by Vince Cable
‘Colleagues, I have very good answers to these charges. They are ridiculous. But I want to know what is the constitutional basis for this meeting; that it is properly constituted.’ Harking and Daniels protested vehemently and Steve stood up, preparing to walk out.
This intervention gave John Gray the opportunity to pour oil on troubled waters.
He intercepted Steve on his way to the door and put his hand on his shoulder. ‘Steve, calm down. We are not accusing you of anything. We all value your political and union work. We just want you to know that some of our colleagues are concerned. This town has enough problems without divisions in our own ranks. You are a good colleague, Steve. You have done excellent work for the Movement. Let us forget this meeting happened. Just take on board the worries of your colleagues.’
Despite the reprieve, Steve felt angry at the pettiness and spitefulness of colleagues with whom he had worked together to run the town for the last few years. He reflected that his effortless rise had so far shielded him from some of the uglier realities of Labour politics.
Preoccupied by these thoughts, he failed to notice a half-familiar figure loitering at the entrance as he left the town hall. But the man was determined to see him and followed. Steve initially panicked as he thought he was being tailed but then was able to put a name to the face: Mehmet, the night watchman. He paused and Mehmet asked if they could go somewhere private for a conversation. Steve was reluctant; life was already complicated enough. But there was a hint of desperation in the man’s eyes. They found a coffee bar nearby.
‘It is union business,’ Mehmet started.
‘I haven’t anything to add to what I said about redundancies at the branch meeting. Sorry. Nothing I can do about that.’
‘It isn’t about that. I have been dismissed. I am not entitled to anything. I am an asylum seeker. I was sacked for misconduct. They said I was asleep on duty. Lies. The reason is that I know bad things are happening at the factory.’
‘You know about “unfair dismissal”?’
‘Yes, but I don’t qualify. Not working here long enough. I came to you because you are a fair man. And you fight for the workers. Maybe you can’t help me, but you must know about the bad people there.’ The man was patently sincere and in distress.
Steve was now sufficiently engaged to let Mehmet tell his story, from the university classrooms of Asmara, to the battlefields on the border of Eritrea, the nightmare journey across Sudan and Libya, the terrifying experience under a lorry crossing the Channel, months in crowded bedsits around London, scraps of jobs, mostly illegal, and now – after his papers came through – permission to work and this job on an industrial estate. He was not stupid, he insisted. He knew when things were not right. His reports on night-time visitors in the factory: ignored. And then early one morning observing the head of security clearly up to no good. Shortly afterwards he was dismissed and told that he would be well advised to disappear quietly. Any stories he told would not be believed and the company had influential contacts in the government who would ensure that he was returned to Eritrea. But rather than disappear, he wanted someone to know.
Steve wasn’t sure how all this fitted into the bigger picture but there was enough to demand a proper investigation. So he rang Calum with the intelligence he had gleaned. And he remembered that he was still carrying the card of the man from MI5 – Liam – and called him too.
The following day Steve had a call from his boss. Calum and Liam had confronted the company’s head of security, Justin Starling, that morning. Calum had already started to have doubts about Starling’s competence and had remembered the holes in his CV, which he had overlooked on the basis of the Red Admiral’s character reference. The intelligence from Mehmet confirmed existing suspicions that not only was he not doing his job very well, he was actively working against the company and, perhaps, the country. A threat of criminal sanctions and the Official Secrets Act persuaded him to come clean about his activities on the basis that charges would not be pressed.
Sometime ago Starling had been approached by a US company called Global Analysis and Research that was stalking Pulsar and wanted, in due course, to make a takeover bid. In the meantime, he was to pass whatever confidential information he could gather about Pulsar’s intellectual property. And to help soften up the company for a cheap takeover, he was to help destabilise it. For that reason, he had passed on in advance all the details of the Minister’s visit to the anti-arms trade group and the Islamic militants. He had the run of the place at night with access to a full set of security codes, and a large, if unquantifiable, amount of Pulsar’s proprietary anti-missile technology was now in the hands of a rival company in Louisiana. That company happened to be the same large minority shareholder that Calum had, belatedly, realised had Pulsar in its sights for an aggressive takeover.
It had been difficult to establish Starling’s motives beyond a generous enhancement of his package if the takeover materialised. Eventually, cross-questioning established that Starling had a guilty secret. Some years ago he had been suspected of, and charged with, indecent behaviour with children. But the evidence had been inconclusive and the case had been dropped. He had no criminal record but Global had obtained information that had eluded Calum’s checks. They could control him. All it had required was a glowing reference from the Red Admiral to get him installed at Pulsar.
British intelligence had no great interest in pursuing the matter further. The damage was primarily in the form of intellectual property theft from Pulsar, a private enterprise. And an American company with apparently close links to the Pentagon could hardly be treated as if it were Chinese or Russian. If Calum wanted to take action it was up to him. He did want to take action but the lawyers would move slowly, at best, and, in the meantime his company faced an existential threat from Global’s expanding shareholding. He needed political support, soon.
