“My thought precisely,” agree Algar. “I’ve asked them to keep a close watch on the man. Any problems with your current operations?”
“None that I know of,” replied Clayton. “As you know, we have a few small, low key jobs going on, but our team in Africa which did the Zimbabwe job is back, we have a small team on the animal rights threat to the drugs company man, and a slightly bigger team in Moscow keeping an eye on the BP man. Any developments on that front from your point of view?”
“The Foreign Office hasn’t reported any change. The Russians still want to control the joint company, and are making life difficult for our top man there. It would never surprise me if they don’t just cancel his visa and kick him out.”
“I hope that’s all,” said Marsden. “Our chaps have reported that the Russian’s are quite openly following him around, but he doesn’t know we’re there.”
“Of course, we’re also looking after two Russian dissidents, as you know,” added Clayton. “One’s actually come over, and is running scared, while the other is still dithering about whether to turn or not. He’s also running scared of his KGB comrades, so we’re having to keep close tabs on them both, and the opposition.”
“We definitely need the other KGB man to come over,” said Algar, “but he certainly won’t if anything happens to his colleague.”
“So far as we can tell, the people in Moscow don’t know we’ve got a double on our books, or that we may soon have another.”
Clayton shook his head. “Jarvis knows,” he said quietly. “That man worries me.”
“There’s another case I want you to take on,” said Algar, “which also has a Russian element, but this is even more complex. That’s why I called you in.”
He briefed them quickly on the background to the perceived threats facing Professor Jack Barclay, and handed them a written brief about the work Barclay was doing.
“I need you to keep a close watch on the man,” Algar concluded.
“Does he know?” asked Clayton.
“The American and Arab offers have been made quite openly, so he obviously knows of their interest, but he knows nothing about the Russian’s apparent intention to disrupt his work. Neither does he know that I am asking you to act as guardian angels.”
“We shall need to consider whether perhaps he should be told,” said Nick Marsden. “It might be easier with his active co-operation.”
“One of your problems is that Barclay moves around a great deal, and works very long hours. Not just at Culham, but also at the new laboratory at Harwell. On top of that, he frequently attends learned seminars, sometimes as a participant, delivering papers and so on, occasionally abroad. We do, though, have access to his weekly diary, and I have arranged for this to be emailed directly to you, starting next week. Here’s a copy of this week’s.”
The two men from Section 11 peered at the document.
“I begin to wonder,” said Clayton, “if we may not need additional full time resources for this one.”
“My thoughts precisely,” agreed Marsden. “This looks complicated to me, and it could prove most difficult to keep up with the man.”
“Call up some of your reserve staff, then, and let me know how many you decide on, so that I can authorise the necessary expenditure.”
“We’ve got six just finishing refresher training – they should be enough reinforcements, to start with at least.”
“I still think it would be helpful to tell the man that we are on the case,” said ‘S’.
“You could be right,” said the Cabinet Secretary, “but according to his Director, the professor is already showing signs of considerable stress because his research is not going as well as it was, and I would not want to add to his worries if we can avoid it.”
“We’ll manage without him knowing for the time being then, but I’ll come back to you if I think it would help for him to be told.”
“What about photos and that sort of thing?” asked Marsden.
“Before you leave, I’ll give you a package containing still photos and video footage of the man, recordings of his voice, and brief biological and biographical details. MI5 managed to gain entry to his digs near Culham, and has taken film of the inside so you can see something of his lifestyle when he’s at home – which isn’t often these days. It will also give you a clue as to how he normally dresses and so on. I leave it to you how you use this material to brief your team, but, as usual, keep copies to the minimum.”
“I’d like to see his personal file, with his security clearance, if that can be arranged, and the files relating to his immediate team,” said Clayton.
Algar nodded.
“And for good measure,” said Marsden, “I’d like to see the same relating to Alan Jarvis; especially his security clearance. When was that last checked, do you know?”
“Good thinking, Nick. I’ll find out, and if it’s old, I’ll run the rule over him again,” promised the Cabinet Secretary.
“Can you also make sure that we’re kept briefed about Russian activity, especially any within a few miles of Barclay, wherever he is?”
“I’ve already laid that on.”
“If the American’s are interested in the Professor, I guess the CIA will be close by as well,” said Clayton.
“We both know a few people there, but I’ll check that out, if you like,” said Marsden.
“Thanks Nick.”
“Thank you both for coming,” concluded Sir Robin. “This is quite an important task for you, so give it your best shot, as I’m sure you will. Barclay is quite free to choose to go to America or Abu Dhabi or anywhere else for that matter if that’s what he wants, although we all hope he doesn’t. His work is too important to this country. Your job is to make sure he isn’t forced into doing anything against his will.”
As they left Algar’s office, Nick looked at his watch.
“I had rather hoped the old man might have offered us lunch,” he said, “but not even so much as a sandwich, never mind roast beef at his club.”
“Looks like the Red Lion, then, across the road. We’ll pick up the package after we’ve had a little something or other. The bike can stay chained to the railings.”
They nodded to the policemen as the crossed Whitehall.
“Shan’t be long,” said Nick, cheerily.
