Even by Downing Street standards, the hours that followed the call from America were frantic.
The Prime Minister and his Cabinet Secretary had immediately decided that they should pass on the news to all those who had attended Monday’s special meetings, but at the same time had concluded that the circle needed to be drawn even wider than that.
“It’s no use Cabinet Ministers knowing the score,” said Sir Robin Algar, “if their outer offices don’t also know what’s going on. That’s where things are going to be made to happen.”
“You’re right,” agreed Tony Weaver. “And it’s no use the Chief of Defence Staff knowing if nobody else does in the military - he’s not going to mount all these little operations on his own.”
“I have to say that I think we can leave it to those in uniform to decide who else they need to brief to get the job done, but I worry about the politicians and civil servants, if I may say so,” declared Algar. “There is a natural tendency to gossip in the corridors, which we shall have to kerb.”
“At the moment, it’s the military and the police who are going to be busy, so perhaps the problem isn't so bad as we fear,” said the PM.
“On the other hand,” countered Sir Robin, “MI5 must be briefed, and they report to the Home Office, as does Scotland Yard and therefore the anti-terrorist squad and special branch. MI6 is a Foreign Office responsibility, and since the CIA lifted its ban on assassinations following 9/11, the people at Vauxhall Cross have developed a highly secret military wing that they can task directly, mainly staffed by members of the SAS and other special forces. That’s MOD again. The Northern Ireland Office will have a responsibility for the NI Police Service who must get involved because of its own anti-terrorist branch and special branch, and the Prison Service, another Home Office responsibility, will have to agree to us using the man who is doing time for fraud. I’m very much afraid, Prime Minister, that we can’t side-line Ministers and their officials as much as we would like.”
Tony Weaver sighed, and stared thoughtfully out of the window, across the rose garden.
“I will pass the word to my Cabinet colleagues,” he said eventually. “I will remind them of the huge political risks we are about to take, and, with that in mind, leave it to them to tell those officials who really have to know, taking guidance from their Permanent Secretaries as to trustworthiness, security clearances, and so on. I’m quite sure all the Permanent Secretaries will immediately contact you, Robin, so you can also take the opportunity to emphasise the sensitivity of it all.”
Algar nodded.
“I will also,” continued the Prime Minister, “contact the CDS and Police Chiefs, as they attended the meeting here, and give them the same instructions about who they brief. Only those who need to know in order to get the job done must be told - none other. But I will also personally brief the Heads of MI5 and MI6 to ensure they not only work closely together, but also with the police and military. I think you could deal direct with the Prison Service when you need to, perhaps after you’ve put Paul Bridges in the picture and spoken again with your man at the Bank of England.”
“I can't think of anyone else we ourselves need to tell,” agreed Algar. “I’m quite sure things will start to happen fairly quickly on the military side, especially when your man Clayton gets the all clear from his General.”
“We can get hold of all these people on a secure line, too, I think,” said Weaver. “But I might just have Andrew Groves in and tell him what’s going on. What do you think? He can at least be on the lookout for leaks, and take extra care to monitor the media for news of relevant activity across the water.”
“Yes, that would be sensible,” agreed Sir Robin. “Perhaps I could sit in on that. After prayers tomorrow?”
“Agreed,” said the Prime Minister. “I think you and I should each brief our private offices now, and then get cracking on the phone before people start drifting home. In fact, our people could pass word to those at the bottom of the list not to go home until we’ve been on to them.”
It was two hours later that Colonel Philip Dangerfield, Head of Intelligence at Headquarters Northern Ireland, stuck his head round the door of Bill Clayton’s office.
“The GOC wants to see us both - now!” he said. “Any clue what this might be about?”
“Yes,” said Clayton, as he followed Dangerfield towards the stairs.
Dangerfield paused, expecting more, but then took the stairs two at a time, remembering who he was with. He’d have to wait for an explanation from the General rather than from Clayton. He didn’t have to wait long.
