Failsafe Query

by Michael Jenkins

  ‘But how the hell have you gotten away with all that?’ Melissa said. ‘I’m pleased you did it though – because that was going to be my next case. You just beat me to it, you swine.’

  Sean laughed and lay back on his sun lounger.

  ‘It played out well for D really. He’s been quite happy for me to leak all of this.’

  ‘Why though? This is now officially sanctioned whistle-blowing from MI5,’ Melissa exclaimed.

  ‘All rather simple my darling. Deception tactics, manipulation and active measures to achieve an aim. D wants Sandra Wolstenholme to become PM – and exposing these kinds of secrets will provide the launch pad he needs to show her being competent, powerful and anti-corruption.’

  ‘Next stop PM then.’

  ‘That does appear to be D’s plan.’ They both grimaced at the immensity of the plot – and at the murky world beyond it.

  Sean relaxed in his sun lounger, looking across the vineyards to the distant town of San Gimignano. Melissa came across to him, sat on the lounger and kissed him, before holding his hand.

  He imagined the sea of change across the political spectrum that would result from the huge amount of whistle-blowing. Politicians would fall. The gravitas of such leaks would force wholesale change – this was shock and awe on an extraordinary scale and the political fallout could be cataclysmic.

  The Tuscan sun gently fell as Sean and Melissa revelled in each other’s company.

  ‘Well, thanks to you and your policewoman friend, we managed to nail Frazer and his establishment chums too,’ Sean said to Melissa as he checked his phone. ‘He had paid off a lot of people to win those contracts and it should make a good splash in the papers too, on corrupt links to organised crime.’

  ‘Seems we’re knocking off quite a few bastards now – I assume he’s been dealt with now?’

  ‘Permanently it would seem, yes.’

  Sean smiled at that and he smiled too because he had been offered a new job – of sorts – to return to.

  Chapter 53

  London, 12 May 2016

  It was a bleak Thursday afternoon when the government decided to spring the news of a high-level Cabinet minister who had been exposed as a Russian spy. Sean sat in his favourite Fitzrovia bar alone. He watched the entire commentary unravel on Sky News. Half a dozen local punters gathered round the TV suspended from the ceiling, the cockney landlord leading the cheers as the exposés were announced. Politicians were being culled. Phrases such as ‘Sleeping with the enemy’, ‘Iraq corruption’ and ‘A traitorous mole’ were mentioned.

  Sean listened intently to the news reporter. A silent hush filled the room.

  The Metropolitan Police have this morning released a statement to the effect that an individual has been arrested because of breaches of the Official Secrets Act, and the Prime Minister has decided it was in the public interest to identify who that high-profile minister was. We are expecting an announcement from the Prime Minister within the hour. Specific well-timed leaks to the press provided the snippets needed to show that this was the highest-ranking person in British history to be exposed as a Russian spy. Sean checked his Twitter account. There were lots of rumours of a Cabinet minister being a Russian spy. The hashtag ‘Whistleblower’ was trending.

  Sean sat on the bar stool, a glass of cold beer in his hand. Should he have another? An array of newspapers lay on the bar. He began to sketch the people in the lounge and the gesticulations they were making at the TV. It was an image to be captured.

  Kay Burley was the news anchor. A second statement from the Metropolitan Police this morning reveals that a number of high-profile arrests were made in dawn raids. We understand they all related to the Iraq intelligence dossier from over fourteen years ago. Let’s go to our correspondent now outside New Scotland Yard – Frances Dawn.

  Hello Kay.

  Frances: what’s been happening then?

  Well Kay, it’s all been moving very quickly here, but my understanding is that the arrests include a number of MPs and a spin doctor and I’m hearing news right now of a former ambassador too…

  Sean sighed. The locals were going spare at the revelations. It seemed as if it would never stop. The day saw a frenzy of media activity, with Sandra Wolstenholme and the Prime Minister personally orchestrating the approach to both the media scramble and the political fallout of such media exposés. Sandra Wolstenholme benefited hugely from the media spotlight as it was her department that had the responsibility for the intelligence operations on home soil and the subsequent high-level ‘catches’. The Prime Minister knew he was done for. It was a bombshell right out of left field.

  ‘Think I’ll have one of those big beers too,’ Jack said, pulling up a stool. ‘A small celebration I think.’

  ‘Jeez, don’t sneak up on me like that. Lesser men have been floored for that,’ Sean quipped.

  ‘Oh well, I live to tell you another tale. Just thought I’d update you personally and no better place than a London pub to do so.’

  ‘Go on, I’m intrigued. Ale or lager?’

  ‘Pale ale please,’ Jack said, pointing to one of the hand pumps. ‘Well, this morning I accompanied the Cabinet Secretary when he visited Dominic Atwood. We’d kept it under tight wraps for a while and it was all over pretty quickly actually. He was simply told it was now time to go.’

  ‘Wow, what did his face look like?’

  ‘He pretty much went white and stiff as a board.’

