Motorbike Men

by Duncan James

  “Perhaps I could chip in and explain,” said Clayton, “that apart from being Cabinet Secretary and Head of the Civil Service, Sir Robin here is also Chairman of the Joint Intelligent Committee. I report directly to him, and to nobody else. This may help to assure you that we know what we are talking about, and that the threat to your safety was, and continues to be I fear, immediate and very real.”

  “We initially chose not to tell you before, as I have explained,” said Algar, “but recent events have persuaded us that you should now be told, and told immediately.”

  “What recent events? And how recent?”

  “Earlier this afternoon.”

  “What happened this afternoon, then?” demanded Barclay.

  “Before I tell you that, let me first of all give you some background,” said Clayton. He took a sip from his own glass, and topped up Barclay’s.

  “You will know better than we do that your pioneering work has caused worldwide interest, particularly in America where they have been trying to tempt you into working with them at the Lawrence Livermore University, and similarly in the Gulf region. It is not our business to prevent you from following either option if you should so decide – in this country, you are free to choose.”

  “Although we would prefer that you stayed here, of course,” added Algar.

  “There are two players in this drama that you are aware of, Professor,” continued Clayton. “The United Arab Emirates want you to take the lead in helping them to develop nuclear fusion so that they have a source of wealth once their stocks of natural gas and oil run out. The Americans, on the other hand, are already developing such an energy source as I understand it, but want to tap into your mathematical genius in order to progress that development faster than they otherwise might. Their reason is simply that they need to reduce their dependence on energy supplies from the Middle East. Indeed, in the recent Presidential election campaign, they pledged to rid themselves of that dependence within ten years.”

  Sir Robin Algar leant forward. “There is, however, a third power involved.” He paused, for effect. “Russia,” he continued. “And it is from them that the threat to you personally emanates.”

  “I have never heard of any direct interest being taken in my work by them,” said Barclay.

  “That is because they are not interested in you working with them in any way,” said Clayton. “They want your work stopped.”

  “Stopped? But why?”

  “Simply because they have huge stocks of oil and gas, which they are able to export to many countries around the world,” explained Sir Robin. “This gives them considerable political and economic power, and you will know that they have in the recent past used their gas and oil supply lines as a political weapon. They simply turn off the tap to get their own way on the international stage, as they did recently in the Ukraine.”

  “So?”

  “So your work in developing an alternative energy source was seen as a threat to that power base. For that reason, they are not interested in speeding up the work you are doing, but in delaying by as much as possible the commercial introduction of nuclear fusion as an energy source. And they have concluded that the only way that can be achieved is by bringing a halt to your development work.”

  There was a gentle knock on the door. The coffee and sandwiches were delivered, and placed on the table in front of them.

  “I can tell you,” said Algar, waving his hand to invite his colleagues to help themselves, “that our intelligence sources know for a fact they have considered all means of achieving that, either through some form of sabotage at Culham and Harwell, or even by kidnapping you. In the end, however, they concluded that the only solution to their problem was to be achieved through your assassination.”

  “Assassination?” Barclay was incredulous.

  “I am afraid so,” confirmed Clayton.

  “I am finding all this very difficult to believe,” said Jack Barclay.

  “We are, I fear, deadly serious. Your life is in the gravest possible danger.”

  “But how can you be so sure?” Barclay put down his untouched sandwiches.

  “Let me just give you one example,” offered Clayton. “I told you that you have been under our protective umbrella for some months now. That includes both at Culham and Harwell, where members of my organisation have been employed as cleaners and on the catering staff so that we could watch over you while you were in the laboratories, while others were also on constant watch outside, on motorcycles, in vans, cars, whatever, both there and while you were at home or travelling between the two. My field officers, I should tell you, are all armed and expert marksmen, and they are all fluent in at least two languages apart from their native tongue. They were with you in France, at Cadarache, and while you were in California. My agents attended the reception that was held in your honour at the end of your last US visit – we have photographs if you wish to see them – and while they were there they recognised and spoke to US agents from the CIA who were also among the guests. In addition, and to the surprise even of the American authorities, there were two members of the Russian secret service, the KGB, in attendance. Such was the warmth of your reception by the people at the Lawrence Livermore facilities, that the Russians were convinced afterwards that you had agreed to work with the Americans. From the Russian point of view, this was the worst possible scenario, and it was immediately after that, that they decided that you should be assassinated so as to put an end to your work.”

  “By then it was too late,” exclaimed the Professor. “We had already made the breakthrough we had been seeking .”

  “The Russians didn’t know that, and pressed ahead with their plan.”

  “And you knew what their plan was?”

  “Yes, we did,” said ‘S’.

  “So why are you telling me all this now?”

  “Well, the real reason for your visit is that we must now tell you what happened this afternoon,” said Sir Robin. “Now you know the background, we hope you will understand that we have taken the Russian threat extremely seriously, and that we continue to do so. You need to realise how grave a danger you are in, Professor, and I can’t emphasise that enough. Your life is at real and immediate risk. We called you here today because, as we said just now, events of this afternoon meant that we can no longer act on our own on your behalf. We now need your help and co-operation if you are to survive the Russian threat.”

