by M G Leslie
As the sound of the gunfight dissipated in to the forest and the more natural sound of the birds and insects reappeared, Price quickly reloaded his gun. Then he sprinted back down the path and climbed down to where the men had left their bikes.
Jumping on one of the bikes, he started the engine a rode off to the east – snaking his way through the forest as quickly as he could.
An hour or so later, now under the cover of darkness, Price re-checked his GPS and sighed with relief as he crossed the border – he was now in Mozambique. With that in mind, he took the opportunity to sit down and have something to eat and drink – all the while, listening for the slightest noise that was out of place and might indicate someone else approaching.
Another quick glance at his GPS and Price realised the worst was over – the terrain was fairly flat from hereon as there was a lot of farmland. Sure, that meant he was more likely to be seen – so he’d have to keep his wits about him and make sure he avoided any settlements – but he’d make much faster progress.
As he passed south of the freshwater lake Barragem de Chicamba, Price refilled his water bottle and took the opportunity to wash his hands and face. Then, having decided to ditch the motorbike, for fear of the noise and headlight attracting attention, he set off again on foot – finally, around eighteen hours after he’d originally hidden the Suzuki, casually walking in to Chimoio city in the early morning, as if he’d been out for nothing more than a pleasant stroll in the countryside.
“Aside from one or two shaky moments, that was a walk in the park – literally,” he said to himself, whilst thinking back to his training in the Parachute regiment and one of his subsequent training exercises with the UK Special Forces – on one occasion joining some new recruits on the SAS’s legendary 40km endurance treks across the UK’s Breacon Beacons with a 55lb pack on his back.
He had no time to reminisce though, and after stopping for another bite to eat, Price made his way to the small domestic airport – smiling to himself as he looked at the terminal building, which was more like a small cream-coloured general store than part of an airport.
A couple of hours later though, he was flying in a small turboprop plane owned by Mozambique’s flagship carrier, LAM – heading to the capital, Maputo, around 800km due south.
As he looked out of the window, Price started to think about the beautiful beaches below and the lush greenery and farmland. Not for the first time, and as a keen scuba diver, he thought, “All I ever do is, literally, shoot in and out – I really must visit these places for fun one day.”
Then, as the plane came in to land, he looked down at Maputo airport – watching the grey building gradually get larger as they descended – finally touching down on the tarmac.
“Another day – another airport,” he mused, as he made his way through security and hailed a taxi to the city.
The Portuguese influence is quite noticeable in the Maputo architecture – remnants of its former colonial role – all so very long ago, as it, sadly, looks a little tired these days. “Evidence,” Price thought, “Of the troubles and challenges that the country has faced over the years.”
Once in the capital, Price went straight to a payphone, called directory enquiries and asked to be put through to the British Embassy. And, a short while later, he was speaking to Doug Stevens – MI6’s man in Mozambique.
“Doug, it’s me,” said Price, knowing that his voice would be recognised, as they had worked together before.
“They said someone would call. What do you need?”
“I’m in town. I’ll come to you if that’s OK – can you get me in?” Price replied.
“Sure,” replied Doug, “Just head over here now – see you shortly.” Then he dropped the call and sent a secure message directly to the Chief of Staff:
HE HAS MADE CONTACT. SOUNDS HEALTHY. HE IS ON HIS WAY TO ME.
Then, almost immediately, he received a reply:
GOOD JOB. MAINTAIN NEED TO KNOW. NO COMMUNICATIONS WITH HIS NAME. COS
Then the Chief of Staff called the Chief, “He went to Mozambique – he’s with Doug.”
“Good – but predictable. Make sure you pull him up on that later,” replied the Chief in a disapproving tone.
“He’s just trekked across a country – probably under stressful circumstances – give him a break for goodness sake,” thought the Chief of Staff – whilst in reality, saying, “Of course Sir.”
Some weeks later, however, whilst reviewing the whole operation, the Chief of Staff would note that Price’s actual response was very different to his own reaction. Price took that kind of feedback very seriously as, like his Chief, he viewed predictability as a weakness – the theory being, if the enemy knows what you will do ahead of time, they can plan for it – and plan for your end, more significantly. So Price’s reaction, to the Chief of Staff’s surprise, had been, “Bugger – I must remember that – thank you.”
Price classed Doug as one of his closest friends – they’d worked together a number of times before – so he knew he could trust him when he said, “I’ve entered illegally – I had to get across the border. I need papers to get me out and I need this USB stick and memory card analysed – but very discreetly.”
“Discreetly?”
“Yes – we can’t use SIS in London,” Price explained.
“I have a bad feeling about this. Who are we investigating?”
“Potentially, someone in SIS – it’s not good – so I need you to help me out please.”
Doug suddenly looked worried, “But the Chief and Chief of Staff know you’re here.”
“Relax. That’s fine,” said Price, as he went on to explain about his mission – how it had started and what had happened since he’d arrived in Harare.
