She had been lucky. Staying overnight in the barracks of 68 signals squadron near Hornchurch, the call up to the MOD meant just a short drive across the capital. Nowadays she was mainly based in Cheltenham and that would have meant commandeering a helicopter to get to the briefing in time. At least she was in fresh clothes and rested, but she had little idea what she was heading into nor why she had been summoned.
In contrast to the deserted scene outside, the small entrance lobby was crowded as two dozen people waited in line to go through the security arches. Military Police stood by the exit routes and above them two watchful plain clothes officers carefully scrutinised every person and movement from a galleried landing, checking their security feeds on hand held tablets.
Fawzia cut an impressive figure. Standing six feet tall and dressed in North European battle fatigues she wore the distinctive beret and rose cap badge of the Military Intelligence Corps. Strikingly elegant, she also made no attempt to hide the deep scars and skin damage around her neck and on the left side of her face. What could not be observed was the further extensive burns damage across her back and hips. She counted herself lucky. Momentarily set on fire she had been doused in earth and the flames smothered. It was bad but by rights she should have been killed. Despite the scars she radiated energy and athleticism. Born in Somalia she had come to the UK as an unaccompanied asylum seeker, some twenty nine years earlier, aged just ten. She had been fostered and then adopted by a professional couple from Nottingham where she had gone to university and studied computing and logistics. Only after her graduation had she decided on a career in the military. It had been at Sandhurst she was first approached about the Intelligence Corps. The rest was history. Now here she was, along with senior officials and officers from police, military and the security community answering an urgent summons to attend the National Threat Response Group briefing.
Fifteen minutes later and two further layers of security navigated, she found herself in the secure basement briefing room with twenty three others arranged in tiered seating in front of a podium and large screen. The lights dimmed. A small, rather plump figure, in a blue pin stripe suit, emerged from a side door to take up position at the lectern to the right of the screen. In a gravelly voice with a hint of a Glaswegian accent, Sir Alistair Mackie opened the proceedings under a solitary spotlight.
“Good morning colleagues. Thank you for getting here at such short notice. In view of the urgency of the situation I am dispensing with the usual introductions. In forty minutes I have to be down the road explaining matters to the Prime Minister and Cabinet. Therefore we will go straight to the briefing by the Security Services.”
He gestured to the front row as he finished and swopped places with a dark haired and pale looking man in his middle forties. Fawzia shifted in her seat. She recognised him instantly from her time in Afghanistan. It was Olsson. She hadn’t seen him since that dawn meeting in the cave but she knew that he had filed a highly critical report on her actions, effectively blaming her for the death of the lieutenant. She in turn had filed a damning report on the use of the airstrike. There was a military police investigation but that was as far as it went. Both were cleared of suspicion of wrong doing with no hearing nor any further action against either of them. She suddenly felt nausea at the memories but controlled it.
Olsson introduced himself as the Deputy Head of Strategic Operations in MI6. “Just my luck” she thought to herself “a room full of people I hardly recognise, no explanation why I am here and the leading briefer is a complete bastard and not my biggest fan…” the screen suddenly filled with an image and interrupted her thoughts. The still picture depicted a security camera shot of a grey Renault estate car with four people. A subtitle explained it was passing through customs in Hull.
“At 08.20 yesterday this car entered the UK on a ferry from Rotterdam”. Olsson read from notes in a tight, clipped tone and hardly glanced at his audience. The strain on his face was apparent, a contrast from the detached emotion of their last encounter. “From information provided to MI6 by sources in Israeli intelligence, the occupants are a cell of tactical weapons specialists. Mercenaries in all likelihood. They are here to join with others, as yet unidentified, to launch an attack on our national cyber defence capability.” There was a murmur amongst those on the back row but he continued on.
“Obviously, we have previously been focussed on the threat of a cyber-attack on our systems. However, nine months ago we undertook a series of independent assessments of the physical resilience of our principle cyber defence installations. Three of them are in secret locations. The other two are virtual fortresses, GCHQ Cheltenham and the National Cyber Defence Centre here in London. All this leads us to think that their intention is to use a nuclear, chemical or biological agent because a conventional assault would almost certainly fail.” There were nods of agreement mixed with looks of alarm around the auditorium.
After a slight pause he continued and seemed to look directly at Fawzia as he spoke. She felt a growing sense of disquiet: “The problem we face is compounded because it would appear that some or all of the information in our independent assessment reports is now in the hands of this cell.”
There was a stunned silence. Olsson paused to turn over the page of his notes before continuing.
“It is therefore possible they have identified some weakness we have overlooked and can infiltrate a chemical or biological weapon into the sites. Alternatively it may have convinced them that it is simpler to detonate a nuclear device as near to them as they can get.” There were audible gasps. Trying to give some measure of comfort he added: “What we do know, from our remote monitoring, is that this particular group of four do not currently possess a nuclear weapon. There is no radioactive signature and nothing of a size or structure to shield it, in their possession. ”
Fawzia felt very cold and tense. She had led three of the independent assessments with officers of the Joint Cyber Warfare Unit. Could one of her reports have been compromised? Is that why she was here?
