by Tyler Danann
“It’s a definite match on the camera suspect, it seems the Land Ministry were waiting for him to enter the country. They didn’t reckon on his Rabian friends though. Good hunting!”
“I’m on it,” she said, barely keeping her voice from wavering. She left his office and entered the main area where she and the other two men worked. Things were about to get serious, up until now it had been small scraps of data and leads to nowhere they were routinely collating.
“Right, top brass are wanting checks on a POI,” the raven-haired woman announced taking a deep breath as she did so. “Brian, get your Issy turned on.”
“Can do,” he responded casually and swiveled his chair to the Internal Security Control terminal. After a moment to log-in he turned to her for search instructions.
“Search protocol under all spectrums, fields and notes as follows…”
Athered nodded as he tapped in a bunch of pre-requisite data.
“Person of Interest — Eric Weyland,” her voice almost wavered. Eric, the one who was so close, yet now so far and a sworn opponent.
Athered hesitated on hearing the ancient-sounding name before entering it and hitting the ‘search’ key. His screen processed the data for nearly twenty seconds then spat out long list of information that scrolled down ten pages.
“Alright, give me a print-out of that,” the woman ordered sharply. She hoped that Athered would not be too interested but as the printer began flaring into action her wishes were not answered.
“Hey he’s former Intelligence Corps!” he quipped with youthful enthusiasm. The data had large notations and circles about various key points. “He went through training nearly thirteen years ago, then left us to join the Yeomanry!”
“Did he now?” Johnson interjected. “That’s bloody rare, most of those Yeoman guys are front-line types, nationalists, pissed-off Territorials,” he said with a veteran’s opinion. “A neighbor of mine down in Basingstoke joined ‘em, never would have thought it.”
“They get a number of civvies joining now too. After they get vetted for Albion heritage,” Athered said remembering some of the adverts. Since the British Coalition formed much of the pro-Albion stuff was banned, yet online they proved popular.
“Abrasive bastards though for the most part,” Johnson surmised, “but good soldiers I think. They fight for what they stand for, like we do.”
Templeton glared at him after the last sentence. “They’re army rejects if you ask me, nazi-wannabes abandoning a country to try and form one of their own.”
“Not this one,” Athered countered, drawing an angry glare from the woman. “He volunteered for courier infiltration in Northern Island, tried SAS Selection and Commando duty. Failed on the continuation training phase, passed Commando training though. It also says—”
Templeton cut him off.
“Alright, alright I can read Brian. I don’t need a bloody commentary!” she snapped, the feelings aroused by knowledge almost too much to deal with.
Her words surprised the rookie though. He’d never seen Templeton show her driven-side.
“Sorry Becky, just surprised at his record.”
Rebecca Templeton leaned over and snatched the printouts, then stapled them together using Athered’s stapler. She returned to her desk area across the office space. Unlike the two Corporals she had a measure of privacy with a screened off cubical. She was grateful for the seclusion as her face was wracked with worry and emotion. The Sergeant read the sheet and saw much of the tracking data from ten years ago up to present day was speculative. MI6 had caught his trail three times, first in South-East Asia, then in northern India, finally there had been a sighting in Ireland. The Top Secret dossier concluded he was a credible threat to National Security and one of the Yeomanry’s best agents.
Sergeant Templeton was normally an unflappable woman, it was not the conclusion of the dossier that had her rattled though. It was the fact that she knew him, and not just as a former-friend either.
Her memories ran back to the halcyon days of when she’d just turned twenty. She and her former best friend Lorraine Riley had the best posting at a training base. It was a familiar place where they both fitted in like a glove. Together the two of them were like a pair of femme-fatales, unstoppable and already short-listed for promotion to full corporal. Then, that fateful August night her world and Lorraine’s changed. After an encounter at a military summer-show Rebecca entered a whirlwind romance with the elusive, but dashing Eric Weyland. The memory train of what happened next almost felt like a knife passing through her heart. After a passionate relationship lasting almost two months young Rebecca was sure Eric was the one for her. Then the Colonels War erupted and Weyland quit the regular army to join the legions of former soldiers rallying to their banner. ‘To save the country’ as he called it. Her arguments and pleading with him was to no avail, she hated the Colonels and all they stood for and he did not. She was a universalist, supporting the ways of multiculturalism upon the west. He was a nationalist, or at least an idealized form of one, and a man that had had his way with her.
That was in the past though, the present now threatened her profoundly. If her military overlords or the police authorities knew she’d once been a lover of Weyland her career and life would be ruined. The Yeomanry and regular British Army were bitter rivals and it extended to there being military regulations against current and prior fraternization. Templeton had lied on the declaration form sent out after the Colonels War, she’d even altered records to change her tour of duty dates. Yet now that lie was feeling like a landmine, one that seemed to move from the pavement outside to inside the building.
There was another way though, if Weyland was killed she’d surely stand no risk of any chance of her secret being discovered. She could at last take her revenge as an additional bonus. The Yeoman had broken her heart and soul so long ago, he’d rejected her. Rebecca now silently vowed to be an instrument in taking down Weyland.
“Rebecca are you ok?”
