Wilco- Lone Wolf 17 Read online

  ‘Well, that’s good, isn’t it?’

  ‘No it fucking well isn’t. They got tipped off, and will now camp-out up north and cause trouble.’ I had to wonder why Miller never called me last night.

  I called SIS. ‘It’s Wilco. Emergency update to all interested parties: Guinea-Bissau army has fled the capital and is driving north, reasons unknown. Contact the embassy there, have them contact the president and find out what he knows. I have men in place anyhow.’

  I walked down to the canteen, thinking, and found a few early risers sat eating. I had already eaten, but a cup of tea and some toast was much appreciated as I sat there thinking.

  When my phone trilled it was David. ‘Embassy have spoken to the president in Guinea-Bissau, who is alive and well, and he has no idea why the army just drove off.’

  ‘Could only be one reason, and that’s because they thought US Marines would land and arrest them all.’

  ‘So it’s a mess then, because those soldiers won’t get paid now, and won’t sit still for long. Two thousand left the barracks, the best men. They took plenty of ammo…’

  I sighed. ‘Who the fuck tipped them off, and convinced them he was genuine?’

  ‘That would have to be someone they know, and trust already.’

  ‘Someone that paid them for the coup, a middle man, but how did that middle man know our plans?’

  ‘A leak somewhere.’

  ‘Yes, a leak. French Intel could be the leak.’

  ‘Someone still aligned to the bank?’

  ‘Yes, still a few out there maybe,’ I told him.

  ‘This leaves us in the situation of no imminent coup, yes, but with a few thousand well-armed men looking for some gainful employment.’

  I sighed. ‘We need to destroy them, at least the officers. Can’t wait till they end up in Sierra Leone.’

  ‘No, quite. But I’ll chat to the PM again before we commit to that idea.’

  At 9am I held a meeting in the Intel Section, the room full. ‘What we know … is that the pretender to the throne has taken his chosen men north, no permission given by the guy who pays his wages.

  ‘He was about to shoot the president in the nuts and take power, so … someone spooked him, and that someone convinced him he’d be dead soon, and to flee north. We have a leak somewhere, maybe in the DGSE, who were alerted.’ I pointed at Pascal. ‘I want it investigated.’

  He nodded.

  ‘This leaves us in the undesirable situation … of a few thousand well-armed yet disgruntled soldiers sat not far from Sierra Leone’s northern border, men with no wages, so they’ll be keen to find some paying work, the kind of work that we’d rather not see them take up.

  ‘So we have to watch them, and probably attack and kill the officers in charge, the hope being that these soldiers go home and ask for forgiveness – and some wages please. We have Tobo’s men in the area.’ I pointed at Pascal ‘You will not relay that fact, just in case. I would hate to have to shoot you.’

  He blinked as people glanced at him.

  I faced Sanderson. ‘You will run the operation from here, sir, and control the intel and the teams, and … most of Echo are visiting lap dance bars in far off places. Do we have a list of teams?’

  Major Harris waved a sheet. ‘Plenty of men now in Sierra Leone, all experienced.’

  ‘We need them bed and fed in Sierra Leone, ready to go, but given what’s happening … they won’t go today, or tomorrow. So make them comfortable, please, not sat waiting.

  ‘Plan is, as far as a plan goes, we wait till the rebels choose a place to pitch tents, we have a look, then we get political permission to attack – the attack to target the senior staff, not the enlisted men.

  ‘That plan will need to go to the embassy there, so – Mister Sanderson – please call our ambassador there and get an opinion, mood on the ground, local intel snippets.’

  He nodded.

  I faced the Brigadier. ‘If you can chat to Colonel Marsh, and get dispositions of men, but we may well have enough down there.’

  Major Harris put in, ‘Four SAS teams.’

  ‘So … maybe we don’t need extra men,’ I said towards the Brigadier.

  ‘I’ll chat to him soon, see which teams are set to rotate.’

  ‘So, ladies and gentlemen, we wait. The first move is their move, a happy home found, rent payments optional.’ I pointed at Tinker. ‘Men in place?’

  ‘Some, more to arrive, already looking at the signals.’

  ‘Thank you, everyone.’