The General had received a secure phone call direct from the Chief of the General Staff, an almost unique event in itself. He, in turn, had received orders from the Chief of Defence Staff, who had himself been briefed personally by the Prime Minister. The General passed on to the two men what he had been told about the objects of the exercise, and how they were to be achieved. The upshot of it all was that Major Bill Clayton was to be given almost carte blanche to do as he thought best, and the maximum possible co-operation to help him do it. And as that order effectively came from the Prime Minister, that’s all there was to it.
“We have at least,” said the General, “been told what this is all about, and what it is that the Government hopes to achieve. Sounds bloody dodgy to me, I must say, although I’m quite sure it can be done, given that the political will is there. There is apparently a second phase to this operation, involving a proposed political solution, and I may, repeat ‘may’, be briefed about that later. I suppose that depends on whether or not the politicians think they can do that part on their own, or whether they think they will need our help for that too. But I suspect we shall be left to get on with the shitty end of the plan, and they will bask in the political glory of it all when we’ve succeeded. But that’s just me being jaundiced again, I suppose.”
The General was well known for his jaundiced view of politicians, so neither man responded.
“Is there anything more you can tell me about this, Major?” asked the GOC.
“No, sir, not really,” he replied. “Minister James Anchor will, I believe, be involved in the detail of the political planning after our part of the operation, providing we are successful. I was asked to get involved because it was believed that I had the kind of detailed information that was needed for a large part of the first phase.”
“I gather you’ve already had meetings with the Prime Minister,” said the General rather peevishly.
“Yes sir. A couple,” replied Clayton.
“I had no idea,” said Dangerfield to the General, in an effort to protect his own back.
“I was told not to say that I'd been summoned to the presence,” explained Clayton helpfully. “I couldn’t at that stage have given a reason, so it was best that I kept quiet.”
“Quite right, really,” agreed the General. “By the way, the people at Hereford have already been briefed, and at my request, they are detaching an SAS Lieutenant to work with you as their liaison officer, Bill. He should be with you tomorrow.”
“That’s good news, and very helpful, sir. Thank you.” Not such a bad General after all, thought Bill Clayton.
“Oh, and one other thing,” said the General. “I’m to tell you that, from now on, we are all only to brief upwards. See me first if you ever feel the need to do otherwise.”
As the two men took their leave, Col. Dangerfield turned to the General.
“Does this have a code word, by the way?” he asked.
“Not only that,” replied the General, “but extra special secure communications are being set up for its exclusive use. And I must emphasise again the need for the utmost security. There’ll be all hell to pay if the wheel comes off this one. It’s Op. Honolulu, by the way, but God knows why.”
Clayton knew, but, as always, wasn’t about to say.
There was a note on his desk when he returned to his office, from Captain Foley, who had already gone to the Mess for supper. The note outlined the history of the four handguns he had ‘borrowed’ from the Police, and which were now secured in the armoury with captured ammunition as requested. The armoury was under strict orders not to release the weapons to anyone except Foley or Clayton, which was good thinking and typical Brian Foley, thought Clayton.
Having read the note, Bill Clayton strolled to the Registry, where he knew Catherine Wilson was still working.
“Shove this in the safe for me please, Sergeant,” asked Clayton. “How are you getting on with those dossiers, by the way?”
“Not bad, sir,” she replied. “I spent most of today at Police Headquarters, and there’s a bit more work to do on some of them tomorrow. But the copies should all be ready for you by lunchtime.”
“Excellent,” said Clayton. “In that case I think I’ll take them to London on the twelve o’clock shuttle. I'll stroll across to the transport office on my way to the Mess.”
The hapless Corporal Harrington was on duty again.
It was quite late when Paul Bridges responded to the phone call from Isabelle Paton, and made his way yet again to the Permanent Secretary’s office. By then, almost everyone who needed to know about the plan did know, and Robin Algar guessed that a lot of other people would be working late that evening as a result.
“Come in, Paul,” said Algar, waving towards an armchair. “Make yourself comfortable - join me in a glass of something?”
“Wouldn’t mind a scotch if you’re having one,” replied Bridges.
“I think we’ve earned it today,” said Algar. “Thanks, by the way, for your quick response about the code word for this little saga. Have you passed it to Ernie Stevens?”
“Yes, I have,” replied Bridges. “Sorry we couldn’t use ‘Hawaii’, but that’s already a contingency plan for something else.”
