The Kompromat Kill

by Michael Jenkins

  They stayed silent for a while. The kind of silence ex-lovers have when weighing up their situation in close proximity to each other.

  Sean broke first, eager to get on with the job in hand. ‘Come on, tell me about this source that Jack has. I need to get as much info as I can on Nadège before we plan how to engage with her. I’ll be dropping right back into her life as a gunrunner some ten years on and this doesn’t help.’

  ‘You mean BOLLINGER?’ Samantha asked. ‘That’s the codename Jack gives me whenever he refers to the source that’s close to Nadège. He has never said who it is at all. But whoever it is has been accurate so far with her movements and timings. But there’s no detail being provided from that source on the operations she’s planning.’

  ‘Exactly the same as the GRU defector, Sergei. When I chatted with him at length, he too knew nothing of her operations, yet he was her GRU handler. She’s a double agent you know.’

  ‘So why doesn’t he know what she’s doing then?’

  ‘Well the Russians keep their top agents highly protected. Sergei was only ever instructed to provide her with whatever she needed, and that included setting her up with people she needed to conduct the operations. I’m the latest one he’s teed up. As a weapons smuggler.’

  ‘So, is that what you were doing when you were banged up in Kabul? In that stinking jail? You never told me the full story.’

  ‘Not exactly. But yes, I was involved with some dodgy people running weapons and drugs from Afghanistan across central Asia and into Europe. Nasty bastards too.’

  Sean shivered a little, remembering the misery of his incarceration in the Kabul jail. He sat down and kept a cautious eye on the CCTV. The hidden camera he had placed in the plant had a small infra-red sensor that operated a small buzzing alarm if anyone triggered it when leaving or entering the lift. Nothing so far. ‘OK. What about if she leaves her room and gets on the move? Are we sorted?’

  ‘Tracking device on her Mercedes, and a CIA team prepped and ready to go outside the hotel. It’s covered and I’ll run the comms from here. You’ll follow her wherever she goes in a car poised ready to go. Quite a cute-looking Yank driver actually.’

  The CCTV alarm buzzed. Sean concentrated on the screen to see who it was. A blonde. A medium-height attractive woman wearing a cream two-piece suit and heels. It was only a fleeting glimpse on the camera but enough to see who was coming and going on this exclusive floor of only four VIP suites.

  ‘Not bad-looking,’ Samantha said, putting her headphones on. ‘This could be fun,’ she said, raising her hand signalling for quiet. Sean glanced at the stickman screen and watched the slow gait of yellow, blue and red making its way into the main lounge. They were on.

  Sean tapped Samantha on the shoulder and pointed to the second set of headphones, which he quickly put on. They listened intently, watching the screen. A few moments passed before they witnessed the stickwomen hugging. Samantha glanced at Sean with a huge beaming smile on her face. She put her fingers to her lips and winked.

  Sean watched both women walk towards him to where the bed was located on the other side of the wall. The stickwoman on the right made movements with her arms, suggesting she was taking her jacket off.

  ‘I’ve missed you lots,’ were the first words he heard. Then came the muffled sounds of lips touching and a gentle groan from one of the women. Not sure who. Finally, he watched both stickwomen move onto the bed and into a horizontal position, each set of blue arms entwined and the yellow legs enmeshed in a strange holding pattern on the bed. The arm movements were clear to see as the second woman, Nadège, made more movements, taking off whatever clothes she had on.

  ‘Bloody hell, this is great,’ Samantha whispered. ‘Never expected this but I like it. A lot.’

  ‘Sean took his headphones off and stood up, fascinated by the artificial intelligence technology that was providing them both with a show of digital voyeurism.

  Chapter 17

  London

  Jack sat in the back of the security-service Jaguar and passed the Director General of MI5 a note outlining the situation report from Sean in Turkey. The A4 piece of paper was topped and tailed with the security classification and caveat: TOP SECRET / STRAP 3 / C-OPS / D Eyes Only. The C stood for Court operations and whilst it had a standard style of classification, C-OPS would not draw undue attention if the note got into the wrong hands.

