Failsafe Query

by Michael Jenkins

  ‘Well, I obviously can’t divulge that, but the picture seems to be that the officer has stolen a huge quantity of highly classified documents.’ Sean remained quiet whilst he watched Jack place his black leather briefcase on his lap. Jack continued as he opened the briefcase.

  ‘It seems he was brute-force hacking deep into our intelligence network systems. He’s highly vetted, and has direct access to a range of American and British intelligence and data-mined files stored on servers across both countries. His prized cyber-intelligence feeds included TS, SI and TK intelligence.’

  ‘TOP SECRET, SPECIAL INTELLIGENCE and TALENT KEYHOLE then. That’s big stuff,’ Sean replied, stunned at the extent of access to secret intelligence the officer had. ‘I’m assuming he had access to special compartmented information too?’

  ‘He did, and our concern is this could be more damaging than the leaks of Edward Snowden, the NSA contractor who leaked US secret communications to the world. It seems that we could have the next high-grade, cyber-security whistle-blower – and the first ever British Intelligence officer.’

  ‘Pretty serious – so you want me to find him? And his cache of stuff?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Our source has revealed that the rogue officer had a series of secret files he was going to expose,’ Jack said. ‘From the little we know, he had information files that he had titled RussianMoles, Police corruption and Iraq Intelligence. It looks to us that he’s committed to becoming Britain’s biggest-ever wholesale whistle-blower. We need to find him fast.’

  Sean smiled at the sheer gall of the man – recalling the British Government’s wobbles in 2013 when they had declared that the Snowden leaks amounted to the ‘most catastrophic loss to British intelligence ever’.

  ‘This is bloody big then,’ Sean said, as he opened the red-covered dossier that Jack had handed to him. ‘I assume everything you know is in here?’ he asked, looking Jack squarely in the eyes. He knew he would not get an affirmative answer.

  The dossier reminded him of Edward back in 2005 and of that fateful mission he had been on when Katy died.

  Chapter 12

  West End Hotel, London, 10 April 2016

  Sean wore a small black beanie hat and smiled coyly at the receptionist as he arrived at the West End hotel. He was embarrassed at his decline. Head now shaven, he was a skeleton of his former self with numerous scars on his face from living rough in one of the most dangerous prisons in the world and a personality that had been battered over the years. He was pissed off he was now forced to wear headwear. He was self-conscious about his looks and his scorched past. He was damaged goods, having plummeted into a dark downward spiral, followed by jail and finally the absurd notion he was still on top of his game.

  He wanted to return quickly to his physically fit and gregarious self. ‘What a bloody fool,’ he murmured, willing himself to become a winner in life again. His addiction was adrenalin and the rushes it gave him as it pulsed through his veins as a result of living life right on the edge. He wanted his life back again. Sean dealt with grief in his own way. He took it to a private place, a small drawer in his mind, kept it to himself and took it out occasionally. The loss of Katy had had a devastating effect on him, and he had grieved alone for many years, immersing himself in his work. He often awoke from harsh nightmares and dreams of the family he had craved, a family with three kids and a wonderful wife, of which he had been robbed by tragedy.

  Sean had always dressed immaculately, yet here he was now in a London hotel in trainers, T-shirt and jeans, looking like some sort of football hooligan. He was bemused about why he had been summoned to a Mayfair hotel in the early evening with Jack chaperoning his every move – exactly as he had done to get Sean safely back into the UK with no questions asked.

  Sean walked into the large suite on the seventh floor and was instantly shocked as he was greeted by a quite tall, but very lean, man in his early sixties. Sean recognised Dominic Atwood immediately from his time in Kazakhstan back in 2001, but it was clear Dominic did not recall that chance meeting with him all those years ago. Sean was, after all, a few stone lighter, emaciated and bald. As was Dominic – his toupee had gone.

  Dominic was one of the country’s greatest spooks. A spy with MI6 for over thirty years, he had a fearsome reputation for getting things done. He was one of the establishment’s most commanding, contentious and enigmatic mandarins – and now he was the Home Office’s top security man, someone who had only recently emerged from the shadows of MI6. He had come a long way since his murky days in Uzbekistan.

