Islamic State: England

by John Morris

  “Maybe, but it makes practicable sense. Let me think on it some more. Wait! Dan, I have an old friend, now retired from the SAS. We joined up together. He still lives near Hereford, and was disabled on active duty, but was a Lieutenant Captain when he got plugged. He knows about this stuff, battle tactics, and especially guerrilla warfare strategies. Because of these skills, he has spent most of his career seconded to the Army. I know he still dabbles, and he attends events at Hereford barracks. I’ll get in touch with him.”

  “Thanks Tom, appreciated. I need to put something on the table this week, regards defence of the realm, because everyone else seems to be watching their own backside. That’s not good enough, given the threat we face.

  “I worked closely with the SAS, SBS also, in Lebanon, Iraq, and Afghanistan. SEAL’s as well. I have, had good friends there. It would be good to meet another that survived.”

  Tom gave Dan a quizzical look, and wondered what this man had seen and done. Regardless, his smile predominated, and he replied, “In that case I think we should stay overnight, they tend to say more after a beer or two. I’ll book us into the Sergeants’ Mess. That’s the place to find out what’s really going on.”

  Dan shook Tom’s hand, then clasped him as a brother. He had short list of the people he could rely upon. Turning abruptly, Dan opened his car door, and never looked back. He had secured more than he came for.

  The next morning, the Director, Dan, and Veronica met with the Met’s antiterrorist unit. They felt like outsiders, despite their badges and authority. The meeting began badly, and got worse, until Dan reacted. He stood and shouted, “On Thursday, directly due to information my team discovered, we prevented a massacre at a Bristol shopping complex. I spoke to those girls on Friday. Have you?

  “They told me something of great interest. Your thugs for colleagues are still tearing number forty-two Acacia Avenue to pieces to no good purpose. That was not where they stayed.”

  “What? We have witness of them entering that building. How can this be?”

  “All I did was treat them as victims, not suspects. I suggest you do the same. They stayed at number fifty-three Salmond Avenue for two nights. Bristol police have been informed via official channels, and so have you. It appears ‘official channels’ no longer work.”

  “We have not been informed, which you have a duty to do.”

  “I suggest you check your records sir. Veronica?”

  “Message dispatched at 20:58 hours, Friday, nineteenth of October, precisely, via secure channel communications. I suggest you check your records.”

  “We have nothing.”

  “You have not checked, sir.”

  “Very well … Apologies, it seems the message was received, but marked junk because the sender, Commander Glover, was unknown.”

  Dan produced his ID. “I suggest you update your records, sir. Regardless, you were informed, and took no action. This we need to change, and immediately. I remind you, we are supposed to be on the same side, and we are fighting an Islamic invasion of England.”

  “Your point is noted, Agent.”

  “Commander. I thought I had just made that plain.

  “Now can we move on to the purpose of this meeting, interagency sharing? I have spoken to the owner of the real property the girls stayed in. He is harmless; he believes he helped two runaways. The man behind it was his nephew, Sunil Khan. I suggest you start with him.”

  At the mention of the name, all eyes turned to look at him, their chief said, “Sunil Khan? We’ve been after him for months, and he was behind this? That is one good lead, thank you Agent … Commander.

  “I’ll see to it that we speak to the girls today, and in the right way. They were kidnapped, raped, made slaves. I can’t image.”

  “They chose suicide rather than continue the lives they were forced to endure. They will need to be put in a place of safety, once released. Veronica, a set of photos if you please.

  “Gentlemen, these faces we captured entering the country, the two girls are amongst them. Do you know any of these people?”

  There was a lot of muttering and pointing. Photographs were grabbed. The chief made a call, and said, “Director, please come with me. The Chief Superintendent wishes to speak with us.”

  The Director was looking pleased when she reappeared, and they left moments later. Once in the car she said, “That was a brave move Dan, but it worked. We have full co-operation, at least in theory. I think we will be supplying them with information, more than the other way around. But, it is a place to begin.”

