Wilco- Lone Wolf 10

by Geoff Wolak

  She gave me the address, so I knocked on Pete’s door and gave him the bad news. We were soon in a taxi, and he would not be allowed to drink. I was wearing my pistol, and might have a drink, even knowing the risks – the risk of shooting one of her relatives.

  The house was large, and must have been worth a fortune in this part of London. Taxi paid, feet wiped, bell rang, we waited, a maid letting us in.

  My daughter came running, a shrill cry issued as I picked her up.

  ‘Hey princess, you having fun?’

  Kate appeared down the hall and I walked towards her. She looked nice, and was aging very well.

  I asked my daughter, ‘Did you have lots of toys for Christmas?’

  ‘Yes.’ And she started to list them.

  ‘Have you eaten?’ Kate asked as she drew level.

  ‘We had a meal at the hotel.’

  She greeted Pete, remembering him, and led us into a large warm room, a dozen people stood chatting, and it looked like they had just finished their meal.

  I put down my daughter and Kate sat her at a table, colouring book out.

  ‘Half an hour then to bed,’ Kate told her, to some protesting.

  Colonel Haversham closed in and we shook. ‘Good show in Paris, we’re all grateful you were out on the front line.’

  ‘Team effort, sir, and Intel back here did much of the work.’

  Most of the guests were now glancing my way, Kate’s father striding over.

  We shook. ‘Good to see you’re alive and well. And with a new medal.’

  ‘Alive and well for now, yes.’

  ‘Wouldn’t kill you to visit more often,’ he complained, not at all shy about voicing his opinions.

  ‘They keep me busy.’

  ‘You’d think the MOD would have more than just the one man,’ he testily quipped before heading off.

  ‘Good point,’ Pete whispered from behind.

  I made sure that Pete had a seat, and some tea and biscuits, and I worked the room with Kate, a military doctor chatted to about the poison for a while.

  At a quiet moment, Kate dropped the bomb. ‘I’d like another child.’

  I stared back, wide-eyed. ‘Oh.’

  ‘She needs a sister, or indeed a baby brother.’

  ‘Must be plenty of sperm donors out there.’

  ‘Don’t be like that. Anyway, think about it.’

  ‘I’ll probably think of nothing else all night, as it keeps me awake.’

  In the morning, having slept little – a great deal on my mind, I was notified of an 11am meeting with the Prime Minister. Pete drove me around to the MOD building, where we jumped into vans with tinted windows, soon around the back of Horseguard’s, into No.10 and to one of the larger rooms.

  Already in the room was the Defence Secretary, the Home Secretary, and their assistants. I shook hands and said hello to most of them, the PM stepping in with his posse, and he directed me to a large table as he thanked me for the recent operation. The principals sat at the table, assistants behind.

  ‘You’re not hurt?’ the PM asked.

  ‘No, sir, I’m fine.’

  ‘Didn’t breathe in any nerve gas?’ he teased.

  ‘The poison was less effective that the popular media believes.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve read the report, and it suggests that the stuff on the small plane heading to us was probably past its sell-by date and less potent.’

  ‘Most likely, sir.’

  ‘Still, it’s not a chance we’d like to take, and this whole episode has shaken loose a few cobwebs, the military re-evaluating a few procedures.’

  ‘The fire alarm needs testing now and then,’ I told him.

  ‘Indeed, yes. And your comments to The Sun newspaper are helping this morning, you shut up the police most effectively, and it sounded better coming from you. As an aside, we’re now formalising plans for a chemical reaction unit, part time firemen, a few specialists.’

  ‘Sounds practical and realistic, sir, and that’s what’s needed, not hysteria.’

  ‘You should be in here working with me!’

  ‘That’s what the French Interior Minister said.’

  The PM glanced at the Home Secretary. ‘I hope that it was just a joke...’

  ‘Yes, sir. I don’t speak French, nor like their coffee.’

  ‘Could you give us a candid appraisal of what really happened.’