  “This all sounds appalling,” said Barclay quietly, “and I find what you have told me quite impossible to comprehend. I am not used to this sort of thing, you must understand. Difficult though my life has been in recent months, it has been problems in my own field of work which have caused those difficulties, and therefore I could understand them. But this – all this is so different and foreign to me. I find it impossible to comprehend that I am the subject of attention by the highest levels of Government in this country, by spies, and by foreign countries.”

  He put down his coffee cup on the table around which they sat in Algar’s office, and reached for his glass. The glass was empty.

  “May I please?” he asked , holding it out.

  The Cabinet Secretary poured him another.

  “So what happened this afternoon to make my visit here so urgent,” asked Barclay.

  “I know that what we have told you so far has been deeply disturbing for you, Professor,” said Clayton, “but I am afraid we have to give you further bad news as well. We learnt yesterday that an attempt was to made on your life today – this afternoon, in fact. We knew the identity of the killer, and took immediate precautions to reinforce our protection of you at Harwell. We had deployed armed men along the route we thought the assassin would take to get there, and were ready to arrest him the moment he got anywhere near you. However, he took us all by surprise, when, instead of heading west towards Didcot, he headed east and then south. We could not understand this at all, and although one of our top men set off in hot pursuit, he lost the man temp
orarily in heavy traffic in central London. I won’t beat about the bush, Professor. Your assailant went to Battersea, obviously believing you were in your flat.”

  “My brother!” exclaimed Barclay.

  “Exactly,” confirmed Sir Robin. “I’m sorry to have to say that your brother was shot and killed before we could reach him.”

  “My twin brother, Roger,” said the distressed Professor.

  The men left Barclay in silence for a few moments, to come to terms with the news.

  Eventually, he said quietly, “Now I think I have some explaining to do, gentlemen.”

  “When you feel ready,” said Algar.

  Barclay took a gulp from his glass.

  “Roger and I have never been close, and indeed rarely contacted one another. The last time we spoke, he told me that the bank where he had worked since he left school, as a junior clerk of some sort I believe, had told him that they wanted him to move to a different branch, or face the sack. Roger hated change, and dreaded the thought either of being fired or moving to the Sloane Square branch where he would know nobody and have nowhere to live. I offered him my flat, which I used so rarely that I had already decided to sell it. He was due to move in sometime in the next week or so, and was there today for a look round to see if it suited him. I haven’t even moved my stuff out of the place yet, although there’s little enough of it there. We are identical twins, and he must have been spotted there by your Russian friends. Now he is dead, and it’s my fault.”

  “Nonsense! You must certainly not blame yourself in the least for your brother’s death,” insisted Clayton. “If anyone could be said to be at fault it is us.”

  “I won’t hear of that, either,” protested Barclay. “You have saved my life through all your recent and secret efforts, and I owe you a huge debt of gratitude for that. If anything, I suppose, it is a case of mistaken identity on the part of the Russian authorities. But tell me. Where is my brother now.”

  “Your brother remains in your flat, Professor,” said Clayton. “One of my men has managed to gain entry, and has seen him. He says your brother would have died instantly, and known nothing of it, which may be of some quantum of solace to you.”

  “Thank you for that, at least. I suppose now I shall have to make arrangements for his removal, and for the funeral and so on,” sighed Barclay.

  Clayton held up his hand.

  “Before we discuss that, would you mind if we first told you in what way we now need your urgent help and support?”

  “After all you’ve done for me, the least I can do is to agree to that.”

  “First of all, we need positive identification that it is your brother who has been murdered,” said Clayton. “My agent took a couple of photographs, so perhaps when you are ready and feel up to it, you could look at them just to confirm that it is Roger.”

  “Show me now.”

  Clayton handed him the photographs, and Barclay nodded.

  “Not a pretty sight, is it,” he said. “But there’s no mistaking that it is my brother.”

  “At first my man was sure it was you, there is such a likeness. But thank you for confirming his identity.”

  “We must now touch upon our need for your help,” said the Cabinet Secretary. “At this point in time, the Russians believe that you have been killed. Until they discover that you are still alive, therefore, you are no longer in any danger. Actually, it would have been more to the point if I had said ‘Unless they discover you are still alive.’ Your future safety depends entirely on them continuing to believe that their hired assassin has been successful, and that you will no longer be able to carry out further research into nuclear fusion. In other words, to put it bluntly, you will only be safe if you are officially pronounced dead, and the Russians believe you are dead.”

  Professor Barclay looked ashen; the added strain was beginning to take its toll. He shook his head. “I am finding it difficult to take all this in,” he said.

  Algar leant forward.

  “Understandably, professor, you look very tired and distressed, so let me suggest we continue this discussion tomorrow after you have had some rest.”

  “But where would I go?” he asked. “Surely not back to my digs. I would be spotted and killed!”

  “Precisely the point I was about to make,” said Clayton. “You are now in a place of safety, and arrangements have been made for you to stay here tonight if you wish. I should say that to do otherwise would, as you guessed, expose you to immediate risk.”

