CHAPTER SIX
MOVING TIMES
In spite of everything else that was going on, Professor Jack Barclay had suddenly become concerned about his twin brother, Roger. He had no idea why. In the past, he had rarely given the man a passing thought, they had become so distant, but now he felt unusually uneasy about the fellow. Professor Barclay didn’t often ring his brother. Come to that, his brother didn’t often ring him, either, but they had resolved to keep in closer touch than they used, so Jack decided to ring Roger. He had a feeling that he should, the way identical twins do, sometimes, appear to have a sixth sense. And in any case, he wanted to tell Roger about his own future, which had recently become even more hectic than usual, and showed little sign of becoming any easier. He felt he needed to talk to someone, perhaps to relieve the unbearable stress he was suffering.
They contacted one another so rarely that he even had to look up his brother’s phone number.
Although Jack knew that Roger should be home from work by now, his brother took some time to answer the phone.
“Roger? Hello, it’s Jack.”
“Good heavens, fancy hearing from you after all this time.”
“I know it’s been a long time, but I’ve been simply rushed off my feet lately. Sorry about that.”
“I’ve tried to get you a couple of times in the past month or so, but never seem to get an answer. In fact, I began to wonder if you’d changed your phone number, or moved or something.”
“No. Still in the same old digs, although I spend little time there now, I’m so busy. I seem to be working all hours and travelling a lot. In fact, I feel quite exhausted. But how are you?”
“Well, since you ask, not really very good at the moment.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“I’m OK really I suppose, physically. I’m not under the doctor or anything. It’s work, that’s all.”
“Don’t tell me about work! I’ve got more than I can shake a stick at, at the moment. So what’s the problem with your job? I thought you were quite happy at the bank.”
“That’s the problem. I am – or was. They want me to move.”
“After all this time?”
“After all this time. It seems they have to make some savings, so my job is being merged with someone else’s.”
“That’s bad news. What happens to you after this merger?”
“They said I would be ‘let go’, which is a nice way of saying I would be sacked. Or they offered me a job in another branch, doing much the same thing.”
“What’s wrong with that then? Take it.”
“What’s wrong, is that I don’t want to move, that’s what. You know me – a proper stick-in-the-mud. I’m quite happy with where I am, doing what I’m doing, and I don’t want to move. I simply hate change. It would mean meeting new people, which I don’t like, getting used to a new routine and all that.”
“I know you may not like it, but you really should take the new job. It would save you all the trouble of looking for one, if there’s one on offer.”
“I know you’re right, and I suppose it would be the sensible thing to do. But I would have to move home as well, as if taking on a new job isn’t bad enough. I couldn’t commute from here to the new place.”
“Where is the new place?”
“At their Sloane Square branch, in London. I don’t like London much, and I’d never be able to afford to live there. The more I think about it, the more I think I shall have to tell them to ‘let me go’, as they put it.”
“Well, this is extraordinary,” Roger. “You’ll not believe this, but I had a feeling I should ring you for some reason, but really had no idea why. Now I know.”
“Why’s that then?”
“Because I can help, that’s why. If you’ll let me.”
“You’re not going to offer me a job, are you, because you know I don’t understand the first thing about science or whatever it is you do all day?”
“No, no. I can’t offer you a job. But I can offer you accommodation so that you can take the job the bank has offered you. I’ve been thinking of selling my flat in London because I never use it now, so you can have that.”
“I could never afford to buy anything in London. I’m only a bank clerk, after all.”
“But I’m not suggesting you buy it. If I don’t sell it after all, you can live there.”
“I’d never afford the rent on my wages.”
“Now listen to me,” scolded Jack. “My flat is in Battersea, almost walking distance from Sloane Square. And if you don’t fancy the walk, I’m sure there’s a bus of some sort – No.319 I think. You can have the flat rent free, too, if that helps.”
“I really don’t want charity of any sort, even from you, although it’s very kind of you to offer. But I simply couldn’t afford to live there, however ideal it may sound,” replied Roger.
“You manage to rent a place at the moment, don’t you?” enquired Jack. “Where you are now?”