  Sean looked at his surroundings as he walked through the lavish suite as if he was looking for bugs and other listening devices. The suite was large with a double bedroom and spacious dining and living rooms, each overlooking Hyde Park. He was ushered by Dominic to take a seat amongst the beige leather chairs around an oval-shaped glass coffee table littered with fashion and tourist magazines. He watched Jack remove a large vase of flowers so they could sit and talk unimpeded. Sean sat down opposite Dominic and Jack poured each of them a glass of Saint Emilion to establish a congenial atmosphere.

  ‘I understand you had some success finding a kidnapped and murdered diplomat who was buried some years ago in Iraq?’ Dominic inquired. ‘Frightfully bad episode.’

  Sean nodded. ‘And a few more since then, too.’

  ‘Good,’ Dominic said, pausing with the unhurried confidence of someone not expecting any interruption. ‘I have a pretty serious job I’d like you to lead on, Sean. The intelligence officer has gone missing and we fear he may be dead already. It’s vital to the interests of this country that we find out what has happened to him – and find the files he was about to leak.’

  Sean swilled his wine around the glass a few times, releasing the fruity aroma, and looked across to carefully gauge Dominic’s disposition. He seemed edgy, but spoke simply, without a public schoolboy’s accent. Sean tasted the 2009 vintage. ‘I wondered why the goodwill repatriating me to the land of comfort,’ he said. ‘Delighted to help if the terms are favourable of course. Favourable to me.’

  ‘Splendid, Sean. It’s all rather complicated but it needs a loyal Crown servant like you who is, erm, not a Crown servant, if you get my meaning?’ Sean gave a knowing smile as Dominic continued. ‘It’s far too close-hold to do this in a traditional way. As you know, Chinese whispers float across our world. I can’t afford for this to be cocked up, so this will have to be a complete side operation, well away from any officially sanctioned work, one that needs a good cover story and a few good men.’

  Sean listened to his tone, and observed his style and demeanour. Dominic, it seemed, was not arrogant about his accounting. Rather, he seemed impassioned that this was the right thing to do for the country. He was speaking with clear, sometimes pitiless, but calm honesty, and straight from the soul. Sean wondered why this task was so vital to Dominic. ‘Perhaps the leaks of information might also implicate him?’ he wondered. Sean was clear in his mind, though, that Dominic was a ruthless operator. Behind his facade was a man with serious ambitions and clear views on life that recalled the research he had undertaken during the day. Woe betide those who fail him, Sean had noted from the words of his contact. His charming but unhandsome looks belie his fearsome and brutal manner – a reputation that ricocheted through the corridors of the Home Office when he began his new role.

  Sean looked Dominic directly in the eye with his response. ‘That means I become a fall guy if it all goes wrong?’ Sean said. ‘A deniable operation?’

  ‘You could say that was the case,’ Dominic replied irreverently.

  ‘Look Dominic, if I decide to find this man and his files then it needs to be full details and facts on the table,’ Sean replied tersely. ‘I don’t want anything hidden. These are never easy jobs and it could take months. Just like it did to find the diplomat in 2004. And besides – to undertake an operation like this I will need my old team to assist, and they’ll need to be motivated to remain quiet. I’d prefer not to have
any surprises and an up-front conversation about how you will remunerate us all. You probably already know my motivation?’

  Dominic turned to Jack. ‘Jack will explain the details on how to go forward on this and I’m sure he’s briefed you on nearly everything we have. I need your word that this will not get out to anyone.’

  ‘That’s all well and dandy, but where are my guarantees?’

  ‘I can guarantee you won’t end up back in Kabul,’ Dominic said. ‘But you’ll need to make a damn good job of this to avoid any other large holes. You’ll get everything you need, and all the costs you need will be met. However, if you so much as utter a word to anyone about the detail of this problem, I’ll ensure your world is crushed again.’

  The implication, as Sean always knew, was clear. Another large hole loomed if he didn’t play ball. ‘Fuck it,’ Sean said. ‘I’ll play, but I want out in full if I succeed.’