9. Counter-Blow
As the man in, what little remained of the CS Research laboratory picked up the phone, he heard a British voice he recognised. It said, “How much did he see?”
“I don’t know – he was in the office and had been looking through the files.”
“Did he touch the computer or download anything?”
“I think so – he’d definitely been at the computer – yes. Although he didn’t have anything on him – we searched him.”
“How thoroughly did you search him?”
“We frisked him.”
“So not very well then, because he will have hidden whatever he used to copy our files. So we have to assume he knows everything.”
There was a pause before the man admitted, “I guess so.”
“He must be stopped. Do you understand? He must be stopped!”
“Yes I understand that, but the problem is, we don’t know where he is. I sent some people to look for him, as we thought he’d headed east. But now they’re not replying to my messages. I guess they’re out of mobile phone reception or their batteries have died or something – I really don’t know.”
“They’ll be dead.”
“They can’t be! No way. I sent four of my best men.”
“They’ll be dead. The man they were following is a trained killer – it’s his job – and he’s very good at it.”
“But…”
“Next time send a dozen men. Now shut up and listen.”
“But…”
“Shut up and listen! His name just showed up. He’s in Mozambique – hiding in the British Embassy. I suspect he’ll book a flight and try and get back to London – or maybe even fly to South America. Either way, he must not arrive – do you understand?”
Again there was a pause. Then, in a quizzical tone, the man in CS Research said, “I can’t understand it. I had people watching the airport and the roads. How did he get there?”
“As-if by bloody magic! I don’t care how he got there,” the British voice shouted. “He must be stopped! Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
The phone call went dead.
“What the hell is Operation Counter-Blow?” asked Doug, as they reviewed the information
Price had collected from the laboratory.
“No idea mate,” said Price, “But look at the paper – that looks like something produced by SIS.”
“OK, you carry on looking through the papers you copied – I’ll work on the computer files,” replied Doug.
Several more cups of coffee later, Price said, “It looks to me like a government sanctioned operation – look at this,” as he pointed to more papers that he’d photographed.
“And these files,” replied Doug. Then he started reading aloud, “Operation Counter-Blow – a process by which addictive narcotics are distributed in the Middle East and amongst unfriendly states in order to disrupt their governments and create a break down in the rule of law – the sole purpose being to bring about violent change and leave the nation vulnerable to infiltration and control by British intelligence services.”
Price looked up from the papers on the table in front of him and stared in to Doug’s eyes. “I can’t believe the Chief has agreed to this – this is not what he’s about. I know him – he wouldn’t do that.”
Doug continued reading; “Stage one is to build a supply chain of ‘Product’ in an unfriendly country to ensure there’s absolutely no link to the real source of the operation. This is to be achieved by partnering with drugs cartels in South America under the guise of assisting their operations for cash payments – pretending to be corrupt. Stage two is the distribution and contamination of water and food supplies in target nations, so as to create mass addiction, widespread disorder and a break down in the rule of law. Stage three is the deployment of disruptive assets to ensure that even the most secure buildings and organisations are impacted. Then finally, stage four – start the process of taking control – initially by replacing the drug contamination in specific areas with harmless substitutes and then by rounding up gangs from areas no longer infected, so as to make it look like the intelligence services were reinstating a level of control – in the process, gaining public support and displacing the existing governments.”
Price just stared at Doug – horrified by what he was hearing. “Even so – not the Chief. He wouldn’t do this.”
“How can you be so sure Price? Look at the way you were followed. From what you tell me, they were on to you the minute you left Vauxhall Cross – then again in Livingston – and then again in Harare.”
“I know, but…”
“And why was there so much of this ‘Product’? You said billions of dollars just sitting there! If they had that much, why hasn’t it been shipped anywhere?”
“That was one of the reasons SIS concluded it was a weapons factory,” replied Price, “Because they’re producing a lot of so-called ‘Product’ but not shipping very much. So it was concluded that it wasn’t narcotics at all.”
Doug was puzzled, “But surely our man, Mudada, worked there and told them it was?”
“He did,” replied Price, “They didn’t believe him – the analysts in SIS concluded he was only seeing part of the picture.
"Why would they do that? You have to trust your man on the ground."
“I think he was deliberately ignored – someone had their own plans.”
“Could he have missed the real purpose of the laboratory? Maybe he just didn’t realise.”
Price laughed, “No Doug. The place stunk to high heaven – it was obvious what it was the minute I walked through the door. Even a blind man could have told you that was a drugs factory.”
Both men paused for thought, and then Doug said, “Who’s Jennifer?”
Price’s heart jumped in shock. “What did you say?”
Doug continued, “On the Counter-Blow document. It lists Stage One, Stage Two and so on. But it also goes on to talk about other actions that are required in parallel. It says they are critical to ensure the continued success of the planning and the overall outcome.”