  D read the note whilst intermittently looking out of the privacy window, remaining silent. He asked no questions of Jack and kept his own counsel before handing the note back to Jack and remaining silent. Jack knew he would have memorised its contents and would use it as ammunition in the meeting he was due to attend at the Cabinet Office in fifteen minutes time. D peered out of the window again, clasping his hands tightly - Jack knew he was in the zone of complex thought.

  This was going to be a very tense meeting for D, who was accountable to the government for all elements of intelligence relating to national security and the defence of the UK’s shores. The meeting was to be held in the Cabinet Office briefing rooms in Whitehall with the United States National Security Advisor. The President’s closest confidant on all matters relating to overseas and homeland security.

  The newly appointed John Redman was also a hawk. And a neocon. A man with a very close personal relationship with the President which ensured his influence stretched easily to matters of foreign policy, particularly with Iran and Russia. Jack had done his homework knowing that Redman wanted Iran to be dealt with robustly and Russia kept fully in check with the President relying upon his personal advice on how to achieve that. For Jack, Redman’s recent appointment as the National Security Advisor meant that the President’s foreign policy team was now the most radically aggressive to surround an American president in modern memory.

  Redman arrived twenty minutes late, giving Jack a chance to add some additional verbal briefing points to D. Jack knew all eyes would be on D today and most of the questions posed would be aimed at him.

  Redman would be addressing the UK’s Joint Intelligence Committee, a Cabinet Office body responsible for intelligence assessment and the coordination and oversight of MI6, MI5, GCHQ and Defence Intelligence. Each of the heads of those services was present, along with their senior staff officers, who sat in chairs just behind their principals on the main table. Also present was the chief of the London station of the United States Central Intelligence Agency, an able female of fifty-two summers by the name of Laura Creswell.

  Jack had always liked her can-do, will-do attitude and made an effort to smile and acknowledge her as he walked behind D to take his seat directly behind him. The CIA chief of the London station had been attending the JIC's weekly meetings since the end of the Second World War and Laura considered it a huge privilege. As Laura recently put it to Jack: it was the highlight of her career as the London CIA chief. Jack admired that and had ensured he struck up a solid relationship with Laura as she bedded into her new post.

  Jack glanced over to see the chair of the committee stand behind his seat, inviting the National Security Advisor to sit to his right. The chair, Hugo Campey, was a member of the UK senior civil service, and rumour had it he wanted to take over as the Director General of MI5 whenever D retired – or as a few close hands knew, died. Previous incumbents had gone on to lead MI6 but never had anyone from outside the ranks of MI5 taken the reigns as Director General. Hugo saw it as his destiny to break that mould, especially as he was a firm favourite of the Prime Minister, having served under her when she was Home Secretary.

  After welcoming their most prominent guest for many years, Campey invited Redman to address the quorum. Jack perched forward in anticipation of what was to come, primarily to make sure his own predictions on the politics being played out were right.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began. ‘Thank you so much for the personal briefings you sent to my team and of course your wonderful welcome in the few days I have been here. It is indeed an honour to address you al
l today as we face a difficult time ahead together.’

  Jack watched Redman lean forward, elbows on the table, hands clasped. He was a strong orator and always right on point. Redman was known to be a fierce statesman, whose deep-set eyes and trademark grey beard gave him a steely aura. Jack sensed this would be some speech, one to get the British intelligence community on his side for what lay ahead.

  ‘I’m here today to add some gravitas to the situation we all face and to call on your help. I know you are all doing a tremendous job and I suspect much of our work will remain firmly in the five-eyes community of intelligence…’ A long pause. ‘…but predominantly this will be a two-eyes community effort…’ Another pause. ‘…my country and yours. The UK and US intelligence communities operating together to cull the evil in our midst.’

  Redman was now getting into the swing of his speech, and he cleared his throat before continuing. ‘We must work hard. And we must work together on every single snippet of information we get about the Iranians. We need every available avenue opened, and very quickly too. They will strike us hard unless we get to the very crux of their inner operations, so your intelligence is vital to us all.’

