‘The implications for us right now are how it affects Durrani’s future,’ Nevins said. ‘We have to be prepared for the possibility that prisoners could be moved out of the facility any time soon.We may not get a warning.’
‘What about the risk of Durrani removing the tablet himself?’ Jervis asked.
‘I think that’s unlikely,’ Nevins said. ‘He’s a tenacious, pragmatic individual, moderately intelligent and with a stubborn single-mindedness forged by more than twenty years of guerrilla warfare. His mission was to hand the tablet over to those he was ordered to and he’ll do his best to achieve that goal no matter how long it takes. Unless someone with authority whom he knows and trusts can get to him and convince him to cut it out and hand it over he’s going to hang onto it. It’s his simplest and most obvious option. While he remains in Styx the chances of that happening are remote. That won’t be the case if he returns to a more open prison on the surface . . . Now, do we have the time to get to him?’ Nevins asked. ‘Probably more to the point, is it possible?’
Jervis did not need to look at Nevins to know that the man was talking to him. He replied: ‘Someone has to get into the prison before Durrani gets out . . . Breaking it down, we have two options: official entry and unofficial entry. “Official” means going in as an authorised entity. That means officially requesting to interview Durrani for some reason.Which will without doubt invite curiosity and surveillance by the Agency . . . Unofficial entry of course means getting someone inside the prison without the Agency being aware of that person’s true purpose. That would be bloody difficult.’
‘But possible?’ Nevins asked.
‘Nothing’s impossible. It’s all a matter of risk.’
‘Risk to the person who goes in?’
‘No,’ Jervis replied, sounding as if he thought Nevins was retarded. ‘Risk of compromise. Risk of failure. We won’t know the percentages until we come up with a plan. I don’t doubt we can get someone in. But the risk has to be worth it.’
‘And what about getting out?’ Nevins asked. ‘The Americans say that’s impossible. I’m inclined to accept that.’
Sumners wished he could suddenly be struck by a moment of brilliance and present an idea. But his initiative box was utterly empty.
‘That might not be necessary,’ Jervis said, thinking out loud. He looked at the others. ‘The tablet only needs to be destroyed. That reduces the scale of the operation by half as far as I can see.’
Nevins nodded, feeling encouraged so far.
‘I don’t think this can be done without the help of the Americans,’ Van der Seiff said.
Nevins looked at him quizzically.‘But isn’t the whole point of this to do it without their knowledge?’
‘I didn’t say do it with their knowledge. I said with their help.’
Jervis smiled as if he had an inkling of where Van der Seiff was heading.
Nevins was none the wiser. But neither did he feel inferior because of it. The two men in front of him were among the finest in the world at this sort of thing but Nevins had his own specialities. ‘You’ll have to explain,’ he said.
‘They could help us get into Styx without knowing why we want to get in,’ Van der Seiff said. ‘We would provide them with a reason that satisfied their curiosities. Frankly, I can’t see how we can do it without them . . . Jervis?’
‘The loose ends,’ Jervis said. ‘It’s the loose ends that would bugger us. I see where you’re going. Yes. That would be quite sexy.’
‘Sexy?’ Nevins asked, feeling even more in the dark.
‘There’s a sniff there, and a cheeky one at that,’ Jervis said.
Nevins shook his head, suggesting it was still unclear to him.
‘You can smell a solution without knowing it,’ Jervis offered.
‘When can you give me something more tangible?’ Nevins asked. A sniff was not quite sufficient reason for him to propose to the minister that they should go forward.
‘Cheeky, yes,’Van der Seiff agreed, the slightest suspicion of a smile on his thin lips.
Nevins frowned. ‘Sumners?’
Sumners looked wide-eyed at his boss and shook his head. ‘I have no idea what they’re talking about, sir.’
‘I didn’t expect you to. Is there anything else?’
‘Nothing significant. The file is available for their eyes on the internal.’
‘I need to make a few calls,’Van der Seiff said. ‘Can we get together later in the day?’ he asked Jervis.
‘Sure,’ Jervis said.
Nevins took a moment to consider the situation. ‘OK. End of the day. Then let’s see where we are.’
Van der Seiff got to his feet and smoothed out his suit. ‘I take it you’re going to clean up Kabul,’ he asked Nevins sombrely.
‘Of course,’ Nevins said. ‘That’ll go in tonight even if we don’t go ahead with the Styx op.’
Van der Seiff nodded and left the room. Jervis followed and Nevins indicated for Sumners to close the door again.
‘What do you think, sir?’ Sumners said.
‘That’ll depend on what they come up with.’
‘And Kabul, sir? You haven’t finalised your options.’
‘I want pinpoint accuracy. No bombs. People have a terrible habit of surviving bombs. It has to look like a local hit. Local weapons. That’s more to convince the Americans than anyone else.’
‘And is that all of them, sir?’ Sumners asked, innocently.
Nevins took a moment to consider the question. ‘Mullah Ghazan and Doctor . . .’
‘Emir Kyran, sir.’
‘Yes. Not Sena.’
‘I’ll pass that on right away, sir,’ Sumners said, heading for the door and out of the room.
Nevins put his hands on his hips as he walked over to the wide-screen monitor. He flicked a button on the keyboard. A dozen image windows appeared on the screen like a contact sheet. He touched one of them to expand it. The undersea prison filled the screen and he stared at the complicated diagram. It looked like an impossible task to him. But if Jervis and Van der Seiff said they had a sniff, well, that was good enough for him to wait until they got back to him.
He clicked off the screen and headed out of the room.
Chapter 4
Sir Bartholomew Bridstow sat alone in the back of the British Embassy’s black armoured Lincoln Town Car perusing a newspaper through a pair of silver-rimmed reading glasses. His sharp old eyes looked above the small lenses as the vehicle stopped at the first security checkpoint on 17th and East Street in north-west Washington DC. The driver powered down the inch-and-a-half-thick window enough to hang out his pass while another security guard looked in the back. Sir Bartholomew smiled politely at him while holding up his own ID. The vehicle was invited to continue. It passed through two more gated checkpoints manned by members of the uniform division of the Secret Service, the last of whom directed the driver into West Executive Drive.
The Lincoln pulled to a stop outside the West Wing of the White House. As Sir Bartholomew climbed out he was met by a member of the Presidential office staff. The aide escorted him through the entrance where they turned immediately left and up a narrow set of stairs to the Vice-President’s office.