not only a case of pedigree and contacts but also of dead man’s shoes. But since 9/11 the service had expanded rapidly in all directions, with government funding increasing every year. There were many more senior positions opening up all around the globe and Sumners was in a good position to grab one of them.
He could only hope that his fate would not depend on the contents of this briefing, a fear that grew as he compiled the latest intelligence on the day’s subject. If it did then his career opportunities would probably terminate immediately on completion of the presentation. In his opinion it was a God-awful mess and heads were undoubtedly going to roll because of it. On a positive note, though, that could only open up new positions which he might be able to take advantage of.
‘Sorry for the initial alert two days ago and then the long wait followed by the short notice this morning,’ Sumners said. ‘Intelligence is still coming in but time is a factor and we have enough - er - info to get the ball rolling.’ Sumners glanced at Nevins who was giving him one of his ‘get on with it’ looks.
‘Right. If I can quickly bring us all up to speed regarding the various pertinent regional situation reports.’ Summers cleared his throat again as he hit a series of computer keys on the podium. The wide-screen monitor came to life, showing a satellite image of Afghanistan. It continued zooming in on Kabul before moving to the open countryside north of the city, finally focusing on a scorched patch of ground with the charred wreckage of a helicopter at its centre.
‘We have positively confirmed that the package was recovered from the wreckage by Taliban fighters immediately after it was shot down. All hard-copy files in the mission briefcase have now been declassified. All operations referred to in the documentation have been cancelled. I can also confirm that the memory tablet carried by the intelligence officer contained all one thousand, four hundred and forty-three British- and US-run indigenous agents and informants operating in Afghanistan and the Middle East - including Iraq of course.’
‘Does the list include top tier?’ Sir Charles asked.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Maple, Geronimo, Mulberry?’
‘All of them, I’m afraid.’
‘Good God,’ Sir Charles muttered as his jowls collapsed to put a seriously unhappy expression on his face.
‘What level of personal details exactly . . . for the individual agents?’ Van der Seiff asked.
‘In most cases, pretty much everything: telephone numbers, addresses, emails, secondary contacts. Many of the attached notes include meeting points, dead-letter boxes and personal contact codes. Suffice it to say that if the tablet was decrypted it would provide enough information to identify every one of them.’
‘How many can safely be expatriated?’Van der Seiff asked.
‘I . . . I don’t have those figures, sir,’ Sumners said, glancing at Nevins for help and finding none forthcoming.
‘I take it expatriations are in process, though,’ Sir Charles said.
‘No, sir,’ Sumners replied.
‘What?’ Sir Charles asked, half turning to look enquiringly at Nevins without actually making eye contact.
When Sumners looked at Nevins his boss was already contemplating a response. ‘Not at present,’ Nevins said.
Sir Charles made the effort to sit forward so that he could turn his stiff old neck around enough to look at him. ‘I take it you have an explanation.’
‘That’s one of the reasons we’re all here - to decide if such measures will be necessary.’
‘But we’re talking about a lot of lives here,’ Sir Charles thundered.‘Not to mention the exposure of other information if these people are captured and interrogated. It should have been the first thing to be put into motion.’
‘First of all, it would be impossible to bring most of them in anyway. Some of them are on official wanted lists. Others would not be able to run without rousing suspicion.
He could only hope that his fate would not depend on the contents of this briefing, a fear that grew as he compiled the latest intelligence on the day’s subject. If it did then his career opportunities would probably terminate immediately on completion of the presentation. In his opinion it was a God-awful mess and heads were undoubtedly going to roll because of it. On a positive note, though, that could only open up new positions which he might be able to take advantage of.
‘Sorry for the initial alert two days ago and then the long wait followed by the short notice this morning,’ Sumners said. ‘Intelligence is still coming in but time is a factor and we have enough - er - info to get the ball rolling.’ Sumners glanced at Nevins who was giving him one of his ‘get on with it’ looks.
‘Right. If I can quickly bring us all up to speed regarding the various pertinent regional situation reports.’ Summers cleared his throat again as he hit a series of computer keys on the podium. The wide-screen monitor came to life, showing a satellite image of Afghanistan. It continued zooming in on Kabul before moving to the open countryside north of the city, finally focusing on a scorched patch of ground with the charred wreckage of a helicopter at its centre.
‘We have positively confirmed that the package was recovered from the wreckage by Taliban fighters immediately after it was shot down. All hard-copy files in the mission briefcase have now been declassified. All operations referred to in the documentation have been cancelled. I can also confirm that the memory tablet carried by the intelligence officer contained all one thousand, four hundred and forty-three British- and US-run indigenous agents and informants operating in Afghanistan and the Middle East - including Iraq of course.’
‘Does the list include top tier?’ Sir Charles asked.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Maple, Geronimo, Mulberry?’
‘All of them, I’m afraid.’
‘Good God,’ Sir Charles muttered as his jowls collapsed to put a seriously unhappy expression on his face.
‘What level of personal details exactly . . . for the individual agents?’ Van der Seiff asked.
‘In most cases, pretty much everything: telephone numbers, addresses, emails, secondary contacts. Many of the attached notes include meeting points, dead-letter boxes and personal contact codes. Suffice it to say that if the tablet was decrypted it would provide enough information to identify every one of them.’
‘How many can safely be expatriated?’Van der Seiff asked.
‘I . . . I don’t have those figures, sir,’ Sumners said, glancing at Nevins for help and finding none forthcoming.
‘I take it expatriations are in process, though,’ Sir Charles said.
‘No, sir,’ Sumners replied.
‘What?’ Sir Charles asked, half turning to look enquiringly at Nevins without actually making eye contact.
When Sumners looked at Nevins his boss was already contemplating a response. ‘Not at present,’ Nevins said.
Sir Charles made the effort to sit forward so that he could turn his stiff old neck around enough to look at him. ‘I take it you have an explanation.’
‘That’s one of the reasons we’re all here - to decide if such measures will be necessary.’
‘But we’re talking about a lot of lives here,’ Sir Charles thundered.‘Not to mention the exposure of other information if these people are captured and interrogated. It should have been the first thing to be put into motion.’
‘First of all, it would be impossible to bring most of them in anyway. Some of them are on official wanted lists. Others would not be able to run without rousing suspicion.
Similar Books
