaze on the scrub.
‘Drinking on duty?’ came in a French accent.
I slowly turned my head and offered a tired and drained expression, recognising the man, a senior DGSE manager, akin to Paul MacManners. I turned back to the scrub.
He continued, ‘I heard about the bus incident, but I do not think you mope – as they say – over a bus.’
I glanced at him again with tired eyes. ‘Didn’t know you were here.’
‘Plane landed a little while ago. It seems you were pre-occupied with something...’ He waited.
‘Back at my base ... we had a liaison to the oil sector ... for hostage demand news ... a women ... very pretty ... petite ... they ... they caught her ... tortured her for hours ... killed her.’
‘Torture is used by men in a hurry, in a hurry to get information, as you were with the Hammad poison. Or it is the tool of the non-professional.’ He took a moment. ‘They wanted information about your team?’
I nodded as I took in the distant hills.
‘And you blame yourself. And this bus incident also upset you, made you ... frustrated, because you cannot get to them, at least not yet. This woman, you see her in your mind, stood over her being tortured, but you cannot stop them. You ... were not there for her.’
I glanced at him. ‘I was not there for her.’
‘You have done very well, better than most, a very high body count. But yet I have seen signs that you are frustrated. When a man runs a marathon in three hours, he wonders - why not two hours fifty. If I can run it in three, surely I can run it in two-fifty.
‘When a man rescues a hundred people, he wonders if he could rescue a hundred and ten, more and more, ever more, driven onwards. That ... is the road to madness, my friend.’
I stared at him. ‘I think I’m on that road, I think I have been for a while.’
‘You have stopped counting the successes behind you ... and now you count the successes to come. A bad move, a difficult move, even for someone as capable you.’
‘And the solution?’
‘Is to find the anger within and to channel it, to use it the correct way. I read the book about Bosnia, and I know more than most. You were determined, and you had some luck yes, and you did not give up. And when you were 90% dead you stopped to rescue a group of people, your last dying act.
‘You are not dying now, you are fit and well, and if you were badly hurt then maybe you would be thinking straight, and not thinking like a captain in the British Army, not worrying so much about rules and regulations.
‘If you were hurt, you would fight fire with fire, take the fight to them, as you did in Zurich.’ He tapped my shoulder rank. ‘This makes you stop and think, and to my mind ... it is a mistake to hold you back with these. If you want to function you need to find a release for the anger, the frustration, the feeling that you are losing when you are actually winning and doing well.
‘I was briefed on this new organisation, Spectre – I loved the name,’ he said with a smile. ‘I will be closely involved with it, some people to deal with. Like you, we have auditors. And this new organisation is what is needed, not more rules and laws to slow us down. I have organised some money for it, some men, and we have made sure that this dead body is Bob Staines to the English police.’
He stood. ‘Find the rage, channel the rage, and to hell with the rules.’
I followed him up, a stony face offered before I took in the scrub. I sighed, and blew out. ‘A tiger on a leash, eh.’
‘Cut the leash for a while,’ he suggested before he headed off.
I walked slowly back to our billet, finding the lads back from training the Wolves, both our Wolves and the Americans. ‘Listen up!’ I called.
They stopped what they were doing, and those at the far end came down.
I took in their faces, noticing Leggit. He was another problem I would have to deal with, and today. ‘Back at GL4 ... the pretty lady, Lesley, she ... she was kidnapped, tortured for information about us, killed.’
Shocked faces stared back at me.
‘Gentlemen, we’re going to find these boys, and we’re going to kill every last one of them - no matter where they are. And fuck the rules. War has been declared.’
I turned on a heel and stepped out, calling the GL4 base, getting MP Pete. ‘Listen, you heard about Lesley?’
‘Heard what?’
‘She was kidnapped, tortured for information, killed.’
‘What the fuck...’
‘Step up security, don’t let anyone drive home. I want MPs from Brize Norton, local police, and I want some of the coppers we trained, and fast. Get to it! Now put me through to Rocko. And fast!’
I had to wait a minute as I walked back towards the command room.
‘Wilco?’ came Rocko’s gruff voice.
‘Listen carefully. Lesley was killed today, but tortured for information first. Warn everyone, step up security, I just warned MP Pete. Call the Major at home, and don’t let anyone leave yet.’
‘The fuckers killed her?’
‘Yes, now get sorted, these boys aren’t done yet.’
Next call was Credenhill.
‘Duty Officer.’
