by John Morris
Islamic State:
England
John Morris
Charlotte Greene
Dorset, England
Also by John Morris
Fractured Series
Inner Sanctum
Conspiracy Theory
Star Gazer Trilogy
The Gatekeeper and the Guardian
The Twelve Tribes
The Wrath of Gaia
Stand Alone Novels
Islamic State: England
Domicile
Copyright© 2017 by John Morris
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations used in articles and reviews
Printed in the United Kingdom (or country of purchase)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Published by Charlotte Greene, Dorset, England
Editor: Susan Dewey http://beeberrywoods.com/FiberEtc/
Cover: Boris Junkovic
http://www.charlotte-greene.co.uk/Agents_BorisJunkovic.htm
Acknowledgements:
Susan Dewey for a most penetrating and challenging edit. Her incisive support for helping produce a balanced manuscript was invaluable, given the possible contentious nature of the book.
Dedicated to:
A peaceful world where people from disparate society's and religions, respectfully integrate, and work together for the greater good of all.
Official author website: http://www.john-morris-author.com
Publisher website: http://www.charlotte-greene.co.uk
ISBN Print: 9781910711101
ISBN eBook: 9781910711118
Table of Contents
Main Characters
Chapter 1 ~ Plane Spotting
Chapter 2 ~ Missing Person
Chapter 3 ~ Keeping the Lid on Things
Chapter 4 ~ Gone Fishing
Chapter 5 ~ Watching and Waiting
Chapter 6 ~ Low Flying
Chapter 7 ~ Project Caliphate
Chapter 8 ~ Tracking and Tracing
Chapter 9 ~ Tactical Surveillance
Chapter 10 ~ Confronting Misogynism
Chapter 11 ~ New Directions
Chapter 12 ~ Deeper Understandings
Chapter 13 ~ Centres of the Community
Chapter 14 ~ Dinner Date
Chapter 15 ~ Building the Team
Chapter 16 ~ Getting Set
Chapter 17 ~ Lost Property
Chapter 18 ~ Land Registry
Chapter 19 ~ Peterborough
Chapter 20 ~ Rights of Ownership
Chapter 21 ~ Consolidation
Chapter 22 ~ New Beginnings
Chapter 23 ~ Widening the Net
Chapter 24 ~ Pieces of The Puzzle
Chapter 25 ~ Digging Deeper
Chapter 26 ~ Leaders of Men
Chapter 27 ~ Eyes On
Chapter 28 ~ Silence For Votes
Chapter 29 ~ Suicide Bombers
Chapter 30 ~ A Home of Their Own
Chapter 31 ~ Inter-Agency Sharing
Chapter 32 ~ Squaring The Circle
Chapter 33 ~ Tangible Threat
Chapter 34 ~ Ayesha’s Escape
Chapter 35 ~ Pulling Strings
Chapter 36 ~ Growing Concerns
Chapter 37 ~ Harwich Ferry
Chapter 38 ~ Calm Before the Storm
Chapter 39 ~ Best Laid Plans
Chapter 40 ~ Rapid Response Force
Chapter 41 ~ Triple Whammy
Chapter 42 ~ Flying in the Face of Destiny
Chapter 43 ~ Undercover
Chapter 44 ~ Prelude to War
Chapter 45 ~ War Commences
Chapter 46 ~ Fighting Back
Chapter 47 ~ Proposal
Chapter 48 ~ Inside Information
Chapter 49 ~ The Battle for England
Chapter 50 ~ The Twenty-Fifth Column
Chapter 51 ~ Hard Choices
Chapter 52 ~ Great Britain
Chapter 53 ~ Last Strike
Main Characters
Leading Characters
Danforth (Dan) Glover, SIS (MI6) Senior Agent.
Felicity Wigglesworth, Inspector in charge of Lower Meddlington Constabulary.
Main Supporting Characters.
Constable Percy Blodwell, rural community officer.
The Director of SIS, only referred to as Director.
Group Captain Thomas (Tom) Wigglesworth, station commander of RAF Trimingham. Margaret, his wife, Felicity’s mother.
Alison Porter, Intelligence Officer, MI6.
Stella Nicholas, neighbour of the village office.
Veronica Sadler, Intelligence Officer, MI6.
Ayesha Hussein.
Sir Jack McBridle, Marshal of the Air Force, and Head of the Chiefs of Staff, UK.
Colin Talbot, the designated liaison at GCHQ.
Derek, Liaison for GCHQ Bude.
‘Sinjun’, Brigadier Lawrence St. John Brown, SAS.
Other Characters
Harry McBride, Dan’s Commander and line manager.
Director Matthew Green of Peterborough Land Registry.
Chief Inspector George Lovell, Felicity’s line manager.
Superintendent John Stonehouse, Lovell’s boss.
Martin Edwards, Junior Agent, MI6.
Stan Parfitt, rural beat bobby for Wymondham.
Karen Wheeler, takes over from Felicity at Lower Meddlington.
Minor Characters
Cathy Collins Her youngest son, Chris.
