Wilco- Lone Wolf 17 Read online

  Wilco:

  Lone Wolf

  Book 17

  Copyright © Geoff Wolak

  Started January, 2014

  This book is historically very accurate in places, technically correct for the most part, yet it is fiction, really fiction, definitely fiction, and any similarity to real people or real events – although accidental - is probably intentional. Some characters in this book may be based on some of the wankers I have either worked with or unfortunately met over the years.

  Email the author: [email protected]

  www.geoffwolak-writing.com

  Flown from the nest

  Whilst wondering why I was not greatly upset by the incident – the murder of my father, I notified MP Pete at the gatehouse, shocking him and the MPs. He insisted he drive me since he was nominally responsible for me – at least on official duties, and the CT police insisted that they come along – because wherever I went there would be trouble. The resident local Gloucester police also insisted on tagging along because it was their patch, so Salome would be in the back of Pete’s car.

  As we drove out the gate in convoy I considered why I was angered at whoever had shot my father, since I had considered offering my father a poison to use to ease his suffering – and my mother’s suffering at his hands, and my suffering at her hands; he had become morbid and very miserable lately, understandably so.

  Life in the family home had become intolerable for my mother because, after thirty years of my father never talking whilst my mum watched Coronation Street, my dad was now talking during Coronation Street – talking about suicide. And my mother was keenly ready to assist him, a swift blow to the cranium with the old household clothes iron.

  I finally figured that I was angry because they were attempting to hurt me through my family, whether they did my father a favour or not, whether they granted my mum her wish or not. I called Kate as we headed northwest in convoy. ‘It’s me.’

  ‘Staying out of trouble this week?’ she began.

  ‘Listen, they … they just shot dead my father in the street.’

  ‘Oh god.’

  ‘You’re next, so I’ll be sending two men. Where are you?’

  ‘Cheltenham, Mother’s place, got the family here.’

  ‘Expect two men in a few hours, but check their ID carefully with me when they get there.’

  I knew that Nicholson and Swan were hanging around the base, and so called my own base, asking that they get Nicholson and Swan into civvy clothes, into bodyguard mode, and up to Cheltenham fast.

  ‘You think they’ll go for her?’ Pete asked as we neared Gloucester from the south.

  ‘It’s a possibility,’ I said with a sigh. ‘It won’t achieve anything, and it will make me hit back at them hard, so a professional would never target my family. This hit on my father smacks of Russians.’

  ‘Russians?’

  ‘I have a candidate in mind, same man that -’ I glanced back at Salome. ‘- dropped a man from a plane.’

  ‘That man is dead,’ she queried from the back seat.

  ‘Yes, but when did he give the order for this, and how long did it take? And maybe the Irish gentlemen are hired guns and nothing to do with the IRA; we now have a peace accord in Northern Ireland.’

  Pete loudly suggested, ‘And we now have some out of work gunmen!’

  We exchanged a look.

  David Finch called as we drove along dark and quiet country roads. ‘Wilco, I just heard, where are you?’

  ‘On my way to up Gloucester.’

  ‘I’m terribly sorry for your loss.’

  ‘They did him a favour, my father had cancer, a few months to live, so the shooters were not professional or well informed, this was not motivated by Mi5 or someone in London. I’m thinking Soropov organised it. It smacks of a Russian amateur.’

  ‘I never knew about the cancer, and yes – with a few months to live and I’d think about ending it myself, I watched my father go that way. With Soropov dead, is there anything to be done?’

  ‘Follow back the Irish gentlemen to the middle man,’ I told him.

  ‘We have some intel on the two men, both of whom were kicked out of the IRA ten years back, drug dealing, last heard of in Northern Cyprus.’

  ‘That fits, since Soropov would have been in Cyprus.’

  ‘What about our friend, Ludwig?’ he posed.

  ‘Possible, but I doubt he had the motive, and we still need to join the dots between him and Soropov.’

