“I can understand that,” agreed Robin Algar, looking out over sparkling Mediterranean.
“But I’m up for promotion again soon – I turned it down once, to come here instead, you know,” said the Major.
“I had heard,” replied Algar. “And that’s one of the reasons why I’m here,” he added, mysteriously. “But there’s something I need to tell you first – something you need to know after all this time about an incident which happened while you were in Northern Ireland.”
“Which incident?” asked Bill, curiously. “There were so many.”
“Personal, really,” replied Algar, “and one which I remember you took very hard and did your best to resolve.”
“Not the death of my first wife?” asked Bill, casting a glance at Catherine.
“No, no, not that,” responded Sir Robin. “The murder of your uncle, Edward Benbow.”
“Surely not a new development after all this time?” asked Bill.
“Not that, either,” said Algar. “Rather, an old development you didn’t know about at the time, but which I must now tell you about.”
“This sounds interesting,” remarked Catherine. “I remember the time well, since Bill and I actually went to the scene of the murder. A pretty village in Sussex, it was.”
“Fittleworth,” Bill reminded her. “That’s where Uncle Edward lived. Not that he was a blood relation as such. He married my aunt, but he was a nice enough chap, and did well in the Army – Royal Artillery.”
“Did well afterwards, too,” Catherine reminded him. “Worked for the Foreign Office I seem to remember.”
“Let me briefly remind you of what happened,” said Sir Robin, “and please correct me if I get anything wrong. You will recall that Benbow was shot by two men who drove passed him on a motorbike. A man fishing on the river nearby saw the incident, but was not close enough to be a witness of any value. Sussex police got nowhere with their investigation, and it was eventually you, Bill, who stumbled across the fact that it was an IRA weapon that had been used.”
“The forensic people eventually managed to link the murder weapon to three crimes in Northern Ireland,” said Bill, frowning, “but only because I rescued the bullets from the Sussex police.”
“Quite,” agreed Algar. “And before that, you went off on a wild goose chase because of an envelope with your uncle’s name and address on it.”
“I remember,” said Bill. “That damned envelope caused me no end of trouble.”
“At one time, it even led you to believe that Alistair Vaughan, the Head of Security at the Bank of England, had arranged for your uncle to be killed,” Algar reminded him with a smile.
“That was because you passed the envelope to him, Sir Robin – it contained the list of terrorist bank accounts which he was supposed to deal with,” Bill said. “And our double agent friend had also set us off on a wild goose chase by suggesting that Vaughan was an IRA fund raiser, with links to a Libyan arms dealer.”
“And your uncle was an arms inspector at the time, checking up on Libya’s promise to give up their weapons of mass destruction. So it was a perfectly plausible conclusion to reach, given what you knew, that Benbow’s murder was somehow linked to our own operation in Northern Ireland.”
“Exactly,” agreed Bill.
“Which it was,” confirmed the Cabinet Secretary. “But not quite in the way you suspected, I fear.”
“How do you mean?” asked Catherine.
“Let me explain,” said Algar. “Your uncle, Bill, was a clever man. Retired as a major in the gunners, got a degree in nuclear physics afterwards and worked for the Foreign Office as an arms inspector, much of the time in Iraq until he retired again. He was recruited later on a special contract for his work in Libya.”
“Agreed,” said Bill.
“And this is where I have to tell you things you didn’t know,” said Robin Algar, taking a sip of his wine. “Edward Benbow was actually an arms dealer. He was helping Libya to sell illegal arms to terrorist groups and others, in spite of their declared policy of giving that up. He was also negotiating to sell nuclear secrets to Iran, as a matter of interest.”
Bill and Catherine sat back, aghast.
“I find that impossible to believe,” said Bill. “My uncle was always a pillar of society.”
“So he appeared,” responded Algar. “But he had been under surveillance for some time. The fact was, though, that he was far too useful for us to have pulled him out immediately. We needed to let him continue trading, so to speak, to identify his network of contacts and gather sufficient evidence to be able to take political action at some time in the future.”
