Terror Illusion

by James R Conway

As Jonathan walked down the staircase next morning, he could detect the delicious smell of bacon coming from the Great Hall.

  He walked into the hall and saw that Mac and Karen were already eating breakfast. A bright, low winter sun shone through the tall windows of the Great Hall, casting bright bands of light and sharp shadows across the floor and the dining table.

  “There’s fresh coffee on the sideboard,” said Mac as Jonathan approached.

  Jonathan poured himself a cup of coffee and took his place at the table.

  “Good morning,” said Jonathan.

  “Good morning,” said Mac. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Yes, thank you. I was very comfortable.”

  “There’s some bacon and eggs in the kitchen if you want to serve yourself,” said Mac. “Karen and I were just catching up on some publishing business.”

  Jonathan went out to the kitchen and came back with a plate of bacon and eggs. As Jonathan tucked into his breakfast, Mac continued his conversation with Karen.

  “I’ve got a package of material,” said Mac. “I found some old photographs and letters which might be useful.”

  “I’ll review those while you are out with Jonathan this morning. When you get back I would like to go through the printers proofs I brought with me, for you to check the copy editor’s changes. But this package will keep me busy most of the morning.”

  “Good,” said Mac. “Jonathan, are you ready to get out and about this fine morning?”

  Jonathan nodded as he swallowed a mouthful of breakfast.

  “Did you bring walking boots and foul weather gear with you?”

  “Yes, I did,” said Jonathan. “I’ll go and get changed as soon as I have finished breakfast.”

  “Right,” said Mac. “I’ll meet you by the front door in half an hour.”

  Mac got up from the table and walked towards the kitchen.

  Karen turned to Jonathan. “I’m really fascinated to find out what he has got planned.”

  “Me too!”

  Jonathan finished his breakfast and stood up. “I’ll see you later, then.”

  “Yes, I’ve got plenty to keep me busy this morning,” said Karen

  Jonathan left the Great Hall and went up to his room to change.

  When he came back downstairs, Jonathan found Mac waiting in the hall, by the front door. Mac opened the front door and they stepped out. The cloud had thickened since breakfast and the highest hill tops were shrouded in cloud. Mac climbed into the driver’s seat of the Range Rover and Jonathan climbed into the passenger seat beside him.

  “It looks like the clouds are settling in over the hills this morning,” said Mac, as he started the engine. “I think we ought to head for the coast.”

  “Fine with me,” said Jonathan.

  Mac pulled out of the driveway and turned right. Jonathan recalled that they had driven this way when they had come up to the castle from the town last night.

  “So,” said Mac, “You told me last night about your life in America but you really didn’t say why you had moved back to the United Kingdom.”

  “To be honest, after Jill died, I was homesick. I never lost my deep love for the UK when I was overseas.”

  At the bottom of the valley, Mac turned left. “This will take us over to the road alongside the loch.”

  Jonathan nodded.

  “California weather is better and the scenery is quite spectacular.”

  “The usual clichés, Mac!”

  Mac snorted a laugh. “I know, Jonathan. Don’t forget I spent several years in the United States. I think I know where you are coming from.”

  “It’s a cultural thing. America can be a very exciting place but I constantly found myself at odds with the culture. The ‘American Way’”. Jonathan drew quotes in the air with his fingers.

  “You don’t really have to explain,” said Mac. “I actually felt much the same way after I had been there for a few years, although the British Embassy did provide a certain amount of ‘cultural quarantine’”. Mac imitated Jonathan’s finger quotes then quickly grabbed the steering wheel again.

  “Quite frankly, I do worry about the future of Britain though Mac,” said Jonathan. “I mean, I live a fairly sheltered life in Ravensgill Bridge and it seems far away from politics and war and all that stuff. But I do sometimes think that our way of life in Britain is changing for the worse. It’s almost as if we have no control of our own affairs any more, what with Europe and cultural pollution from America. Having lived in America I can see the way that that country has gone with unbridled greed and competition and…”

  Jonathan looked over at Mac who was dividing his attention between the road ahead and what Jonathan was saying.

  “…And?” said Mac.

  “Oh, perhaps I’m just becoming an old curmudgeon in my retirement.”

  Jonathan saw that they had been driving along the edge of a sea loch, which was beyond a low wall along the right hand side of the road. Hills rose steeply on the left.

  “No! At least you care about your country and you think about it. It’s apathy about this country that is half the trouble. Your problem is that you feel helpless to do anything about it. Am I right?”