“It was only a thought,” replied Sir Robin. “I’d better tell you what ‘Op. Honolulu’ is all about.”
The Cabinet Secretary succinctly outlined the first phase of the proposed plan, which now had the wholehearted support of the United States.
“The Americans will probably not have a great involvement in the beginning,” said Algar, “but if we succeed, then there will be a second, even more daring effort to bring about a permanent political solution to an Ireland without terrorism. And the States will be involved heavily in that. But if we don’t succeed in bringing peace to the province, then all bets are off, and a great many political careers will be at an end, I suspect.”
“I can see why they are involved,” said Bridges. “And they must have some role to play, even if only in bringing an end to the financial support given by NORAID, surely.”
“Yes, of course. It will be no use our friend Alistair Vaughan helping us to empty their coffers if the Irish Americans are still busy filling them, especially as they only support one side of the political divide. But they made a start some time ago, by banning their web site, and Sinn Fein’s.”
“Now I know a bit more about the plan, I’ll have another word with Alistair tomorrow. He really must be persuaded to be more cooperative,” said Bridges.
“The Prime Minister is speaking to the Governor as well, so I think he’ll get the message all right. He was just a bit afraid of acting against his own future best interests, I think.”
“You were certainly wise to set up the dedicated secure communications links,” commented Bridges. “It doesn’t bear thinking about if there was to be a serious leak.”
“Secrecy is the essence of success here,” agreed Algar. “I think the financial part will be OK - it’s small and self-contained. And I think, too, that the combined military/police operation directed against individuals will be carried out by very small units, none of which will have the slightest idea of the broader picture. Only a few at the top who are directing things will have that. The noisy, public part of it will be dealing with their arms and ammunition dumps, and I’m not quite sure how the military will handle that.”
“Certainly not quietly!” agreed Paul Bridges. “I suspect they will delay that part of the exercise a bit until some of the major players are out of the way, so they can’t kick up too much of a fuss. It will also take quite a while to plan that aspect too, I should think, not least because public safety will be a factor. The last thing you want is too much collateral damage.”
“I’m not at all sure,” said Algar, “that in some ways it might not be a good idea to actually claim credit for dealing with the decommissioning of arms in this way, after all the talking has achieved nothing. A few brownie points for the Government taking a strong stand, and all that.”
“Just so long as you don’t arouse suspicion that the Government has been involved in other aspects as well,” warned Bridges. “This whole thing will need the most careful handling publicly.”
“Absolutely,” agreed Algar. “The Prime Minister and I will be taking Andrew Groves into our confidence tomorrow, for that very reason. As a matter of interest, Paul, when might the video conferencing be available? I can see we shall need to be using that rather sooner than I had expected.”
“We’ve earmarked the old press briefing room for it - in the good old days, it was used for the daily briefing of lobby correspondence, until one of the PM’s predecessors stopped it. It’s next to COBR ‘A’ downstairs, as you remember, so handy for everything else, and we’ve started installation already. A large, flat, plasma screen will make them feel as if they’re almost in the same room. It should all be ready, subject to test transmissions going well, by the weekend.”
“That’s good,” responded Algar. “I can imagine it is going to be very well used in the days and weeks ahead.”
Like most other people involved in ‘Honolulu’, Major Bill Clayton was in the office early the next morning, but not early enough to beat Captain Brian Foley or his Chief Clerk, Sergeant Catherine Wilson.
“Morning, chaps,” said Clayton, always cheery when he’d had kippers for breakfast. “Not having breakfast this morning, Brian?” he enquired. “The kippers are particularly good.”
“I’ll get a bacon roll later,” replied Foley. “Suddenly, there seemed to be a lot to do this morning, what with you going off to London again later.”
“Well, you should have stayed later last night, shouldn’t he Sergeant”, joked Clayton. “In the end, I couldn’t get on the scheduled flight, but the RAF has a Hercules going back to Brize Norton before lunch, and they’ve been persuaded to go via Northolt and drop me off. Isn’t that good of them?”
“Only if they land first!” replied Foley.