“I’ll be damned!” muttered Bill. “I had no idea.”
“And you were supposed to know everything,” Catherine reminded him, with a grin.
“Don’t be hard on Bill,” Robin said. “The last people you ever suspect of any wrong doing are your own relatives.”
“That’s true enough,” Bill agreed. “But it still doesn’t explain why he was murdered or by whom, does it? We know it was an IRA weapon, and that the gun was eventually discovered in the flat of Father Sean Doyle, our double agent friend.”
“This gets even more difficult for me to have to explain,” said Sir Robin. “Edward Benbow had made a lot of money shipping arms to the IRA, and was about to make a lot more until you and your colleagues arranged for the good ship ‘Hercules’ to be blown out of the water. That was stuffed full of a new consignment for them, and your uncle had several hundred thousand pounds riding on their safe delivery. He was furious. He could see his very lucrative business coming swiftly to an end unless he managed to get you out of the way.”
“How did he intend to do that?” asked an increasingly incredulous Clayton.
“Simple,” replied Algar. “He had a contract out on you.”
“You mean he wanted Bill killed?” stuttered Catherine. “His own nephew? His own flesh and blood?”
“That’s exactly what I do mean, I’m afraid,” admitted Sir Robin.
“But somebody got him first, thank the Lord,” said Catherine. “But why would the IRA do that, when he was supplying them with weapons? It just doesn’t make sense.”
“It wasn’t the IRA,” replied Algar. “He was taken out to protect you, Bill. You were deemed to be infinitely more valuable than he was, so we had to get rid of him before he harmed you in anyway.”
Bill and Catherine sat in disbelieving silence.
“But the murder weapon?” asked Bill. “It was an old IRA hand gun. I checked that out myself.”
“Planted deliberately,” said Algar. “A red herring, specially for your benefit, I’m afraid.”
“I’ll be damned!” exclaimed Bill again, lapsing into further silence.
“Do you mean that the Government actually sanctioned the murder of my uncle?” he eventually asked.
“Yes. That’s the way it was, Bill,” replied Algar. “It was you or him, and we wanted you to keep on with what you were doing. We got to him first, thank goodness.”
“Who exactly is ‘we’?” asked Bill. “The two men on a motorbike? Were they part of it?”
“They were ours,” replied Sir Robin simply. “And that brings me to the most difficult part of my visit. I have to tell you about the organisation they worked for.”
He paused. “I could do with some more coffee, could you?”
“And a Brandy,” said Bill, attracting Athena’s attention. “But why do you need to tell me now, after all this time?”
Algar looked at him closely.
“Because we want you to take over the organisation, that’s why. We want you to run it.”
Bill and Catherine looked at him in stunned silence.
“But why me?” asked Bill eventually.
“Because Cabinet colleagues agree with me that there is no one better,” said the Cabinet Secretary simply. “The man currently in charge – you may know of Alan Jarvis – has proved himself not to be entire
ly satisfactory, judging by recent events, and we have agreed that he should be replaced quickly. That’s strictly confidential at the moment, of course. Jarvis knows nothing, yet.”
“I’ve heard of Jarvis,” said Bill. “He was a Section head in SIS, wasn’t he?”
“He’ll go back there,” replied Algar.
“But he is a Civil Servant, and I’m not,” said Clayton, almost looking for an excuse to refuse the post.
“You would become one if you accepted my offer.”
Clayton shook his head.
“Let me tell you briefly about the terms that have been agreed if you should decide to take over Section 11,” offered Sir Robin. “You will be given immediate and substantive promotion to full Colonel, and your retirement from the Army would carry with it a full pension in that rank. MOD will sort out all the details. Your new appointment would be in an equivalent Civil Service rank, on maximum salary, with a further pension in that rank when you eventually retire. I shall make all those arrangements. A flat in London goes with the job too, by the way. Section 11 is a top-secret organisation, and you would report direct to me.”