  “Exactly! I get very disheartened about it.”

  Mac pulled the Range Rover over to the side of the road, switched off the engine and turned to Jonathan.

  “Would you like to be part of an organization that is working to make a difference?” said Mac.

  “What kind of organization?”

  “Let’s go for a walk alongside the loch and we can talk about it.”

  Jonathan could detect a tone of enthusiasm and excitement in Mac’s voice. They climbed out of the car. There was a cold wind blowing off the loch and Jonathan could taste the salt on the air. The waters of the loch were grey and the wind was causing wavelets to break on the surface. Looking back to his right, Jonathan could see the town of Fort William at the landward end of the loch. They started walking side by side on towards the seaward end of the loch.

  “Did you get a chance to read that draft of my memoirs that Karen had?” said Mac.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “So you know all about the Army and the Diplomatic Service and the Intelligence Service?”

  “Yes, indeed. A fascinating story. But I did detect a touch of tension in there around your retirement.”

  “Quite perceptive, young man!” said Mac with a broad smile. “For most of the time I was in MI5 I was proud to serve my country and I felt I was doing a good job. But towards the end, things started to change.”

  Mac paused for a moment and looked at Jonathan but Jonathan made no comment.

  “There has been a steady shift in the mission of MI5 over the last few years and it has been largely as a result of political pressure. It’s almost as if the government of the day wants to use MI5 as some kind of private army to avoid the legal niceties of life, prevent embarrassing situations for ministers and politicians and to generally support the establishment.”

  “What exactly do you mean by the establishment?” said Jonathan.

  “The power structure. The people who wield power in this country. The people who make the important decisions.”

  “But this is a democratic country,” said Jonathan. “Doesn’t the ultimate power lie in the hands of the people?”

  “I am not sure that we have ever been a truly democratic country, and certainly not in the last few years. Do you realize that less than one quarter of the people actually voted for the political party which now forms the government? Frankly, I think our so-called democracy is a sham and getting more so every year.”

  “Do you think people are apathetic?”

  “That is certainly part of it. But that apathy is encouraged by the government who seem to have an agenda that is independent of our elected parliament. And that is not even considering the unelected folk who have a massive effect on our daily lives.”

  They reached a small brick and glass shel
ter overlooking the loch.

  “Do you want to sit for a while?” said Mac

  “Sure,” said Jonathan, “this is an interesting discussion.”

  They sat side by side in the shelter, which provided some protection against the wind blowing across the loch.

  “So who are these people that have such an effect on our daily lives?” said Jonathan.

  “People with enough money to buy influence. Financial people. Bankers. Business owners. The media, or at least that part of it that is controlled by private money, much of it from overseas. Thank God we still have the BBC!”

  “I am inclined to agree with you,” said Jonathan, “but I have not been able to put it into words quite as clearly as you have. But you talked about an organization that was working to make a difference…”

  “I’ll get on to that, but first I need to tell you a bit more about what is going on in MI5. Stuff that I didn’t put into the memoir.”

  “You mentioned how MI5 had changed,” said Jonathan, “how it had become a tool of government.”

  “Yes. There is a dark side that is separate from the main part of MI5. It doesn’t play by the same rules. Informally it’s called ‘MI5 Black Ops’.

  “What kind of things does MI5 Black Ops do?”

  “Well, they are geared towards keeping the status quo for the establishment, keeping power in the hands of the few, and above all else avoiding embarrassment for the government.”

  “How do they operate?”

  “They often make ‘awkward’ people disappear. In a couple of cases Black Ops actually convinced foreign governments that these people were British spies and the foreign governments did the dirty work.”

  “Ugly business!” said Jonathan.

  “Indeed! People often met with accidents.

  “Were you involved in any of these operations?”

  “No. It was when I began to see what was happening that I resigned from the service. I was going to blow the whistle on what was going on but I had seen what happened to whistle blowers in the past, so I decided to retire quietly and see what I might be able to do from the outside.”

  “Have you done anything yet?”

  “Not yet. I’ve been keeping a close eye on what is going on. But there are some people in this country who share my concerns about these things and some of these people have resources.”

  “Are you still in contact with former colleagues in the service?”

  “A few of them. We have to be discreet. It would be bad for their careers if they were too close to me. We arrange to bump into each other in pubs, on trains, that sort of thing.”

  “How does MI5 Black Ops recruit its operators?”

  “A variety of sources, within MI5 and outside. Usually ex-military people, sometimes MI6. Then there are the freelancers.”