“Very funny! But I’ll certainly be going down the ramp at the back,” said Clayton. “They’re stopping at the end of the runway, and going straight off again once I’ve left them. I’m being met by a staff car. With any luck, it will take me straight to Downing Street. Much better than Heathrow, especially as I shall have the dossiers with me. They will be ready, won’t they?”
Sergeant Wilson was at the photocopier as he asked. “Nearly there, sir.” she replied.
“By the way,” said Clayton, “Our clever GOC has arranged for an SAS chap to be detached to us to act as our liaison officer.”
“He’s already here,” replied Foley. “In your office, re-arranging the furniture.”
“What!” exclaimed Clayton.
“Said it was all hush-hush, and he had to work closely with you, or something, so we’ve squeezed an extra desk in there for him.” explained Foley. “Needed somewhere to put his radio, he said.”
“Got lovely blue eyes,” mumbled Sergeant Wilson.
“Jesus!” Clayton stomped off to what used to be his office.
A tall, slim man in a dark blue wooly-pully, turned to greet him.
“Sorry about your office,” he said, holding out his hand. “Nick Marsden, at your service.”
He had dark wavy hair, and a good sun tan - blue eyes, too, noted Clayton, shaking hands.
“I was expecting a Lieutenant from the SAS,” said Clayton.
“Sorry again,” said Marsden, “but you’ve got a Lieutenant Commander from the Special Boat Squadron. Same thing, really. I was on detachment to Hereford, and they sent me from there to act as your fixer.”
“The General was nearly right then, I suppose. You certainly didn’t waste much time getting here,” Clayton complimented him. “How did you manage that?”
“They let me bring my own chopper,” explained Marsden. “Thought it could come in handy while this little show is on, and the lovely RAF gave me a quiet corner of Aldergrove to park it when I arrived late last night.”
“How did you get here from Aldergrove, then?”
“Bit tricky at two o’clock this morning, but I eventually found a taxi,” replied the SBS officer.
“You were very lucky indeed,” said Clayton. “Not just to find one, but to get here alive.”
“Oh, it didn’t have a driver,” explained Marsden. “Once I’d got the door open, I hot-wired it and drove myself. Unfortunately, the thing caught fire and burnt out shortly after I left it at the bottom of the hill. That’s quite a climb, you know, with this bloody radio on your back, I don’t mind telling you.”
Captain Foley was hovering outside the door. Clayton turned to him. “Let me know what the police are saying about that taxi, will you. I want to know if there are any witnesses.”
“There aren’t.” said Marsden. “I hung around for a bit to see, and not soul stirred. It was torched, not blown up, so it was all very quiet.”
Clayton looked hard at Marsden. He was a professional, all right. No doubt about that. Suddenly, all this began to look as if it could be quite good fun, in a sick sort of way.
“What’s with the wireless, then,” he said nodding towards the extra desk crammed into the corner. “We’ve got quite a good Communications Centre here, you know.”
“I’m sure you have,” replied Commander Marsden. “No offence, or anything, but I can chat direct to all my chums on this without bothering anyone else. Totally secure, too.”
Clayton hit the buzzer on his desk. Sergeant Wilson answered.
“Be a good chap,” said Clayton, “and get some coffee organised. Those kippers have given me a thirst. Then ask Captain Foley to double up on his order for bacon rolls - Commander Marsden looks as if he could murder one.” Marsden nodded appreciatively. “And then”, concluded Clayton, “get on to the Officer’s Mess, give them my compliments, and get a decent room organised smartly for the Commander. He hasn’t slept for a couple of days.”
“Now,” he turned to Marsden, “tell me what you know, and why you think you’re here.”
“I gather,” replied Nick Marsden, “that there are certain parts of the landscape over here which are surplus to future requirements, and that they either need to be moved on, or to be removed. I’m told you have the details. My job is to arrange the removal for you. The SAS Commander over here has been told that any tasking from me takes priority over anything else he thinks is important, and he is also getting a few reinforcements in the next day or so. Your General again, I shouldn’t wonder. The plot seems to be to use very small, self-contained units, each unknown to the other, and for them to move on once their mission is achieved.”
“Is your area of operations restricted to Northern Ireland?” asked Clayton.
