CHAPTER FIVE
OLD FRIENDS, NEW ENEMIES
As Chairman of the Joint Intelligence Committee, Sir Robin Algar briefed the members at their next meeting, which, as usual, was attended by the Heads of the three Intelligence agencies.
“I was, frankly, disappointed at Jarvis’s attitude,” admitted Algar. “I had not for a moment expected such a reaction.”
“Sounds to me as if it’s a good thing he’s gone,” said Sir Wilfred Forsyth. “I just hope he doesn’t prove to be troublesome when he gets back into SIS.”
“We could have a problem, you know,” said Watkins. “We now have the ex-Head of one of our most secret sections with an enormous chip on his shoulder.”
“I agree,” said Algar. “We shall need to keep an eye on him and his behaviour.”
“Hardly a job for Section 11, though,” joked Brian Hooper, from the Treasury.
“I wonder?” pondered Watkins. “If he is now a bit – how shall I put this – mentally unstable, I wonder if perhaps we should consider down-grading his security clearance?”
“If we did, he would have to be moved from the post we have in mind for him, and that would only make matters worse,” said Forsyth, from the Foreign Office. “I think we should leave things as they are for the time being, but I will try to arrange for a specially close watch to be kept on him.”
“Is there any way, from his new desk in SIS, that he could interfere with Colonel Clayton and the work of his old section?” asked Burgess from the Home Office.
“Most unlikely,” said Forsyth.
“But I agree that we should keep a careful eye on the man for the foreseeable future,” said Algar. “Now let’s move on; what about Professor Barclay? Anything to report?”
“We’ve double-checked the security clearance of all his closest colleagues,” announced Watkins. “There are only six of them working with him on this particular line of theoretical research, and they are confirmed as being beyond reproach or suspicion. Like Barclay, they have all been positively vetted and cleared for Atomic Top Secret work, and that has now been confirmed to my satisfaction.”
“And what about the threat assessment in relation to the Professor himself?”
“I’ve been asked to summarise the views of colleagues round this table, and to outline the report by the Assessments Staff, a copy of which you all have.” said Forsyth. “And as you suspected, Robin, there do seem to be suggestions of a growing threat to Barclay from various quarters. In fact, judging by all the reports we’ve received from our people around the world, two threats. First of all, there are those who are seeking to persuade him to work for them rather than for us, and this includes the American’s Lawrence Livermore University, and the Government in Abu Dhabi, acting on behalf of the United Arab Emirates. Both parties are seeking to tempt the man to go over, with increasingly attractive offers of cash and fringe benefits. It has to be said, of course, that ultimately, it will be for Barclay to decide. In this country, he is quite free to do so. It also has to be said that there is no way we could seek to match or better the offers being made to him, so it will have to be left to his own judgement, subject only to a bit of gentle persuasion from us, reminding him perhaps that he has signed the Official Secrets Act apart from anything else. As we know, this effort to turn Barclay to work for them rather than for the UK is based on two different requirements. In the case of the American University, which incidentally Barclay has visited many times, they believe that his research into the field of nuclear fusion, as a future energy source, is way ahead of their own. In the case of the UAE, it is the Government that is seeking to join the field, so to speak, and to take the lead in the Arab world in planning for the day when their oil resources run out. They simply have to find a way of sustaining their colossal investments when their oil revenues dwindle. So we have, on the one hand, a university and a Government both interested in buying Barclay, although we must also bear in mind that the Lawrence Livermore University is heavily subsidised by the US Government, as we subsidise much of the research carried out in our own universities.
“The second threat I mentioned is more menacing in a way,” continued Forsyth. “It comes from Russia, which is keen to protect its own long-term oil interests by slowing down as much as possible the development of an alternative energy source. Although nuclear fusion is some ten, perhaps twenty, years away from being a viable commercial option, the vast oil and gas reserves of Russia and its allies will last long after that. Of course, they have their own programme of research into the fusion processes, but are far behind the West in the progress they have made so far, according to our sources. Our judgement is that they will seek to maintain their monopoly of energy resources that they will enjoy once supplies from the Middle East have decreased. They have already demonstrated their willingness to use energy supply as a political weapon, most recently when they turned off the gas pipelines to the Ukraine, and we are convinced they will not hesitate to use it again.”