“I have heard about Section 11, of course,” said Bill, “but I really know nothing about it.”
“That’s good news, in a way,” said Algar with a smile. “At least it means that the security surrounding it is tight. If you don’t know, then no one else will. Let me tell you in a few words about its role. You will obviously be given a full briefing before you join, if you should so decide.”
When the Cabinet Secretary had finished, Clayton said, “Sounds interesting enough, but I hope you don’t expect me to decide now. If you do, the answer’s ‘No’.”
“Of course you must discuss all this with Catherine,” agreed Algar, “but the sooner you can make a decision, one way or the other, the better from everyone’s point of view. We have a particularly difficult and sensitive operation coming up, and I’d like the new Head of Section to be in on it from the start.”
“I’ll get word to you as soon as possible,” agreed Bill.
“A simple yes or no will do,” said Algar. “But now I must get back, or my wife will wonder what has happened to me.”
He stood to leave.
“Shall I ring for a taxi for you?” offered Catherine.
“Kind of you, but my transport is already here.”
They looked around, but there was no vehicle in sight. Only an old Citroën 2CV, which clattered along the quayside. It stopped near them, and the young man in a tattered straw hat struggled out of the drivers seat.
“I remember now,” said Bill. “He called yesterday selling fish, and said he would be around today.”
“We’ve been keeping a watchful eye on you again, ever since the Belfast incident. Just in case.”
He shook hands with Bill and Catherine, and walked across to the van.
“Hardly a staff car,” grinned the Cabinet Secretary, as he climbed awkwardly into the passenger seat, “but it will do to get me back to the hotel. By the way, it will be on your inventory if you take over!”
“And so shall I,” said the man in the straw hat. “I never did sell that red snapper, either.”
***
CHAPTER FOUR - YOU’RE FIRED!
Major Bill Clayton and his wife Catherine watched in disbelief as Britain’s most senior civil servant squeezed himself into the battered and ancient Citroën 2CV van. He waved cheerily as the vehicle clattered away from the harbour at Kopufano, and headed down the dusty road towards Paphos and his five-star hotel.
“Well!” exclaimed Catherine. “What on earth do you make of all that?”
“Not a lot at the moment,” replied Bill. “My mind’s in a whirl, what with the news about Uncle Edward, and the offer of a new job all at once.”
“And instant double promotion.”
“I’m not so sure I want to leave the Army, how ever attractive the new job sounds.”
“There’s a lot to talk about, suddenly,” said Catherine. “Let’s get back to the house, and I’ll do some eggs and bacon for supper.”
“We don’t need to make any decisions tonight, thank goodness,” said Bill.
“Quite right,” replied his wife. “You can sleep on it and we’ll talk it over again tomorrow.”
“I’m not sure I’ll get much sleep tonight,” sighed Bill. “And I’ve got a busy day ahead of me – Monday always is, catching up with everything that’s happened over the weekend.”
“It’ll help to take your mind off things if you’re occupied,” said Catherine sagely.
They drove back to their Army married quarter in silence.
Eventually, Bill said, “It’s very flattering, really, to be asked to take on a job like this.”
“When you think of all the people they could have selected,” said Catherine. “I’m proud of you.”
“It sounds a very high profile job. I just wish I knew more about the organisation and what it does, but there are a couple of people I could ask.”
“Sir Robin said you’d be given a full briefing.”
“But only after I’ve said ‘yes’, - if I do. I need to know more now, really, before I decide. I think I’ll get on the phone this evening after supper.”
“Your friend PJ would help, I’m sure,” suggested Catherine. “He’s quite high up in the Defence Ministry.”
“Just what I was thinking. He runs the Intelligence outfit, so should know what’s going on.”
“From what Sir Robin said, Section 11 seems to be responsible for looking after people who are under threat in some way or another, but who are judged to be a valuable national asset and who should be guarded. It sounds to be rather like the Royalty and Diplomatic Protection squad of the Met. Police, but with rather less high profile customers.”
