by KC McLaren
Egil looked at him saw a worried frown appearing on Carl’s face. They had known each other for years, Carl was one those complete career professionals, ridged in his discipline and never a one to worry or question orders. One thing for sure though, by the morning at this rate, all hell would break out.
“Don’t stop now, Carl. What are you thinking?”
“Forget it, it’s been a long shift. Actually, it’s a double shift now.”
“Come on, spit it out man,” Egil said.
Carl hesitated, “I’ve been in this game a long time. It’s just that, well. Seems the sudden increase in security without an official threat level? It’s more like house arrest than protection.”
“I can assure you,” Egil replied raising an eyebrow questioning Carl’s comments, “I have no ulterior motive than to keep the PM safe. As you know, it’s standard protocol in these circumstances.”
“I’m not talking about the PM, or the Home Secretary. In fact, it was the Home Secretary who issued the orders, secure all cabinet personnel. And issued them direct by-passing my commander.”
“I’m sure he is only doing what he thinks right, as you’ve said, we’ve not had a major threat level for years.”
But yes, very interesting, Egil thought. The Home Secretary has not raised an official threat level, but increased security measures. What is he hiding? The distinct lack of intelligence chatter from MI5 was a worry. OK, Egil convinced himself, it’s half past the midnight hour and no doubt with everything being covered up at the penthouse maybe he was over thinking things. “I’m sorry that you guys are getting over stretched, Carl. To be honest, you’re they only one at this present moment in time I can trust,” Egil replied.
“Thanks, but that does not fill me with confidence, Egil. I understand, but I’m in the dark here. There was a lot more going on in that penthouse room, most of which had little to do with the PM. He had no official reason being.”
“Listen, I will say this much, Carl, and I’m only telling you because we go way back and no doubt will need your help.”
Egil felt hesitant, and though Carl was at the penthouse, he didn’t have all the facts. However, he needed to trust him, or at least test him.
“Go on,” Carl replied, “I’m all ears.”
“Peter Jenkins, Pete? The head of the PM’s security team? He wasn’t following up the stairs to the roof in pursuit. From the PM’s account, he was up to his neck in helping in the escape and part of something much bigger. Something I can’t brief you on right now.”
“Jesus H. Christ, Egil,” Carl replied shocked, “that means he shot his own men, didn’t he?”
Egil studied Carl’s reply carefully watching his facial expressions for any signs of mock surprise. He decided Carl was sincere and not trying to cover for anything. “Carl, listen, I can’t go into details. And you need to make damn sure you and your teams don’t talk about this either.”
“My teams are all handpicked by me, I trust each one of them with my life,” Carl replied.
“Hate to burst your little bubble, mate. The PM trusted Pete Jenkins with his life too.”
Carl had expression of hurt on his face and looked like he wanted to say more. Egil cut him off, “We need to get going, the one person I’ve never been late for is waiting. I will say one thing; my spook bells are ringing like the Notre Dame on a Sunday morning. I may need to call on you at a later time to help, and it won’t be for a beer.” Egil turned and carried on walking to the private entrance.
At the entrance Carl entered a security number on a keypad next to the door. It opened, and they walked up a narrow bear stair to another door. He turned to Egil, “Whatever is going on. I’ll back you and be there when needed, just don’t land me and my men in the tower.”
Chapter 37 | Interview
WITH A BEAMING SMILE, Strickland sat down. “Now, now. Let’s try to remain friendly, Jonathan. When was that last time we met? Let me think,” he looked up towards the ceiling as if calculating the years gone by. “Ah, yes, six years I believe. You’re a hard man to track down.”
“Yes, let’s keep it friendly.” Jonathan replied staring back. He couldn’t help but being mesmerised at the smile on Strickland’s face, such a false charmer. “Friends? Friends don’t go around kidnapping their friends.” Jonathan groaned as his scrambled thoughts worked out the possibilities remembering the last time they both had met. “You are not getting your hands on ThornScope. I’ll see you in hell first.” Jonathan said, regretting the schoolboy outburst.
Strickland crossed one leg over the other and with a soft tone replied, “Oh my, a hero in the making. Jonathan Beckett, a drama queen? A man with such intelligence and yet, so naïve.”
Jonathan felt the urge to lean over and slap the nauseating smile right off Strickland’s face. One he had seen many times before, the vote for me, trust me, I have your best interests at heart sickly political smile.
Strickland continued. “I have to say though you disappearing was a masterstroke. Off the grid, I believe it’s called? It’s taken such a long time to track you down. But all is not lost.”
“What do you want, Strickland?” Jonathan tried to remain calm but the anger rose in him. Their last meeting so many years ago led to him to one simple conclusion. The only course of action to protect ThornScope from Strickland was to disappear.
“Now, that is the million-dollar question,” Strickland replied, “or in my case a few billion. After knowing each other for so long, I thought we would be on first-name terms by now, Jonathan.”
“I repeat. What do you want, Strickland?”