  Out the meeting, and sat in the common room with Harris, he asked, ‘Why is that Israeli major hanging around?’

  ‘We have a job planned in Yemen, at least that was the original excuse for her to be close to me.’

  ‘Meaning…’

  ‘Maybe they want someone close to me, maybe they want a few jobs done in the Middle East.’

  ‘And you’re happy with that? Being spied on?’

  ‘We have American and French men here in with you, but I have a phone if I need to talk to the Yanks or the French. I have them here so that they have no need to suspect me or spy on me, all one big happy family.’

  ‘And the Yemen job?’

  ‘Al-Qaeda terrorist training camp, men who shoot up bus-loads of tourists, men who plant bombs. It’s not a case that we’re doing Mossad’s job for them, I want the terrorists killed for my own reasons, and as we proceed … to kill the terrorists we get some newspaper inches and TV minutes, and that is currency.’

  I sipped my tea. ‘This recent farce with the old boy network, I managed to deal with that because of my dodgy underworld contacts, and my good working relationship with the Americans. So the currency, the publicity currency, is very important.

  ‘The publicity improves recruitment here and around NATO countries, we get a better quality soldier joining up, and the publicity gets me leeway with the Intel agencies and the government here, and I can use that leeway to shoot some idiots that need shooting.

  ‘And in Sierra Leone and Liberia that’s becoming a pet project. I saw the way people lived, in tin shacks, getting killed for fun, yet they have oil and minerals under their feet. Problem is corrupt government officials, gangs and warlords, but week by week we’re putting men in the ground who are stopping progress.

  ‘I ask favours, and I ask that certain people spend money on roads and schools, and by killing the gunmen it means that the farmer can till his fields and raise his family in peace. What the Antwerp bank was doing, through NordGas, was just taking whatever it wanted, no money back to the locals.

  ‘That’s now been set back, at least till the next group of idiots want to get at the oil and the diamonds, but crime has fallen down there, jobs are increasing, safety is much better. The people don’t need a helping hand, they just need that boot to come of their necks for a while.’

  ‘Robin Hood,’ he noted.

  ‘And what would you do, in my situation?’

  He pulled a face. ‘I’d like to clean the place up, yes, but the benefit would end up with a select few rich idiots, money in a Swiss bank.’

  I told him, ‘We hang onto hope, and we keep trying, we don’t give up. Your wife OK?’

  ‘Still busy with the new house, large garden to fix, so we’re focused on that. We have no money worries now, sold the old house, got money in the bank, wages coming in, equity from the new house.

  ‘She was mad when she found out about the old boy network, she hates snobs like that, and she was glad to see them arrested – and shot. To think that it was our own people attacking us here … well, she shouted a few rude words at the TV.’

  I nodded. ‘The Freemasons in London meet in secret, Lords, MPs, judges, senior police. It’s a bad recipe, a recipe for disaster and for corruption.’

  ‘It’s been with us a long time,’ he said with a sigh.

  At 9pm, as I sat watching the TV news in the canteen, Henri called me. ‘The soldiers, they cross into Guinea.’

  ‘Shit
…’

  ‘Tobo’s men follow.’

  ‘Keep them following, keep me updated.’

  He was back on half an hour later. ‘Some men try to kill us, Russian men, we shot them.’

  ‘Got IDs?’

  He read them out.

  ‘Stay in the city, I want you to sit in cafes and look for white men, listen in, follow them. If you see someone you don’t like, shoot them!’

  I called SIS and gave them the names. ‘Update all interested parties, rebel army has moved into northern Guinea. Update Army HQ in Freetown.’

  SIS called me back half an hour later, when I was sat at home, the TV news on again. ‘We’ve linked the Russian men in Bissau with Soropov, the late Soropov I mean, and with Northern Cyprus.’

  ‘That makes sense, yes. I have men in the city looking out for more of them. Thanks.’

  I sent Pete to warn all British Wolves to be ready to deploy in the morning, and to ask the night duty staff in Intel for a plane to Sierra Leone for the Wolves.

  Staring out across the airfield, I called Admiral Jacobs. ‘Sir, the rebel army has moved into Guinea, so they may cause trouble for Sierra Leone and Liberia.’