  Redman’s voice was gravelly and unmistakable to those who had seen him speak strongly against Iranian aggression on TV over the last few months. Redman was enunciating every word and every syllable, but Jack felt it was partially contrived to get the troublesome Brits onside.

  One of Redman’s staff officers tapped a few buttons on the audio-visual console and a map of Iran appeared on the large screen at the end of the table - with a picture at the side of the map showing the mullahs who ran the country.

  ‘I want us all to be clear why we are here and why this has come about,’ Redman continued, standing now. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, there is a basic rule in Iran’s politics and in Iran’s Supreme Leader’s philosophy: concessions mean weakness. They see us as weak. If you show your weakness, they will take advantage of that or, as the Persian proverb goes, they will milk you to the end. We, the US, gave too many concessions, which allowed them to keep milking the cow. Iran’s blatant aggression and provocative attitude over the last year reached unprecedented levels, ranging from launching ballistic missiles in the middle of the day, to supporting Syria’s Bashar al-Assad, both militarily and financially, and galvanising the Shiite proxies to engage in war. This, ladies and gentlemen, was why we killed off the Iranian nuclear deal that has now led them to begin waging asymmetric war on both our nations.’

  Jack noticed the murmurs of agreement around the room and, importantly, those who disagreed.

  ‘So, you see, we have been caught with a dilemma,’ the US statesman continued. ‘We can prolong the milking of their cow, and the continual state-sponsored terrorism threat they have developed, or we can confront it and deal with it now.’

  The mood in the room was sombre. Exactly as Redman wanted it, Jack surmised. He knew full well that not everyone around the table agreed with the US National Security Advisor and his President’s approach to dealing with the Iranian threat. Indeed, most hadn’t wanted to see the nuclear deal culled at all and preferred a longer-term plan to reduce the Iranian threats. As a result of the US President’s sanctions against the country it now looked like the Iranians were intent on deadly revenge.

  It was the Director of GCHQ who interjected first. Barbara Wainright, a woman immaculately dressed in white blouse and jacket with purple hair, and never one to be overawed by an occasion. ‘I agree with your sentiments on milking the cow, Mr Redman. The chain of events easily leads to Khamenei, the second-longest ruling leader in the modern Middle East, mastering the game of negotiation and brinkmanship. A shrewd man.’ She paused and looked around the room to check she was being listened to. ‘Our signals intelligence helped capture their strategy so that we could help your staff and rationalise the situation. We are very proud of collecting that intelligence, which is unique.’

  Redman nodded throughout her pitch, Jack thinking that she was showboating a bit early in the meeting. Cringeworthy even. Jack watched Redman stroke his beard and continue in his West Coast accent. He was firm and strident throughout. ‘You’re absolutely right,’ he said, sitting back and opening his posture. ‘You guys in GCHQ have been magnificent as ever. Your intelligence helped us understand the games they have been playing. Threatening to pull out of the negotiations if certain conditions were not met. Continuing to flaunt all the red lines we had about missile testing, still pursuing a goal of enriched uranium, and our former President sadly gave them more milk. Khamenei and the IRGC leaders wanted to milk the cow more. I believe there can be no more appeasement policies or bowing to the ruling clerics of Iran and giving them any more. Enough is enough.’

  Redman turned towards the chair and thanked him for the opportunity to address the British intelligence agencies. In return, Campey suggested a short briefing from each agency on what had been done so far.

  The discussions sparked the Cabinet Secretary to add the national security position. Sir Justin Darbyshire was also the British National Security Advisor and a favourite of Jack’s. An old hand with a sharp sense of humour.

  ‘Following on from the recent threat assessments, ministers and I have now stood up specialist military assets for counter-surveillance at all of our ports, critical national infrastructure sites, our core gas and power sites, plus our airports. This includes drone intrusion of course.’ There was a ripple of laughter at this line following the debacle of 2018 when a small drone had brought Gatwick airport to a complete standstill for days. Jack smiled. Sir Justin had yet again made his mark on the most sombre of meetings and made sure he followed through with aplomb.