Strickland’s smile seemed to grow from ear to ear. “I think you have a good idea of what I want. But’s it not what you think.” He put a hand on the table and tapped his fingers as if pondering his next words. “Jonathan, my dear friend, stop being so boring. It is, well¬¬¬¬... Rather boring. Let me point out a few things for you if you don’t mind.”
“Yes I do mind. The only thing you need to point out, Strickland, is the door to the exit so I can get out of here.”
Strickland continued to tap his fingers on the table. In the small confines of the room the sound echoed around, the light emphasising the shadows around his fingers making them longer, almost ghost like. Was that a hint of frustration on his face? Jonathan smiled, happy at the thought Strickland was becoming a little ruffled.
“You may not know this, Jonathan, but I have a great deal of respect for you. Without doubt you have saved many lives, protected our country from those that wish to do it harm. However…”
Jonathan cut in, “I don’t give a damn what you think…”
Strickland raised his hand from the desk gesturing to Jonathan to wait his turn before speaking again, “Your naivety has cost many people a lot of money. When you first disappeared, I have to say, I was rather cross with you. ThornScope, such a wonderful untapped resource. And then you, the guardian and protector to the UK’s public and her national interests goes on walkabout.”
Jonathan interrupted again not caring for Strickland’s gestures, “It didn’t take long to realise I needed to protect more than the country. I needed to protect ThornScope from the likes of you and your grand plans for Strickland’s Utopia. I remember our last meeting. At least it was in better surroundings,” he said looking around the bear, empty room. “You’ve come down in the world.”
Strickland, the then UK Prime Minister, had wanted more from the source code. Jonathan believed Strickland wanted total control of ThornScope to manipulate the public. To make them believe they were safe by introducing further security measures. At the same time disguising his real motives – to take away the liberty and freedom ThornScope protected. Strickland wanted every connected device under state control. The result? Turning the UK into the perfect Police State. All in the name of protecting its freedom. After all this time he should have known. He should have known who was behind this totalitarian charade.
Strickland leaned forward, clasping his h
ands together. “Yes, the cabinet office at 10 Downing Street has better surroundings. Again, though, you are naïve. You think I’m evil? You do not understand, Jonathan. Do you think by keeping ThornScope you’ve protected it? In truth, it’s only exasperated the need for others to catch up. I can’t tell you how many billions over the last five years’ others have spent trying to replicate, steal, hack your algorithms. You’ve done a fine job in stopping them, till now. How ironic though, if you had implemented what I asked, it would be nigh on impossible to do what we’ve done today.”
Jonathan raised his eyebrows, how the hell did he know what he had been doing.
“Yes,” Strickland smirked recognising Jonathan’s surprise, “I’m well aware that you’ve still been developing, protecting your source code from afar. How the hell you’ve done this? I have no idea. But it’s true to say, I’m very grateful, as are the unknowing British public, that you have.”
If Strickland only knew the half of it, Jonathan thought. The scary potential of ThornScope and what it could, check that, what it is already evolving into. Should he tell him how ThornScope has started to evolve by itself, how it has started to code parts of its security protocols and source code, autonomously? No, he decided. It would just heighten in Strickland’s mind even more need to be in control. More argument to his cause of protecting the freedom of the public. Much of what Strickland was saying, Jonathan had heard before. It felt as if the last six years had never gone by. Whilst some of what Strickland spoke of made sense, Jonathan knew it was just a political dance to hide his real objectives.
“And what are you going to be, Strickland,” Jonathan said. “The great Lord Protector to save the UK from all the nasty monsters under the bed?”
“Maybe,” Strickland replied, again the self-assured smile spread across his face. “But I don’t think I can be compared to Oliver Cromwell. The truth is incontrovertible, malice may attack it, ignorance may deride it, but there it is...”
Jonathan sighed to himself, “A Churchill quote? He also said a fanatic is one who can’t change his mind and won’t change the subject. And that sums up who you are.”
Strickland smiled, “It’s good to know that you take an interest in history, a history that has dominated the world for many hundreds of years. Don’t you think we should protect that history, Jonathan?”
Jonathan ignored Strickland’s sentiments. “You are a power freak and want more than just to control ThornScope. You want to control the UK. I can see through your charade and game, I bet you even want control of the European Union.”
Another light-bulb went off in Jonathan’s head. Greece. Shit, that’s what he wants. He leaned back in his chair placed both hands on the edge of the table as if to raise.
Chapter 38 | God Father
“MY DEAR BOY,” The Home Secretary said as Egil walked into the office, “it’s about time you came to visit your old godfather.”
Egil laughed, “Bill, it’s only been a few weeks since you had me tramping up and down in a muddy field looking for a bloody pigeon. You swore you bagged it on your last gun shoot – those old dogs of yours should be replaced.”
Very few people were allowed to address the Home Secretary, Sir William Montgomery Edmondson, by his shortened name, Bill. Everyone else addressed him by his government title, Mr Home Secretary.
He walked over to Egil and embraced him. Not an unusual gesture for him to do with his godson but, Egil knew not something his godfather would do in his own office.
“I’m pleased you’ve made it through the day. You are looking well considering,” the Home Secretary said with a warm sincere smile.