  There next appointment was with MI5, and Commander Miles Cunningham greeted them. The building, its layout and modus operandi, were disturbingly familiar to MI6, as was their hierarchy.

  Dan had been expecting this to be a short and barbed visit, but he was pleasantly surprised. The Director opened. “Miles, we have a problem, one we need to share with you. I’ve just come from the Met, antiterrorism unit. Can we speak candidly?”

  “Yes Ma’am. We got similar from the Met, yet they are chasing us to identify suicide bombers, and we have little to go on, because they keep all their information internal. They share old news. They are all into their own careers as far as I can see.”

  Dan said, “Miles, can we cut through all the interdepartmental bullshit, and work together on this threat, it reaches into the very core of our society.”

  “Yes. I, as Commander, am open to this. We are looking for genuine sharing, but it better be kosher.”

  “Veronica, please give Miles a copy of my interview tape with the two girls, and the headshots of our latest from GCHQ Bude.”

  “Thank you Dan, this is marvellous intelligence. True sharing. I’ll study the two girls later, when we’re done. Miles began to flip through the images, but stopped and stared at the third, and gawked disbelieving at the next. “This man's one of our most wanted. You know where he is?”

  “Yes, Lincolnshire. He’s been there for more than one week, running a jihad training camp.”

  Miles was still searching through the pictures, agog with the information, when he began making calls. Veronica said, “Give me a pen drive … no, no matter, I’ll give you one of ours, that way we know we are safe. Zip it is, here, the files are in digital format.”

  Dan’s Director received an invitation from the MI5 director to join him in his office. She returned some thirty minutes later, and whispered, “It went better than expected. Well done Dan, you rattled them. I think we may just have discovered allies.

  “Miles says he will put a small unit together to work with us. Be careful what we feed them with. Go for the lure… so spread the bait with some of the facts. I caution you both, if push comes to shove, we may need them, so think of the bigger picture.”

  Their last visit, to the National Crime Agency was brief. Turned away they were not, olive branches of future exchange given, and received. The NCA commander was blunt. “I want to help you. We want to be a part of this, but the Met stall us at every juncture. Present me with a good case, which you already have the bones of, and we will open a new file, and department. Until you do, our hands are tied.”

  Veronica handed Dan the prepared file of headshots, and he said, “Sir, I believe these men and women will feature prominently in the news over the coming weeks. We are trying our best to stop them blowing up towns and cities. You can help us. We need international co-operation, which you can access. We have identified a jihad training camp in Lincolnshire, and five airfields where millions of illegal immigrants are entering this country, each year. I am willing to share what we have, if you set up the new department.”

  “That would need the sanction of our director, Agent.”

  “Commander Glover, if you please.”

  Dan’s Director said, “Well let’s see her then, Linda I believe. I want this set up as a go before I leave, and we are leaving soon.”

  The Directors talked alone, before Dan and his opposite number were included in the resultant discussion. A
new team would be created once an official brief and operation requirement was received from the MI6 Director.

  Pleased with progress, they spoke outside. “Lunch at Saint James’, we have to keep our bodies stocked up with nutrients.”

  “Apologies Ma’am, but we need to be going. I have an appointment in Bude this afternoon, and I must be there.”

  “Dan, I need a word. Humour me. Let’s eat there.”

  “What, Griggs?”

  “No, the side street beyond, it has a great café.” They made their way to a table, sat, and ordered.

  “Dan, I am being pressured by our budgetary department to reign back spending, especially on your project. Something has to go.”

  “What’s the largest expense?”

  “Your plane, by far and away. Not the aircraft itself, which was mothballed. It’s the upkeep, parking fees, and servicing it. Norwich airport are charging us a small fortune.”

  “So the options are a small airfield nearby, or my field.”

  “The latter. I’ll pay for the runway, twenty grand. You the hangar.”

  “Deal. When for?”

  “Monday would be good for the books. It must be before the end of the month, which is a week tomorrow.”

