by Geoff Wolak
‘And do they usually ... take the bait?’
‘Always, they’re too dumb not to, too keen to get a promotion and to look good. Tomsk tips them off regular. With what he knows he could bring down the president there.’
‘And so they fear him. Interesting. We shall definitely have to meet.’
‘Just give me a few days, I’m often in the jungle.’
Call cut, I wondered if I should tell David. And did David have a way to bug this phone? It was running on a Chinese satellite system, and Bob got me this phone, so I was hopeful that I was not being bugged.
I was just about to walk back when it trilled again, a quiet curse let out. I needed a secretary. It was Langley. ‘Wilco.’
‘Deputy Chief. Can you talk?’
‘Sure.’
‘Our good friend Petrov is being mentioned as having attacked a refinery in Niger, a refinery owned by Izillien. A bit ... blatant. We figured he might slip on that bar of soap.’
‘It was necessary, as well as great fun.’
‘Some here are worried, since setting off bombs and large scale destruction of property is what we’re here to prevent.’
‘Really? How much destruction did you bring to Vietnam?’
‘Let’s not go there, I know you’re a history buff.’
‘My recent actions attracted the attention of a certain banker, who I’m now best buddies with.’
‘You ... you’re talking to The Banker?’ came in a horse whisper.
‘Yep, old buddy,’ I said with an accent. ‘So those that are worried about what I do can weigh up the benefits of my misdemeanours. And before you ask, I had the President of Sierra Leone killed, whacked, terminated, taken-out, soap slipped on.’
‘Jesus.’
‘If you keep calling me we’ll have adjoining cells some day, paperbacks passed back and forth.’
‘I always need a stiff drink after talking to you; I’m becoming an alcoholic.’
‘As London stated recently: the given threat dictates that Petrov remain active, and ear to the ground.’
‘Someone in the FBI thinks he’s an Israeli. You’re doing?’
‘Like I talk to the fucking FBI, as either persona.’
‘I’m not sure where it came from.’
‘You’re people?’ I asked, not mentioning Petrobras.
‘They say no.’
‘If it confuses the FBI ... great, who cares.’
‘You gunna help us arrest The Banker?’
‘Nope, I’m going to sit down and have a cup of tea, and see where he can assist my government, those who pay my wages. And if the FBI were smarter they’d have caught him, he’s been living in New York for the past ten years,’ I lied.
‘New York! Son of a bitch...’
‘He does a good line in plastic surgery if you need a nip and a tuck.’
‘He’s been altered?’
‘More than Michael Jackson. Wilco out.’ I smiled as I put the phone away. ‘World’s super power. Hah.’
Captain Hamble made his sketches, we debated them, and he made a plan, also debated. He had a free rein to use any and all men, but selected only eight – and wanted to use of our remaining folding stock AK47s on the breach. Myself and Moran would sit this one out.
An hour after dark, as the kidnapper’s food jeep approach, Nicholson and Tomo went over the back wall. Swann and Leggit were two hundred yards from the front, the front covered team as well as the approach road.
In a change of plan, but not a change that Hamble had approved, Tomo found just one guard, shot him with a silenced round, walked past the hostages whilst offering a cheeky smile, shot dead the two guards carrying the food, stepped out and shot up the jeep driver. It was all over, Hamble rushing in with the breach team.
I walked down with Moran, the hostages chatting to the lads and grateful, soon being led out as we borrowed the gunmen’s jeep to drive the hostages back to the small camp. Our lone surviving truck had been called for and was now parked over the ridge, the remaining lads mounting up, some taking the piss out of the plan.
Back at the small base, hostages now sat in the cafe and being fed, Hamble wanted a word with me and Moran. We stepped away.
‘Tomo broke my orders,’ he began.
‘Not really, and I won’t be bollocking him,’ I responded. ‘Sometimes we assume there are ten bad boys all dug in, a difficult breach, and it turns out to be one idiot asleep in a chair. He saw that, he dealt with the man, we go home and move on, no dick measuring.’
