‘Yes, that’s true, and that’s partly why they were less troubled by the police than they might have been. Japanese society is hierarchical, and those leaders seemed so able. Almost looking down on the police after attending top universities.’
Jim explained to Holt that the Japanese system was special in that the ordinary people were very honest, but at the higher levels it was jobs for the boys, and how there was one corrupting tradition called ama-kudari (‘coming down from heaven’), whereby senior government officials supervising industries are given plum jobs in those very same industries on retirement. This means they do not supervise those industries properly while in office. For example, not one of the ex-government officials responsible for the bad supervision of the nuclear power industry has been punished – they are still at their posts, in the ama-kudari tradition, in the electric power industry.
They went on to talk about possible terrorist scenarios, and it was not until dinner that talk turned to what was happening in England. Would Jim like to return? Not really. He had spent most of his life in Japan; besides, his wife was happier there.
‘I was quite surprised,’ said Jim, ‘at how much England has changed with it becoming multicultural. America is changing too, and the Latinos will before long predominate in the electorate. Interestingly, here in the Far East immigration is limited, with countries trying to restrict it to talented people who will contribute to society. This is particularly true of Australia and Singapore. In the case of Singapore, the government unsuccessfully tried to bring in measures to persuade the more educated women to have more children.’
‘What about Japan?’
‘Same again. Here the problem is too many old people, but at least they do not have the benefits-dependency culture like the UK. Japan is one of the few advanced countries maintaining its identity. Immigration is very limited, but that raises problems, as there are not enough people for certain jobs. For instance, there is a shortage of pilots for the LCCs, the low-cost carriers that are spreading their wings. A lot of famous Japanese products are now produced largely in China.’
The conversation turned to other topics as they enjoyed their drinks in the warmth of the evening.
The next day, Jim and Midori took the two of them and Sachiko by car to Odawara Station to catch the bullet train to Kyoto. They would see something of the traditional Japan, and Celia would be able to do some shopping with Sachiko before their return to the UK.
Holt would be able to tell Sir Charles that the lessons learnt in Japan should serve him in good stead, but that the different environment meant that the incidents could not be exactly replicated in the UK.
Returning to London was something of a letdown after the novelty and excitement of the overseas trip. Japan, with ‘terrorist’ scenarios ranging from the absurdly simple and relatively innocuous to the deadly nerve gas attack on the Tokyo Metro, had really stimulated Holt’s imagination. In Holt’s view, none apart from the nerve gas attack – and that was already being covered by another department – were dramatic or novel enough to be worth discussing in detail with Sir Charles.
Holt sat at his desk at Farringdon thinking. His only conclusion was that his office needed a comfortable couch from which he could watch videos on his superb graphic designer monitor.
He missed Celia’s constant presence at his side, though they did occasionally manage to arrange to be in the cafeteria at the same time. She had been allotted other work, often accompanying officials to meetings, ostensibly to take notes but more likely because the VIPs found her presence as congenial as he had. Of course, she would be keeping an eye on them and at the same time gaining intelligence on the people in the circles in which they moved.
Holt knew he could ask that she be assigned to accompany him as cover for taking photos but did not want to make his male colleagues jealous. The Japan trip had already raised far too many eyebrows, with smirking colleagues asking him whether he had had a good time.
Chapter 11
VIP for Half a Day
Luckily, the annual antiterrorist exercise in Scotland was coming up, and because of her work with him, Celia would be joining the party. The idea was that people from various sections of the government antiterrorist apparatus would network and, perhaps more importantly, suggest ways terrorists might perpetrate their attacks.
One problem with this concept, and especially from Holt’s point of view, was that the bad guys might have a mole there picking up ideas. On the other hand, the powers-that-be thought that if al-Qaeda knew ‘we knew they knew’, they might not use a tactic suggested on the course.
Another problem was that the various government units, including Giraffe, were competing and keeping the best (or worst) ideas close to their chests so they could, in the event of such ideas materializing, show how well they were prepared.
The relatively junior people, like Holt and Celia, slept in huts, with the sexes of course separated. Celia had to share a hut with other young ladies and not-so-young ladies, since seniority was a question of rank rather than age with the older ones, apart from the lesbians, miffed at having to share with the mostly more attractive younger ones.
Running from Monday to Friday, and the first and last days taken up mainly by travelling and checking in and checking out, it was essentially only a three-day course. Most attendees regarded it as a holiday and a nice break from spouses or partners. The highlight was the formal dinner on the Thursday night, with a speech from the camp commandant, followed by dancing and much drinking.
Worried that Celia might latch on to someone new there, Holt reminded her how important it was to keep one’s distance from other attendees, as some would certainly be handsome plants to sniff out anyone with too loose a tongue.
The Tuesday was spent attending replays, using models, of various incidents that were well-known and less well-known, including the Mumbai attack, where the terrorists arrived by water. The Wednesday consisted of representations and demonstrations of techniques terrorists might use, which was rather disappointing for the reasons already mentioned.