  “It will be as you wish, Ma’am.”

  He and Veronica departed shortly after, bound for Bude. There, they were presented with the full dossier on all of the illegal immigrants. Many had a long list of flags associated with them.

  They were introduced to the Colonel, who was a stiff-upper-lip military type of a bygone era. Regardless, his tactical brain was razor sharp, and with his permission, Dan recorded their briefing. He explained all that he saw in ways they could understand, the elements of defence, attack, regroup, and counter-strike. It all made perfect sense. Dan was offered a full copy of his report, which he gladly accepted.

  They spent a little time with Derek, who was already monitoring the new feed Martin had set up at Luton, and Bude was happy with progress.

  They left a short time later. Dan was ambivalent. “He knows his stuff. But that was battlefield tactics, and extremely good. What we face is guerrilla warfare, and it’s not the same. Let’s get back. You take the pilot’s chair, keep in practice.

  Chapter 32 ~ Squaring The Circle

  Before work began on Wednesday, Dan called the Sid the builder, and arranged for a contractor to come round and build the airstrip. Dan would need to be there that afternoon to agree on details, payment, and timescale.

  He called the plumber, electrician, and gas man, arranging additional services for his to be hangar, and runway lights. He added things Felicity had mentioned, and left them with lists to take care of.

  At work, and after breakfast, Dan made a point of putting Alison in contact with their new agency partners, and small exchanges of information occurred. The morning was dedicated to consolidation, review, planning, and monitoring. Alison was working through the latest file from Bude, and left markers for Dan’s attention.

  Tom rang at midday. “Dan, I just had a word with Lawrence St. John Brown, the Hereford guy I mentioned. He's eager to meet us. I said we’d be there on Thursday afternoon. Does that fit in with you?”

  “Yes, that’s fine. I’ll need to call Hereford, see if they have an airfield or road I can land on.”

  “Don’t bother Dan, I’ll make the arrangements. It will be a road with kerbs, so keep the landing tight.”

  “You need a lift from Trimingham, I should be able to land on your top road.”

  “Thanks Dan, but no thanks. I plan to leave a little early and have lunch with my daughter in Norwich. You have spoken to her…?”

  Later, Dan shared lunch with the team, and headed for his home. He found several teams working on the house, and it was coming along nicely. They had power, water, and would soon have gas to the air raid shelter, accompanied by noxious gas sensors and extractor ducting.

  Dan sat in the library, thinking of it as his office, and called London. “Tim, I could do with a private office set-up at my home, one capable of fully interacting with Alison and the team in the office. What you got?”

  “You want private use as well? Yes of course. I’ll bring two computers down, and put something in place. You’ll need secure satellite comm. also. Are you passing through any time soon?”

  “Friday late morning, I could pick you up and drop you back.”

  “Ideal, I’ll put your request to one side, and not tell Ma’am, she’s going budget crazy at the moment.”

  No sooner had the call finished, than Dan was called away. The builder said, “The contract boys have just turned up. I tried to strike a deal with them, but you’re from out of town, so they’ll want top dollar. Their work is good, without being brilliant, but they are local and have a good name. I suggest you have a word with them.”

  Dan greeted Monty Smythe, and they walked the field. Dan was surprised to see a different local farmer turning the grass for drying. As they came close the farmer said, “Should be fair set for bailing on Sat-day, so long as the weather holds. I don’t smell rain, but it’ll be close. Ask us months earlier next year. Most of this is only good for silage.”

  Dan and the construction crew walked the likely path of the runway, and Dan noticed the field was flatter than some he had recently landed upon. It banked gradually, gaining higher ground above the river, but the surface was smooth.

  He was having second thoughts when Monty gave him a quotation. It was far too much money to justify the expense. They discussed the matter for a short while. Monty said, “How heavy is the jet?”

  “About eight tons, why?”

