Hidden Agendas

Hidden Agendas

– BARRY HUNT –

Hidden Agendas

Copyright © Barry Hunt 2017

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Prologue

Despite the intense heat of the afternoon sun, Kamal Ashad felt an icy chill run down his spine. His bare arms were stippled with goose-bumps where the sleeves of the orange overall were rolled up and his breath came in short gasps. The barren ground on which he was kneeling was rough and uneven. Sharp stones under his knees pressed through the thin material and he focussed on the pain. It meant he was still alive - even though he knew with a terrifying certainty it would not be for much longer.

He had known the risks but Kamal had never really believed he would die like this. Not even after weeks of solitary imprisonment in a foetid cell. Now, faced with the imminent reality, there was still something almost dreamlike about what was happening. His eyes were closed behind the blindfold but in his mind a series of random pictures tumbled in a haphazard assortment of memories. He tried to control them, to select the most precious and hold onto it. But he couldn’t. Unbidden, disconnected images from his life flashed before him: one moment he was fishing from Crawford Bridge at Spettisbury when he was eight years old; then suddenly he was with student friends in his college bedsit, eating pizza and debating furiously some forgotten incident in the news; now he was running through a grassy avenue at Westonbirt arboretum, kicking golden leaves into the autumn air and laughing. And then there was Rosie. That was the picture he wanted to keep. He made a determined effort to keep his mind fixed on her smiling face and wondered if she was thinking of him. Had she even opened his letters?

Of all his regrets at that moment, lying to her was the greatest. He knew there had been no alternative: it was the only thing he could have done if she was to remain safe. Anyway, she would never have understood; she would have tried to persuade him he was wrong. How could he have told her the truth? And so he let her believe he had stopped loving her. How ironic that now she was his only chance of revenge.

He felt a hand grip his shoulder roughly and heard the gruff voice of his captor begin to rant. He tried to ignore it, to keep Rosie’s face before him as the voice rose and fell in a mixture of triumph and hate. He knew this was being filmed and hoped she would never see it. Part of him wanted to scream but he knew it would alter nothing. If this was how he was to die then another part of him wanted anyone who saw it to believe he wasn’t afraid. Not that anything he did could make a difference but those he loved would remember it and he didn’t want their last sight of him to be a figure squirming in terror on the ground.

It wouldn’t be long now. His heart began to beat faster and he started to feel light-headed. He was suddenly afraid that he might faint and tried to concentrate on remaining upright. He ground his knee hard against a stone and the pain helped to keep him alert. He wondered whether to shout out a curse; a protest, something defiant to show the world his contempt for the executioner. But then he realised it would be a futile gesture. Anything he said would be edited out. There was no point; no one who mattered would ever hear. Silence was somehow better. More dignified. He tried to recall the last thing he had said but fear blocked his memory. So much for famous last words.

The man standing over him shifted his footing and Kamal felt the hand lift from his shoulder. The man was coming to an end of his tirade against the West. This must be it. Without warning, Kamal felt the man’s hand slip under his chin from behind and his head was jerked back abruptly. He took a deep breath and held it. From what he had witnessed many times before, he could imagine the knife held aloft, the bright sun glinting off the sharp blade. Suddenly he remembered the last words he had spoken. It was just before they put the blindfold on. He had looked up at the clear sky and watched a bird wheeling in circles high above. Is that a vulture? he had asked with an ironic smile. That was not the way he wanted to leave this world.

"La ilaha illal lahu. Muhammadur rasulul la," he whispered with his last breath.

There is no god but God. Muhammed is the prophet of God.

Perhaps Rosie would understand now. Perhaps she would do something. Rosie.

Chapter One

Daniel Rankin was sitting behind his desk in MI6 headquarters when he heard the news. He had known Kamal Ashad. They hadn’t been friends but Daniel had been present at several debriefings when Ashad had been able to visit London. Since news of his capture, his death was not entirely unexpected but it was still a shock to see the graphic details posted on the internet. Although not the first such execution Daniel had witnessed, it was nonetheless sickening. A meeting was called. MI6 needed to discuss the situation and try to assess the consequences. Business carried on; sentiment and platitudes could be left to the politicians.

