What a Country

by Paul Kirby

  “Morning, gentlemen. Please take the seats with your nameplate and thank you for attending this meeting concerning a matter of national security. Now, you all know why you’re here and Mr. Butler, I’m sure, has kept you all well informed as to what we are looking to achieve with our program that has been termed Operation Desert Storm. Oh, excuse me, I don’t think I have introduced myself yet. I’m Mr. Brown and my colleague here is Mr. Green. As you have probably gathered by now, we are the agents heading said operation. This is a trial, very much an ideology in its infancy, and I am very pleased to have you on board as the pioneers of this very important test. If successful, this could be the start of things to come and the birth of a new no-nonsense approach to terrorism on our soil.

  “As you have most probably seen in the media of late, Islamic State are very much on the brink of defeat in the Middle East, with many of its ‘brave’ soldiers fleeing and trying to return to their countries of birth. Not only men, but women too, and pregnant ones at that, looking to give birth to future terrorists back here in the UK. Well, we’ve got news for them—they’re not wanted and they’re not welcome.

  “This brings me to the subject of Operation Desert Storm, ODS for short. The cell which we’ve had under surveillance for a long time consists of two IS fighters who returned here in early 2017, a mad mullah type that we suspect sneaked into the country on a false passport from Iran, not one hundred percent sure when, and a female convert. White English, no less.” Brown looked around as everyone, including Green, shook their heads in disapproval.

  “Now, before I go any further, have you all signed the Official Secrets Act document concerning this matter?” he asked.

  “No, they haven’t,” said Butler before anyone else had a chance to answer.

  “Okay, that’s not a problem. If any of you do not wish to sign this document, I must ask you to leave right now,” said Brown, continuing to look at his subjects.

  “No, I’ll sign,” said Dell readily and the others agreed they would too.

  The signing ceremony took a while, as one or two other bits needed to be signed as well. When all finished, more information could be divulged and the rest of the day would be a real eye-opener. The amount of intelligence gathered on the cell was frightening and it certainly made the others wonder what the government knew about them. After a couple of hours, the subject changed slightly. This time, the subject was the real IRA.

  “Now, we know you are no stranger to Irish paramilitaries, Mr. Dell, and we’d like to show you a short clip of where they stand on the subject of Islamic extremists in their country,” said Green, as Dell sat shocked.

  They were all treated to a press release video from the Irish, all wearing balaclavas and camouflage jackets, sporting rifles across their chests. The footage was short but powerful and they made no bones about what they would do if Islamists tried anything on their soil or even plotted anything from their soil. They finished with, “There’s only room for one fuckin’ mob on this island!”

  Green said, “We can all learn from that clip and that’s just the sort of attitude we expect our mob to take.” They all nodded their approval and couldn’t help but admire the Irish attitude.

  Now came the moment they’d all been waiting for. How much were they going to receive for their services? When they were told, the trio sat expressionless, not wanting to show any elation, but it was a jaw-dropping amount. At last the cream of West London’s underworld were about to earn a bounty worthy of their reputation.

  This time, it was Brown’s turn to get up and ask, “Is everybody happy with what you’ve heard?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” they all replied.

  “Is there anything you’d like to ask before we hand you over to Mr. Butler here? He’ll be the go-between for us and you and you’ll have no need to return here, as all information will be passed down to him, as will the money,” explained Brown.

  “Do we get money up front, or is it all paid on performance?” asked Dell.

  “All will be taken care of in a fair and business-like manner and when you’ve completed your mission, we’ll exchange what belongs to us for what belongs to you,” replied Brown.

  “I think we’d all feel a lot happier about the situation if you could put some sort of deposit down for our services as a sort of goodwill gesture,” said Dell.

  “Okay, we’ll arrange an interim payment via Mr. Butler here,” replied Brown.

  “Thank you.”

  They all shook hands, wished each other luck, and bid their farewells. They all felt as though they’d achieved a lot.

  As they drove back to West London, Butler commented, “I see you didn’t wear your poppy today, Joe.”

  “Ah yeah, I must’ve forgotten,” lied Dell.

  Changing the subject, Dell said, “So now that is falling apart, we can expect a lot more of this sort of thing on our doorstep, can’t we?”

  “Yeah,” said Butler. “And that misfit they call The Ayatollah knows everyone in that game, not just here, but all over Europe. If he don’t know ‘em, they ain’t worth knowing.”

  “Well, he’ll fuckin’ know us soon!” said a sneering Richards.

  “That reminds me. You’re going to need to see the surveillance pictures of this mob.”

  “Yeah, that would be interesting,” replied Dell, who then asked, “When do we start our training?”

  “It’ll be this week, ‘cause we haven’t got long to go now, not that you lot need much teaching,” said Butler, casting them a funny look.

  “Ha ha, very funny,” retorted Dell.

  “Where do you boys want dropping, or is that a stupid question?”

  ”Could just do with a pint as it happens,” said Dell, looking at his watch.

  By this time, Ifty had managed to get in touch with his terror pals and they had arranged to meet in the Country to discuss the delivery of the car he’d gotten for them. A strange scenario was unfolding in the pub and neither group knew there was any sort of connection between them at this point. As they passed each other, they would acknowledge each other, a pretence that would have to be kept up right until the big day.