“Yes.”
“Then if you’ll feel better about it, just pay me what you pay now if you want to pay something. The bills will be about the same, and I’ll pay the maintenance charge, as the flat will still be mine. How about it?”
“I hardly know what to say.”
“Think about it, then. How long have you got, before you need to decide about the job?”
“A month, all but a day or so. They only told me a couple of days ago.”
“Well, there you are then,” said Jack. “I’ll put a key in the post to you, and you can go and look at the place before you decide. Just let me know. But if you want my advice, I’d take the job the bank has offered you, as it’s much the same as you’re doing now, and live in my flat. I’ll clear all my stuff out, such as it is, although there’s not much there, as I’ve hardly used the place since I bought it. It’s only small, but should be just right for you. And Sloane Square is a very posh part of London – you could almost regard the job as promotion.”
“I hardly know what to say,” said Roger again. “Except ‘thank you’. I’ll have a look at the flat when I get the key, and let you know. Thank you.”
“No problem at all,” replied the Professor. “I had a funny feeling I should get in touch with you.”
“So did I,” replied Roger. “Funny, that.”
***
Bill Clayton had been in his new job as ‘S’ for almost three weeks, when he was summoned to a meeting with the Cabinet Secretary, his boss.
Barbara had taken the call, and fixed the time and day with Robin Algar’s P.A., Isabelle Paton. She established that Bill would not need any special briefing for the meeting.
“I’ve no idea what it’s about,” she told Bill, “and I got the impression from my opposite number in the Cabinet Office that Isabelle didn’t have much idea either.”
“I know Sir Robin quite well, so perhaps it’s just a social chat.”
“Probably just wants to know how you’re getting on.”
As it happened, Bill was getting on quite well. Everyone he had met had been very friendly and helpful – with the exception of his predecessor - and for their part, all the people in Section 11 seemed very pleased to have Bill as their new commander. It was only a very small organisation, at least so far as the Headquarters was concerned, so it hadn’t taken Bill long to get to know them all, and to get up to speed with everything that was going on. Working with Nick Marsden again was a real joy, and they had already been able to make a few changes to the way things had been done previously, thanks largely to Bill’s extensive network of what he called, ‘useful contacts’.
Bill’s P.A., Barbara, was proving to be the gem that Nick said she was. On their first morning together, he had told her that, so far as he was concerned, how she ran her part of the organisation was entirely up to her.
“Just make sure my diary is kept up to date, that I have the right papers for the right meeting, and that you get me to the right place at the right time, and we’ll get on like a house on fire,” he had said. “And don’t hesitate to tell me if you think things are going wrong, or could be done better.”
“Leave that to me, then,” she had replied. “I keep my ear close to the ground here and around the place generally, so I usually know what’s going on. I’ll tell you if there’s anything you need to know.”
“And do help Commander Marsden as best you can,” he asked. “I know I have first call on your time, but Nick and I work so closely together that it makes sense to have you helping us both.”
“I’ll certainly do that,” she replied. “I know that one of you is always on duty or on call, and I really don’t mind staying late or coming in early if it helps.”
“Good of you, but you have your own life to lead.”
Bill paused.
“How is Donald, by the way?”
Barbara sat silent for a moment.
“You know about Donald?” she almost whispered.
“Yes, I do. It’s not that I’ve been prying, but I’m paid to know what’s going on, that’s all.”
Barbara was silent again, collecting her thoughts.
“Nobody else here knows about Donald,” she said quietly.
“I shan’t say a word, I promise.”
“I love my little boy dearly,” she said, almost tearfully. “My Mother, bless her, looks after him wonderfully well, and he adores her, but whatever time of the day or night I get home, Donald and I always have a little cuddle and a chat. He insists on it, even if it’s the early hours of the morning. He gets very cross if he discovers I haven’t woken him for a hug.”
“He’s four now, isn’t he?”
“You know everything.”
“It’s my job,” replied Bill. “Just make sure my job doesn’t get in the way of your relationship with your son, that’s all.”
Barbara nodded. “Thank you for that.”