  “You’ll never land it safely, it’ll sink into the earth, possibly flip over, or tip. What if it rains? Here’s the deal. Hardcore, compacted and heavy rollered. Drainage for when it rains. It will need a kerb, but not standing proud, and we’ll set it with a channel each side for lights. Twenty grand, and we begin now. Blacktop, another ten grand. Take it or leave it.”

  Dan realised the man was correct; he would not be able to use the strip if it rained. Dan agreed, and helped them mark out. For an extra tenner, the farmer created a strip of land that was free from drying hay. He said to Monty, “Do your best, and keep it clear, I’ll be landing here Friday afternoon. The blacktop better be rollered by then.”

  “Not a chance. Five grand for a second team. Even then I can’t guarantee completion, but it will be close.”

  Satisfied, Dan wandered back to his new home, the only one he had ever had, and soaked up the tranquil atmosphere. The place had a good feeling about it. The tradesmen were all busy, and none needed a piece of his time. He returned to the library, and sank into the old leather of his office armchair, such a luxury.

  He called Veronica, and the team were fine without him. “Percy and Martin are on their way back. Alison has great coverage and is monitoring Lillyworth Moor in real-time. She’s giving me leads to follow up, or forward, usually both.

  “Good, so you don’t need me there.”

  “No. Alison has a wedding. She mentioned it to you I believe, so she needs a long weekend away, and she deserves it. I’ll cover for her, but want the same the following weekend, catch up with my family, it’s my parents pearl wedding anniversary.”

  “That’s fine, great. You all need to rest. Tell Alison to leave Thursday late afternoon, but she’ll have to arrange her own transportation. Same regards Martin, but a normal weekend off for him. I am overnight in Hereford on Thursday: SAS. I’m back late Friday, and will be busy. Even so, I’m only a phone call away.”

  Veronica pressed her point. “So, this means we get four days off, every two weeks. I can work with that.”

  Dan’s brow creased, and he replied, “I’m not sure that is precisely what I said, Veronica.”

  “Accepted emergency needs of the job excluded, but this is what we need, and you better sign off on this. Man up Dan, I know you will.”

  The handset went dead, and Dan stared at the phone for several
seconds. Veronica was correct. Dan called Alison and said, “Thank you Alison, for everything you have done. You mentioned a Bridesmaids party on Thursday evening. A Hen Night. Leave when you need to on Thursday, and have a great break.”

  “Wow! Thanks Dan, you’re wonderful. Catch-Yah.”

  Satisfied he could still man manage, well, woman manage people, he called his prime number expectantly. The call rang out, followed by a brief text message, ‘Ten minutes Dan. Meeting.’

  Dan used those minutes to speak to the gasman, asking for gas fires. “The nights are growing colder, and winter is approaching.”

  The man replied, “Sid told me the radiators will be online by Friday morning. I’m already ahead of you regards the fires. Knew you’d ask. I’ll install some today. Where do you want them?”

  “Big ones in the living room and library, and same in the master bedroom. I’m hoping she will be here tonight, so I want to surprise her.”

  Dan’s phone rang. “Hi Felicity, how’s it going?”

  “Heavy, and I have too much to do. Tell me something nice.”

  “The plumber has fitted the new bath, although I still don’t understand why we need two dozen jets in it. The gasman is fitting fires, and I was thinking to cook for two. I miss you.”

  “Me too. Sod this, I do need to clear my mind, but I’ll be leaving early in the morning. I’ll be with you after six. Stick a leg of lamb in the oven as soon as you can, and I’ll be there to help with the trimmings. You are a wonder. Love you, Ciao.”

  Dan gawked at the phone, mouthing, to himself, she said, “Love you”. It was getting serious between them, even if her words were said offhand, flippant. After deliberating on the idea, he welcomed it.

  Dan checked the Aga, and went to the butcher’s, the farther one that was better for lamb. He returned and put the buttered and herbed joint in the oven on low, and peeled potatoes, leaving them in soak. The builders called an end to their day, and Dan joined them for a pint at the nearest pub.