Price held out his hand as Doug passed him the paper – then he started reading – and as he read further he felt horror start to grow inside – he read it aloud, “There is a requirement to remove and/or discredit a number of individuals – suggested approach to be to discredit as a traitors or spies via HSO, then seek approval for Black Bag ops. Also need to deal with the Jennifer issue.”
Doug picked up his coffee and took a sip, then said, “HSO – I’ve never heard of that.”
Price felt terrible – should he tell his friend that the so-called ‘Black Bag’ operation that had been referred to in the paper, had already taken place – and he’d been the one to execute it. “I have to,” he thought, “I have to trust someone.”
So he said, “HSO stands for the Human Science Operations. It’s part of a department that gathers and correlates public information from the likes of social networks and the Internet in general. They gather huge quantities of the stuff and it’s said, they run it through super computers to analyse people’s characteristics, actions and reactions. Then they’re able to plant data via various means to arrange specific outcomes.”
“Outcomes?”
Price continued, “They use falsified data to discredit people in social media, or help to ensure certain people look good or, indeed, look bad. In this case it seems they made Jennifer look like a spy – she must have known something.”
“Why do you sat that?” asked Doug, “Who is Jennifer? Perhaps we should track her down before they do.”
“They already have,” said Price, as he looked his friend in the eye – the sinking feeling in his stomach making him feel extremely uncomfortable.
“I see. And you know this, how exactly?”
“It was me they sent.”
“So I’m guessing it’s too late to ask her?”
“Yes, I’m afraid it is.”
“So they discredited her and the rest is history.”
Price frowned, “That’s not what it says though. It says they were going to use HSO – but it doesn’t specifically say they’d use it on her. Why is she referred to as the ‘Jennifer issue’?”
“So you think, there’s something else about her?”
Price thought back to his conversation with Mary – Jennifer being framed would fit Mary’s advice – but something felt wrong – perhaps it was Mary who was mistaken. However, he’d have to dig further before he’d know. So after a moment of thought he said, “So what now? If you’re right and CS Research was something created by, or in cooperation with, SIS – what now?”
Doug picked up another piece of paper that he’d been looking at, and said, “Venezuela.”
Price looked back at him with an inquisitive expression, and then with an element of incredulity in his voice, he said, “Venezuela?”
“Yes. Venezuela.”
“Really?”
Doug laughed. “Yes. Stop asking questions and get your bag!”
10. Caracas
With some hastily arranged papers in yet another new name, Price had taken a one-hour flight to Johannesburg before changing to the 10 hour South African Airways flight 224 to Sao Paulo – Brazil’s business capital, and with a population of over 11 million people, the largest city in the country.
Then, after a lengthy stopover, he was now seated in the business class section of a domestic flight, travelling north to Venezuela’s capital city, Caracas.
As he sat there with a Bloody Mary in his hand, Price reflected on the past few days – replaying events in his mind.
Aside from the disturbing revelation of Operation Counter-Blow, which he still struggled to believe, Price had uncovered links between CS Research and various bank accounts in Caracas. This appeared to be where the funding for CS Research originated and where the proceeds from drug sales ended up – not that much was being sold, as he and Doug had also noted.
There was also an address of an individual – a house in the city of Merida, in the Venezuelan Andes. So that was where he was ultimately headed – although he planned to spend a night in Caracas to get over some of the jetlag and meet a colleague that Doug had discreetly contacted o
n his behalf, so as to avoid anyone in London, or elsewhere in the world, realising.
“Another drink Sir?”
Price looked up as the stewardess forced his brain back to the present, “Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you.”
“A Bloody Mary?”
“Please.”
The lady took his empty glass – returning a few moments later with a fresh drink. So Price thanked her and placed the drink on the tray next to him before standing up to visit the bathroom.
Some hours later, he would tell the Venezuelan police that he had only been in the bathroom for around two minutes – although, as he locked the door, he didn’t consciously make a note of how long he was taking.
However, as he stepped back out to go and sit down again, he noticed the stewardess speaking to another passenger. The man appeared to be explaining that he had to administer some medication and was standing up to use the bathroom Price had just vacated, with what looked like a small syringe, in his hand.
Price didn’t give it a second thought. At least he didn’t until he drew level with the man, who suddenly jerked his arm in a stabbing motion towards Price’s thy.
Price reacted just in time – leaping to the side and in to the small space next to an exit door.
As the man turned to face Price, a stewardess touched the man’s arm to attract his attention – only to receive a brutal blow in the face from the man’s elbow.
As the stewardess screamed and fell backwards to the floor, blood streaming from her nose where the man had connected, the man adjusted his grip on the syringe and stepped forward – now holding it more like a knife than a syringe.
Despite all the alcohol coursing around his body from the Bloody Marys, Price suddenly felt alert – his heart beating fast as he started to weigh up his options. The man was as tall as him at over six feet, and was heavily built. So depending on how well trained he was, it could be an even match – except Price didn’t know what was in the syringe. “Nothing good,” he thought to himself as the man lunged forward.