Wilco- Lone Wolf 16 Read online

  ‘Something is not right with him,’ Morten told me. ‘He’s sick, looks contagious.’

  People moved back from our prisoner, who snorted towards Morten.

  Morten stood and faced him. ‘You speak English?’

  ‘He does,’ I put in. ‘His name is Rene Bastion, long sought by the British Government for trying hard to kill British enlisted men here. He, Mister Morten, sent many of the bombs and planes that nearly killed you and your team.’

  Morten asked Bastion, ‘What are you suffering from?’ He got no response, so Morten checked pockets, finding drugs. ‘Ah. Late stage AIDS, and syphilis.’

  Men moved further back.

  ‘In that case, I’ll drop him at the hospital in Monrovia,’ I loudly suggested.

  Bastion stared up at me.

  ‘You’ll let him go?’ Morten queried.

  I told him, ‘The government of Liberia have jurisdiction here, they can decide. We now have a good working relationship with them, and agreements in place. So tomorrow we fly south.

  ‘Make him comfortable, Mister Morten, but tied up, feed him his drugs, water, give him a camp bed, allow him toilet breaks when asked for, and – you know – plastic gloves on, facemask.’

  They led him to a vacant room, a camp bed lugged after him.

  ‘You’ll hand him over?’ the major complained.

  ‘Shoot the bastard,’ came from our runway expert before he stepped out.

  ‘The British Army are guests of the Government of Liberia. If we upset that government, then a great many British servicemen are at risk. Our ambassador to Sierra Leone is the nominated acting ambassador here, and he has agreements in place. I’ll chat to him tomorrow. Relax.’

  ‘Just shoot the bastard,’ Rizzo also suggested. ‘He’s dying anyhow. If I was like that I’d end it.’

  Sasha told him, ‘If you were like that, we’d end it for you,’ the lads laughing.

  I walked to the Greenies building and inside, up the stairs to top, and I listened out as Haines joined me. I told him, ‘We just grabbed the man who planned the coup, at least facilitated the men shooting at us, planes dropping bombs on us.’

  ‘Can I get ten minutes alone with him?’

  ‘He has late stage AIDs and syphilis.’

  ‘Ah, in that case shoot him from a distance.’

  I took out my phone and called SIS London. ‘It’s Wilco. Update David Finch and GL4 that we have Rene Bastion in custody, the man who organised the coup against us and on-going attacks, but the doctors here say he’s suffering from late stage AIDs and syphilis.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘Tell David Finch that we have agreements in place with the government of Liberia, so I’ll take my prisoner to hospital in Monrovia and hand him over.’

  ‘Is he likely to see a fair trial?’

  ‘That’s not my decision, we’re guests in someone else’s country. Have David Finch advise me.’

  Phone down, I had no intention of seeing Bastion take the stand.

  ‘Henri for Wilco,’ crackled in my ear.

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘We shot two men, both white men. One I recognise.’

  ‘Good work, now shoot some more, but the guy paying them is now here in custody.’

  My phone trilled. ‘It’s Captain Halsteder, Greenies. I spoke to my CO Stateside, an update, and he says you have action back there. You want us back?’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Say … three miles west.’

  ‘Move back slowly, we have pairs of snipers sneaking in. Stay outside the wire west, go to ground, set ambushes and stay quiet.’

  ‘We’ll move that way, slowly, because we have a swamp like Louisiana to negotiate around. Hard in daylight, damn hard at night.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘Pssst,’ has us looking west. The Greenie took aim, four fast shots followed by two more. ‘Two of them, hundred yards out, near them barns. I got ‘em.’

  ‘Good work, stay sharp.’

  ‘Monster for Wilco,’ crackled in my ear. I peered east down the road, seeing black blobs.

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Where do you want us?’

  ‘Same positions as before, we still have pairs of men sneaking in.’

  Hearing footsteps ten minutes later, I went down a floor as four men came up, Monster’s big frame labelling who he was even in the dark.

  He halted, cap off and brow wiped. ‘We tabbed back, ran some of the way.’

  ‘Good exercise for you. Any wounded?’

  ‘Not that I know about, no.’

