‘We’re doing everything we can to minimise that possibility, sir,’ Brice continued. ‘We’ve already secured what physical evidence there is, and are working right now to make sure that any hearsay is silenced.’
‘Should I ask how?’
‘SIS is, as always, doing everything in its power to maintain full deniability, Prime Minister.’ Sir Kirkland Armitage, the head of the Secret Intelligence Service – ‘C’ – was seated behind his desk, having watched impassively as Brice explained the situation to their political superior. ‘We’ll tell you anything you ask to know, of course, but I sincerely believe it’s in your own best interest to leave operational details to us.’
‘Of course. Of course,’ echoed Hove, taking a couple of paces across the office before turning back to Brice. ‘But – you crashed a plane! An American airliner, with over three hundred people aboard!’ Despite his efforts to maintain a commanding air, panic was not far beneath the surface. ‘That wasn’t what we intended!’
‘I was authorised to take any and all actions necessary to secure British interests in the Congo,’ said Brice. ‘Philippe Mukobo was a vital part of that plan, and it was the only way to free him from American custody.’
‘But if the Americans even suspect British involvement, it’ll be an absolute disaster. Anglo-American relations will be ruined – no, they’ll be destroyed! At the exact moment we’ve pulled away from Europe, we’ll have turned our closest friend against us. We’ll be left completely isolated, a pariah.’ Helpless anger entered the politician’s voice. ‘And the plan for the Congo, the whole bloody point of the exercise, has been wrecked now Mukobo’s dead. All those people on the plane, including British nationals – they died for nothing!’
‘Not for nothing, sir. There’s been . . . a new development.’ This was the key moment, Brice’s chance to hook him. He waited for Hove’s response.
It came with a hint of hope behind the watery eyes. ‘What kind of development?’
‘Something extraordinary. You’ve heard of Nina Wilde?’
‘The archaeologist? Of course. She found King Arthur’s tomb.’
‘And a lot more besides. Some of her discoveries have proven ancient myths to be real. What she found in the jungle is one of them. An ancient artefact . . . a biblical artefact.’ He knew that Hove was a practising Christian; as he’d hoped, the revelation impressed him. ‘I’ve seen its power with my own eyes. I don’t know if it really does come from God, but I do know what it can do. What it can do for this country.’
‘And what would that be?’
Brice delivered his reply with every ounce of confidence he could muster. ‘It will save it, sir. It will ensure that you win the election next month. Not only that, it will keep you in office for the foreseeable future, while wiping out the Opposition as a political force for years – and doing the same to the elements in your own party who are working against you. You will not only remain Prime Minister after the election, you’ll emerge even stronger than ever.’
The promise of holding on to power in an election where the opinion polls suggested political decimation had indeed hooked Hove. ‘How . . . how would it do so?’ he asked, licking his lips.
‘Prime Minister, that’s another operational detail we believe should be limited to those directly involved,’ said C. ‘However, Brice has told me his plan, and while it’s not without risk, I believe it has a very high probability of success.’
‘What risk?’ said Hove.
‘If our involvement became known to anyone outside this room, the consequences would be . . . unfortunate. However,’ he went on, before the alarmed politician could object, ‘the chances of that happening are small – as Brice said, we are actively working to prevent it. It’s what I would classify as a high-risk, high-reward operation. If it comes off, then it will not only keep you in power, but also entirely justify your proposals to strengthen the intelligence services to protect this country – rather than cutting us off at the knees in the name of civil liberties, as the Opposition intends.’
‘But if it doesn’t . . .’
‘If you want us to do nothing, sir, that’s your prerogative as Prime Minister,’ said Brice. ‘I’m merely offering a possible course of action.’
Hove looked between the two men, then went to the large bulletproof window overlooking the Thames and gazed out at the city beyond. ‘I have to say that I don’t like the sound of this,’ he announced after a long, contemplative silence. ‘First you tell me that the plan for the Congo has ended in total failure, in a way that could not only damage the country as a whole but implicate me personally. Then, you offer me a solution, but only in the most vague terms, and which seems to rely on the supernatural.’