  ‘Brilliant. Quietly escorted from the premises, through the back door and into a cab I’m guessing?’

  ‘It was along those lines, yes. Mission accomplished with some aplomb I suppose. The Cabinet Secretary explained how the Home Secretary was aware of him concealing information about a Russian spy but was content to allow him to retire early in a quiet, no-fuss manner.’

  Sean passed a beer to Jack and they clinked glasses. ‘Tremendous news. Really wish I’d been a fly on the wall for that.’ Sean thought of how the chief spook would have known all too well that he had been set up and would have been resigned to all his accomplishments being destroyed, and his lifetime’s ambition lying in tatters. The smell of the fresh kill had already begun to permeate through the establishment and the gossip and rumours from the intelligence services had started to amass.

  Sean glanced at the TV, where the news cameras were now capturing the views of people on the street as Sir Joe was outed. National disdain seemed rife. A whiff of revulsion and disbelief spread across the country as the scandal of the biggest spy catch since the Burgess and Maclean episode steamrollered across every club, community and establishment in the country. The country was stunned.

  Sean turned towards the bar, and scanned inside The Times. There was a full-page article on organised drug crime in London. He was delighted to see the piece refer to a major car explosion in the quiet backwaters of Hampshire and the story of the death of an international drug runner, who was linked apparently to ultra-violent Albanian gangs.

  *

  Buried deep in a Ministry of Defence magazine was a short obituary for Alfie. His body was repatriated from France and the story broke of his death, which was still under investigation. To Sean, it looked clear that it would become an unsolved case and that the American murderers would never be brought to justice.

  Sean and Melissa attended Alfie’s funeral in Hastings, along with a large contingent of military officers. Sean was pleased Alfie would have his day in the media at some point in the near future, as the most notorious UK whistle-blower ever.

  ‘So, what exactly was his failsafe?’ Melissa asked as they meandered through the cobbled streets of Rye that evening.

  ‘He always wanted to have the codes on him in case he was kidnapped,’ Sean said. ‘In case he was incarcerated for a lengthy period and could use it as collateral to obtain his release, or even get to a computer or phone. He also used steganography to encode pictures with hidden text. Like his obituary.’

  ‘You mean he sent pictures on to someon
e for decoding?’

  ‘Yep, and I’ve no doubt you’ll be receiving a set of pictures and a software key to decrypt them in the coming weeks,’ Sean said, looking for her reaction.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Melissa exclaimed.

  ‘I read it in his files. He had a plan to send delayed emails with a series of pictures and then, some days later, a decryption key. He had all sides well and truly nailed.’

  Sean now had his mind set on that rugby match he had been promised and a few pints with the team to celebrate Swartz successfully reaching retirement age. These were fine, gregarious men, he mused. Gregarious men, living life on the edge, avoiding their destiny of making the journey to their own special Valhalla where, one day, they would all gather, no doubt. For now though, they were all living their dreams.

  Sean smirked when he thought about the embarrassment of the parliamentarians who had all been exposed as sleeping with the enemy. Natalie’s legacy would leave a long, deep and malodorous seal on the immoral lives of many MPs and Lords alike.

  Jack had warned Sean in the pub that there was now a new and formidable danger for him. It had caused him to have quite a few more beers. He wasn’t overly pleased that this job meant a lifetime of being on the run from the Russian SVR, who had happily put out a contract on his life after he had exposed and nearly killed their finest Russian spy, who had operated for years within the British parliamentary system. The beer had helped him to formulate a plan to deal with that and Jack would help him make those clandestine moves.

  *

  Melissa and Sean smiled a lot as they walked arm in arm through the cobbled streets towards the harbour. They were just another couple with their very own story and their own secrets to be told at some point down the line.

  ‘Remember I told you about that job in Moscow where we threw a load of sacks into the river?’ Sean asked playfully.

  ‘Yes, I do. What of it?’ Melissa asked, turning to face him.

  ‘And when I handed that old rusty tin to a spook in the van?’

  ‘With the list of Russian moles? Yes, go on.’

  ‘Well, the one piece of the story I recently found out about over a beer is that the spook who I called FITZROY in my drawings was actually Jack. I handed the rusty old tin to Jack.’

  They looked at each other feelingly, puzzled by the extraordinary life of this genius spook and how, together, they had pulled off the coup of a lifetime.

  Epilogue

  London, 15 July 2016

  Edward remained in the MI5 basement in Thames House, still working at the same civil servant job he had done for over forty-five years. He was ageing now, his grey hair had been lost to baldness and his sight was getting worse. He had given all his life to serving the Crown. He was a modest civil servant who made his daily commute and minded his own business. He had seen many comings and goings whilst in office and had seen and heard many tales of derring-do and of clandestine secret missions across the world. He held many a secret in his head but just continued to enjoy gardening, the occasional bet on the horses and a beer with his local chums in a small pub in Marlow. He would retire in the coming year. He had served his country well.