Daniel was in his early fifties but looked younger despite the sides of his brown hair being brushed with white. He was still slim and his body was toned to an athletic fitness by regular visits to the gym. He had never enjoyed team sports but liked running and sometimes pounded the streets around his Hammersmith flat when he felt he was starting to slow down. That was happening more frequently since he had left the field and been promoted to a desk job. His experience as an agent combined with a sharp, logical mind made him well-suited to the task of analysis and he was now one of the senior officers involved in the business of counter-espionage.

Are you coming? Michael Lewis asked, peering round the open door.

Daniel glanced at his watch.

You go on. I’ll be there in a minute, he said. I just need to get a few things together.

I’ll wait then, said Michael coming into the room.

He was carrying an envelope folder under his arm and placed it on Daniel’s desk as he sat down uninvited in the chair opposite. He crossed his legs and tugged down the cuffs of his shirt until exactly one and a half centimetres was showing beneath each sleeve of his jacket. It was a mannerism he had developed as a student and he was no longer even conscious of doing it. It was just one of the things about him that annoyed Daniel. But it wasn’t the worst. Michael Lewis was a vain man. Daniel could have accepted the Saville Row suits, the Emmanuel College tie carefully knotted in a double-Windsor and the John Lobb shoes. There was nothing wrong in wanting to look good and Michael had the wealth to buy the best and the physique to carry it off. But Michael’s vanity also extended to his intellect and Daniel was of the opinion that his colleague was neither as shrewd nor clever as he thought he was. Michael was Head of Internal Affairs, a position he had reached, Daniel suspected, more on account of the contacts he had forged through his public school education and Cambridge background than ability.

Picking up some papers from the desk, Daniel pushed them into a folder before getting to his feet. There were still some things he would have liked to do before the meeting but found it irksome to have Michael Lewis sitting there watching him.

I’m ready now, Mike, he said, knowing the abbreviation of his name would irritate. Let’s go.

Michael stood up and held the door for Daniel to pass through before closing it behind them. The meeting was being held in one of the conference rooms on the fourth floor and they took the lift. By the time they arrived, there were already three other people sitting at the long table that ran the length of the room. Daniel checked his watch. They weren’t late. He nodded a greeting at his colleagues and sat down in one of the padded leather chairs. Michael Lewis walked round and sat opposite, placing his folder on the polished walnut table in front of him before opening it. He lifted out a printed sheet of paper, laid it ostentatiously on the table and began to study it carefully. Nobody said anything. The man sitting next to Daniel reached forward to pour some water from a glass decanter into a tumbler, spilling a little onto the glassy surface of the table as he did so. He removed a tissue from his pocket and used it to soak up the drops before carefully wiping around the bottom of his glass and setting it back on the table.

The five people in the room were the senior officers of their respective departments. Four men and one woman. Although some people in the building still thought of her as a token presence to maintain a show of political correctness, Julie McGovern had earned her place at the table. After getting a double first at Cambridge in Arabic and Middle Eastern studies, she had been recruited as a translator for GCHQ. Her understanding of the slight nuances of different Arab dialects had quickly brought her to the attention of senior management in London and, on transferring there, she had impressed with her ability to recognise the connections between apparently disparate pieces of information. Further promotion had followed rapidly and now, at forty-seven years old, she had gained a formidable reputation for astuteness and good judgement as Head of Middle East Section. She glanced sideways at Michael who had sat himself next to her and then across at Daniel. She raised an eyebrow slightly and the corner of her mouth gave an almost imperceptible twitch. Daniel gave the smallest of smiles in return and turned away.

He liked Julie. They not only shared the same sense of humour but were also united in their opinions of some of their colleagues, Michael Lewis being one of them. He looked around at the other two men in the room. Alan Ward, sitting to his left, was Head of Communications and had been so for many years. He was now approaching retirement but his mind was still as active and alert as it was when he had joined the service as a young man. The final member of the group, seated across from him and next to Julie, was John Penrose, Deputy-Head of Counter-terrorism, and Daniel didn’t know him that well. Penrose had recently joined their team in London after managing the Station in Syria and was only at the table because his Head of Section was in hospital. At forty-two, Penrose was the youngest person there and had yet to establish a name for himself in ‘River House’, the nickname given by insiders to MI6 headquarters shortly after it was built on the banks of the Thames. This was the first time he had attended a senior task meeting and he looked a little apprehensive. Daniel was just wondering whether to say something to put him at ease when the door opened and Sir Andrew Littleton entered the room.

