“The ISC will reconvene on Saturday morning, so we’ll need you back here to present your initial findings,” said Morgan.
Meanwhile, a member of the ISC technical support team handed Paddy a conference folder containing a unique touch pad for accessing the ISC server. All he had to do was turn it on and look into the webcam to verify his identity. Through the touchpad, Paddy would receive any updates from the ISC.
“Well, old boy, time to move again,” said Maxwell.
Suddenly, the room was filled with the deafening sound of a large Chinook helicopter, hovering over the top of the building. Members of the committee looked out the window as the helicopter steadily lowered its altitude onto the lawn. Maxwell walked Paddy down the stairs and out onto the grass.
“Where you off to?” asked Maxwell.
“Will had said something about going to meet a contact in Westbury…Any ideas who that might be?” asked Paddy.
“He must have been talking about the Brigadier at the Army Officer Selection Board,” replied Maxwell. He explained that there was a club in the Armed Forces which had been running for centuries, called the Round Table. The Brigadier was the Master of it. “My guess is that William Dunlop was also a member at some stage. Come to think of it, I have a feeling that William and the Brigadier went through Sandhurst at similar times,” said Maxwell.
The Round Table’s purpose was shrouded in secrecy. However, Colonel Maxwell did know that all the members swore an oath upon entry to help to look after the families of deceased members. When Colonel Maxwell was a young officer in the early 1990s, one of his men was killed during an operation in Northern Ireland. Maxwell had promised himself that he would see to it that the man’s family was taken care of. However, he later discovered that all was in hand. When he asked around, he discovered that it was being dealt with by the Round Table.
“I was told in no uncertain terms that I should not divulge the existence of the Round Table to anyone. The man that told me this was Brigadier James Lancelot,” said Maxwell.
The problem Paddy had was that if the Brigadier knew Will had been on his way to meet him, the news of Will’s death will have set the Brigadier on his guard. Maxwell also explained that the Brigadier was infamous for delegating. In fact, Lancelot was hardly ever seen around the barracks. However, his reputation was legendary. He had refused promotion after promotion in order to remain in control of the intake of British Army officers.
Paddy jogged over to the Chinook and was welcomed aboard by the airmen.
“Where are we going, sir?” asked the pilot.
“Westbury, Army Officer Selection Board; now, please,” said Paddy.
As the helicopter took off, the Committee gathered on the lawn. Several of its members who formerly served in the armed forces raised a salute to Paddy. The household cavalry who were patrolling the grounds at that moment also stopped to do the same as the Chinook turned westward over the streets of London.
***
It took about thirty minutes for the helicopter to get to the border of Westbury. Paddy could hear a commotion in the cockpit as the flight crew began radioing in to announce their arrival. Paddy stormed to the front.
“Stop what you’re doing,” said Paddy.
“Captain, with all due respect, I need to radio in,” replied the co-pilot.
“No, you don’t,” replied Paddy.
“Captain!” shouted the co-pilot.
“Flight Lieutenant. By orders of Colonel Maxwell of Hyde Park Barracks, this helicopter is under my command. Now, you will proceed to land this helicopter without notifying the base,” replied Paddy.
“We’ll be arrested. The base is in lock down. We need to have clearance to land,” said the co-pilot.
“It is my intention that we cause a scene,” said Paddy.
“Alright, sir, whatever you choose,” replied the co-pilot.
The helicopter descended to the landing pad. As it did, numerous military personnel surrounded it. When the helicopter landed the soldiers surrounding the aircraft remained still. Paddy turned to the rest of the crew. The back ramp of the Chinook lowered and Paddy walked onto the tarmac.
“Freeze!” shouted one of the soldiers.
Paddy put his hands up in the air. “My name is Captain Paddy Trimble of the Army Legal Service, and Intelligence and Security Committee of Parliament. I am here to see Brigadier Lancelot on a matter of the utmost importance.”
“Who did you say you were?” said a voice.
A man walked through the soldiers, wearing what appeared to be a Brigadier’s uniform.
