The last man to step into the bubble was Gerald Nevins, department head of the South-Eastern European Section and Sumners’s immediate boss. After a quick look around to see if everyone was present he closed the triple-skinned door and turned a locking lever until a green light appeared at one side, indicating the room was sealed.
Nevins ignored the remaining armchair and, looking quite solemn, chose to stand at the back of the room. Folding his arms across his chest he gave Sumners a nod.
‘Gentlemen,’ Sumners began and then took a moment to clear his throat, sipping from a plastic water-bottle he had brought with him. ‘Pardon me.’
Sumners was an experienced briefer but had never before addressed a group made up exclusively of such senior personnel.When he’d been walking up the stairs from his office on the floor below he hadn’t been able to help thinking how this was not just a briefing but a personal assessment.These sorts of things always were. They placed a person under the microscope, something which could be both a good and a bad thing. Giving a briefing not only put on display a person’s eloquence and ability to address their superiors comfortably. It also exposed organisational, analytical and presentation skills as well as conciseness of expression and general bearing. If a person made a hash of it, especially in front of such an eminent audience, it could have detrimental effects the next time their name came up for review. People always remembered bad briefings.
Success at this stage of Sumners’s career was more important than ever to him. He did not possess what would be considered by his peers as the best of pedigrees and it was growing late in the game for him to make a significant step up the ladder. He was the son of a British Army colonel who was not from the right regiment and Sumners himself had not gone to the right university. Jervis might well be proof that pedigree was not everything but Sumners did not possess any of that man’s extraordinary skills either. However, because of current world instability, specifically the threat from international terrorism, further promotion was not out of the question by any means.Years ago it had been not only a case of pedigree and contacts but also of dead man’s shoes. But since 9/11 the service had expanded rapidly in all directions, with government funding increasing every year. There were many more senior positions opening up all around the globe and Sumners was in a good position to grab one of them.
He could only hope that his fate would not depend on the contents of this briefing, a fear that grew as he compiled the latest intelligence on the day’s subject. If it did then his career opportunities would probably terminate immediately on completion of the presentation. In his opinion it was a God-awful mess and heads were undoubtedly going to roll because of it. On a positive note, though, that could only open up new positions which he might be able to take advantage of.
‘Sorry for the initial alert two days ago and then the long wait followed by the short notice this morning,’ Sumners said. ‘Intelligence is still coming in but time is a factor and we have enough - er - info to get the ball rolling.’ Sumners glanced at Nevins who was giving him one of his ‘get on with it’ looks.
‘Right. If I can quickly bring us all up to speed regarding the various pertinent regional situation reports.’ Summers cleared his throat again as he hit a series of computer keys on the podium. The wide-screen monitor came to life, showing a satellite image of Afghanistan. It continued zooming in on Kabul before moving to the open countryside north of the city, finally focusing on a scorched patch of ground with the charred wreckage of a helicopter at its centre.
‘We have positively confirmed that the package was recovered from the wreckage by Taliban fighters immediately after it was shot down. All hard-copy files in the mission briefcase have now been declassified. All operations referred to in the documentation have been cancelled. I can also confirm that the memory tablet carried by the intelligence officer contained all one thousand, four hundred and forty-three British- and US-run indigenous agents and informants operating in Afghanistan and the Middle East - including Iraq of course.’
‘Does the list include top tier?’ Sir Charles asked.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Maple, Geronimo, Mulberry?’
‘All of them, I’m afraid.’
‘Good God,’ Sir Charles muttered as his jowls collapsed to put a seriously unhappy expression on his face.
‘What level of personal details exactly . . . for the individual agents?’ Van der Seiff asked.
‘In most cases, pretty much everything: telephone numbers, addresses, emails, secondary contacts. Many of the attached notes include meeting points, dead-letter boxes and personal contact codes. Suffice it to say that if the tablet was decrypted it would provide enough information to identify every one of them.’
‘How many can safely be expatriated?’Van der Seiff asked.