“So we have possible threats to Barclay from an academic source and a political one,” said Burgess.
“Up to a point that’s right,” confirmed Forsyth, “but let us not forget that a year or so ago, the President of the United States promised that within ten years America would cease to be dependent on the Middle East for its energy needs.”
“That was during the Presidential election campaign, don’t forget,” Hooper reminded them, “and he didn’t say how that was to be achieved.”
“They certainly won’t get a commercial fusion programme up and running by then, even with Barclay’s help,” said Algar.
“But I’ll bet they are behind the Californian university’s attempts to win him over,” said the Foreign Office man.
“Possibly so,” agreed Algar. “But what about the Russian intentions? How do they propose to ‘slow down progress’, as I think you said?”
“There’s no real information on that,” replied Forsyth, “which could mean they haven’t yet decided what to do for the best. They may join the field and attempt to headhunt Barclay, although they must know that would be virtually impossible to achieve. They could try sabotage in some way, perhaps staging some form of terrorist attack on the facilities at Culham and/or Harwell, but again that may not prove to be much use bearing in mind the huge international effort which is going into this research.”
“But not into the work that Barclay and his small team are doing,” Watkins reminded them.
“True. On the other hand, they may go directly for Barclay himself, and try to remove him from the scene altogether.”
“Kidnapping, you mean?” asked Hooper.
“Or even assassination,” suggested Forsyth. “They’ve done it before to get rid of people who were proving to be an embarrassment to them, most recently Alexander Litvinenko on our own doorstep.”
“I remember that,” said Algar. “A particularly nasty death he suffered – some form of radiation poising, wasn’t it?”
“That’s right. The man suddenly fell ill, and died three weeks later in hospital from acute radiation syndrome, induced by a dose of polonium-210.”
“Radiation!” exclaimed Hooper. “Nobody would take much notice if a nuclear physicist like Barclay suddenly died of radiation poisoning, would they?”
“You surely don’t think they were rehearsing on Litvinenko, do you?” asked Algar. “Does anyone?”
Forsyth shrugged. “Who knows how the Russian mind works,” he said. “But they may be particularly tempted if they thought Barclay was going to work in Abu Dhabi, or, even worse, if the Americans looked like winning him over.”
“Even if they were not. Just to remove the risk of that happening,” concluded Burgess.
“Good point,” said Sir Robin Algar. “One way or the other, then, it begins to look as if there is a real and present threat to Professor Barclay, which we probably need to address.”
“But I must emphasise that we have no real intelligence at the moment about Russian intentions,” said Forsyth.
“Let’s not wait until we have,” said Burgess. “By then it may be too late.”
The committee nodded their agreement.
“A tricky task for Section 11, then,” said Algar. “Since he’s new to the job, I’ll brief Colonel Clayton personally about the background to this operation, as he will report directly to me. I just hope Jarvis gives him a proper and thorough handover briefing, in spite of his own disaffection.”
“I think we shall soon know if he doesn’t,” said General Pearson-Jones of Defence Intelligence. “I’ve been to Cyprus myself to give Clayton a bit of background to help him make up his mind, and he is very keen on the number two at the Section, who he worked with in Northern Ireland. If Jarvis doesn’t brief Clayton fully, then Commander Marsden will.”
“What about Professor Barclay?” asked Hooper. “Should he be told about our fears for his safety?”
“I recommend not at the moment,” replied Forsyth. “I would rather see Section 11 operationally involved first.”
“Personally, I think Barclay should be told sooner rather than later,” said Algar. “It would be easier to keep tabs on Barclay if he did know he was under our protection. For one thing, we need access to his diary, to be able to plan ahead for any visits he may have in mind. If he suddenly decides to go the California again, it would be handy to know in advance so that we can go with him, rather than risk losing him while we try to catch up. But we’ll get Section 11 organised first, if you wish.”