  ‘Very well,’ Dominic replied. ‘A real pleasure to have you back in the game, Sean.’

  Sean knew this was an opportunity but that it was probably a game to Dominic. Sean began to calculate all the avenues in his mind that could be used to surreptitiously keep his game plan shrouded from Dominic. Sean also found out from his contact in the Home Office that Dominic was currently a very angry man. He did not suffer fools. By all accounts, he had been passed over by some nut-chewing pompous fool who had beaten him to be ‘C’, the chief of MI6. He apparently held a deeply buried grudge against the people who had failed him in his life’s ambition to become C.

  Sean probed a bit more. ‘So, this might well be a side op, but who else is in the game exactly? Who knows what?’

  ‘We’re unsure who the opposition is,’ Dominic said, pausing briefly. ‘But someone got to him before we did. Someone knew about his plans, and someone probably knew the extent of the nuclear fallout such a story would provoke if it was allowed to happen. I need to make sure that the information he was going to release is safe and, if it isn’t, whose hands is it in? In there somewhere is a virulent list of moles. I need it kept from other prying eyes.’

  ‘Who is this guy then?’ Sean said, looking at both of them as he leant forward to drink his wine.

  Jack chipped in. ‘His name is Alfie Chapman. A good man, if a little odd and slightly insecure. We only recently found out he had disappeared – just before he was about to release to the world thousands of secret files that would seriously hinder our US relationship and expose some of our historical cock-ups we would rather didn’t get out into the public domain.’

  ‘So, you actually know for sure he was on the verge of releasing all of these files then?’

  ‘Yes, he was. So, it’s a bloody dangerous situation for the country.’

  ‘Anyone else involved with him?’

  ‘We found out he had been planning this for years,’ Jack said. ‘And he had been meticulous in his preparation. He had a female aide, who was helping him to access investigative journalists in a similar fashion to Edward Snowden. But Snowden was an amateur. Alfie was a careful, wise spook. The information he planned to leak would have monumentally fucked things up for us all.’

  Sean knew that he would need to grill Jack in far more detail and was prepared for a long night of finding answers to his questions. He was already formulating a plan for tackling the thorny issue of finding Alfie. Dead or alive.

  ‘So, why can’t you get the Met Police search and missing persons experts, oh, and Box, to tackle this?’ Sean said. ‘It’s their bag in MI5.’

  ‘No one knows about this and he’s just a missing person right now. This is too high-grade and too toxic to allow it to reach the ears of the agencies,’ Dominic said garrulously. ‘I don’t know who else is out there looking for him, or indeed the full extent of the information he was going to whistle-blow on. So far as I am aware, and I believe this, only we know what he wanted to expose. I don’t believe the intelligence agencies knew of this. We just got lucky with a trusted source of information who gave us the heads up on what he was about to do and we need this to be totally under the radar. Sadly, ministers get involved with all sorts of governing and prying fingers in intelligence ops these days. I simply can’t afford to have anyone else know. Keep me informed about what you discover.’

  Dominic started turning towards the door. ‘And watch your back a little as we don’t know who else is watching and moving in this nasty cloud. Somebody got to him and I’m pretty pissed off at that.’

  Sean stood up as Dominic began to leave. He politely bade him farewell.

  Sean decided to keep his own counsel on this case. He trusted no one. Something was not right. Not right at all. But on the other hand, he knew Dominic could easily have him arrested and banged up again on some false pretence of absconding from international justice. At least this offered a way out, even if Sean didn’t quite know how. He also knew the chances of dark forces operating would mean he had to make sure he left no trails and adequately countered any surveillance on him. Time to stiffen the sinews, he thought.

  ‘So, Jack. What do you think? Was it MI5, MI6, the Yanks or the Russians who lifted Alfie? Who is linked to all this? Who could have got the tip-off and how?’

  Jack had now rolled his shirt sleeves halfway up his forearms, slackened his tie and was slouched in his chair.

  ‘We simply don’t know,’ Jack said. ‘Not Five, I can guarantee that, and the exact link on who would be implicated in the exposés, other than Her Majesty’s Government, isn’t fully known.’