‘Not supernatural, sir,’ Brice said firmly. ‘I’ve seen it for myself. It’s science, just something we don’t fully understand yet. But we will. The artefact has been secured, and even if you choose not to proceed with my plan, it will still be Britain’s to study . . . and use. It has enormous potential as a weapon.’
‘A weapon?’ Hove turned back to him. ‘Then your plan – it’s some sort of attack?’
Armitage gave Brice an irritated look. The younger man blanched; he had said too much. ‘More a projection of force,’ C told the politician reassuringly. ‘It’s not a gun, a missile or a bomb. But just as in the Bible, when it’s used, it will be decisive.’ He stood and crossed the room to stand beside Hove. ‘I can assure you, Prime Minister, that the difference to your election hopes will also be decisive.’
‘That sounds almost like a threat,’ said Hove, drawing back slightly from the bigger man.
‘Not at all. We both want the same thing: to guarantee this country’s security and strength in a changing and unstable world. I believe that Brice’s proposal will provide it. But it will require great strength and resolution on our own part to see it through. Make no mistake, though,’ C continued, ‘the entire country will be united behind you. The entire world, even. As Prime Minister, everyone will look to you to provide Britain with strong leadership. You will be the man to bring the nation into a new age. The decision is yours.’
Hove licked his lips again. ‘I . . . I need some time to consider this.’
‘We have a very limited window of opportunity,’ said Brice. ‘If we’re going to proceed, it has to be tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘We need a decision as soon as possible, sir,’ said C. ‘Brice has preparations to make.’
‘What would I need to do?’ asked the politician.
‘Just give the word, sir,’ Brice said. ‘And one other thing . . . I’d strongly suggest that you miss tomorrow’s Prime Minister’s Questions in Parliament.’
‘It’s the last PMQs before the election,’ Hove objected. ‘I can’t miss them – it’ll give the Opposition a field day! They’ll say I’m afraid to stand behind my own government’s record. And . . .’ He trailed off, a first hint of understanding dawning as he realised the significance of Brice’s advice.
Armitage shook his head. ‘There will be an extremely urgent national security matter that you need to discuss with me. As Prime Minister, you can nominate any cabinet minister to act as your representative for PMQs. I’d suggest someone who has been . . . challenging.’
Hove looked between the two SIS men again, his expression that of a prisoner – but also one who had seen a way out only reachable by trampling on others. ‘A national security matter, yes,’ he eventually intoned. ‘I have to put the future of the country before petty party politics, of course . . .’
C nodded. ‘Of course, Prime Minister.’
Brice stood straighter, like a soldier awaiting orders. ‘So shall I proceed, sir?’
There was no verbal answer, but the politician gave a very small nod. Brice responded in kind, seeing that Hove was utterly unwilling – or afraid – to say anything out loud.
r /> ‘I think that will be all, Brice,’ said C.
‘Yes, sir,’ the younger man replied. ‘Thank you for your time, Prime Minister.’
‘I never met you,’ Hove told him firmly. ‘And if asked, I’ll deny to my grave that this discussion ever took place.’
C smiled faintly. ‘Such is the nature of the job, sir. Brice, you have your assignment. Do whatever is necessary to ensure the security of the realm.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Brice too had a small smile on his face as he left the room, but his was considerably more ruthless.
33
Nina awoke with a start. She and Eddie were in the Alderleys’ spare bedroom, a street lamp outside casting a square of light on one wall. The curtains were open; closing them when their hosts were supposedly the only people in the house might have raised suspicion.
That the house hadn’t been raided suggested their presence was still a secret, however. She shifted to find Eddie already awake beside her. ‘What’s the time?’ she asked.
‘Half five.’
‘Really? God.’ She sighed. ‘That’s bad enough in itself, but I hardly slept. I was too worried about Macy. What if Brice already sent his people to take her?’
‘Yeah, me too,’ he said gloomily. ‘Just got to hope he’s decided that if he can’t contact us, he can’t use her to threaten us into surrendering.’