“Strictly speaking, Barclay should notify his Director of his plans,” said Burgess. “I’ll get the Chief Scientist to check with the Atomic Energy Authority to see if Barclay copies his weekly diary to anyone there.”
“That would be helpful,” said Algar. He turned to the Heads of the Intelligence Agencies. “Perhaps you would all keep a close watch on this one, and report to your colleagues on this committee if anything new comes up. Look out for any Russian embassy staff straying anywhere near Culham, or for any other unusual activity that could be connected. When the time comes, I’ll have a quiet word with the good Professor myself,” concluded Algar. “As Head of the Civil Service, I am ultimately responsible for him after all. I should hate anything to happen to the poor man.”
***
Bill and Catherine Clayton, having spent so long in the military environment, were quite used to moving fast when necessary, even if the move was a permanent one rather than just on operations. But the few days that followed Bill’s acceptance of his new role as ‘S’ in London were hectic even by their standards. The two of them had carefully planned their move and divided responsibility for everything that needed to be done. Catherine took charge of all the domestic arrangements, helped more than usually by the military authorities, while Bill got on with clearing up his job in Cyprus, preparing written briefs and eventually – after only three day’s notice – handing over to his successor, Major Julian Evans. Their house in Cyprus was full of packing cases, some of which were to return to the UK by sea, the others by airfreight. A major problem was where to send them. They had no home of their own – they only married a short time before going to Cyprus – but they had been allocated a small flat in London, which went with Bill’s new job. Catherine paid a flying visit to it. Fortunately it was partly furnished, but only with the barest minimum of essentials. They could live in it as it was if they had to, but it would hardly be ‘home’. So, much of their stuff would need to be put into store, and packed accordingly.
On present plans, they would have three days in the London flat before Bill formally took charge of Section 11. They had briefly discussed where they might look for a home of their own, and had thought Sussex might be nice, as Bill was born and bred there and knew the county well. Certainly, Catherine had been impressed when they had visited part of it while investigating Uncle Edward’s murder. Anywhere would do, so long as she and Bill were together.
By the time they got their flight to RAF Brize Norton, they were nearing exhaustion, and knew that there would be no time yet to rest and relax. Catherine had to set up a new home in the London flat, while Bill had to take on a new job – perhaps the most challenging of his career.
They were surprised not to be met at Brize Norton by Alan Jarvis, from whom Bill was taking over, but delighted to see Nick Marsden, who greeted them, airside rather than in the arrivals hall, like the long-lost friends they were.
“Sorry about Jarvis,” said Marsden. “You seem to have put his nose out of joint a bit.”
“I’ve never met the man,” protested Bill.
“Perhaps not, but you’ve pinched his job, and he’s a bit sore about that.”
“Tough,” said Bill, “but hardly my fault.”
“Time he went anyway, if you ask me,” proffered Nick.
“I shall be asking you a lot, I think.”
“Only too delighted to help, old chum. Now – anywhere else, and I would offer you a cup of tea each while we wait for your luggage, but frankly RAF tea isn’t worth drinking. If ever you stay in the Mess, they bring you a cup as a wake-up call in the morning. It’s not for drinking, though. Shove your finger in it, and when it’s cold, it’s time to get up!”
They all laughed, and for the first time in days, Bill and Catherine felt relaxed. Maybe this was going to be like old times in Northern Ireland, after all.
Eventually, they all piled into a Landrover, and set off for London.
“This belongs to the firm, by the way,” announced Nick. “We have quite a collection of old bangers, as you’ll discover, and as I tend to look after the operations side of things, I felt free to borrow it.”
“What do I look after, then?” asked Bill.
“Oh, fascinating stuff like politics and paper work, although knowing you, you’re bound to get involved in ops. as well. Jarvis never did much, and when he did, things never quite went well, as you’ll discover. So I shan’t mind sharing with you!”
“So what’s the plan now?”