“Not at all - anywhere you like, world-wide.”
“That could be very useful,” said Clayton. “But what about the States?” he asked, remembering McFosters planned visit there.
“Even there,” replied Marsden, “although it depends what it is you want doing. I spent some time working with MI6, so I know my way around the American Special Forces, but there could be times when it would be best to go in at the top, and work down, if you see what I mean.”
“You mean a direct request from the PM to the President, for example.”
“Exactly so. Things could move faster that way.”
“What about this, for instance?” asked Clayton. Over coffee, they discussed the McFosters visit, and soon agreed what to do.
“I’m in Downing Street this afternoon, so I’ll set that ball rolling if I can. I suggest you get your head down for a few hours while I’m away, and we can meet again over a beer in the Mess this evening.”
“Sounds good,” replied Marsden. “I need to twiddle knobs on my crystal set for a bit first, though.”
“I’ll tell my people to get whatever you want - if you can’t find it for yourself, of course,” said Clayton, looking around at his once tidy office.
Sir Robin Algar was just leaving for lunch when Major Clayton arrived, with his brief case padlocked to his wrist.
“At last we meet,” said Algar. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said, shaking hands.
“Sorry to barge in like this, un-announced,” said Clayton, “but you will be needing these dossiers I’ve put together for you, and I thought the sooner you had them the better. They combine all the evidence we have about certain people over the water, and their alleged criminal activity.”
“I’ve already got an envelope full of material from you,” said Algar, “but this all looks much more official.”
“It is,” acknowledged Clayton. “It’s a combination of facts from all our sources - the sort of paper work the Crown Prosecution Service would need before reaching a decision. I gather you need it for much the same purpose.”
The Cabinet Secretary paled slightly. “I’m afraid I do,” he agreed.
“I shall need to know your verdict,” said Clayton. “It might be easier if I assume you are content for us to proceed unless I hear to the contrary.”
“The evidence is that good, is it?” asked Sir Robin.
“We think so, in almost every case.”
“Let’s do it that way, then,” agreed Algar. “How soon do you need to know?”
“How long will it take you to get through them all, do you think? There’s three-dozen or so in there. The sooner we set the deadline, the sooner we can get started.”
The Cabinet Secretary thought for a moment, and looked at the diary on his desk. “The trouble is, I can’t take any of this home,” he said, almost to himself. “Let’s agree that if you haven’t heard about any of them by Monday, then I am content. By then, the new secure communications should be in place, too.”
“Good,” agreed Bill Clayton. “That gives me time for some planning as well. There’s one dossier in that lot, though, where I think the Americans could do a better job than us, but they will need to act on Friday. If you agree, could you persuade the PM to have a word with President Minton, to see if he can set it up for us?”
For the next ten minutes, they discussed Martin McFosters.
Sir Robin Algar suddenly looked at his watch.
“Look here,” he said, “I’m going to be late for lunch. Is there anything else?”
“I need your signature for the dossiers,” said Clayton. “They’re classified.” He handed over an official receipt from his jacket pocket, and pointed to where the signature was required. “And this,” he added, fishing for a scrap of paper in another pocket. “It’s McFosters’ flight number,” he said, handing it over.
“You think of everything,” said Algar, signing. “How about joining me for lunch? I’m meeting a friend of yours, Alistair Vaughan.”
“I know you are. He told me when I spoke to him this morning. It would be nice to see him again, so thank you, if you’re sure I shan’t be in the way, I’d very much like to join you.”
Sir Robin Algar grinned. “Come on then. The car’s waiting at the Whitehall entrance.”
He paused, to hand over the files to John Williams.
“For the safe, please John. I shall want this lot again later. Get on the phone and tell Mr Vaughan we shall be a bit late, and that Major Clayton is joining us.”
“He guessed I would be,” said Clayton as they set off down the corridor.
“Did he, now!” exclaimed Algar. “And I suppose you know where we're going, too.”
“Rules.” replied Clayton. “It’s your turn and you like steak and kidney pud!”
The two men laughed as they stepped out into Whitehall. This was going to be better than a pint in the Red Lion across the road, thought Clayton.
“As a matter of interest, Major, why did you ring him?” said Sir Robin as they settled into the car.