Her eldest son Kevin.
Kevin’s friend, Neville.
Simon Walters, murdered agent.
Charlie Sidebotham and Ben Hinckley, retired policemen who assist Dan monitor the aerodrome.
Brian, the village innkeeper.
Gwen, the head bartender.
Dick Slayton, Percy’s opposite number to the east.
Chad Pickering and Phil Chandler, HM Land Registry staff who assist with property ownership.
Doug Simmons, Department Head at GCHQ.
Bernie, Head of GCHQ Bude.
Linda Snowe, NCA Director.
Alf, the villager with a Transit van.
Sid, the builder.
Detective Superintendent Terry Meads, Manchester Police.
Charity: Sylvia Cartwright and Norman Harper, run Asians in Need. They are married in Islam, but not in UK law.
Wymondham Police: Chief Inspector Walter Cartwright-Harper, Inspector Benaris Khan.
Asian Characters
Waheed Hussein, Ayesha’s brother.
Mohammad, Ali, and Hussein, directors of Anglo-Asian Holding, a property management company.
Ali Bros. Solicitors, Partners Ali, Ali, and Ali.
Valinder Jahlide Ali is the businessman and director of both.
Siri and Sana, the Boko Haram suicide girls.
Places
The Village where Dan creates his base of operations is never named.
Huntley Spa Aerodrome, where flights are monitored.
Abbreviations
SIS: The Secret Intelligence Service, or MI6.
GCHQ: The heart of British Intelligence information gathering.
EDF: The English Defence Force; an extreme right wing, racist, political party that argues with fists and hobnail boots.
NCA: National Crime Agency; the British FBI [formative].
Met: The Metropolitan Police of London.
AAH: Anglo Asian Holdings [fictional].
FGM: Female Genital Mutilation.
PC: Politically Correct. Also:
Police Constable.
CO: Commanding Officer, RAF.
Background information
Islamic State: England is set in the contemporary world of today.
§
The large villages of Lower and Upper Meddlington are purely fictional, as is Huntley Spa Aerodrome. They are located due west of Norwich, Norfolk, accessible only by local roads. The villages are thirty minutes and the airfield forty-five minutes away from the city by car on B roads.
The Village used as a base of operations is never named, and is fifteen minutes by car from Lower Meddlington.
Lower Meddlington, the larger of the two, is almost classified as a town, especially due to new housing and shopping centre.
§
The accent in written speech is largely that of Anglians the author has known in his lifetime, supplemented by fitting phrases from other nearby parts of the country. The dialect is tuneful, if relatively slow in delivery, with a strong accent on extended vowels. One such example is the spelling 'Ooh', often said in a surprised or questioning way with facial intrigue.
Chapter 1 ~ Plane Spotting
A rural village in central Norfolk, England, late summer.
“Where on earth have you been, Christopher Collins? Your dinner is going cold. Quickly now, go and wash your hands, then come to table.”
“Yes Mum.” Chris’s mind worked on excuses as he slowly washed his hands. His thoughts were interrupted.
“Will you hurry up, I’ve been keeping dinner warm, waiting for you to get home.”
His mother was serving his father when he sat down to eat. “A lot of everything dear, it’s been a long and strenuous day.” His eyes fixed his youngest son. “Nothing for the boy until he tells us what he’s been doing. Well? Out with it, and it had better be the truth this time.”
Shamefaced with eyes cast down, Chris had no option but to tell the truth. He pensively mumbled, “The airfield. I was watching the airfield. A big plane came in to land, and a lot of people got out and went into a hangar.”
“Is your mind away with the fairies again?” His father swiped the bread plate away from the boy's reaching hand. “I asked for the truth, so what is it?”
“But Dad, that is the truth. It was an Airbus A300.”
“Utter nonsense. Nothing has flown in or out of that old aerodrome since it became an industrial park two years ago, and when the small flying club was closed.”
“Well go and have a look for yourself. I bet it’s still there. You’ll see it from the top of the hill.”
“That’s enough.” His father’s face grew red. “I’ve heard enough of your tall stories. Go to your room at once, no food for you until you learn to tell the truth.”
“But Dad…” Chris’s words died as his father gathered his bulk and began to rise from his chair. Chris dreaded a beating and ran for the safety of his bedroom.
“This is so unfair,” he muttered to himself. “I was telling the truth, and still they don’t believe me.”
Downstairs he heard his older brother, Kevin arrive home. “Sorry I’m late mum, but I missed the bus, it was early again.”
“Never mind about that, you sit here and I’ll serve. I kept this piece of meat especially for you.”
“Thanks mum, you’re the best. What, no Chris? Is he late again?”
“He was late, and told us some cock-and-bull story about watching passenger planes landing at the old Huntley Spa aerodrome. He refused to tell us the truth, so I sent him to his room. Now, how was sixth form today?”
Breakfast the next morning was quiet. Chris seemed reclusive, so Kevin asked him, “Why were you late last night.”
“I told them the truth, but they didn’t believe me. A passenger plane landed, and hundreds of people got out. They went into a hanger. It was an Airbus A300, but I don’t know which model.”