It wasn’t until they got back to Clerkenwell that they were able to study the dossier they had been given.
Nick started getting together his team, and prepared to brief them. Other members of the Section 11 headquarters team were looking after the logistics, like preparing vehicles, getting train tickets from the travel agent’s across the road, arranging accommodation, copying photographs and so on. Gladys was having a field day, preparing forms for them all to complete and sign, while ‘Bottom’, the retired Petty Officer who ran the armoury, prepared suitable weapons for them. The planning of the operation went like clockwork, as it had been done so many times before, although it was Bill Clayton’s first. Nick bustled about making sure everything happened as it should, and eventually appointed one his most senior staff to run the operation. An ex-member of Special Branch, Clive Newell was under the strictest instructions to keep Bill informed of any significant development, in view of the personal interest being taken at the highest levels in Whitehall.
“There are two things I don’t like about this little operation,” said Clayton to Marsden. “One is the Russian connection and the other is the fact that our target, Barclay, is apparently already under stress. The last thing we want is for him to have a nervous breakdown.”
“We could perhaps do with some medical advice,” suggested Nick. “Know anybody?”
“As it happens, I do,” replied ‘S’. “A retired RAF Air Commodore who used to head up the Institute of Aviation Medicine.”
“Could be a useful addition to the Section 11 team, anyway. I’ve often thought that a bit of psychological profiling of some of our customers could be useful.”
&n
bsp; “Doc. Perkins has done some of that,” said Clayton. “He could also cast his eye over friend Jarvis,” he suggested. “I’m not too happy about him, either. But it would mean adding yet another member to the Section 11 team, which nobody is supposed to know about, even if only part-time.”
“Should be secure enough, coming from that background.”
“Perhaps I’ll give him a bell and see if he’s doing anything special at the moment,” said Clayton. “Then I can have a word with Algar.”
Clive Newell knocked, and stuck his head round the door. “I’m going to brief my guys in five minutes,” he announced. “Department heads are there; do either of you want to sit in?”
They all made their way to the briefing room, where the assembled team was shown photos and videos of their ‘target’ and told about Barclay’s work and it’s national importance. Newell emphasised that, since he was already under considerable stress, Barclay knew nothing about the fact that he was to be watched over by S. 11, which made it imperative that the teams of watchers stayed well in the background, as they had been trained. It was a thorough and detailed briefing, at the end of which Newell’s squad organised themselves into pairs who would work together throughout the operation.
Finally, Newell turned to Clayton. “Anything you want to add, boss?”
“Two things,” replied ‘S’. “First, I have arranged for GCHQ to mount a key-word intercept operation on Barclay’s phones, in his laboratory, at home and on his mobile, so we should get an early warning of any new attempt to coerce him away from his work at Culham. You will be briefed if anything turns up. Secondly, I am also arranging for some medical expertise to monitor the professor’s behaviour, bearing in mind the considerable stress he’s working under at the moment. Not only is he being headhunted by two separate countries to work for them, but also his own research has unexpectedly hit the buffers, although probably only temporarily. But he is getting increasingly frustrated, what with one thing and another, so I want you all to look for any signs of this surfacing. If he knew about the Russian interest, which is menacing, and our own involvement, that could well drive him to breaking point, so we need to tread carefully. Finally, perhaps some of you technical chaps could arrange for suitable tracking devices to be installed – briefcase, car, that sort of thing. They will help us to keep tabs on the man.”
Newell drew the briefing to a close. “Usual reporting procedures by encrypted satellite mobiles to the 24 hour desk here, and between yourselves when necessary. No need at this stage for anything more than personal protection weapons – draw those from the armoury, but don’t forget the paperwork from Gladys first. I suggest two teams use a car or van of some sort for static observation, the rest of you on motorbikes. The latest SatNav maps of Culham, Harwell and the Oxford area have been downloaded onto your mobiles. Gladys has drawn up a list of suitable B&B accommodation in the area.”
“And don’t forget to keep the receipts,” interrupted Gladys.
“Barclay also has a flat in Battersea, but seldom uses it,” continued Newell. “Some of you may need to travel abroad at short notice, although we should have a few days’ warning as we shall have access to Barclay’s diary, but make sure you have your passports with you. Any questions?”
There were none.
“Very well, then,” concluded Newell. “Remember that this is a high profile operation being monitored closely by very senior people in Whitehall. Keep on your toes, report anything you think is in the least unusual, especially if you should suspect that other people are keeping a watch on the man. Whatever you do, don’t lose Barclay.”
***
After the briefing, Nick and Bill went back to ‘S’s office.
“Newell seems to have picked a good team, so I hope it all goes well,” commented Commander Marsden. “No reason why it shouldn’t, of course, but the Russian angle worries me a bit.”
“Me too,” agreed Clayton. “The Russians are a bit jumpy at present, what with closing our British Council offices, and now starting to fly their bombers through the Iceland/Faroes gap again. We’re already running the BP operation in Moscow, too, not to mention our defector friends here.”
“You never know when they’ll do something really daft,” said Marsden. “Their agents are pretty thick on the ground over here, at the moment, so they are difficult to monitor.”
