‘I wasn’t.’
‘But, if you were wondering, I do have some family sentiment – and, besides, I wouldn’t have got out of Paraguay alive.’ She smiled. ‘Also, my uncle wouldn’t eat anything unless I tasted first. He made a joke of it, calling me “the Great Khan’s food-taster-in-chief”. In any case, after a couple of days he began to trust me and gave vague hints about what he was up to. He was bragging, trying to impress. He even began to leave his study door unlocked, but not the safe or filing cabinet.’ She reached inside a large leather satchel and handed over a fat envelope. ‘The only documents I could copy were ones left on his desk.’
‘Thanks. But why are you handing these to me?’
‘Ideologically or personally?’
‘Both.’
‘From an ideological point of view, it is a good strategy to have the imperialists fight among themselves. It weakens the forces of oppression.’
‘Personally?’
‘I like living in Britain – and so did Karl Marx. I don’t want to see this country torn apart by mad reactionaries as now seems likely.’
We are an odd lot, thought Catesby. What other country could have produced Magna Carta, the Industrial Revolution, Das Kapital and The Beatles?
Catesby took the documents the woman had given him to his house in Suffolk. He knew they would be much safer there in the previous owner’s ingeniously hidden safe than anywhere in London – including the SIS registry, which gave access to officers with secret agendas. You could trust no one.
Catesby loved the unearthly quiet of rural Suffolk on a calm autumn night. The quiet and darkness – no street lamps for miles – soothed the body and calmed the nerves. But he decided to have one more look at the documents before he put them away. Catesby was impressed. The woman’s uncle may have been a mad follower of Genghis Khan, but he was also a brilliant and thorough accountant. Everything was dated, invoiced and numbered. The ODESSA bureaucracy was as meticulous as it was chilling. As soon as Catesby was finished, he put the papers back in their envelope and carried them to the secret place. He removed the loose block of fifteenth-century oak and opened a panel that was disguised as rough rendering over wattle and daub. The safe was now exposed. Catesby twirled the dial to the combination and the safe door popped open with a welcome hiss. The safe was empty – except for a single piece of paper that read: FUCK YOU CATESBY.
Catesby’s first concern wasn’t for himself, but for the elderly retired colonel from whom he had bought the house. It was only through him that the safecrackers could have found out where to find the safe. Catesby rang the colonel’s number at the house they had bought in Surrey to be nearer their daughter.
‘Hello.’ It was a woman’s voice.
‘Hello, I’m William Catesby – the person who bought Colonel…’
‘I’m his daughter and I’m very pleased that you rang. Have the police been in contact with you?’
‘No, what’s happened?’
‘Two masked men broke into my parents’ house at 4 a.m. this morning.’
‘How are they?’
‘Shaken but unhurt.’
‘Please give them my warmest regards.’
‘They are concerned about you – and wish they had been able to get in contact. But it was difficult when they were tied up.’
‘What did they want – the masked men?’
‘They wanted to know where you live and all about the house. My father refused to tell them until they put a knife to my mother’s throat.’
‘They’re very brave.’
‘I know. They were tied up until I popped in to see them this afternoon – desperate for the loo of course, but also to let you know what happened.’
‘Please thank them.’
There was no quiet for Catesby the rest of the evening. The Suffolk Constabulary turned up and tried to take fingerprints, but there were none. ‘Very professional job, sir.’
Catesby spent a restless night with the woman’s documents under his pillow and his Browning 9mm close at hand.
London: October, 1973
JJ was very proud of the labyrinthine web of trusts, bank accounts and shell companies that he had created. Basically, money laundering is making money that comes from Source A look as if it comes from Sources B, C, D, E, F, G and so on. There are three stages: placement, layering and integration.
Placement is the most difficult stage, particularly if you are dealing with paper currency. A million dollars in US banknotes weighs more than a rugby prop forward, just over eighteen stone. But most of the money that JJ was dealing with was wire-transferred across multiple borders to end up in various shell companies in offshore money havens or European mini-states.