For his part, Holt threw in the idea that in parallel with an attack on London, terrorists could publicize a lecture with refreshments at the lecture hall on Parliament Square so that people wearing the burqa could discuss their problems. The police would not know what to do when confronted by hordes of women who might be men descending on central London. The idea served to raise Holt’s profile but did not get much traction, as it was politically incorrect.
The evenings were rather more interesting, as they gave some opportunity for networking and allowed Holt to spend some time with Celia without raising the eyebrows of colleagues, though Peter always made his presence felt and joined them for dinner on the first night.
With only one full day to go and the party in the evening to look forward to, Holt was still asleep at six thirty on the Thursday morning when someone grabbed his shoulder and started shaking him.
‘Mr [Ma38] Holt, wake up! You’re wanted in the commandant’s office ASAP. No need to shave or dress. Come in your dressing gown. The commandant is wearing his. I’ll be waiting outside in the Land Rover.’
Holt sat on the side of the bed to gather his wits before going off to have a pee and splash some water on his face to wake himself up properly.
The commandant had obviously also been dragged out of bed, for unusually for him, he looked somewhat bedraggled. He did not waste any time.
‘You’re to go back to London immediately. Sir Charles wants to see you ASAP.’
‘Have you any idea as to why?’
‘No. All I know is that a special aircraft from RAF Northolt is on its way to pick you up. Must be something big. I suggest you grab a coffee and something to eat from the cooks. One never knows what they have onboard these special flights. There won’t be anyone, and certainly not beautiful hostesses serving you champagne, that’s for sure.’
‘Anyway, good luck. Hope I will see you again. You were one of the more interesting
characters.’
The ‘hope I will see you again’ was beginning to grate. It was if he were a member of SOE going to be dropped over occupied France in World War II.
‘By the way,’ said Holt as he stood up, ‘I travelled up with a female colleague who partners me on some missions. She’ll be wondering what happened to me. Could you give her a message? Just say I’ve had to go back to the office as something urgent came up – that is to say, reassure her that nothing terrible has happened. That no one has died.’
‘It would be a pleasure. What’s her name?’
‘Celia Jones. She’s Welsh.’
‘I remember Celia. Quite a striking young filly, if I might say so.’
Thinking that well he might, Holt took his leave of the commandant and after a quick shower and shave went to get that coffee and a bite to eat.
Once Holt was onboard, the copilot, a flight lieutenant, pulled up the stairs and closed the cabin door. Without further ado, and with only Holt as payload, the twinjet lifted off easily from the camp’s World War II runway and proceeded southwards.
When the aircraft came to a halt in front of the airport buildings at London’s Northolt, the same flight lieutenant came back to open the door and lower the steps.
‘Hope you had a good flight. I came back mid-flight to see how you were and have a powwow, but you were sleeping.’
‘Thanks,’ replied Holt, glad to have been asleep and not obliged to fend off questions.
With that, he clambered down the steps, at the foot of which were three very senior RAF officers waiting in line to salute him in the belief he must be extremely important. He not only had had a special flight for just himself, but also had a high-powered car with a motorcycle escort waiting to pick him up.
Caught unawares, Holt played out a scene similar to ones he had seen in films involving snobbish British officers and simply said, ‘Um, carry on men’ as he passed by them on his way to the sleek official car.
Left nonplussed and thinking that even Her Majesty the Queen would have deigned to acknowledge their presence with a few sympathetic empty words, the officers wondered who he might be. Would they one day be able to boast to their wives that they had met him?
Chapter 12
Mission Creep or Leap?
With the police motorcyclist clearing the way, the official car whisked Holt up to London’s West End and, to avoid drawing attention, dropped him off as usual at the Reiss fashion store in Vigo Street, just at the top of Sackville Street.
He was thankful for the commandant’s advice that he grab some breakfast. Even so, he was getting peckish, and in view of his sudden feeling of importance even felt emboldened to acquaint Cut-Glass of the fact. To his surprise and concern, she demonstrated none of her former disdain.
‘Yes, Jeremy, I’d gladly go over the road and get you something. Anything you like.’
She had become protective, even motherly, showing the generous inner being Sir Charles had mentioned as being under that haughty exterior. But did her radical change of demeanour result from his having been chosen for some suicide mission? A jet down to London just for him, followed by an official car with a motorcycle escort clearing the way, as if he were a cabinet minister, and now respect from Cut-Glass herself. She surely knew something.
‘Jeremy,’ said Sir Charles, looking less self-assured than usual. ‘Sorry to have dragged you out of bed at such an ungodly hour. However, this is a matter of the utmost urgency.’
‘Sir Charles, it was quite something having those senior officers with all their stripes saluting me at Northolt as if I were James Bond. The only thing missing was 007’s naval commander’s uniform. I hope I am not being sent into the lion’s mouth. I may not be as lucky as he would be.’