“It’s probably already occurred to you,” said Bill, “that Donald puts you into a very vulnerable position. You’re in a top secret post, working for a top secret organisation. If anyone really wanted to know anything about us or what we are doing, it might be only too easy to blackmail you, through Donald.”
“By kidnapping him, you mean?”
“Something like that,” replied Bill.
The girl nodded. “That’s why nobody here knows about him. I keep him very much to myself.”
“Good,” said Bill. “If ever we get involved in anything which I judge could put you at risk, I shall make sure the Section keeps an eye on Donald, the way it would on anyone else we are asked to protect.”
Barbara got up, crossed behind the desk, kissed Bill lightly on the forehead, and left.
Bill had always liked children, although he had never had any of his own. He even used to mend toys, for an orphanage, when he was in Northern Ireland. When he got home that evening, he told Catherine.
***
Although there was no agenda for his meeting in the Cabinet Office, Barbara nevertheless presented him with a folder containing a brief up-date on all their present operations, a note about the Section’s financial situation, and summaries of the two most recent papers from SIS about the current terrorist threat.
“Just in case,” she said.
At the last minute, Isabelle rang to ask if Commander Marsden was possibly free to accompany ‘S’.
He was, so did.
“Sounds to me,” said Nick, “as if we are to be briefed about a new piece of action coming our way. Could be important, too, with both of us going.”
“Makes sense anyway, since you’re in charge of Ops.,” said Bill.
“The man probably doesn’t trust you to get it right when you pass it on, as you’re new!” joked Nick.
Since they had no staff car, they decided to share one of the BMW motorbikes from the garage under their offices. They arrived in Whitehall, looking like a couple of couriers, and chained the bike to railings, in spite of two duty policemen, who ran towards them. They backed off, and promised to keep a close eye on it, when they saw their I.D. cards. Once inside, Isabelle ushered them into the Cabinet Secretary’s office, and immediately brought in a tray of tea.
“Good to see you both again,” Robin Algar greeted them, shaking hands. “There’s no agenda, but I see Barbara has nevertheless provided you with a brief. I knew she would – she once worked here you know. Excellent girl!”
Bill agreed. “She looks after both of us very well.”
“I really wanted to know how you were getting on, Bill, since I moved you in such a rush, but I have a new task to tell you about later, which is why I asked Nick to come along as well. So how are things?”
“Going well, thanks,” replied Bill. “I’m sure I shall like my time there once I’ve settled in properly.”
“He’s being modest,” chipped in Nick. “He settled in remarkably quickly, and is getting on well with everyone already.”
“I’m keen to know about your handover,” said Algar. “How was that?”
“I must admit I’ve had better,” replied Clayton, “although the written brief was adequate enough I suppose.”
“But…..?”
“I’ll tell you ‘but’, Sir Robin,” said Nick, chipping in. “Friend Jarvis more or less kicked Bill out of his office in five minutes, and left me to do all the briefing. Jarvis himself disappeared about an hour after Bill arrived in the place.”
“Good grief.”
“I would have been a bit lost without Nick, I must admit, in spite of my useful chat with P.J. before I left Cyprus,” said Clayton. “It was good job Nick and I knew one another, although even that seemed to rankle with Jarvis.”
“I was rather afraid something like that would happen,” said the Cabinet Secretary. “My interview with your predecessor, when I told him he was being moved, was most unpleasant.”
“He has a chip on his shoulder the size of Everest,” said Marsden.
“It’s a pity he took it so badly,” said Algar. “He did a good job at first, but seemed to be loosing his touch towards the end, which is why we looked for him to be replaced.”
“Couldn’t have picked a better chap, in my view,” volunteered Marsden. “Bill has been warmly welcomed by everyone in the Section, and is like a breath of fresh air about the place.”
“If I may say so,” said Clayton, “Alan Jarvis’s attitude worries me a bit. It could be dangerous for the ex-Head of a top secret organisation to be wandering about with a grudge, even within SIS.”
“My thought precisely,” agree Algar. “I’ve asked them to keep a close watch on the man. Any problems with your current operations?”