The next stage is layering. This involves converting the shell company deposits into monetary instruments – money orders and bankers’ drafts – that can be used to buy assets that are then resold for totally clean clash.
The final stage is integration. This is re-introducing the cleansed money back into the economy. JJ was doing so through foreign banking systems, like Switzerland’s, with strict privacy laws. The money from various numbered bank accounts then found its way back into the UK via front companies, personal ‘loans’ and donations from both named and anonymous benefactors. The organisations that enjoyed windfalls included right-wing think tanks and magazines, but also anti-Communist guerrilla units.
JJ’s favourite brainchild was CAF, the Combined Action Force. CAF had only been recently formed, but already had more than five thousand members and was rapidly growing. A typical CAF unit leader was a right-wing polo-playing athlete and yachtsman with a private pilot’s licence. CAF units were not just secretly training to fight a guerrilla campaign against what they perceived to be a Communist government, but also how to deal with the effects of major industrial action. CAF envisioned a growing chaos of national strikes that would cripple essential services. CAF volunteers were being trained to run power stations and sewage plants. They were also learning how to drive trains and heavy vehicles. Much of the training took place on country estates – and was ‘great fun’.
It was time for JJ to have fun. Fun for JJ didn’t happen very often, but he was now in the mood. He telephoned the number to make an appointment. It wasn’t a busy night and she was there an hour later with the usual gear. The woman had a lot of strange clients, but JJ was the only one who asked her to dress up in a Soviet Army uniform.
Agency News: 13 December 1973
Heath Announces Stringent Measures to Conserve Electricity
Industrial and commercial users of electricity will be limited to a total of five days’ consumption over the fortnight beginning 17 December and ending 30 December.
Three-Day Week for New Year
From midnight on 31 December, industrial and commercial consumers of power will be limited to three specified consecutive days per week. They also will be prohibited from working longer hours on those three days.
Only services deemed essential – such as hospitals, supermarkets and newspapers – will be exempt. Television companies, however, will be required to cease broadcasting at 10.30 p.m. to conserve electricity.
The government’s immediate objective is to avoid a total shutdown. It is hoped that the reduction in working hours will prolong the life of available fuel stocks and allow business continuity and survival. It is also hoped that the measures will prevent further inflation and a currency crisis.
The restrictions are the result of industrial action by coal miners combined with the effects of the OAPEC oil embargo that began in October. The embargo was imposed as a response to American support for Israel during the Yom Kippur War.
Agency News: 5 January 1974
London Rocked by Bomb Explosions
Two bombs exploded within minutes of each other in central London. The first blast occurred at Madame Tussauds. Over a thousand visitors and staff were inside the building when an anonymous telephone call was received. All were safely evacuated and no one
was injured.
A few moments later, a second bomb exploded during the annual Boat Show at Earls Court. The bomb was hidden inside a £20,000 luxury motor cruiser. Debris was scattered across the exhibition centre damaging other boats. A telephone warning had been given and more than 25,000 Boat Show visitors were evacuated before the blast. There were no injuries.
London has been subjected to a large number of bomb attacks in recent months. During December alone, 73 people were injured in 24 separate attacks involving explosive devices.
Agency News: 9 January 1974
Heathrow Surrounded by Ring of Steel as Army Move to Prevent Terrorist Attack
Troops and tanks have been deployed in and around Heathrow Airport in response to an unspecified terrorist threat. Terrorists are thought to be in possession of Soviet SAM-7 anti-aircraft missiles. The SAM-7 is a compact shoulder-held heat-seeking missile with a range of three miles that can reach a maximum height of 3,000 feet. Troops are sealing off areas around the airport where aircraft pass low as they take off and land.
