by Geoff Wolak
‘Horrible fucking place, always grey, too many people,’ I told him, guessing he wanted my accent.
‘And which Regiment are you?’
‘SAS.’
‘SAS?’
‘Echo Detachment, hostage rescue. In our hotel, the Meridien, are American special forces,’ I said, hoping to impress him. ‘We were in Mauritania, came here for a break.’
He waved over the Russian from Panama, flanked by police. When close, he asked me, ‘You recognise this man?’
The man and the detail came to me. ‘He should not be walking around free, he’s a Russian gun runner we grabbed in the Congo, Yuri Kolonkov, but we handed him to the Congo police.’
The officer began, ‘I think maybe a bribe was paid.’ He searched Kolonkov, finding ID that matched the name. ‘You ... will come with us,’ he told my accuser, and led a protesting man away.
I led my team away in the opposite direction.
‘He recognised you,’ Moran quietly stated. ‘From the other day job.’
‘Yep.’ I took out my phone and called SIS London whilst glancing over my shoulder. ‘It’s Wilco, in Tenerife. A Russian man from Panama recognised me, called the local police, but we blagged it. His name is Yuri Kolonkov, and I need him on Interpol’s most wanted inside an hour. Pass it to David Finch, right now, at home.’
Next call was the DGSE, and they would contact the police here direct, a made–up charge.
We walked to a busy bar in a side street, cold beers enjoyed, a loud group of British girls chatted to, but these were too old for us, Moran having gone from feeling too old to feeling too young.
Heading back, I was worried, so called SIS, asking for armed Spanish police at our hotel.
Back at the hotel, a dozen men in the bar enjoying a beer, an American recruit came in covered in blood, helped by two of his friends.
‘That does it, tomorrow I ban them from that strip of bars.’
Moran nodded his agreement.
In the morning I found two black eyes and a wrist bound up, not a happy bunny at all, but the fault lay with stupid young Brits getting drunk. At breakfast I told them all that Veronicas was off limits, and that there were plenty of other bars. Any more fighting, and men would be sent back, or sent home.
After breakfast I was called outside, the same police detective from last night, four armed police officers now on the entrance to the hotel. I sighed, wondering which of the lads would be arrested first.
He shook my hand. ‘Captain. Two matters, in fact three. First, can you keep your men away from the bar strip?’
‘I just banned them.’
‘Good. Second, we have had a request from a high level to guard this place.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And finally, we have had an extradition request for that Russian man, but the paperwork is not correct, so we will wait till it is.’
‘FBI will land and make you regret that.’
He stiffened. ‘We do not bow down to the FBI, this is our country! If the man is wanted, then we will see the correct paperwork first!’
‘Will you hold him?’
‘In a cell, yes, the French just about threatening to come get him by force.’
‘So much for European co-operation, eh.’
‘One last thing. You are called Wilco?’
I was cautious. ‘Yes..?’
He turned and waved at a black Mercedes in the street, a smartly dressed grey-haired man stepping out and walking around. In broken English he said, ‘It is you.’ And he smiled. ‘I was in Niger, a hostage.’ I got a big hug, whether I wanted one or not. ‘You can come to my house, our guest?’
‘Uh ... sure. When?’
‘Tonight,’ the detective said. ‘My uncle here will throw a small party.’ He handed me the address. ‘The taxi drivers will know where it is, up the hill. 8pm.’
I nodded. ‘We’ll be there.’
After a day out, and a short sleep, I gathered those Echo lads that had been on the Niger rescue, but we left Rizzo and Tomo behind just in case. Eight of us got into a mini-van, a police escort, a mile or two up the hill to a sumptuous villa with high pink walls. Inside, I was greeted by the former hostage, several kids around his feet, and we were led inside, finding many guests.
The first man shook my hand. ‘I am chief of police here.’
‘Then I hope my men are not caught fighting.’
‘I think maybe they win the fight quickly.’
A second man shook my hand, the island’s de-facto governor - the islands liking to think themselves independent from mainland Spain, and snacks were offered. And beer.