  ‘We’re ready, got Marines ready, and a few reporters on ship. And we sent Marines to the president there, show of force, reporter to hand.’

  ‘Good. Talk soon, sir.’

  In the morning, at 10am, an RAF bus arrived, eleven British Wolves plus Ginger dispatched, a Tristar flight down to Freetown to look forwards to. Boards were updated, forms filled in, the map table annotated with plastic models with writing on, Sanderson and Harris organising things with practised ease.

  I spent an hour with Billy, forms gone through, but we were up to date mostly, chatting about the rebels in Guinea for a while. Question was, what was on their minds.

  Tomsk called at noon, early for him.

  ‘You’re up early?’

  ‘Went to bed early, stomach bug.’

  ‘That man with the bank codes being useful yet?’

  ‘Yes, I … borrowed some money, and I checked some bank codes and spoke to the manager at that bank. One is here in Panama, money sent to someone here, so we traced them, three men grabbed and tortured. They were going to bomb my fucking nightclub – with me in it!’

  ‘With you dead, they could talk to the president in Monrovia about oil deals. But the bank is gone.’

  ‘One of these men, he said something about soldiers in Guinea. They’re going to steal a horde of diamonds.’

  ‘Diamonds? Blood diamonds?’

  ‘Yes, diamonds held or hidden by someone in northern Guinea. Someone was fucking someone else, and payment was not made, and a big stash of diamonds sits somewhere. The soldiers think they know where it is, this place. And the president in Bissau is in on it.’

  ‘Oh … that’s not good,’ I sighed out. ‘Good that I know, I can deal with it now.’

  ‘And these diamonds could … come my way?’

  ‘If I get them, and no one sees, then yes.’

  I called Admiral Jacobs. ‘Sir, we’ve been played. President of Guinea-Bissau sent those soldiers, making it look like a coup foiled, because he knows a place in Northern Guinea where a shit load of blood diamonds are hidden, hidden after being stolen by one shit screwing over another shit.’

  ‘And we’re damn well protecting him!’

  ‘If I can get solid evidence, your men can arrest him.’

  ‘Yes, they could,’ he realised.

  ‘I’ll try and get some signals intel, sir. Hold your horses.’

  I went and found Tinker. ‘I need signals intel from where the rebel army is sat, back to the President. And fast.’

  ‘If the rebels are using mobiles we can intercept them, already have a team there.’

  ‘Have someone sat near the President, some up with the rebels in Guinea.’

  ‘There are not many phone towers they could use.’

  Outside, I called everyone together. ‘We’ve been played. President of Guinea-Bissau sent those rebel soldiers, pretending that they were running away from us, a foiled coup attempt. The rebels are after a large horde of blood diamonds held in Northern Guinea, after which they kiss and make-up with the President, amnesties issued, back to barracks.’

  ‘What little shits,’ Harris noted.

  ‘It’s Africa,’ Sanderson noted.

  ‘Why take two thousand men?’ the nice lady captain asked.

  Harris faced her. ‘To take the diamonds off a small army.’

  I raised a finger. ‘Look for concentrations of Guinea rebels, big enough to need two thousand men to dislodge. Get to work, people.’

  From a land line, I called the Air Commodore. ‘Sir, are those planes ready?’

  ‘Ready? We just got them a day ago, being certified.’

  ‘I have a need for them, a precision hit fifty or sixty miles northwest of Freetown.’

  ‘Well, they’re reported as being in good condition, and we have the rockets, pilots are down there.’

  ‘Sir, put some rockets on wings, fly to a patch of water and test them, then get the pilots ready for a strike. And fast, sir, they can learn as they go.’

  He sighed. ‘I’ll call them now.’

  I had a look at the map with Harris and Sanderson. The rebels were moving slowly northeast, and the main highway offered patches of marshland and forest; we could cut the road and bottle them up. An old map was laid out, and it detailed a bridge over marshland.

  I called Admiral Jacobs. ‘Sir, can you take out a small bridge for me?’ I gave him the coordinates. ‘Hit it when there are no cars nearby, sir, there are no civilians nearby anyhow it’s just swamp.’

  ‘Just a bridge, easy enough. You want to halt their progress?’