‘I . . . I don’t have those figures, sir,’ Sumners said, glancing at Nevins for help and finding none forthcoming.
‘I take it expatriations are in process, though,’ Sir Charles said.
‘No, sir,’ Sumners replied.
‘What?’ Sir Charles asked, half turning to look enquiringly at Nevins without actually making eye contact.
When Sumners looked at Nevins his boss was already contemplating a response. ‘Not at present,’ Nevins said.
Sir Charles made the effort to sit forward so that he could turn his stiff old neck around enough to look at him. ‘I take it you have an explanation.’
‘That’s one of the reasons we’re all here - to decide if such measures will be necessary.’
‘But we’re talking about a lot of lives here,’ Sir Charles thundered.‘Not to mention the exposure of other information if these people are captured and interrogated. It should have been the first thing to be put into motion.’
‘First of all, it would be impossible to bring most of them in anyway. Some of them are on official wanted lists. Others would not be able to run without rousing suspicion. Many have families that cannot immediately be moved. Some are so deep we are unable to make direct contact with them - we wait for many of our agents to contact us when they can. Closing them all down would put us back decades. The repercussions of such a strategy are incalculable. We are, of course, preparing measures for such a course of action but we must first examine every other alternative. I have some suggestions. Perhaps you’ll have some of your own,’ Nevins added. ‘Go on, Sumners.’
Sir Charles did not look confident.
‘Excuse me,’ interrupted Van der Seiff. ‘At the risk of ruining the dramatics of this presentation, do we know the current whereabouts of the tablet?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Sumners said, miffed on the one hand at the sarcasm but relieved on the other that he could answer the question.
Sir Charles cocked an interrogative eyebrow while Jervis toyed with a packet of cigarettes as if he was only vaguely interested.
Sumners touched several keys on the computer’s pad. ‘The security case taken from the wreckage was broken open in the Kalaz Alif Mosque in Kabul where it was delivered the same day it was retrieved from the helicopter wreckage.’
The screen image dissolved to a satellite shot of Kabul before zooming in on a mosque surrounded by narrow streets in a densely built-up area.
‘The senior mullah of the Kalaz Alif Mosque,’ Sumners went on,‘is one Aghafa Ghazan who we believe to be the most senior Taliban resistance leader in Kabul.’
A grainy image of Mullah Ghazan took up a portion of the screen.
‘The fact that Mullah Ghazan received the briefcase before anyone else would lend support to our assessment of his seniority. We have an informer in Mullah Ghazan’s staff who witnessed the briefcase being opened. He accurately described the contents. The same informant also witnessed the tablet being removed from its case and inspected by Mullah Ghazan. In the early hours of the following day - the security case was brought into the mosque in the evening - a doctor implanted the tablet into a Taliban fighter by the name of Durrani.’
‘You di
d say implanted?’ Sir Charles asked.
‘Surgically, yes, sir. In his abdomen. We don’t have a photograph of Durrani on file although the Americans have a current image that we have requested through Camp Souter’s int cell in Kabul. Durrani was then sent by Mullah Ghazan into Pakistan where we understand he was to hand over the tablet to senior Taliban or al-Qaeda personnel. We suspect the tablet was destined for members of ISI, the Pakistan Intelligence services, where it would have eventually been deciphered. However, fortune, in respect of that dilemma at least, was on our side. Before Durrani could make contact, he and his escort were captured by an American Special Forces patrol while attempting to cross the border.There was a brief firefight.Two of Durrani’s escorts were killed and Durrani was taken into custody with minor injuries.’
‘Do we know if Durrani was a specific US target?’ Van der Seiff asked.
‘We understand it was a routine border patrol with no specific orders other than to challenge those intent on crossing the border to avoid the frontier checkpoints. ’
‘I’m sorry for jumping ahead - it’s the suspense thing again,’ Van der Seiff said, his sarcasm tangible. ‘Do the Americans know anything about the tablet?’
