Their Own Game
Page 21
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The resident Heathrow press corps was in attendance, as expected, when Weaver and Algar, a respectful distance behind him, emerged from the VIP suite in terminal four. Weaver waved cheerily, and in answer to their questions, said airily that, yes thank you, after their Middle East talks, he’d had a relaxing day with his friend the President, and enjoyed some fishing.
The Prime Minister headed straight for Downing Street, while Sir Robin Algar, as they had agreed on the aircraft, set off for home. It had been decided that the Cabinet Secretary did not need to be there when Weaver had his discussions with Anchor and Clayton later, since the ground that was to be covered during that meeting had been thoroughly discussed during the flight. Since Algar had not been at the earlier meetings of the trio, - indeed, he didn’t even know about them - there seemed no real point in him being present at this one either. It was, after all, only to brief the two men from Northern Ireland on what had happened this weekend, and to get them geared up for the next stage of the operation. And Algar had some planning of his own to do, too, before getting to the office the next day. All this new activity had to be fitted in to an already horrendously busy schedule, and done so discretely.
In the flat, Weaver slumped into his favourite armchair.
“You look exhausted, my dear,” said his wife Susan. “And I was so hoping you would enjoy your day with Bill. You get on so well together, and it was a lovely spot he took us to.”
“It was nice,” replied Weaver, “but I had a lot on my mind I wanted to talk about with Bill and Colin Carlucci, so I couldn’t really relax.”
“Such a pity. Us girls really got on well and had a wonderful day together. And the shops are so inexpensive, compared with London prices. But you did go fishing, and I know how much you enjoy that.”
“And I caught a fish,” replied Tony Weaver. “That was fun, while it lasted, although I think I may have landed an even bigger trophy at the same time.”
Susan looked puzzled, but knew better than to ask.
“I have a theory about Northern Ireland, which I wanted to share with Bill. I think he might support it - I hope so. I should know in a day or so.”
“Well, you can put your feet up for a bit now, I hope,” said Susan.
“Not for long, I’m afraid,” replied the Prime Minister. “I’ve asked James Anchor and Major Clayton to come over for a quick briefing at around lunchtime, so I’ll have to go down to the office for that. That reminds me - I’d better get some sandwiches organised.”
“While you’re doing that,” said his wife as he reached for the phone, “I’ll put the kettle on.”
It was a quarter to twelve when Anchor and Clayton arrived in Downing Street, and they were immediately ushered into the waiting room across the corridor from the PM’s office. Moments later, Tony Weaver stuck his head round the door.
“Come on in, gentlemen,” he greeted them. “Good of you to come over at short notice.”
“Not at all,” replied Anchor. “You’re the one who’s had the journey. You must be tired after your flight from Washington.”
“New York.” corrected Clayton.
The Prime Minister looked at him quizzically.
“And I hope you enjoyed the fishing.” Clayton added.
“How do you know that?” he demanded.
“It’s his job to know things, Tony,” replied Anchor with a smile. “It’s what he gets paid for.”
“Ah, yes. Of course. And that’s why you’re here, Major.”
The Prime Minister motioned towards the armchairs, and the three of them sat round the coffee table.
“There’ll be sandwiches and a glass of wine soon, if you’d like that, but let me first quickly tell you about my conversations with the President yesterday. As you know,” - he looked towards Clayton - “I had the Cabinet Secretary with me, and Mr Minton was accompanied by his Chief of Staff, Colin Carlucci. I broadly outlined the scenario that we three have sketched out at our earlier meetings, and I think I can say that, after their initial and natural shock and disbelief at the audacity of our proposals, they ended up appearing broadly supportive of what we have in mind. Naturally, too, they need to discuss all this with a few carefully selected colleagues, as I shall need to share it with some of my own soon. But I hope and expect that I shall have a positive response within the next few days. So we must be prepared to start work immediately that happens.”
“You assume, do you,” asked Anchor, “that your Cabinet colleagues will go along with the idea?”
“I don’t assume, James, but I shall persuade them. Tomorrow, I plan to brief Sir Percy Lewis, the Attorney General, Roy Salisbury and Peter Coombs, the Secretaries of State for Northern Ireland and Defence, Robert Burgess, the Foreign Secretary and Alison Judd, the Home Secretary. I shall then hold a second briefing with the Chief of Defence Staff, the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, and the Chief Constable of the Northern Ireland Police Service. Can either of you think of anyone else?”
Neither could, off hand.
“I shall brief the whole Cabinet about the political proposals only when it becomes clear that the first phase of this operation is succeeding, and that terrorism in Northern Ireland is becoming a thing of the past. Without that, the political solution won’t work, so they won’t need to know about it. Bill Minton and I have agreed to co-ordinate dates on this, because we shall then need to go wider as well - to the UN, NATO, the European Council, and so on.”
“What about the Irish Republic?” asked Bill Clayton.
“The President has undertaken to brief the Taoiseach, Michael O’Leary, fairly soon after he has convinced his colleagues to take part in this plan. Hopefully he will be meeting a select few of them tomorrow as a first step, as I am.”
