LATENT HAZARD: On the Edge

by Piers Venmore-Rowland

  The PM paused and took a sip of water, looked at his watch, and continued. ‘I shall be announcing the details of my Cabinet reshuffle over the next twenty-four hours; this will include the name of the new Home Secretary and the other key ministers of State. I have not asked them yet, as many of them sit on the benches opposite me and today their role is to hold this Government to account. In picking the new members of the Cabinet, I have borne in mind that there is no substitute for real world experience. The pendulum has swung too far. Too many members of the Government have little or no experience outside the political arena. This is unhealthy and undesirable.’

  The camera swung around the House. The brooding menace which had been in the air over the opposition benches had lessened. The inclusive proposals had taken those in the Chamber by surprise – so far so good.

  Golden Sundancer had her fenders out on her port side. With a delicate touch, she was brought alongside the harbour wall about eighty metres across from Puddle Jumper. The captain and Basel were on the flybridge. The muscular frame of Dakka Dudayev, the Stratford terrorist, could be seen standing at the stern. The slight figure of Kim Chindriani, one of the recruiters of the bombers, was at the bow. They threw lines to the two heavies waiting at the edge of the harbour wall. The ropes were passed round heavy metal bollards and back on board. Bow and stern springs were attached and a gangway was put in place.

  ‘That leaves Sergy Kowshaya, the Chechen terrorist, and Alistair Hartnell, Basel’s number two, below deck,’ said Mark over the radio from the shadows of the harbour side. ‘What are the odds that they are suffering from seasickness?’

  As if on cue, two very dishevelled and ashen-looking men stumbled on deck and walked shakily down the gangway to dry land, both dropping to their knees and kissing the ground.

  ‘Excellent, excellent,’ said a voice from the command centre. ‘Kowshaya definitely looks below par.’

  Meanwhile, the retired commander, his wife and two daughters had come out onto the foredeck of Puddle Jumper to watch the arrival of their neighbour. Janet waved to the man standing on the harbour side by the bow of Golden Sundancer. Unnoticed, Clive and Jim slipped over the stern in their grey, lightweight wetsuits, and sleek air tanks strapped to their backs.

  The command centre had briefed the two SBS men. ‘We’ve identified a blind spot, three to four metres from the stern of Golden Sundancer at her waterline, on her starboard side. Suggest you wait there.’

  They slid out of sight below the water, hugged the harbour wall and quietly surfaced at the specified blind spot. They shed their air tanks and flippers, and waited for the signal that the coast was clear and it was safe to climb on board via the swimming platform. Sergy Kowshaya and Alistair Hartnell meanwhile had returned below deck.

  The Prime Minister was now thirty minutes into his speech. He was talking about nuclear power and the importance of the UK being self-sufficient in energy terms. ‘The security of our energy supplies is crucial. In a modern society, energy is a cornerstone on which the foundations of a civilised way of life are built. We have suffered the devastating impact of a nuclear disaster. Maintaining the status quo is no longer an option. In the last Parliament a decision was taken which seemed to be the simplest and most convenient zero carbon option.’ He paused and looked around the House. ‘The go-ahead was given for £50 billion to be spent on a new generation of nuclear power stations for the 2020s. This, in hindsight, was rushed and did not address the scale of the risks involved… With nuclear power there is an infinitesimal probability of things going wrong, but when they do, the hazards are so extreme that they dwarf the benefits. The debate should have focused on how self-sufficiency could have been achieved without nuclear power… As things currently stand, in these times of terrorist threats, nuclear power has become too vulnerable, and too risky. However, it may still have a role to play, but only when the transportation, storage and security risks have been addressed, in a thoroughly uncompromising manner. Then and only then can it be brought back onto the agenda.’

  The PM looked up at the camera. ‘With this in mind, a Ministry for Energy and Scarce Resources will be created. It will be tasked with moving forward energy savings, the development of sustainable and efficient renewable energy technology and the efficient use of this country’s energy resources. It will work with the Treasury and provide the stimuli required to make us use our existing natural resources wisely. The Treasury’s role will be central to our move to energy self-sufficiency and nuclear-free electricity generation. Accordingly, I have commissioned a report from a panel of experts on how Britain can deal with the impending fifty percent energy shortfall. Their detailed findings will be discussed by my new Cabinet, and we shall place our proposals before Parliament at the earliest opportunity.’

  The PM paused, looked down at his watch and continued. ‘In particular, this panel is considering clean coal technology, carbon capture and sequestration techniques. The Victorians recognised the importance of sanitation and built a network of sewers to counter the threats of disease. We now recognise the threat of climate change. With this in mind, the panel is looking at the benefits of building a network of pipelines to collect carbon dioxide from the largest carbon polluters so that it can be stored cost-effectively underground.’ He rearranged his papers, looked at his watch again and continued. ‘British coal is an energy source steeped in political emotions. It transformed our country’s economy during the Industrial Revolution. It is a valuable resource which we have prematurely discarded. The country has a couple of hundred years of retrievable reserves and, unlike oil and gas where exporters act like a cartel, with coal there is a free market with over 100 countries exporting it. Clean coal will play an integral part in our future and our ability to become energy self-sufficient and environmentally responsible…’

  A movement on the main screen caught Rafi’s eye and his attention shifted. The Air Chief Marshal was speaking to the SBS command centre.

