LONDON ALERT (6 page)

‘It sounds reasonable
to me.’

‘Let me make one thing
clear: while I do not want you to withhold anything you think terrorists might
come up with, I want you to concentrate on dramatic scenarios, ranging from large-scale
ones, like 9/11, to small-scale ones, since the impact on the public can be
great in either case. The recent beheadings are an unfortunate example of the
latter.’

‘What about the lone
gunman trying to shoot the prime minister or the Queen on some special occasion,
like Lee Harvey Oswald at Dallas?’

‘Other departments’
special units, such as the SAS and the SRR – that’s the even more secretive Special
Reconnaissance Regiment – with actual theatre experience in Iraq and
Afghanistan are already dealing with attacks such as might occur on great
national occasions, royal weddings, state funerals, or coronations. Not that we
expect a coronation anytime soon.’

‘I understand, but what
about biological or nuclear threats?’

‘Pre-empting them
through good intelligence, detection equipment at ports, and so on is how we
try and deal with that. We have people specializing in that. Handling any
incidents that do occur is essential as well.’

‘Put yourself in the
bad people’s shoes. Be an angry young man. Think like you did at school when
you came up with those silly jokes.’

‘But they were just for
fun.’

‘It’s fun for some of
those people.’

Sir Charles, like the
major, then went through the ritual of warning Holt about the negatives
involved in working in the secret world. He would no longer be able to be frank
with people, not even with his closest friends, family, or partners, and so on
and so on.

‘It can produce a
feeling of isolation and even exacerbate latent psychological problems. We do
have our house psychiatrist, but the time he can allot to each individual is
limited, especially as he has to prepare officers for physically dangerous, rather
than technical, missions like yours. For your job, we need a neurotic with
hang-ups. We put a lot of effort into finding you. I am not sure Blackwell, the
in-house psychiatrist, will take to someone of your ilk!’

‘I am not sure I will
take to him either, by the sound of it. I have heard some bad stories about
psychiatrists.’

‘Then I suggest you
steer clear of him, though he has to interview everyone for the record. A kind
of health and safety thing – he’s a general practitioner as well as a
psychiatrist.’

‘Thanks for warning me.
Sounds as if you think I might well be joining Giraffe.’

‘I very much hope you
do, but only if your heart is in it. You won’t be much use otherwise. Do you
really want to join us? Though I have stressed the negatives, there would be
many pluses.'

From having repeatedly watched
The Caine Mutiny
, the film
where the young ensign on his first posting has to choose between staying on his
clapped-out minesweeper or accepting an easy ride on the admiral’s staff on a
battleship or aircraft carrier, Holt knew that a good officer should be able to
make major decisions under pressure. Asking Sir Charles for time to consider
would risk falling in his esteem. He decided to take the bull by the horns.

‘It sounds,’ he said
unhesitatingly, ‘as though I might finally have found a way to use my talents productively.
Yes, I would very much like to join Giraffe. I think I could make a worthwhile contribution.’

‘Good. I expected you
would ask for time to think it over but am impressed to see you can think on
your feet. Congratulations. Welcome to Giraffe!’

Sir Charles got up from
behind his desk, walked round to Holt, and shook his hand, smiling broadly.

Holt felt a page in his
life had, for better or worse, been turned.

‘What’s the next step?’
he asked.

‘You will nominally be
in the hands of Peter at our Farringdon operating unit. Don’t ask him for
personal details, his family name, or whether he’s married with children. Do
not ask any of them, or me, personal questions. Besides security, that policy
has some incidental advantages, not least eliminating time-wasting gossip,
though our female agents don’t see it in that light. Some valuable women leave
the service for that reason alone.’

He pressed a button on
his desk, and within a couple of minutes there was a knock at the door, and Cut-Glass
came in with a sheaf of papers.

‘Sandra, Jeremy is to
become one of us.’

Hardly disguising the
effort required, Cut-Glass proffered her congratulations, without
demeaning herself by adding a platitude about how great it would be working
together.

She handed him the
documents. The Official Secrets Act was on top.

Someone
must have had had a word in his employer’s ear
,
for Holt was not required to
give the usual one month’s notice.
Admittedly, in
brokerages and the like it was customary for anyone leaving to drop tools
immediately and be escorted from the building to preven
t them taking valuable information, such as client lists, with them.