Steve was the first call he made, lifting the suspension with immediate effect. Calum had a guilty conscience, in any event, that Steve had taken the rap for the demonstration and had a reputation to rebuild. When the problem was explained, Steve immediately saw both the threat and the opportunity and started making calls to his high-placed Labour and union contacts and journalists to whom he had fed good material in the past. Shaida was involved in the discussions and given the job of trawling the internet for references to Global and its finances. This was a covert operation she was altogether more comfortable with than snooping for Liam.
What she found was not reassuring. The company was founded and chaired by a somewhat reclusive American called Aaron Le Fevre. He had been a very senior if somewhat murky figure in the Pentagon with Donald Rumsfeld and then on the staff of Vice-President Cheney. Shortly after 9/11 he left government to establish Global, which had expanded rapidly on the back of Defense Department orders. As Shaida dug through the press references she picked up a couple of articles based on blogs from a – now deceased – investigative journalist in Seattle, Lee Wright. Wright worried about Global’s rapid expansion, taken in conjunction with Le Fevre’s political history. He spoke to the CEOs of a couple of companies Global had taken over and, while the two businessmen were reluctant to talk, they said enough to leave the strong impression that dirty tricks were involved. Global seemed less interested in the health of the companies it was taking over than in getting its hands on their proprietary technology. In each case, the companies specialised in anti-missile defence, or missile technology more generally. Wright died shortly after in an unexplained shooting incident. Then Shaida found the link to the company in Northern Ireland making advanced communications equipment, and which Global took over and turned around.
She was also able to piece together a consistent pattern from an analysis of share prices and company valuations. All of the companies taken over had experienced a major crisis leading to a sharp drop in their share price. At that point Global stepped in to ‘rescue’ them: a white knight for companies in distress. Data on Global itself was patc
hy but it showed prodigious growth and profits. Global was not yet in the Premier League with the likes of Lockheed Martin but it soon would be. More detail, however, proved hard to find. The full company accounts could not be traced any further as they were lodged in various offshore holding companies based in the Cayman Islands.
The name Aaron Le Fevre also cropped up in a different context, as a member of a group of US businessmen, security insiders and Republican congressmen called the Crusader Knights who were preoccupied with confronting the threat of militant Islam in all its forms. In a speech reported in a newspaper in Le Fevre’s native Louisiana, he had advocated an ‘alliance of civilisations’: the Christian West and Russia, Israel and Hindu India, with Islam the common enemy. This kind of talk had gone down well with the Trump people, and press cuttings showed him at various Trump Tower events.
Islamic radicals were also the subject of conversation at the finance department’s coffee machine where Steve was waiting to discuss his next rendezvous at the mosque. When Shaida arrived she anticipated the question.
‘Your heroics won’t be needed after all,’ she explained. ‘Apparently there was a police raid last night in the town. Some jihadists were caught. And lots of incriminating stuff: an arsenal, in fact. Guns. Explosives. It appears, however, that the main target, Tariq Ahmed, got away. Some of this was on local radio – you must have missed it – and Mo had picked up the news on social media. His reaction worried me – he was overjoyed that Tariq Ahmed had escaped.’
Shaida hesitated, not sure how much of what she had already shared with Liam as informant she could now share with her friend.
‘I haven’t discussed these things much with you recently, Steve. But Mo has become incredibly difficult to talk to. Secretive. He’s started locking himself in his bedroom and goodness knows what he’s doing and looking at on his computer. On the odd occasions he communicates at meal times he starts ranting about how the British are to blame for all the violence in the subcontinent: the history of divide-and-rule, Partition, all that. Now the British are to blame for supporting India and not understanding the suffering of our people in Kashmir. My mum and dad and I are “deluded”. Coconuts he calls us: brown on the outside, white on the inside.’
Back in Mumbai, the Parrikars were also anxious, waiting for the next blow to land. They experienced several days of bad publicity after the pollution spillage from their chemicals plant came to light. Another example of the company’s ‘irresponsible capitalism’. There would be one official enquiry by the Environment Agency and another by the state government. Villagers were being mobilised by people who claimed to be environmental NGOs to demand compensation. There would be big fines. A speech Deepak had made recently on the ‘Greening of the Planet’ had become the subject of newspaper cartoons and a source of ridicule among the English-speaking intellectuals.
And then one of Parrikar Senior’s most loyal project managers had received threats similar to those made to Patel. He was speedily given leave of absence to head off a similar fate. Disruption of the defence contract was, for the moment, forgotten.
The telephone rang in Parrikar Senior’s downtown office. His PA came through to tell him that there was an urgent call from the Prime Minister’s office in Delhi: Santosh Joshi, the PM’s private secretary. ‘Highly, highly confidential, Sahib, I will connect you.’
‘Joshi here. The Prime Minister has asked me to speak to you on a serious matter.’
‘Of course. It is an honour.’
‘Let me get to the point. The PM is concerned about the defence contract. There are serious problems in London, and America – they are saying the contract may be delayed, even stopped. It would be a disaster if that happens.’
‘But you stopped this plot. Clever operation.’
