“Why not meet him at his club instead? Pay an official visit to the SAS Headquarters at Hereford. Meet them all.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“I’ll get Colonel Seb Owen to arrange it.”
“I’d better tell the General about that, too.”
Sefton nodded his agreement.
“However, as always in these affairs,” he said, “there is a complication about North Korea.”
“Which is?”
“Choi is a dying man – radiation sickness and cancer.”
“How long do we have?”
“No idea. But he told his nephew that it would in any case take some time to gather the information together for us.”
“How long?”
“Weeks, probably.”
“It occurs to me, then, that we should perhaps get someone over there quickly, if necessary to wait for the good doctor to complete his work, and it’s ready for collection.”
“Might be sensible.”
“One of yours this time, Geoffrey?”
It was a statement, rather than a question.
“I have someone in mind,” replied ‘C’.
“Your man from Jakarta? Is he home yet?”
“He set up the meetings with Dr. Choi’s nephew.”
“How very convenient!”
“Good planning, I call it!”
“To be expected, of course. Is the man up to it?”
“Widely travelled. But this will not be easy. We can get him in without too much bother, but it will be a different matter getting him out again.”
“And that’s the important bit,” said Salisbury. “Getting him out with the information we need.”
“Exactly. I have every confidence, though – he’s about our most experienced field operator. But it could be his last mission, if he gets out.”
“It will be if he doesn’t,” said Salisbury. “Sorry – I shouldn’t have said that. But why his last?”
“I get the feeling that he’s had enough, and could do with a break. We have a desk lined up for him if he wants it – senior post, reporting directly to me.”
“I should meet him, too.”
“He’ll be at your briefing.”
“Ah, of course. Good.”
“I shan’t introduce him to others, though. It’s best he remains anonymous.”
Jack Salisbury thought for a moment.
“Anything more from the Americans?” he asked.
“No. One of their top CIA men is still over here, sniffing around, but we think he’s now convinced that the man they shot in North Korea wasn’t anyone special, and certainly not one of ours.”
“Just an excuse for them to be beastly to the West?”
“Exactly.”
“It’s what we’ve said all along, right.”
“Exactly.”
“As you know, the Americans are also denying that they switched off the North Korean internet, although we know they did so. We are supporting their story about the Chinese having done it, to cool the North down a bit. Most of the Pyongyang internet servers are routed through China. By the way, they were equally delighted when we chucked out two more students.”
“So we’re more or less back on an even keel, are we, so far as they’re concerned?”
“Exactly. We are both reading from the same page, as they say.”
“I suppose we shall have to share things with them one day, when we know what Choi has to offer.”
“That will be something to look forward to, almost. They were keen to turn him and failed.”
“Exactly.”
Salisbury sighed, and wandered over to his office window.
“I suppose there’s nothing for it now,” he said, looking out. “I shall have to brief people.”
‘C’ nodded.
“But no politicians.”
“Certainly not. Only those people who need to know.”
“And can be trusted not to talk.”
“No notes, no paper, no i-Pads, no phones and that sort of stuff.”
“I’ll get chums from MI5 to sweep the briefing room, just to be sure, and be on duty outside to make sure nobody takes anything in that they shouldn’t.”
“Especially phones. My briefing will inevitably contain ‘strap’ intelligence which we normally only share with people at the very top who really must know, so we shall need the highest security.”
“Exactly. As a matter of interest, we have actually traced a few mobile phones recently, too close to home for comfort I have to admit, that had been converted into listening devices.”
“Exactly my point. We can trust nobody these days.”
Salisbury stretched and rubbed his eyes.
“I shall need maps, photographs and that sort of thing,” he said.
“Leave that to me,” said Sefton, reassuringly.
“Thank you Geoffrey,” replied Salisbury. “You know I don’t like doing this sort of thing. Not much good in front of people.”
“I know it’s not something you enjoy,” said Sefton. “But you always do it very well, so don’t worry.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll help with the script, too if you like.”
“You know I don’t like using notes. I prefer to learn my lines, more or less. But an outline would be very helpful.”
Salisbury rubbed his forehead.
“I shall need some science tuition, too. I need to sound knowledgeable about nuclear bombs and things, and how they work. As you know, I’m a science man, not ‘arts’, but I’m not up to speed on nuclear weapons.”
“I’ll get a briefing team together for you, and I’ll make sure it includes Lee Cooper, who was at the forefront of persuading Dr.Choi to co-operate during his visit over here. He’s at Aldermaston.”
“Good thinking. He can tell me a bit about the Doctor as well.”
“Anything else while I’m here?”
Salisbury looked at his watch.
“Only lunch,” he said. “Why don’t you join me at the Club? We can talk a bit more over a decent cut of beef or something.”
13.