“I’ll drop you off at your flat and help you settle in as best I can. I’ve got basic supplies in, like gin and suchlike, and there’s a corner shop nearby if you need anything special like food. I’m sure you found it, Catherine, on your quick visit. Then you are on your own unless I’m summoned, until Monday morning. I’ll pick you up around 0800 and take you to HQ, where the lovely Jarvis should be waiting to start the hand-over. I have to warn you that it probably won’t amount to much, as he has a monumental chip on his shoulder, but he’s bound to hand you over to me as soon as he can, for me to fill in the details, so you’ll be all right. I’ll arrange for you to meet people, and to be briefed on all the current operations. By the way, you’re known as ‘S’, much the same as the D.G. of MI6 in known as ‘C’ for some reason.”
“That all sounds good,” said Clayton. “You’ll have time to stop over for a gin, I hope, before you disappear this evening.”
“Delighted to, I’m sure, but I don’t want to get in your way while you try to settle in.”
“Where do you live, as a matter of interest?” asked Catherine.
“I rent a couple of rooms near the office during the week, but I have a small house in the country near Portsmouth, where I still have a few Navy chums. You must come down and stay one weekend.”
“Still not married then?” asked Bill.
“Lost interest, once you pinched Catherine!” he joked.
***
On Monday morning, Nick collected Bill Clayton early, and drove him to Clerkenwell. Bill found it hard to believe that he was being taken to his new ‘command’ as they headed for the less-than-smart terrace of offices above a shopping precinct. He had been told, by both Sir Robin and by PJ, that Section 11 liked to keep a low profile, but this was ridiculous. It became more so as Nick Marsden led him through a newsagents and into the hairdressing salon run by Mr. Lawrence at the back of the shop. But suddenly, things changed. Nick had to negotiate an elaborate procedure to pass through the gated security system before even gaining access to the stairs, at the top of which there were even more security checks to allow them through the door marked ‘Ajax Recruitment’. Bill noticed that there was a piece of paper pinned to the door saying ‘No Vacancies’.
“You’ll get your own passes and so on later this morning,” promised Nick. “Always providing, of course, that you fill in all the forms to the satisfaction of Gladys.”
“Who the hell is she?” asked Bill.
“Admin,” replied Nick. “Nothing gets done unless Gladys says it can be done, and you’ve got the right piece of paper from her. She’s a wonderful old love, who keeps us all on our toes - you’ll see.”
They eventually arrived at a door simply marked ‘S’. Nick banged on it and went in. He solemnly introduced Bill to Alan Jarvis.
It was immediately obvious that Jarvis was hostile.
“I wish I could offer you a whole-hearted welcome,” he said, without bothering to shake Bill’s proffered hand, “but since you’re doing me out of my job here and I’ve been told to get out in a hurry, you’ll understand if I keep the formalities of the handover to a minimum.”
“I’d probably feel the same,” replied Bill, “although I was equally reluctant to leave my job in Cyprus at short notice to take over from you.” He looked around him. “I had a half decent office there, and it was mostly hot and sunny, unlike this.” He waved his hand towards the window, and the driving rain. “So I don’t particularly want to be here either, any more than you want me to be here.”
“One all!” thought Nick.
“I’ve prepared a written brief for you,” said Jarvis, ignoring Bill’s protest, “and Nick will show you round and introduce you to people. I gather you already know one another, so that’s handy.”
“We’ve worked together before,” agreed Clayton.
“You military people always stick together,” commented Jarvis, bitterly.
“Like shit to a blanket,” muttered Nick.
“If you have any questions about my brief, I suggest we deal with them tomorrow. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to finish clearing my desk.”
“Incidentally,” said Marsden to Jarvis, “don’t bother trying to log on to the computer. Someone came round at the weekend and removed your hard drive.”
The two beat a hasty retreat as Jarvis slumped into his seat, swearing.
As he shut the door behind him, Marsden said, “I had a feeling it was going to be like this. Doesn’t make it at all easy for you, I know, and I’m sorry, but at least I can help you into your new seat.”
“Whatever made the man so bitter?” Bill felt quite dejected, and wondered what he’d let himself in for.