  ‘Any word … on Ludwig?’

  ‘He’s been with Prince Kalid for a week, so must have said something, or he died during the process. I’ll call and ask, tomorrow.’

  My thoughts turned to Jeremy Michaels and his associates as yellow roadside lights flickered past. I had boastfully told Jeremy I had killed his father, so was this hit on my father revenge from Jeremy Michaels laying in his hospital bed – or someone in their gang of Freemasons.

  David called back ten minutes later, as we waited at traffic lights. ‘More bad news. Doctor Abrahams was just shot dead outside her London home.’

  I sighed loudly. ‘She got the publicity for unearthing the sleeper agents, so someone linked to those sleeper agents might have wanted her dead. But Jeremy Michaels would also have a reason.’

  ‘We’re investigating, see where it leads.’

  ‘I’d bet there was no evidence.’

  ‘None so far, but we check the CCTV far and wide.’

  Off the phone, I told them, ‘The woman at the mine, Doctor Abrahams, she was shot dead today.’

  Salome noted, ‘Someone blames her, but you called her in, she did nothing.’

  I turned my head to her, an arm on the seat backrest. ‘When you go off duty, wear a pistol, double-back, take no chances. They now know your face from that mine.’

  She nodded, quietly thoughtful.

  Reaching my street, the street of my childhood play, we found it dark and taped off and so parked nearby, the lone female officer at the tape surprised to see my party, and soon out-ranked. She lifted the tape and let us through, the CT police frightening local residents back into their homes.

  Outside my house I glanced down the street thirty yards, SOCO stood over a body under a sheet, lights rigged up. My mind went back to holidays as a kid with my dad, and now I finally did care that he was dead.

  Inside, I found the detectives in the hall, my mum in the lounge - but not tearful, a policewoman sat with her.

  She lifted her face to me. ‘They did him a bloody favour,’ she began. ‘He said he’d go jump off the bridge this weekend, if the weather was OK.’

  I puzzled why anyone wanting to kill themselves would check the weather first. ‘You OK?’

  ‘Yes, and me and Rosy are off down to Benidorm on Saturday, flight from Bristol. A month down there, should be nice.’

  ‘Yes, gets you away from here. Stay down there if you like, I’ll put some money in your bank account.’

  ‘Oh, OK, thanks for that, Luv.’

  I made drinks for Salome and Pete from my old home kettle, and it seemed to be the same one I had used as a kid.

  Gloucester’s CT commander walked in. ‘You Major Wilco?’

  ‘I am, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Sorry for your loss, horrid thing to do.’

  ‘They did him a favour, he was terminal, cancer, he was about to jump off the Severn Bridge – weather permitting.’

  ‘Oh, well that … eases it a bit for you and your mother.’

  ‘My mother couldn’t care less, so I have that at least,’ I told him. ‘I don’t need to worry about her.’

  ‘Any clues as to the motives of the men?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, but that’s a matter for Mi6, their show.’

&nb
sp; ‘IRA?’

  ‘The men were IRA ten years back, but were kicked out for drug dealing. They became hired guns, and we think we know who for.’

  ‘And the truth behind Lord Michaels..?’ he risked.

  ‘He was going to blow up a tall London building with three thousand people in it.’

  ‘Jesus, what a cunt. And his son?’

  ‘Knew about it yes, and his people killed Doctor Abrahams today, lady from the mine in Liberia.’

  ‘I read about her at the mine, yes. They killed her as well? Shit…’

  My mother gave a brief statement, but never saw or heard anything, she was watching Coronation Street. I asked for an armed team for a few days, an escort to Bristol Airport Saturday for her, and they would assist. I would arrange a funeral, rather a cremation; my father had not wanted to be buried in some cold wet grave.

  Stood in the dark garden, Max called. ‘Just seen it on Reuters,’ he began. ‘Which little shit was behind it?’