‘It’s not about dick measuring,’ Hamble insisted. ‘It’s about following orders and following the plan.’
‘Despite Tomo’s attitude, he’s never let me down or failed to follow an order on a job. If he had he’d be gone. I’ve been on rescues where they turned out to be easy, intel wrong. We wrap it up, get a good headline, go home, next job. There’s plenty of time for you to test yourself, and to get your head blown off, so don’t be in a rush.’
Moran put in, ‘I’m thankful it was simple, no one hurt. We see a lot of these, and someday soon we’ll see some of our lads killed. I’m happy enough, and next week we may have another on – a hidden minefield around the hostages.’
I told Hamble, ‘Stop worrying about it, move on, that’s an order – if you wish to keep doing this, Captain. Moran would have called Tomo a few names with a smile, slapped him on the back and thought about some friend chicken. Have a think about how Tomo made you feel, compared to Moran here.’
I stepped away, called SIS and left a sitrep. That was followed by a call in to Thornton, some transport asked for, a coach for the hostages, doctor to be on it, Niger police to get here.
An hour later, something of a party going on at the cafe, the former hostages happy to be alive and to be free, a truck pulled in, jeep behind it. Figuring it police, I eased up and put down my Fanta.
First out the jeep, thirty yards back, was a tall black, too smartly dressed to be police, and his look said it all. I darted left, pistol out and cocked. ‘Contact front!’
I had knelt, aiming at the smartly dressed black, but a man sped around the back of the truck, dressed in black, AK47 held down for now, eyes wide. I put two rounds into him, the smartly dressed black reaching for a pistol, but getting two rounds from me.
The truck windscreen shattered as someone behind me fired a long burst on automatic. I ran, dived and rolled into the scrub bushes, a slight ditch, some cover afforded me as the rounds cracked out. Upright, but on my belly, I aimed and fired at men hiding under the tailgate of the truck, a burst coming back my way, my face getting some sand before I ducked down.
Heavy footsteps preceded someone landing next to me, several bursts on automatic into the back of the truck and into the jeep, men under the truck firing low. I took careful aim and fired, swapping magazines afterwards.
Someone ran past me but behind me, one of the lads, several long burst on automatic, screams rising.
‘Wilco, you hit?’ Moran asked.
‘No, just a face full of sand.’ I eased up, Moran and Henri behind me, Jacque over my right shoulder, and we inched closer to the rear of the truck, double-tapping.
‘Wilco!’ Swifty shouted. ‘Wounded!’
I ran back to the cafe, pistol away, and sprinted the short distance through the gates – the local guards knelt and looking terrified, and into the hut, my first aid kit grabbed, other men running to get their kit.
Back at the cafe I knelt.
‘Two ankle wounds, bad,’ Swifty said, two hostages having been hit.
I glanced up, Hamble with a face full of blood. ‘Hamble, you’re hit?’
‘Skull, some ricochet.’
Nicholson grabbed Hamble and sat him down, a pad on as I bound up both ankles, but neither of these men would walk properly again.
‘You’re due some compensation,’ I told the man I was treating as he bore the pain.
‘Huh? How so?’
‘You were in our care for another hour, till the pol
ice got here, so the UK government owes you a few quid.’
‘Yeah. Well, that’s something. Who were those men?’
‘Nigerians.’
‘Nigerians?’
‘They were behind the coup attempt in Liberia, British drove them out. They want revenge against British soldiers.’
‘I didn’t know that. What a bunch of cunts, eh. They dead?’
‘Yeah, or dying.’ I shouted, ‘Anyone else hit?’
Rocko had bound the other ankle and lifted it to a chair as the main lay on his back, and I copied, two bloodied ankles on the same chair.
‘Sorry, but we have to wait a little for some help, we’re a long way from anywhere.’ I stood and called SIS. ‘It’s Wilco in Niger. Sitrep: Nigerians attacked our base, shots fired, men down, wounded civilians, urgent casevac needed, contact FCO Thornton in-country. Wilco out.’