‘That’s a very big hope.’
‘All we’ve got.’ He suddenly sat upright at a noise elsewhere in the house, then relaxed – though still remained alert. ‘Ay up. Sounds like Alderley’s moving.’
A few minutes later, a quiet tap came at the door. ‘Nina? Chase?’ Alderley whispered.
‘Yeah, we’re awake,’ Eddie replied.
‘Ah, good.’
‘No, not particularly,’ said Nina grumpily.
A small chuckle. ‘This is normally when I start the day anyway, so nobody’ll be suspicious. I had a quick peek outside, by the way. There’s a car I don’t recognise down the street, and from the way it’s sitting on its suspension, I’d say there are two quite large men in it.’
‘We’ll keep our heads down, then,’ Eddie said as he rolled off the bed. Both he and Nina had slept fully clothed, knowing they might need to make a rapid departure.
‘Come down to my office,’ said Alderley, leading them through the house. They entered the room to find the blinds drawn and his computer on, a screensaver cycling through pictures of his Capri. ‘I logged into SIS to check the morning’s reports and advisories. Last night, around the time you were telling me what had been going on in the Congo, a security alert was issued – for you.’ He sat and typed in a password, the car disappearing to be replaced by passport photos of the couple. ‘This went to SIS, the Security Service, Special Branch, and the Met and surrounding police forces.’
‘Oh, great,’ Nina said in dismay. ‘We’re at the top of the most-wanted list.’
‘Hopefully you won’t feel too offended that you’re actually relatively low priority. The instruction is for you to be detained and brought to SIS regarding, and I quote, “a matter of national security”. It saying “detained” and not “arrested” means they don’t want anyone questioning you on the record before you get to Vauxhall Cross.’
‘Dump us straight into MI6’s torture dungeons, eh?’ said Eddie.
‘We don’t have torture dungeons,’ Alderley huffed. ‘But reading between the lines, this actually gives your story more credence. To me, anyway.’
‘Not to anyone else at MI6?’ Nina asked.
He shook his head. ‘I know you both. Everyone else, though? They’d take what they were told at face value, treat you as a security threat and bring you in – or take you down.’
The couple exchanged glances. ‘So much for British hospitality,’ said the redhead.
‘Oh, it gets worse. There’s a small addendum. It says “AFA”, which means “all force authorised”. That’s a polite way of saying that if you happen to get shot dead, there won’t be too many questions asked.’
‘Huh. Great!’
Eddie brought his right hand towards the flap of his jacket, making sure Alderley saw the movement. ‘But you’re not going to turn us in, right?’
‘Put the gun away, Chase,’ the MI6 man sighed. ‘If I was going to, I would have done it already. I spent half the night mulling over what you told me. And the answer I came up with is one I really don’t like. For John Brice to have gone on a deep-cover mission to overthrow a non-hostile foreign regime, he must have had orders from the very top. That means C. The head of MI6,’ he added for Nina’s benefit.
‘I thought that was M?’ she said. Eddie grinned.
Another sigh. ‘Only in fiction. But this puts me in quite an uncomfortable position. On the one hand, people whose judgement I trust have brought me intelligence about an operation in Africa that’s been kept secret from the head of the Africa desk, and which stands to seriously destabilise a large region—’
‘You trust my judgement?’ said Eddie, his grin widening into a smug beam. ‘Never thought I’d hear that!’
‘Maybe I should have said “a person” rather than “people”,’ Alderley replied, glancing at Nina.
‘Tchah!’
‘But an operation like that could have major international repercussions. On the other hand, my superior, the person to whom I would normally report such intelligence . . . is the only person who could have authorised such a mission in the first place. And his superior is also complicit! I’m sure you can see the problem.’
‘Yeah,’ said Nina. ‘The head of MI6 and the Prime Minister are both bad guys – so who are you supposed to tell?’