  “This is the very heart of Government,” added Sir Robin. “From here, all contingency planning is done, and disasters and wars dealt with. This is the home of the Cabinet Office Briefing Rooms – room ‘A’ is popularly know in the media as COBRA. This is the centre of national and international crisis management, and we have several Emergency Rooms for dealing with these issues, with every form of top security modern communications, video conferencing facilities and so on. With these exceptional facilities available to us, we also have adequate facilities for the staff who man these emergency centres. For instance, I have a fully furnished flat here, and you are more than welcome to stay in it. It is by no means luxurious, but it has all the basic essentials like a shower, a bed, cooking facilities and so on. Everything will be provided for you by my staff – I have already arranged for a cold supper to be available if you should agree to stay.”

  “This is terribly kind of you, but then what? No doubt I shall be given an excellent breakfast tomorrow, but what happens to me after that?”

  “We can continue to provide you with a place of safety, although not here necessarily, for as long as is necessary. But that will mean that, for the time being at least, you must avoid your present haunts – your digs, your laboratories, everything. To be blunt, you will have to take on a fresh identity, if we are to ensure that the threat to you is completely removed. You will have to disappear from circulation totally for the time being, while a new identity is established for you. Professor Jack Barclay will have been murdered, never to be seen again.”

  “Keep talking,” said Barclay. “Exhausted and confused though I am, I want to hear all you have to say, to its conclusion.”

  “So be it,” said Algar. “Let me summarise, then, without any further beating about the bush. If you agree, we will let it be known that your brother was in fact yourself, and that Professor Jack Barclay has been murdered in his Battersea flat. We will take you to a place of safety, probably in the Cotswolds, where you will be given a completely new identity. That means a new name and personality, new looks, new papers, and in the end, a new life. Once that process is complete, you will be free to take up your life again, wherever you wish, in complete safety, providing that your adversaries are by then convinced that you have been killed.”

  Barclay sat in silence as he digested what was being suggested.

  “And my brother?”

  “We shall need to leave your brother where he is for the time being, until the police discover his body during the normal course of events. We cannot afford to tell them of his death, as that would put this whole operation at risk of failure. Once he is discovered, of course, the police will mount a full murder investigation, there will be a coroner’s inquest, and a full and dignified funeral. Should your transformation be complete by then, you will of course be able decide where and when you wish the funeral to take place, and to attend.”

  “I shall read my own obituary and attend my own funeral, you mean?”

  “That will be the effect, yes.”

  “I should say,” added Clayton, “that if you should wish to visit your brother while he is in your flat, we can arrange that, although it will not be without risk. We can assure you however, that whatever you decide, your brother will be treated with the utmost dignity and respect.”

  Barclay sat back in his chair, deep in thought.

  “It is odd, you know,” he said eventually, “that I have been wondering for some time what I might do if and when my work a
t the Rutherford Appleton Laboratory came to its natural conclusion. I think it now has. There is much development work still to be done, of course, but mostly of a technical nature, putting into effect the theories which we have recently demonstrated to be practical. Interesting though it would be to see this through to a commercial conclusion, I can see little further pure science which I need to work on in this field. There is however, another area of research in which I have always aspired to contribute, also in the field of particle physics. Gentlemen, you may just have offered me the chance to start a new career, so to speak.”

  He smiled.

  “Tell me more though about my reincarnation. Where shall I go and what will happen?”

  “We have several ‘safe houses’ as we call them, in remote areas of the country, and we would propose that you live temporarily in one of them, in the Cotswolds,” said Algar. “Buscot Park lies between Swindon and Burford, near Lechlade. It is the home of Lord Faringdon, who lives there with his family, although the property is now owned and managed by the National Trust. Part of it, however, is run by MI5, for various purposes including training. I can tell you that you will be very comfortable there, with your own apartment, and that you will be free to wander in the extensive grounds as you wish.”

  “While you are there,” Clayton explained, “we will provide you with a completely new identity. One of my team is a retired RAF Air Commodore who ran the Institute of Aviation Medicine for some years, and is an expert in the field of plastic surgery. You will recall that this was pioneered by the RAF during the war.”

  “I hope I’m not to be carved about,” said Barclay, alarmed.

  “Certainly not – nothing will be done without your full agreement. But I suggest that it may be possible to rid you of that ugly scar across your forehead which immediately identifies you to those who know you. There are other things that can be done without surgery – raising the cheekbones, flaring the nose, changing your hairline and so on – all of which will adequately disguise you. A neatly trimmed set of whiskers would suit you, and a pair of spectacles is always a good idea. We can also make you a bit taller, by giving you slightly built-up shoes, and you can be taught to limp quite convincingly and use a walking stick. Once that process is complete, you will be given a new name, new papers, a new wardrobe and so on. In the end, you will be able safely to attend your brother’s funeral, visit your flat and your old laboratory to clear them both of your possessions, and nobody, hopefully, will recognise you, not least because they will think you are dead. Once that test has been passed, you will be free to rebuild your life however and wherever you wish.”