“I’m Paddy Trimble, sir. I apologise for the theatrics, sir, but I need to speak to you immediately. I work…I worked with William Dunlop. Is there somewhere we can talk, sir?” asked Paddy.
The Brigadier surveyed Paddy and the Chinook.
“Follow me.”
The soldiers immediately backed down as the Brigadier ordered them at ease. The Brigadier then led Paddy through the complex of buildings to the barracks headquarters near the main gate. They walked through the door and up the stairs into the Brigadier’s office. As Paddy walked in, the Brigadier shut the door behind him.
“Stop right there!” said the Brigadier.
Paddy turned to see a pistol pointed at him. He put his hands in the air slowly.
“There are strange things going on. I received a call from Will this morning telling me his life was in danger and that he was on his way to see me. Of course, we both know that Will never arrived, don’t we? Will didn’t commit suicide. I’ve known him over thirty years and suicide goes against everything Will was as a man, and a soldier,” said the Brigadier.
The Brigadier gestured for Paddy to turn around. “Hands on the table.”
The Brigadier frisked Paddy and removed his sidearm. Moving slowly backwards and sitting in a chair, the Brigadier continued to menacingly point the gun at Paddy.
“Sir, I am here to talk to you about just that. I knew that Will was on his way here; he informed me of this in the moments before he died,” said Paddy.
“You were with him?” asked the Brigadier.
“Yes, and I too know that this wasn’t a suicide. There was something he was coming here to speak to you about,” said Paddy.
“Maybe. What interest is it of yours?” asked the Brigadier.
“I believe that before he died, Will had uncovered something which made him a target for certain elements within the security services. We need to locate those elements as soon as possible,” said Paddy.
The Brigadier stared blankly at Paddy.
“You can come out now, James,” said the Brigadier.
Out of a side door, in walked another man in a Brigadier’s uniform.
“Hello, Mr. Trimble. My apologies for confusing you. But in light of recent events I, too, have been taking precautions. This is my adjutant, Colonel Stephens. We even look slightly alike, don’t you think? That will be all, Stephens,” said Brigadier Lancelot. Colonel Stephens got up and left the room.
“I was wondering when you were going to arrive. Will had mentioned you. I just couldn’t be sure whether it was going to be you or someone pretending to be you,” said Brigadier Lancelot.
“Pot, Kettle, Black, sir,” said Paddy.
“Indeed, Mr. Trimble,” said Brigadier Lancelot.
“What about Will’s family?”
“Will’s wife and children are safe, I made sure of that. They are staying in a house my organisation owns on the Island of Gigha in the West of Scotland,” said Brigadier Lancelot.
“Your organisation?” asked Paddy.
“All in good time, Mr. Trimble,” replied Lancelot.
The Brigadier then went on to explain that Will had mentioned a nuclear energy company in Houston, Texas, called Clarkson Nuclear. It turned out that Sefton & Grey had significant links to this company. Paddy thought this must be the transnational network which Will had been alluding to earlier in the day.
“The Central Intelligence Age
ncy are guarding Will’s family on Gigha. Go to Gigha and speak to an agent called McGregor. He will be able to provide you with more information about this situation than I can,” said Brigadier Lancelot.
“Why is the CIA guarding Will’s family?” asked Paddy.
“You don’t know, do you?” asked Brigadier Lancelot.
“Know what?” asked Paddy.
“Will’s wife is the daughter of Robert Jackson, the former Secretary of State of the United States,” replied Brigadier Lancelot.
This came as a surprise to Paddy. The addition of the CIA added a new twist to the situation. His immediate concern, though, was how to get to Gigha. The Brigadier suggested that Paddy didn’t go by the helicopter he arrived in. Due to the fact that MI5 witnessed his helicopter taking off from Hyde Park Barracks, there was no guarantee that he hadn’t been tracked.