Sir Andrew walked straight to the top of the table and sat down, placing a bunch of slim manila folders in front of him.

My apologies if I’m a little late, he said, sliding a folder across the table to each of them in turn. As you are aware, Roger is indisposed at present but I think you should all know John by now. He nodded at Penrose. He will be taking Roger’s place for the time being.

Penrose smiled in nervous acknowledgement.

You have all heard what happened this morning, Sir Andrew continued briskly. Terrible business. IS claimed Kamal Ashad was a spy for the West and that is why they carried out the execution. We have denied it, of course, but, as Daniel already knows, they were right.

He paused to look at the others in turn as he let the news sink in.

For the last year, he continued, Ashad has been supplying the Americans with information. You will appreciate this now puts a different perspective on today’s events. There is nothing we can do for Ashad, but I have called this meeting because he recently told the Americans that IS is planning another operation in Europe, this time in London. We have already been following it up, naturally, but in view of what has happened, the matter has now become more urgent. Our first priority must be to assess just how reliable his information is and then determine an appropriate course of action. I would like to start by examining his record so you can judge his credibility for yourselves. Please open your folders.

Everyone obediently opened the folders Sir Andrew had passed them and looked at the first page.

The first few pages are details of the last two IS operations Kamal Ashad told us about. The first was a planned attack on the Gare du Nord in Paris similar to the one in Madrid in 2004. Fortunately, acting on Ashad’s information, the DGSI were able to carry out a raid on a flat in the Montmartre district and arrested three men. The flat was being used as a bomb-making factory and the operation was foiled. The second, I’m afraid, was more successful. As you can see from the file, Ashad informed the Americans that IS was planning another operation in Paris, this time involving a number of terrorists acting in co-ordination. Several sites were targeted and were to be attacked at the same time. Apart from the football stadium, the targets were small: local restaurants and cafés. The idea, of course, was to show that nowhere was safe for the public. Although Ashad told us an operation was being planned, he said he was unable to specify which targets had been chosen. The DGSI were informed of everything we had learnt, of course, but, as we all now know, were unable to stop it from going ahead.

John Penrose looked up and cleared his throat.

Is it possible Ashad could have known what the actual targets were? he asked. Might he have been a double agent, just trying to build up good faith with the Americans by giving us some information but not enough to act on? That would be standard double-agent practice.

No, said Sir Andrew. You’re right to be suspicious but I don’t think so. He might have found out later but at the time he passed on the information, I honestly believe he didn’t know. What he told us about the Gare du Nord operation suggests he was genuine. Moreover, if he were a double-agent, why would they have executed him? However, given what has now happened, it does raise the question of whether he had already come under suspicion and was deliberately being kept out of the loop on the Paris attack. If that was the case, then it’s also possible the latest warning he gave us is a false trail. If he had been discovered, was he being used to pass on disinformation that would tie up our resources in a wild goose chase, perhaps to distract us whilst IS got on with their real purpose? That is something we ought to consider.

He sat back in his chair and looked around the table waiting for someone to speak.

Whether it’s true or not, said Penrose, Can we afford to ignore any information he gave? Surely we must investigate it or there could be dire consequences.

Doesn’t that rather depend on what the information is? asked Alan Ward, leaning forward. You haven’t told us what this latest operation is yet.

You will find the details in the back of your package, said Sir Andrew. Take a few minutes to read them through and then I’ll take your comments.

A silence descended on the room whilst everyone read through the contents of their folders. One by one the members of the team finished and looked up. Nobody spoke. Whether it was shock at what they had just read or just that they were uncertain what to say, Sir Andrew couldn’t tell but, as the silence grew longer, he started to get impatient.

Well? he prompted at last.

I now tend to agree with John, said Alan Ward, tapping a finger on the folder in front of him. It’s obvious we can’t risk ignoring this, regardless of any resources we have to use to do so.