There are also reports that a number of American-made Redeye missiles have been stolen from a Belgian Army base at Düren near Cologne. The Redeye has similar characteristics and range to the SAM-7. It is thought that the Redeye missiles may now be in the possession of extremist left-wing groups with links to similar groups in the UK.
A Regimental Officers’ Mess: London, 23 January 1974
‘Craggs?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Is the room fully rationed?’
‘Port, brandy, whisky, Madeira, ice and soda siphons, sir.’
‘So you won’t have any reason to be summoned for anything lacking?’
‘No, sir.’
‘And you’ve put it all on my mess bill?’
‘As you requested, sir.’
‘We are not to be disturbed, Craggs.’
‘Understood, sir.’
‘Key?’
Craggs handed the general a large brass key.
The general smiled. ‘I am sure, Craggs, that if anyone tries to come into this room who has not been invited by myself that, if necessary, you will sacrifice your life in denying them access.’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘That was a joke, Craggs. I am grateful for your loyalty, but a loud shout would be sufficient.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
A number of officers were already lounging about the room, which was oak-lined and furnished with leather sofas and armchairs. The general handed a map file to the most junior officer who pinned it to one of two display boards covered in green felt that were mounted on trestles. The general nodded at another junior officer, ‘I would appreciate some Jock juice, Hugo.’ The officer went to the drinks table to fetch the general a whisky. Four more officers entered the room. As the door closed behind them, there was a sudden and awkward hush.
‘I think that’s all of us,’ said the general. ‘Please help yourselves to drinks before we begin.’
The officers milled around the room: some talking in hushed tones; others laughing nervously.
A colonel from a line infantry regiment came up to the general. ‘Another Heathrow?’
‘Maybe more.’
‘I’m telling my chaps to follow the chain of command and do it by the book.’
‘Very good advice,’ said the general with a glint.
‘I don’t want to end up with pineapple chunk all over my best frock.’
‘You should take lessons from the duchess. She swallows it all.’ The general glanced at his watch. ‘I think it’s time to begin.’
The general walked over to the two display boards and stood between them. An uneasy quiet fell on the room.
‘Thank you for coming,’ said the general, ‘I don’t think that I need to tell you that Britain is facing a crisis of national survival – greater than that of 1940. In 1940, our cities were darkened to thwart enemy bombers. Today, our cities have fallen dark because of industrial action. We have been forced to close actories and f schools to conserve fuel stocks. People, wrapped in blankets, work by candle and torchlight. In our homes, mothers boil water to wash. On the days when schools are open, children are sent to school with luminous yellow bands so they can be seen in the gloom. In 1940, we were a united country facing an external enemy. Today, we are a divided nation facing internal enemies that are insidious and who work undercover. We are going to see a lot more terrorism and sabotage – and we must make contingency plans on how to respond to these threats.’
There was a nervous shuffle and a few coughs.
‘I apologise for telling you what you already know.’
A colonel in the front row with a moustache that was a perfect triangle nodded.
‘Let’s get down to practical issues – and one of those issues is the number of troops available. The recent deployment at Heathrow involved a single elite unit of 400 troops mounted on Scorpion tanks and Saracen, Saladin and Ferret armoured cars. In an emergency, we could easily and rapidly muster five additional units of similar size for deployment in and around London.’
The general flicked back the cover of the map file to reveal central London. He pointed to Buckingham Palace. ‘Our first priority is protecting Her Majesty. That is the job of the Foot Guards across the road at Wellington Barracks, who are always in a position to do so – and have light armour backup if necessary. The next priority is protecting the seats of government in and around Whitehall. We are lucky that our key levers of state are concentrated in such a small geographical area. The troops securing Downing Street will also be in position to support those at the Foreign Office, Admiralty and Houses of Parliament.’