I got many thanks and hugs from middle-aged ladies before I got away to the balcony, beer in hand, the former hostage with me. ‘How come you were in Niger?’
‘My company, part is French, and part makes water cleaning machines. I was making my first and only visit to the local finishing plant.’
‘That will teach you about field trips, eh.’
He laughed. ‘No more.’ He lost his smile. ‘I thought I was going to die, or ... be held for years in that place. I was held for six weeks, less than some. Then one night, when I was asleep, the shooting started. I pictured my wife and family, closed my eyes and said goodbye, then heard a British voice.
‘Opening my eyes, the guard was dead, men in uniforms knelt there, and I was led out, bullets fired all around, soon in a vehicle and away, and your English men – they laughed and joked as if at the beach.’
‘We try not to take it seriously, none of us will live to old age.’
He nodded, saddened. ‘I have a great anger towards the Arabs, and sometimes I cannot sleep. I have the best therapists, but still it is a problem.’
‘Come to my base in the UK some time, I’ll arrange it. You can fire a few weapons, meet the teams, and that may help.’
‘I would like that, yes.’
‘Oh, you ... make water desalination equipment?’
‘Yes..?’
‘I’m going to take over a remote airfield in Northern Nigeria, and there was a survey done by the Americans in 1962, water there. How do I get it up?’
‘You need to know the depth, pressure or static, stagnant or moving -’
‘Moving?’
‘Water underground does not sit still, it moves and flows. It may also have certain chemicals in it, metals, you need to know which.’
‘Do you have a man I chat to, some equipment we can buy?’
‘I will provide the man, and the equipment will be free. And I have a survey of all of northern Nigeria, so I will find the type of water and the depth and advise you. Then you drill down -’
‘We’ll only have men, no power.’
‘Ah, not a problem. We build for Africa a manual drill, a large wheel that men hold and turn, the drill goes down, sand comes up, you add to it section by section. Tomorrow I can take you to a place here were it was tested.’
‘Do so, yes. And water storage?’
‘You dig down, two metre, put in a large rubber tank, fill it with water, pipe in, pipe out, cover with sand to keep it cool.’
‘And these chemicals you mentioned?’
‘Can be neutralised after analysis, yes. We are at your disposal.’
‘Lucky to meet you.’
‘The luck was mine.’ He pulled out an envelope. ‘For the men, for drinks.’
I pocked it without opening it. ‘They’ll appreciate it. Thanks.’
A young girl ran out, soon clinging to my leg. I sat, lifting her up. ‘About the same age as my daughter.’
‘You have a family, with this work you do?’
‘I had a child with a high class lady, but we are not together. I am only useful for telling stories about at dinner parties.’
‘Ah, you find solace in your work.’
We left after midnight, many thanks in our ears, but we had to refuse the photographs.
Back at the hotel bar I found Sergeant Crab with a black eye. ‘Sergeant!’
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br /> ‘I wasn’t fighting, not with a man anyway.’
‘Not with a man?’
‘This fat bird in the curry house, I asked her to shut up, whiney voice, and she was a Liverpool slapper, and landed one on me.’
‘You got hit ... by a girl?’
‘Twenty stone girl,’ Duffy put in.
I shook my head at him. ‘Stay out of trouble!’
‘Right, Boss.’
When Sasha appeared with his team I could see the blood. In Russian he said, ‘We hurt some men bad.’
‘I’ll get you a ride out in the morning,’ I growled. ‘Get cleaned up, no evidence, throw away clothes with blood on. And now!’
‘Wasn’t our fault -’
‘You let me down, now fuck off and get cleaned up.’
Heads lowered, he led the team away, Casper avoiding eye contact. I stood shaking my head at Moran. Phone out, I called London and requested a small jet for a small group.
With Sasha’s team dispatched to the airport after breakfast, Moran going with them to make sure there were no hitches, I led the rest to a factory unit above the airport, met by our former hostage. After a demonstration, teams of eight tackled the drill, working up a sweat, tops taken off.
