by Geoff Wolak
Henri found me at 3pm, his tanned bald plate looking sunburnt. ‘These Belgian men, they work for a French mercenary company based out of Gibraltar, at least a desk and a phone there. They work for a Colonel Huebert, one crazy fucking idiot. He will take any job, no longer in favour with Paris unless Paris wants a dirty job done, but he cannot be trusted – his men were caught in Italy and Slovenia, they talked, Paris was embarrassed. Huebert hides, sometimes in the Congo, sometimes Angola. I have people asking around about him, and the DGSE are looking.’
‘Could these men have been hired by someone else?’
Henri made a face and shrugged. ‘Of course. These men, more criminal than soldier, banned from meetings of former soldiers, and they were in military prison, kicked out of army, no pension.’
I thanked him and called Tinker. ‘Listen, any calls from our Belgians to the Congo or Angola?’
‘Angola, a place on the coast, several calls recently, nothing to the Congo, and we’ve gone back a month or so.’
‘Focus on Angola, find a mercenary boss, a Colonel Huebert, registered offices in Gibraltar. I need to go visit him.’
‘There is a call to the same location we matched to Goskov in Lagos.’
‘Gorskov! I’ll get back to you.’ I looked up Gorskov’s number in a hurry and hit the numbers.
‘Da!’
‘It’s Petrov.’
‘Ah, long time no hear.’
‘Do you know a Colonel Huebert?’
‘Yes..?’
‘You had contact with him recently, didn’t you!’
‘How did you know that?’
‘What was the fucking contact about!’ I shouted.
‘I just helped two men get to Europe, no questions asked -’
‘You fucking idiot, you just signed your own death warrant! Those men, two Belgian mercenaries, they killed a British Intelligence officer, and then got caught and killed in a shoot-out!’
‘I ... I had no idea what they would do, I just helped out -’
I wanted him scared. ‘The British and the CIA want you dead, you fucking moron!’
‘I was not involved -’
‘Pack a bag, get out of where you are in a few hours or less, and hide! Don’t keep any appointments, change your routine, change phones and call me with a new number, idiot! The fucking CIA probably have this number already! And if you want to stay alive, get me something on this fucking idiot Huebert I can trade for your life.’
‘I know where he is -’
‘Who ordered the killing?’
‘I have no idea, I never knew about any killing. But Huebert is at a mine, he has a contract to protect it, but it’s a cover – he kills local trouble makers and miners that want a union. He has a nice house on the edge of the mine, north side. Selombe Mine, outside Ranka Townsville.’
‘I’ll try and make a deal. You ... start packing, and fucking run! And don’t warn off Huebert.’ I cut the call, pleased with my acting ability, and found a map of Angola, Franks taking an interest. The mine sat just twelve miles from the coast.
I tapped the map. ‘Man who killed my lady worker is here.’
Franks tipped his head and began, ‘If we grab him, hand him to your government, we look good out of it...’
‘Get Admiral Jacobs on the phone. Where’s he based anyhow?’
‘Aboard ship. Ship has a captain, exec, air boss, and Jacobs is a passenger with an office and a staff.’
‘Go sell him on the idea, or I HALO in and meet Huebert face to face for a quiet chat.’
Admiral Jacobs called me back an hour later. ‘Captain, we have a green light from the White House to grab Dupree, and this Colonel Huebert. I’m flying in tonight -’
‘Tonight? Where the heck are you, sir?’’
‘About fifty miles off the coast of Senegal. They’re running drills.’
‘Ah, thought you sailed away, sir.’
‘Got a reason to hang around now. And I’m happy to have your input on the plan obviously.’
‘Plan will be ready when you get here, sir. Can we use the Seals and Deltas here?’
‘Sure. Let them earn their damn pay.’
I sent a runner, to tell the Seals and Deltas to pack ready to leave for a ship, a live job on, command meeting in an hour for their senior staff.
When my phone trilled it was Paul MacManners. ‘News now has the story of that lady, Lesley, and the shooting by the two Lone Wolves – labelled as SAS men, hell of a media circus being played out. Will you go after Huebert?’