  News had just come in from the six SAS soldiers travelling to Safi. Two trucks had collided on the bridge at Azemmour, blocking the road to all traffic. Unexpectedly they were facing a slow 45 km detour via the next bridge upriver at Maachou and were likely to miss the party. Colonel Gray was not pleased.

  The PM had moved on to a new topic. ‘On the Homeland Security front, we must of course ensure that coordinated attacks, as suffered on Friday, never happen again. Over the past few years the security associated with airport travel has been tightened up. However, the security associated with our land borders has been shown to be unfit for purpose. Our immigration rules and methods of identifying who is legitimately in this country and who is here illegally are too lax and seriously wanting. I am not a believer in identity cards nor in Orwellian Big Brotherstyle interference in people’s lives, however, the system must be improved.’

  The PM glanced across to the opposition benches. ‘I will ask the new Home Office minister in charge of Homeland Security to draw up proposals which will provide transparency as to who is in our country. Biometrics will be used for the unique identification of individuals. The software, I am advised, is available to facilitate this. I repeat: this is not the thin end of the wedge for the full-scale issuance of identity cards. One secure biometric database will be created and it will be used to confirm a person’s identity. Name, date of birth, contact address, photograph, fingerprints, iris scan and other such biometric data, as appropriate, will be stored on the database. Biometric information will be gathered at police stations and specialist Homeland Security offices free of charge. Visitors to the UK will be required to provide biometric data at their point of entry.’

  The PM took a sip water. ‘This database will be available online for a restricted number of users, so that they can confirm a person’s identity. However, these users will only be able to confirm that the individual is who they say they are, by checking their biometric details online. We have become accustomed to having our PIN number checked when we withdraw cash from a cashpoint
machine - this will be a broadly similar process. No part, I repeat, no part of the database will be available for downloading. In future, an individual’s biometric information will be checked as part of the process of obtaining a passport or driving licence and verification will be real time, online at an official office. Furthermore, as from 1 September, all new car insurance policies will require named drivers - each of whose identity will need to be verified against the biometric database.’

  ‘Over a relatively short period of time, users of public services such as, for example, the National Health Service, social and local authority services, tax offices and the Electoral Register will be required to be on the biometric database. However, I stress that each database will remain separate. It is fundamental that they do. The State does not wish to invade people’s privacy, but it does need to know the names of the people in our country, have a point of contact for them and know the basis on which they are here. It is currently not possible for the Home Office to give an accurate estimate of the number of people in the UK. Too many people are off the radar screen. The numbers run into hundreds of thousands. This is totally unacceptable. Those who are here illegally or without the appropriate documentation will be identified. There will be duplicates and anomalies, and these will be investigated by the authorities.’

  The PM paused to let what he had just said sink in.

  At the airport, the sheikh was beginning to get annoyed by the delay. He pulled out a wad of banknotes and gave them to one of his bodyguards, with instructions to hurry the mechanic up. Minutes later, as if by magic, the mechanic reappeared carrying an aluminium stepladder on his shoulder and a large toolbox. He set up his ladder and climbed up to the rotary engine, then removed a side panel and looked in. He stood there for a minute, seemingly tinkering around. He closed the panel, gave the pilot the thumbs up and walked slowly back to the buildings.

  The helicopter was ready to get on its way to Safi. The thirtyminute delay was all that had been needed.

  Once again Rafi’s attention shifted to the action at Safi.

  Dakka Dudayev had left Golden Sundancer and was enjoying a cigarette on the quayside. Janet and Anna waved at him and his brief acknowledgement was taken by them as an invitation to go over to him. They hopped off Puddle Jumper and, in a carefree manner, walked around the harbour towards Dakka, with their caftans flowing in the wind. The material was bunched up and tied around their hips, thus obscuring the small pistols that were tucked into their bikini bottoms. Under their hair, out of sight, were miniature headphones, and tiny microphones were hidden in their bikini tops.

  Janet approached Dakka as if he was the first red-blooded male she’d seen for a very long while. Anna stood nearby, looking on shyly. The two women giggled like teenage girls. They looked beautiful, flirty and helpless.

  On Golden Sundancer, the captain and Basel were still on the flybridge. Dakka was on the quayside and this left the three remaining individuals below deck. It would soon be time for Clive and Jim to make their move.

  Over the radio came the voice of Mark, one of the SAS men. ‘The captain is calling up the harbour master about refuelling. There’s no reply. He is sending Sergy to investigate.’

  Sergy hesitantly walked up the gangway, and then off along the harbour side. As he passed Puddle Jumper, he received a friendly ‘Good afternoon’ from the commander’s wife who was sitting in the sun on the aft deck.

  Sergy was about to discover the problem. The harbour master was lying unconscious at his desk - he had received a knock out blow from Colin, the second SAS soldier, who had also bugged the room and placed a small gismo looking like a Coke can in the rubbish bin. It was a radio-controlled device containing some of the strongest knockout gas known.

