“You know, I expect, that these Sealand people are offering Internet and cell phone services from the island.”
Both nodded.
“I expect you’ve heard, too, that there have been a series of murders of important conservative political figures in the U.S.?”
They nodded again.
“Well, there seems to be a connection. The fellow who’s committing these murders is running a personal website on one of Sealand’s servers, and President Lee and his security people would very much like to know who registered this site-his name and address, if possible, and anything else that might help them run him to ground.”
“Well,” Sir Ewan said, smiling, “I think my people would enjoy putting on a little show to gather this information.”
“And I think I’d enjoy going along,” Carpenter said.
“We don’t want this all over the papers, if we can help it,” Ridgeway said. “Can we help it?”
“Perhaps not,” Carpenter replied, “unless we can get in and out without causing a ruckus.”
“Could your chaps do that, Ewan?”
“I should think it’s highly likely, if I choose my people well. But still, if the people on the island twig, and they want it known, well…”
“So there’s a risk of it becoming public?”
“A not-unreasonable risk,” Southby-Tailyour replied.
“If it should break, I would not like to see your names mentioned,” Ridgeway said.
“Thank you, sir,” Carpenter replied. “I should think we could guarantee you that that will not happen.”
“Quite,” the general said.
“Well then, get back to me with something soon?” The PM stood up, and so did his guests. “Carpenter, could you stay for a moment?” he asked.
“Of course, Prime Minister,” she replied.
He waved her back to her chair and waited until the door had closed behind Sir Ewan. “Well, Felicity, how are things going at your firm?” he asked.
“We’re making the adjustment,” she said. “I suppose we would adjust more quickly with the question of the appointment resolved.”
“Ah, yes,” Ridgeway said. “Sir Edward’s replacement.” Sir Edward Fieldstone, the head of British Intelligence, had been murdered in the men’s room of the Four Seasons restaurant in New York some weeks before, while Carpenter had sat at dinner in the dining room with the director of the FBI. “I’m working on that.”
“I’m sure you are, sir.”
“You know, Felicity, were you a few years older, your name would be on the short list to succeed Sir Edward.”
She appeared surprised. “Well, that’s very flattering, Prime Minister.”
“I believe I could successfully appoint a woman,” he said, “perhaps even a beautiful woman.” He waited for the compliment to sink in. “But not a beautiful young woman.”
“How nice to be referred to as young!” Carpenter replied, smiling, “and just when I was beginning to feel old.”
“Your conduct in the operation in New York was much appreciated, and I think no one assigns any responsibility to you for the death of Sir Edward. Fortunately, we have been able to blame the FBI for that one.”
“Quite.”
“And of course, we are all very relieved to have that woman, La Biche, out of the picture. I must say, it took courage to do what you did.”
“It was necessary,” she replied, gazing into her drink.
“You are quite a remarkable woman, Felicity,” he said. “If I thought there were the slightest chance of success, I’d be inviting you for a quiet dinner for two this evening. My wife is at Chequers for a few days.”
“You are kind, Prime Minister, but our positions make that impossible.”
“Of course they do,” he replied, chuckling to cover his embarrassment at being rejected. “Well, back to our original subject. What do you think are the chances of pulling off this Sealand thing without making the papers?”
“Well, there is always the Official Secrets Act,” she said, referring to the act of Parliament that made it possible to hide almost anything from the public. “But, of course, that doesn’t apply to the European media, and these days…”
“Quite, quite.”
“I think there are three possibilities for an outcome,” she said.
“And they are?”
“One, we go in, find what we want, and get out without being discovered. I think this is the least likely, but it could happen.”
“Yes, that would be desirable.”
“Two, we go in, and they discover that someone has been there, but they don’t know who. I think we have a better chance of that.”
“And three?”
“We go in, are discovered, and the Sealand people blab to the press. I think that, for planning purposes, we should think of that as the likely outcome.”
“Mmmm,” the prime minister said, noncommittally.
“I think in that case, we should take some pains for them not to know who we are, to make them think that our party is there for commercial purposes. I can do some work on that.”
“I like that,” Ridgeway said. He stood up. “Well, get back to me when you and Sir Ewan have a plan.”
She stood up and set down her drink. “Thank you, Prime Minister. We’ll try to be quick.”
“More important to be thorough,” he said. He watched her exit the room, regretting that he had not been more persuasive.
31
KATE ARRIVED AT HER OFFICE in Langley at her usual time. She had a regular weekly briefing scheduled from her deputy director for intelligence, who ran the Agency’s analysts, and her deputy director for operations, who ran its spies.
They appeared in her office on schedule, Morton Koppel, the DDI, and Hugh English, the DDO, and she listened to their reports and discussed many items at length. Their deputies and assistants took notes as did the deputy director for central intelligence, her number two, Creighton Adams.
Two hours later, when the briefing was concluded, Kate dismissed everyone but her DDI, DDO, and DDCI. She offered them a short break, and after everyone had been to the john and poured another cup of coffee, she plunged ahead.
“There’s something I want to discuss with you,” she said. “This is entirely informaclass="underline" no notes are being taken and no recordings made. I simply want your opinion on something.”
Everybody looked interested.
“Ed Rawls is ill,” she said. “He’s been in prison for sixteen years, and he had heart surgery last summer. His doctor has told me that his prognosis is guarded, at best, and that he could, in fact, die at any time.” She paused.
Nobody said anything, but Hugh English, the DDO, looked annoyed.
“Ed did a despicable thing,” she said, “and I, for one, will never forgive him far it, but I’m considering a recommendation to the president that his sentence be commuted to time served, on compassionate grounds. He was sentenced to life without parole, so parole is not an option. I want to hear the views of each of you on the subject,” She turned to her DDCI. “Creighton?”
“How quietly could this be done?” he asked. “And what would the reaction of Congress be? Would such a commutation reflect badly on the Agency?” Creighton Adams was the most cautious of men and the most highly attuned to political considerations.
“It would have to be made public, of course, and I’m sure the Post and the Times would spend a day recapping Ed’s crime and trial. As for the Congress, pardons and commutations are the president’s prerogative, and he would have to take any heat generated. There would be less heat, of course, if the Agency’s top management acquiesced.”
Adams nodded. “I’m not opposed, in principle. I’d like to think a bit more about the consequences.”
Kate turned to her DDL “Mort?”
“I didn’t know Rawls as well as the rest of you, so there’s no personal consideration involved. Ordinarily, I’d want him to die in prison but…” He shrugged. “If he gets out I hope to God I won’t bump into him at cocktail parties in Virginia and D.C.”