Their Own Game

by Duncan James

  ***

  It was two hours later that Colonel Philip Dangerfield, Head of Intelligence at Headquarters Northern Ireland, stuck his head round the door of Bill Clayton’s office.

  “The GOC wants to see us both - now!” he said. “Any clue what this might be about?”

  “Yes,” said Clayton, as he followed Dangerfield towards the stairs.

  Dangerfield paused, expecting more, but then took the stairs two at a time, remembering who he was with. He’d have to wait for an explanation from the General rather than from Clayton. He didn’t have to wait long.

  The General had received a secure phone call direct from the Chief of the General Staff, an almost unique event in itself. He, in turn, had received orders from the Chief of Defence Staff, who had himself been briefed personally by the Prime Minister. The General passed on to the two men what he had been told about the objects of the exercise, and how they were to be achieved. The upshot of it all was that Major Bill Clayton was to be given almost carte blanche to do as he thought best, and the maximum possible co-operation to help him do it. And as that order effectively came from the Prime Minister, that’s all there was to it.

  “We have at least,” said the General, “been told what this is all about, and what it is that the Government hopes to achieve. Sounds bloody dodgy to me, I must say, although I’m quite sure it can be done, given that the political will is there. There is apparently a second phase to this operation, involving a proposed political solution, and I may, repeat ‘may’, be briefed about that later. I suppose that depends on whether or not the politicians think they can do that part on their own, or whether they think they will need our help for that too. But I suspect we shall be left to get on with the shitty end of the plan, and they will bask in the political glory of it all when we’ve succeeded. But that’s just me being jaundiced again, I suppose.”

  The General was well known for his jaundiced view of politicians, so neither man responded.

  “Is there anything more you can tell me about this, Major?” asked the GOC.

  “No, sir, not really,” he replied. “Minister James Anchor will, I believe, be involved in the detail of the political planning after our part of the operation, providing we are successful. I was asked to get involved because it was believed that I had the kind of detailed information that was needed for a large part of the first phase.”

  “I gather you’ve already had meetings with the Prime Minister,” said the General rather peevishly.

  “Yes sir. A couple,” replied Clayton.

  “I had no idea,” said Dangerfield to the General, in an effort to protect his own back.

  “I was told not to say that I'd been summoned to the presence,” explained Clayton helpfully. “I couldn’t at that stage have given a reason, so it was best that I kept quiet.”

  “Quite right, really,” agreed the General. “By the way, the people at Hereford have already been briefed, and at my request, they are detaching an SAS Lieutenant to work with you as their liaison officer, Bill. He should be with you tomorrow.”

  “That’s good news, and very helpful, sir. Thank you.” Not such a bad General after all, thought Bill Clayton.

  “Oh, and one other thing,” said the General. “I’m to tell you that, from now on, we are all only to brief upwards. See me first if you ever feel the need to do otherwise.”

  As the two men took their leave, Col. Dangerfield turned to the General.

  “Does this have a code word, by the way?” he asked.

  “Not only that,” replied the General, “but extra special secure communications are being set up for its exclusive use. And I must emphasise again the need for the utmost security. There’ll be all hell to pay if the wheel comes off this one. It’s Op. Honolulu, by the way, but God knows why.”

  Clayton knew, but, as always, wasn’t about to say.

  There was a note on his desk when he returned to his office, from Captain Foley, who had already gone to the Mess for supper. The note outlined the history of the four handguns he had ‘borrowed’ from the Police, and which were now secured in the armoury with captured ammunition as requested. The armoury was under strict orders not to release the weapons to anyone except Foley or Clayton, which was good thinking and typical Brian Foley, thought Clayton.

  Having read the note, Bill Clayton strolled to the Registry, where he knew Catherine Wilson was still working.

  “Shove this in the safe for me please, Sergeant,” asked Clayton. “How are you getting on with those dossiers, by the way?”

  “Not bad, sir,” she replied. “I spent most of today at Police Headquarters, and there’s a bit more work to do on some of them tomorrow. But the copies should all be ready for you by lunchtime.”

  “Excellent,” said Clayton. “In that case I think I’ll take them to London on the twelve o’clock shuttle. I'll stroll across to the transport office on my way to the Mess.”

  The hapless Corporal Harrington was on duty again.