“A man hug in your own office? That’s a new one. Anyways, you’ve not brought me here for a social visit, Mr Home Secretary. What’s going on?” Egil asked as they parted from the father-son like embrace.
“You were always a one that liked to get straight to the point.”
“Yes, Sir. You taught me well,” Egil replied smiling.
Sir William Montgomery Edmondson, born in 1958. His father was a prominent early member of the Secret Service Bureau founded in 1909 by Royal Navy Commander Mansfield Cumming and Captain Vernon Kell. After the SSB split into two parts, domestic and foreign intelligence, Kell became the first head of MI5. He and the Home Secretary’s father played a significant lead role in discovering a network of spies working for German Naval Intelligence at the outbreak of war in 1914.
Edmondson, the son, spent the best part of his early life surrounded in secrecy and myth and loved every minute of it. However, it was not until the end of his Cambridge University studies did he fully realise the extent of his father’s involvement in the British Intelligence Service. In those days, secret service meant just that, secret. Hid did have an idea that his father was a spy. The constant subtle suggestions of what to study and who to associate with at university gave it away. Edmondson, although fascinated by all things secret, had more interest in politics.
His father had different ideas on his son’s career path. In his last year at Cambridge, Edmondson was approached and asked to attend an interview under the guise of joining the Conservative party. Joining as a junior assistant to the up and coming Margaret Thatcher office. He soon found out he was being tapped up to join the security services and declined.
In an angry confrontation with his father Edmondson explained the passion he had for politics and his beliefs in a Conservative Government. One which was just about to come to office after the Labour Party’s Winter of Discontent under James Callaghan. He wanted to play a part in history. Help rebuild and reshape the almost bankrupt country under the leadership of the first ever Prime Minister to be female, Margaret Thatcher.
His father was having nothing of it. The words for ever imprinted on the boy’s mind.
“We are always very political, but we don’t serve politics. We are tasked with the protection of our great nation from both friend and foe, even at times to protect it from our political masters. Politicians and governments come and go, the service remains constant. And it’s the intelligence services that will help rebuild our country, not the politicians that only serve their own interests. It’s the service where you will be more of use, not in the back corridors of Whitehall.”
The son realised there would be no further debate on the subject.
Edmondson knew his father was wrong, times were changing, The Empire gone. It would be the great leaders of our day that would rebuild Britain. Reluctantly and without little choice he joined MI5.
He often described his first six months boring, routine and subject to taunts from his colleagues as daddy’s little boy. Far from the truth, he had to remind himself. Thankfully, this changed once he established himself as an exceptional intelligence officer. Soon promotions came resulting him heading up and managing intelligence operations against the IRA liaising with the British Army and the RUC, the Royal Ulster Constabulary.
Whilst there was an empty part in his life that created resentment towards his father, he started to enjoy the work. He was paramount in devising and shaping policy in counter terrorism and became a master of turning would be informers into double agents against the IRA. Some of whom were placed high up in the organisation’s structure.
He also became a master in the art of dirty war fighting, creating policy with plausible deniable accountability that took MI5 over the bounds of legal due process. He encouraged and advised the RUC to implement, recruit and train double agents to work inside the paramilitary groups. They passed on information to Protestant paramilitary death squads which in turn carried out what were, in effect, proxy assassinations of Catholics.
Edmondson also saw the first writings on the long term wall. The whispers of collusion with Protestant paramilitaries started to surface around the political corridors of Whitehall. And with the agreement of the then Director General of MI5, he created a plan to distance the services from any wrong doing.
By now, with the knowledge and successes of infiltrating the
IRA at every level, senior management in MI5 started to tout him as being the next Director General. To further distance him from any connection to policy he had advocated and made concerning The Troubles, it was decided to pull him out of all operations in the Provence. He was placed on assignment with MI5s sister organisation, the Secret Intelligence Service, commonly known as MI6. The current Director General of MI5 had a year left.
Edmondson spent the year in Berlin assessing USSR political capabilities. Before leaving he visited his ailing father, now in his nineties. He remembered it as the only real father-son loving conversation they had. “I’m very proud of what you’ve achieved, William. I knew you were special,” his father said
“I would have been special in politics too, father,” the son replied with a hint of regret in his voice.
“Don’t think badly of me my son. Within a year you will be Director General of MI5. I expect you will do great things others, including myself, could have only dreamed of.” The son saw for the very first time in the father’s eyes, a real love and sense of achievement for his son. “Do your time there and study the politicians. Then you will be ready for politics. You’ll be more than a politician, go way beyond that of Prime Minister, you’ll help steer our great country on the next major change in its history.”
It was the last conversation they had together and Edmondson couldn’t help feeling his life had been mapped out by his father well before he was born.
Berlin was also the place Edmondson met his future wife, Pauline. Bond with Boobies as he liked to call her, which always ended up with a playful punch to the shoulder.
The Home Secretary looked at Egil and said, “Come, come sit down. I presume by now you know a lot more about ThornScope and this underground group the PM has been on about?”
“Yes. We all know about ThornScope. Well not as much I should, and certainly I have to admit, I’m in the dark about a lot of things,” Egil replied.