Everyone had a go, and we would utilise this equipment soon. Only then did I explain that the Wolves would be coming on a live job, the NCOs offering their concerns.
Back at the hotel, in a side room, everyone gathered with tea and coffee. I stood at the front. ‘The next phase of training for the British and American Wolves will be a real job, shots fired. But I think you’re up to it. Of course, you can quit if you like.
‘Those of you NCOs that have family commitments, or doubts about a live job, you can rotate back, we don’t need you all, we only need a few. So it will be on a volunteer basis, and you’d be gone six to eight weeks before rotating out.
‘But during those six to eight weeks you would be living rough, and getting shot at on a daily basis.’ They exchanged looks. ‘The plan is - discussed already with the Pentagon - that we seize a runway in northern Nigerian, a remote spot. There will be other British and French units alongside you.
‘At this airfield is nothing at all, just a runway, and those water drills you just practised with will fetch up water – or we all die of thirst. Hercules will fly in supplies, tents, sandbags, and we make a camp, we put men on the perimeter, and we wait to be attacked – having first let the locals know we’re there.
‘They attack us, we shoot them, we thin them out a bit, which is the main objective. We have good men, good rifles, we’re accurate at distance, and the locals are crap. Get shot and it’s a random hit, not good aim.
‘The aim is – as far as the Wolves are concerned, to finish the testing and training in live conditions, live ops, live patrols, shots fired, sleeping in the sand, cooking in the sand. And I have full confidence in the Wolf recruits I see before me, otherwise you would not be here.
‘This, my Lone Wolves, is the chance to show what you’ve got, the chance to shoot and kill, to show those above what you can do – and that will affect what positions you get in the future. If any of your have doubts, come talk to me, talk to your NCOs. If you’re afraid of dying, then ... fuck off back home and get a job as a painter decorator.
‘When we get back to Mauritania you start to make plans, plans to land by Hercules, to set-up tents and sandbags, patrol the wire, drill for water, plans made to get us sorted when we get there. Echo will HALO in and make sure that it’s safe for the Hercules. And if it’s not safe, we’ll have a long fucking walk out of there.
‘American NCOs, give some thought to what comes next, talk to you CO, talk to Colonel Mathews, I want decisions a few days after we get back. When you get to the new base you won’t be able to just quit and rotate. Any questions?’
Moran asked, ‘What we up against?’
‘To start, a few jeeps of locals, but they will gather their men, and they have heavy weapons, lots of men. They could call in five thousand well-armed men.’
The NCOs exchanged looks.
‘We get air support, sir?’
‘No, it will be just the ground units, but the place is flat, very flat, so we’ll hit them a thousand yards out. We have the advantage, and – hopefully – a week to dig in and to plan ambush positions before we get any company.’
The men were released to go eat and drink, dire warnings issued about fighting, and no fights were reported later - if they were being truthful in their reporting. I had enjoyed a relaxing day on the beach, some swimming, but got bored soon enough.
Bob called at 3pm that day, as I hid from the sun with a cold beer. ‘We caught up with Dupree’s right hand man in Europe, your man Leggit given the task, a sort of first test. Chap was in a cheap hotel in Brussels, got four rounds through the chest as he opened his hotel door. No witnesses, no cameras, no evidence noted so far – The Banker has a man in Interpol, who is now my man as well.’
‘Good work.’
‘I have a list of Dupree’s contacts, we’ll work through them slowly.’
‘Fewer idiots in the world.’
‘And we’ve had two payments into the bank account, not sure whose they are. One is five million dollars, one is seven point eight million pounds.’
‘I’d say the five million dollars is Petrobras, the other is the French. The other, if you work the exchange rate, was probably ten million Euros.’
‘Ah, yes, it would be, near as dammit.’
‘So we’re well funded then.’
‘Investments are doing well.’
‘Bean counter Bob,’ I commended.
When my phone trilled, half an hour later, it was the Major. ‘You lot ever coming back?’
‘Not for a while, sir, how’re things?’