Even though it was short
notice, the company arranged a farewell party for him, at which a number of the
female employees, young and not so young, said they would sorely miss him, and
Holt knew he would feel likewise, realizing he had crassly missed some open
goals. Truth be told, he hadn’t scored at all and had made only a few attempts
at goal, whereupon others had headed in the ball.

The drawback so many
had mentioned of working for the service immediately became apparent when he realized
he could only give his erstwhile colleagues the vaguest idea of what he would
be doing. ‘I’ve been told it’s what I make of it,’ was a good way to halt
speculation. Anyway, he was glad to be leaving with the thought that some would
miss him. That said, not a few had reason to be grateful for his discretion, as
working in IT, he knew many of their secrets.

Holt
only had the weekend before assuming his new position. He would have liked to
have asked for a
week off to
shoot
off to some sunny place to
recharge his batteries but had not dared ask.

Farringdon, not far from
the City, was not a part of London that he usually frequented, other than going
to the odd restaurant, and as he made his way to Giraffe from the station he was
surprised at the number of architects’ and interior designers’ offices he
passed. The Giraffe bureau looked like just another one, which was particularly
good cover, as no one would be surprised to see models of central London used
to study potential terrorist attacks.

Quite unlike Cut-Glass back
at Sackville Street, the receptionist was in her mid-thirties and oozed smiles.
Even before Holt had slithered to a halt on the shiny white flooring befitting
a trendy architect’s office, she had already spouted ‘Jeremy to see Peter. Am I
correct?’

‘Yes, that’s right. I think
Peter is expecting me.’

‘I’ll let him know. Please
wait over there,’ she said, pointing in the direction of a row of uncomfortable
trendy sofas off to her right.

He was still taking stock
of his surroundings when the lift doors opened and out came a slim man with
deep-set eyes. He must have been in his late forties, but he looked somewhat
worn.

‘I’m Peter. I’m afraid
I’m in the middle of a meeting right now, so I’ll just show you to your office,
where you can relax. We’ll leave the introductions for later. Something big has
just come up. Not in the James Bond sense unfortunately, so I’ll have to get right
back and stuck in.’

‘Sounds exciting.’

‘I wish it were. To be
truthful, this business is something like being an airline pilot – looks
glamorous but actually involves days of routine and then the occasional mad crisis.’

He showed Holt to his
allotted office, which would, on Sir Charles’s orders, be his inviolable domain,
except when the security people visited.

‘You’re a lucky man,
Jeremy. Sir Charles insisted you have your own room. Most of us here have to make
do with shared facilities. Some will be envious, so assuage their feelings by
saying you have special confidential documents that must always be at your
fingertips.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

‘Acquaint yourself with
the computer, which should be easy considering your IT background. I should be
through in an hour, and we’ll go for lunch. Dial one-nine-nine on the phone if
you need a pee.’

Holt held out until
they got to the pub, for having someone, possibly female, show him the way and
standing outside would have been just too embarrassing.

Lunch was a typical one
for a London pub – neither good nor bad. Conversation, limited to generalities
unconnected with work, was pleasant enough. On their way back to Giraffe, with
other people out of earshot, Peter opened up a little and talked about the
office in general terms. He could have been describing any London office, so he
was not giving anything away. He would be introducing Holt to the others. His
meeting with Celia, who would be his partner when needed, would have to wait
until the next day, as she was accompanying a VIP to some function.

‘Sir Charles and I recruited
her not only for her intelligence and probity but also for her what can only be
described as guileless, virginal looks. When necessary, she will facilitate your
reconnoitring by slipping into the role of girlfriend and, should circumstances
demand, blushing bride.’

‘You’re having me on.’

‘Quite the contrary.
She will be useful even in the UK, to stop you getting picked up by the plods
when taking photos. Of course, we can always get you released from police
custody with a phone call from on high, but the less we have to do with the regular
force, the better.’

‘I can’t believe my
luck having a girl like that by my side.’

‘Let me make one thing
clear. There will be no hanky-panky, you understand?’