THE BRIEFING
By nature, Jack Salisbury was not terribly self-confident. His demeanour was almost apologetic. It was obvious to listen to him that he knew what he was talking about and was on top of the job, but his manner was almost hesitant, as if he was afraid of lecturing to his betters. But in his field, there were no betters. His CBE was recognition of that, but he had no Knighthood, like most of his peer group. Offered but refused. He did not want the limelight; just to be left alone to get on with his job.
He was the first to admit that he had been a rather odd choice for the post he now held. Not so long ago, the Cabinet Secretary was automatically Chairman of the Joint Intelligence Committee, until that unfortunate time when they discovered that a recent incumbent was also working secretly for the Soviets (read ‘Spy People’). That had caused a hell of a rumpus and a major re-organisation. It had also severely upset the Americans, who were now understandably not so keen to share information with the UK as they had been. With any luck, he would change that eventually.
But now, as Chairman of the Joint Intelligence Organisation, he was also Head of the JIC and Professional Head of Intelligence Analysis. So he had three jobs really, all based in the Cabinet Office. The new Cabinet Secretary was still a member of the JIC, but no longer in charge. Jack Salisbury was.
Many others had also thought he had been an odd choice, but his background included years in the Secret Intelligence Service and in military intelligence, so there was no question about his professional qualifications for the post. He was, however, far from the polished civil servant who some would have expected to take that sort of post, not least because his background was in science rather than the arts, unlike most of his classically trained colleagues.
That almost explained his appearance as well. He was not a tall, imposing figure, but a bit, shall we say, on the heavy side. He never
admitted to being overweight, simply a few inches too short. In a scruffy sort of way, he was always smartly dressed, but not in the pin-stripe sense of the word. Shirt and tie – yes. But an old tweed jacket was his preferred choice, and it was a long time since his trousers had been blessed with a crease. Being a bachelor probably had something to do with that.
In spite of his role, Jack Salisbury was getting a bit fidgety – nervous, almost. He should have been full of confidence, given his position, and the fact that he was used to briefing, and being briefed by, the top security, intelligence and military figures in the country. But today was a bit different. Today, they were all together, and he was the only briefer.
The Joint Intelligence Committee was there, except for a few members who did not need to know and had no interest in his briefing. People like the International Development Department and the one that dealt with business and skills and such like – nothing to do with them. Others, such as the armed services Chiefs of Staff had been called in specially, in spite of the fact that the Chief of the Defence Intelligence Staff was there – he was a member of the JIC anyway, and they weren’t, except by invitation. They had all been called in because of the gravity and importance of what he was about to tell them, and he knew that he had to be sufficiently convincing in what he said and what he proposed, to get them all behind his audacious and risky plan, without exception. Unless he was able to convince every one of them about the need for action along the lines he was about to propose, he believed there could be a considerable risk of nuclear conflict.
So there he stood, before the nation’s great and good and powerful, waiting for the last invited member to take his seat.
He preferred to stand. He wanted the freedom to wander around the oval conference table in one of the Cabinet Office briefing rooms, and he had to draw attention to special features on the slides he was about to show them, in any case. He also preferred to wave a pointer about rather than use one of those modern electronic gadgets that threw an illuminated arrow on to the screen.
Eventually, his audience was assembled and seated. In spite of the fact that he reported directly to the Prime Minister, no Ministers or politicians had been invited. They would panic, cause dissent and disagreement, and chatter afterwards, putting security at risk.
Salisbury looked around those at the table. Cabinet Secretary, Heads of MI5 (‘M’) and MI6 (‘C’), Chief of the Defence Staff and Chief of the Defence Intelligence Staff, Permanent Secretaries from the Foreign Office and Home Office, and so on. The Military were in uniform. Come to that, he thought, so were the civil servants, two of whom were in identical pinstripe suits. Marks and Spencer, he had no doubt.
The Cabinet Secretary invited him to begin.
Head bowed slightly, as if in thought, he started to amble around the large table, scratching his head of thinning hair. He shoved his round spectacles back from the end of his nose. No need for introductions; he knew them and they knew him.
“First of all I must ask you, on no account,” he glared around the table, “to share any of the information I am about to give you with any Ministers or politicians or even civil servants outside this room, even in your own Department.”
He brushed his hand across his sparse hair.
“We cannot afford any breach of security by their chattering, texting and tweeting, whatever that is. After the discovery made about a recent predecessor of yours,” he looked directly at the Cabinet Secretary, “we cannot be too careful. That is why you were all – um – asked to leave your phones and other paraphernalia outside. I hope I make myself absolutely clear.”
They all signified agreement.
He turned to face his audience from one end of the table.
“Gentlemen, I am here to tell you about a very disturbing and potentially extremely dangerous series of developments which have been taking place over the past few months. As some of you will know, we in the Security and Intelligence Service have been watching these developments very closely indeed, and – um – have now decided that it is time we shared our concerns with you. I do so because most of you are in a position to do something about our – shall we say – understanding of recent events, and because we now believe that we have the ability to take appropriate action.”
He walked towards the far end of the room, where there was a large back-projection screen. He picked up his beloved pointer, and looked closely at the Chief of Defence Staff, who sat in front of him.