  “Freelancers?”

  “Yes, mercenaries if you like. They are often people of very questionable backgrounds but with very special skills. Often of the criminal variety.”

  “It’s interesting that you can get so many people to engage in questionable activities like that.”

  “The army have been doing it for years. The army can take a perfectly peaceful young man off the streets and turn him into a killing machine in a few months. It’s all a question of training and psychological conditioning. MI5 Black Ops uses the same techniques.”

  “Does the official MI5 admit to what is happening in MI5 Black Ops?”

  “MI5 keeps an arm’s length relationship with MI5 Black Ops. They like to maintain what the call ‘plausible deniability’. They provide some finance to MI5 Black Ops but they stay well away from day to day operations. Black Ops gets its assignments directly from cabinet level.”

  “I was wondering how they were financed.”

  “Apart from their official funding their budget is supplemented with…how should I put it? Additional activities.”

  “Presumably of a questionable variety?”

  “Very presumably! Drugs, protection money, even donations.”

  “Donations?”

  “Yes. There are people in this country who are very happy to support an organization that they see as maintaining the power of the establishment.”

  “Do you have any examples of MI5 Black Ops operations?”

  “Yes, there is one I can tell you about. We had a case of a translator at GCHQ several years ago. You’ve heard of GCHQ, haven’t you?”

  “Government Communication Headquarters?”

  “Yes. They are actually the third arm of the security services. Their job is to gather intelligence by intercepting communications. It used to be mostly radio intercepts but these days it is also internet and telephone. Anyway, this translator had previously worked as a translator at the British embassy in Moscow and he had been recruited by the KGB, but we never uncovered him. He finished his assignment in Moscow and he moved back to the UK and was assigned to GCHQ, where he continued his espionage activities. He was eventually caught, arrested and taken for interrogation.”

  “I don’t remember that case in the newspapers.”

  “No, the security services like to keep a low profile, especially when they have been caught napping. While he was being interrogated, this character starts to tell his interrogators what he knows about illegal monitoring activities he came across when he was working at GCHQ.”

  “Illegal monitoring activities?”

  “There is a clandestine unit at GCHQ called the Commercial Unit. Their job is to monitor phone calls and emails between British companies and pass on commercial intelligence to the government. The government used that information to influence competition and to benefit companies that the government favours.”

  “Why would the government favour one particular company over another?”

  “All sorts of reasons. At the nice end, political contributions. At the other end, bribery?”

  “So this spy threatens to blow the whistle?”

  “He starts to try to cut a deal with his interrogators. He tries to get the charges reduced in exchange for his silence. Surprise, surprise! One morning he is found dead in his cell, died of a heart attack during the night.”

  “Can you show any evidence of these illegal operations? Could you take it to the authorities?”

  “Well, that’s the problem. These operations are so clandestine, they cover their tracks very well. It would be their word against mine and if I started going public I don’t think I would last very long.”

  “I think I see what you mean. Is there anything that you can do?”

  “I want to fight what is happening. I want to defend the people against this stuff. This is rotting away the very foundation of British democracy. I do have a close circle of friends who are of similar mind, including one who outranks anyone who might be involved.”

  “Outranks the Prime Minister?”

  “Technically, yes.”

  Mac was smiling. Jonathan was puzzled.

  “Royalty?” said Jonathan

  “Outranks the Prime Minister.”

  Jonathan made a soft whistling sound at this piece of information. He looked out to sea and saw that the low cloud of earlier had broken up. The low winter sun was illuminating the hills on the other side of the loch. A small fishing boat was making its way into the loch from the sea.

  Jonathan turned to Mac. “So you’re trying to fight this?”

  “I think with your skills you could be a great help to us. We call ourselves ‘Operation Checkmate’. We plan to thwart these people, frustrate their plans, stay one step ahead of them and outwit and outsmart them?”

  “What would I have to do?” said Jonathan.

  “Well, I hope we could adapt your skills to help us find out what MI5 Black Ops are up to and get ahead of them. So you could provide us with information and intelligence.”

  “I would be interested in helping. I certainly share your views about this stuff. I am nervous that I might not match up to your expectations.”


  “Well, think about it for a few hours. It’s time to head back for lunch. Think about what I have told you this morning and we can talk about it over dinner tonight.”

  “I’ll do that,” said Jonathan. “It’s certainly a big challenge.”

  They stood up from their seat in the shelter and started walking back down the coast road towards the Range Rover.

  Chapter 13