‘We get the regulars and the territorials down, and the police have made use of the facilities a few times. RAF ran their exercise last week, plenty of range practise. Regulars do their 24hr speed march here, so there’s plenty happening.’
‘How’s Rocko?’
‘He’s bored some days, yes. It was tense for a week or so, after Lesley, still in shock we are. Oh, got a replacement for Lesley, a man, not afraid of the risks and he’s been having pistol lessons. Intel team found some hostages and we passed it to Colonel Dean, so regulars from Sierra Leone went up into Guinea and got them, hardly a shot fired, usual drugged-up idiots.’
‘Don’t leave till I get back, sir, we’ll have a curry. Oh, you may as well take my kit order now. We’ll want rations for fifty men for eight weeks, lots more ammo, plenty of long-casing ammo, and thirty of the basic telescopic sights from Valmet, another ten large ones, plenty of Valmet box-fed ammo, extra brown clothing, and brown caps, and – some sun cream.’
‘I’ll get it sorted in the morning. And I keep the stories Max puts out. Was a two page spread on the Americans getting Dupree, same for the Colonel fella. Made it seem far more dramatic that it probably was.’
‘A Navy Seal got bitten by a dog, and one got badly bitten by a woman on the second raid. And they grabbed that colonel as he shagged some bird on the golf course.’
‘That wasn’t in the papers!’
I sat staring at my phone for a while, sipping my beer, noticing the nice girls walking by. I finally called Libintov. ‘It’s Petrov.’
‘Ah, fresh back from Lagos I hear...’
‘I had a TV station to shoot up, some government ministers to frighten.’
‘I have contacts there, and take it from me – they are frightened. And Dupree was grabbed by the Americans, less competition for me.’
‘Dupree moved from transport - to bombing American soldiers.’
‘A bad idea, a very bad idea.’
‘I want to order some weapons and equipment, payment by bank transfer afterwards, but not Tomsk. Got a paper and pen?’
‘OK, go ahead.’
‘Twenty RPGs, four hundred heads. Ten box-fed, plenty of ammunition. Forty AK47, plenty of ammo,
say fifty thousand rounds.’
‘You about to start a war someplace?’
‘Not me, others. Twenty VEPR, good sights. Next, I want two of those very small bulldozers, and a diesel fuel bogey and pump. I want four generators – diesel, wires and lights on stands, 2m tall. I want fifty shovels, ten pickaxes, and some of those rubber water containers, the big ones.
‘I want two thousand sandbags, empty of course. I want two tonnes of flour, and some salt and some sugar, and a tonne of corned beef in tins, and then I want some pots and pans, enough for fifty men cooking. Next, I want ten of those little barbeque cookers, coke and fire-starters, and wood.
‘And finally, I want three tall flag poles with ropes, twenty bags of cement.’
‘Someone will be camping out, no. Boy Scouts?’
I smiled. ‘No scouts, no. You are familiar with an airfield in Northern Nigerian, the long one that the Americans built in 1962?’
‘Yes, but I don’t use it much, others do, some weapons dropped off there, but sand is an issue – you have to clear the runway first, and nothing there, no water.’
‘That will be the drop point, tell the pilots to unload, no questions asked, and to leave. The runway will be cleared, I might be there when they land. There will be other drops to make, and add a little something for yourself on top of course. Thanks.’
That evening I took a survey of the lads, and few wanted to stay here longer, all were itching for some action as usual. I gave them notice, dire warnings of any trouble, and I booked a flight for the morning.
That final night would be a group meal at the Indian, all paid for by me, the place packed out at 7pm, no room for any passing tourists, the “Closed” sign put up. The American recruits would get to sample authentic British Indian food cooked by Indian chefs from London, the beer flowing.
I could see groups of British wolves sat next to American Wolves, so they were gelling, but they would not work together in the future, so there was little point in making friends here.
The group made it to the end of the night without incident, a few of the recruits a bit wobbly, Rizzo drunk with a few others, men helped up the hill and into the hotel. I had a soft drink in the bar, a very bored waiter suddenly swamped with final orders.
