James Barrington - Overkill

His thought processes were interrupted by a respectful double tap on the door, which opened to reveal Simpson’s PA. Simpson nodded, and she retreated briefly before shepherding in two of FOE’s elderly female retainers pushing Ministry-issue tea trolleys. When all the people sitting round the table had selected either lukewarm tea or lukewarm coffee, and paid excessively for it, the retainers shuffled out again and the door closed firmly.

Simpson took a sip, then put down his cup with a grimace and continued. ‘So, what have we got? In summary, we’ve got a weapon which the Russians seem desperate to stop us finding out about, and which, if they deploy it, would apparently benefit the Western alliance. I don’t need to tell you that that is complete nonsense. Any thoughts?’

He glanced round the table encouragingly. The Intelligence Director opened his mouth to speak, but apparently thought better of it and closed it with a snap.

‘What I don’t like about this,’ Simpson went on, ‘is that I personally think that the Americans do know what’s going on, or at least they know more than they’re telling us. I think they’re trying to drive us in a particular direction for reasons of their own. What those reasons are I don’t know, but I am sure we’re being misdirected. The ball, as it were, is in the air, and that’s what we’re watching, but what we should be looking at are the players. However, I think this is probably a side issue, and one that we will be able to resolve later. The important thing is that we are now involved, and we have things to do. Any comments on the central issue?’

Nobody spoke. Simpson didn’t seem put out by the lack of useful response, and continued briskly. ‘Right – actions. There are a lot of peculiarities about this situation, and I intend to launch some immediate actions to find out what’s really going on.’ He opened the briefcase on the table in front of him, and began tasking operatives, passing each a slim pink folder containing assignment details. Clearly he had spent most of the night in the building preparing for this meeting. His strategy was comprehensive but simple, intended to ascertain Russian intentions and if possible the true nature of the weapon.

One liaison officer was appointed to work directly with MI5 to look at Russian activity in Britain, and several to perform the same function with SIS, studying Russian operations abroad. Others were to work with the Naval Intelligence Department and the intelligence arms of the other armed forces, two with the Foreign and Colonial Office and a further two with CIA London. Another was to go to Aldermaston and to a specialist at the Science Museum to discuss the seismographic evidence, which just left Richter.

‘Richter,’ Simpson said, sliding a folder down the table towards him. ‘It looks like a nice day for a drive. You have an appointment in Cambridge at two thirty this afternoon.’ Simpson looked round the table. ‘Until this matter is resolved, Thomas, Williams and Lowry will act as Duty Officers, working a three-watch system and will collate the data gathered. Assessment of the information will be handled by myself and the Intelligence Director. We will have a brief meeting every evening at seven, and another in the morning at nine to discuss overnight developments. All available operatives are to attend both.’

Simpson wound up the briefing. ‘One last point. The attempt on Richter’s life at Brampton is an indication of the seriousness of this situation. With immediate effect, operatives are to be armed at all times. Those of you who are not currently carrying weapons are to report to my outer office immediately after this briefing for the issue of carry permits and other documentation. You are then to visit the Armoury to collect pistols and ammunition and to fire the weapons. This is to be completed before you leave this building for any reason.’ He looked directly at Richter, then continued. ‘Unless any of you object, you will be issued with Browning nine-millimetre semi-automatic pistols.’ Simpson looked at the clock over the door. ‘Right, briefing completed at ten zero three. Let’s get on with it.’

American Embassy, Grosvenor Square, London

‘What do you think, John? Is it can’t or won’t?’ Walter Hicks asked, his voice echoing on the scrambled transatlantic line.

‘I don’t know for sure,’ Westwood replied, ‘and nor does Roger, but if you asked me for my guess, I’d say it’s probably a bit of both. We’ve no indication that SIS has got a highly placed source in Moscow. There’s been nothing in any of the British intelligence summaries I’ve seen in the last six months to suggest they’ve got anyone other than the usual low-level informers on the fringes of the government and military. Plus, we’ve really got nothing to go on, no hard evidence to show SIS, so even if they had a source, they probably wouldn’t agree to risk him, despite our disclosures to the JIC. And,’ he added, ‘I wouldn’t blame them.’

‘No, I guess not,’ Hicks agreed.

‘OK, John, we have some good news and some bad,’ Cliff Masters said from Langley. ‘The good news is that Rigby was contacted again by RAVEN yesterday.’

‘Yesterday?’ John Westwood asked. ‘Why the delay in letting me know?’

‘The usual reasons,’ Walter Hicks said. ‘First we had to get the message from Moscow to Langley, then get it translated – which caused some problems – and checked. Then we had to decide what to do about it. This one, John, was very specific.’

‘Yes?’

‘RAVEN states that the last component will enter the West on the ninth of this month – that’s next Tuesday. He also says that implementation will take place two days later, on Thursday the eleventh.’

‘What does he mean by “component”?’ Roger Abrahams asked.

‘We don’t know,’ Masters replied, ‘but the consensus here is that he must mean a weapon of some sort.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ Westwood muttered. ‘Did the message say anything else?’

‘That was the entire text, apart from a single Russian word – Pripiska .’

‘And what the hell does that mean?’ Abrahams asked.

‘That was the word that caused the delay in translation,’ Hicks said. ‘According to the Linguistics Section, it’s old-Russian slang and it means generating false statements about agricultural and industrial production. “Cooking the books” is about as close to an accurate translation as we can get.’

‘I don’t see what possible connection that can have with this assault,’ Westwood said.

‘Nor do we,’ Hicks said. ‘Our analysts’ best assessment is that Pripiska is simply the Russian code-name for the operation, but that’s really just a guess. OK,’ Hicks continued, his voice brisk, ‘we now have a date, something to aim for, but it doesn’t really change anything. I still want you to go to Paris, John, and see if you can get anything out of the French. Roger – talk to your SIS man again, and pass the substance of this new message to the Joint Intelligence Committee. I don’t suppose it’ll do any good, but you never know.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Westwood asked.

‘We have very few options, John,’ Hicks replied. ‘The Director of Central Intelligence is still away, so I’m presently the acting Director. I have a meeting with the President in a little less than two hours, and as far as I can see I don’t have too many options. I’m going to suggest he treats the threat as real and kicks the military into action.’

East Anglia

Richter drove up to Cambridge on the Old North Road, the A10, rather than the faster A1(M) or M11 motorways, and was approaching Ware when he spotted the grey Vauxhall. Four cars behind the elderly Escort supplied by the Motor Pool – the Transport Officer obviously still hadn’t forgotten about the Granada – Richter saw the Cavalier. A common, even unremarkable, car, but what bothered Richter was that he had seen the same vehicle three times before on the journey, always well behind him but, essentially, always behind him.