Dominic Conlon - Silent Warpath

Murdoch glanced round casually. His voice still held the soft intonation of the highlands. ‘Thought I might be seeing you again. I heard you were on your way over. What’s the matter — haven’t you seen anyone yet?’

‘Nope, they like to keep you waiting. How are you doing?’

‘Oh, so-so. Marie’s had a baby which makes me a first time grandfather. Can you imagine that?’

Sean grinned. ‘I bet Margery’s proud. Listen, I don’t suppose you know anything about this job?’

Murdoch shook his head. ‘Sorry.’ He hesitated. ‘I shouldn’t say this and you didn’t hear it from me — OK?’

‘OK’ Sean agreed.

‘I heard a whisper that there might be some action in the States.’

‘Any background?’

‘Sorry, this one’s classified to the rafters. I don’t even know who’s lined up for executive. All I know..’. He stopped as the phone rang. Picking it up, he glanced at Sean briefly before putting it back.

‘Well you’ll find out soon enough. That was the chief’s secretary — they’ve been looking all over for you. Andrews wants to see you right away.’

‘Thanks Murdoch. Give my regards to Margery and Marie will you.’

Andrews skimmed through his notes. ‘Sean Quinlan. Second generation Irish. His parents were from southern Ireland and came over to England in the early seventies. He’s in his late thirties, maybe a little on the older side for an agent. He went to Exeter University and applied for a bursary from the Royal Marines during his second year. After graduating he entered the Commando Training Centre at Lympstone in Devon. Graduated second in his class.’

Andrews noted Lomax was listening carefully. He continued, ‘rose rapidly in the ranks, showing a natural flare for resolving difficult problems. When he completed training at the tail end of the Bosnian conflict he began co-piloting medi-vac helicopters. He was promoted to Captain after Kosovo and then sent to Northern Ireland for two years followed by a short spell in East Timor.’

‘How did he come to be invited here?’ asked Lomax.

‘I’m coming to that’ replied Andrews testily. He checked his notes again, then resumed. ‘Various missions followed, probably the highest profile was operation Barras in 2000 when he took part in the rescue of British army hostages in Sierra Leone. Quinlan piloted one of the Chinooks carrying Special Air Service up country. After a second spell in Northern Ireland he was promoted again to Lieutenant and sent to the DR Congo as part of the United Nations peace keeping force.’

Andrews stopped, apparently a little short of breath. After a few seconds he recovered. ‘I’ll let you have his file later. In the latter part of his career he joined the Special Reconnaissance Regiment where he developed a talent for collecting and interpreting data from many different sources. Some bright spark suggested a spell with the SBS. Quinlan acquitted himself well, in fact he thrived in Special Services. From there he came to the attention of the SAS where he was seconded for a short period. That’s when the Section started taking an interest.’ Andrews looked up.

There was a knock on the door, and Andrews rose painfully.

‘Sounds like he packed two lifetimes into one career’ observed Lomax. ‘He must be good.’

Andrews stopped before the door. ‘He is’ he asserted. ‘He’s a bit touchy about some things, but then, aren’t we all?’

As the door opened Sean saw Andrews, hand outstretched.

‘Sean. Glad you managed to get back so quickly’.

The voice sounded hoarse. Sean shook his hand. The touch was cold, the fingers bony, like a reptile’s claw.

Andrews turned. ‘Let me introduce you to Lomax.’

Lomax stood and Sean felt his hand gripped tightly. Lomax was around five foot nine inches but there was no mistaking the musculature underneath the fine blue suit nor the steady gaze that seemed to be sizing him up.

Andrews observed the interplay. ‘I’ve been giving Lomax some background — would you like to take a seat?’

Sean remained standing. ‘I got an agent down message and was ordered to return immediately. I broke a load of regs to get back as quickly as I could but I’ve been kept waiting in the canteen.’ He paused to let it that sink in. ‘Will someone be kind enough to tell me what’s going on?’

There was a brief embarrassed silence. ‘Take a seat and I’ll explain.’ Andrews gestured vaguely towards a chair and moved painfully slowly to sit behind his desk. ‘What you say is correct’ he continued, ‘but I’m sure you’ll understand the need to get all the assets in place first.’

Sean stopped, knowing his anger was beginning to show. He took a deep breath and held it, aware how cleverly Andrews had manipulated events. The urgent communiqué, the long wait when he got here and now the glassy politeness were all part of the plan. He almost had Sean hooked.

‘The mission concerns the special relationship Britain has with America’ said Andrews.

Sean remained quiet, unsure if he was expected to reply.

‘In actual fact the special relationship is a lie. While the politicians on both sides of the Atlantic talk about it, behind the headlines there’s another reality. Both countries have their own political ambitions and both are in economic competition with each other. That means each country watches the other very carefully — we know for instance that a certain amount of commercial spying goes on between multinationals on both sides of the pond.’

Andrews coughed and rested a moment before continuing. ‘One issue our masters are keen on is technology — especially in the area of defence. It might not surprise you that we have several sleepers working right now in the States on a variety of projects. They’re naturalised Americans, or Americans who have some sympathy for the UK. They make reports via a number of covert channels and pass on low grade intelligence. The US are aware that we have these people though in most cases they are unaware exactly who they are.’

Andrews took a sip of water. ‘Of course the US also has a number of scientists and engineers working in our companies and they pass back information to their intelligence services. We know who some of these people are, but equally we’re not so sure about the others.’

‘Right, I get the picture’, said Sean. ‘You're going to tell me that something has happened to disturb the equilibrium?’

‘One of our sleepers made contact and asked us to get him out.’

‘Is that unusual?’ asked Sean.

‘You could say that’, Andrews replied. ‘We rarely get requests like it since the so-called cold war ended. We don’t have the same networks as we used to.’

‘So I suppose that’s where I come in?’

‘Correct’, Andrews replied. A sleeper alerted London two months ago that he was onto something. I wasn’t here at the time. Then about forty eight hours ago we got a signal that he wanted to pull out. That’s when we recalled you. Then yesterday he went off our radar.’

‘And the sleeper is Ben Campbell?’

Andrews inclined his head but was unable to keep the curiosity out of his voice. ‘Yes.’

‘And now you can’t find him?’

Andrews gave Sean an embarrassed glance. ‘I understand he is an acquaintance of yours’ Andrews continued. ‘I’m sorry for the cryptic message we sent but I wanted to break this to you face to face’.

Sean sighed. ‘Campbell was a friend, not just an acquaintance’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve known him since my university days.’

‘You kept in touch afterwards?’

‘We met again years later at one of the British Ambassador’s parties in Washington. In those days he was a rising star in the field of robotics’.