  They knew it would be stupid to talk about the day’s events, but Dell had to ring his trusted friend Burt and get him out for a chat and to brief him on the meeting. Burt arrived as soon as he could and was dying to hear how it went. In the usual hushed manner, Burt said, “Has it not occurred to you lot that you’re the most unlikely mob to be selected as saviours of the people, heroes? I don’t see it somehow and if I were you lot, I’d fuck off somewhere until they solve the issue themselves.” Burt was still far from convinced, even after hearing what they had to say.

  “You worry too much, mate. Anyway someone’s gotta do it, and we start our training this week,” said Dell, leaning in even closer.

  “Training, for what? You lot could most probably train them better than they could train you,” said Burt, trying to get through to them.

  “Don’t worry, Burt. I’ve taken out some insurance even these two don’t know about.”

  “For fuck’s sake! Well, you’re gonna need it, that’s all I can say,” replied Burt.

  Over at the other end of the bar, arrangements were being made for the delivery and the payment of the car requested by the pair of ex-ISIS fighters. Rita, who was not present today, was given the unenviable job of driving said car, while Ifty was to follow behind. The delivery of the potential car bomb was to take place that coming weekend to an address Ifty would receive on the day. Car bomb making was the expertise of Dasti and Badini, a skill they’d picked up in Syria that was now second nature to them. Only a week and a half left before they could reap their reward of chaos and death. They had agreed to a brand new strategy, one that was actually the brainchild of a female whose roots were deeply implanted in the UK and West London especially. Her forefathers would be turning in their graves.


  As the clock counted down, Dell’s firm embarked on a crash course of special training provided by the best, the sort of training that would excite even the most casual of Bond fans. The very best of British intelligence was going to take this semi-organised underworld trio and turn them into a new breed of British criminal—a combat force to be reckoned with, not just in the shadows of Britain’s underworld, but a force that would have the potential to be the envy of criminals and noncriminals the world over. Look out any would-be terrorist, the UK has under its wing a new weapon you would have never seen coming in a million years. But if it becomes the success its aiming to be, the world of the sitting duck civilian was about to sprout some very big muscles indeed and would certainly change the face of counterterrorism and terrorism the world over. Britain was about to give something to the world once again. No longer would the country’s back be up against the wall on its own streets. The tide was turning and not before time either. As the almost completely defeated IS men and women tried to limp back into the UK, thinking they’d just returned from a package holiday in the Middle East and expecting to carry on their life of destruction, they would face a new enemy that would play them at their own game.

  Butler watched, delighted, as his first choice of recruits filed in and reported for training. This was surely a major lift for him in his desire to get the promotion he felt he thoroughly deserved. Out of earshot of the Dell firm, he spoke with total conviction about the latest addition to the government’s new idea.

  “Look what I got for you,” he muttered to himself with pride as Dell, Richards, and Funnel arrived.

  “This is London’s A Team,” he told one of the men assigned to train them. “Not the reserves. These boys are Premier League and they are no strangers to death. No! They’re lethal, so make sure you treat ‘em with respect.”

  “Oh yeah?” replied the instructor. “Who are they then?”

  “That’s Flowery Dell and his right-hand men,” replied Butler, puffing out his chest as if he had really achieved something.

  “Yeah, well he might be a pansy, but we’ll make a man of him,” was the instructor’s reply. Butler looked at him as if he’d gone bonkers and then muttered, “You prick!” He continued, “Just make sure they come out the right end and, as I say, treat ‘em with respect. Handle with care, if you know what I mean.”

  The man nodded, totally unimpressed. Butler may have puffed them up unnecessarily, but he was pleased to have them on his side. London’s calling and it’s time for everyone to sit up and listen, thought Butler as he went over to greet his team. Now that he was in charge of the situation as MI5 had handed over the baton of command to him, he felt unstoppable. Now he could make things happen and as they didn’t have loads of time on their hands, they quickly got down to the training. Actually, the timescale was perfect as he didn’t want time for idle chatter that could let the cat out of the bag, and because of that so far there he had heard no rumours floating around London’s underworld grapevine about this newly formed association.

  Of course all three of the new recruits were well used to the tools offered to them. Practice was easy and they actually surprised their trainers, if not themselves. Progress was made and made fast. The first day’s training brought smiles and happiness all round. Everyone involved quickly realised no time had been wasted on no-hopers and another day’s teaching and learning lay ahead the day after next. No dust gathering here, just pure concentration and absolute cooperation between men who all believed in each other. If you fancied causing an upset, then good luck, because this was England, not a messed-up city in the desert, and it wasn’t about to become one either.

  As Dell’s firm settled easily into their role as accomplices to the government, there were no laddish bets flying around the building as to whether they’d cut the mustard. That was very much apparent from the off. The most enthusiastic of them all was Tommy Butler. This thing wasn’t his idea in the first place, but it had certainly become his baby and he felt honoured to have been selected as the man in charge on the street level of Operation Desert Storm.