“Shut up Chris, another of your porkies. What were you really doing?”
“I just told you. Nobody believes me. I’m saying nothing more.”
Kevin tried to get more information out of his younger brother, but he remained silent. That was unusual. Usually Chris’s wild imaginings became more vivid, but not this time.
Their mother called out from the kitchen. “The school bus is coming, you’d better hurry.”
Kevin jumped up, grabbed his bag, and kissed his mother on the cheek. “I may be a little late again tonight mum.”
His mother stepped away and searched his eyes with her own. “Out with it, who is she? I remember being young once myself.”
Gulp. “Er, d, duh, durrr, just a friend.” His mother continued to watch him with her piercing blue eyes, until he admitted, “She’s just a friend from school. I sometimes carry her books home. She lives near the bus station, so it’s only a small detour.”
“Be careful. I know all about young girls nowadays.”
“Thanks mum.”
As he ran out of the door, Chris pulled his satchel over his arms and hugged his mother. “Thanks for leaving the plate out for me last night. It was cold, but great food. I didn’t lie.”
With that he broke away, trying to stop the tears, knowing his mother must have seen them. He ran after his brother, who was holding the school bus for him.
The weekdays passed, Chris remaining unusually silent, and always on time for evening meal. If asked, all he would say was, “I told you the truth, and you didn’t believe me. End of story.” Then he’d turn away, or talk about something else.
On Saturday afternoon, Kevin went to see his friend Neville, who lived half way up the hill. They were the only two of the same age in the village. The Post Office and general store closed some years before, only the pub remained, mostly as a weekend eatery for tourists.
“When I leave school, I’m going to work in the big city, somewhere there are lots of people and things to do. What about you Kev?”
“Dunno. I was thinking about going to Uni in Norwich, but haven’t a clue what to study.”
“What? Uni’s boring, and nowadays only the rich or foreigners go there. Why not come with me to London?”
“London?”
“Yeah. It’s where things happen.”
“Not me. I’m going to get good qualifications and a decent job. Something professional with good pay, holidays, and where I can make a difference in life.”
“You sound like my father. This morning, he suggested I train as an air traffic controller, he says it pays very well. You retire at fifty-nine, but where’s the fun in being stuck up a control tower all day and night?”
Kevin was quiet for a moment, as he thought the job sounded good. Deciding to check it out himself, he changed the subject slightly. “You’ll never guess what Chris came out with on Tuesday. He says there are jet planes flying into the drome. Passenger planes.”
He had expected Neville to laugh, but instead he sat back with a thoughtful look on his face. “What is it Nev?”
“Nothing. Well, sometimes when I can’t sleep, I hear the noise of a large jet, and it’s quite close, maybe just over the ridge.”
“Well I never heard nothing.”
“Ah, but you wouldn’t. You live in the valley. Here we get to hear some of what happens on the other side of the hill. Next time, I’m going to check it out. Want me to call you?”
“Only if you see something. This is one of Chris’s tall tales. Forget it and get your head down. Now what’s happening with you and Lizzie?”
That evening Neville couldn’t sleep. Lizzie had accepted a date with him, his first, and he didn’t know what to do. Distracted, and anywhere but sleepy, his mind took a while to recognise the sound of a large jet getting closer.
Within seconds his mind snapped back to his conversation with Kevin, and he sprang out of bed. He, too, wanted an answer to the question raised.
Donning his clothes quickly, he grabbed a torch, and headed up the winding trail that led between trees and bushes, to the top of The Mountain. It was a mere eighty feet high, but the only feature for mi
les around. The vast plains looked as if God had used a steamroller to flatten the surrounding land.
Nearing the summit, he heard the unmistakable sounds of a jet engine winding down, and ran the last few paces. Before him lay the old aerodrome, and he caught a glimpse of landing lights along the runway, before they were switched off.
It was half a mile away, across a straight, if narrow country road. What drew his attention was the passenger aircraft pulled up near one of the hangers. People were getting out; there seemed to be hundreds of them.
He took snaps on his mobile phone, zooming in and out, before finding a better vantage point to his right, the east, and setting the camera to video mode. The images were not particularly good, but showed the people exiting the craft. Some were children and he recognized women wearing burkhas, because they looked like walking drapes in shadows.
Determined to see the all of it, he hardly registered the lights being turned off, as he fell asleep where he was. Just after four a.m., he was woken by the sound of a jet engine, and saw the runway lights on, the aeroplane taking off. He grabbed his mobile, but the battery was dead. Cursing, he watched as the plane left, the lights went out, and everything returned to normal. He staggered home to bed, asleep on his feet, and was up late for breakfast.
Kevin came round mid morning, and Neville showed him the pictures and video. “Damn. The little shit was telling the truth. That’s a big plane, and look at those headscarves. Moms and girls, right? What does that mean?”
“That they’re Muslim. They are landing in secret at the dead of night, and have not passed through customs.”
“Maybe they didn’t need to, they could be from another part of England.”