‘We think not, sir.’
‘Why do we think not?’ Van der Seiff asked.
‘We would’ve picked up indicators by now,’ Nevins intervened, walking to where he could be seen without the others having to turn in their seats. ‘Which brings us to the first issue. The minister would like to avoid the Americans finding out about the missing tablet if at all possible.’
‘Obviously,’ Jervis mumbled.
‘You mean, this Taliban chap . . .’ Sir Charles stumbled to remember the name.
‘Durrani,’ Sumners said.
‘This Durrani chap is a prisoner of the United States military?’ Sir Charles asked.
‘That’s correct, sir,’ Sumners confirmed.
‘That’s a very dangerous game,’ Sir Charles warned, frowning disapprovingly.
Nevins glanced at Jervis and Van der Seiff for any reaction but neither man was giving anything away.
‘The minister does not have the right to risk that information falling into the wrong hands,’ Sir Charles continued, haughtily. ‘I mean, you say the Americans now have it, but if they don’t know they have it who’s to say they actually do, or that it can’t be lost again, for that matter? If no one is controlling it then it could still end up in the wrong hands. The Americans would never forgive us. And I wouldn’t blame them for a moment, either. Oh, no.’
‘That’s all understood, Sir Charles,’ Nevins said, suppressing a sigh. ‘We believe the tablet is still inside Durrani and, well, he’s going nowhere for the time being.’
‘Not the point, old man,’ Sir Charles said. ‘Doesn’t the minister realise this could cost him his job, if it hasn’t already?’
‘Frankly, Sir Charles, the minister’s job security is not our concern. What I am concerned about is the security summit meeting next week in Washington. A revelation like this will put the minister in a weak position with the Americans at a time when we can ill afford to be . . . In the simplest of terms, we need to get the tablet back or destroy it before the Americans find out about it. The reason we are all sitting here today discussing our options is because we have some. There is a window of opportunity to retrieve or destroy the tablet before we are forced to come clean with the Americans. It’s an opportunity we are here to thoroughly explore. At this moment in time, no decisions have been made.’
‘Playing with bloody fire even thinking about it, if you ask me,’ Sir Charles mumbled.
Nevins wanted to tell Sir Charles that no one was interested in his opinions about the conduct of operations, only in his contributions towards their success. But he also knew that despite Sir Charles’s doomsday reaction the old boy would give his all at the crease if his turn to bat came.
‘Do we ’ave a plausible reason to ask the Yanks for an interview with Durrani?’ Jervis asked, putting an unlit cigarette in his mouth just for the comfort of it.
‘None that won’t cause some bright spark to become suspicious enough to dig around,’ Nevins said. ‘The minister hasn’t been particularly supportive of the American propensity for shipping prisoners, terrorist suspects or otherwise, out of countries without the express permission of those countries’ sovereign governments and detaining them indefinitely for interrogation purposes. The hypocrisy of us suddenly asking to join in would raise eyebrows at every level.’
‘Assuming that your bright spark is already digging around, even routinely, what could he find out about Durrani’s operation?’ Van der Seiff asked.
‘Durrani could be linked to the shooting-down of the helicopter and also to his master, Mullah Ghazan,’ Nevins said. ‘Let’s assume the Americans know there was something of importance found in the helicopter wreckage. They know it was carrying a senior British intelligence officer. Let’s even assume they know that what was found was brought to Mullah Ghazan in Kabul. Outside of this room and our intelligence staff in the Kabul embassy only four other men know the contents of the case: Mullah Ghazan, the doctor Emir Kyran, Sena - Mullah Ghazan’s servant - and, of course, Durrani himself. Naturally, none of them know the significance of the tablet.’
‘I take it that the servant, Sena, is the informer,’ Van der Seiff said confidently.
‘That’s correct. But he works strictly for us. Doesn’t like the Americans and would offer nothing to them. If they brought him in for questioning Sena’s handler would be able to inform us.’