The general flipped to another large-scale London map. ‘Our other objective of overriding importance is to secure the BBC. A single battalion of foot supported by a squadron of light armour should be sufficient to deal with Broadcasting House and the World Service at Bush House. In the case of the BBC, it is not just a question of physical security, but also of broadcasting security. The troops deployed at the BBC will need considerable support from technical and media specialists from the Royal Corps of Signals.’ The general paused. ‘I would like to emphasise that what we are discussing are worst-case contingency plans.’
There was an uneasy murmur of approval with solemn nodding.
‘Any questions?’ said the general.
‘Yes.’ The questioner was a sharp-faced commander of an armoured reconnaissance squadron. ‘Napoleon occupied Moscow, but still lost the war – and most of the Grande Armée.’
‘Exactly,’ said the general with a smile. ‘And thank you for pointing that out.’ The general flicked back to the map of Westminster and Whitehall. ‘Having control of central London, regardless of the circumstances, would not solve the problem.’ The general paused. ‘And it doesn’t solve the critical problem we are faced with now.’
‘And it won’t,’ said the line infantry colonel, ‘turn the lights on again.’
‘Precisely.’ The general flipped aside the London map to reveal one that covered the whole of Britain. ‘Those red blotches represent coal-fired power stations. How many do you think there are?’
A captain from the Royal Corps of Engineers answered first, ‘One hundred and seventeen.’
The general smiled and nodded. ‘Pleased to see that someone has done their homework. No prize for guessing that the black blobs represent coalmines – and how many of them do you suppose there are?’
‘Two hundred and fifty.’ The officer who got that question right was a captain in the Intelligence Corps.
‘Righto. What a clever lot you are,’ said the general. ‘As you can see, securing fuel and power for Britain is an enormous problem that cannot be solved by a few London-based battalions who are capable of deploying quickly and secretly. We need to work with county regiments and the local police. Ideally, the Army will provide security to help local constabularies arrest union leaders. In some cases, however, the Army itself will have to inter
n union leaders without help. That will require local intelligence and informants.’ The general paused. ‘And we cannot, unfortunately, rule out the use of violence and deadly force. It is better than letting Britain freeze to death.’
An infantry major with a kind face said, ‘What about deploying soldiers in power stations and mines to do the work themselves? Surely, the Spanner Wankers,’ the captain was referring to the Corps of Engineers by their nickname, ‘would love a bash at running power stations.’
The general shook his head and pointed at the map. ‘There are too many sites. We haven’t got the manpower or sufficient expertise to do it. The only alternative to strike-breaking is recruiting volunteers to take over the power stations and work the mines. There are, I believe, many such action groups springing up over the country. There are tens of thousands of people who will not let this country be held to ransom – and we must work with them. But strike-breaking is still the best option.’ The general nodded at the Intelligence Corps captain. ‘And I believe you have acquired some expertise in this area?’
‘I have,’ said the captain, ‘compiled a list of what we can call, “acceptable union leaders”. This doesn’t mean that they are ideal at this moment, but faced with a winter interment in the Shetlands or a size-ten boot planted firmly on their testicles, they may become more than acceptable.’
‘How are the camps progressing?’ said the general.
‘The larger one at Unst should be ready soon. The one on Muckle Flugga, for the more important internees, is proving something of a challenge.’
‘I believe there are contingency plans to requisition the QE2 as a floating and temporary internment facility,’ said the general.
‘Too good for them,’ growled the triangle-moustached colonel. Like many fighting men, the colonel had an engaging simplicity of mind.
‘It is important,’ said the general, ‘that we use code names when referring to actual military units.’ He revealed a chart on the display board divided into two columns. ‘We’ve opted for champagne brands to identify certain regiments. Mine is the Bollingers; Jumbo’s is the Chandons and Tim’s, the Perignons. We have been probably less kind to our fellow warriors in the provinces. In any case, I’m sure that most of you will know who the Sheep Shaggers refer to as well as the Turnip Tossers. And the Mangelwurzels and the Swede Bashers are also regiments with a proud history.’
A Very British Ending (Catesby Series) Page 27