“Only to try to put a bit of steel in his spine,” replied Clayton. “I gather he wasn’t entirely co-operative on your first meeting.”
“Oh dear,” said Algar. “What you say is certainly true, but poor Alistair will also have been encouraged to help this morning by Paul Bridges, who you also know I think, and by the Governor of the Bank of England himself, following a call to him by the Prime Minister. He may just not be in a very good mood when we meet after all that.”
Bill Clayton grinned. “The steak and kidney will cheer him up,” he said. “Although personally I shall have something lighter, I think, since I had kippers for breakfast. And please call me Bill, if you like.”
“Thanks, Bill. Do you think Alistair and his convict friend are going to be able to pull this off, as a matter of interest?” asked Sir Robin.
“Oh, I’m quite sure they will.” Bill Clayton lowered his voice and turned towards the Cabinet Secretary.
“As a matter of fact,” he confided, “I managed myself, only last weekend, to spirit away a few dollars belonging to the IRA, from the Manhattan State Bank in New York. In fact, I closed the account. I’m told that caused quite a fuss, as I’d hoped it would. I knew they had quite a big bill to pay, and in the end, they had to scratch around to find the money from other accounts.”
The Cabinet Secretary could hardly believe what he was hearing.
“I’m still not quite sure how I managed it, even now,” continued the Major, “but the point is that if I can do it, fiddling around on my computer in the office, then I’m sure the Bank of England can. I was going to tell Alistair, and ask him what I ought to do with the money. I opened a special account for it, to avoid any confusion. But perhaps you might have an idea. It’s been on my conscience, a bit.”
During lunch, at their quiet corner table at the rear of the restaurant, the three men discussed the next moves in the bid to rid the terrorist organisations of the money they needed to operate.
“I’ve never understood why they need so much,” said Vaughan.
“Weapons are expensive,” replied Clayton, “and apart from that, they have quite large full-time organisations, with staff who need paying a wage, and they make handsome regular donations to their so called ‘war widows’, and to the families of their members in prison. All in all, there’s quite a bit of cash flowing through their accounts, especially the bigger organisations’, and shutting off the flow will cause quite a bit of grief.”
“What about the timing of all this?” asked Sir Robin.
“In my view,” replied Bill Clayton, “we need to wait until a few of the major players are out of the way before we start shutting them down. Lower ranking members will make less noise and be able to do less to about it. I would prefer to start with the IRA and other republican organisations, and then move on to the UDA. You'll see that the lists in my envelope are numbered - that’s the order I think we should deal with them, if that’s possible. It would be really neat, though, if your man could get everything prepared, and then shut down several accounts all at once. But however we do it, it’s essential at the same time for the Americans to shut off the flow from their end.”
“That’s all in hand,” said Algar. “We only have to say the word. And what about shutting everything down with a bang, rather than a gentle haemorrhaging, Alistair? Can that be done, do you think?”
“I’m sure we shall be able to close a few accounts on the same day, but not all of them at once. The whole exercise will take a couple of weeks, I should think, depending on how well our friend gets on cracking the various bank ciphers.”
“There is one particularly important piece of timing, which will take a good deal of co-ordination,” said Bill Clayton, leaning forward. “There’s a large and important shipment of arms due in a couple of weeks from Libya. The usual practice is for members of the IRA to oversee the loading of the consignment, and then deposit a post-dated cheque, cashable when the arms are safely delivered. The money will need to be in the bank when the cheque is drawn up, but not when it’s deposited. It must bounce. By then, we shall need to have taken care of their biggest arms dump, so that the need for the shipment is even more urgent. And we may need help from the Americans to do that,” he continued, turning to the Cabinet Secretary. “But again, timing will be crucial, because, every four weeks, fairly regularly, the IRA Quartermaster himself, and two of his top people visit the dump to inspect it. If we could blow it with them inside, it would look like an own goal, and I plan to make as much of this operation as possible look like that.”
“That would be very neat indeed if we can pull that off,” agreed Algar.
“There is one problem, though,” said Clayton.
“Only one?” asked an incredulous Alistair Vaughan.
“Well, it’s not