“You can rent a car, but use cash only.” Brigadier Lancelot went to his safe and produced an envelope containing several thousand pounds in cash. “My yacht is currently moored in Crinan. Here are the keys. Do me a favour and don’t sink her. Sail her from Crinan to Gigha. You will anchor in the main bay when you get there. Watch out for the reefs. Read through the pilot books I have stored in the shelves down below before setting off,” instructed Lancelot.
Colonel Stephens re-entered the room carrying a bundle of documents. He handed Paddy a fake passport and driving licence. After the meeting, Paddy was shown to a hidden exit from the barracks which led into a nearby field. It was out of sight of the route of the helicopter in which Paddy had arrived. Once he’d left, that helicopter would be ordered to proceed eastward to RAF Northolt in the opposite direction.
“The main road is a mile across the fields. From that point, you can get a taxi to the nearest car rental depot. Remember, whatever you do, don’t travel under your own name, and use cash only,” explained Brigadier Lancelot.
“I hope we meet again, sir,” said Paddy.
“I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other sooner than you think, Mr. Trimble,” replied Brigadier Lancelot.
.
Chapter 12
Gigha
IT WAS ABOUT 0430 HOURS on Wednesday, the 10th of August 2011, when Paddy finally made it to Crinan in Scotland. The drive in the rented car was long and tedious, taking Paddy right through the heart of England, and further north into the Lake District and borderlands. When he crossed the land border into Scotland, he followed the road a while before veering northwest through Loch Lomond National Park and past that towards the rugged west coast. As was always the case with that particular time of year, there was a light developing in the sky.
The small village of Crinan was an idyllic location for holidaymakers. It was most famously associated with its canal, which cut through the upper end of the Mull of Kintyre and led boats down to the Clyde. On the other side, it faced the islands of Jura and Islay. A sea mist had descended upon the harbour and the air was quite cool as Paddy parked the car and walked down to find the Brigadier’s yacht. There were quite a few pleasure craft in the harbour. Paddy surveyed each one, and then he came to a yacht that had the Brigadier written all over it - quite literally. The name of the yacht was Lancelot. She was a Swan 45, a truly excellent sailing yacht with immaculate teak decks. Paddy hopped on board and examined her layout before settling down below to read the pilot books for the trip ahead.
After about an hour of getting organised and reading up on the journey, Paddy was prepared to get moving. He started Lancelot’s inboard engine, cast off the lines and went about carefully manoeuvring this large sailing yacht around the other vessels that were also berthed within the harbour. Paddy briefly tied up Lancelot in order to open the lock gates. The usual lock keeper was not awake at that time of the morning so Paddy had to do it manually by turning the large winches. After that he moved the yacht into the basin of the lock before closing the gate and allowing the water levels to descend level with the sea outside.
Once out of the lock, Paddy checked the windex and put the boat into the wind. There was a steady breeze blowing from the northwest, at about ten to fourteen knots. He hoisted the mainsail and unfurled the genoa. After that he set up the auto helm to follow the way points on the GPS to Gigha. Paddy expected Lancelot’s voyage to Gigha to last about four and a half hours; the favourable tides meant the journey would hopefully be slightly shorter than it would usually be.
***
By the time Paddy had got to Ardminish, the main bay in Gigha, it was 1030 hours. He anchored the boat and inflated a small dinghy to row ashore to the pier. The water in Gigha that morning was the sort of crystal blue you would expect to see in somewhere like the Carribean. Paddy could clearly see the ocean floor, despite being a quarter of a mile offshore. As he rowed Lancelot’s tender towards the pier, he didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary on the island.
The island itself was relatively small, about six miles long and one and a half miles wide. Paddy’s destination was the mansion house of Achamore, which was supposedly built by Brigadier Lancelot’s Great Grandfather, Lieutenant Colonel William James Scarlett. Achamore was a white seventeenth-century Baronial mansion, complete with turrets on each wing. As Paddy walked along the pier, he noticed a small jet coming into land on the island’s runway. This was quite unusual, as Gigha’s runway had for some time been designated for emergency use only. “It must be the CIA,” Paddy thought to himself.