  ‘Yes, sir, bottle them up. The RAF will hit them.’

  ‘The who?’

  ‘The Royal Air Force, of England,’ I quipped.

  ‘They have planes down here?’

  ‘Prop driven, rockets on wings.’

  ‘Ah, could make a mess of a truck convoy.’

  ‘Warn your pilots in the area not to shoot at them.’

  ‘We did get a note about something, air commander has it.’

  ‘Let me know about that bridge, sir.’

  ‘Comes under existing permission, so that bridge is fucking history - and in the swamp.’

  He came back on forty minutes later. ‘Bridge is gone.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. Next step is the good old RAF, and some low and slow planes. Please keep your high and fast aircraft away, sir. Wait…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You have wing cameras?’

  ‘Hell, they don’t fly without them these days!’

  ‘Could you watch your radar, and when the RAF leave Freetown airport please take some images, and when the RAF hit that convoy.’

  ‘Some TV minutes coming up.’

  The Air Commodore called me an hour later.

  ‘How we looking, sir?’

  ‘They shot up a mud bank, made some noise. Aircraft work, rockets work.’

  ‘I have a tasking for them, sir. Got a pen?’

  ‘Fire away.’

  ‘Long convoy of green army trucks heading northeast for these coordinates.’ I read them out, he read them back. ‘US Navy just downed a small bridge, so that column is going nowhere fast. I need trucks damaged, the pilots to target only trucks, head on, shot at the engine grill, avoiding too many casualties.’

  ‘Straight forwards. But why?’

  ‘If we don’t stop that column, they end up in Sierra Leone,’ I lied.

  ‘Ah, right. Best we stop them then.’

  ‘And I asked the US Navy to shadow your planes, wing mounted cameras.’

  ‘Oh, excellent.’

  ‘Scramble, sir, scramble!’

  He laughed as I cut the line.

  I called David Finch. ‘US Navy just took out a bridge in northern Guinea, our rebels going nowhere fast unless they swim, and the good old RAF wil
l hit the convoy with their new planes.’

  ‘What am I missing?’

  ‘Rebels were heading northeast to attack another rebel group that pinched a shit load of blood diamonds. There never was a coup planned, president in Bissau was in on it.’

  He sighed. Loudly. ‘I sometimes feel that the people we deal with can be … a little dishonest from time to time.’

  ‘Shocking, I know.’

  ‘And the plan is..?’

  ‘Get the diamonds, push back the rebels, get evidence against the presidential idiot, and grab him for a show trial.’

  ‘Seems that you’ve done this before.’

  ‘I have some experience of issues in the region, yes. Leave it to me, I’ll earn my keep.’

  Refuelled, and re-armed, a keen RAF chap with a video camera to hand, and the RAF’s three newest additions lined up, propellers turning, got permission from Air Traffic Control, and they set off – very slowly, northwest, a staggered formation at 2,000ft.

  The lead pilot would glance over his shoulder at the trailing two aircraft, something the RAF had last done in 1945. And, at forty-five years old, he could not be listed as a new edition as the US Navy pilots made radio contact.

  Thirty minutes of steady flight, and the RAF eye-balled the traffic jam on both sides of the demolished bridge, the locals down there now well pissed off and facing a thirty mile detour.

  Heading north, they turned tightly and banked around, lining up with the road at 1,000ft, flaps down, engines throttled back. A mile down the road they spotted green trucks, a column that snaked back 600yards. Ignoring the first few jeeps, they nosed down.

  Safety off, rockets armed, best guess as to the aim - nose on the target, red trigger lever up, gloved finger placed inside, gentle squeeze, and two rockets flew out and down. The lead aircraft peeled left and climbed, the man behind targeting the next truck.

  As the lead pilot glanced over his shoulder a truck’s engine blew, driver killed. As he circled he could see the men in the back jumping down and running off the road for the swamp, three trucks soon alight.

  Second run, and the second plane hit the rear of a truck, that truck issuing a blast big enough to damage the aircraft. Badly buffeted, it turned away.

  After a chat on the radios, they targeted three trucks at the tail end of the column, to block the road, final rockets used. But again a truck blew to pieces, two left burning.