  Rafi’s attention switched back to the TV. The PM was in his stride. His sound bites were excellent.

  ‘Stratford has shown how a few kilograms of radioactive waste can blight a vast area for millennia. The UK owns tonnes of highly toxic radioactive waste. Post Stratford the threat of being able to disperse radioactivity over an aggressor’s city will be as strong a deterrent as annihilating it with a Trident missile. We can therefore put to one side the next generation of Trident missiles and switch to lower cost, but highly effective dispersal missiles which will make use of our stockpile of radioactive waste. These dispersal missiles will include radioactive isotopes that will glow in the dark, so that there can be no misunderstanding as to where the radioactive fall-out is located. The switch from Trident to dispersal missiles will save tens of billions, and we will channel these massive savings into higher education and academic research. This will counter the underinvestment which higher education has suffered over the past three decades - during this time we have seen the relative rankings of our universities on the global stage slip. Despite this, fourteen of our universities are in the top 100 in the world; twenty-five are in the top 200 and forty-three are in the top 500. These are figures we can be proud of. UK higher education is an area of international excellence. We shall build on this excellence and it will benefit our economy.’

  The PM then paused and again looked at his watch. It was coming up to 14.30 – he and the Chancellor still had a lot more talking to do.

  Kate nudged Rafi and pointed towards the screens and the action taking place at Safi harbour.

  Mark, who had been carefully watching Golden Sundancer, gave the all-clear. Clive and Jim slipped quietly on to the bathing platform. They peeled off their waterproof suits to reveal dry clothes underneath. Silently, they moved forward, their automatic pistols drawn. Basel Talal and the captain were on the flybridge, chatting, whereas Sergy and Dakka were ashore. That left Kim Chindriani and Alistair Hartnell below deck.

  Mark’s monitoring device pinpointed the location of the two people in the cabins. Clive and Jim crept silently through the boat’s main stateroom and proceeded down the stairs to the cabins. They were directed towards the two men on their bunks.

  Forty-five nail-biting seconds later Jim’s voice came over the speaker: ‘Both men are inoperative. They’re gagged and tied up. Please advise when we should expect our next customer.’

  Two terrorists down, six more terrorists and six bodyguards to go, Rafi thought to himself.

  Along the quay, Sergy arrived at the harbour master’s office. He quietly approached the shabby front door, which was closed. His hand was tucked under his loosely fitting shirt. Concealed forty metres away, Colin noted that he was undoubtedly armed. Sergy looked around before he pushed the door open and entered the tired-looking building. He closed it behind him. A torrent of what Rafi could only imagine were Chechen swear words were picked up by the listening device.

  Sergy was obviously far from pleased. He pulled out a small walkie-talkie. The bug picked up his conversation with the captain. ‘The harbour master is pissed out of his mind; sprawled out cold across his desk with an empty bottle of Scotch in his hand. I’ll sober him up and come back to the boat. Out!’

  Colin listened in and pressed the red button on the small grey box in his hand. The knockout gas in what looked like a Coke can was released into the room. Six seconds later there was a resounding thump as the Chechen’s body hit the floor. Colin moved unobtrusively from his hiding place and skirted around the back of the harbour master’s office, out of the line of sight of those on Golden Sundancer. He put on a clear plastic gas mask, pulled out from his back pocket a scrunched-up flannel hat and placed it on his head. He stood there, waiting for the all-clear signal from his colleague who was observing the captain on the flybridge. As Basel Talal turned to descend the stairs to the main deck level, Colin casually walked around to the front of the harbour master’s office, and slipped quietly inside.

  A minute later Sergy was trussed up like a Christmas turkey, as was the harbour master, just in case either woke up, which, given the circumstances, was highly improbable. Both men would be out for at least two hours; far longer if either of them suffered from a weak heart or asthma. Colin radioed
in that the two had been tied up and, on hearing that the coast was still clear, sneaked out of the office, making sure that the door was left slightly ajar to let the fresh air in to disperse the knockout gas. He then walked around the back of the buildings to join Mark who was watching the heavies as they waited for the helicopter.

  As Sergy was being tied up in the harbour master’s office, Clive and Jim received a warning through their ear pieces from Mark that Basel Talal was on his way to his cabin. He was ambushed. Not being trained in unarmed combat, he didn’t stand a chance and didn’t see what was coming. Unconscious and securely trussed up, he was left by Jim in his cabin, propped up in a chair.

  Outside, on the quay, Janet and Anna were doing their best to chat up Dakka.

  He was interested in them, but his training told him that there would be time later. He spotted the captain descending from the flybridge and turned to leave.

  In their earpieces the two women received an order: ‘Slow him down; we don’t want him on board for a couple of minutes. Will advise when it’s safe for him to board.’

  Janet called after Dakka. ‘Before you go, would you by any chance have a bottle of vodka we could borrow? Our parents are so boring; they don’t like people drinking on board. Please, please; we would make it worth your while!’

  Dakka stopped and gave the two attractive women an appraising look. ‘Wait there and I’ll see what I can find.’