‘Wilco,’ Nicholson called, and from his tone I was worried. He pointed, I looked, our lady cook dead, her kids not knowing what to do.
‘Poncho over the body, move it, keep the kids occupied.’
A lady hostage moved to the kids and led them away as I closed in on Hamble. He was sat on a bench. Pad off his head, water poured, I cleaned up his head, cleaned the wound, cream in, three large stitches making him wince.
‘Mad Dog Hamble ... will have a nice scar,’ I told him.
‘How’d they find us?’
‘Not many white soldiers in the country. And money talks.’
An ambulance appeared down the road, soon screeching to a halt. I walked out with an escort, wary.
‘Where are you from?’
‘Dee town.’
‘How good is the hospital there?’
‘It be regional hospital, some white doctor man be there, hospital for the white man in dee mine.’
I nodded, our wounded hostages loaded, the paramedic seemingly knowing what he was doing. ‘Henri, Jacque, pistols only, go in the ambulance, make sure they get where they’re going, taxi back. I fetched dollars and handed them over, Henri sitting up front, Jacque in the back.
As the first ambulance disappeared into the black distance, a second approached, a man and lady stepping down, the lady’s head covered in a scarf. I pointed them at the body, and they bagged it up, the base captain now here with ten armed men.
I told him, ‘Search the attackers, lay out the bodies in the sand, ponchos over them.’
Terrified, he called out more men, the bodies moved as my lads stood guard, the paramedics checking bodies. One was alive and treated, and taken away when no others showed a pulse. Since most had been hit ten times, I was not confident of any surviving.
Flashing blue lights highlighted three police jeeps tearing in and halting, police jumping down, and stunned at the scene. They spoke to the paramedics, to the captain, then came to me.
The first man saluted. ‘You be Engleessh soldier men.’
‘Yes, Officer. I think these men are Nigerian gangsters.’
‘Nigerian? Oh ... bad men. Why they come?’
‘You see the fighting in Liberia, English men?’
‘Yes.’
‘The Nigerian men give money to the bad men to fight against us.’
‘Oh ... bad men.’ He shook his head and had a good look at the truck.
I glanced at Mitch. ‘You OK, you got blood on your face?’
He got a hand to his head. ‘Felt something.’ He pointed his rifle at the bodies. ‘We expecting a rough ride back to the capital?’
‘We’ll go tonight, there won’t be two groups out there, they’ll take a day or two to organise a second attack.’ I turned my head. ‘Grab all your kit, pack up fast, but keep bandoliers and rifles on you! Rocko, Rizzo, get them organised! Tomo, Nicholson, on stag here – stay sharp!’
The lads jogged back in through the gate.
Moran walked back from the trucks. ‘Upset anyone last night?’
‘I think we did, yes.’I walked forwards and spoke to the police, who now held a handful of Nigerian passports. I stepped away and called London, The Sun newspaper. It was time to get dirty, real dirty.
The coach for the hostages finally turned up, to find a sea of flashing lights, and I walked the remaining six hostages to it – finding a doctor and nurse on board, Nicholson and Tomo soon on guard outside it, National Police turning up in minivans and taking charge. I had two National Police paramilitaries put on the coach, but since it was a big coach I would make use of it for the lads.
Crates were carried out and put into the coach’s luggage hold, lads stood guard, some boarding the coach. The police commander was keen to assist, or maybe he had been ordered to assist, so I had six of his on the coach, six of mine in the minivans.
Henri called, on his way back, which was good because I had forgotten about him. He turned up in a taxi ten minutes later.
Not wanting to hang around, I thanked the local captain for his hospitality, and asked that he take care of the kids – I would send help back for them. For now, the kids would be in the barracks, but they were too young to care – running around and playing as if nothing had happened.
A final check of the huts, one discarded puzzled book, I joined the coach and we set off southwest – after I asked the driver to turn off the internal lights.
Phone out, I called Thornton. ‘It’s Wilco.’
‘Ah, what’s the situation?’
‘We’re on a coach, National Police with us, be back at that base in three hours, so get us a ride out, and fast. In the meantime, there’s a bunch of kids at this base that were just made orphans, I want help sent, money.’