‘I am afraid, Jeremy, the lion’s mouth may not be so wide of the mark. What we have in mind for you could be dangerous, very dangerous. On the other hand, it could prove very pleasurable, if you are up to it.’
The pause before Sir Charles continued made Holt even more apprehensive.
‘To cut to the chase, while you were in Japan another specialist section somewhat similar to ours came to us asking if we had someone on our staff or files with a particular profile that happened to be precisely yours. Not knowing what it was about, we admitted we did.’
‘You mean, they wanted someone with exactly the profile I had to have to join Giraffe?’
‘Precisely. They said it was highly unlikely anything would ever come of it, but a suspected terrorist organization was looking for someone with that profile, and they thought they might be able to infiltrate them via such an individual. As you were away in Japan and it was too delicate and complicated to discuss other than face to face, we somewhat reluctantly submitted an application in your name.’
‘That’s a bit much.’
‘I know, but the fact of the matter was that we did not think they would be interested in you, as you would only be one of a large number of potential applicants, some, such as ex-IRA elements, with much more proven credentials in the field. Indeed, when there was no response we thought it really had come to nothing, and as the department concerned had insisted on absolute secrecy I did not mention it to you on your return.’
‘That makes sense.’
‘The trouble is, a couple of days ago, while you were playing tiddlywinks up in Scotland, we received a positive reply to your application, with a rendezvous fixed for tomorrow afternoon in Birmingham – hence the rush. We did not give your home address or details of where you work or worked, so they cannot be following you as yet.’
‘That’s something. But if they are still seeking experts like me, any action must be a long way off.’
‘That’s what we all thought, but SIGINT – that’s GCHQ – has just found a tenuous link between people possibly related to them – they call themselves The Owl, by the way – and speculation in the money markets. Such concerted betting against the pound sterling suggests that some dramatic event is imminent.’
‘What can I do? If what you say is true, there would no time for me to find out anything useful.’
‘I know it’s a long shot, but it’s the only shot we have. Besides, information you might glean undercover could prove useful even after the event, whatever that might turn out to be. Their looking for someone talented like you suggests that whatever they are contemplating for now will only be an appetizer.’
‘Which means?’
‘You might have to remain undercover for some time, but hopefully not too many years. Anyway, we want you to go up to Birmingham and try and get accepted, and play it by ear. There will surely be a proving period before they accept you – that is, if they ever do. If you feel it is getting too hot for comfort, you can always tell them you have lost interest and pull out. Of course, you will have to do that before you learn any of their secrets, in which case there is no knowing what your fate might be. I am sorry to have to put it to you so bluntly but feel it only fair to be frank.’
‘It would be just like when I applied to join you, except that you would have only used the Official Secrets Act to ensure I kept my mouth shut. They would surely have more definitive ways.’
He was seamlessly moving into the real cloak-and-dagger world without any special training or preparation. It was all moving too fast.
‘I’m not sure I am cut out for that type of thing. I’m no James Bond.’
‘That’s what makes you so credible. That’s your USP.’
‘I’ve heard of mission creep; this is mission leap. Not at all what I signed up for, though of course I want to do my bit.’
‘I think you should have a look at the questionnaire we completed online in your name, which is Jeremy Benet, by the way. You will be glad to know you offered your services as a technician, not a suicide bomber.’
‘Nice of you!’
‘Not necessarily. The reward for being a suicide bomber was pretty juicy – seventy-two virgins in heaven. Sorry to joke over something as serious as
this, but you see we had to select a reward with sexual facets for you. After some discussion, we put you down for a trophy wife. Even Sandra thought that would be fitting. “Not bad going,” she said, “for a young man like you needing experience”.’
From the reference to his needing more experience, Holt surmised Cut-Glass had also read the transcript of his exploratory interview with the major.
‘Run your eyes over it, Jeremy. Come back and tell me what you think. Whether you might see your way to helping us out. You could save very many lives. And remember, you can always pull out – well, at least initially.’
The old story – saving lives! Funny how the people telling you that never risked their own, except perhaps in the case of the major, who might well have done so while on active service.
Holt went back to the room where he had waited before. The downloaded application form that they had filled in on his behalf had no indication regarding the nature of what he was applying for – rather like the situation when he completed the application to join Giraffe, already a year before.
At least they had not portrayed him as some kind of messianic madman willing to sacrifice his life for the cause, and had presented him very much as he had presented himself to them. There was none of the chip-on-the-shoulder stuff, and perhaps that was his appeal.
Whoever had filled in his application had done a perfect job; not that it would have been so difficult with his application to join the service to hand. He could not really quibble.
Only when he reached the Rewards Menu on the last page did he understand Sir Charles’s reference to virgins in heaven, which was one of the ‘dishes’ on offer. One could choose only one dish, be it a seemingly light hors d’oeuvres or a more substantial main course. One’s options depended not only on one’s role but also on one’s age, and even being already in heaven.
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