A grey shadow engulfed the crimson colored waiting hall leading to the quarters of the British Secretary of State for Defence. The mahogany bookcase was packed with hundreds of faint colored and moldy books. The smell of ancient dust was hanging in the air. The head of the service, Anthony Stamper, AKA “C”, was sitting on a faint green suede padded chair at the corner of the room. The heart of the highest authority in the British Intelligence Service was pounding fast and his face was pale.

Stamper, who used every opportunity he got to clink metal with the brass in Westminster, had tried to avoid this meeting by all possible means. It was a phone call from the Secretary himself that precluded him from skipping the meeting. The high ranking cabinet member made it clear to Stamper, who had already seen off three governments and four different secretaries, that the meeting is a summoning and not a social call that can be evaded at his leisure. He felt a slight irritation in his throat, a light choking sensation like something that one who suffered from a cold originated mucus may feel. He knew that the relatively newly appointed Minister wouldn’t dare sacking him so early in his term, but he was certainly not looking forward to the cold shower that he was about to get.

While he was waiting, his mobile phone vibrated.

“Stamper”

“They know” a cold voice was heard at the other end of the line

“I know they know you bloody fool” he contained his temper and didn’t raise his voice that already was high enough and echoed in the small entry hall. “How did you manage a cockup in such a scale for a simple thing like a passport, is beyond me” he said quietly.

“What do you want me to do next then?”

“Well, start by calling off the Increment! Have you lost your fucking mind?” He snapped. But immediately regained his composure “use Ops only—“

“—But—“ the voice tried to protest.

“Do you have any idea where I am now?”

“Yes” he muttered.

“Then you understand that I am about to get a pile of shit dumped on my head for the mess you got us in to”

“Right…”

“And unless you want this to come back at you – I suggest you figure it out. Are we clear?”

“Crystal”

“I have to go in now” the door was slightly opening and a crack of dim light was seen on the burgundy color carpet. “Keep me posted”. He rung off exactly as the door came fully ajar. Beneath the crossbar stood Oliver “Olly” Jones, the PM’s advisor for state and foreign affairs. He was thirty eight years young, with a full head of dark hair and a strong jaw line. His vigorous appearance stood in contrast to Stamper’s bald head and meager physic.

Olly always seemed to Stamper as someone who had gotten way too much credit from the PM, who had only just managed to secure a second term in the general elections that were held about a year ago. Olly was a Cambridge and Insead graduate, and held the ‘Position of Trust’ with the PM ever since he was the Secretary of State for Energy and Climate Change. In his last Secretarial position before he took over the Conservative Party, the PM was briefly the Secretary of State for Defence, after a reshuffle ordered by his predecessor. During this period, young Olly was appointed to numerous key positions within the Joint Intelligence Committee and managed to get familiarized with the armed forces and military intelligence community. The presence of the PM’s advisor rather than the Secretary himself made Stamper even more edgy.

The Tories were the ruling party for the past four consecutive terms, a fact that have facilitated life for Stamper as the head of the service. He didn’t have to cope with any righteous left wing pansies that made his predecessor’s life a living hell and crippled the service significantly. On the other hand, the last elections were won by a thread, and a coalition government had to be formed with the Lib Dems. This had made the PM profoundly weak. Stamper understood all too well that his golden era was up, and that any blown covert operation could immediately escalate into a scandal that could bring down the coalition.

“Come in sir” Jones called “I am sure you haven’t got too much time for me, now have you?” He smiled. This smile made Stamper’s blood freeze in his veins. The fact that Olly didn’t bother to shake his already ready hand infuriated him.

“I was expecting Willow” he said as he dropped his valise on one of the wooden green suede chairs inside the chamber. Willow, Sir Richard Willoughby, was the Secretary of State for Defence. He was an old shrewd fox that had been roaming the corridors of the Conservative Party for a few decades now. Known as Sir Willow, Willoughby was always holding some unofficial position within the party, while secretly pulling the strings. However, he was asked by the PM to serve as a State Minister this time round, in effort to keep the backbenchers in his party in line, for the sake of the fragile coalition.