‘Then the danger lies in the Americans questioning Ghazan and the doctor,’ Van der Seiff said.
‘Up to this moment they have not. We are monitoring the possibility. I believe, at this present time, the Americans do not know that Durrani is carrying anything inside his body. The tablet is non-magnetic and has such minuscule metallic properties that it cannot be detected by a regular scanner.’
‘What about if they X-ray him?’ Jervis asked.
‘It would show up on an X-ray,’ Nevins admitted. ‘But we know it is not part of their standard procedure to X-ray detainees.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ Sir Charles scoffed. ‘They probably have the damned thing already and aren’t telling us.’
‘That’s why you’re here, Sir Charles,’ Nevins said, glancing at him with a chill in his eyes which he quickly warmed with a thin smile. ‘If there’s anyone who can sniff such a change in the wind, you can.’
‘And if they have it?’ Sir Charles asked, brushing off the ego stroking.
‘We’ve covered that already,’ Jervis said, barely hiding his irritation with the old soldier. ‘The minister will be buggered.’
‘He won’t be the only one, either,’ Nevins muttered.
Jervis smiled at the squirming that would take place throughout the organisation when this thing broke open.
‘What if our American cousins ask us to contribute to Durrani’s file?’Van der Seiff asked, staring into space as he often did when having such conversations.
‘I don’t see the point in addressing that until they do,’ Nevins replied.
Those who did not know Van der Seiff might have expected him to take Nevins’s response as lacking in courtesy. He did not. ‘Are we prepared to add further lies to the original deceit? That is my question.’
‘I know,’ Nevins replied. ‘I was asking for time to consider that one.’
It was unclear if Van der Seiff accepted the answer but the lowering of his gaze suggested he was not entirely pleased with it.
Jervis’s apparent lack of serious interest in the topic was due to the fact that his area of expertise was operational planning and not diplomacy. He knew he would eventually have a significant part to play in this meeting otherwise he would not have been invited so he was anxious to be done with all this banter and move on. He gave his assessment: ‘So the continued secrecy of this tablet depends on Durrani and those other characters not telling the
Americans that he’s carrying something inside his belly.’
‘In a nutshell,’ Nevins responded, eager to move on himself.
‘Bloody marvellous,’ Sir Charles grumbled. ‘Now we’re relying on Taliban terrorists to keep our secrets for us.’
Nevins wanted to tell Sir Charles to stop being so melodramatic but he continued to disguise his irritation.
‘I take it everything’s in place to knock off the doctor and the mullah,’ Jervis said matter-of-factly.
‘Of course,’ Nevins said with equal callousness. ‘If it’s any consolation, what little information we have on Durrani is that he is regarded as somewhat special among the Taliban, hence him being entrusted with such an important mission. He doesn’t seem the sort to give it up easily . . . And the Americans would have to know what they were looking for before they began searching for it.’
Sir Charles made a disagreeable harrumphing sound.
‘Gentlemen,’ Nevins declared, as if the word might clear the air. ‘I would like to move on to the next phase of this meeting. I want us to examine the feasibility of getting close enough to Durrani to neutralise the tablet. Are we all in agreement?’
‘Do we know where he is?’ Jervis asked, displaying his characteristic impatience in the face of protocol, a habit at the root of his unpopularity among his peers.
‘I’d like us all to move forward together,’ Nevins said. There were some basic ground rules in this game that every man in the room knew well enough and Jervis was obviously trying it on.These meetings were recorded and anyone agreeing to proceed to the next decisive phase was also technically agreeing to favourably conclude the preceding one. In this case it meant approving the minister’s request for time to consider an alternative means of retrieving the tablet and to delay informing the Americans. The important subtlety, and also the danger, was that the group would have ostensibly formally agreed to deceive their country’s closest allies. If the group decided against moving forward to the next phase the request would not be given operational approval and it would be returned to the minister who would have little choice but to follow a course that would ultimately result in revealing the true situation to the Americans.
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