  ‘A bunch of Algerians wanted to hit back at the French, the poison taking a year or more to develop, but I think that it was done without Hammad’s knowledge. Sedan, his No.2, was behind it, and his fellow terrorists were paid well, not motivated by ideology at all.

  ‘The company had taken out loans and defaulted, and Sedan had raided the company piggy bank. It was an amateur operation, paid men, no terrorist links at all, no link to al-Qa’eda that we found. Terrorists are well trained and they don’t work for cash; these boys were idiots.

  ‘When I stopped their men in Mauritania they stepped up their game, and when I hit the second lot of men they panicked, a quick move to France via Corsica, where they paid non-Arabs to drive the poison into Paris, after which they would release it ... somewhere, their chances of success being slim.

  ‘When the press in France reported British Intel and soldiers hunting the poisoners they sent some of the poison north on that plane, little chance of putting it somewhere useful, and it was past it’s sell-by date yes.’

  ‘So more panic than was needed, the French going over the top with their closure of Paris.’

  ‘Such things are good for votes in the by-elections.’

  He smiled. ‘You might think that, yes. So they over-sold it. Still, it was a new and unusual poison, and in its ready state it was very deadly apparently. And after you asked for that plane to be intercepted there were some difficult moments, but I had faith in you. If you told us to shoot down an airliner we would, so ... if you ever send that message, be very sure about it.’

  ‘The evidence against the plane was 100%, or I might have asked for it to be shadowed to a landing. There was a slim possibility that the pilot had rigged a way to release the poison from the air.’

  ‘And what did you tell the French about that plane?’

  ‘I spoke directly to their Interior Minister, and asked him what he thought the British would do to him if that plane got through.’

  They smiled.

  ‘You are becoming a diplomat as the years go on,’ he quipped, the men laughing. ‘And you sent a shitty note to him as well I heard.’

  ‘I refined his approach, and subtly reminded him that careers would be made or lost.’

  ‘Did the French cooperate at every step?’

  ‘They did, still a puzzle to me, but maybe – if things went wrong – they would have had someone to blame.’

  ‘A topic that caused a few loud words over here, I can tell you, and some sleepless nights. And the fall-out and risks here..?’

  ‘The four of us need a private chat, sir.’

  ‘Oh.’ He considered that, the aids all sent out.

  With just the Defence Secretary, Home Secretary and Prime Minister remaining I began, ‘I broke a few laws, stretched a few rules, desperate to stop that poison. There are witnesses, and I have firmly expressed my concerns to SIS.

  ‘I did what was necessary ... to move fast and to get answers, and the men I ... questioned gave up vital information, or the poison would have got to its target. SIS are now backtracking, to keep me out of prison, as well as looking at my other operations, such as the Cali Cartel. Some day real soon a journalist will get a leaked document.’

  ‘Well, we’ll all work hard to make sure that doesn’t happen, and I’ll encourage along the right people to deal with your concerns. I guess it’s pointless me asking if the job could have been done without stretching the rules.’

  ‘Without the fast questioning of key suspects the poison would have got through, without a doubt,’ I told them. ‘Each suspect gave up key information, and timely
information, such as - the large box in the rear of the shop is full of poison. Police could have opened it by mistake.’

  ‘Yes, quite.’

  ‘At the airfield, the man I questioned confirmed what was on the plane. Without that I may have ignored the plane.’

  ‘So the ends justified the means, the illegal means. And the villa shot up?’

  ‘I knew what the Algerians wanted, and what Paris wanted. They both like a good bit of revenge.’

  ‘And the French make jokes about it,’ he noted.

  ‘We’re hoping that a few French soldiers will admit to some of my indiscretions,’ I told them. ‘They don’t care, but a select committee here would care. And for the record, I shall resist attending select committees or talking to the JIC. If no one asks me a question – I can’t be tried for lying.’

  ‘Well, both the colonel in charge of the SAS, and the head of SIS, should be fielding those questions for you – unless you volunteer to cooperate, which you have done in the past. But why the change in mood?’

  ‘This past year has seen me take part in a great many operations, and a great many laws broken, a rapidly growing list. How long till my luck runs out?’