‘Job is being passed to the Americans -’
‘The Americans?’
‘They heard about it, wanted in, at least with Dupree, and Admiral Jacobs wanted jobs with a chance of a good newspaper story.’
‘And there was me thinking you worked for us...’
‘Don’t be bitchy, you know what the Cabinet Office wants, and that’s us Brits sucking up as ever, and you know it, so for now I’ll assist the Americans.’
‘Very well,’ he let out with a sigh. ‘How are those Wolves doing?’
‘Good, no issues, and this base is good for training, they’ve got a shit load of jumps in.’
‘And our rapist?’
‘He joined Spectre.’
‘Oh. I figured ... he would be prevented from talking.’
‘He might be, it’s dangerous work, very dangerous. As an aside, the DGSE will hand Spectre some money and men, keen to see it pushed along, and as we speak the head of Spectre is keenly assisting with men on the ground here in Africa.’
‘So it’s working out as planned.’
‘Very much so. If there’s anyone you need it to be looking at...’
‘I’ll let you have the details soon on that matter, yes. And ... is there anything I need to worry about in the next few days?’
‘As soon as things here are sorted, and the assets are all in place, our Russian speakers will go visit Nigeria.’
‘And the risks?’
‘Manageable. We have good outside help, existing pipelines, no links to you.’
‘And the aim?’
‘To scare the government there into controlling its oil barons. Leave the detail to me, you don’t want to know.’
When the officers and senior NCOs were gathered, I drew on a white board. ‘Dupree, a black Frenchman who has not been back to France for some time. He used to hire out planes for dodgy jobs, smugglers, but more recently he moved into bombs and guns and terrorism, and it was his plane that dropped the bomb on you at the dam.
‘I figured that he never knew what his plane would be used for, that he would not be that stupid, but you Seals shot his right hand man that first morning, so what was his right hand man doing at the dam, a dam with a bunker, a bunker that people thought might have an old nuke, or at least some very deadly chemicals.
‘Your FBI will have some questions for him, and British and French Intel can detail the man’s illegal aircraft business – and his part in last year’s coup attempt in Senegal. I have men on the ground observing Dupree, he’s at home most days, office close by, two mistresses in addition to a fat wife.’
They laughed.
‘Plan is that you insert by water five miles west of his nice beach house and walk through a sparsely populated area, across a nice golf course, and secure the area for the helos to come in. Some of you go in by water, some by helo. My men will warn me of Dupree’s movements, I’ll warn you, we all pretend that the CIA have men on the ground.’
They laughed loudly, Franks shooting me a look.
‘For the second job, twelve miles inland from the coast of Angola, you HALO a team or two in a few miles from the target, and walk in to get eyes on. You grab the man, kill his men by accident as they spot you, helos arriving. He will probably shoot back if he hears you creaking on the floorboards in the dead of night.
‘He has a house at the north end of a mine, not too many people around. There may be armed mine security staff, and he has armed men with him to keep
down unruly mine workers that want a union – or some fair pay. Get spotted, and it will be a shootout. Use silencers, shoot them first.
‘And to rudely breach both residences at night you’ll need to blow the doors, so plenty of charges and remote detonators, radio controlled, hit the front door and back door at the same time – leave the occupants stunned. But before you set the charges look for the stairs, because your breach team needs to be inside and up the stairs in a few seconds.
‘It’s unlikely that the bedroom door is locked and reinforced, but you never know. CS gas is also an option to get them out, and you can shoot out the windows to distract them, keep their heads down. Take a Valmet Elephant Gun, or several, tungsten rounds, they take a lock off a door like nothing else will.
‘Also, you are hereby warned from a foreign intelligence source that his men are heavily armed, criminally minded, and that they’re very cruel to the locals – no Christmas bonuses paid. Take no chances, shoot first.
‘Gentlemen, the small detail is down to you, but start planning now because Admiral Jacobs will be here ... inside the hour I think. And Seals and Deltas will both be on the jobs, so don’t squabble like kids over who’s doing what.’