  ‘You shot six – by yourself.’ I waited.

  ‘They came out as we moved into the open, no choice.’

  ‘And how easy was it … to shoot six men like that?’

  ‘Real easy.’

  ‘So the next time you’re in the jungle and see ten men coming at you…’

  ‘I’ll have at them first.’

  ‘A skilled man, a confident man, can do that. He just needs to know that he can do that.’

  ‘I know I can do it, now.’

  ‘Good, get some rest, gunna be a long night.’

  In the HQ room, Morten told me, ‘That man has poor eyesight, can’t hear in one ear, and his brain is being affected. He decision making processes are way down.’

  ‘And the chances of him being fit to stand trial?’ I pressed.

  ‘None.’

  ‘Then he gets to die in a secure hospital unit.’ I turned my head to the Engineers major and waited.

  ‘Well … seems fair,’ he reluctantly stated.

  Morten said, ‘We have rules about transporting civil prisoners in that condition, and they can’t fly – or be moved normally.’

  ‘As I said, he gets a hospital. I have no desire to see him suffer more than he’s already suffering,’ I lied. ‘And his fried brain might explain some bad decisions made lately.’

  I stepped out and called Langley, wondering if Miller would get his report, and figuring he would. ‘It’s Major Wilco, calling from Liberia. Update the Deputy Chief that Rene Bastion, of Bastion Defence Services, is in the custody of the British Army but is suffering from late stage AIDS and syphilis, with limited dementia onset. End of report.’

  Max stepped out. ‘Can I run a story on that guy?’

  ‘No, it would cause more questions, questions that I don’t want to answer. But photograph him anyhow, get a statement from Morten as to the man’s condition. But do you want to label the mastermind behind the coup against the British Army as suffering from dementia?’

  ‘Well, would look a bit odd, yeah. Will this stop the attacks?’

  ‘We wait and see who else is out there, but we’re getting the middle managers.’

  An hour later Miller rang, making me smile. ‘You have Rene Bastion.’

  ‘Yes, and he’s not quite the evil mastermind I had envisaged, he has late stage AIDS, and dementia.’

  ‘I met him three years back, seemed OK then.’

  ‘A lot can happen in three years.’

  ‘What’ll you do with him?’ Miller asked.

  ‘He’s too sick to stand trial, so I’ll put him in a hospital in Monrovia, a mental ward.’

  ‘I know what those places are like in Africa, and they won’t make him comfortable, he’ll be sat in his own shit.’

  ‘I’m lacking sympathy at the moment.’

  ‘Is he talking?’ It was a logical question, but an odd one.

  ‘He’s holding out. Tomorrow I’ll hand him to the President down in Monrovia.’

  ‘Bastion may not get a warm welcome…’

  ‘Not my concern. Do you … have a concern as to his welfare?’

  ‘No, but I’d like to tie up a few loose ends.’

  ‘You can fly into Monrovia and question him if you like.’

  ‘Does it have a Radisson?’ he teased.

  ‘No, not yet at least, but it is coming along as a city I hear.’

  ‘Then I’ll pass.’

/>   ‘If he says something I’ll let you know. Did you identify our BP spies?’

  ‘We’ve tied them to a senator here and an oil company, but they’re not … part of us, shall we say.’

  ‘Are they Deep Deep … Deep Deep … Deep State?’

  ‘You take no pleasure in taking the piss out of me, do you.’

  ‘None at all,’ I quipped. ‘But it is nice to know that the all-powerful are not so all-powerful. That helps me sleep at night.’

  ‘We work behind the scenes, and we’d hate for people to think we’re all powerful. That would attract interest. Do … any of your people know we have these chats?’

  ‘I gave David Finch a hint, no one else knows, my men would not have a clue nor care.’

  ‘You make decisions on behalf of the Brit Government,’ he floated.

  ‘If you knew what a bungling group of fools they were, you’d understand.’

  ‘Buddy, that’s exactly why we exist. Our leaders are also a bungling group of fools.’

  ‘So we’ll hang together some day, side by side. But hopefully not in Oman, because they shoot you as well and leave you to rot.’