I’m not so sure, said Michael. We have this particular event already tightly sewn up. If this is their target, I just don’t believe they could succeed given the arrangements we have in place. It is one of the most securely controlled events in the calendar and they must know it too. Security is so tight I don’t see why they would even bother to try. If there is an operation going down, it has to be somewhere else. I think we’re probably being misled. What you said about distracting us with a false warning seems a distinct possibility. We should be looking at other possible targets, that is if we agree there is actually going to be an operation and Ashad wasn’t just being used to spread alarm.

Sir Andrew nodded and turned toward Julie.

As a target, she said, it’s got a lot going for it from their point of view. Total disruption of the country, world-wide news coverage for months at least and it would secure them a place in history. Even if they failed, the attempt alone would still achieve some of those objectives. IS must be well aware of the high security surrounding the place, of course, but I don’t agree with Michael that would be enough to stop them trying. The potential outcome, if successful, more than justifies going ahead. Even if the primary targets were able to survive, the attempt could still wreak enough havoc to meet some of their aims. I think we’ve got to take the information seriously.

Daniel? said Sir Andrew. You’ve already had more time than the others to consider this.

I agree with Julie. We should treat it as a genuine threat. It’s possible Ashad was being used to spread disinformation but I’m sure he believed it and that alone tells us something about the operation. If he thought they were capable of pulling off something like this then so, perhaps, should we.

In which case, said Sir Andrew, what are we going to do about it? There is obviously no question of cancelling but we do have a few things in our favour. We know the primary target and we know the organisation behind it. Most important, now we also know the date it’s going down. Those must be our starting points so let’s hear your ideas.

The discussion lasted for over half an hour at the end of which it was agreed a special task committee called Stingray should be set up and led by Daniel. They all felt they needed more time to gather further information and consider what the next steps for action should be. They agreed to meet again the following morning.

Before we go, said Sir Andrew, looking round the table, are there any more questions?

His eyes flickered briefly toward Julie and it suddenly struck Daniel that she had been primed for this moment.

Just one, Sir Andrew, she said. How did IS find out Ashad was passing on information?

Good question, but I’m afraid we don’t actually know the answer and I don’t think we ever will now. Present opinion is he got a little too confident and became careless. There is some evidence to suggest that was the case and, given what we know, it’s the most probable explanation. We have considered other possibilities, of course, and will keep it under review but neither we nor the Americans have information that points to anything different at this time. It’s the best explanation we have which fits the known facts.

He looked around the table and registered a small change in the atmosphere of the meeting. Nobody had said anything but he could detect a slight lessening of tension; something almost like relief. It was what he had expected; what he had intended.

Is there anything else? he asked.

Nobody spoke.

In that case, he continued, you have things to do and I won’t keep you further. Please leave the folders on the table when you go.

He remained sitting whilst everyone else rose and made to leave.

Daniel, he said, can I have a quick word?

Daniel sat back down and they waited until the others had left the room.

Well? Sir Andrew asked once they were alone.

Daniel was not quite sure what sort of response Sir Andrew was looking for and waited.

You knew Kamal Ashad, didn’t you? Sir Andrew continued.

I was only present at a few of the debriefings, Daniel said. That’s all. I can’t say as I actually knew him.

But you formed an impression?

Yes.

Did he strike you as the sort of man who might get careless?

No.

Nor me.

Daniel paused. He now thought he knew where Sir Andrew was heading.

Why did you plant that question with Julie? he asked.

You saw through that, then? Sir Andrew smiled briefly. I thought if anyone did, it would probably be you.

He stood up and walked the length of the table in silence before turning to look back at Daniel.

I wanted to get it out into the open, he continued. Once they knew IS had found out Ashad was giving us information, I realised what everyone here would be thinking. However, there is an understandable reluctance in our line of work to question the integrity of our colleagues and I couldn’t be sure anyone would raise the point without a prompt. Nobody wants to be the one to point an accusing finger; we are all too aware of what it might mean. I thought I should try to allay some fears, put people’s minds at rest so they could concentrate on the task in hand without having to look over their shoulders all the time.

By that, said Daniel, I assume you mean there is not going to be a witch-hunt in the Service.

That’s what I wanted everyone to think.

Those few words confirmed for Daniel the reason why he had been asked to stay behind. Nonetheless, he needed to be sure.

But it’s not true, is it? he said. You want me to investigate, don’t you?