“Before I even begin to go into any detail, I know that there are many in this room who will say ‘mission impossible’ the moment I mention North Korea.”
The Chief of Defence Staff and one or two others in uniform turned to face him, frowning and nodding in agreement of his forecast of their reaction.
“I can reassure you,” he continued, “that I do not have in mind any form of military action. At least - um - not yet.”
He again scratched his head and attempted to adjust his glasses once more.
“What I have in mind initially involves civilian members of the Government,” he said, looking again at the Cabinet Secretary.
He finally reached the screen and turned to ask some dis-embodied official somewhere, “Can I have the first …”
The first slide appeared on the screen as if by magic.
“Ah,” he said, waving his pointer at it.
“What you see here is a recent high-definition satellite picture of an area of North Korea. This,” he pointed, “is roughly the Chinese border. Pyongyang is way down here in the south,” another wave, “and this is one of the notorious concentration camps. Between the two, ...”
He turned to the official again.
“Could we have…?
“Ah! This enlargement shows an area between the two. This, gentlemen, is the Punggye-ri nuclear test site in Kilju County, near the town of Mantapsan, where underground tests were carried out in 2006, 2009, and again, we think, in February 2013. Nobody is quite sure about the 2013 - um – explosion.”
He looked about him.
“The blast,” he continued, strolling down the table behind the seated dignitaries, “was certainly large enough to have been a nuclear weapon, but it could also have been a conventional explosion designed to imitate a nuclear weapon; designed to frighten the West, in fact, and especially the Americans. This – how shall I put it – ‘theory’ – is explained by the fact that, two days after the explosion, no nuclear radiation had been detected by either the Chinese, the Japanese or the South Koreans, or anyone else.”
He looked again at the screen at the far end of the briefing room, and waved a finger in the air.
“However,” he continued, “in April that year, South Korea reported activity at Punggye-ri suggesting that preparations were being made for a fourth underground test. Our own observations led us to the same conclusion, but in the end, no test took place. This activity has recently increased, and we have concluded that the tunnelling which we observed was for a long term development project.”
He turned to face the assembled delegates.
“We now know what that is,” he said, for him, slightly dramatically.
He ran his fingers through his hair, and pointed to the screen ahead of him. A new slide appeared.
“That activity has continued since it was first reported, and, as you would expect, we have been monitoring progress closely, by satellite, and – um – other means at our disposal. This is the latest satellite image. You will see the signs of recent activity. New roads,” his pointer tapped the screen, “new buildings, and what appears to be the entrances to several additional tunnels.”
He turned again, but before he could ask, a further slide appeared on the screen, showing the work in greater detail.
“Over here,” he pointed again, “we see the beginnings of a new railway line being built into the site. This will connect to the existing system near Punggye-ri station,” he again tapped the screen, “which eventually links into China. The existing infra
structure is being modernised – in many places rebuilt and upgraded – to cater for what is obviously expected to be an increase in traffic, which will probably be considerably heavier than at present. A good deal of freight, we imagine, on an otherwise lightly used passenger line. Bearing in mind the mountainous terrain, remarkable progress is already being made.”
He turned away from the screen.
“I need hardly tell you,” he paused and smoothed his hair again, “that the labour force for much of this construction work, especially the railway, comes from – um - the nearby concentration camp at Hwasong. It is a penal-labour camp.”
He moved away, head bowed slightly, as if seeking inspiration from his shoes. He had no notes.
“Camp 16, in fact. Home, if I may call it that, to some 20,000 souls, who are imprisoned for life with no chance of ever being released.”
Another thoughtful scratch.
“All this is reminiscent of the Burma-Siam railway built by prisoners of the Japanese during the Second World War.”
He looked back at the screen.
“In this case, however, the bodies of those who die are taken by fellow prisoners, under guard, to be burnt. The ashes are collected, and – um – used as fertiliser.”
He looked round at his audience.
“These prisoners have committed ‘anti-revolutionary and anti-party’ crimes. They and their families, who are probably innocent of anything at all apart from being related to a prisoner, are exploited on hard, dangerous and deadly work like mining, logging and agriculture, and, according to defectors, have been forced in the past to dig tunnels and underground facilities in areas exposed to nuclear radiation. I digress, Gentlemen, only to remind you of the brutal dictatorship we are dealing with.”
He turned back to the screen, waving his pointer vaguely towards it.
“I invite you to look closely at these photographs,” he said, beginning yet another circuit of the conference table. “What we believe you are seeing, gentlemen, is one of North Korea’s newest nuclear establishments, under construction, on the old test site.”
Jack Salisbury turned and walked slowly back towards the end of the table, adjusting his glasses. He turned to his audience.
“Except that we don’t believe.”
He paused for effect.
“We know!”
He looked around the table.
“What we do believe, however, is that this new facility is specifically designed to test a new means of enriching Uranium 235, and build nuclear weapons – all on the same site.”