  In the morning I got reports of two men killed by the Greenies, but that was it, a quiet night otherwise. I called SIS and asked that the British Ambassador plus a suitable doctor fly out aboard a Chinook, for a trip to Monrovia with our prisoner.

  At 11am I received an update, Lord Abrahams and party to be on that Chinook. They had flown in to Freetown on a small jet last night.

  Mitch called a few minutes later. ‘We just set fire to the trucks, handbrakes off and they’re in the trees, no sign of anyone else arriving. We killed a few during the night, crossing the river. Shall we head back?’

  ‘Yes, but go around, or a wounded man in a bush will kill some of you. Be careful.’

  ‘We’ll move off soon.’

  With Stretch, Henri and Swifty back in, bodies dragged back, I had many men searching the treeline for bodies, old and new. I figured on a few twenty year old skeletons in there, and I set quadrants for men to search, a large patrol led by Monster sent north down to the river to find wounded stragglers.

  At 1pm the Chinook loudly announced its arrival, a Puma following it as top cover. Someone was taking no chances with the guest party. And I wondered if the Chinook had Rolls Royce engines.

  The Chinook and Puma set down, no one getting off the Puma as it blew up white dust. From the Chinook came two alert MPs with rifles, the ambassador plus an aide, a black doctor in a suitable white coat carrying a bag, followed by a grey-haired man leading a red-haired woman with huge boobs and an hour-glass figure.

  As she drew near I could see that she was around forty, tall, attractive yet plain – devoid of make-up on her very pale skin, and looking a lot like a cartoon character of a curvy doll. Behind her walked three men dressed casual, backpacks lugged.

  I shook hands with the Ambassador, the doctor pointed towards Morten and led inside, the guests taking in the mine as the Chinook idled its engines, the MPs alert.

  I approached the red-head. ‘You must be Doctor Abrahams.’ We shook.

  ‘You must be the infamous Wilco.’

  I tried not to grin. ‘Infamous, Ma’am?’

  She took in the bodies of our attackers. ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Some of the men who attacked us during the night. We’ve had three days of running gun battles, so dig quickly – or get shot.’

  She shot me an angered look, the grey-haired man moving closer. We shook.

  ‘You must be Lord Abrahams, from Rolls Royce.’

  ‘I am, yes, and we’re grateful to you for the Omani deal being saved. As well as finding my brother here,’ he quickly added, getting a scornful look from his niece.

  I called over Dicky. ‘Lead the lady down to the body, keep stag.’

  She followed on behind Dicky, bag over her shoulder, the three men dressed casual following on, as well as Lord Abrahams when she looked back at him.

  I closed in on the ambassador. ‘We have Rene Bastion, the mastermind behind many an attack on British forces, bombs in Freetown, but neither our government nor the Americans want to see him on trial. What he knows about those paying him – would cause great embarrassment.

  ‘Fortunately he’s very sick, has some dementia, so your job is to use those facts and to clear it for me to hand him to the president in Monrovia, and our prisoner will get a padded cell and medication and … visits from the Red Cross.’

  ‘What has the doctor here said?’

  ‘That Bastion could never stand trial and is too sick to fly. He’d be dead before the trial concluded.’

  ‘Then best he stays here, yes.’ He studied me. ‘Lord Michaels…’

  ‘Took a sip from the poisoned cup.’

  He nodded, taking in the mine. ‘Dealt with quietly. I’ll find his burial plot, and piss on it.’

  ‘Why not,’ I quipped. ‘I might vandalise it.’

  He took in the mine as the Chinook droned behind us. ‘Will things go quiet here?’

  ‘Most of the middle managers organising things are dead or captured. I can understand Bastion’s delirium, in wanting to keep attacking us, and he had access to cash from blood diamond mining. His plans were not well thought out, reason being his condition. At least, I hope it was him and his poor reasoning.’

  The ambassador shot me a puzzled look. ‘You hope to use this place, I understand.’

  ‘Yes, the runway, to fetch in oil workers. And, we can make cement, lots of cement. This white stuff is limestone with silica, the grey mound is iron ore, so we have most of the ingredients right here. That runway was built from it.’

  He took in the long road come runway. ‘It’s a big runway.’