  ‘If you’re called to account, so are we, so it’s something that needs a review. Does it worry you?’

  ‘If course it fucking worries me!’ I softly stated, but with force. ‘I’m told to do a job, get a result, don’t care how you get that fucking result! If I was an Israeli or CIA I’d not sit before a Senate Committee, they’d protect me. Here we have a free and independent parliament – and select committees.’

  He nodded. ‘I suffer the same frustration, trust me.’

  ‘Till you’re out of office,’ I curtly pointed out, getting a look. ‘I can still be tried ten years down the line.’

  He turned his head to the Home Secretary. ‘You know what to do, and we have a few months in which to do it.’

  The man nodded.

  The Prime Minister faced me. ‘We’ll do what we can, and we have your best interests at heart, and from a political point of view – the public love you, so if you stand in the dock the Prime Minister of the day will be feeling the heat, so too the Director of SIS, and I don’t think she wants an enquiry with her name on it.

  ‘There were many ... mishaps in Northern Ireland, and we made sure that our men got off, so we have some experience of this. Oh, and the Peace Accord is well advanced, partly thanks to you removing the terror threat – or part of it, the Beast of Armagh.’

  They laughed.

  He asked, ‘So you really walked around on patrol with monster overshoes?’

  ‘I did, yes,’ I said with a smile. ‘Figured it may screw with their minds.’

  The Home Secretary began, ‘And the ambassador’s son, that was down to your friends in low places?’

  ‘Yes. Plus some good work from GCHQ.’

  ‘And this enlarged Intel team you gathered?’ he nudged.

  ‘I have a keen desire to find as many hostages as I can whilst I’m still alive. We find them, make a plan, send it up the line for approval. And for Paris the team distinguished themselves, they helped greatly. And if we do find hostages then French Echo are keen to be involved, and more so these days the Americans.’

  ‘Everyone likes a good newspaper headline,’ the PM noted. ‘But Paris will be hard to beat; their President’s approval rating ticked upwards nicely.’

  Out the meeting, my transport dropped me back at the MOD building, and I set off for Wapping with MP Pete, finding a cafe in Docklands on the way. Inside News International’s building they had a big team waiting, and I detailed things that they were not aware of, and handed over still photos taken of the HALO drops.

  I again made it clear that police in respirators were not necessary, and that what was necessary was a more vigilant intelligence services, more cooperation with France and others – bound to be music to the ears of the intelligence community.

  David Finch called me whilst I was there, just to say that a request – if not complaint – had come from the JIC that I was avoiding them, and that he made it clear I had no intention of speaking to them unless in chains, a gun to my head. He would field questions.

  It was time to be dirty, so I left a quote with Max, and he would run it.

  I headed back to my hotel, that evening to meet with General Dennet and his staff at his club.

  In the morning, the screams were loud, the calls plentiful. Max had printed that I was treated badly by the JIC, that I had been questioned and grilled as if a common criminal for doing what I had been ordered to do. It made me grin as I headed down the motorway to Oxford, and at 2pm I met the Air Commodore at home for lunch, welcomed in like family.

  Pete got fed, a TV to watch, and I did not leave till 8pm, a long one-on-one with the Air Commodore.

  Back at GL4, I sat in the Guard House for a while, catching up on the gossip with the MPs, a cup of tea before I claimed a cold and empty house, soon on the phone, a seat booked on a Tristar for two day’s time.

  Getting into bed felt odd, like a house with all the kids gone. I checked the door twice, and checked my pistol.

  In the morning I tried a long run, feeling stiff, and feeling a little unfit. After breakfast in our small officers mess, now in regular use and maintained directly by staff from Brize Norton, I chatted to the gang, made plans, and sat with the Major for an hour, paperwork tackled, a chat about the poison.

  The Intel team had details of hostages, but had passed it to “D” Squadron, who had moved to Sierra Leone whilst I was away, and they had taken up residence at the Helicopter Graveyard, a team at the airport for hostage rescue waiting a call, and the call came, hostages inside Ivory Coast.