“He was effectively fired by the Cabinet Secretary, no less, and told he was losing his grip, as I understand it. Which he was, up to a point, but you never like to be told these things. He came back from being summoned like a bear with a sore head, and hasn’t been the same since.”
Marsden opened the door of the office next but one to the one marked ‘S’. “This is where I live,” he announced. “Come on in.”
“What effect has Jarvis being fired had on the team?”
“He hasn’t made many friends around here, to be honest, and most people are glad to see the back of him. Your reputation came before you, too, so there’s an air almost of excitement at getting a chap in charge who knows what he’s doing.”
“That’s something I suppose. Let’s hope I don’t let them down.”
“You won’t. They’re a good bunch here really, and there’s a nice relaxed atmosphere about the place – normally, that is. And a blessed sense of humour blossoms forth now and then, too, which helps relieve the tension of the job. But there are lots of ex-military here, so a sense of humour won’t surprise you.”
Marsden unlocked his safe, and took out an envelope.
“This is your written brief,” he said. “I’ve been through it, and it’s OK, if a little short on detail. But I can fill in the gaps. I suggest we meet people this morning, so they know what you look like at least, and I can brief you on current operations later. We have a small Ops. Room down the corridor. Guys running an op. will move in there, so that they’re all together and don’t start tripping over one another.”
“Sounds good. I’m looking forward to meeting the team. I’m looking forward to seeing my office, too! I’ve hardly set foot in it, yet.”
“It’s bigger and better than this, but not much of a view from anywhere in this building. Still, we are in Clerkenwell and not Mayfair!”
There was a knock on the door, and a petite, fair-haired girl looked in.
“Oh, there you are,” she said. “I thought you might both be in with Mr. Jarvis!”
“Got kicked out,” said Marsden. “Bill, let me introduce you to Barbara, your P.A. and the most important person in your life here – apart from me, of course.”
They shook hands, and the girl smiled warmly.
“What a welcome!” she said. “Sorry I wasn’t here to greet you myself, but I got sent out on an errand. I have a little office between this one and yours. Let me know when you’re ready for a chat.”
“Or a coffee,” said Marsden. “Barbara makes very good coffee.”
“I suppose that’s a hint,” she said. “I’ve got the machine on already, so it won’t be long. I’ll bring it in.”
“That girl,” said Commander Marsden seriously, “may only have ‘PA to S’ on her door, but as you will soon find, she is quite an important lady. She doesn’t just run your office, she actually does things on her own initiative if she thinks it will save you or me a bit of time. She fixes meetings, makes sure the notes are properly encrypted and makes it her business to keep up to speed with everything that’s going on. Probably including a few things we don’t know about, because we don’t need to know for the time being.”
“Does she work for you, too?”
“Only informally and as long as you don’t object. But you and I have to work closely together, so it makes sense. You come first, though.”
“I know about her background,” said Bill.
“Do you, now?” said Nick in astonishment. “Doesn’t take you long, does it?”
“It was important for me to know about the people I might be working with before I decided to take this on,” said Bill. “So I did a bit of homework.”
“Like everyone else in S.11, she was specially selected, and has a very high security clearance,” said Nick.
Barbara reappeared with steaming mugs of coffee.
“I hope you don’t mind a mug,” she said. “I’ve got posh cups for visitors.”
Somehow, the girl reminded him of Catherine, when they had first met in the office in Northern Ireland.
“Bring yours in, if you’re having one,” invited Bill. “The three of us can chat, then. You’re part of my handover, after all.”
“I can if you like,” she replied. “Mr Jarvis has gone.”
“Gone!” exclaimed Nick.
“So far as I can see, he’s cleared his desk, and left the safe door open, so the office is yours when you want it, Colonel.”
“I’d rather meet people first,” replied Bill. “And please only call me Colonel on the most formal of occasions; otherwise, Bill is fine, for you and everyone else here.”
“I’ll pass the word. Mr Jarvis said he’d drop in tomorrow sometime, to see if you had any problems.”
“Sounds to me as if you’re in charge then, Bill,” said Marsden. “That didn’t take long! Congratulations!”
***