“I remember he mentioned the head of a large drugs company, who had been targeted by animal rights people. I suppose someone has to look after national assets of that sort, even if it is done secretly and without their knowledge. Could be interesting, I suppose,” said Bill
“They seem to have looked after you well enough in Northern Ireland,” said Catherine. “And you knew nothing about their operation until just now.”
“True enough. I still find it hard to believe what he said about Uncle Edward, though.”
They lapsed into silence again, each lost in their own thoughts about the future and what it may hold. As they pulled into the drive of their house, Catherine noticed a man on an old Vesper motor scooter parked at the end of their road. She said nothing to Bill at the time.
***
Bill had enjoyed his egg and bacon supper that Catherine had prepared, but he couldn’t wait to get on the phone. He excused himself from washing up after their meal and retired to the study.
Soon to be Colonel and almost as soon to be retired from the Army, he needed to know more about the job he had been asked to take on, and he needed to know quickly. He had told Catherine that he knew a couple of people he could talk to, and he was keen to get hold of one of them straight away. She had herself suggested General Pearson-Jones, who was not only an old friend, but was also Chief of Defence Intelligence Staff in the Ministry of Defence. And that made him a member of the Joint Intelligence Committee, chaired by Bill’s recent visitor. If PJ, as the General was known, didn’t know about Section 11 and what it did, then nobody would.
“I’ve just won a fiver, thanks to you,” said PJ brightly, when he answered the phone.
“How come?” asked Bill
“I knew you’d be on the blower, but you’re even quicker than Robin Algar thought you would be! Congratulations on your promotion, by the way.”
“Thank you, Sir. If you were expecting me to ring, then you also know why I’m ringing, and what I need to know,” replied Bill.
“Of course I do,” replied the General. “And don’t call me sir, either. You’re a civilian now, near as damn it. How was Robin Algar? On good form I hope. He was looking forward to a quick tri
p to Cyprus.”
“We had a very interesting afternoon,” replied Bill.
“I bet you did! And a good lunch, I gather.”
“Has he been on the phone already?”
“Beat you to it, Bill, but only just. He sounded very hopeful that you’d accept his offer, but guessed you’d be on to me for an informal chat.”
“I need to know more before I can make a decision, PJ.”
“Of course you do, old boy. Why don’t I drift over to see you for a day or so? Get Catherine to make up a bed for me – I don’t like the Mess at Ayios Nikolaos, although it’s some time since I made a visit. Robin has authorised my trip and has squared it with the powers that be here.”
“When can you come?” asked Bill.
“There’s a flight out of Brize Norton early tomorrow morning which the RAF says gets to Akrotiri just before lunch.”
“I’ll be there to meet you,” promised Bill.
“I shall expect a meal at your favourite eating place, which Robin says is excellent. Food and wine good, the scenery stunning, and quiet enough for a proper chat without being overheard.”
“I’m glad he enjoyed it.”
“Anything special you need to know?” asked PJ.
“No doubt, if I took the job, my formal briefing on arrival would cover current activities and how the section is structured, and so on, but I’d be interested to know now about the people I would be working with as much as anything.”
“Not a bad bunch, on the whole. I know most of the top people there, and you’ve got a very good number two.”
“Anyone I know?” asked Bill.
“Of course it’s someone you know – you know everybody in this business, just about. As this is an open line, I’ll tell you when I get there. See you tomorrow.”
With that, the line went dead.
Bill got on to Air Movements at RAF Akrotiri to get the arrival time of the next day’s Tri-Star from Brize Norton.
“We’ve got a visitor for a couple of days,” Bill told Catherine. “PJ’s coming over for a chat.”
“How nice!”
“Apparently, Robin Algar has already had a word with him. PJ should know all about Section 11, since he’s a full member of the Joint Intelligence Committee. We’ll have a chat over a quiet lunch at Athena’s place – again. Robin has recommended it! But he’d like to stay with us rather than in the Mess. Is that OK?”
“Of course it is. This could be a very useful visit. I’m glad you invited him.”