  Breaking a few laws, a Chinook took them loudly across the border one day at 4am, the teams rushing out the back and taking the hostage takers by surprise, killing twenty blacks, six hostages rescued, three of them white. But taking off they had sprayed a village, not just the hostage takers, so more shit was now on the way.

  Back in Sierra Leone, I met with Major Horrocks at the airport, some loud angry words delivered, and he would discipline the men responsible – or get no more intel from my team.

  I landed back at the busy FOB in brilliant sunshine, happy to be back.

  Swifty stepped out to me. ‘Any ... problems in London?’

  We walked in together. ‘The spooks are altering evidence and destroying evidence, it’s their necks as much as mine. So ... maybe we’ll all stay out of prison a little while longer. How’re the police doing?’

  ‘Better, they’ve been doing patrols, a few shots fired, team work and manoeuvres are better, no accidental discharges for ages. You heard about “D” Squadron?’

  I dumped by bag in our room. ‘Just shouted at them.’

  ‘Will they ever learn?’ he asked.

  ‘Doubt it.’

  Out on the flat roof I greeted the GPMG lads, a quick chat, and headed down to the canteen for a meal, finding Donohue.

  ‘Don’t you have a job in London?’ I teased.

  ‘This is my job,’ he replied. ‘That lot outside. When they’re away I have fuck all to do. I’m responsible for all their admin, injuries, time off, all the usual – as well as ongoing assessments.’

  ‘You happy with this batch?’

  ‘Much better now, compared to the first few days, and they all have a new look in their eyes.’

  ‘Jungle patrols will do that to a man,’ I noted. ‘Anyway, there’s an abandoned old factory a few miles away, so we’ll plan some hostage rescues, more and more complex.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  After lunch I requested military medics, a few, and they turned up an hour later aboard a Chinook, bags in hand. They would be on standby when the police raided the mine.

  Moran led a patrol in just as it started to get dark.

  ‘Muddy Moran,’ I quipped.

  ‘We swam some of the way,’ he said with a smile, his face dappled with dried
mud.

  I noticed Mitch at the back of the patrol and stepped closer to him. ‘How you getting on, Lieutenant?’

  ‘First few live jungle patrols. I did the courses, but there was no danger. Here, these police boys shot a few men, just drugged up idiots, but still dangerous.’

  ‘How’d you rate the police?’

  ‘Odd unit, never seen anything like it Stateside. We have police hostage teams, but they don’t do the soldiering, certainly not in the jungle. But your boys here look and move like soldiers, and good soldiers - they didn’t worry me.

  ‘Been learning all the buzz words as well, like on stag. That one I like, a proud stag defending his herd in the Scottish Highlands, stood tall keeping an eye out. On stag, being the stag of the herd.’

  ‘Mahoney picked up all our swear words as well,’ I said with a smile.

  ‘Like knobbers, pillocks, whingers,’ he listed off.

  ‘There you go, getting the hang of it. Take something back with you. How you finding the Valmect?’

  ‘It’s a beast. I was used to the light M16 and M4, this is damn heavy, like a fifty cal, and it punches a hole like a fifty cal. I like the rubber grip, helps in the wet, and the thirty-two round mag gives you a lot of firepower.’

  ‘It’s a damn sight more reliable than an M16 on continuous use in shit weather,’ I assured him. ‘I’ve not heard of a single stoppage. You get done any team moving with the lads?’

  ‘Yeah, a few hours with Rocko and his team, scoot and shoot.’

  ‘We don’t use scoot and shoot, Yank,’ I said with a smile.

  ‘So how was London? Got a torch up your arse I heard.’

  ‘They had questions for me, a few complaints.’

  ‘The political BS?’

  I sighed. ‘They like a good result, they don’t care how I do it so long as no one ever finds out.’

  ‘They have your back?’ he puzzled.

  ‘Some do, but we have an independent police and parliament, and they can bring the spies and the special forces to account. They can make trouble.’

  ‘As can the senators on the committees back home. Same old shit. But they can’t call a low rank.’

  ‘Technically, mine can – but shouldn’t, so I told them to fuck off and to talk to my colonel.’