Wilco- Lone Wolf 15

  Wilco:

  Lone Wolf

  Book 15

  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: gwresearchb@aol.com

  www.geoffwolak-writing.com

  Deep State

  The penny finally dropped. As I stood there, staring at the burnt and torn bodies littering my airfield, the penny finally dropped. In order to pull this off they had to have people high-up inside Mi5, maybe SIS as well, inside the government and the police, all meeting in secret and plotting away in the dead of night, in touch with shady figures in Nigeria, in Europe and elsewhere.

  I had long since suspected such a group, but I had always dismissed it as paranoia. But there had been too many coincidences in West Africa, too many attempts on my life and my men.

  Pamela in Mi5, dropped down a lift shaft at the Farringdon job, had shown me that it was possible, that the system could miss people in power up to no good, little shits with their own agendas. And then there was the scumbag in the JIC trying to get me killed, details of my daughter sent to Tomsk.

  Yes, it was possible, possible for those in charge of the security of our nation being the ones that posed the most danger to the security of our nation.

  I nodded to myself, ignoring the melee around me, my guts turning, my nose full of fumes and smoke. I had sat watching the boy breathe during the night, worrying as if I was his father.

  Ambulances arrived, the fire brigade, and something told me to go have a look, so I closed in on the charred chassis, sure to piss off SOCO when they found out, noticing now windows out in the visitors centre.

  The chassis was bent down, the drive shaft blown down, a radial pattern outwards from the centre. I made a mental note of where the bomb would have sat. Kneeling, I ran a hand over the oily drive shaft and then rubbed my trousers with that hand, sure that no one had noticed – and that no one would suspect why I had done it.

  I stepped across to the canteen, the two coppers inside, sat up not laying down, their heads bound up, the catering ladies traumatised. ‘They OK?’ I asked Nicholson, little energy in my voice.

  ‘Got some glass under the scalp, Boss, but they’ll live.’

  I nodded, turned and left, making a note to reassure the catering staff, or to get some army chefs in here. I had a doubt about whether or not the ladies would stay with us.

  ‘What the fuck are we supposed to do with this lot?’ an ambulance driver in green asked his mate as I came up behind them, the man staring down at a torso.

  ‘Show some respect, maybe, they had families,’ I told him as I walked back up to the hangar, the fire brigade at a loss as to what to do, no fire to put out.

  By time I reached the hangar, many people passed and all of them shocked - all of them staring at the bodies, police cars were at the gate, lights flashing – for all the good the police could do.

  Rocko growled at me. ‘Who did it? Who’s behind this?’

  I glanced at him and stopped, facing the north field. ‘I’m … keeping that quiet for now, but we’ll get our chance to go see them. Problem is, they killed two birds with one stone, and the death of that kid will be used to try and get rid of me.’

  ‘Mi5 took charge, their van, their fucking men, their responsibility to check the van!’ he shouted.

  I nodded, and stepped inside, past two MPs stood staring - not a clue what to do, or if there was anything they could do in the circumstances. I passed stunned Intel captains, O’Leary’s face a deathly white, and I ignored questions, climbing the stairs. In the Intel room, those still here and not outside all stopped and faced me, the lady captains tearful and afraid.

  ‘We have another file to open,’ I quietly suggested, no energy in me at the moment. I pointed Tinker to a side office, closed the door and sat. He sat, too stunned for words.

  Slowly, I began, ‘I have a project for you, to be done on the quiet. You said you knew someone that had ideas about this Dutch/Belgian investment company.’

  He pointed past me. ‘They … they’re involved here?’

  I nodded. ‘I think so, but they’re just part of the puzzle. So, that guy?’

  ‘Yes, former GCHQ, but he was ridiculed in his final days for being a conspiracy theorist.’

  I cocked an eyebrow. ‘Take a look out the fucking window, and tell me about conspiracies being just theories. That was an Mi5 van, Mi5 staff. That bomb got aboard because a team within Mi5 placed it there.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘I want that man down here, fake name, he’ll be paid well – in cash. Is anyone other than you going to recognise him?’

  ‘No, definitely not.’

  ‘Contact him, get him here, and then I want some very discrete enquiries into the Dutch/Belgian company, and I want to know everything they’ve touched in West Africa through shell companies and subsidiaries.’

  ‘I have a file, I made a start.’

  ‘You are hereby on indefinite paid leave, this is your priority, but no one here must know except me and the Brigadier. You get things on the sly, you keep the file under lock and key. Ask me for anything you need, money is no object, and I have friends that can assist.’

  I rubbed my face. ‘Now, when you find out what financial interests they have, I want you to cross-link all of my operations in West Africa and match them up. I want to know if they – the investors - benefited from or were worse off from anything I did, or if any key event in West Africa might have impacted them and their annual dividend. Oh, what are they called?’

  ‘Royal Bank of The Netherlands.’

  ‘Royal Bank?’

  ‘The investors own the bank, which goes back two hundred years, but the hidden company is a thousand times bigger than the bank and its domestic banking branches.’

  ‘And the Dutch Royal Family..?’

  ‘Are on the board of the bank and benefit from the parent company. They own shares in it.’