“Colleagues I have to tell you that we face the prospect of an imminent and co-ordinated assault on our key cyber warfare sites by a determined and professional enemy. It may involve the use of a weapon of mass destruction on UK soil. The four people on screen have been tracked to a rental holiday cottage in the Cotswolds. They paid by cash transfer in the UK some weeks ago but the funding source is untraceable. All the information they provided is false. Physically they remain our only concrete lead and as far as we can tell, they have yet to make contact with anyone else. All of you will find a full encrypted briefing to download from the secure group server. Questions?”
Fawzia had a lot of questions but felt it inappropriate to respond first. Olsson scowled at the audience, until a female voice spoke from the front row.
“Alicia Court, Head of MI5… can I ask the obvious question. Given what we know, this threat seems to originate from the Middle East. As you know, we have a joint threat analysis citing the potential of Iran to sponsor this kind of state terrorism. Has Mossad or MI6 a view on which enemy is behind this? “
Olsson stepped from behind the podium and fixed his gaze on the middle distance. The question had been loaded. The old rivalry between MI6 and MI5 hadn’t taken long to surface. It was unsurprising if disappointing. MI6, or the Secret Intelligence Service as it was otherwise known, had uncovered this threat through their joint work with the Israelis. They felt better placed and more competent to run an operation to thwart it, but the protocol was clear. The response required operations on UK soil and that was the remit of the Security Services, MI5.
Olsson cleared his throat. “We don’t know. I could speculate but that would be pointless. All we do know is that they have commissioned a physical assault. That does not mean they will not co-ordinate it with other actions such as hacking, malware, distraction, media manipulation…I could go on. The intention would appear to be to cause paralysis and panic. You know, as well as I do, that could suit a numbe
r of agendas at the present time.”
Another voice, this time a Police Assistant Chief Constable from the National Crime Agency. “How did the Israeli’s discover this? Can we be certain they have the correct information?”
“By accident. They found the information on the computer of a Lebanese national they stopped on suspicion of arms dealing. It was an unrelated operation to their work on cyber security. Unfortunately the individual concerned appears to have committed suicide whilst in detention.” Olsson couldn’t hide the scepticism in his voice. The screen flickered and the four suspects in the car were profiled with varying image quality.
“Thanks to the Israelis and our colleagues in Interpol, two of the four members of this cell have been positively identified,” he continued. “Ahmed Hassan Ali, believed to be 42 years old and his wife Fatima Ali believed to be in her mid-thirties. They are travelling on false Belgian passports as Mr and Mrs Mahmoud. Both are Egyptian nationals by birth but turned and recruited by Mossad some fifteen years ago. They worked as freelance field agents in operations all over the middle-east. In the summer of 2015 they were deployed to Syria and simply disappeared after two months. It was assumed they were dead. Six days ago they turned up and rented the car in Ghent before driving to Rotterdam. There they met up with the other two suspects. Both male, one appears to be Caucasian, possibly North European or North American, about 185 cm in height and 90 kilo, mid-thirties, travelling under the name Leon Keller on a Dutch passport. The other appears to be oriental, early to late thirties, 170 cm in height and about 75 kilo, travelling on a German passport under the name Li Yang Chow. Both identities are false but we have yet to match them to any other profiles.”
There was a brief pause whilst the audience absorbed the reality of the threat and studied the faces on screen. Sir Alistair was back on his feet and moved to replace Olsson by the podium. He nodded his thanks before glancing at the screen where a map of the UK showing a group of dots joined by lines of varying colours had appeared. “Colleagues” he rasped, “our response to this threat is to be code named Operation Lightening. We currently have three objectives. Firstly we must track and contain this cell so that it does no harm and hopefully can lead us to any other cells. Secondly we need to go through all of our current threat intelligence, correlating it with the Israelis and our European partners. We have to determine who might be behind this and see if we can identify other potential cells that have infiltrated the UK. That includes finding out how our security information was leaked”. Rather theatrically he waved his arm at the screen. “Finally we need to review again and harden our security across the network of our cyber defence sites.”
He moved away from the podium and a rather odd looking individual in a dark, crumpled suit took his place. Sporting a mop of curly ginger hair and wearing thick heavy spectacles he was instantly recognised by his audience as Neville Benning, former MI6 Head of Strategic Operations and now Head of the National Joint Threat Assessment Team. “Colleagues we will now break into three groups to agree a way forward to meet each objective. We shall be re-convening in forty five minutes to bring everything together in a single operational plan for Lightening.” He looked at the screen. The names of those present were now displayed in three groups under each objective. Doors opened to the adjacent break out rooms and with hardly a whisper the assembled group dispersed as instructed. Except Fawzia and Olsson. Neither of their names were listed.
Fawzia was on her feet and could already see Olsson moving deliberately towards her across the room. She forced a smile. It wasn’t reciprocated. Instead the MI6 officer handed her a small folder. It contained her official orders, authorisations and an SSD card for loading into her MOD tablet. “This is for you” he said briskly and without emotion. “I have to say I was reluctant to engage you in this operation, given the fact it was your reports that were compromised.” Fawzia felt warmth come to her cheeks. Was she being accused of leaking information? He pressed on without pause. “Nevertheless I have been persuaded, by the powers that be that you are in a unique position to help. You will assist us in finding out how the information leaked and in hardening the sites you previously assessed.”