‘Well, let’s not go so far as to say they’re bad guys. We need proof first.’ He nodded at the broken laptop she was holding. ‘But there’s a larger issue.’ He became positively grim. ‘If what you’ve told me is true, then the head of the British government is directly involved in an illegal attempt to overthrow a sovereign state, the jailbreak of a mass murderer, and the deaths of everyone aboard a civilian airliner. That is . . .’ He took a deep breath. ‘Quite big.’
‘That famous English understatement,’ she said.
‘We need it to stop us from panicking when we realise the true extent of a crisis,’ Alderley replied wryly. ‘But something I can’t overstate is how far the apparatus of the British state will go to protect itself, and its own. And Quentin Hove and Sir Kirkland – C – control that apparatus.’
‘So what do we do?’ said Eddie.
‘First thing, we’ve got to get the video of Brice from the laptop,’ said Nina. ‘Peter, do you know anyone who could do that – someone you could trust?’
He nodded. ‘There are people in my department who could handle it, yes. And one of the advantages of being a section head is that generally your staff don’t question your orders.’
‘So if we get the video, then what?’ the Yorkshireman asked. ‘Take it to MI5?’
Alderley nodded – though not with much enthusiasm. ‘The thing is, for something this big the Director-General of MI5 would report directly to the Prime Minister, just like C. The evidence would have to be absolutely incontrovertible and damning.’
‘There’s somewhere else we could take the video,’ said Nina. ‘The US embassy.’
Alderley – and to her surprise, her husband – regarded her unhappily. ‘I . . . I’d really prefer not to do that,’ said the MI6 man.
‘Why? Brice destroyed an American airliner! We’re not just involved, we have a right to know about it.’
Alderley’s discomfort was so intense that he was practically fidgeting. ‘You’d be telling the US government that a British officer murdered hundreds of American civilians as part of an operation approved at the highest level. The fallout would be utterly catastrophic.’
‘Yeah, but it’s what happe
ned! Eddie, you can’t possibly think this should be covered up.’
‘I don’t, but . . .’ Like Alderley, his internal conflict was so strong that it was becoming tangible. ‘When I joined the army, I took an oath – to serve and protect my country. If this came out, I wouldn’t be protecting Britain. I’d be fucking wrecking it. It’d make America hate us, take us from number one ally to all the way down at the bottom of the shit-list with Iran and North Korea, and I doubt the rest of the world’d treat us any better.’
‘Oh, so now it’s “my country, right or wrong”, is it?’ Nina said scathingly. ‘Even when “wrong” means covering up the murders of hundreds of innocent people?’
‘I’m not saying it’s good! It’s shit, it’s horrible. And I’m not saying that Brice and anyone else involved shouldn’t be dealt with for what they’ve done. But . . .’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t chuck my own country down the toilet because of them. I might not live here any more, but it’s still my duty to protect it.’
‘And what about my duty to my country?’ she countered. ‘Someone committed a crime, a terrorist act, against it. Am I supposed to keep quiet because it’s diplomatically inconvenient for the people responsible?’
‘That’s not what I’m saying,’ Eddie insisted.
‘Then what are you saying?’
‘I don’t know!’ he cried, frustrated. ‘There are two countries involved, and I just don’t want to make everything worse.’
‘Okay,’ Nina said, more quietly, ‘what would you want Macy to do?’
He was surprised. ‘Macy? What’s she got to do with this?’
‘She’s got dual nationality, American and British. So she’s involved with both countries. What choice would you want her to make – not as a former British serviceman, but as a parent?’
‘I . . .’ Eddie frowned. ‘I’d want her to do what’s right,’ he finally admitted. ‘Whatever that is.’ There was a lengthy silence.
It was eventually broken by Alderley. ‘If you really are thinking about going to the US embassy,’ he said, not remotely enthused at the prospect, ‘there are two things to consider. The first is that Brice will almost certainly have placed watchers there. It’s an obvious place of safety – well, for you, Nina. You’re an American citizen, so once you’re inside, you’re on US soil and we can’t touch you without going through channels. Afraid you’re out in the cold, though, Chase.’