‘No thanks to sloppy security in your son’s plant. And your family is a big part of the problem. Your dirty business has alarmed the Americans and your son isn’t satisfied with our local prostitutes; he has to show off this English woman in front of the cameras. It’s created a scandal in the UK.’
‘Sahib, we only want to do good for India. We will do what is needed.’
‘You will need to put in more cash. The Avionics plant must be fully tooled up and ready to start work once the contract is sorted out.’
‘That is difficult. There’s no other work for the factory at present. Banks will not lend without the contract being agreed.’
‘That is your problem, Mr Parrikar. Your Mumbai businesses have plenty of cash. The Revenue Department tells me that they are thinking about investigating your tax affairs. If you don’t want them on your back, you had better cooperate.
‘We also want to sort out your son’s amateurish operation. We could nationalise Parrikar Avionics but we don’t operate that way. We are pro-business, not like Congress and their Communist friends. So, we will work with you to strengthen the executive team. We have someone in mind. You may know of Sanjivi Desai, a highly talented engineer who now advises the PM on national security issues. He is also well connected and respected in the US, so he ticks a lot of boxes. He will be parachuted in to give your son advice.’
‘We will discuss this.’
‘No, you will do it. The Prime Minister wants it. He also thanks you for your help with the last election – your donation was well received. He doesn’t want to lose the respect he has for you.’
‘Yes, Sahib.’
Desai soon started making himself at home. With perfunctory notice he arrived at the Parrikar Avionics site with a coterie of ‘experts’ and ‘advisers’, mostly Americans of Indian origin whom Global had recruited from Californian high tech businesses and had been rapidly given visas to operate in India. A PhD from MIT or Caltech seemed to be the minimum qualification.
When Deepak arrived at the factory, the visiting team had already thoroughly intimidated security and his personal staff, and had taken up residence in his office. Before Deepak could protest, a distinguished-looking man in a beautifully tailored Nehru suit leapt up from an armchair, a hand outstretched in greeting.
‘Good morning, Mr Parrikar, you won’t be surprised to see us. Forgive the invasion but we came early to get down to business. The Indian government has suggested that my team can help upgrade your operation so that it can meet the tough specifications required by our Defence Ministry and by the US and UK partners. The current security situation with Pakistan is a reminder of why this project is important. To be frank, our political masters have been none too impressed by the lax security and some of the unprofessional operations here. This is too important to be just a vanity project for your family. I am here to help. Global Research and Analysis is at your service. Let me introduce the team.’
None of this surprised Deepak. In the last few days, since he first heard of Desai’s proactive role, he did the rounds of his friends in business, politics and the media who broadly shared his world view: essentially patriotic Indians, but outward looking, cosmopolitan and secular. Several of them gave him anecdotes and titbits of information. Desai was a senior, if rather obscure, figure in the first BJP – Vajpayee – government operating in the interstices of politics and administration, part of the national security apparatus that was built up after India’s drubbing in the border war with China, and he was now a major force. His origins were obscure but he was identified in leftist magazines as one of the more fanatical products of the RSS, the ideological and paramilitary arm of the ruling party in Delhi that included the Prime Minister among its alumni.
When Congress came back to power, with its secular allies, Desai disappeared to the US, building up his already impressive qualifications in electronic engineering. US citizenship followed. Then he worked with right-wing Republican think tanks and published several pieces disseminated on Alt-Right websites about a Muslim ‘fifth column’ in both India and the USA. He met Le Fevre at a fundraiser for the – successful – Republican gubernatorial candidate in Louisiana, ‘Bobby’ Jindal, one of the new breed of Indi
ans making it big in America. Desai and Le Fevre wove together their respective conspiracy theories, an ideological marriage made in heaven, and before long Desai was on the board of Global. Now, through his business, he straddled the two worlds of US and Indian politics.
One of the advantages of Deepak’s Western education and US experience was that he was not easily intimidated by the likes of Desai. He decided that attack was the best form of defence.
‘Thank you for the offer of help,’ he replied. ‘But I didn’t ask for it and I don’t believe I need it. We have never had complaints before in all our years of supplying the Indian armed forces. And let me be clear; this is our family business. It will remain so whether I or one of my siblings runs it.’
Desai smiled his killer-shark smile. ‘We’ll soon see who calls the shots here!’
Deepak tried to understand how Desai fitted into the recent tribulations of his family company. He went over in his mind the pieces of the puzzle. A gang called Trishul appeared to be targeting the business. And if the police were right, it was linked to politicians from one of the extreme nationalist parties that were powerful at state level. The Sheikh had been involved in the Patel murder and also in helping place the Pakistani agent in Parrikar Avionics. At first sight these seemed totally disconnected events. But perhaps they were connected after all.
It was odd that a man with the Sheikh’s pedigree was allowed to function unobstructed by the authorities and had surfaced at such a convenient time. Perhaps he had been turned, blackmailed, by the people who now controlled the secret parts of India’s increasingly sectarian state in which Desai was an important player. A Muslim gangster would be a good foil, and easily deniable.
