Geoffrey Fane had reluctantly conceded that it should be one of Liz’s colleagues, rather than one of his, who would join the crew of the Aristides on its next voyage from Athens to Kenya. But it seemed that he was still trying to run the operation. Liz had been astonished to receive an invitation to what he was describing as a ‘co-ordination meeting’ at Vauxhall Cross. She suspected that he had not been completely frank with her about the extent to which he had already involved the Americans, and that he was now trying to ‘uninvolve’ them and hoping she could help.
Not much chance of that, she thought, once Langley had got a sniff of it. She wondered who else he had invited to the meeting. The room would probably be full of people, all vying for position: Bokus and colleagues from the American Embassy, a team from MI6, probably the Navy, the SAS, the Cabinet Office, the Foreign Office… and heaven knows who else. It was all far too premature, and would be sure to result in a muddle.
She decided to go to the meeting alone and let them all talk. Her aim was to avoid anything happening that might mess up the operation in Birmingham which, now she had Tahira in play, she felt might at last be getting somewhere. All this had put her in a thoroughly bad temper, and she was crossly putting her papers away in her security cupboard, ready to go across the river, when Peggy came in with the latest update on the monitoring of emails from the mosque.
‘I can’t stop now,’ Liz said, ‘or I’ll be late for the Fane jamboree.’
‘I think you’d better read it before you go over there,’ said Peggy. So Liz sat down and read:
URGENT
Re: New Springfield Mosque Communications
We have had some success in analysing the internet communications from the New Springfield Mosque. A variety of machines are in use, mainly laptops which appear to be used by different individuals and are probably brought into the premises and used in some sort of library or study room. A4 surveillance linked with emanations has enabled us to identify several individual users.
There is one particular machine that remains in place. It has an Arabic keyboard. We believe, again from A4 observation, that this machine is used only by Imam Abdi Bakri, and is probably situated in his office.
Bakri sends messages to a variety of radical Islamic groups throughout the Middle East and North Africa. In addition, he is a contributor to message boards based in Europe but consulted by Arabic-speaking users. Many of Bakri’s contributions could be considered inflammatory or even illegal under existing UK incitement laws, but none so far has suggested involvement in or planning of actual terrorist missions.
The exception is a series of messages, increasing in number in the last five days, which are clearly designed to be unbreakable by monitoring. These messages go to a parallax repository, which functions as a depot to which outside visitors travel; in that sense it is not unlike a bulletin board in a chat room. The key difference is that access is restricted, and the identity of visitors is technically almost impossible to back-trace as they arrive through a series of relays, each of which can involve half a dozen different ISPs as well as literally dozens of different national boundaries. At present we cannot identify individual visitors to the depot.
Attempts at decryption are complicated by the twin facts that a) the encryption is double-ended and intrinsically hard to crack; and b) it is changed algorithmically every hour – which means we have effectively to decipher an algorithmic adjustment within another algorithm every sixty minutes to keep up to speed with the contents of the transmitted messages.
Nonetheless some deciphering has taken place. Particles and conjunctions – ‘the’, ‘and’, ‘or’, etc. – have been relatively easy to decipher and freeze, and increasingly we have isolated recurring proper nouns as well as base verbs and nouns. For example…
There followed a series of transcribed bits and pieces – mainly phrases, few of which made any sense to Liz. But her eye was caught by one phrase that stood out, even with all the synonyms provided by the technical team:
Passengers [[travellers, voyagers]] due in ten days city [[town, village]] will require//need//want immediate transfer [[relay, travel, shipment]] out.
It would have been meaningless without everything else she already knew, but as it was she thought she could fill in the blanks. People were travelling to what was most likely a city – that could be Islamabad or Athens since both were cities. Or somewhere else perhaps. But if, as was most likely, these communications were connected to the goings on at the mosque she already knew about, then Athens seemed most likely. Interestingly, it appeared the travellers were then being moved on right away. Where to? Could it be Somalia? She would have put money on it; in any case, it was happening soon.
Liz was only five minutes late for the meeting at Vauxhall Cross. Fane had chosen the grandest of the conference rooms for the get-together, with a river view and a gorgeous Georgian burred oak table that could have seated twenty-five people. It seemed a bit unnecessary, since to her relief the only others present, apart from Fane, were Andy Bokus from the US Embassy and Martin Seurat, whom she was very surprised to see – he hadn’t told her he was coming over. He had broken with protocol, moreover, in coming without anyone to accompany him from the French Embassy in London. When Liz gave him a quizzical look, he smiled apologetically. He must have been called in by Fane at the last minute.
Fane gave Liz a frosty nod as she entered and made her excuses to the other two men, who were standing by the window while they waited. Martin smiled warmly at her, and Bokus solemnly shook hands. She knew him of old and was well aware that the big man in the olive-green gabardine suit was deceptively sharp. She was not taken in by the Midwestern twang and the hearty vocabulary; she’d learned not to underestimate Mr Bokus or the other CIA agents stationed in London.
They all sat down at the table, Fane taking the chair at the end. ‘Now that we’re all here, shall we get started? Thank you for coming over, Andy and Monsieur Seurat. I decided to keep this meeting small since we’re in the very early stages of considering what action might be appropriate. I think we are all familiar with the background. The Aristides is leaving Athens in four days’ time, with a cargo of aid from UCSO for Africa. As you know, we suspect a leak from that charity to a pirate group in Somalia. We have artificially inflated the apparent value of the cargo on board, in an attempt to flush out the link to the pirates and to discover whether anything else is going on. We expect a hijacking attempt to take place off the coast of Somalia – south-east of the Horn, and not in the Gulf of Aden. The pirates in question are based south of Mogadishu and, because of the information we already have from the earlier hijacking attempt that was thwarted by the French Navy, we believe the gang in question to be Arabs not Somalis.