  I lifted my eyebrows. ‘Bugger, that could be an issue. There are British men on the board?’

  ‘Yes, the board has about a hundred directors, but they’re director in name only, not active, just meetings and votes on topics.’

  ‘And the main board?’

  ‘About twenty-six, all men oddly enough.’

  ‘Freemasons?’

  ‘Probably, the Dutch like their masonry. But there was a lady board member, and her mother before her. Most of the current board took over from fathers, and many are EU ministers.’

  ‘I’m interested in any British connections, as well as who they use for security, especially in West Africa. If you have to do some digging then don’t use your own name.’

  ‘The guy coming, Reggie, he’s a ghost,’ Tinker said with a weak smile. ‘He teaches master class in disappearing off the grid.’

  I led him out, the staff still stunned, no work getting done. I took in their distraught faces as they looked to me for some leadership, but right now I was the one that needed the pep talk. ‘We still have a job to do, and that means trying to find the bastards behind this by finding the bastards who sent those Moldovan hit men at the school, and who was behind the truck bombs.

  ‘You’ll feel better if you do something positive, like catching these bastards. Major Sanderson, Tinker has a project to do for me, no questions asked, leave him be. Rest of you, sit down, breathe, have a cup of tea, and when you find some anger instead of shock -
we have a war to win. Oh, and there’ll be some senior figures calling for me to be removed or suspended, so … look after the teams in Sierra Leone if I’m not here.’

  They were shocked by my last statement and watched me step out. At the bottom of the stairs I told the MP to stay sharp and I walked out as people walked back in, a small crowd stood at the hangar mouth and staring at the activity.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ I quietly called. ‘We still have jobs to do, such as finding the bastards behind this. Get a cuppa, then get to work please.’ I stepped past them. ‘Sergeant Major,’ I called, but not loudly.

  He stepped across, still shocked and angered, more than I had ever seen him.

  ‘I need you to organise this base, the police investigators, the clean-up, men on the wire, and that the Intel staff are safe. Keeping busy will take your mind off it.’

  He lowered his head and encouraged the Intel staff back inside as my phone trilled.

  ‘Wilco, it’s David, what the hell happened?’ came a strained whisper.

  ‘Mi5 mini-bus picked up the kid, drove a few yards and blew, but the kid was not the real target, I was.’

  ‘You were?’

  ‘Have GCHQ look at all mobile calls near this base, try and get the trigger call.’

  ‘A phone detonator?’

  ‘Yes. And David, whoever planted that bomb was a manager in Mi5 with at least two men working with him. Permission was given to them last night, yes?’

  ‘Yes, midnight.’

  I took in the wide debris field before me. ‘So someone made sure the van was wired, and they made sure that particular van was used, someone watching this base, the hope being to kill me and the boy, the attempt on the boy being to hide the attempt on me.’

  ‘Why do you think the attempt was on you?’

  ‘Too many coincidences over the last few years, as well as the past few days. That teacher could have killed the boy at any time, the Moldovans were sneaking up on my men and not interested in the kid, the teacher shot me – just blind luck that Tristen used the pistol I gave him, and the bomb on the van goes off next to me.

  ‘If that radio signal had been timed better I’d be dead along with the boy. And they killed Casper, a message carved into his chest, so they sent someone he knew and trusted.’

  ‘You have an idea who wants you dead?’

  ‘Yes, but not on the phone. But do me a favour: when the establishment starts calling for my head, make a careful note just who, and list the names, and have a think as to … do they protest too much.’

  ‘Oh … OK, I’ll keep that in mind, but those calling for your head will be plentiful and loud.’

  ‘Relax, let me deal with it.’

  ‘And with the death of the boy…’

  ‘He was handed over, I was under orders, his death was the responsibility of Mi5. Their men, their van, their responsibility.’

  ‘Well, yes, but a fine line.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter if it was one second or one day, I handed over the boy. Talk later, unless I have orders..?’

  ‘Legal counsel on the way, chat to them please.’

  ‘Sure. Oh, make a copy of the CCTV here quickly, put it in your pocket, do it quietly, as few people knowing that fact as possible, make some threats to the CCTV guy.’

  Call cut, I took in the SOCO men as they donned white overalls, body bags laid out, a sea of flashing blue lights around the south perimeter track as an officer carefully took photographs of the scene.

  I called Bob Staines, and shocked him. I finally said, ‘Listen, you have a new project, all out, use a lot of money, but be very discrete; if these boys know you’re onto them you’re dead meat, even where you are. Don’t trust French Intel on this.’ I gave him the detail of what I wanted done, surprising him, then shocking him even more.

  He finally said, ‘It has been rumoured, no evidence found, and if evidence was found it would be made to go away, too many powerful men involved.’

  ‘Get to work. And … if I’m killed or kicked out the door, help whoever replaces me if you can, or … take the money and run. Maybe go work for Tomsk.’

  ‘Is that … a possibility here?’

  ‘Depends on whether or not we’re better than they are. But the chances of us both being dead in a month is very high. You’re a world class player, Bob, so shine – show them what you can do. If they kill you then you’re not as good as we all thought you were. And get The Banker involved, they killed Casper.’