“We decided it’s better that I’ll speak to you alone, before this thing gets out of hand”. A young attractive assistant stepped into the chamber and asked if they wanted coffee or tea. Before Stamper could answer Olly Jones dismissed her. Stamper had been dying for a coffee since he got to Whitehall, it’s bad enough that this impertinent pup made him wait, now he was being bluntly rude. He was making a point, very unsubtly.

Stamper was frowning, and he was well aware of it. It was hard not giving Jones the satisfaction. “What is it Olly?” He snapped “you said so yourself - I’m a busy man” he blurted as soon as the door closed behind the young high heeled assistant.

“I. actually He. Actually us, would like to know if you’re in control of the situation Tony.” He returned the favor by calling him in his first abbreviated name, which he knew he hated. “We can’t afford one of your underlings to bark up the wrong tree and expose our involvement.”

“It’s all under control. I left it with my men, I myself am in a position to deny involvement if it comes to this—“

“This is no longer an option”

“I beg your pardon?” he was enraged by Olly’s boldness.

“And so you should!” the bite was unsubtle but Olly didn’t care “Both the PM and Sir Willow think that this thing has outgrown your underling. If the guy can’t deliver, we expect you to handle the situation yourself. Roll up your sleeves for once Anthony, step into the mud.”

Stamper was red with fury, it was bad enough that they had sent the errands boy to give him a shakeup, now it was turning into a dig- with him in the receiving end. “Listen Olly” he was past politeness now “You and your American friends wanted support from us. You didn’t expect me to make this a service vision guideline now did you? A good officer, handler, has found a lead – you are aware that I cannot torpedo his investigation without having the JIC start making inquiries, right? Do you want to deal with a parliamentary investigation committee afterwards? Take a chill pill, and I suggest you give one to Old Willow and the PM and let us work.”

Olly remained silent.

“Meanwhile let’s not lose our heads and remember that I have a whole organization to run, and that the Iranian nuclear threat is just the tip of the iceberg. At the moment there are more than two hundred warnings for potential terrorist acts in Central London alone, you have any idea how many things are currently on my plate?”

“Fine Stamper, you made your point. Just one thing, let’s make it clear – if you can’t control your boys and somehow word’ll get out—“

“—it won’t!”

“But if it will” Olly insisted “I want you to know in advance that the PM will be genuinely surprised and will require that the bad apples in his intelligence services will pay the maximum—“

“Don’t you threaten me Olly. I know exactly what’s at stake and if I fall, be sure that the Conservatives will fall down with me, even if you manage to somehow save the skin of the very top man in the pyramid.” His words were directed to Olly himself. It was a fair assumption that if this ploy gets out, the PM will act ignorant but the coalition will fall nonetheless.

“I won’t pass your words to the PM, as a personal favour to you Stamper. Just do what you signed up for and let us worry about steering the foreign policy and global public view as to the new situation will forge. And make sure no rogue agents will mess this up for us.”

“Our interests are the same here. Tell that to the PM”

“One more thing. The Israelis offered their help.”

“What did Langley say about it?”

“They were more than enthusiastic to accept.”

“Interesting. Any idea who they sent?”

“Sammy? The name rings a bell?”

“That vulture is still welcome on English soil?”

“Nah, the Israeli Minister for Intelligence and Strategic matters said he can get there quickly. We had to sort his arrival with the Border Police. The Mossad is quite eager to get this Nikolayev business public before the American Secretary of State arrives to the Middle East next month. They all agree that if we wait till the last minute, things can get catastrophic.”

“The Israeli PM?”

“In the dark. Real local cowboy that Intelligence Minister. He said that if the PM will be made aware he will find it difficult to steer things in our direction with the US President.”

“Reliable?”

“Who knows with these—“ he was about to say something he would regret and stopped himself.

“Okay I will liaise with this… this Sammy character.”

“Good.” Stamper stood up and grabbed his briefcase “Oh and Stamper?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut the door after you please. Cheers.”

It was a very loud bang indeed.

Next Chapter: Chapter 4: Babylon-upon-Thames