Wilco lone wolf 14, p.29
Wilco- Lone Wolf 14, page 29
part #14 of Wilco- Lone Wolf Series
‘That F18 caused a lot of raised voices, and there’ll be a shit storm of an enquiry, and we even have some African nations claiming it was deliberate.’
‘Deliberately killed your own Marines?’
‘Exactly. But the TV coverage was huge, prime time all day for four days, some excellent coverage from our press officers. I could see your men shoot down that Mi8, better than a damn movie!’
‘We did it with you in mind, sir.’
He laughed. ‘Recruitment to the military is up, and now everyone is focused on the media war.’
‘There is only one war, and that’s the war in the media,’ I quipped.
‘Hell yes. Bodies are back, the Marines, got back today, bit of a ceremony, but the press are not giving anyone any shit.’
‘That’s something at least.’
‘You’re back in the UK they said.’
‘Yeah, I got a tip-off from my friends in low places, a hit here in the UK, so we’re hidden in the woods waiting some bad boys.’
‘And the Wolves?’
‘Getting some jungle training finally.’
‘And after that?’ he nudged.
‘I’ll plan long-range training missions, quite tough, and they all get to HALO in and walk back out. After that they’re ready, but they’re ready now, a good bunch.’
‘I’ll organise some downtime Stateside for them,’ he suggested.
After some nice cheese and crackers I was bored, checking my watch regularly. Tinker called. ‘That guy Jacko, no lottery win, some odd payments.’
‘Bollocks…’
Teachers on their lunch break glanced at me.
Tinker added, ‘Mi5 is looking for him, but he’s not at the house. Police have a team near the house, snipers, telescopes.’
‘Anyone visiting?’
‘No, just the Arab bodyguards, chef and maids.’
‘OK, keep me informed.’
An hour later Tinker was back on. ‘They found the body of this guy Tall Billy.’
‘Shit … this will embarrass us.’
‘I just spoke to London and … that’s an understatement, they’re shitting themselves. Crown Prince is due to visit next week, to chat to British Aerospace.’
‘Great fucking timing,’ I complained and rubbed my forehead.
‘COBRA meeting in progress, some raised voices I’m sure.’
I called Nicholson. ‘You all snug?’
‘We spent the night overlooking the road, rotated it, and at dawn we got up this huge oak tree. I can see the top of the school and I got the Regulars clear enough on my radio, so I update them. I can see the crossroads just about, house the other way, so they won’t get out a car without us seeing them.’
‘Good. But there’s some news, the boy’s ex-SAS bodyguards. One sold out, other found dead.’
‘Shit…’
‘Stay sharp, and keep an eye on any white men acting oddly, any civvies.’
‘OK, Boss.’
Casper called an hour later, 4pm, soon to be on his way to the crossroads, the deal agreed. His orders were to shoot up any police cars around 9pm, to shoot any police cars arriving and to disrupt the police.
‘Where can I find the middle man?’ I asked.
‘He works out of Brussels, Belgium, but he hides and moves around.’
‘What does he like, what vices?’
‘He likes tall white girls, Russian hookers, likes a drink. Name is Henri Fouk, but he has dark skin, like an Algerian.’
‘Which part of the city would he most likely be in?’
‘He likes tall apartments, condos, Jacuzzi. He likes two girls in with him, two Russian hookers, but they must be very pale and white.’
‘What does he like to eat?’
‘Algerian food.’
‘OK, good luck later.’
‘Pah! I don’t need luck!’
Smiling, I called Tinker. ‘Listen, what news on the phone of the middle man?’
‘Not much data, not switched on often.’
‘OK, Casper has been hired, moving into position now, update everyone.’
I tapped the phone on my chin, then called Bob Staines. ‘It’s me. Got a paper and pen? Middle man in Brussels, Henri Fouk, Belgian of Algerian decent or immigrant parents, looks Algerian. He likes tall Russian hookers who are pale, and Algerian food, delivered I’m thinking. He likes penthouse condos with Jacuzzis, probably pays cash, month at a time. Go all out to find him, capture and question him, but if you find him then don’t pick him up till after 9pm today.’
