Barbara Currier, Director of SIS, strode in carrying a stack of papers, followed by Middle East Division Chief Roddy Touraine.
“Well, Brian, you leave Bahrain for a day and the place goes to hell in a handbasket,” she said, thrusting out her hand to Douglas.
“I was surprised by the timing of it, Director, but we had just told the Americans it was coming relatively soon,” Brian said defensively.
“Sit, sit,” the Director urged. “Yes, I made a point of that to their Director of National Intelligence this morning on the vid link. And he acknowledged it, more’s the wonder.”
“My station staff have done great work in the last twenty-four hours finding out more about the details, if you’d like to hear them, Director,” Brian offered, pulling out his notes. Currier nodded enthusiastically while pouring herself a cup of Earl Grey.
“Those the Americans found on board were Iraqis, maybe Sunni, maybe Shi’a. Don’t know yet. Most of them got killed by the Marines in the firefight, but the SEALs captured one alive who said they were ordered not to detonate the ship until they had rammed a U.S. destroyer or run aground on the base. They had rigged two of the five natural gas spheres with enough RDX to set off a firestorm that would have lashed out almost three kilometers.
“Our traces as to how they got into Bahrain, where they stayed, et cetera, indicate that they were facilitated by a front company called Medkefdar Trading, which we link back through Hezbollah to the Iranian Qods Force.
“The Americans were alerted just before the attack by an American newspaper reporter, who in turn claims to have been warned by what she describes as an Islamyah source; we’re checking on who that may be. I can find out. This does, however, confirm my earlier reporting that the terrorism in Bahrain is from Iran and not from Islamyah,” he said, folding the notes back up.
“Not what I’m hearing from across the pond,” Roddy Touraine piped up. “A ruse, they say. The Yanks are still keen that it’s the al Qaeda regime in Riyadh.” Roddy Touraine had once used the commercial cover of an accountant, and he looked the part.
“It’s not an al Qaeda regime, although there may be some ex — alQaeda in it,” Douglas shot back.
“Ex—al Qaeda? Can one be ex—al Qaeda, Director?” Roddy Touraine asked rhetorically to Barbara Currier. “I would have thought once one, always one. Can a camel change its spots?”
“You mean like once a Pentagon liaison always a Pentagon toady?”
Brian flashed.
“Children, children, enough,” the Director asserted, chopping the air with her hand. “What’s next, that’s what I want to know.
How do we stop these attacks? How do we prove—prove—whose hand is behind them?”
“Director, if I may,” Brian began. “As you know, I ran a small but highly effective network in Tehran several years back. I met them outside of the country, but from time to time I went in under commercial cover. My successor shut down the network because one of the group was caught and killed by VEVAK in Baku. Rather than risk the rest, we put the net into hibernation.
“As far as we know, the rest of the group were never revealed and are still in positions to know much of what we need now. I’d like to go back in, activate one of them, and see what we can find out about the Iranian role in Bahrain and what they are up to in general, in Iraq, with the nuclears, the whole ball of wax.”
The room was quiet for a moment. Brian heard a siren going by on the embankment below.
“Personally? You want to activate them by going in country, personally?” Touraine asked incredulously. “Don’t they know you by now? Haven’t you been made by VEVAK?”
“If I stayed there any length of time, they would have time to match photographs, but that will take a few days, and that’s all I need,” Douglas insisted. “There is no way to contact this source or the others in the cell remotely, and I am the only one left here that our network know, will recognize. Yes, there is some danger, but it’smoder ate, and I am prepared to accept it.”
“Danger to you, fine. Accept away,” Touraine shot back, “but it’s a danger to the Director, the Service, and HMG if the Iranians announce to the world that they’ve captured a senior SIS officer traipsing about the whorehouses of Tehran with secret Iranian government documents!”
Now there was only the noise of the heating system. SIS Director Barbara Currier was sketching butterflies on her notepad. “We do need to take risks. We are not the Girl Guides,” she said finally, standing to shake Brian’s hand, indicating that their meeting was over. “Just don’t get caught, Brian, will you, now?” Pamela Braithwaite walked Brian to the elevators. “There’s being a field man, Brian, and then there’s being a cowboy.” He shot her a glance. “I thought you were a friend.” “I am. Why do you think she approved this little adventure of yours? I told her this morning she could trust you.” Pamela smiled.
“Don’t prove me wrong and Roddy right.”
Brian smiled back. “Thank you. Without you I’m sure Roddy would have torpedoed the whole thing. I just don’t trust that man.
Always running to Grosvenor Square, telling all to Uncle Sam. I’ll tell you one thing, I’m not going to run the operational details about this mission through that bastard.”
Pamela walked back toward the Director’s suite. “No, I will do the needful with Ops, get you cover, backup, emergency egress plans… make sure you’re authorized all the little bits that you will need… TTFN.”
“Delighted you could come over, Russell. Always willing to return a favor for Sol, work my way a little out of his debt. We’ve been wondering how this new analysis agency has been coming along, hoping we could learn a thing or two from you.” Sir Dennis Penning-Smith was in his late sixties, with a full head of thick white hair, and, in his three-piece suit and wire-rim glasses, looked somehow appropriate in this old government office building on Whitehall. He looked beaked, birdlike; he could have been a senior don at Cambridge, Rusty thought. But he was anything but that.
“Sir Dennis, as Intelligence Coordinator and Chairman of the Joint Intelligence Committee, you know far more about analysis than we could aspire to for years. Your track record here at JIC is better than anything Washington’s produced over the last twenty years,” Rusty replied.
“Very kind of you, Russell, very kind. We’ve had our share of mistakes, though. We didn’t get Iraqi WMD right either, although we did call the insurgency and the civil war. And Washington isn’t always off the mark. Occasionally, INR, the State Department’s lit
tle intelligence analysis branch, is spot-on. Little, that’s the common theme. In the analysis business, smaller is better. Fewer people, higher quality.”
He continued, “Most of the fancy technologically based information, from satellites and whatnot, is American in origin, but thankfully, you share almost all of it with us. We contribute some code-breaking and listening, but mainly our side of the bargain is what the boys and girls over at Vauxhall Cross provide, the good spy work, and we share almost all of that with you. For some reason CIA has just never done very well at the spying bit. When they get one, it’s usually a walk-in, a voluntary, not a recruit.
“But whoever gets it, it all comes here and to you — all the spy reports, the intercepted communications, the satellite pictures, and the publicly available information. That’s the open source. Often the very best material is the open source, but Washington hasn’t liked it, you know, believes it’s disinformation unless they stole it, bought it, or picked it up in the ether.