They huddled, ideas floated and teams noted, pages annotated as I got a coffee with Franks. Their support staff had checklists, making me feel that my operations were a bit crude; we had no check lists.
Two Seahawks landed just over an hour later, Admiral Jacobs and some of his team led in, coffee made, our Seal captains detailing a rough outline of the plan, but it was a simple plan anyhow.
Jacobs finally faced me. ‘All comes down to your men on the ground, and the accuracy of the intel.’
‘They’ll call a go no-go if our target is at home tucked up in bed, sir, they’ll have eyes on. They’ll warn us if he suddenly gets up and sleepwalks away – or drives off in a hurry.’
He nodded. ‘Plans are simple, and I like simple plans, less to go wrong, less chance or an almighty fuck-up. Teams sneak in, and if the prize turkey is at home they call in the choppers. Simple.’
I faced the Seals. ‘Try and get any paperwork you can, open drawers for five minutes, blow a safe, look for documents, grab mobile phones and sat phones, bank details, wallets, that sort of thing, bag it all up.’
Admiral Jacobs told them, ‘Find a signed document detailing all their criminal activities in plain English ... and you earn yourselves a day off!’
The assembled men laughed.
I told them, ‘Most important items are the sat phones, look for them!’
An hour later more Seahawks arrived and loudly touched down, the Seals and Deltas whisked away, Admiral Jacobs with them.
My phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’
‘It’s Colonel Mathews, can you talk?’
‘Yes, sir, just dispatched your Seals and Deltas back to ship for a job.’
‘What job?’
‘I was going to deal with a man called Dupree myself, he’s on the coast in The Gambia. He’s the guy whose plane dropped a bomb on us at the dam. There’s also a Colonel Huebert, mercenary company boss, in Angola – twelve miles from the coast. He sent men to the UK, and they grabbed a lady support worker from my base, tortured and killed her.’
‘They grabbed an office lady? What the fuck for?’
‘Information maybe.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘He links back to the Nigerians, and they’re mad at me.’
‘Jesus. But why was I not notified about these jobs?’
‘Decision was taken two hours ago, Admiral Jacobs landed and discussed it, CIA wanted in. You got a story in the papers already, what more’d you want, sir?’
‘I want more good stories in the papers! Besides, these two jobs will come across my desk, they always do, we control all special forces ops – so I’ll make them look like mine since I put the damn teams there!’
‘Why not, sir, milk it.’
‘How’re my Wolves?’
‘Doing well, no quitters so far, and they have the static-line down now, plenty of desert navigation. Next stop will be Sierra Leone after I ... sort out a few bad boys.’
‘Of the Wolves left, how many would you pass?’
‘All of them, there’s very little between them, and they have the right attitude.’
‘More men than we figured on, good. Next batch of candidates have been selected, and we’ll process them when you free up those instructors.’
‘That could be a month, sir.’
‘I don’t mind, since we have a good batch with you; I had figured on way more drop-outs. And some around here figured few would make the grade.’
‘The profiling worked well, sir.’
‘Something that’s being discussed often around the water-cooler and in the corridors.’
At 9pm, Bob Staines rang. ‘It’s No.1.’
I smiled briefly. ‘Americans will go for Dupree, and Huebert.’
‘You passed the jobs over?’ he puzzled.
‘Politics.’
‘No need to swear, it was a civil question. Anyhow, I’ve been busy. My men on the ground near Dupree noticed that one of Dupree’s men liked his drink and drugs, so they got him hammered. Something is up, Dupree is up to something, a bomb somewhere, not sure where.’
‘Have that guy grabbed and tortured, or offer him a large bribe.’
‘He doesn’t seem to know where the bomb is.’
‘Keep at it,’ I urged.
‘Assets are in place in Nigeria...’
‘Good, that’s my next headache.’
‘Oh, and I met with Leggit, sorting a fake ID, house and money.’
I sighed. ‘Make good use of him, but never let your guard down with him.’