“That should be fun,” said Clayton. “I only ask because at some stage, I shall need to liaise with the Guarda special branch, as well as the Yard’s.”
“And with all these people being told, I begin to worry about security,” said Anchor.
“I agree,” said the Prime Minister. “As always, there will be nothing about this scheme in writing - absolutely nothing. I propose to tell the people I brief tomorrow that they must not pass on a full briefing to anyone else, either. If they think someone needs to know the whole picture, they tell me, and I will brief them if I so decide. Otherwise, they confine themselves to briefing senior individuals about the range of specific tasks which they alone will have to carry out or take responsibility for.”
The two men were listening intently, and nodded.
“For example,” continued the Prime Minister. “The Chief of the Defence Staff will have to brief some of his single service chiefs about their individual role, and particularly about the role of the Special Forces, and the unit commanders will then need to be tasked to carry out a specific aspect of the operation. But none will have the whole picture, or even know that there are other units playing a similar role. Once a group of men has carried out a specific task, it will be disbanded, and although individuals may be tasked with other aspects of the operation later, no-one will be able to link the two as part of a larger operation.”
“That’s exactly the way the IRA operates,” commented Clayton. “Small units, unknown to one another, individually tasked, none knowing what the others are up to, or even who they are.”
“And I see no reason why we should not play them at their own game,” said Weaver.
“Neither do I,” agreed Clayton, whose idea it had been in the first place, anyway.
“Finally,” said the Prime Minister, “I shall make it abundantly clear to colleagues before I start tomorrow that they are about to be briefed about a highly dangerous and sensitive operation with world-wide implications, with no guarantee of success, and that the time has come to put their jobs, and possibly their lives, on the line. Any who are not prepared to take that risk will be invited to leave at that point. Otherwise, their loyalty and commitment to the operation will thereafter be ass
umed to be total. Then, to emphasise the need for absolute secrecy, I shall let them know that some of what we have in mind could be interpreted as state terrorism, with all that implies for war crimes and so on. They will then be given a last chance to withdraw.”
The Prime Minister looked closely at both men.
“I am only telling you this because, for both of you, that point has already been passed. You are part of it, and there is no going back for either of you.”
They nodded.
“Whatever the Americans decide, this is a secret which all those of us who know the full plan will take with them to the grave.”
“And especially us,” said a solemn James Anchor. “We thought of it.”
“I obviously need to say no more,” said Weaver.
“I begin to think that I need to say something though, Prime Minister,” said Clayton. “Any time at all my boss and the General are going to wonder what I’m up to. I can’t keep dodging off to see you without, one day, having to tell them where I’m going, and then I shall have to tell them why.”
“When I see the CDS tomorrow, I will tell him of your role in this so far, and the role I want you to play in the future. I guess you’ll soon hear from the General after that, but only tell him about your role - no one else's, and not the whole picture. If you have any real problems, let me know direct.” said the Prime Minister.
With a quiet knock, Jane Parsons stuck her head round the door.
“Jane! What are you doing here - it’s Sunday.”
“Doesn’t matter,” replied his Secretary. “They told me you’d fixed a meeting this afternoon, so I thought I’d put in an appearance. Your sandwiches have arrived - shall I have them brought in?”
“Yes please. We could all do with a break.”
“I’ve had Sir Robin on the phone, too, Prime Minister,” said Jane. “I’m arranging the two meetings you wanted for tomorrow. Will an hour be long enough for each of them?”
“I’ll make sure it is Jane - thank you.”
“I’m afraid the rest of tomorrow’s diary begins to look very pear-shaped, but I’ll do my best to fit everything in.”
“It might be an idea, Jane, to leave at least an hour a day free for the next month or so, if you can manage that,” said the Prime Minister. “I’ve a feeling I shall need to arrange a few more things at short notice in the weeks to come, and that would make life a bit easier for you.”
“I’ll see what I can do, Prime Minister,” promised his Secretary. “By the way, I take it you want Sir Robin at the two meetings tomorrow?”
“Certainly.”
“I’d better get on to his SPS then, to make sure he knows what’s going on, although I’m sure Sir Robin will have phoned John himself.”
Once food and a glass of wine had been served, they had the office to themselves again.
“We’ll work through, if you don’t mind,” said the Prime Minister. “If all goes well, we shall be in a position to start things going later next week or the week after that, and I want to make sure that both of you are ready for it.”
“There’s certainly a lot to do,” agreed Clayton. “Anything specific you want me to tackle, or just general preparedness?”
“Bill, I want you to concentrate on two areas specifically. You will need to be ready to brief, when asked, on where the top people are in all the major organisations, and how they can best be got at. As we discussed before, you will also need to be able to provide as much evidence as you can about their involvement in terrorism or criminal acts relating to terrorism. The decision about their fate will rest on that evidence, but it’s not a decision you will have to take. Details of the arms dumps are important, too, although I guess that is more general knowledge. But someone will be asking you for their weak points, and how best they can be targeted. Finally, I shall want you to prepare a list of all the major terrorist bank accounts, with as much detail as possible - where they are, account numbers, who is authorised to draw on them, how much is in them and so on. Somehow, you will have to get all that to Sir Robin Algar.”