As well as telling us about the IS operation, Sir Andrew said quietly, Ashad told us something else before he was captured. At his last debriefing with the Americans, he said he thought someone here was passing on information.

Daniel nodded. Just as Sir Andrew thought, he had suspected something of the sort was possible the moment he heard Ashad was being held a prisoner. There are a number of ways in which an agent can be exposed: he can become careless, as Sir Andrew had already suggested to the others; he may fall under suspicion when the enemy gains knowledge of things which only he could know; or he could be betrayed. There are other ways but those are the main ones, the last of which is the most dangerous to any undercover network.

The mole, as such people are aptly called, is the Secret Services’ nightmare. Often holding a very senior position and trusted with the most sensitive information, they can operate for years, secretly wreaking havoc within the organisation they supposedly work for and rendering its operations ineffective. There have been countless examples of double-agents in the British Secret Service: Philby, Burgess, Maclean and Sir Anthony Blunt probably remain the most notorious in the public eye but they are only a few of those who have actually been caught. Nobody can be sure how many have got away with their clandestine activities in the past nor, more to the point, how many may still be operating undercover today.

Did Ashad explain his suspicions any further? Daniel asked. Did he provide any evidence, any leads?

Nothing, except to say he was right to have gone to the Americans. He said he had never trusted us and he would get the proof. Unfortunately, he was betrayed before he could make contact again.

What do you want me to do?

Find the mole.

Daniel tapped his fingers lightly on the table. He was thinking and Sir Andrew waited until he was ready. This was going to be a sensitive operation and both men were aware of the difficulties involved.

What resources can I have? Daniel asked.

Access to all technical support, of course, Sir Andrew said. As you will be heading Stingray and leading the operation into what Ashad told us, that will explain why you’re looking closely into his affairs should anyone start to wonder. But under no circumstances can you reveal the exact nature of what you’re doing.

So no human resources?

No. I’m afraid you’re on your own except for what you need to help with the IS operation. Until we know otherwise, everyone in the building should be considered a possible suspect.

I was actually thinking of someone outside the Service, said Daniel.

I thought you might, said Sir Andrew. Is it Charlie Watts?

I would like to ask him, Daniel replied, but I’ll have to let him know everything. He won’t work any other way.

Daniel was not surprised that Sir Andrew had read his mind; they had known each other a long time. Like the forward-thinking man he was, Sir Andrew had anticipated Daniel would ask for Charlie’s help and had already reached a decision. He knew the two of them had worked successfully together in the past and he had been impressed with the retired detective’s knack for solving problems. He had even considered asking him to join the Service but knew Charlie’s distaste for the way they operated would mean a refusal. Charlie had only worked with Daniel previously because they were friends and because he had a powerful sense of right and wrong. Charlie disliked the secret world of the Service and the need to make compromises; he had an old-fashioned view of justice. However, Sir Andrew knew he could be trusted.

You can ask Charlie, he said, and if he agrees you can work together.

And brief him in full? Daniel asked. He needed to be sure.

Yes. This time I’ll put it on an official footing and give him clearance. He can join the payroll as a special consultant to you. That will enable him to access classified information without any problems.

Daniel nodded.

In that case, he said, I’ll drive down to Bristol this evening. It’s about time we caught up with each other.

*

Charlie Watts lifted the bonnet of his Toyota Corolla and looked despondently at the contents underneath. His first car had been a third-hand Austin A30, bought for less than £100 in the early seventies, and the first thing he had done on getting it home was to strip the engine completely and put it back together again. It had been a relatively simple operation then; the engine was effectively no more complicated in design than a petrol-driven lawnmower and he had been able to keep it in good running order for years without having to seek the help of a garage mechanic. But this engine was different. He didn’t even recognise any of the components let alone understand how they worked and he finally slammed the bonnet shut in despair.

Charlie had never been able to adapt to the speed at which technology advanced to make so-called improvements in modern living. Necessity had finally obliged him to use a cell-phone when he was working as a Detective Chief Inspector for the Bristol Police Force and he had eventually got accustomed to operating a computer at its most basic level, but that was about it. He had an innate distrust of anything that attempted to do his thinking for him and believed artificial intelligence was a contradiction in terms. He also refused to entrust any of his financial dealings to something that he couldn’t hold a conversation with. He had never used an ATM and felt smugly superior when he heard about the numerous hackings and technological scams that had now become part of many people’s everyday life. But he needed his car and knew that in this area at least, technology had got the better of him. Acknowledging defeat, he decided to go in and make himself a coffee whilst he waited for Daniel to arrive.

