friend of the Firm, Sir Colin. Our analysis is that if he were to put out feelers among his workforce about this Caliph character, it could be beneficial.’
‘Do it,’ said the chief.
‘It’s not entirely straightforward,’ Bixby said. ‘Ahmed Al-Essa insists on face-to-face contact. Not surprising, really – we’d be astonished if the Qatari authorities didn’t have him under electronic surveillance. But if we’re going to get anything out of him, we’ll need a man on the ground.’
‘Or a woman,’ said the Foreign Secretary.
‘No,’ said Bixby. ‘A man. It’s the way things are out there.’
‘Where is Al-Essa currently situated?’
‘Saudi Arabia. Riyadh. On business.’
‘We don’t have much time, Sir Colin,’ the Foreign Secretary said briskly.
‘Thank you, Foreign Secretary,’ the chief said. ‘If an extremist group drops a bomb on London, you’ll be sure to let me know, won’t you?’
Gorman visibly bristled, and the intelligence staff around the table avoided catching anyone else’s eye. The chief pinched his nose again. His head ached. There was too much to take in, and he knew he didn’t have a hope in hell of getting any sleep that night. Not the best state in which to be making decisions. His eyes followed the line of intelligence officers down the right-hand side of the table, and came to rest on Buckingham.
‘Isn’t Riyadh your old stomping ground, Buckingham?’ He seemed to remember that Buckingham had once been their man in Saudi.
Buckingham looked startled. For a moment, he seemed lost for words. ‘Yes, Sir Colin,’ he said finally. ‘Yes, it is. I spent a number of years at the embassy there.’
‘I want you on the first plane to Riyadh. Make contact with our asset and see what he knows about the Caliph.’ Buckingham looked distinctly unenthusiastic about the prospect. The chief didn’t care. He turned to the remaining intelligence officers. ‘If this Caliph is planning something in London, somebody, somewhere knows about him. I want us to comb through any and every cross-agency intelligence report that might be relevant for the past six months. If you draw a blank, start on the six months before that. Nothing slips through the net, ladies and gentlemen. And I trust it goes without saying that no word of this leaves these four walls. You don’t tell your family or your friends. Any leaks will be dealt with under the Official Secrets Act. We can’t afford a panic. Rest assured that the security services will act as and when it becomes necessary. Is there anything else?’
Buckingham cleared his throat.
‘Yes?’ the chief asked.
Buckingham looked like he was going to complain. But he just bowed his head. ‘Nothing, Sir Colin,’ he said. ‘Nothing at all.’
‘Good. Get to work, everyone. Now.’
There was a scraping of chairs, and the whirring sound of Bixby’s electric wheelchair moving back, as the analysts and intelligence officers left the room. ‘A word, Sir Colin,’ the Foreign Secretary called above the noise.
The chief nodded, then looked towards the door where Hugo Buckingham was loitering. He raised an eyebrow at him. Buckingham looked embarrassed and left, leaving the chief and the Foreign Secretary alone.
‘I apologise for snapping,’ Seldon said. ‘It’s been a long day.’
‘Forget about it. This marathon threat, is it really a thing, in your opinion?’
The chief nodded. ‘Bixby’s my best man. I’ve never known him be wrong. Something like this will happen, Tessa. You know that as well as me. We’ve foiled seven or eight plots in the final stages of planning, and that’s just in the last nine months. Whether this is the one where those IS crazies get us, I don’t know. My feeling is that our biggest threat will come from a lone-wolf jihadi, radicalised on the internet and trained up by Islamic State in Syria. But wherever the hit comes from, it will happen, sooner or later.’
‘I’m glad you sent Buckingham.
‘Do it,’ said the chief.
‘It’s not entirely straightforward,’ Bixby said. ‘Ahmed Al-Essa insists on face-to-face contact. Not surprising, really – we’d be astonished if the Qatari authorities didn’t have him under electronic surveillance. But if we’re going to get anything out of him, we’ll need a man on the ground.’
‘Or a woman,’ said the Foreign Secretary.
‘No,’ said Bixby. ‘A man. It’s the way things are out there.’
‘Where is Al-Essa currently situated?’
‘Saudi Arabia. Riyadh. On business.’
‘We don’t have much time, Sir Colin,’ the Foreign Secretary said briskly.
‘Thank you, Foreign Secretary,’ the chief said. ‘If an extremist group drops a bomb on London, you’ll be sure to let me know, won’t you?’
Gorman visibly bristled, and the intelligence staff around the table avoided catching anyone else’s eye. The chief pinched his nose again. His head ached. There was too much to take in, and he knew he didn’t have a hope in hell of getting any sleep that night. Not the best state in which to be making decisions. His eyes followed the line of intelligence officers down the right-hand side of the table, and came to rest on Buckingham.
‘Isn’t Riyadh your old stomping ground, Buckingham?’ He seemed to remember that Buckingham had once been their man in Saudi.
Buckingham looked startled. For a moment, he seemed lost for words. ‘Yes, Sir Colin,’ he said finally. ‘Yes, it is. I spent a number of years at the embassy there.’
‘I want you on the first plane to Riyadh. Make contact with our asset and see what he knows about the Caliph.’ Buckingham looked distinctly unenthusiastic about the prospect. The chief didn’t care. He turned to the remaining intelligence officers. ‘If this Caliph is planning something in London, somebody, somewhere knows about him. I want us to comb through any and every cross-agency intelligence report that might be relevant for the past six months. If you draw a blank, start on the six months before that. Nothing slips through the net, ladies and gentlemen. And I trust it goes without saying that no word of this leaves these four walls. You don’t tell your family or your friends. Any leaks will be dealt with under the Official Secrets Act. We can’t afford a panic. Rest assured that the security services will act as and when it becomes necessary. Is there anything else?’
Buckingham cleared his throat.
‘Yes?’ the chief asked.
Buckingham looked like he was going to complain. But he just bowed his head. ‘Nothing, Sir Colin,’ he said. ‘Nothing at all.’
‘Good. Get to work, everyone. Now.’
There was a scraping of chairs, and the whirring sound of Bixby’s electric wheelchair moving back, as the analysts and intelligence officers left the room. ‘A word, Sir Colin,’ the Foreign Secretary called above the noise.
The chief nodded, then looked towards the door where Hugo Buckingham was loitering. He raised an eyebrow at him. Buckingham looked embarrassed and left, leaving the chief and the Foreign Secretary alone.
‘I apologise for snapping,’ Seldon said. ‘It’s been a long day.’
‘Forget about it. This marathon threat, is it really a thing, in your opinion?’
The chief nodded. ‘Bixby’s my best man. I’ve never known him be wrong. Something like this will happen, Tessa. You know that as well as me. We’ve foiled seven or eight plots in the final stages of planning, and that’s just in the last nine months. Whether this is the one where those IS crazies get us, I don’t know. My feeling is that our biggest threat will come from a lone-wolf jihadi, radicalised on the internet and trained up by Islamic State in Syria. But wherever the hit comes from, it will happen, sooner or later.’
‘I’m glad you sent Buckingham.
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