“There’s something else you should know,” said ‘S’. “So far, I have deliberately not told Newell and his team in case it makes their job even more complicated. I’m not even sure that Sir Robin Algar knows, either. But Professor Barclay has a twin brother – an identical twin, too.”
“I’ll be damned,” exclaimed Nick. “Not in the same line of business, I hope.”
“No, thank goodness. He’s a bank clerk, somewhere or other. Apart from looks, he’s as different as chalk from cheese from his brother, and they rarely meet. But if he does turn up, then our guys will get thoroughly confused if they’re not careful. Which is why getting tracking devices in place is so important.”
Marsden thought for a moment. “I think I’ll spend the night in the Ops. Room, until our teams are properly organised,” he said.
“I’ll join you,” said Clayton.
When she learnt that the two men in her life were planning to stay in the office overnight, ‘S’s P.A., Barbara, decided she would stay late as well to get them settled. She organised a camp bed for each of them in their respective offices, and drew bedding from the store run by ‘Aunty’. She knew they would get all the coffee they needed while in the Ops Room, but hurried into the Clerkenwell precinct below their offices to collect a bottle of white wine from the off licence, to have with the fish and chips she bought for their supper. She made sure she kept the receipts for Gladys, but declined to join them. With nothing else she could usefully do until the morning, she went home to Donald.
It was quiet in the Ops Room. Apart from the Duty Officer, there was only one other Section 11 man actively running his specified operation. He was looking after the potential KGB defector, a tricky and sensitive undertaking that was keeping everybody on their toes. Everything else appeared to be running quite normally, although Clive Newell was there to keep in touch with his recently deployed teams, as Operation Fusion got under way.
It was nearly midnight when one of the teams reported in.
“This is Fusion Team ‘Bravo’,” said the voice. “We have identified our target, and are keeping in contact.”
That was all, but it was enough to tell ‘S’ and his two colleagues that the operation was now under way. Newell acknowledged the message, and that was that.
The three men looked at one another. “So far so good,” said Marsden. “Now the work really starts.”
Bill Clayton nodded. “I wish I was out there with them,” he said, wistfully.
“You’re getting too old for that sort of thing!” replied Marsden.
There were a couple of other reports during the night. The technical support team reported that a tracking device had been fitted to Barclay’s car, parked outside his lodgings. And a member of team ‘Echo’ had managed to talk his way on to the staff at Culham – ‘a sort of cleaning job’, he had said – but it meant that they now had a man on the inside, more or less free to roam at will. Gladys said later that if he was being paid for it, she would knock it off his allowances. But it also meant that ‘Echo’ now needed a replacement. Within an hour, a new man was in the ops room being briefed, before drawing a Browning from the armoury, grabbing a Kawasaki bike from the garage, and heading for the A40 at high speed.
“I’ll have to do the paperwork in the morning,” sighed Newell.
“Any of that wine left?” asked Marsden.
“I don’t think there is. I remember you emptying the bottle!” replied Clayton. “But there’s a spare in my cupboard. I’ll get it.”
“Your Barbara thinks of everything.”
***
CHAPTER SEVEN - THE RUSSIAN INTERVENTIO
N
It seemed to Professor Jack Barclay that ‘good days’ were almost a thing of the past, the way work was going at the moment. In fact, he couldn’t remember when he had last had a good day, by any definition. He and his small team suddenly appeared to be getting nowhere, and they had concluded that they really needed to go back over some of their earlier work in an effort to find out where they were going wrong. They had decided to have a brain storming session.
It had started at eight o’clock that morning, and they had really made very little progress by the time Barclay’s undergraduate assistant had appeared with sandwiches and hot coffee for lunch. Except that it wasn’t lunch. It was getting on for dinner time, but they hadn’t noticed. In spite of the time, they decided to work on for a bit longer in an effort to complete their revision in a single working day.
It probably wasn’t the sandwiches, and they couldn’t agree whether or not it was the coffee, although that was the more likely, but quite suddenly afterwards, a piece of inspired mathematics by Barclay suggested that they may, after all, be on the verge of their first step forward for some time. And the more they looked at it, the more they studied it, the more they refined it, the more excited they became that this could be the solution they had all been looking for. There was much more to be done, not just to test the theory again and again to ensure that there were no flaws in it, but then to transfer it into the possibly more difficult practical world of the laboratory.
They were all nearing exhaustion as they parted that night, none more so than Barclay, but he did actually feel that perhaps today hadn’t been such a bad day after all. Not a good day, but, if they really had made some progress, perhaps not as bad as most had been recently. Leading his team through this morass of theoretical quantum mechanics for a glimpse of the future was stressful enough, but he had the added pressure being put upon him by those trying to persuade him to work for them instead of Britain’s Atomic Energy Authority. Last week, it had been the vastly rich Gulf States, at last officially offering him undreamed of resources to continue his work in an organisation of his own, which they would help him to establish and finance with seemingly unlimited funds. And there was no denying the fact that he could make quicker progress with greater financial backing, even in the UK if only the Government would allocate more money for research projects like his. He knew that his was not the only work to suffer because of public expenditure constraints, but that did not make it any easier to resist the temptation of moving to the Middle East with its untold riches.