Chas and Dave were both ex-FBI, native New Yorkers, recruited for their local knowledge as much as their security skills. At this time of day, traffic was so light that they took the most direct route from Brooklyn Heights – over the Brooklyn Bridge, straight up FDR Drive, past the UN building, then some zig-zagging round one-way streets to get to an anonymous grey building in the shadow of Queensboro Bridge. Much more pleasant than Peri’s usual commute, which included a long stretch on the 5 train, or, as she preferred to call it, the Armpit Express,
Chas escorted Peri in, without a word, while Dave parked the car. There were absolutely no signs anywhere that hinted at what the building was used for, and in the lobby behind the main doors there was nothing but a security desk and bored looking guard. Peri strode over to the desk, and held out her ID card.
“Morning,” she said more cheerfully than she felt. “I’m Peri Carlton, UK Mission, and I’m meeting Mr Wilkinson here.”
The man tapped some keys on what looked like an ancient computer. He looked carefully at her face, her photo ID, and his screen. Finally he grunted, “Room 301, third floor. Elevator through the door.” He pointed his thumb back over his own shoulder at a door which gave a loud click as he remotely unlocked it.
Peri headed through the door, and made her way to the meeting room. Checking her watch, she noted that it was almost half past four in the morning, and shuddered as she shouldered through the door and into the room.
“Hey Wilko,” she called out. “What’s the fucking idea dragging me down to the arse end – oh!”
Four people were looking at her across a large table, and none of them was Damon Wilkinson. “Sorry,” said Peri, “I was expecting to see my colleague, Damon Wilkinson. Am I in the wrong place? This is 301, right?”
“Yes, this is the correct room. You must be Miss Carlton.” The speaker was a small, black-haired Asian woman. “As you can see, Mr Wilkinson is not here at the moment. He had to make some urgent calls to his principals – and yours – in London. Let me make introductions while we wait.”
Peri looked at the four people opposite, and her remarkable memory immediately supplied names. It would be rude to interrupt, though, so she decided to let the woman go ahead.
“From left to right,” went on the Chinese woman, “these are, Mr Andre Montrache, from France; Mr Evgeny Rostovich, from Russia; and Mr Dwight Mitchelson, from the USA. My name is Li Lixia, though you may refer to me as Lisa Li if you prefer.”
“Thank you,” said Peri politely. “And as you probably all know already, I am Peri Carlton, with the UK Mission.” She saw that the table was set out with five places on one side, and one – presumably for Peri – facing them from the opposite side. “Um, the table setup – it looks awfully like a job interview.” More importantly, given the early hour and way she was feeling, she saw that the others each had a coffee cup and a plate. “And are there refreshments for the poor interviewee?”
Li smiled. “Please forgive my poor manners. What passes for coffee—” Here she smiled at the American, Mitchelson. “- is behind you.”
“Tea, I think,” Peri replied.
“Very wise.” Li produced a small plate from within her briefcase, containing half a dozen Garibaldi biscuits. She went on, “And I had hoped to surprise you with a special treat, but sadly, it seems that chocolate garibaldi biscuits are completely unobtainable.”
Peri busied herself with hot water and a tea bag while processing that last remark. Should I, she wondered? What the hell, yes, I should.
“Chocolate garibaldis? My all-time favourites? Wow, that is a very thoughtful way to convey a message. Thank you so much! And may I take the opportunity to congratulate you on your promotion, Colonel Li?”
Li gave her a broad smile. “Thank you, Miss Carlton. The promotion will be announced on Monday, so until then I am still merely Major Li.” She smiled around the room at others. “But I think we have established that we have done our research, and that we all know exactly who we are, so we can skip – what is the phrase?” She glanced at Peri. “Dancing round our handbags, is it? And pretending to be something other than an intelligence officer. That should save considerable time.”
Rostovich shifted his considerable bulk in his chair. “You asked a question,” he said. “Is this a job interview.” Peri thought he looked like a retired weightlifter who had not yet gone flabby. “Short answer is yes.” He looked sideways at Li with a questioning look.
“Thank you, Evgeny. I thought we should wait for Damon before getting to the substance of the meeting.”
Rostovich shrugged, and Peri wondered that his shoulders didn’t split his jacket.
The door opened, and Wilkinson came in, carrying a take-away coffee cup and a brown bag from a well-known chain. “Sorry everyone,” he said to the room in general. “I’m last one in, I see.”
“Comme toujours,” muttered Montrache. “And where are our goodies?”
“Down the street in the deli,” replied Wilkinson, with a grin. He switched his smile to Peri. “I’m glad you could make it, Peri, thank you.”
“Like I had a choice?” she grumbled back at him.
“Introductions done, Lisa, I hope?” he asked, looking at Li.
“We all know who we are, and which state organ employs us,” she replied. “We have not touched on the reason for Miss Carlton’s presence yet. I thought we should wait…”
“Yes, yes, that’s all squared away,” said Wilkinson. “It took longer than I’d expected, because the Foreign Office insisted on consulting the Home Office, and the Home Office insisted on asking the MOD, and before we knew where we were… well, anyway, it’s a thumbs up, they all defer to our judgement, so we can crack on.”
Peri shot him a startled look. “Wilko, can we talk? Outside?”
“Later. No time.”
She shot him an angry look, but before she could say anything else, Li spoke.
“Peri – may I call you Peri? Please, if you do not like what is happening you may decline, but listen first.”
“Does she know that if she declines, we have to shoot her?” asked Mitchelson. Peri was not sure whether he was joking or not.
“Dwight, please, time presses,” admonished Li. “First, you will be wondering why this group of people is meeting. Perhaps you wonder why we meet here, and that we meet cordially when some of us are, let us say, natural adversaries. And it will not have evaded your notice that we each represent one of the permanent members of the UN Security Council.”
She shot Peri an amused look. “Or perhaps you have already worked it out?”
“Maybe,” said Peri. “You’re back-room fixers, aren’t you? A little back-channel to exchange views and float ideas well away from prying eyes, when the real diplomats are forced to posture and pull faces for their constituencies back home.”
Li looked pleased. “We are one of a small number of committees with that role. Formally speaking, this is UNSC Ad-hoc Committee 23, whose role is to work collectively on non-military measures designed to safeguard the lives of civilians should trans-national events occur. You are undoubtedly thinking that is vague enough to cover a great deal, and that is, by design, perfectly true.
“We also provide oversight and direction, jointly with UNESCO, for a small unit whose role is trans-national contingency planning. If an event occurs whose effects are confined within a single country, then it is the responsibility of that country to deal with it. A recent example might be the devastation caused by Hurricane Katrina in the southern USA. However, an event may occur whose effects are felt more widely, and which requires a coordinated international response. The UNESCO and UNSC sponsored body – UN Trans-National Contingencies, or UNTNC – exists to work with UN member states, singly and collectively, to foster joint planning to mitigate trans-national risks and to deal with the impacts if such risks materialise.