Paddy continued to walk the short distance uphill along the narrow roads of the island toward Achamore House. After about fifteen minutes, he reached the gates of Achamore. The gardens were open to the public and had been donated to the National Trust some years earlier. However, on this particular day, the gates to the gardens were shut. To the untrained eye, the gates were unguarded; however, as Paddy drew closer he could clearly see figures in the surrounding bushes. He walked to the middle of the two gate posts and stopped, staring straight ahead. He put his hands behind his head.
“I’m here to see McGregor,” said Paddy.
Several masked men jumped out of the bushes, binding and gagging Paddy. A hood was placed over Paddy’s head so he could not see where he was being taken. After a few minutes, Paddy was dropped on to a hard surface with a thud. The men removed Paddy’s hood and ungagged him. The masked men then left the room and locked the door, leaving Paddy in what appeared to be a cellar.
“Wait, you idiots. I’m on your side!” shouted Paddy. He ran over to a small window close to the ceiling, but it was covered with bars and in any event was too small to climb out of. “I’m here because of William Dunlop!”
From the darkness, someone spoke.
“If that were true, then you must also be aware that William Dunlop is dead,” said the voice in a New York accent.
Paddy turned. “Who’s that…?”
Out a dark corner appeared a well-built figure in a suit. The man lit a cigarette and approached Paddy. It was hard to make out his face.
“You were looking for me,” said the man.
“McGregor?” asked Paddy.
“Correct!” said McGregor.
“McGregor, I am here because I was told to come here by Brigadier Lancelot. I’ve sailed here in the Brigadier’s yacht so I could move undetected. I am working for the Intelligence and Security Committee of Parliament. It’s a matter of national security that I find out who killed William Dunlop and why,” explained Paddy.
“National security is a fickle thing,” said McGregor, as he took another draw of his cigarette.
“I have information that concerns both of us.” Said Paddy.
There was a silence as McGregor continued to ominously observe Paddy.
“Where’s Will’s wife, and his children?” said Paddy.
“We evacuated them last night under orders from NSA. You said you have some information for me,” said McGregor.
“What I’m about to tell you breaches the Official Secrets Act and pretty much all laws pertaining to the area of intelligence in the UK.
You cannot repeat this to the wrong source, ok?” said Paddy.
McGregor nodded.
“Last week, the SAS captured Abdullah Ahmed Atwah in the Hindu Kush. He’s due to stand trial in a secret court in London this weekend. It is a major security headache. One of the prosecution’s witnesses is a big terrorist target. Obviously, with the situation being as it is, the ISC can’t afford to take any chances. That’s why I am here to investigate,” said Paddy.
McGregor stopped Paddy in his tracks. “Do you drink whiskey?”
“What?” asked Paddy.
“Whiskey, do you drink it. This house apparently has one of the finest collections of single malts in Scotland. They have a tasting room upstairs, care to join me?” said McGregor.
Paddy and McGregor went upstairs to discuss matters further. They sat in a large drawing room overlooking the grand gardens that swept down to the coast.
“Have a try of this. It’s Lagavulin, it’s a magnificent whiskey, distilled not far from here on the island of Islay,” said McGregor.
Paddy took a sip. “That’s pretty rustic. Very peaty.”
McGregor sat down beside Paddy. “When this all kicked off, Will got in touch with the US Embassy in London. That’s when I became involved. When Will later spoke to Brigadier Lancelot, it was his suggestion that we take the family here for its remoteness. We evacuated the family within hours of the shooting at Dunlop & McLaine.,”
“Before today I didn’t know that Will’s wife was American, let alone that she was a daughter of a former Secretary of State,” replied Paddy.
“Well, her father still occupies a prominent position in the NSA. We couldn’t afford to have a hostage situation on our hands,” replied McGregor.
“What about this energy company in Houston?” asked Paddy.
“Clarkson Nuclear first came to my attention when we received information that it had been doing business with a Dr Ludwig Von Gunten,” explained McGregor.
“You mean the Mechanic,” said Paddy.
The Keepers of the Persian Gate Page 14