‘It’s Wilco. Put the base on alert, and warn everyone about an off-duty attack. I want a troop down to GL4 straight away, overnight bags and civvy clothes. One of my civvy staff, a lady, she was kidnapped, tortured for information and killed.’
‘Christ...’
‘Warn everyone, and I want a man outside the Colonel’s home, and one outside Major Bradley’s home, and I want them ten minutes from now or I start shooting people! Get those men sent down to GL4!’
Next call was SIS, and a demand to be put through to Gloucester police.
‘Commander Lewis here.’
‘Captain Wilco, SAS -’
‘Ah, an honour -’
‘Shut up and listen. I want random roadblocks ten miles out from my base down at GL4, armed officers, take no chances or you’ll be down a few officers. You need to look for foreigners, black Nigerians maybe, could be others, but there’s a nasty team in the area, they grabbed one of my civilian support staff, tortured her for information and killed her - we’re suppressing the news for now.
‘They’re still out there so be damned careful, these guys will shoot first, and they don’t give a fuck about the consequences. Let Oxford police know as well, and check every damn hotel and motel along the M4 around Swindon for foreigners; I think this team will stand out as the unsociable type. Get to it before they come across one of your beat officers and stick ten rounds in him!’
Calling back SIS, I asked for as many of the Lone Wolves as possible to group at GL4, civvy clothes taken.
Call cut, I went and found the DGSE manager and led him outside. ‘I need a favour, no questions asked. I have a man with me that was indiscreet back in the UK, the police closing in, but London has hidden the evidence. I need him dropped off in the south of France, close to Marseille, a few Euros in his pocket, no questions, rest I’ll take care of.’
‘There is a plane that leaves in two hours.’
‘I’ll make sure he’s on it. Don’t kill him, I’ll make sure he pays for what he’s done, but by helping me break a few rules.’
He smiled. And nodded.
Back at billet I found most of the lads heading to the canteen. Including Leggit. ‘Leggit, on me.’
He fell into line behind as I walked to the billet, and soon it was just the two of us. I halted outside the billet, moved quickly, a punch to the nose sending him down into the sandy dirty.
Two Seals stopped.
‘Keep walking,’ I barked at them, and they headed off, glancing back.
Leggit eased up, blood from his nose.
I stood staring at him as he righted himself. ‘The British police have been hunting a serial rapist, and ... they now know who he is.’
Hi
s eyes betrayed his guilt.
‘I had considered a shallow grave in the desert for you, but instead I have a use for you, and your skills with a rifle. So you’re going to do as I say, exactly as I say, or ... I tell the lads what you’ve been doing, what you’ve done to bring our team into disrepute, what you did ... that could have seen us shut down.
‘What do you think they’ll do to you? What do you think Rocko would do to you, eh?’
He didn’t answer, he just stood looking terrified.
‘Of course, if you’re not happy with what I arrange for you ... you could go back and stand trial. You’d be out of prison in twenty years, old and grey, plenty of time to read a few paperbacks. Well, do you want me to send you back?’
He shook his head, looking ashamed.
‘Get into your civvy clothes, leave everything behind, empty your pockets. You’ll be taken to the South of France, where you’ll meet a man that runs secret intel jobs, and you’ll kill people for him, something you’re good at.
‘You’ll get a new ID, a wage, payment for jobs well done, medical cover. But you will never again set foot in the UK, and if you piss this guy off the French will put you in a shallow grave. Now, is there any part of that ... which is not really fucking clear?’
He shook his head.
‘Get changed quickly. I’ll be waiting.’
When he appeared, jeans and t-shirt and jacket carried, I led him off without a word, and to the DGSE manager. I wrote down Bob Staines phone number, plus that of The Banker. ‘Call that number, I’ll talk to him now.’ I handed over dollars and Euros. ‘Get to a cheap hotel, get to that man, and any shit from you and you get a shallow grave real quick.’
The DGSE manager led Leggit to a waiting C160, engines turning, and I saw Leggit sit down alone in the hold. He looked lost and bewildered, but that was better than a prison sentence, and way more than he deserved.
I called Bob and briefed him.
‘What did this chap do?’ Bob finally asked.
‘Let’s just say you’d keep him away from your daughter, if you had one.’
‘I see. But still, it’s odd to question the morals of an assassin.’
‘Train him well, put him to work, explain what happens if he pisses you off. He’s a top sniper, so get him a Valmet and ammo, and make good use of him. I have some targets in mind.’