Charlie was not his real name. Like all new recruits to the police force, on his first day he had been given the nickname by his sergeant, a Rolling Stones fan. It had stuck and even Mary, his wife, had not called him anything else until the day she had died of cancer four years ago. Although he had taken early retirement from the force, everyone still called him Charlie and he was now resigned to the idea that in all probability the name would be carved onto his gravestone.

Retirement didn’t suit him. It had been an impulsive decision, brought about by his angry frustration at an injustice forced on him in the name of national security, and he had regretted it within a few months of leaving. He had been good at his job. Although some of his colleagues may at first have thought him a bit of a dinosaur because of his old-school methods, they soon grew to respect him when they realised he got results. Charlie was one of that rare breed of policemen who had an instinct for discovering the truth. Whilst his colleagues poured over evidence to see where it might lead, Charlie relied on his gut reactions, confident that once he had reached a conclusion the evidence would be found to support it. More often than not he had been right. But that was in the past when he had been a DCI.

The only good thing to come out of his retirement had been the friendship with Daniel. They had met when he was working on his last case for the force and an unlikely rapport had developed. Although very different in character and approach to their work, they had liked each other. Charlie had instinctively sensed the MI6 agent’s humanity and Daniel had recognised Charlie’s talents, admiring his integrity and desire to see the right thing done. The MI6 agent had since sought his help in a number of cases and their friendship had grown. Now, Charlie thought, they were going to be working together again, and he was looking forward to it.

Daniel arrived in the early evening and, after a light supper at the kitchen table over which they caught up with each other’s personal news, he began to explain why he had come. He had already told Charlie over the phone that he might have a job for him and got straight to the point.

We think it’s possible someone in the Service might be passing on information to IS and I’ve been asked to look into it. I was rather hoping you might want to join me. I thought you could bring your own special brand of expertise to help with the investigation.

I’m flattered you think I could help, said Charlie, but doesn’t MI6 have its own set-up for things like that? Why do you want me?

The circumstances on this occasion are slightly different, Daniel explained. An officially sanctioned investigating team would find it difficult to keep what they’re doing under wraps and my boss, Sir Andrew Littleton, doesn’t want anyone to know it’s taking place. He thinks it might scare the culprit into making a run for it.

Charlie knew this could not be the sole reason why he was being asked to get involved.

And? he prompted.

Perhaps more importantly, Daniel continued, there’s a significant operation going on at the moment, we’re calling it ‘Stingray’. Different departments are having to work closely with each other and Sir Andrew doesn’t want anyone wondering who they can trust. It’s essential nobody thinks we have a mole or things could start to get complicated. People might understandably become reluctant to share information and ideas, they could even get more concerned with protecting themselves from suspicion than doing their job. Stingray needs people to work together without those sort of distractions. Sir Andrew is aware of your reputation for getting things done quietly and discreetly. Your experience in the police and your nose for finding out the truth could prove invaluable.

Is operation Stingray relevant to your investigation? Am I allowed to know what it is?

Of course, Daniel replied. In fact, you would have to be a part of it. I’m leading the team and you would be a special consultant reporting to me. That’s the cover I’ve agreed with Sir Andrew to explain why you’ve been brought in. He paused before continuing, That is, if you are in.

I’m in, said Charlie without hesitation.

Good.

The two men smiled at each other. They both felt some pleasure at the idea of working together again.

So, Charlie said, perhaps you could start by telling me what this operation is all about.

As there were few details at this stage, it didn’t take very long but Charlie was immediately intrigued. Daniel began by telling him about Kamal Ashad and the fact he was part of IS but had been passing on information to the Americans. Then he explained that IS was planning a new operation, one that could have a devastating impact on Britain.

At his last debriefing, Daniel said, Ashad told the Americans IS was intending an attack on the next opening of Parliament.

Charlie took a sharp breath and let it out slowly as Daniel waited for the information to sink in.

I can see now why your operation is so important, Charlie said. "Something like this had to happen eventually, I suppose,