  Sean warmed to Jack and his calm, agreeable character. He had managed to find out that Jack had two daughters, was a keen family man and lived in Berkshire. His youngest daughter was three and severely ill with MS.

  ‘We do know Alfie had researched old intelligence operations,’ Jack continued. ‘You know – things like the Iraq dossier, the death of Professor Wilshaw, Moscow spy cock-ups and bits and bobs on the mole hunters in MI6. We think there’s a list of Russian moles in there too. One piece of high-grade intelligence on these suspected moles could implicate former and current ministers. Government could tumble too. A few things are certain. First, he was meticulous in his planning and would have had a contingency plan if he was got at. He knew that could happen. Secondly, he knew high-profile people would have been destroyed both in Moscow and on our side.’

  Jack was in full flow now. Sean kept quiet and listened.

  ‘We only had a single source who gave us the clue he was about to release these secrets. He’s a very credible source but didn’t know the full extent of what Alfie held. We need to find the files Alfie was going to release, and we need to get them first before anyone else does. Alfie was careful about what he exposed to tease the journalists into siding with him.’ Jack sipped more wine as Sean continued his probing.

  ‘He had a good escape plan too? New personality, new life?’

  Jack nodded. ‘What’s worrying for us is we don’t know what he’s put in place as a contingency to release this information in the event of him going missing. We need you to trace him, Sean. And do a deep delve into everything he came into contact with. I’ve done some work on this. I managed to get his friend to a safe house very quickly. Her name is Melissa. And I’ve got his flat sealed off too – it’s been searched by the police as part of a simple missing person case, nothing more. They didn’t find anything. We were about to lift him when he disappeared.’

  ‘OK. I’ll have a look at it,’ Sean said. ‘Can you get into some intelligence systems for me? Line up some funding to bring some people in, and sort me out a new identity? I’m going to need to meet his friend too. She could hold the key to this.’

  ‘No problems with any of that,’ Jack said. ‘I’ve already squared away a new passport for you, some credit cards, club memberships and loyalty cards. Melissa is in our safe house in Suffolk being looked after by Jane, one of our operators.’

  ‘I need a couple of secure phones and a secure encrypted laptop too, Jack.’

  ‘Done. Who will you
be calling in?’

  ‘Not sure. I’ll probably bring the old team of experts together if we find out he’s been killed. Chances of him being alive are slim as there is no value in extortion for him. He may have left some clues as to where he has hidden his files, but I’ll probably need a number of your intelligence capabilities to investigate this properly.’

  ‘That’s all easily arranged through my team. You may want to reconnect with Samantha Braund in GCHQ as well, Sean. Or TABASCO, as you fondly refer to her.’

  ‘How do you know about her?’ Sean asked quizzically.

  ‘Come on, Sean. You know the score. I’ve done my homework on you for every aspect of your life – as you’d expect me to.’

  Sean grinned. ‘Yes, I know. But Samantha? Blimey. I kept that very quiet for years.’ He took a swig of his wine and shrugged his shoulders a little. He visualised his last meeting with Samantha and the times they had shared on an undercover job in Ireland where she first gave herself the codename TABASCO. They had been in touch on and off over the years since they had first met at that crowded meeting for Operation Cloud-Hawk in London way back in 2001. But Sean found her too heavy and forthright for anything more than the occasional dalliance. Might be good to see her again though, he thought whimsically.

  He nudged his mind back to the mission in hand, juggling with his thoughts, before teeing up his most immediate needs. ‘I’ll need to bring the old team back together for this. Starting with Mike and Billy Phish, who are in Barbados these days. They’ll both be vital if we’re to have any chance of successfully getting this over the line. Can you fly them over? I’ll also need John ‘Jugsy’ Stokes ready to move too – if only to have a beer with the old scrote.’

  They both laughed. Each of them was familiar with the legend of Jugsy in the intelligence world. They got through two bottles of Saint Emilion’s finest Bordeaux that evening as they planned the next stages of the operation and the team Sean would need.