‘I’ll get the authorities on it, send a man, we don’t want any bad publicity here.’
‘We got the hostages, easy job, so you can talk that up, but two were shot in the ankles – they’ll never walk properly again.’
‘Oh hell.’
‘We’re liable, they were in my care, so they can ask for compensation.’
‘I’ll make a start with the legal chaps.’
Call cut, it rang five minutes later as I sat behind the National Police and in front of my lads. ‘Wilco.’
‘It’s David. Are you OK?’
‘Lads are OK, one minor head wound. But two hostages were hit in the ankle, bad wounds, now at the local hospital, and the lady cook was killed – her kids left there with the local army.’
‘And the shooters?’
‘All Nigerians, I had a look at some passports. I also had a word with The Sun, so expect some questions tomorrow, the Nigerian Ambassador wanting to shout a little – if he can get out of his embassy for reporters.’
‘Be a few awkward questions, yes.’
‘Talk to Thornton, arrange a ride out before they have another go.’
‘My next call, leave it with me.’
Phone away, I chatted through the dark to some of the hostages, the three British hostages in awe of me. One had even read the book, The Ghost.
The dark road stretched out endlessly, and I was worried, but they had no time to get a call out, and they would take a day to reorganise. This was a gamble, but we had an escort front and back. I thought back to the young captain in the regulars who had been down here with us, and who has suggested we drive across country.
Three hours later we pulled into the same base, but now they were on high alert. The hostages were led off, ambulances waiting to take them for a check up in the capital. We waved them off like family – and they thanked us like family.
Our old billet was reclaimed, but now we could see armed patrols wandering around, armed men at the stairs as we carried the crates inside. Hamble would get little sleep, his head throbbing – his mouth complaining, so I gave him a local anaesthetic, a few of the local soldiers sent out for some beer.
After a wash, Sandra walking past topless and few reacting, I sat with a cold beer. ‘That could have been better handled.’
Moran sipped his own beer. ‘How?’
‘Well, I was expecting somethi
ng like that.’
‘Can’t shoot up an approaching vehicle till you know who they are, see a gun, and they point it,’ Moran calmly noted.
I nodded, and sipped my beer. ‘Yeah, true.’
Hamble sipped his own beer. ‘I was a little mad about my plans going out the window after the rescue, but my sore head puts it into focus. Any job you survive is a good one.’
I sipped my beer. ‘Yep.’
Sambo walked up. ‘I go back to Mauritania now, sir?’
‘Unless you want a posting with us for a year,’ I told him. ‘Do you like working with us?’
‘You be the legend, sir. The French respect you, and you save a lot of hostages. I’d like to save hostages, yes, it’s good work.’
‘Come back with us, because I never told them how long this job would last. You like snow?’
‘Snow? I never seen snow, sir.’
Moran laughed. ‘You’ve never seen snow?’
‘No, sir.’
‘It’s horrible,’ Swifty grumbled.
‘You will be cold while we’re in England, but we won’t be there long. Find some warm clothes,’ I told him. ‘Now tell me, how did you feel at the refinery?’
‘Well, sir, it was very exciting, moving quick, my heart was boom boom,’ he said with a smile. ‘And maybe I should not say, but when we blow something up and it burns I like it.’
The lads laughed.
‘He’s well suited,’ Moran noted.
With Sambo gone, Swifty asked, ‘What you got planned for him?’
‘When we do a job in Africa, he walks past the bad boys without arousing suspicion.’
‘Our spy,’ Swifty noted. ‘But I bet he won’t like the snow after a day.’
‘When we get back I’ll find us a job somewhere warm, a three week OP being part of it.’
Mitch noted, ‘That would be nice, because I haven’t moved out of top gear since I met you guys. I’m wary now, even in the shower.’
‘That’s OK, so I am,’ I told him.
‘You think you could ask Sandra not to shower with us?’ The lads laughed at him. ‘And Sambo, because he makes me feel real small.’