 Made to feel like a
schoolboy by the father whose daughter he is taking to the cinema for the first
time, Holt promised he would behave honourably.

Once back at the bureau,
Peter introduced Holt to the rest of the staff, with a brief explanation
regarding their various specialities, such as firearms, explosives, dirty bombs,
profiling, interrogation, and so on.

With all the
introductions apart from those to Celia and the in-house doctor-cum-psychiatrist
completed, Peter left Holt in the company of two colleagues, who would brief
him on their side of the work and show him some of the special features of the
office. Laid-back types, they made Holt feel at home. When he said he could not
wait to see his female partner after hearing so much about her, they raised
their eyebrows and said she belonged to the office as a whole, and her occasional
assignment to him should not be misconstrued.

‘We call her Miss
Innocent, and some of us – the men – are placing bets on when she will lose her
virginity.’

‘How will you know when
she does?’ asked Holt.

‘It will be written all
over that angelic face of hers. She’ll have a glow about her and look fulfilled,
if you know what I mean – more at one with herself. One can sense these things,’
continued Mike, the taller one of the two, with the other nodding knowledgeably
and adding, ‘You cannot put it into words, but you know.’

Were they all,
including even Peter, having him on? She was probably nothing special, and this
was simply a trick they played on all new boys. Her all-too-convenient absence
was probably part of the con – the type of prank Holt himself would think up.

‘She’s probably,’ said Mike,
‘accompanying a randy old cabinet minister at some garden party to prevent him
getting into trouble and being blackmailed.’

‘Apart from Celia,’
replied Holt, ‘the only person I have not met is the psychiatrist.
B
something. What’s he like?’

The two of them scowled.

‘Name’s Blackwell. Tricky
bastard,’ replied Mike.

‘Sticks his nose in
everyone’s business – especially where sex is concerned,’ added the other. ‘Gets
you to reveal your sex life or that of colleagues. He exploits the info while
finding it titillating. Watch out. No one has succeeded in scoring a point over
him, and anyone who did would probably live to regret it. We call him the Snake.
Maybe you should try being the mongoose, though I don’t give much for your
chances.’

Holt returned to his tiny
apartment that night feeling the future looked bright. His qualms about working
in the secret world had been assuaged by his colleagues having trusted him
enough to confide in him about the Snake. All was not so black and white.

The
next morning dragged, and it was not until eleven
thirty that Peter finally called him to his office

 ‘Celia’s here with me
now, Jeremy.  Come right away. She came back for a few minutes specially to see
you. She’s still on a job, so don’t dawdle.’

Holt was at his boss’s
door along the corridor in moments. He knocked and, on being told to come in,
opened the door and stepped inside with a poker face, steeling himself so as
not to hurt the poor woman by looking disappointed.

‘Celia, Jeremy. Jeremy,
Celia,’ said Peter as the two of them stepped towards each other to shake
hands. They could hardly embrace in an office setting, though Holt would have
liked to have done so, for never had he met a grown woman with such angelic
features. One so pure.

In the face of such innocence, playing at
goody-goody brother and sister or chaste couple would not be difficult. Surely,
the famous saying by Benjamin Franklin that innocence is its own defence would be
particularly apt in her case.

He returned to his office in almost a state
of shock and sat at his desk thinking of what might lie ahead until it was time
to go for his session with the house psychiatrist-cum-doctor.

The warnings from his two colleagues were not
the sole reason for his disquiet as he sat in the psychiatrist’s office. A
French friend who claimed he had unjustly been accused of date rape had told
him how he had been obliged to attend sessions with a shrink who showed scant interest
in him personally but would spring to life invariably at some point, saying, ‘Let’s
go through the “rape” again, step by step. Describe her reactions. Say how you
felt, and above all, describe how you think she felt. Her twitches, her orgasms,
if any.’

Holt knew that as a
qualified general medical practitioner, Blackwell was empowered to perform physical
exams as well as psychiatric ones, so he was not at all surprised when the
doctor started his session by saying he would pose some questions to pigeonhole
him before physically examining him.

 ‘Do you pigeonhole
everyone?’ asked Holt, wondering whether he could brag later that he had indeed
played the mongoose and outmanoeuvred the Snake.