  Max was hanging around, using his sat phone, so I closed in on him and waved him to one side.

  ‘There are things going on that I can’t tell you. What I can hint at … is that the bomb could only get inside that van if a senior Mi5 manager put it there, help from a few others.’

  His eyes widened.

  ‘Max, they’ll be coming for me, trying to discredit me, trying to kill me, although luck seems to be on my side. I need you to focus on the van. Last night, Mi5 were given permission to take charge of the boy, Mustaf, they argued for it, wanted it, shouted at the government and others.

  ‘Between midnight and early this morning that van would have been in a secure lock-up, CCTV on the van. The CCTV will probably be tampered with, records altered, so I need you to be sneaky. Drop hints to the public, don’t accuse directly, but you can accuse them of incompetence.

  ‘I need you to question how four Mi5 agents failed to search their van and let a bomb on board for something this important. Follow the van, from midnight to now, give them some shit, starting by putting it out on Reuters right now. And Max, watch your back, be careful, trust no one.’

  ‘Jesus…’

  ‘Make a call, detail it, before you take a bullet. Another one. And make sure that everyone knows that Mi5 took responsibility … and that they took the boy into their custody.’

  ‘Can I quote you?’

  I gave that some thought as I stared at the wreckage, and I was angered when I considered that they might soon succeed in killing me. I heaved a sigh. ‘Official quote, from me. Yesterday, at Green Park School, I received a tip-off that senior figures in Mi5 were plotting to remove the Prime Minister by underhand means, that they were the ones trying to kill the Omani boy. What happened here this morning proves the truth in the tip-off.’

  ‘Bloody hell, you can’t say that,’ Max gasped.

  ‘It may be the last thing I say, so … run with it please.’

  ‘Fucking bollocking hell…’

  I forced a weak smile. ‘You’re starting to sound like Stretch.’

  Walking back up to the hangar I called Moran. ‘Listen, things have happened here in the UK. I got a tip-off about a plot to kill the son to the heir of Oman, but it was a trick, they were after me, two attempts to kill me, and a car bomb just blew at GL4, killed the boy – and the Mi5 minders with him.

  ‘That bomb could only have been placed by a senior figure in Mi5, and they’ll try any and all means to get to me, so … you start planning what you’ll do with Echo when you take over.’

  ‘Take over, with our own people trying to trip us up?’ Moran snarled.

  ‘Mi6 are OK, GCHQ are fine, just a few snakes in Mi5. But I just used the power of the media to set off a media bomb, a big one. I have the fame, so I’ll use it, and these public school twats won’t get the better of me. Listen, if I’m killed, talk to Tinker, he has half an idea about who’s behind this.’

  ‘Am I supposed to get anything done today, I won’t be able to think straight.’

  ‘Then go find some bad boys and shoot the bastards, keep the lads occupied.’

  ‘Might just do that yes, beat a few to death with my hands.’

  ‘Talk soon, and keep the lads from going off on one, this is not the first attempt on me, it’s … number thirty-six I think.’

  He laughed. ‘I can believe it.’

  Brigadier Dean arrived back to find a scene of carnage, and a sea of flashing blue lights. He had to drive around the north side to get to the hangar. Getting out the RAF je
ep, his driver shocked at the scene, he stepped down, and almost fell down, and his look said it all. The bodies had been covered over but not removed, and as he stood there someone’s hand was placed in a plastic bag.

  ‘Who … who was killed?’ he croaked out as I closed in on him.

  ‘Four Mi5 minders, and the son to the heir of Oman.’ His eyes widened. ‘None of ours hurt, but … I was the real target, they missed by three seconds.’

  ‘The boy from the school … the Oman Royal Family?’ he gasped.

  I nodded.

  ‘Jesus…’ he sighed out.

  ‘Yesterday I was at that school with my lads when a teacher, a sleeper agent, tried to kill me. He could have killed the boy at any time, but he wasn’t there for the boy – or me, just that I was too good a target to ignore.’

  ‘How … how’d they get a bomb on the bus?’

  ‘It was above the drive shaft and below the seat, fitted a few hours before the van left a secure Mi5 lock-up, fitted by an Mi5 team.’

  He stared into my eyes. ‘They … they’re responsible for their secure transport, they check vans, this can’t happen…’

  ‘No, not unless someone within Mi5 made it happen, this was no foreign power, they’re not that good. Even the CIA would struggle to get access to one of Mi5’s vans. And late last night Mi5 shouted for the legal mandate to protect the boy, that permission granted at midnight.’

  ‘Midnight? What … what time did the van get here?’

  ‘9.30am.’

  ‘So … at least two hours to drive here, time to assemble a team and check the van inside and underside, so … they had about six hours to fit a bomb, and inside a secure lock-up. And if the van was left on the street there’ll be hell to pay.’

  ‘I’ve given Max the reporter a story, and a quote, and … there’ll be a few people calling for your head later today, plenty calling for my head probably.’

  ‘What … what did you say?’

  ‘The truth about that van. Question is, sir, do you have big pair of balls, do you believe in what we’re doing here, and are you going to let a murdering bastard in Mi5 get you removed?’