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Authors: John Macrae
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doesn't necessarily fit him for the team. "
Tony remained calm. "He's your stand-in. And he's a damned sight fitter than you are. Look at yourself. Come on, be honest. Could you do the London Marathon in three hours?"
I had to be honest. "Of course not. But I will be fit again."
Tony looked to me up and down and shook his head. "Well De Court can. Look," he said, "for Christ's sake be reasonable. You're never, never going to be fit like that again. You're past it. We both are. You know that. It's time to start thinking. About the future."
"Is that what the Director wants to talk about?"
"Yes, that. And other things. "
"What other things?"
"Look," said Tony, pleading, "I can't go into it all now. I don't like what's happening. And I want you to know that my recommendation was that you stay. "
I went cold. "Stay? You mean I'm going? Tony was embarrassed. "What? Posted? I can't go back to Training Wing. No. Not again. I know I'm not in shape: but it'll come."
Tony looked hunted. "Look, I've told you all I'm supposed to. Oh Christ, you'll hear it from the Director soon enough." There was a long pause and he licked his lips. "Look, I'm sorry. It's not my fault. The Whitehall bastards want to bin you. "
"Bin me?" I tried to absorb it, feeling sick in my stomach. "Why? Why bin me? Where? Back to Regimental duty?" I grasped at a sudden straw. "Or are they posting me somewhere else? Not MOD?"
"No. You. You don't understand. It’s all to do with the Iran thing. They want you out . Number Ten: the Cabinet Office. The spin doctors. They want you away. Redundancy. Sacked. Any bloody thing. Out. There’ve been questions about you in the House."
I cannot explain how I felt at that moment. Out? Redundancy? Oh, I knew that there were cuts going on. But they weren't for people like me. Redundancy and cut backs were for fat old colonels in Base Ordnance Depots in British Army of the Rhine or sitting out their time on Salisbury Plain. Not me. Why me? What was so wrong with Kurdistan?
Tony must have picked up my thoughts. "They weren't very happy about your Kurdistan stunt. There was a hell of a row. Iranians going on the telly: al Jazeera. British provocations and deliberated attacks on Iran. Diplomatic protests, stuff in the papers, questions in Parliament; all that kind of stuff. They even raised it at the UN."
"How the hell could anyone blame Attorney on UK? We didn’t leave a trace. Anyway, we did it for the Yanks, surely? It was never down to us. "
"I'm afraid it was. The Iranians got hold of one of the Turkish guys who had been your minder out there. Some kind of Kurdish scout. Went native in the hills with the Pesh Merga after you left, then decided to take on an Iran i an Air Force base single handed. Unbelievable, really. He ended up by driving a Land Rover through a couple of check points then crashing through an Air Base perimeter. Drove it down the flight line. Smashed a line of parked jets apparently. Ballsy stuff."
Nusret. Bloody Nusret.
"Where was this?"
"Tabriz, I think. Just over the border. Anyway, they got him: half dead. Better if he'd been chopped, 'cos the Iranian goons worked him over apparently and he spilled it all. Landrover, the attack on Hasak. The lot. Even mentioned you by name."
"By name ?"
"Not your real name, obviously. But he knew your work handle. And the Iranians had a field day with the Rover. Big display of British and foreign equipment, aiding the Kurdish rebels, British Secret Service, the SAS, gold sovereigns, stuff like that."
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Mind you, Sal must be laughing somewhere. Fuck.
"It was all over the papers about three months ago. You were still in hospital, I think. Undercover Britons in Secret Attacks on Saddam, etcetera. That kind of stuff. One of the awkward squad actually mentioned you by name at Prime Minister’s Questions. You’re
Tony remained calm. "He's your stand-in. And he's a damned sight fitter than you are. Look at yourself. Come on, be honest. Could you do the London Marathon in three hours?"
I had to be honest. "Of course not. But I will be fit again."
Tony looked to me up and down and shook his head. "Well De Court can. Look," he said, "for Christ's sake be reasonable. You're never, never going to be fit like that again. You're past it. We both are. You know that. It's time to start thinking. About the future."
"Is that what the Director wants to talk about?"
"Yes, that. And other things. "
"What other things?"
"Look," said Tony, pleading, "I can't go into it all now. I don't like what's happening. And I want you to know that my recommendation was that you stay. "
I went cold. "Stay? You mean I'm going? Tony was embarrassed. "What? Posted? I can't go back to Training Wing. No. Not again. I know I'm not in shape: but it'll come."
Tony looked hunted. "Look, I've told you all I'm supposed to. Oh Christ, you'll hear it from the Director soon enough." There was a long pause and he licked his lips. "Look, I'm sorry. It's not my fault. The Whitehall bastards want to bin you. "
"Bin me?" I tried to absorb it, feeling sick in my stomach. "Why? Why bin me? Where? Back to Regimental duty?" I grasped at a sudden straw. "Or are they posting me somewhere else? Not MOD?"
"No. You. You don't understand. It’s all to do with the Iran thing. They want you out . Number Ten: the Cabinet Office. The spin doctors. They want you away. Redundancy. Sacked. Any bloody thing. Out. There’ve been questions about you in the House."
I cannot explain how I felt at that moment. Out? Redundancy? Oh, I knew that there were cuts going on. But they weren't for people like me. Redundancy and cut backs were for fat old colonels in Base Ordnance Depots in British Army of the Rhine or sitting out their time on Salisbury Plain. Not me. Why me? What was so wrong with Kurdistan?
Tony must have picked up my thoughts. "They weren't very happy about your Kurdistan stunt. There was a hell of a row. Iranians going on the telly: al Jazeera. British provocations and deliberated attacks on Iran. Diplomatic protests, stuff in the papers, questions in Parliament; all that kind of stuff. They even raised it at the UN."
"How the hell could anyone blame Attorney on UK? We didn’t leave a trace. Anyway, we did it for the Yanks, surely? It was never down to us. "
"I'm afraid it was. The Iranians got hold of one of the Turkish guys who had been your minder out there. Some kind of Kurdish scout. Went native in the hills with the Pesh Merga after you left, then decided to take on an Iran i an Air Force base single handed. Unbelievable, really. He ended up by driving a Land Rover through a couple of check points then crashing through an Air Base perimeter. Drove it down the flight line. Smashed a line of parked jets apparently. Ballsy stuff."
Nusret. Bloody Nusret.
"Where was this?"
"Tabriz, I think. Just over the border. Anyway, they got him: half dead. Better if he'd been chopped, 'cos the Iranian goons worked him over apparently and he spilled it all. Landrover, the attack on Hasak. The lot. Even mentioned you by name."
"By name ?"
"Not your real name, obviously. But he knew your work handle. And the Iranians had a field day with the Rover. Big display of British and foreign equipment, aiding the Kurdish rebels, British Secret Service, the SAS, gold sovereigns, stuff like that."
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Mind you, Sal must be laughing somewhere. Fuck.
"It was all over the papers about three months ago. You were still in hospital, I think. Undercover Britons in Secret Attacks on Saddam, etcetera. That kind of stuff. One of the awkward squad actually mentioned you by name at Prime Minister’s Questions. You’re
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