  ‘Probably Soropov, killed in Guinea when the Yanks bombed his airfield. The two ex-IRA men would have taken a week to get here and check the street and my parent’s house.’

  ‘Editor is holding the front page, got a quote?’

  I considered what I might say, and what I might get away with. Since I was known to be grieving, and angry, I could get away with more. ‘Today, Doctor Abrahams was killed, along with my father. My father was killed to punish me because of my work in West Africa, in particular the work of uncovering the sleeper agents.

  ‘Doctor Abrahams had met with Jeremy Michaels before she flew down to the mine in Liberia, and at the mine she told me of her fears about being killed by Jeremy Michaels. I was due to arrange protection for her when she took up residence in her father’s old house in Oxford this weekend.

  ‘Jeremy Michaels knew about her father’s body being at the mine, and the sleeper agents’ bodies there, a total of twenty five bodies found so far. The evidence seems to suggest that NordGas, who created the mine, were responsible for the murders of those twenty-five people, the men’s careers taken over by sleeper agents in 1977.

  ‘What we know is that NordGas employed the services of Rene Bastion at Bastion Defence Services, and recent attacks on British, French and American servicemen were undertaken by Rene Bastion and his Russian gun-running associates. They funded themselves through the illegal sale of blood diamonds.

  ‘Rene Bastion and NordGas can be linked to the previous coup attempt in Liberia put down by the British Army, a coup attempt in Senegal, and also to the coup attempt in Guinea. Lord Michaels had a direct working link and a financial link with NordGas and Bastion.

  ‘Doctor Abrahams’ father was studying ancient tribes in Liberia in 1977 when he came across a secret uranium ore mine being dug by NordGas, and he was killed because of it. But Doctor Abrahams senior was a Russian agent, and he tipped off Moscow about the uranium mine, the Russians then deliberately destabilising Liberia so that they could mine the ore in secret – which they did for several years.

  ‘NordGas operated illegal mines in Africa for twenty years, they were in the business of smuggling blood diamonds, and they were actively involved in coups in Africa dating back almost three decades. They could not have done so without the direct knowledge and direct complicity of the government of Norway and the police of Norway.

  ‘Many high ranking Norwegian officials, past and present, were involved in hundreds of murders, military takeovers in Africa, and in the deliberate targeting of me and my men in West Africa as well as on UK soil.

  ‘But I doubt the truth will ever come to light, the corrupt Norwegian Government going to great lengths to hide evidence and to block investigations.

  ‘Here, in this country, Lord Michaels was known about for twenty years, and if the useless wankers in the Metropolitan police had been awake and on the job he would have been caught and prosecuted. He was not prosecuted because senior Metropolitan Police officers, past and present, met with Lord Michaels and co-operated in criminal activities in London, including murder.

  ‘Lord Michaels recruited Bob Littlewood from within Mi5, and later Bob Littlewood recruited other Mi5 agents, people who had been under him in Mi5. Lord Michaels and Bob Littlewood placed the bomb on a van that killed the son of the ruler of Oman, along with four Mi5 agents. They also recruited serving SO13 officers.

  ‘There is no doubt at all that Lord Michaels and Bob Littlewood had the direct assistance of serving Metropolitan Police officers in the murder of people around London, and the attempts on my life and on my men.

  ‘I have little confidence in the useless wankers in the Metropolitan Police ever catching those men and prosecuting them, not least because many senior police officers are on the make and in league with Lord Michaels’ criminal gang.

  ‘The tabloid press are the true backbone of our democracy, not our elected members of parliament. MPs don’t investigate the rich and the powerful, men like Lord Michaels, they read about such investigations in the papers and then slowly pressure the system for change.

  ‘That system, the London old boy network, will never change. Rich and powerful men meet in secret behind closed doors for a reason, and that’s because they’re up to no good. Lord Michaels sat down to dinner with judges, prosecutors, police chiefs, lords and peers, the rich and the powerful. And many of those men heard Lord Michaels suggest that Diana Princess of Wales should be murdered.