‘There’s a big team of people we know in Brussels, some good men and well connected. I’ll track the Russian hookers quickly, there are two outlets for them, for EU politicians.’
‘Work fast, find him. Oh, and an ex-SAS trooper called Jacko Lane, on the run, try and find him as well, he’s linked to this Algerian, took money from an Omani wanting to kill the heir to the throne, and now his son.’
‘OK, so I have a dozen calls to make, the coffee on.’
Before the light started to fade I pulled the curtains and checked them, using a teacher’s room to wash and use the toilet. Back in the common room the boys were checking watches and whispering, ready for some excitement.
The Director called and I reassured her. But I had doubts myself, knowing how many people would be involved in an enquiry here.
At 8pm I made a dozen calls and checked with everyone that they were ready. Rocko was at the warehouse and offering advice, the CT police known to him – and warning everyone that Rocko might shoot them in the leg.
Bob Staines called me back. ‘That Algerian was found dead two hours ago.’
‘Dead? So … someone silenced him or … he upset a hooker.’
‘Shot twice in the chest.’
‘So not a hooker then.’
‘Someone covering their tracks?’ Bob posed.
‘But who, and why?’
‘You said the attempt would be soon, people in place, so no need for this middle man any longer, shooters are committed.’
‘I got to go.’ I stood staring the boys for a moment. ‘Come with me to the roof.’
‘There are boys on the stairs, prefects at every corner,’ Tristen pointed out.
I checked my watch. ‘Can’t be helped, less than an hour to go.’ I led them out, young boys shocked to see me, a few surprised to see Tristen and saying hello. I led the trio up the stairs, being observed with heavy frowns.
In the attic I found many troopers sat on old wooden boxes, getting a brew on. ‘Listen up, something here is off, so be prepared for a surprise or two.’
‘Don’t like the sound of that,’ Masters uttered.
‘Watch those stairs,’ I ordered. ‘And these three boys.’ I stepped out onto the roof, still plenty of light, the sun dipping behind distant clouds. I passed a trooper, who greeted me, and I walked to the middle of the school.
‘Wilco for Nicholson.’
‘Go ahead, Boss.’
‘Check your rear, look for anyone sneaking up on you. Henri, Sasha, move position, get behind something solid, take no chances.’
‘We move now,’ came from Sasha.
I stared at the dark woods, boys seen playing touch rugby below me, but they all seemed to end up jumping on each other in a huge scrum, those on the side lines loudly encouraging on their schoolmates.
8.20pm, and a whistle was blown, the boys walking inside and out of view. The grounds were soon cleared as it grew dark, a fox heard calling out on the breeze.
I heard the pheasant calls, and saw two fly off, soon another two. ‘This is Wilco, movement west of you, get ready!’
Five minutes later, Masters and a few others with me now and curious, Nicholson broadcast, ‘Nicholson for Wilco and team, we go two cheeky chappies sneaking in, two hundred yards west, twenty yards in from the road.’
I transmitted, ‘Sasha, Henri, move position quietly, get ready. Nicholson, give Henri sixty seconds then open fire, but check your rear first.’
After a few seconds came, ‘Nicholson for Wilco, we got another two cheeky chappies, south three hundred yards.’
‘Nicholson, get the men south, Tomo get the men west – or you’re both pants. Count to ten and open fire.’ I walked back to the attic, taking all but one of the troopers with me. Inside, I faced Masters. ‘Something is off. Those men sneaking in are trying to kill my men, not the boy!’
‘A decoy?’ Masters posed, and we exchanged looks for many seconds.
‘If it is a decoy,’ I began, ‘then the main event will be here.’
Masters had the door opened, men positioned ready, smoke and stun grenades to hand. Seeing a trooper check his pistol I asked for the pistol and he handed it over. I faced Tristen. ‘You used one of these before?’
‘Many times, uncle is a colonel, he got me on the ranges often.’
I checked the pistol. ‘This is loaded and cocked, keep your finger off the trigger unless you’re ready to kill someone. Put it in your jacket pocket.’
He placed it carefully in his right jacket pocket as my radio crackled, distorted.