  With the Engineers major walking out, I said to him, ‘It should be safe now, so … how about we fix that runway, then you can get out of here.’

  ‘Yes, won’t take long, a few holes, survey to be done,’ he offered, but not in a friendly manner. ‘Men are starting on the windows and doors.’

  ‘Supplies will arrive soon, I’ll check up on them.’

  The black doctor returned, but spoke with a posh accent. ‘He has late stage AIDS, and syphilis, not well enough to stand trial as I understand it, and to move him requires a dedicated air ambulance for AIDS patients.’

  The ambassador thanked the doctor.

  ‘Bring your patient,’ I told the doctor. ‘We’ll place him in a clinic in Monrovia.’

  ‘They are very basic,’ he noted.

  ‘Do you have a better idea?’ I waited.

  ‘Not really, no, this is their country, their responsibility.’ He headed in to fetch his patient, nurses bringing Bastion out, a blue facemask covering Bastion’s mouth. I called Mike Papa and told him to get the kettle on.

  In the Chinook I walked forwards, a smile for the familiar crewman, and I knelt next to the pilots, headset on. ‘You fly us to Monrovia, the Presidential Palace, and return and hour later.’

  They nodded.

  In the rear I saw the ambassador sit, and I waved over Swifty and Smitty when I saw them, directing them to seats. I finally gave the crewman a thumbs-up.

  Lifting up, a cloud of white dust created, we nosed down the mine and picked up speed, soon passing lush green foliage as we headed south, a short trip to Monrovia, and as we came in to land I saw tall cranes in many places, building work that had been absent previously.

  Down with a bump, rolling forwards a little, we walked out the back, the doctor handling Bastion - who seemed to be surprised at the palace he now walked towards. He shot me an angered look, so his brain was still working well enough for him to know his fate.

  The President met us with a few aides, the Chinook pulling off behind us. As usual, Mike Papa was dressed as if for a military parade, complete with baton, and stood stiffly.

  I grinned, and saluted. ‘Mister President, I’m Major Wilco, British Army, and I understand you’ve met our ambassador.’

  His
Russian advisor stood staring with a deep frown.

  ‘You brought us a guest…’ the President noted.

  ‘This man is wanted for attacking British soldiers, during the coup, but he is too unwell to stand trial, so we hope to place him in a hospital here for … further tests, and till it is decided what we do with him.’

  ‘There is a hospital with a suitable room, yes.’

  The doctor led a reluctant Bastion to a side door after the President gave orders to his aides, the Russian advisor now very puzzled, the President grinning at his advisor.

  We were led inside, and to the same office. I had Swifty and Smitty follow the ambassador after a man the ambassador knew came rushing up, the man all smiles, files in hand, and maps.

  I placed down my rifle, just the three of us now.

  ‘What are you doing dressed like that?’ came in Russian.

  In English I replied, ‘There is no one called Petrov, he was created so that I can kill people and blame him. I am Wilco, British Army.’

  The man turned to the President, who grinned back.

  ‘Sit, relax,’ he told the Russian.

  ‘You knew?’

  ‘Of course,’ Mike Papa lied.

  I pulled out the blood diamond and handed it over.

  ‘My god, that is worth a fortune,’ Mike Papa noted.

  ‘I will want some cash, the rest to be used to build a road north and to fix that runway. Tell me, can you get wooden huts, the ones people live in?’

  ‘Yes, they are made in Ghana, I’ve seen many here.’

  ‘Buy some, put them up at the mine for your new army of keen young men. And send those supplies I asked for.’

  The Russian was sat open-mouthed. ‘And Tomsk?’

  ‘Knew all along,’ I told him.

  He pointed at me with an accusing finger. ‘You put him in place!’

  ‘Yes, with the cooperation of the CIA and others.’

  The President asked, ‘We torture Bastion?’

  ‘No, because we need Red Cross doctors to visit. But use truth drugs, get him drunk, I want answers, who he was working for. Ask him … if he knew about large blood diamonds in 1977.’

  The President squinted at me. ‘I will arrange it, yes, I also want answers. The boss of that mine pointed towards Bastion, before we killed him. I have a man there now.’