  Edward started his search for the file, which was hidden deep in the archives amongst row upon row of grey-metal sliding cabinets. He turned a very large wheel on the side of the cabinets and the tall rows moved slowly to the right, opening a gaping corridor into the depths of the files. He walked with his gentle limp and went straight to the battered and tatty red-coloured file tightly bound with grey ribbon.

  He brought the file to a small desk outside the cabinets and looked at the cover. ‘Placedin suspended animation’ it read.

  He smiled knowingly, remembering how some years ago he had placed that sticky label on the front. He untied the file. He then placed a single sheet of typed paper inside the file and signed the inside cover to provide evidence of his amendment. He dated it 15 July 2016, meaning that it was over eleven years since he had last touched it.

  He remembered the face of Sean all those years ago and made a mental note to invite him to his retirement party. He continued smiling, a proud man. He was overjoyed to hear the news of a new Prime Minister. He then put a large sticky label on the front cover which read:

  TOP SECRET

  Closed in Perpetuity – July 2016

  ‘For D Eyes Only’

  TOP SECRET

  Edward closed the red file and retied the grey ribbon, knowing he would never touch the file again. He gave a mental salute to Sean and Jack and walked back to his desk.

  Glossary

  Active measures: Political warfare activities conducted by the Russian security services to influence the course of world events

  Badged: A term used to describe a fully trained member of the Special Air Service who is qualified to wear the SAS badge

  Bolt-hole: A safe place from which to plan and conduct military operations

  Box: Nickname for MI5, after its official World War Two address of PO Box 500

  Bravos: Enemy terrorists

  Close hold: A term describing secret information that should not be disclosed

  Crack and thump: Sounds generally heard during an explosion. The crack is the primary detonation and the thump is the main explosion

  Directorate ‘S’: The department in the Russian foreign intelligence services responsible for the gathering, studying and dissemination of illegally obtained intelligence

  Double-tap: Two bullets fired in very quick succession

  Doughnut: The nickname given to the Government Communications Headquarters (GCHQ), a British cryptography and intelligence agency based in Cheltenham

  Drive-by: Conducting surveillance on a target by driving past it in a vehicle

  Eyes on: Having a direct line of sight to a target

  Flash bang: A stun grenade used to incapacitate an enemy within a building by way of a powerful flash and loud bangs

  Great Game: A political and diplomatic confrontation that existed for most of the nineteenth century between the British and Russian Empires over Afghanistan and neighbouring territories in Central and Southern Asia

  Illegals Programme: A term describing Russian ‘sleeper’ agents operating under non-official cover in Western countries

  Line N: Russian officers in Western Russian embassies responsible for supporting illegals in that country

  Marker: A geophysical reference such as a tree or boulder, used to help relocate buried items

  One eye: UK intelligence only to be seen by UK-vetted nationals

  OPSEC: Operational security measures designed to reduce risk on military operations

  PIRs: Passive infrared detectors that detect motion and then trigger an alarm

  Shooters: Soldiers assigned to kill terrorists or other enemies in a stronghold situation

  Side op: An intelligence operation that is not officially sanctioned or known about, i.e. a ‘hidden’ secret operation

  Skin: The brickwork or external walls of a building

  Soak time: A period of waiting to judge a threat or to see if any danger materialises

  Stronghold: A building or structure housing armed terrorists or other enemies

  Track and trace: The skill of tracking where a person or object has been and tracing its whereabouts

  Two eyes: UK intelligence only to be seen by UK- and US-vetted nationals

  Virtual fence: A fence that cannot be seen and can be configured using infrared light beams to trigger an alarm when it is breached

  Acknowledgements

  I dreamed for many years during my military and intelligence career of writing a thriller, mainly because the fascinating men and women I served with had left an indelible mark on me. My friends and colleagues were hugely charismatic, robust, resilient in every way and immersed in honour and commitment. I wanted to bring some of the traits of those colourful characters to life in a thriller that drew upon my experiences in a range of disciplines. The characters are entirely imaginary of
course, as is the story. And I also wanted to celebrate the wonderful life of Eddie, who was probably the world’s most successful cadaver dog. He is now dead but was a fine friend, as is his master. A big thanks to my wife for her encouragement, which helped make this novel happen – it sat in draft form for many a year. Thanks also to Richard Knowles, a friend from my local pub, who provided crucial feedback on the early drafts. It’s very hard to move from being an intelligence officer to an author – so huge thanks for the encouragement of my editors, Craig Taylor and Derek Collett, and to Unbound for making this happen. Also to Emma Mitchell, who gave me some great advice during her beta read and edit, and to David Thorpe for his superb coaching during the early drafts. Finally, a big thank you to my remarkable supporters. I have always said that, in life, teamwork makes incredible, unimaginable things happen. And my team of supporters who contributed to this publication are all legends in my mind. Thanks to you all for your generosity and support.

  Michael Jenkins MBE

  London

  March 2018

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