“None that I know of,” replied Clayton. “As you know, we have a few small, low key jobs going on, but our team in Africa which did the Zimbabwe job is back, we have a small team on the animal rights threat to the drugs company man, and a slightly bigger team in Moscow keeping an eye on the BP man. Any developments on that front from your point of view?”
“The Foreign Office hasn’t reported any change. The Russians still want to control the joint company, and are making life difficult for our top man there. It would never surprise me if they don’t just cancel his visa and kick him out.”
“I hope that’s all,” said Marsden. “Our chaps have reported that the Russian’s are quite openly following him around, but he doesn’t know we’re there.”
“Of course, we’re also looking after two Russian dissidents, as you know,” added Clayton. “One’s actually come over, and is running scared, while the other is still dithering about whether to turn or not. He’s also running scared of his KGB comrades, so we’re having to keep close tabs on them both, and the opposition.”
“We definitely need the other KGB man to come over,” said Algar, “but he certainly won’t if anything happens to his colleague.”
“So far as we can tell, the people in Moscow don’t know we’ve got a double on our books, or that we may soon have another.”
Clayton shook his head. “Jarvis knows,” he said quietly. “That man worries me.”
“There’s another case I want you to take on,” said Algar, “which also has a Russian element, but this is even more complex. That’s why I called you in.”
He briefed them quickly on the background to the perceived threats facing Professor Jack Barclay, and handed them a written brief about the work Barclay was doing.
“I need you to keep a close watch on the man,” Algar concluded.
“Does he know?” asked Clayton.
“The American and Arab offers have been made quite openly, so he obviously knows of their interest, but he knows nothing about the Russian’s apparent intention to disrupt his work. Neither does he know that I am asking you to act as guardian angels.”
“We shall need to consider whether perhaps he should be told,” said Nick Marsden. “It might be easier with his active co-operation.”
“One of your problems is that Barclay moves around a great deal, and works very long hours. Not just at Culham, but also at the new laboratory at Harwell. On top of that, he frequently attends learned seminars, sometimes as a participant, delivering papers and so on, occasionally abroad. We do, though, have access to his weekly diary, and I have arranged for this to be emailed directly to you, starting next week. Here’s a copy of this week’s.”
The two men from Section 11 peered at the document.
“I begin to wonder,” said Clayton, “if we may not need additional full time resources for this one.”
“My thoughts precisely,” agreed Marsden. “This looks complicated to me, and it could prove most difficult to keep up with the man.”
“Call up some of your reserve staff, then, and let me know how many you decide on, so that I can authorise the necessary expenditure.”
“We’ve got six just finishing refresher training – they should be enough reinforcements, to start with at least.”
“I still think it would be helpful to tell the man that we are on the case,” said ‘S’.
“You could be right,” said the Cabinet Secretary, “but according to his Director, the professor is already showing signs of considerable stress because his research is not going as well as it was, and I would not want to add to his worries if we can avoid it.”
“We’ll manage without him knowing for the time being then, but I’ll come back to you if I think it would help for him to be told.”
“What about photos and that sort of thing?” asked Marsden.
“Before you leave, I’ll give you a package containing still photos and video footage of the man, recordings of his voice, and brief biological and biographical details. MI5 managed to gain entry to his digs near Culham, and has taken film of the inside so you can see something of his lifestyle when he’s at home – which isn’t often these days. It will also give you a clue as to how he normally dresses and so on. I leave it to you how you use this material to brief your team, but, as usual, keep copies to the minimum.”
“I’d like to see his personal file, with his security clearance, if that can be arranged, and the files relating to his immediate team,” said Clayton.
Algar nodded.
“And for good measure,” said Marsden, “I’d like to see the same relating to Alan Jarvis; especially his security clearance. When was that last checked, do you know?”
“Good thinking, Nick. I’ll find out, and if it’s old, I’ll run the rule over him again,” promised the Cabinet Secretary.
“Can you also make sure that we’re kept briefed about Russian activity, especially any within a few miles of Barclay, wherever he is?”
