Bill White tried his best to look like an anonymous civil servant as he weaved his way through the ubiquitous film cameras and stuffed-shirt journalists that populated Downing Street like a plague of redundant boils. He was wearing an especially drab suit and carrying a battered old briefcase.
He made the least fuss possible as he produced his ID for the police officer on the door of number ten.
The PM was standing at the bottom of a staircase trying his best not to look anxious as a constant stream of people passed by.
He shook hands briefly with White and they made their way up the stairs.
A few minutes later they sat down in the private quarters.
The three T14 agents who had arrived hours earlier and swept the premises had nothing to report and left briskly.
The PM poured some tea and offered him a slice of cake.
"No thanks," said White.
"Right then," said the PM sipping his tea, "where do we stand now?"
"In no man's land with a bloody great target painted on our back, potentially."
"Potentially?"
"I have yet to verify this information, in fact I need your help in order to do so. At present I'm the only person who knows this, and we need to know if it's true at the earliest opportunity. The CIA agent, and I'm one hundred percent satisfied that he and his two late colleagues are indeed such, told me that there are currently around fifty agents in this country."
The PM paused.
"Fifty? What, you mean stationed, or planted?"
"That's what he meant."
"I know that your agents make excursions across the Atlantic now and then, for legitimate purposes, but the CIA have no business being over here."
"Exactly. It's part of our brief that we do not interfere in the business of other countries or conduct any operations that do not directly involve the security of this country. This is new territory. It is now undeniable that the CIA have not only somehow bugged or compromised my agent, but are using information gained to conduct an operation involving our research and development facilities."
He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a sheet of paper.
"You were in the forces, weren't you, sir?"
"Yes, two years in the marines."
"That's what those three agents had in the boot of the car for their trip to the woods."
The PM looked over the extensive list of weaponry and equipment.
"I agree, that's way over the top for a surveillance exercise. It also demonstrates a worrying confidence, don't you think?"
"Almost contemptuous, I'd say. Or it could indicate, which is what we originally thought, that they were working alone with no base and so had to carry everything with them."
"And where did they get the stuff from?"
"That's what I need your help with, sir. I need you to find out, as quietly as possible, of course, if there is any CIA smuggling going on. This equipment is mainly of US manufacture, I need to to know how they got it over here, and whether the men themselves came via traditional means or by some sort of..."
"Invasion?"
"Three's a pretty small invasion."
"But fifty isn't."
"That could be a red herring to get us to spread our resources too thinly. However, if there really are fifty agents in this country with a commensurate amount of equipment and weaponry then we need to find them yesterday."
The PM sipped his tea thoughtfully.
"This goes beyond security, this is an international incident. This is... unbelievable."
"I agree. How soon can you check passport control for a trace of these men and any other suspect Americans?"
The PM stood up with a sense of urgency.
"Wait there, I have to inform the foreign secretary of this."
"I understand that, sir, but, you know..."
"Don't worry, I'll give him my scariest face and tell him to keep his fucking mouth shut. In fact, shall I get him here? You're a lot scarier than me."
Bill nodded, trying not to laugh.
"Help yourself to cake," the Prime Minister said over his shoulder as he left the room.
Twenty minutes later the PM returned with a flustered and windswept foreign secretary.
"Ian, this is Bill White, director of T14."
He shook hands awkwardly and sat down.
"I know you don't always see eye to eye with MI6," he began, "but I've had to get them on board. It's the only way I can possibly find out if CIA agents are stationed here."
"But you only gave them minimal information?"
"Yes, of course. I just told them that heavily armed Americans had been captured on our soil and weren't playing ball. I didn't even mention the CIA."
"Good," said White.
"So," said Ian nervously, "what's this all about?"
"Stop fishing, Ian," said the PM brusquely, "this goes way above you."
He seemed to accept that without resentment or slight.
"They'll report to me within twenty four hours. They're checking old disused ports, places the IRA used to use for smuggling, and flagging up any suspect American visitors."
"I think that's the best we can expect, Bill," said the PM.
"I suppose so. I would do it myself but I now have to divert all my available agents to... more pressing matters."
"I understand," said the PM, "would you like to leave and get on with that now?"
"I will make some calls, but I need to discuss things further. With both of you," he added, getting up and walking out of the room as he took out his phone.
"Bloody hell! said Ian. "This is..." he shook his head in bewilderment.
"This is the most important work you will ever do, and nobody will ever know anything about it. If you fuck up in any way, everyone will know."
"Yes." Ian acknowledged quietly.
"You look as if you could do with a brandy."
Without waiting for a response, the PM went over to the drinks cabinet and filled two glasses.