The trooper from the roof ran in. ‘Your men killed four x-rays!’
I took out my sat phone and called Rocko. ‘It’s Wilco, four x-rays down, but they were a decoy. Send the police now, lights on, sirens blazing, helo to look for heat signatures in the trees.’
I faced Masters. ‘Two men on the roof, rest on me. Tristen, shout the boys back to their dorms. Mustaf, stay close to me.’
Door eased open, rifle adopted, I led the team down the stone stairs, and at the first landing Tristen shouted for boys to get to dorms, and I started to encourage the prefects to get a move on. Boys rushed down the corridors and into rooms as I posted two troopers here.
That was repeated on the next level, Tristen’s loud authoritative words echoing down the stairs, the sight of the armed troopers an issue. On the ground level I had four troopers left, but those above had a clear and commanding view down, and could cover each other – and us.
Placing a trooper on the closed main door – warning him of the impending arrival of the police, I had the final two troopers and Masters occupy the centre of the ground level, below the stairs. ‘Stay sharp, trust no one.’
In the common room I found several teachers.
‘All quiet?’ came in Russian, the teacher who had sat with me.
‘Not really,’ I replied in English. ‘We killed four men sneaking in.’
He eyed Mustaf and I caught the look, my rifle now slung, my pistol tucked away. I tried to dismiss my worries; the man would have no way to escape, and he did not look like a suicidal Samurai warrior, more like a skinny geography teacher.
He made us cups of tea as the teachers asked questions of the shooting. I was distracted, and I missed the pistol. A shout came from Mustaf. As I turned I was hit in the chest, but the round struck a magazine and spun me, knocking the air from my lungs.
Four fast shots, and I wondered if I was dead, but soon caught sight of the Russian teacher sent flying, a bloody mess, Tristen having fired from his pocket, the teachers diving for cover.
The door burst open, Masters aiming in, soon focused on the dead teacher. Sirens registered.
‘Stand down,’ I told Masters, rubbing my chest. I checked the body. ‘Good work, Tristen, you’re due a medal.’
‘I am? Crikey.’
I faced the fat old teacher as he eased up, red in the face. ‘How long has this man been with you?’
‘Three months, came from a prep school, great qualifications, passed the background checks obviously.’
I fetched out the man’s wallet and had a good look as Donohue stepped in flanked by a dozen CT police.
He began, ‘We got the area sealed off. What happened in here?’
‘The men outside were there to try and kill my men, not the boy, and this teacher – a Russian speaker – was keener to kill me more than the boy.’
‘A mole? Fuck me!’
I stepped to the window and called SIS. ‘It’s Wilco in Seven Oaks. Four men tried to sneak in and kill my men, not the boy. A teacher, a Russian speaking mole, just tried to kill me.’
‘A mole? A Russian? Jesus.’
I detailed the man’s name, DOB and address, bank card. ‘Go all out on him, find out all you can. Oh, and the boy is safe, the Director’s son, Tristen, shot dead the mole.’
‘He … what?’
‘Update her,’ I said with a grin. Telling the boys to sit, Tristen to keep the pistol and to stay alert, I stepped out with Donohue, the main entrance area now full of police. Outside, a dozen police cars and vans were lighting up the road.
I led Donohue away. ‘Something here stinks.’
‘A Russian mole. Not seen one of those for a decade!’
‘That mole … could have killed the boy at any time, would have been easy.’
‘So … what was he here for?’
‘I’d say that he was here for someone’s son, to threaten or to blackmail the father maybe, maybe even for Mustaf, but when I got here the plan changed I think. Seems that the paymaster wanted the boy dead, but also me and my team.’
‘You upset anyone?’ he teased.
‘A few, yes,’ I said with a smile.
Donohue took a call, his face dropping. ‘Your man, Casper, he’s … dead.’
I stood shocked for a moment, then pointed Donohue to a car, and we screeched around in a circle and down the road just 600yards as my heart raced. There I found a dozen police officers near bushes, the officers rudely pushed through to get to Casper, torches being held.
I knelt and studied his lifeless eyes. His throat had been punctured. Seeing his shirt undone, I pulled it open, finding words.