“I’ve already laid that on.”
“If the American’s are interested in the Professor, I guess the CIA will be close by as well,” said Clayton.
“We both know a few people there, but I’ll check that out, if you like,” said Marsden.
“Thanks Nick.”
“Thank you both for coming,” concluded Sir Robin. “This is quite an important task for you, so give it your best shot, as I’m sure you will. Barclay is quite free to choose to go to America or Abu Dhabi or anywhere else for that matter if that’s what he wants, although we all hope he doesn’t. His work is too important to this country. Your job is to make sure he isn’t forced into doing anything against his will.”
As they left Algar’s office, Nick looked at his watch.
“I had rather hoped the old man might have offered us lunch,” he said, “but not even so much as a sandwich, never mind roast beef at his club.”
“Looks like the Red Lion, then, across the road. We’ll pick up the package after we’ve had a little something or other. The bike can stay chained to the railings.”
They nodded to the policemen as the crossed Whitehall.
“Shan’t be long,” said Nick, cheerily.
It wasn’t until they got back to Clerkenwell that they were able to study the dossier they had been given.
Nick started getting together his team, and prepared to brief them. Other members of the Section 11 headquarters team were looking after the logistics, like preparing vehicles, getting train tickets from the travel agent’s across the road, arranging accommodation, copying photographs and so on. Gladys was having a field day, preparing forms for them all to complete and sign, while ‘Bottom’, the retired Petty Officer who ran the armoury, prepared suitable weapons for them. The planning of the operation went like clockwork, as it had been done so many times before, although it was Bill Clayton’s first. Nick bustled about making sure everything happened as it should, and eventually appointed one his most senior staff to run the operation. An ex-member of Special Branch, Clive Newell was under the strictest instructions to keep Bill informed of any significant development, in view of the personal interest being taken at the highest levels in Whitehall.
“There are two things I don’t like about this little operation,” said Clayton to Marsden. “One is the Russian connection and the other is the fact that our target, Barclay, is apparently already under stress. The last thing we want is for him to have a nervous breakdown.”
“We could perhaps do with some medical advice,” suggested Nick. “Know anybody?”
“As it happens, I do,” replied ‘S’. “A retired RAF Air Commodore who used to head up the Institute of Aviation Medicine.”
“Could be a useful addition to the Section 11 team, anyway. I’ve often thought that a bit of psychological profiling of some of our customers could be useful.”
“Doc. Perkins has done some of that,” said Clayton. “He could also cast his eye over friend Jarvis,” he suggested. “I’m not too happy about him, either. But it would mean adding yet another member to the Section 11 team, which nobody is supposed to know about, even if only part-time.”
“Should be secure enough, coming from that background.”
“Perhaps I’ll give him a bell and see if he’s doing anything special at the moment,” said Clayton. “Then I can have a word with Algar.”
Clive Newell knocked, and stuck his head round the door. “I’m going to brief my guys in five minutes,” he announced. “Department heads are there; do either of you want to sit in?”
They all made their way to the briefing room, where the assembled team was shown photos and videos of their ‘target’ and told about Barclay’s work and it’s national importance. Newell emphasised that, since he was already under considerable stress, Barclay knew nothing about the fact that he was to be watched over by S. 11, which made it imperative that the teams of watchers stayed well in the background, as they had been trained. It was a thorough and detailed briefing, at the end of which Newell’s squad organised themselves into pairs who would work together throughout the operation.
Finally, Newell turned to Clayton. “Anything you want to add, boss?”
“Two things,” replied ‘S’. “First, I have arranged for GCHQ to mount a key-word intercept operation on Barclay’s phones, in his laboratory, at home and on his mobile, so we should get an early warning of any new attempt to coerce him away from his work at Culham. You will be briefed if anything turns up. Secondly, I am also arranging for some medical expertise to monitor the professor’s behaviour, bearing in mind the considerable stress he’s working under at the moment. Not only is he being headhunted by two separate countries to work for them, but also his own research has unexpectedly hit the buffers, although probably only temporarily. But he is getting increasingly frustrated, what with one thing and another, so I want you all to look for any signs of this surfacing. If he knew about the Russian interest, which is menacing, and our own involvement, that could well drive him to breaking point, so we need to tread carefully. Finally, perhaps some of you technical chaps could arrange for suitable tracking devices to be installed – briefcase, car, that sort of thing. They will help us to keep tabs on the man.”