Call cut, I wondered about that bomb, and who Dupree wanted to target. Well, he wanted to target us. Blowing out, I raced to the command room. ‘Listen up, we got word that Dupree’s planted a bomb somewhere, no idea where. I want this base searched, and all French bases in Mauritania put on alert! Quickly people!’
A mad panic followed as I ran to the bar, finding it full. I stood on a chair. ‘Listen up! We got word about a bomb, maybe here, maybe a French base nearby. All of you, drinks down, and search your barracks, and search this place, then search some more! Move it!’
Drinks down, some spilt, the British lads and the American NCOs briskly headed out as I told the bar staff to search everywhere, the French getting a translation – and panicking. Back at the apron I grabbed the Squadron Leader, and he shouted orders to the RAF – also in a panic. Helos and aircraft would be searched, extra guards posted, the RAF Regiment lads to be busy tonight.
A Lone Wolf NCO asked, ‘This just to frighten the Wolves, sir.’
‘No.’
‘Aw ... shit. Them RAF boys said something always explodes when you’re around.’
By midnight nothing had been found, and I called a halt, guards posted, the aircraft to be carefully protected. Men went to bed after checking under their beds, all now wary.
The next day we got back into the routine of training the Wolves, the move to Sierra Leone delayed till after I had dealt with the Nigerians, Sasha and his team briefed on what the plan was, and Casper would take the lead. He had been there many times, and he knew people we could make use of, he had a trusted pipeline.
At 3pm Bob Staines called. ‘Wilco, the bomb, it’s on an oil platform off the coast of Senegal.’
‘Ah ... fuck, those are Petrobras platforms. You know which one?’
‘Platform 12, and if the information is correct, it blows in an hour and six minutes.’
‘An hour! Shit!’ I cut the call and sent a man to get Stretch as I darted to the command room. ‘The bomb is on an oil platform, Platform 12. Get a map! And get every helicopter we have ready! Fast!’ I looked up a number as I stepped outside, panic ensuing behind me.
‘Alo.’
‘Branco?’
‘Yes..?’
‘It’s Petrov, and there
is a bomb on your oil platform, Platform 12, placed by the Frenchman Dupree!’
‘Twelve is the hub, it connects many pipes!’
‘Good luck, my friend.’ I cut the call and hit the numbers for GL4, and Mutch. ‘Listen, I need to know where Platform 12 is, Petrobra’s main hub in Senegal.’ I could have asked Branco, but that would have given the game away.
‘It’s sat about ten miles off the coast of Mboro. Something wrong?’
‘Dupree got a bomb onto it.’
‘If it blows, it’ll take years to repair the damage!’
‘Maybe someone knows that. Call anyone there you know.’
Call cut, Stretch came running in. ‘What’s up?’
‘Stay close, we have a bomb on an oil platform.’ I grabbed Franks. ‘Get the admiral on the line! Fast!’
He hit the numbers as I waited, and he finally handed over the phone. ‘Admiral, there’s a bomb on an oil platform, Platform 12, ten miles out to sea from a town called Mboro.’ I spelt it. ‘Off the coast of northern Senegal. I need every helo you have, and medics on standby, to evacuate the rig. Don’t wait for me, launch them now, sir! I’m heading to the rig, bomb set to detonate in an hour or less.’
Call cut, I led Stretch to a Puma, two Pumas stood ready with their blades loudly turning, two Seahawks loudly running their blades down the apron. Inside the Puma I moved forwards to the crew and grabbed the headsets. ‘Look at the map, we’re going to a town on the coast of Senegal called Mboro.’ I pointed it out on the map. ‘How far is that?’
‘Only forty miles.’
‘Ten miles offshore is an oil platform, a bomb on it.’ They exchanged looks. ‘We’re going to evacuate as many men as possible. Radio the other helicopters, and fly as fast as you can, a direct line. Now, please! Move it!’
The Puma lifted up and slid forwards, radio calls made in haste, and I could see the second Puma following us – our door open, soon the two Seahawks behind us as my pilot flew us low level across the scrub.