  ‘This has been a great British farce, a farce that only us British could produce, a “Carry On” film produced in Ealing Studios or Pinewood Studios, “Carry On London”, where the old boy network runs amok, a nod a wink and a secret handshake behind closed doors.

  ‘This farce had the British taxpayers spending billions on arming and training the British Army, only to find that the Army was fighting against people paid for by the City of London old boy network. And Lord Michaels had such a low regard for the value of human life that he was going to bring down a London building with three thousand people in it, just to make some money.

  ‘The tabloid press needs to step-up and to protect Britain’s democracy and the rule of law, because it seems that no one else will. They need to investigate every person in contact with Lord Michaels, all his business links, and those he met with socially.

  ‘What the members of Parliament won’t do is investigate the members of the House of Lords, and the rich and the powerful in London will close ranks and hide evidence, and the guilty will not be arrested by police officers who meet with criminals socially on a Saturday night.

  ‘The judges in London will not convict men that they know from their secret societies, men they sit down to dinner with, men that they sit around a table and talk with as if they know what’s best for our country, that they should decide how this country is run and not the elected government.

  ‘It all comes down to the tabloid press to shoulder the burden, before the great British farce becomes the great British loss of democracy.

  ‘When French Intelligence and the CIA were warning me of Lord Michaels and his gang of conspirators, I was firmly told by our own intelligence agencies that Lord Michaels was too well connected to be investigated, that he was above the law.

  ‘Despite what you see in the James Bond movies, our intelligence agencies don’t go around breaking laws and shooting people, they have audits and oversight and are greatly restricted in what they can do, and I know that several men who were in a position of oversight of our intelligence services were betraying their country.

  ‘Our intelligence agencies are afraid to investigate the rich and the powerful, and Mi5 had been infiltrated by Lord Michaels’ gang of conspirators. I was tipped off about the French truck bomb, and about the thermite explosives heading for London, and it was my own direct intervention outside of normal channels that stopped the bombs.

  ‘If I had stuck to the rules, if our intelligence agencies had stuck to the rules, then the bombs would have got through, and a tall London building would have been b
rought down with three thousand people in it.

  ‘Our elected officials need to look at the processes in place to protect our nation, since they seem a bit crap. And when the people you need protecting from are the London old boy network, the police and the titled lords, it’s very hard work.

  ‘The people of Britain need to get behind the new government, and that government needs to read the papers and to investigate, and not rely upon reports from the useless wankers in the Metropolitan police.’

  Max laughed. ‘You are so … going to upset the police.’

  ‘Might do some good. Stick that on Reuters.’

  Call ended, MP Pete’s dark outline was grinning like an idiot. ‘I told you before, Boss, I love working for you.’

  I stepped down the dark garden and called Tomsk. ‘Listen, I need some help, before we’re both killed.’

  ‘I got that man Branco, paid five million dollars to police in Brazil.’

  ‘Good, make him talk. In the meantime, send some money to Bob in Spectre, to send to the newspapers in France and England, money offered as rewards for information about the people trying to kill me.’

  ‘How much do I send?’

  ‘How much is your life worth? If they get me, they get you next. Talk soon.’

  Nicholson called me as I was about to head back to GL4. ‘We’re in Cheltenham, so where you at, Boss?’

  ‘I’m in Gloucester, but make a note of this address.’ I detailed it. ‘Centre of the town, east side. Ask someone. Get there and ask for Kate, my – the mother of my child - tell her I sent you. Tell her I said: I only visit after she’s been at the wine.’

  ‘OK, we’ll head there, heard about your father…’

  ‘They did him a favour, he was terminally ill and about to jump off a bridge – if the weather was nice. Don’t worry about it.’

  About to walk back inside, my phone trilled. ‘It’s Miller, and I just read the intercept about your father. Are you … about to do something that I’ll regret?’