Newell drew the briefing to a close. “Usual reporting procedures by encrypted satellite mobiles to the 24 hour desk here, and between yourselves when necessary. No need at this stage for anything more than personal protection weapons – draw those from the armoury, but don’t forget the paperwork from Gladys first. I suggest two teams use a car or van of some sort for static observation, the rest of you on motorbikes. The latest SatNav maps of Culham, Harwell and the Oxford area have been downloaded onto your mobiles. Gladys has drawn up a list of suitable B&B accommodation in the area.”
“And don’t forget to keep the receipts,” interrupted Gladys.
“Barclay also has a flat in Battersea, but seldom uses it,” continued Newell. “Some of you may need to travel abroad at short notice, although we should have a few days’ warning as we shall have access to Barclay’s diary, but make sure you have your passports with you. Any questions?”
There were none.
“Very well, then,” concluded Newell. “Remember that this is a high profile operation being monitored closely by very senior people in Whitehall. Keep on your toes, report anything you think is in the least unusual, especially if you should suspect that other people are keeping a watch on the man. Whatever you do, don’t lose Barclay.”
***
After the briefing, Nick and Bill went back to ‘S’s office.
“Newell seems to have picked a good team, so I hope it all goes well,” commented Commander Marsden. “No reason why it shouldn’t, of course, but the Russian angle worries me a bit.”
“Me too,” agreed Clayton. “The Russians are a bit jumpy at present, what with closing our British Council offices, and now starting to fly their bombers through the Iceland/Faroes gap again. We’re already running the BP operation in Moscow, too, not to mention our defector friends here.”
“You never know when they’ll do something really daft,” said Marsden. “Their agents are pretty thick on the ground over here, at the moment, so they are difficult to monitor.”
“There’s something else you should know,” said ‘S’. “So far, I have deliberately not told Newell and his team in case it makes their job even more complicated. I’m not even sure that Sir Robin Algar knows, either. But Professor Barclay has a twin brother – an identical twin, too.”
“I’ll be damned,” exclaimed Nick. “Not in the same line of business, I hope.”
“No, thank goodness. He’s a bank clerk, somewhere or other. Apart from looks, he’s as different as chalk from cheese from his brother, and they rarely meet. But if he does turn up, then our guys will get thoroughly confused if they’re not careful. Which is why getting tracking devices in place is so important.”
Marsden thought for a moment. “I think I’ll spend the night in the Ops. Room, until our teams are properly organised,” he said.
“I’ll join you,” said Clayton.
When she learnt that the two men in her life were planning to stay in the office overnight, ‘S’s P.A., Barbara, decided she would stay late as well to get them settled. She organised a camp bed for each of them in their respective offices, and drew bedding from the store run by ‘Aunty’. She knew they would get all the coffee they needed while in the Ops Room, but hurried into the Clerkenwell precinct below their offices to collect a bottle of white wine from the off licence, to have with the fish and chips she bought for their supper. She made sure she kept the receipts for Gladys, but declined to join them. With nothing else she could usefully do until the morning, she went home to Donald.
It was quiet in the Ops Room. Apart from the Duty Officer, there was only one other Section 11 man actively running his specified operation. He was looking after the potential KGB defector, a tricky and sensitive undertaking that was keeping everybody on their toes. Everything else appeared to be running quite normally, although Clive Newell was there to keep in touch with his recently deployed teams, as Operation Fusion got under way.
It was nearly midnight when one of the teams reported in.
“This is Fusion Team ‘Bravo’,” said the voice. “We have identified our target, and are keeping in contact.”
That was all, but it was enough to tell ‘S’ and his two colleagues that the operation was now under way. Newell acknowledged the message, and that was that.
The three men looked at one another. “So far so good,” s