  A very excited Butler arrived at the school of training to see how his protégés were getting on. It was all good news. It was day two and massive progress had been made as the whole team involved were more than satisfied with Butler’s men. They were glad to inform him it looked like he had made the right choice. But as he went to join his in-training team for lunch in the canteen, he got a bit of a shock.

  “Alright, chaps?” he asked with a grin like a Cheshire cat. He just couldn’t hide his joy. “Mind if I join you? All good news so I hear,” he continued.

  “Yeah, go on, sit down. What did you expect? That’s why you got us involved in the first place wan it?” said Dell, now getting a bit bored with the training program. It was so repetitive. They’d proved their skills and were now fed up with it.

  “You don’t sound too happy, Joe. What’s up?” asked Butler.

  “Look, mate, with all due respect, we’ve proved we’re up to the job. Two f**kin’ days solid doing the same thing all the f**kin’ time. We’ve had enough now. This operation of yours, are you really serious? Because we thought you were just pullin’ our pissers,” moaned Dell.

  “Pullin’ your pissers. Are you pullin’ mine? After all this and what we’ve been through, you thought we were takin’ the fuckin’ piss?” asked an astonished Butler. The smile had been completely erased from his face.

  “Yeah,” said Dell, as he tucked into his lunch.

  “Ah, don’t tell me you’re havin’ second thoughts. For God’s sake, you can’t pull out now, they’ll kill me. In fact, they’ll kill all of us,” panicked Butler.

  “Well, we’ve had enough of all this old bollocks, ain’t we boys?” said Dell as the other two nodded in agreement.

  “Fuckin’ ‘ell!” exclaimed Butler. “I thought you were bang up for this one, Joe. Doing what you do best, but this time for the good of the country.”

  “Yeah, we are, but this is getting right on our nerves and that pompous little instructor might end up with one in him if he keeps on,” said Dell with attitude.

  “Well, they’re more than happy with you lot,” retorted Butler.

  “Do us a favour, then, and see if we can fuck off after lunch. We don’t need any more bloody training. It’s like a refresher course for us,” said Dell.

  “Okay, leave it with me. But promise me you ain’t havin’ second thoughts, please!”

  Dell looked at Richards and Funnel and he knew they were all equally keen to see it through, but just felt that the afternoon session was a pointless exercise. Butler went off to find someone to talk to quickly. He didn’t want his men upset and pulling out over something so trivial. So he would bend over backward to keep his men happy. They had so far proven a good choice and at this stage he couldn’t afford any trouble.

  Butler came back all smiles once more and this time he had a pretty fair compromise. “Right,” he said. “You two can sign out whenever you like. They’re done with you both,” he said, pointing at Dell and Richards. “But Tel, they just want to go through a bit more with you. It won’t take longer than an hour and then you’re free to go. That alright?”

  “Yeah,” sighed Funnel. “I s’pose it’ll have to be, won’t it?”

  They were happy enough with that and, on reflection, it wasn’t all that bad and they had actually learned a thing or two. They had brushed up on one or two self-taught skills and if they were deadly before, they were now lethal.

  Butler wasn’t the only person this side of the Thames feeling that way. The Ayatollah felt exactly the same about himself and his team. After he’d completed this atrocity, he would escape to France, where he had good connections in the Paris ghettos, and start all over again. He was a man on a mission and when he finally got to meet up with Allah and all those virgins, they would receive him with much fondness. He may even b
e looked upon like the martyrs who had gone before him. 9/11, 7/7, and now 11/11 was rapidly approaching. 11/11 had a great ring to it and he would get the credit for another job well done.

  Chapter 37

  With Dick constantly threatening suicide, his smarmy son Bart chose the comfort of the local whores instead of offering comfort to his father. He also had a solicitor’s letter sent to his mother’s lover. He thought that should the old man carry out his suicide threat, he’d be entitled to all his father owned. Bart was typical of a boy who had been spoiled and abused, who had now grown into a man. He was as messed up as his father, but greed was now his motivator. Not really having any real friends, he only ever thought of himself. He had become a vindictive person who felt betrayed by his parents, and the only way to get recompense was to try and seize everything possibly on offer. He had become a little Hitler, much to the disgust of his mother. Even his one-time and possibly only mate and sexual partner, Gerry, wasn’t on hand as a shoulder to cry on. They both had their problems and neither was sure how to deal with them.

  The only people at this particular time in the pub who knew how to deal with their problems were the members of Dell’s firm and they didn’t look at their predicament as a problem. To them it was a challenge and a challenge they would see through to the end, the words of the Irish paramilitaries still ringing in their heads.

  Ifty was right on the case of sorting out the car for his two Asian pals and it would be delivered as required. Rita, bless her, was going to be party to a crime she thought was going to be an innocent delivery of a car on behalf of her lover that would earn her a few quid. The Durleys couldn’t resist the chance of a pound note in their pockets, any one of them. Ifty had made the appropriate arrangements to drop the car off at an address he would only know at the very last minute. He didn’t think anything of it as a lot of people want to keep the location secret when receiving stolen goods so as to avoid being set up. Even when Rita was behind the wheel and on the move, they still didn’t know exactly where they were going. They were just told to head toward such and such.