He turned to main door of the auditorium and on cue it opened to reveal a young man in jeans and leather jacket. He looked barely old enough to hold any service rank, let alone the security clearance required to enter this area. Olsson beckoned him over. “This is Ray. He is a member of Special Events and he will be working with you as your partner on Operation Lightening.” The young man nodded and extended his hand. Fawzia momentarily hesitated before shaking it. This was not what she had expected. A partner on a mission to harden the defence of strategic sites was one thing, and she would have expected to pick that person herself, but this was also clearly her “minder” and interrogator as part of the leak investigation.
Special Events was a shadowy unit that cut across the boundaries of the intelligence services, joint military commands and Special Forces. It was independent, despite its pay and rations location in MI5. It could investigate and if required, remediate, threats to the integrity of the intelligence capacity of the United Kingdom.
Fawzia was irritated, perplexed and at the same time charged with adrenaline at the prospect of being involved in Lightening. She needed to buy some thinking time. “This is a little unorthodox. I have to clear it with the Joint Cyber Warfare Unit…” She trailed off as a hand was squarely raised inches from her face.
“Stop there” said Olsson, “it has already been cleared on the direct authority of Sir Alistair. I suggest you waste no time and both of you get on the road. If you need a helicopter then Ray will sort it but it shouldn’t be necessary. I expect all three sites visited, reviewed and additionally secured in the next 24 hours.” He turned and exited the auditorium.
Fawzia looked at the folder and at her new companion. “I guess that is it” she said. So much for thinking time. She glanced at the paperwork in her hand and then loaded the SSD card into her tablet as instructed. It contained the Lightening operational briefing and codes to enable her to work from her tablet inside the secure firewalls of each site. Ray waited as she sorted her equipment. When she finished he smiled for the first time but without particular charm or warmth. He seemed to be enjoying her shock and discomfort. “Let’s go, I have a car waiting.” It was an instruction, not a request. She gave him a hard look but followed him out of the auditorium.
Chapter Two
The short walk to the secure car park was conducted in silence. They reached the distinctive matt silver Jaguar XE pool car and Ray flicked the remote. Fawzia had already decided that she needed to reassert herself and regain control of the situation. “I’ll drive” she stated. Ray looked at her blankly for a moment and then shrugged, handed her the keys and climbed into the passenger seat. The car was nearly new and smelt of fresh leather. The tank was full and the two litre engine sprang into life at the touch of a button. Fawzia drove the car to the barrier which raised itself abruptly and in a moment they were speeding away along the Thames embankment heading west.
“Doubtless you know my profile,” she spoke without averting her gaze from the busy highway, “so tell me yours.”
Ray looked across at her as though searching for the reason behind her question. “Just so we are clear, “he said in an even tone, “I will be asking you a lot of questions over the next day or so. The Joint Cyber Warfare Unit had responsibility for the assessment of physical security at three of the five key sites. You and your two colleagues undertook the inspections and wrote the reports. We have an electronic trail of those who saw those reports and where they might have been accessed. Your two JCW unit assessors and everyone else identified in that trail are currently being questioned or being detained for questioning. Your interview has to be on the move because it has been decided you are best placed to revisit and harden the security in the light of the new threat. All sites have been alerted and additional security personnel allocated. GCHQ Manchester is
also being looked at again. As you will already know the national threat assessment is now rated severe. You need to assess if anything has been missed or needs changing. That is what you should be concentrating on. You don’t need to know my personal history.”
“Well that told me!” she thought, “I hope he feels better for getting that off his chest.” It was clearly rehearsed. For the next few minutes they drove in silence. Fawzia knew that couldn’t last. They were both on a mission of national importance and had to communicate. She decided to try to disarm him with some humour. She looked at him and spoke with studied theatricality; “Can I phone my solicitor?” she said in hushed, confidential tones. He looked back smugly without a hint of amusement, “Not while you’re driving.”
They travelled on through west London. As they approached Hammersmith Ray looked backwards at the following traffic whilst pulling a phone from his inside pocket. “No sign of being followed. Which site are we going to first?” he asked.
Fawzia was fighting the urge to pull over and vent her frustration. He was smug and arrogant with apparently a humour by-pass. He had clearly only had a limited and probably unflattering briefing about her. He apparently knew nothing about the three bases. She resisted because she was all too aware that, whatever her personal feelings and position, it all paled in comparison with the threat the country was facing. Her duty and professionalism took priority.
“We are going to Oxford. It is the nearest.” She glanced at him. He was texting, presumably his first report. “I shall also be clear” she continued. “I resent the implication that I or anyone else on my team had anything to do with the leak. Furthermore I ask myself how those reports could be used to launch an assault on the key sites. No site was referred to other than by a code name and no information given about the role any site has within of our cyber defence capacity. You would need a lot of other information to work out where they are.” Ray continued to text without reply.
Treasonable Intent Page 2