  ‘So far, we’ve contained the media position so that the country is not overwhelmed by the threats we now know we face. It’s proportionate and balanced at the moment whilst we await any further developments. And do be assured those developments are well underway with the best of our best intelligence assets.’

  Jack knew immediately what was coming next. Sir Justin was skilled at manipulating such meetings to make sure he showcased MI5, their importance to national security and, of course, the investment they needed from central government. He was posturing that government needed to ensure MI5 were properly resourced in the coming decade to deal with the asymmetric and hybrid threats coming to Europe, the UK and the world. He had teed up the Director General of MI5 perfectly. Campey, the chair, looked less than impressed.

  D remained calm as ever and simply posited that it was a huge joint intelligence effort at home and overseas, nodding politely to his secret intelligence service partner and close friend sitting quietly at the end of the table. The chief of MI6, C, rarely spoke unless asked to do so.

  ‘Our intelligence tells us they will strike against us ladies and gentlemen,’ D began. ‘It’s as much consequence management as proactive defence I’m afraid. Our friends at the Civil Contingency Secretariat have their work cut out as my friend the Cabinet Secretary has stated. Contingency planning for major national terrorist-related incidents and cyber-attacks is our most pressing need.’

  Jack was impressed by how D had changed the position, putting the pressure squarely back on the Cabinet Office and the Civil Contingency Secretariat. Jack was a little worried about D’s health though. He was coughing a lot and was always out of breath when walking – especially up a gentle incline, where he really suffered. Jack had helped him earlier that morning when he had a dizzy spell exiting his office and knew this was all symptomatic of a heart condition. Jack also knew something that D did not know. That contingency plans were being put in place just in case D did leave the world early, with the Cabinet Secretary leading those secretive talks. Unbeknown to the Cabinet Secretary, D had confided in Jack on a number of matters relating to the perpetuity of The Court’s operation and some of the smaller aspects of his funeral. D knew himself that he wasn’t long for this world and had insisted that all his own plans remained under lock and key in his safe. Not
to be opened until his death. Jack was to be the custodian not just of his legacy with The Court’s operations, but also his departure from the world he had left a huge mark on.

  ‘What about these so-called Iranian sleeper agents? Are we sure they are active?’ Redman asked D.

  The woman from GCHQ chipped in before D could answer. ‘We can’t be fully certain, but we have picked up a considerable amount of traffic and chatter that we think is consistent with such an action. Seems they had a particular modus operandi for putting them into academia and local government, allowing them to sleep but collect intelligence through surveillance and cyber-espionage, spying on our critical sites with relative ease.’

  ‘Absolutely right,’ D chipped in. ‘Similar to the Russian SVR agents, their role is to stay silent but collect vital planning intelligence in the lead-up to a major bout of attack activity. Jointly, we all feel they are in that stage of planning right now – not imminent attacks, but right in the deadly heart of planning them. We desperately need solid intelligence to mount interdiction operations against them.’

  ‘What about the Russians?’ Redman asked nonchalantly.

  D took a long pause and Jack saw he was struggling for breath. He composed himself like any solid professional and took a sip of water. ‘We know they are happy to use the Iranians as proxies to carry out terrorist actions but the one thing they are very careful about is being attributable for any activity, movement of arms or direct support that implicates them easily.’

  Jack looked on acutely aware of how the Russians were playing a shrewd game under Putin’s master hand. He had been incredibly successful in influence-and-disinformation operations across the EU and US, so much so that Putin’s divide-and-conquer methodology was now seeing political affiliations implode and extreme ideologies take over. D went on to explain that, by using the Iranians, the Russians could tactically guide them on how best to defeat the West in hybrid warfare without providing direct weaponry. The Russians were coaching the Iranians to hold the US to ransom in a number of ways, including infiltrating their political system to undermine the hawks and neocons. For years, US hawks had argued that the only effective way to deal with the Iranian nuclear issue was with bombs.