“I thought he’d be wanting that,” said Major Bill Clayton, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket. “Would you be so good to pass this on to him when you next meet,” he asked the Prime Minister. “It’s in writing, I’m afraid, but on note paper bought at the local newsagent, and the envelope is a used one, sent to an uncle of mine in Sussex sometime ago.”
“I’m impressed,” said Weaver, “but not entirely surprised. Is everything here?”
“There are a few details missing about a couple of accounts in the States, but I’ve got people working on that, so I should be able to fill in the gaps soon. As for the rest, I’m ready to brief almost at once, but I must warn you, Prime Minister, that there is one IRA arms dump that is going to be very difficult to deal with. It’s buried in a hillside across the border in the Republic. It used to be a Remote Centre of Government during the Cold War; it’s very deep and almost nuclear proof. So far as I can gather, the decommissioning body doesn’t even know of this one. It’s their biggest dump by far, stuffed full of Semtex and countless weapons of all kinds, and is regularly inspected by their Quartermaster, Seamus O’Hara, and two or three of his top men. If we can find a way of blowing it with them inside, that would be an added bonus.”
“Any ideas?”
“Oh, yes. But we could discuss that later, perhaps, when we know who’s on our side.”
“Understood,” said Weaver. “And thank you for this.” He waived the rather tatty envelope in salute. “It probably goes without saying that from now on you should only brief up the chain of command, and not downwards.”
The Prime Minister turned to James Anchor.
“That goes for you too, James. And if either of you come across any dissention or disagreement or difficulty, tell me and I'll sort it - don’t you try to do so, and don’t ask anyone else higher up the chain, either.”
The two men nodded agreement.
“Now, James,” continued the Prime Minister. “I want you to get your brain into gear, and to forget Northern Ireland for a few weeks.”
“How can I possibly forget Northern Ireland for a few weeks?” queried James Anchor. “This whole show is about Northern Ireland, and even if it wasn’t, I have Ministerial responsibilities there.”
“It’s your Ministerial duties I want you to forget,” responded Tony Weaver. “I need you over in the States, as a member of the Constitutional Committee which I hope Bill Minton will form soon. With your degree in American political history and your well-developed thinking about the transfer of sovereignty using what you called, and what I have now called, the Hawaii formula, I can think of no one better suited to representing our interests there. I have in mind that the Attorney General should join you on the committee, unless you can think of a better constitutional lawyer to represent the UK?”
“Not off hand, although it’s a pity Erskine May isn’t still alive, don’t you think? The only other possibility might be the Lord Chief Justice, but obviously the more you have, the more debate there will be and the harder it will become to get decisions taken. As a matter of interest, how shall I engineer my absence from the office?”
“You need a holiday - probably three weeks or so, to recover from a mild but worrying attack of angina,” suggested the Prime Minister.
“I do?” asked Anchor with a grin.
“I suggest something like that,” responded the Prime Minister. “Start displaying the symptoms now, and you’ll be ready to disappear on indefinite leave when the time is right - probably about three weeks, with luck. I'll brief Roy Salisbury tomorrow.”
“And I’ll arrange a doctor’s certificate, if you need one,” said Clayton helpfully.
“If you’re not careful, you’ll arrange for me to have the real thing, the way you’re going,” responded Anchor. “But I'll give some serious thought to the constitutional aspects of all this, Prime Minister, so I’m well prepared when summoned.”
“It might be worth considering,” suggested Anchor, “whether the Foreign Office should be part of this committee as well. They’re bound to ask.”
“That had occurred to me, James,” replied the Prime Minister. “And there would certainly be merit in that, not least because of our existing treaty obligations in Europe and elsewhere. But I’ll make a final decision when I see how the President plans to be represented.”
A weary-looking Tony Weaver finished his glass of wine, and pushed aside a plate of half eaten sandwiches.
“If you’ve no other points, gentlemen, I think we should call it a day. I shall be setting up a special hot line for this operation, with new one-off ciphers and that sort of thing. Don’t hesitate to use it to contact me direct if the need arises.”
“Does the operation have a code name?” asked Major Clayton.
“It does not,” replied to Prime Minister, “and I think if we can manage without one, we should. Code names get written down and leaked.”
“Then let’s do without,” agreed Clayton.
The two men left No.10, and headed off towards Whitehall.
“He doesn’t waste much time, does he?” commented Bill Clayton.
“I hope he realises what he’s doing,” replied James Anchor. “I feel quite responsible.”
“So you should, as it was your idea in the first place.”
“And yours,” responded Anchor.
“I could murder a beer,” said Clayton.
“Looks like the ‘Red Lion’, then,” said Anchor. “There’s plenty of time before we need to get to the airport.”
“How are you feeling, by the way,” asked Clayton.
“Awful,” replied Anchor.
“That’s good! Where will you go for your holiday, then.”
“Hawaii would be nice”, he said.
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