Donohue said, ‘Is that … wanker?’
‘No,’ I softly replied. ‘That says Banker.’ I stood, and heaved a sigh. ‘Listen up! We have intel on a bomb, so everyone get the fuck back, clear this area! Move it!’
The officers rushed off as I led Donohue back to the car.
‘Bomb?’ he queried.
‘I need time to organise a few things. Drive.’
As we drove back to the school I stared ahead, thinking. Getting out the car at the main entrance, I stepped away and called David Finch. ‘It’s Wilco.’
‘Mustaf OK?’
‘Yes, and he was never the target.’
‘Not the target?’
‘No, myself and Casper were the targets. I took a bullet to the chest, hit a magazine, but … Casper is dead.’
‘Dead?’
‘Yes. I’ve told the police there’s a bomb, to give us time to move his body. But what do we do here? We could say he’s Petrov, body to the FBI.’
‘That was a plan we had, yes. Bloody hell. Let me discuss it with the Director. Oh, did her eldest really shoot dead a man?’
‘Yes, he saved my life.’
‘Bloody hell,’ he repeated.
‘Think fast.’
I called Tinker. ‘It’s Wilco. Update those relevant … Casper is dead.’
‘Oh hell.’
My four lads came walking in with a police escort. I took them to one side, and they could see my mood. I took in their faces. ‘Casper is dead.’
‘Dead?’ Sasha gasped.
‘Knife to the throat.’
They exchanged looks.
Sasha began, ‘If it was a knife, then the killer is very good, or someone he knew well and trusted. Casper would not turn his back on someone!’
I told them, ‘The middle man who hired him was killed a few hours ago, to silence him. This was never about the boy, I think they wanted to kill me and Casper.’
‘You have a big price on your head,’ Henri noted. ‘Casper as well. So who collects this money? We go find him.’
My phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’
‘It’s Tinker, and Jacko Lane turned up dead in his apartment in Leeds, been dead a few days, maybe six, was supposed to be visiting family nearby.’
‘OK, thanks,’ I said with a sigh. I stepped away and informed Bob about Casper, shocking him. My next call was The Banker.
‘Ah Petrov, how was Guinea?’ came with a pleasant lilt.
‘I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.’
After a long pause came, ‘Casper.’
‘Yes.’
‘He’s … dead.’
‘Yes, killed by someone he knew, a set-up, but’s not what’s going to keep you awake tonight.’
‘There’s … something worse … than the death of my boy?’
‘Someone carved a word into his chest. Banker.’
After another long pause came, ‘Someone wanted to send me a message, his death was my fault.’
‘Not your fault, Casper knew what he was doing. You need to draw up a list of people that might want to get back at you, and work down the list. I never told British Intel he was your adopted son, not the French or the Americans, only Sasha here knew and they were like brothers. Tomsk knew, no one else, my men have no idea who you are.
‘But there is one thing. Casper told me that he was once hired to kill me, by a Belgian mercenary middle man. I never knew who the paymaster was. Casper parachuted into Sierra Leone but made no attempt on me, he walked off and then killed the middle man after being paid.’
‘A bad way to do business, and the paymaster wanted revenge.’
‘If he did he would kill Casper, not write your name. But Casper did tell me that in Nigeria he killed Izillien to help you, and someone must have known the link. Not that you adopted him, but that maybe he worked for you or helped you.’
‘I … have a list to draw up, and I’ll find the paymaster, and I’ll put my face up against his before I kill him.’ He cut the call.
Staring at the black playing fields north, blue lights flashing behind me, I called Captain Harris and asked for two Pumas or one Chinook. He would get back to me.
Inside, amidst the melee, I told Mustaf to pack a bag quickly, Tristen to watch him with one trooper. I made myself a tea and ignored questions.
Half an hour later Donohue got a report that the four shooters had been searched, all of them with Moldovan ID.
‘Fuck,’ I hissed out. Outside the main entrance I called David Finch. ‘Listen, the shooters were Moldovan, the teacher who tried to kill me spoke Russian, so we need to find a link between them and the Princes in Oman. But if I was a suspicious man I’d wonder if Moscow was involved.’