She looked to the side and saw it was Atkinson, he was near the brew area refilling the kettle.
“Fine, just working on how to get this nazi fuck.”
“That’s the spirit, he killed a lot of people, police and civvy alike. Some might support the Yeomanry, even in our military secretly, but they’re a menace, as this latest outrage proves.”
“I see it as more than that, this country can’t have two forces dividing us either. The sooner he and the Yeomanry are in the trashcan of history the better.”
“Well there’s a shoot to kill order just gone out. They’ll probably drop it back to Person of Interest after a few days though. It’s probably the High Commissioner getting angry about his man being slotted.”
“His man?”
“Junior Commissioner Brown died at Heysham interrogating Weyland, he and High Commissioner Roberts were close, lovers I think.”
Templeton shrugged indifferently. She was always one for sexual equality, no matter what concept it took.
“Any leads?” she asked softly. “All this data is past records, would be good to have leads to get harrying the hare,” she had a keen look now about her. Atkinson frowned. “We can deploy Brian and Scott! They’ll be good field agents for this.”
“Rebecca, that’s more for the police to play with.”
“Come on Danny, we’re the only Intelligence Corps unit fit to track down rogue military and you know it. We’ve got the equipment, the tools that police could only dream of, our vehicles are as fast as theirs are, yet all the time we are stuck in this office. Even MI5 probably hasn’t got a Ferret unit.”
“Since the cut-backs we don’t number even half a dozen. Weyland’s unlikely to head to London, probably on his way to Yeomanry territory in Yorkshire.”
“Exactly! This is our chance to get on the radar!”
“What do you mean?”
“London is notorious for Yeomanry operatives, it’s how they are staying one step ahead of government operations. MI5 ha
s been trying for months and nothing! We get ourselves a part of the chase and it’ll increase our standing. Who knows? We could end up with a permanent field unit if it pays off. If it doesn’t? Well it’s tax-payers money being well spent.”
‘So much for any peace,’ the old Warrant Officer mused, he sheepishly nodded.
“Well I wanted a quiet time this year but I’ll put out a field-deployment request to Control and see where it goes.”
“Oh thanks Danny!” Templeton said with a satisfied smile.
“You keep the lads searching for clues on the Issy in the meantime, it might throw something up from the archives.”
Atkinson left and Templeton smiled. “I’ll make it my mission to personally take you down Eric, you and your fascist friends.”
The radio squawked again, it was a counter-broadcast by one of the Yeomanry Colonels. The two Corporals leaned-in to listen to what their response was to the attack. Before Colonel Sandford’s voice could speak another sentence Templeton pulled the radio from the top of the filing cabinet, yanking the plug from the socket.
“No one in here listens to their nationalist crap! From now on we focus, I’m going for a fresh-air break and when I get back I want every report relevant from Issy worked out and on my desk!”
The Sergeant stormed out and when the door had slammed shut the Corporals relaxed.
“What’s gotten into Rebecca? Aren’t we supposed to be impartial and not take sides? Isn’t that what caused the Colonels War?”
“What goes on paper and in reality are two different things lad. Politics from the top-down. Atty gets told what’s what, he tells Becky and down to us it comes.”
“Well sure, but I’ve never seen Rebecca turn this hardcore?”
“Oh, she is when she goes hard for something, she’s like a woman possessed. Short of killing her there’s no way to stop her when she gets her claws in.”
“What do you mean?”
“I saw that look about her once at a Sergeants Mess function in Germany,” Johnson nodded. “This was years ago and she’d only been promoted Sergeant, so was pretty green to being a senior NCO.”
“What happened?”
“I was only a Lance-Jack then and was in charge of overseeing the waiters. Anyway, a Sergeant Major, a real rough-arse, had his own view how to treat women in the military. He fondled her while she was looking at some pictures in a corridor. It happened really quickly, one minute he was walking past, then next he’d gripped and groped, then threw her down and was off walking again. Only I saw it, but she brushed it off, yet that look in her eye told me another story. I thought the matter was over though. Then in the early hours of the morning the guy was found half-dead in the gutter. Someone had used a heavy baton and cracked his skull open.”
“Stars above! What did the military police do?”
“Nothing, no-one knew or saw a thing, it was a crazy night. For whatever reason the investigation never questioned me, so I didn’t have to make lies or truths. I wasn’t going to put myself forward either. Rebecca said she didn’t remember much and had a fairly good alibi,” Johnson smiled warmly with the memory.
“Did he die? The sergeant-major?”
“No, he was given a medical discharge due to his injuries though. He had a habit of having roving hands and bullying ways so there was probably no shortage of suspects.”
“How do you know it was her though?”
“I saw the way she looked at the guy as he was leaving the Mess. She knows I saw it happen too, that’s why when we heard about the guy being discharged she looked at me and smiled.”
“But that—”
“Enough chatter, we have to get reports done, we don’t want you getting a medical discharge now do we?”
Both laughed but inside Athered was concerned SOTF was entering dangerous new waters.
They worked until early evening on the reports and collations. Brian Athered was hatching a plan, one that was as dangerous as being an enemy spy. He worked on old files, catching up on previous work put aside as they waited for other units to confirm data. First Johnson left, then Atkinson. Only the experienced woman and boyish lad remained.