‘Invariably. I’m pretty
good at it.’

‘I see,’ was all Holt
could think of saying.

The next question,
designed to throw recruits and especially females off balance, was one of
Blackwell’s favourites.

 ‘When
did
you lose
it – your virginity, I mean?’

 ‘How,’ parried Holt,
‘is that relevant?’

Blackwell had his
well-prepared excuse for posing the question.

‘American intelligence
officers triaging defeated Germans at the end of World War II found the
earlier a man lost his virginity, the more likely he would prove to be
democratic as opposed to fascist. Besides giving me a lead in to the person’s political
views on the democratic
–
fascist axis, I find that
question opens up a Pandora’s box.’

‘I would think that in
today’s society, where sexual relations at a young age are in some sections of society
more or less de rigueur, such criteria are meaningless. The converse might well
be true, for nowadays saving one’s virginity would often be going against
social norms, at least in the UK. Perhaps in your day, Herr Doctor, the US
intelligence men’s thesis may have been valid. When did you lose yours – that
is, if you have?’

‘I’m the one asking the
questions.’

‘Of course you are,’
replied Holt, leaning forward to press his point, ‘but I would have thought more
cerebral Pandora’s boxes would be more valuable. Sex is not the only thing in
life – though it might seem like that to psychiatrists, who are reputed to
enter the profession because of their own hang-ups, even shortcomings.’

 No one had ever talked
to the psychiatrist like that. But before he could object, Holt continued.

‘I shall be reporting
you. In fact, I think you should be on the sex offenders list, but then I suppose
MI5 would protect you because of the security implications. You probably know
too much about key people, not only in Giraffe but also beyond.’

‘You little creep.
You’ll be sorry.’

‘You’ve just proved my
point,' replied Holt. ‘Blackmail.’

‘Enough!’

‘Sorry, I got carried
away,’ answered Holt.

‘Seems your emotions
get the better of you. I’ll have to note that. Could be disastrous on a
mission. You could put people working for us at risk.’

‘I’m a backroom, back-office
man. Not a frontline agent. I won’t be dealing with dangerous situations, here
or abroad.’

‘Okay. Anyway, more to
the point is, what made someone like
you
decide to join the service?’

‘I didn’t decide. I fell
into it after being told I had something special to offer and that I might save
many lives. You will understand I cannot say more than that for security
reasons.’

‘You can tell me
anything.’

‘I would have to
confirm that with a higher authority. If they said it was okay, I would warn
them it could be very dangerous having non
-
line personnel like you asking
wide-ranging questions about what we do.’

Holt was playing the
system against him, and Blackwell would have to trip him up on terrain where his
background information would give him a definite advantage.

‘I gather,’ said
Blackwell, ‘from your files that you have something of an inferiority complex in
so far as women are concerned. All this bravado may be to hide the fact that
you
are the one with the
hang-ups.’

‘Is sex the only thing
you can think off?’

‘You’re evading the
question.’

‘Not at all. It’s not inferiority,
more a matter of unfamiliarity, never having had a sister and my mother dying. I
have to admit I am gauche in my dealings with the opposite sex, perhaps as you yourself
are – seeing how prurient you are.’

This insulting comment
had obviously made Blackwell furious, leaving him cornered, for if he continued
he would look even more prurient. He would seek his revenge later. He altered
course, but only slightly.

‘I see you are being
partnered with our beautiful Celia. Seems totally out of order to me in view of
what you have just said. We don’t want any trouble. She is the Virgin Mary, at
least for the likes of you.’

‘I have been made well
aware that I must handle her with kid gloves – or rather, not handle her at all.
That said, I want it put on record that you referred to her as the Virgin Mary.
I don’t want to get blamed when she falls pregnant on her own.’

‘Get…get out! You’re
too clever by half.’

‘You are not the first
person to say that. At least you got something right.’

Holt stood up and stalked
out as ordered, glad to escape the physical exam. Had he been a young woman, it
would surely not have been omitted.

He half slammed the
door behind him, knowing he had foolishly made an implacable enemy. The Snake would
inevitably seek his revenge in one form or another. The question was, would
retribution be immediate, or was he one of those people who believed revenge
was a dish best served cold?