‘In discussion recently,’ continued Fane, leaning forward, ‘my colleague Eliz… er, Liz Carlyle and I decided to put one of our colleagues on board the ship.’
‘Yes,’ said Liz, quickly interjecting, ‘It will be Dave Armstrong, one of our best intelligence officers.’ She wanted to make quite clear that this was primarily an MI5 operation.
Bokus, who had been chewing gum placidly, now said sharply, ‘And just what’s this Double-O Seven supposed to do? Take out the pirates single-handed, then find Osama Bin Laden for an encore?’
Liz took this calmly. ‘We have slightly more modest aims for him. One – identify any collaborators with the pirates who are on board; it’s possible someone on the ship is helping these guys. Two – alert the patrols we’ll have in the area so they can intercept the pirates and arrest any collaborators.’
Bokus said, ‘I say we supply the firepower. We’ve got a carrier in the vicinity, and two frigates alongside as escorts. Plus, if it gets really heavy, we can have air support along in minutes.’
Liz could see Fane wince. Air support was the last thing either of them envisaged. If it were called in, there was no question that the pirates would be blown out of the water. But there was also a strong likelihood that the Aristides and Dave Armstrong and any British Pakistanis who might be on board would be bombed to smithereens as well.
Fane said, ‘I don’t think firepower is going to be an issue. Something a little more subtle is required.’
Bokus bristled. ‘Are you saying we can’t do subtle?’
‘Not at all, Andy,’ Fane said soothingly. ‘But I think we’re best placed to handle the policing aspect of this.’
The atmosphere between them, never easy, had turned tense. Liz watched as the argument progressed, Bokus emphasising the sheer might of American forces, Fane the need for stealth and surprise, which would be helped by having an agent on board. When Bokus returned to the possibility of air strikes – ‘That way we can keep their colleagues on shore from coming out to help. Do we know where they’re based anyway?’ – Liz reached for her briefcase. She took out a stack of photographs and passed them around. ‘These are satellite pictures of the camp.’
‘Pretty big site,’ said Bokus as he looked at them.
‘The compound in the middle belongs to the pirates. We think the tents at the bottom are their Middle Eastern visitors.’
‘Al Qaeda,’ Fane declared.
‘Or Al Shebab,’ said Bokus.
‘Same thing to all intents and purposes,’ snapped Fane.
Martin, who had been quietly watching this Battle of the Titans, winked at Liz.
Then Bokus said, ‘An F-16 could keep these guys pinned down easy.’
‘There are almost certainly hostages in the camp,’ Liz said firmly. ‘Attractive as an air strike may sound, think of the repercussions if you kill the captain of an oil tanker being held to ransom.’
‘Shit happens,’ Bokus said with a shrug, and turned to resume his argument with Fane. We’re getting nowhere, thought Liz, her mind busily reviewing options to resolve the stalemate.
Then Martin Seurat broke in, so quietly at first that it took Fane and Bokus, in mid-argument, a minute to realise he was speaking. ‘Gentlemen, it seems to me each of your positions is reasonable. But also completely incompatible. I have an alternative to propose.’
Bokus and Fane stopped talking and both turned to look suspiciously at him as he continued. ‘You will remember that the last time pirates attempted to seize the Aristides, they were foiled by the French Navy. It so happens that the corvette responsible is currently patrolling the same waters. I would propose that this be the vessel that should intervene if there is a new attempt – we are talking days from now, and the ship is already in place.’
‘So you’re saying the French should run the show?’ said Bokus irritably.
‘Not at all. I am merely pointing out that we have the advantage of knowing the Aristides, and that we are already in position.’ Before Bokus could protest, he went on, ‘I suggest the British be responsible in the event – unlikely, we hope – that it’s necessary to put a force down on land. I am sure our own commandos could do the job, but I am happy to defer to the expertise of your special forces, Geoffrey and Liz.’
That should satisfy Fane, thought Liz, as she quietly assessed Martin’s diplomacy, but it still left Bokus to be appeased. Martin now turned to the American. ‘Monsieur, I accept your argument that airpower might be useful. But in this situation, where it will be very difficult to distinguish between the innocent and the enemy, I think helicopters would be the most advantageous. If you can have a ship within ten miles or so of the coast, they could put in reinforcements as needed to either the Aristides or the pirates’ camp. They would have adequate firepower if there is resistance, but also have the ability to be – how should I say? – discriminating in who they attack. And, most important, they could transport people out if needed – casualties, freed hostages or prisoners.’
It was a good argument, Liz thought, and to his credit Bokus seemed to see that. Moreover, if Bokus couldn’t win the argument with Fane, Seurat’s solution also meant he wouldn’t entirely lose. He conceded, ‘It makes sense.’
‘Yes, it does,’ said Liz.
Fane didn’t say anything. He looked unhappy, though Liz sensed this was not because he had any objection to the plan itself, but because the compromise came from Seurat. Eventually Fane gave a grudging nod. Then, reasserting his position as chairman of the meeting, he said, ‘Well, if that’s agreed then we’d better decide how to co-ordinate all the planning.’
Well done, Martin, thought Liz, as they exchanged glances.