Rebecca had a casual desire for the young Lance Corporal, but the new workload and Weyland’s reappearance muted her feelings. She would have worked until ten at night but for the fact she had a sergeants mess function.
“I know I was pushing about that POI, but don’t work too hard Brian. You don’t get paid any extra and no-one gives you any thanks for it,” she said with a faint smile as she made to leave.
“I won’t be long Becks, just finishing up some of the backlog,” he lied.
As soon as she was gone the young man worked for three more minutes. He went over to Johnson’s area where the plate-glass windows were. They gave good views of London but all Athered was interested in was if Templeton had left the building.
Indeed she had, the tiny figure in a pale skirt and dark jacket walked confidently past a crowd at a bus-stop towards the tube station a half-mile away.
She was a desirable woman, but Brian Athered had already been warned the senior ranker was off-limits, besides which, he was already seeing a university student from Estonia. His young blood did occasionally wonder about Templeton’s bedroom sexuality though. He could tell there was an experienced prowess about her, a winsome aggression compared to his more gentle blonde girlfriend.
Athered put the thoughts aside and sprang into action. The offices of SOTF were unique in that there was no security camera’s watching over them. The outside corridors had them but even Atkinson’s office was internalized to SOTF. Working fast he unlocked the filing cabinet and found the bulky file he was looking for. With a click he removed it from the drawer and took it over to the photocopier, once there he began to copy the entire thing. After nearly a hundred pages were done he manually ratcheted back the mechanical page counter on the photocopier. Then he enclosed the photocopied documents into a new file cover, secured them inside it and stuffed the lot into his backpack. Finally he returned the original file to Atkinson’s office, locked the cabinet and put the keys into his hiding place.
Now in his possession was the raw and unfiltered data about the Yeomanry, all from the Ministry’s number one agent. Instead of having to sift through biased news programs and media articles Athered would have that dangerous entity feared by those in power. The truth!
Athered left the Ministry building without hindrance by the Asian security guard. His flickering fear give way to relief as he rode the tube home. With the data he’d stealthily obtained he was surely breaking the Official Secrets Act, various Army Acts and numerous regulations concerning classified material. The file he’d purloined was classified as Secret, which made him wonder what on earth Top Secret rated stuff would reveal. Athered had that rare combination of a daring nature and an ability to get to the bottom of something, no matter how difficult or formidable.
It wasn’t just the new assignment that had him thinking, but the whole screwed-up situation Britain was in. People seemed careless or too numbed-out on a zillion and one distractions. Everywhere people had their digital distractions glaring about. Even though he was in his twenties and no stranger to the technology, it seemed very odd. The smart-phone was handy in some ways, but a time-sucking distraction in others.
After two stops he got out and made his way on foot to his small apartment. It wasn’t far and was in a middle-class area, thus shielded from the nastiness and undesirables elsewhere.
His girlfriend was already home in the living room studying her books. They spoke to one another about this and that before he got onto what he had to do.
Athered wanted to read the file right away but instead hunger gnawed at him, causing him to resisted the urge to read about the Yeomanry first hand. Natalya had already eaten so he cooked up a microwave meal. As he watched the LEDs count down he thought about when he was a young teenager. Both his parents had put him up for adoption as a baby so foster parents raised h
im instead. Both he and they were anti-Yeomanry. The Yeomanry defiance that had carved out a vast chunk of England used to bother him, especially when he was younger. Yet now he was more ambivalent about them. Despite a media campaign that seemed to host smear-stories every other day, Athered was starting to critically work things out. The Yeoman Colonels, their habits and crimes seemed either exaggerated or justified when weighed against their goals and what they were up against.
On many levels the nationalist ways of Albion’s Yeomanry made sense. They did not want a debt-based, service-driven economy, but instead one that actually minted its own money interest-free to a nationalized bank. The work industry should be home-grown of medium to high-quality and providing jobs to its people. Out-sourcing jobs, importing a majority of food and goods seemed inherently a bad idea. Especially given how unreliable it could be in uncertain times and the uncertain times were never far away nowadays.
Athered again delayed reading the file as his routine demanded he turned on his laptop to check on the foreign news. He saw that the Chinese were beginning to draw down their export market. The operative sucked in air through a tooth and nodded. Their middle-class was now coming of age and the factories could barely keep up with demand. Reading between the lines and from analyzing the intel reports at work Athered knew it differently. The USA and Europe’s easy goods days were at an end. The cheap, affordable goods that China was world famous for would slow to a trickle and price increases would follow. The workshop of the world was about to become the workshop of Asia only. With China’s inroads into the dirty, but resource rich African mines the shortfall in profit could be more than easily ridden out by rare earth minerals. In the meantime Europe would get poorer and poorer economically as it tried to borrow its way out of debt.
Clicking the news window closed on his machine he finally opened the red folder containing the intelligence dossier he’d smuggled out. It was from an agent code-named Remora whose real name was George Wiseman. His picture was that of a plain dark-haired fellow. One who could pass for Scottish or Irish with an understated appearance.